Free The Terror Time Spies by David Clement-Davies Page A

Watch Inn and as if a strange light was flooding into the room too.   In the firelight now Henry saw people though, and a clear scene, that made him blink in fear and absolute astonishment. 
    There stood a high, wooden scaffold, in a wide city square, that he somehow knew immediately was in Paris and on it stood that infamous machine:  The Guillotine. 
    A still beautiful if aging lady was standing right by it, shaking her head, in a simple white cap, bound with a sombre black ribbon.  There was something in her tragic look, in her poise and grace, that made Henry Bonespair think instantly of a Queen. 
    An angry crowd was watching, booing and jeering silently and, as the woman was laid down below that terrible axe blade, Henry noticed three extraordinary figures standing to one side, watching intently too, one of whom rather reminded him of his own teacher back in their little school in Stockwell.  He had the same detached and almost scientific air, a bit like Hal’s friend Francis Simpkins.
    Henry’s tired eyes were on stalks now and he shivered desperately, wondering if he was asleep and dreaming already, or if he had had too much beer in the stew. 
    The fire flared though, the scene vanished and Henry jolted.  There was no one there at all:   They had vanished.
    “’enry,” said a tired voice behind him, “Get some rest, Bonespair.  You were sleeping on your feet.”
    Henry couldn’t sleep for ages, because of what he had imagined in the firelight, especially the strangeness of those watchers, and he was suddenly thinking about magic again, as he stared at the ceiling:  Spike’s magic. 
    Dawn woke them though and when they looked out of the grimy window, Skipper was already harnessing the horses in the breezy morning. 
    So they went down to breakfast and with a few careful questions to the publican, who was nursing a dreadful headache, Henry ascertained that another coach with a pretty blonde girl had passed by the evening before, although it had not stopped.
    “We need to hurry, Holmwood,” the leader of the Pimpernels cried, as he and Armande climbed back on board and felt the wind getting up stiffly, “if we’re ever to catch her up.  She musn’t sail before the Club arrives.  But first we get Francis, as quickly as we can.”
     
    The sign for Fule was only two miles on from The Night Watch and since Henry had visited once, they found the house easily enough.  There stood Henry’s friend Francis Simpkins too, in a thick woollen coat, standing next to his aunt, right outside the door.  They had been waiting half the morning.
    Francis was a slight, lanky lad, with curly brown hair, big, watchful eyes and a nervous, owlish face, blooming with hundreds of freckles.  The Second Catcher was very good at sums, codes and maps, and dreamt of being a great scientist one day. 
    Now Francis Simpkins looked desperately nervous though, especially as he saw the snorting horses at the front of the carriage.  He was frightened of animals and as he looked into those flaring nostrils, seeing the bright red veins inside, he wobbled slightly and stepped back.   
    Henry jumped out though, as soon as Skipper pulled up, hiding in his big hat, and though they were a day late, Henry had been right about their waiting on changed plans.  Nothing was certain for travellers now.
    “Hello Mam,” he said boldly, nodding to Francis’s aunt and grinning at his best friend too, who was a good head shorter than Henry.  “We have to hurry though, we’re late in our itinerary.”
    “And Mr Bonespair?” said Francis’s aunt suspiciously, and Henry almost blushed.
    “Er, my pa rode on ahead to stop the boat sailing, maam.”
    Skipper grunted and nodded furiously, in his big hat, but Francis Simpkins had just noticed the strange, glittering look in Henry’s eyes, one of them with a nasty black ring around it. 
    “Oh, dear,” said Francis’s aunt, looking at Henry Bonespair in surprise, “but you’ll all