Page 3 of The Dragon Ring
Without thinking, I follow him.
On a warm summer’s evening, to encounter not a single other person on the Tor path is strange. Ahead of me the Fancy-Dress-Man, his russet cloak swishing, strides always out of reach, no matter how I hurry.
It’s quiet, too. No noise penetrates from the town. I’m inside a bubble of silence broken only by the lonely cries of a colony of rooks in the treetops.
Emerging from the trees, I spot him above me on the summit, silhouetted against the evening sky. I hurry. He turns away, vanishing from sight over the brow. I want to shout “wait for me” but can’t find my voice.
Out of breath, I reach the top of the hill. And there he is, leaning against the wall of the tower.
I approach in curiosity. In the background the thrumming musical note I remember from our first encounter swells to fill the air.
“Whoareyou?” I ask, my hand automatically going to the hot bracelet on my wrist.
I’m up close now. He smiles, and his eyes crinkle just as I remember, and I can’t be afraid of him. But now I look at him with more interest than I did as a seven-year-old. Brown wavy hair reaches his shoulders and a shadow of stubble covers his chin.
“A friend.” There’s a lilt to his voice that’s pleasant and reassuring. Like no voice I’ve heard before. A voice for reciting poetry.
“Why are you watching me?” I’m still unafraid, despite the fact that I’m alone with a strange man.
He tilts his head to one side. His face is unlined yet full of wisdom.
“To make sure you’re safe.”
“That’s a funny answer. Why wouldn’t I be safe? I’m with my dad.”
“Not now you’re not.”
I frown. “That’s because I followed you.”
He grins. “How do you know you’re safe then?”
Of course, I don’t. Any amount of danger might be lurking. He can’t be the source of it though, because for some reason I know he means me no harm.
A different tack is needed. “What d’you want? Why me? Why do I need a guardian angel?”
This makes him laugh out loud. “No one’s ever called me that before.”
I scowl. I don’t like being laughed at. “Why me?”
He doesn’t answer but indicates the bracelet on my wrist with a nod of his head. “I’m glad to see your mother let you wear it. Keep it on. Never take it off. It’s your protection when I’m not here.”
With all the wisdom of my thirteen years it begins to dawn on me that he might just be a teeny bit nutty. After all, thisisGlastonbury, and he’s wearing fancy-dress as though he’s off to a party or is maybe an actor playing a part. But there’s also something deep within my mind that urges me to believe him.
“My mother’s dead.” It’s a ploy I’ve used a number of times to put people on the back foot. It usually works a treat.
It doesn’t with him. He just nods. “I know.”
“How do you know? How do you know me? Are you a stalker?”
He holds his hand up to silence me. “Your name is Guinevere. You’re thirteen years old. Your father is Professor Andrew Fry. Your twin brother is Arthur Fry. Your mother Alison died when you were eight.”
“Youarea stalker.” I’m still not afraid, even though he knows so much about me, but I take a wary step back, just the same.
“I’m here to keep you safe. You’re not ready yet. Go back now to your father and brother. Never take your bracelet off. Others seek you. One day we’ll meet again.”
He straightens up from where he’s been leaning against the wall and steps inside the ruined tower. I follow him, to have it out. He hasn’t answered my questions properly at all. He’s only left me with more, and I’m angry.
The tower is empty.
