The Class War - Part 3
This story is a work of fiction, all characters and plot lines are fictional. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
The Class War remains the property of the author. The story or characters may not be reproduced or republished elsewhere without the expressed written consent of the author.
The impromptu council of war decided on some simple rules for the game to be played. At noon the next day both sides would enter the Melrose woods at different ends, and each side would try to hunt the other down. Each side would be equipped with flour bombs – paper bags containing a little flour – and anyone hit with a flour bomb would be considered incapacitated and could be captured by the other side, but could be rescued by his own team later if they so chose. If all the members of a team were captured then the game was lost. To make the sides even, Algy and Will could co-opt one more player.
“We could get George, the stable lad, to join us,” said Will. Algy nodded but missed the swift glance that passed between Joe and Ben.
The following day dawned bright and clear and, after a visit to the kitchens to cajole some flour and paper bags from the cook, the boys sought out George who was busy with his mucking out duties in the stables. They explained the scheme to him and he seemed keen enough to join in.
“Better than shovelling horse nuts all day” as Will astutely observed. The day was hot, and since it was likely to prove messy, the boys agreed to wear their school rugger kit rather than the more formal clothes that they had been attired in during yesterday’s fiasco. Besides if anyone asked they could say they were going for a run.
As noon approached the boys became more apprehensive. They had been grudgingly forced to concede that the Miller brothers were not the simple-minded village louts that they had first assumed. They were tough and resourceful and obviously knew the woods well – and, as the boys knew from bitter experience, pretty handy with a length of rope as well.
At precisely noon, Algy, Will and George, armed to the teeth with flour bombs and assorted lengths of rope, cautiously made their way into the southern end of Melrose woods. They crept forward listening intently for signs of the enemy. George soon proved himself adept at moving silently through the dense undergrowth, causing Algy to privately speculate if this was in any way related to the excessive level of poaching that the estate supported.
They had not gone very far before they heard the crack of a twig and a stealthily rustling some 50 yards ahead of them. George signaled that he would scout ahead to observe the source of the noise. Since he was obviously the most skilled of the three, Algy and Will nodded their agreement, and George vanished quietly into the trees. There followed a long, tense period of waiting – and then suddenly from ahead there came the unmistakable sounds of a scuffle – grunts, muffled shouts, breaking twigs – and then silence again.
When, five minutes later, George had still not returned it was apparent that he must have been captured. They could have just abandoned him to his fate, but their upper-class upbringing would not allow this.
“Can’t just abandon ones chums, eh? Jolly unsporting and all that. We best go and rescue the silly blighter!” So, rather against their better judgment, they crept forward towards the scene of the recent fracas.
George had indeed been flour-bombed and was now restrained in an unusual but most economic and effective manner. He was lying face down on the ground with hands bound behind his back. His legs encircled the trunk of a substantial tree and his ankles were bound together behind the trunk. The girth of the tree prevented him from rising or turning over, and even if he were able to free his hands he would not be able to reach the bindings on his ankles. Young Ned had been left to guard the captive.
From cover Algy and Will surveyed the scene. Of course they suspected a trap but try as they might they could see no sign of Joe or Ben anywhere nearby, and eventually their keenness to rescue George overcame their caution. Working to a pre-arranged plan Will broke cover and neatly tossed a well aimed flour-bomb at the back of Ned’s neck. Following through, he pounced upon the floury youth armed with a ready-made noose to secure his victim. In the same instant Algy rushed towards George with the intention of quickly freeing him. The boys were just about to congratulate themselves on the success of their assault when a shout of “Now!” rang out and a second later, each of them was caught squarely by a well filled farinaceous missile.
Algy was dumbfounded. “Where did you come from!” he cried. Joe pointed silently to a shallow pit that had been scraped in the ground and until recently had been covered over with a mound of twigs and dead leaves.
“We were expecting you to drop in,” he said sarcastically.
“I believe m’lord, that means that the contest is over and you are our captives ! Oh yes, by the way let me introduce you properly to George, your stable boy. You never thought to ask his full name did you? Actually he is George Miller, brother to Ned, Joe and Ben Miller.” Algy’s mouth fell open. “Blood is thicker than water you see, and George didn’t actually need a lot of persuasion to allow himself to be captured and lead you into this trap. In fact we arranged it all last night.”
“You rotten cheats!” exclaimed Algy, but he didn’t get a chance to say much more that was intelligible because Ned stuffed a cloth gag into his mouth. The two boys were dragged over to nearby trees and securely bound to the trunks. Tight ropes at ankles, knees, waist and shoulders ensured that they were able to do little more than wriggle impotently. Algy’s hands were drawn up and tied to the trunk above his head. More conventionally, Will’s hand were pulled behind the tree and secured there. Somewhat surprisingly, no one seemed much interested in releasing the traitorous George.
“These flour-bombs were a spiffing idea,” said Joe, letting fly with a missile at the impotently struggling Algy. Several minutes later the ammo was nearly exhausted and the captives resembled the aftermath of a hurricane in a bakery store room. Flour not only covered their exteriors, but it had been liberally poured down necks, into underwear and massaged into hair. Ned had made the interesting discovery that adding water converted the mess into a sticky dough. Nor had George escaped this mayhem. Any bound captive, even if he was your brother, was just too tempting a target to forego.
Joe was just about to deliver the last missile when a thunderous shout rang out across the clearing, freezing them all in their tracks.
“You damn louts! What do you mean by trespassing on my land and making this infernal mess! I should have you all horsewhipped, by God!”
It seemed that The Lord Melrose, Viscount of Penzance, in company with his gamekeeper and two under-keepers had stumbled upon the scene on the iniquitous enflouring of his precious son and heir.
In the next part : What penalty will Lord Melrose exact when he discovers his son has been changed into a Cornish pasty? Will George be forced to pay back the thirty pieces of silver?
© Copyright Cinched 2009
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