The Lightning Bolt by Kate Forsyth

breath and flung back her head, opening her eyes. She looked around her, as if she did not know what she was doing in this dank, stinking cell instead of outunder her favourite tree in the forest. Slowly her shoulders slumped, and she called huskily to Mimi to bring her a little of the ale they had hidden under the damp straw, for Maggie was so crippled with her rheumatism she could no longer straighten her back, let alone walk. The small ale had been brewed especially for them by Jenny, wife of the night-guard Maloney, for no one dared drink the water.
    Beatrice did not know what any of them would do without Maloney’s many small kindnesses. She watched as a pale and listless Mimi held the jug to her grandmother’s lips and then crept back to lie once more in the straw, her hand closed around the rag doll Maloney had given her.
    â€˜How are you doing, darling girl?’ Maggie whispered from across the cell. Beatrice jerked her iron-bound head up and down, and waved her hand from side to side.
    â€˜I’ve been walking the roads.’ Maggie’s voicewas so hoarse Beatrice could hardly understand her. A sudden wry smile lifted the old woman’s sunken cheeks. ‘I’ve been looking for our darling girl.’
    Emilia? Beatrice did her best to frame the word, but the scold’s bridle would not let her. She tried to speak with her eyes.
    â€˜Aye, Emilia and our Luka too. They’ve travelled far, far . . .’ Maggie’s voice sank away into a whisper. ‘But they are so close now, so close to the lightning bolt of iron.’ She sighed. ‘So close and yet still they do not see it . . .’

    â€˜Tell me more!’ Van demanded, after more than an hour had passed. ‘What about the smuggler? Did he really give you an owl feather? Can I see?’
    Luka and Emilia were both sitting up at the table, wrapped in old blankets, for Fairnette hadrefused to let them eat at her table unless their clothes were washed first. Luka got up and hobbled over to their pack, digging through until he found the feathers Milosh had given them. He passed them to Van who took them in his left hand and brushed them against his left cheek, then laid them down on the table, side by side. ‘What does it mean? Why did he give them to you?’
    â€˜It’s their secret signal,’ Emilia explained. She stopped to have another drink of water, for her throat was dry from all her talking. She had done all she could to make the story of their adventures as exciting as possible, and Van had been utterly enthralled. He had forgotten his shyness, his anger and his misery, and sat at the table, his stump resting on his knee, his eyes shining with eagerness. Fairnette had gone quietly about her work, first washing Luka and Emilia’s clothes and hanging them over bushes in the garden to dry, then peeling and chopping up vegetables for theirmidday meal. Every now and again she cast Emilia and Luka a deeply grateful glance, as she observed the rapt face of her little brother.
    â€˜It means that if we’re in trouble, or need the smugglers’ help, we can show them the owl feather and they’ll know we’re friends, and will not harm us,’ Luka said.
    â€˜It’s a sacred trust,’ Emilia said, who rather liked this expression.
    â€˜Except, of course, we don’t know any of the smugglers by sight. They were all masked,’ Luka said.
    Van gave a sudden grin of excitement. It made him seem much more like a real boy.
    â€˜Father Plummer told us about another secret society who use a feather as their sign,’ Emilia said. ‘They call themselves the Brotherhood of the Grey Goose Feather. They’re from the Fens, which is a place up north a bit like the Romney Marshes, all water and swamp and quicksand.’
    â€˜Oh, I like this story!’ Luka cried. ‘Tell Van about the king!’
    â€˜I’m going to,’ Emilia said sternly. ‘Or at