John set his jaw stubbornly. "I'm not going."
"What makes you think he's the one you should be arrestin'?" George demanded, wrinkling his nose as though he smelled something bad.
"You can't do that!" cried Paul. "We can't sit in jail; we've got to find Ringo and stop the Beast and..."
The policeman held up a hand to stop Paul, looking as though all this was just tiresome. "Tell it to the men at the station. We've all had quite enough of your stories about beasts taking over England!" He reached out and grabbed John by the arm. "I'm taking you in. And let's have that sword." He held out his other hand for the sword.
John supposed he could have given it to him and let the sword take care of itself, but he just didn't feel comfortable giving up the sword this time. The sword, too, seemed to press itself against John's side, the way it always did when someone tried to take it away from him. "Don't touch me sword," John said angrily.
"Right, now, let's have none of that," the policeman snapped, his patience wearing thin. "Why can't you young people ever come quietly?"
"Why can't you old people ever get things right?" retorted John. "What with beasts all over England and you arrestin' the only people who are trying to stop him - is that where Ringo is? Have you arrested him, too, then?"
The policeman actually seemed a little surprised at this last speech. "No. I supposed you'd know where he is. I haven't got a warrant to bring him in," he replied. "You can file a report at the station if he's missing. Now come along, and let's have no more trouble..."
Paul acted without thinking. Something about the word "missing" used in connection with Ringo reminded him that they needed to get moving; they had to find Ringo now, and they couldn't waste time being arrested. Who knew what was happening to him? In a swift move, Paul pulled the Titanium Pound Coin from his pocket, and, feeling the powerful surge that swept through his arms, he grabbed the policeman's wrist and wrenched his hand away from John's arm.
The policeman stepped back in shock, cradling that hand in his other. Perhaps Paul had used more strength than he'd meant to - but never mind that. The three Beatles ran.
And the policeman recovered himself and ran after them.
The Beatles sped up. They could not let themselves get caught. They needed to save Ringo, not to mention all of England. They had a good head start, but as long as they stayed on the streets in plain view, they wouldn't be able to lose the policeman. There weren't even any crowds to get lost in.
George's brown eyes scanned the street. There had to be someplace they could hide....
As the Beatles turned a sharp corner, he saw it. A dark alleyway, small and out-of-the-way, and probably not somewhere the policeman would automatically go. Of course, an alley like that might easily be the turf of some gang, but that seemed a very small danger compared to the alternative. George turned to John and Paul for a half-second, the slightest glance at them saying, "In here!" which they understood perfectly.
The three Beatles dashed into the alley just before the policeman came around the corner. They could hear him running by, figuring the Beatles must have just put on a burst of speed and turned onto a more major street further up. John, Paul, and George took a collective deep breath.
"Good thing we found this," Paul remarked, leaning against the alley wall and resting his foot on a manhole cover, which was a strange thing to find in such an out-of-the-way place, but he didn't really think about that.
John nodded and glanced around. "I don't think anyone's been here for years. There's not even a garbage can."
George nodded. "Nothing but that old manhole," he agreed, bending down to look at it and so winding up speaking into the cover.
"Paul! John! George!"
Paul, John, and George stopped and looked round.
"Ringo?"
"Was that you, Ringo?"
"Ringo! Where are you, Ring?"
"In the cellar!"
Ringo's voice did sound far away and echo-y, and seemed to come from below them somewhere. Paul and George looked all around - John didn't bother trying to see anything, but just tried to listen and see where the voice was coming from - before all three of them looked down at the manhole.
"Ringo?" George called down. "Are you in the manhole?"
"What did you go in there for?" grinned John, kneeling down to talk into the manhole better. He tried to dig his fingers in underneath the manhole cover and lift it up, but it was on too tightly and he couldn't.
"I didn't... the objects... the Beast is coming!" It was hard to make out every word Ringo said, because the cover was still on. And there seemed to be a sort of white noise, too, from further away, but distinct, soft and whispery, getting in the way of Ringo's words.
"Let me, John." Paul, who still held the Titanium Pound Coin, knelt down too and lifted the manhole cover off effortlessly.
Looking down, Paul and George could see Ringo now, who had looked up quickly in the sudden light. The presence of light seemed to relieve him almost as much as his mates did. "He's coming! Help!"
The other sound was more distinct now, too. It came from somewhere near the pit that Ringo was standing in, but not quite inside it. It was the sound of snuffling and breathing and claws scraping across the ground.
George frowned, and spoke way too calmly. "I think he knows the train crash didn't get us now."
"But how could he know?" demanded Paul, agitated. "What's he doing here?"
"Get me out of here!" Ringo called up to them again, a note of desperation in his voice. The Beast noises were getting closer.
Up above, the three other Beatles looked at each other, having a split-second, silent conference. What did they have that could get Ringo out of a pit?
John had the Sword of Truth. But a sword didn't do him much good, since it wasn't long enough to reach down and let Ringo grab the end of it and climb up. And John didn't like the idea of jumping down into the pit and confronting the Beast with his sword. The Sword of Truth was not a weapon, and he didn't know how much it could do to the Beast without the other four objects.
George had the Jar of Green Marmite Yeast Extract. But apart from tasting delicious, the only thing that seemed to do was heal, and Ringo hadn't been hurt - yet. If the Beast got at him, he'd be a lot worse than hurt, and George didn't know if the Marmite Yeast could fix that. He didn't know if anything could.
Paul had the Titanium Pound Coin. But unless he could actually reach down far enough to touch Ringo, superhuman strength wouldn't do him any good either.
What the boys really needed right now, they all thought as one, more than any magical object, was just a coil of ordinary rope. But they didn't have that, and they certainly didn't have the time to go back and find some. All they had was three magical objects - no. Three magical objects and each other.
"All right," Paul said quickly. "I'll lower George down into the pit, and George will lower John down, and Ringo will grab John and I'll pull you up."
The maneuver was awkward, since John and George had to dangle straight down without supporting themselves on anything. But the boys all got themselves into position as quickly as possible. There was no time to lose on getting it wrong.
Ringo watched his mates turn themselves into a human ladder. It was rather fascinating to watch, but not quite enough to distract him from the scraping, breathing sounds coming ever closer. Ringo thought he heard the Beast sniff the air, as though checking that there was a human victim close by. Checking that Ringo was still where he'd left him. Ringo couldn't help but throw a nervous glance over his shoulder to the storm grate. A dark shadow was cast across the floor, silhouetting a body very like an animal's - but this was no ordinary animal.
Ringo screamed, realizing too late that now the Beast would definitely know he was there. He could hear claws scratching at the metal grate, possibly for a latch or some way to get it off from the other side....
"Ringo!" Ringo turned round to see John dangling in front of him. He grabbed John's outstretched hands, trying to pretend he hadn't heard the metallic crash behind him.
Paul began to pull up the chain of Beatle, using the Titanium Pound Coin to give himself enough strength. John squinted into the darkness of the pit. He could see a shape moving around the hole where the storm grate used to be. John's eyesight wasn't very good, and much of the floor was in shadow. But he could make out a large dark form prowling across the floor towards Ringo... John tried to pull him out of reach, supporting Ringo by his waist while Ringo's hands went round John's neck. Just keep Ringo high enough that the Beast couldn't reach his soul....
The shape that was the Beast seemed to rise up from the ground. There was the sound of an irritated growl, a scratching noise, and a loud cry of pain from Ringo. John didn't hesitate. Keeping one hand supporting Ringo, with the other he drew his sword. "Get out, beast," he ordered in a low, authoritative voice, and he swung the sword.
The only answer was a snuffle that came from lower down - the Beast seemed to have jumped back just before the Sword would have hit. Perhaps he recognized that John was not just holding a Sword, but the one Sword that could destroy him. In any case, he seemed to have backed off - for a moment, anyway. How long could you hold off a Beast like that?
Paul couldn't see all of this, but he saw and heard enough, and doubling his efforts, he lifted all of his mates out of the pit before they could find out what the Beast would do.
The Beatles collapsed on the ground, Paul placing the manhole cover firmly back in its place. The boys remained in a shaking heap for several seconds.
Then George happened to look over at Ringo. "Are you all right? You're bleeding."
Ringo twisted round to see the back of his legs, where George was looking. His pants carried shred marks and were soaked a deep red. Blood continued trickling freely from his calves. "Well, at least it's not me soul," he remarked.
George frowned. "That looks nasty, though. Can you even stand like that?"
Ringo's legs had been shaking, but he'd put that down to terror. Now he tried to stand up, only to find that his legs trembled from the wounds and wouldn't take his weight. He collapsed back to the ground.
"Here." Without another word, George pulled out the Jar of Green Marmite Yeast Extract.
Ringo looked at it uncertainly. "Will it work on me? Maybe it'll only accept you like the Sword of Truth does for John."
"It's been at the hospital kitchen for years," George pointed out. "It works on everyone."
Ringo took the jar and unscrewed the lid, which it let him do with no problem. He dipped in his finger and scooped up some of the salty spread - half of the Marmite Yeast had already gone. George, peering inside, noticed that, too. Perhaps Paul had been right about him eating it too much. It was their emergency healing food, after all. Plus they needed it to stop the Beast of Bodmin Moor. He had to save it for when they needed it.
Ringo ate his fingerful of Marmite Yeast, which tasted nice even though it was way too salty. A warmth came over his body as the smooth, creamy substance slid down his throat. It was somehow like comfort food, even though it was only a spread.
As Ringo swallowed his mouthful, he noticed his legs felt much better. Twisting again to look at them, he saw that, although his pant legs were still shredded and soaked with blood, his legs themselves had completely healed.
Ringo stood up. Now that the moment of danger had passed, he was beginning to feel a little silly for having gotten himself into this mess in the first place. "I'm sorry," he began. "I shouldn't have..."
"Never mind," laughed John. "We know why you went off by yourself like that. None of the rest of us were last."
But the incident had made all of Ringo's worries about no object choosing him seem silly now, and he felt a rush of warmth towards all his mates. His mates, too, felt relieved that Ringo was safe and back with them, and without really planning it, the foursome came together for a group hug.
Voices sounded outside the alleyway. "Not now! I'm trying to find John Lennon; I know he came down this way...."
"But this is important, sir!" The voice was breathless, and seemed to belong to another police officer, though a somewhat younger and lower-ranking one than the first. "Someone's broken into the Bristol Museum and Art Gallery! Whoever it was made a real mess of the place. We think it happened last night, but no one there will tell us anything!"
The Beatles, who had pulled apart to eavesdrop, exchanged glances for a silent conversation. The museum had been broken into - just like the bank back in London. The Beast of Bodmin Moor was in Bristol, even though he'd had no way of knowing where the Beatles were going to be. And he'd chosen not to attack Ringo last night as soon as he'd trapped him. There was something else he'd needed to do first. Something even more important.
John gave his mates a decisive nod. Though he didn't speak, not wanting the policeman to hear him, his mates all knew he was saying, "On to the Bristol Museum."
"What makes you think he's the one you should be arrestin'?" George demanded, wrinkling his nose as though he smelled something bad.
"You can't do that!" cried Paul. "We can't sit in jail; we've got to find Ringo and stop the Beast and..."
The policeman held up a hand to stop Paul, looking as though all this was just tiresome. "Tell it to the men at the station. We've all had quite enough of your stories about beasts taking over England!" He reached out and grabbed John by the arm. "I'm taking you in. And let's have that sword." He held out his other hand for the sword.
John supposed he could have given it to him and let the sword take care of itself, but he just didn't feel comfortable giving up the sword this time. The sword, too, seemed to press itself against John's side, the way it always did when someone tried to take it away from him. "Don't touch me sword," John said angrily.
"Right, now, let's have none of that," the policeman snapped, his patience wearing thin. "Why can't you young people ever come quietly?"
"Why can't you old people ever get things right?" retorted John. "What with beasts all over England and you arrestin' the only people who are trying to stop him - is that where Ringo is? Have you arrested him, too, then?"
The policeman actually seemed a little surprised at this last speech. "No. I supposed you'd know where he is. I haven't got a warrant to bring him in," he replied. "You can file a report at the station if he's missing. Now come along, and let's have no more trouble..."
Paul acted without thinking. Something about the word "missing" used in connection with Ringo reminded him that they needed to get moving; they had to find Ringo now, and they couldn't waste time being arrested. Who knew what was happening to him? In a swift move, Paul pulled the Titanium Pound Coin from his pocket, and, feeling the powerful surge that swept through his arms, he grabbed the policeman's wrist and wrenched his hand away from John's arm.
The policeman stepped back in shock, cradling that hand in his other. Perhaps Paul had used more strength than he'd meant to - but never mind that. The three Beatles ran.
And the policeman recovered himself and ran after them.
The Beatles sped up. They could not let themselves get caught. They needed to save Ringo, not to mention all of England. They had a good head start, but as long as they stayed on the streets in plain view, they wouldn't be able to lose the policeman. There weren't even any crowds to get lost in.
George's brown eyes scanned the street. There had to be someplace they could hide....
As the Beatles turned a sharp corner, he saw it. A dark alleyway, small and out-of-the-way, and probably not somewhere the policeman would automatically go. Of course, an alley like that might easily be the turf of some gang, but that seemed a very small danger compared to the alternative. George turned to John and Paul for a half-second, the slightest glance at them saying, "In here!" which they understood perfectly.
The three Beatles dashed into the alley just before the policeman came around the corner. They could hear him running by, figuring the Beatles must have just put on a burst of speed and turned onto a more major street further up. John, Paul, and George took a collective deep breath.
"Good thing we found this," Paul remarked, leaning against the alley wall and resting his foot on a manhole cover, which was a strange thing to find in such an out-of-the-way place, but he didn't really think about that.
John nodded and glanced around. "I don't think anyone's been here for years. There's not even a garbage can."
George nodded. "Nothing but that old manhole," he agreed, bending down to look at it and so winding up speaking into the cover.
"Paul! John! George!"
Paul, John, and George stopped and looked round.
"Ringo?"
"Was that you, Ringo?"
"Ringo! Where are you, Ring?"
"In the cellar!"
Ringo's voice did sound far away and echo-y, and seemed to come from below them somewhere. Paul and George looked all around - John didn't bother trying to see anything, but just tried to listen and see where the voice was coming from - before all three of them looked down at the manhole.
"Ringo?" George called down. "Are you in the manhole?"
"What did you go in there for?" grinned John, kneeling down to talk into the manhole better. He tried to dig his fingers in underneath the manhole cover and lift it up, but it was on too tightly and he couldn't.
"I didn't... the objects... the Beast is coming!" It was hard to make out every word Ringo said, because the cover was still on. And there seemed to be a sort of white noise, too, from further away, but distinct, soft and whispery, getting in the way of Ringo's words.
"Let me, John." Paul, who still held the Titanium Pound Coin, knelt down too and lifted the manhole cover off effortlessly.
Looking down, Paul and George could see Ringo now, who had looked up quickly in the sudden light. The presence of light seemed to relieve him almost as much as his mates did. "He's coming! Help!"
The other sound was more distinct now, too. It came from somewhere near the pit that Ringo was standing in, but not quite inside it. It was the sound of snuffling and breathing and claws scraping across the ground.
George frowned, and spoke way too calmly. "I think he knows the train crash didn't get us now."
"But how could he know?" demanded Paul, agitated. "What's he doing here?"
"Get me out of here!" Ringo called up to them again, a note of desperation in his voice. The Beast noises were getting closer.
Up above, the three other Beatles looked at each other, having a split-second, silent conference. What did they have that could get Ringo out of a pit?
John had the Sword of Truth. But a sword didn't do him much good, since it wasn't long enough to reach down and let Ringo grab the end of it and climb up. And John didn't like the idea of jumping down into the pit and confronting the Beast with his sword. The Sword of Truth was not a weapon, and he didn't know how much it could do to the Beast without the other four objects.
George had the Jar of Green Marmite Yeast Extract. But apart from tasting delicious, the only thing that seemed to do was heal, and Ringo hadn't been hurt - yet. If the Beast got at him, he'd be a lot worse than hurt, and George didn't know if the Marmite Yeast could fix that. He didn't know if anything could.
Paul had the Titanium Pound Coin. But unless he could actually reach down far enough to touch Ringo, superhuman strength wouldn't do him any good either.
What the boys really needed right now, they all thought as one, more than any magical object, was just a coil of ordinary rope. But they didn't have that, and they certainly didn't have the time to go back and find some. All they had was three magical objects - no. Three magical objects and each other.
"All right," Paul said quickly. "I'll lower George down into the pit, and George will lower John down, and Ringo will grab John and I'll pull you up."
The maneuver was awkward, since John and George had to dangle straight down without supporting themselves on anything. But the boys all got themselves into position as quickly as possible. There was no time to lose on getting it wrong.
Ringo watched his mates turn themselves into a human ladder. It was rather fascinating to watch, but not quite enough to distract him from the scraping, breathing sounds coming ever closer. Ringo thought he heard the Beast sniff the air, as though checking that there was a human victim close by. Checking that Ringo was still where he'd left him. Ringo couldn't help but throw a nervous glance over his shoulder to the storm grate. A dark shadow was cast across the floor, silhouetting a body very like an animal's - but this was no ordinary animal.
Ringo screamed, realizing too late that now the Beast would definitely know he was there. He could hear claws scratching at the metal grate, possibly for a latch or some way to get it off from the other side....
"Ringo!" Ringo turned round to see John dangling in front of him. He grabbed John's outstretched hands, trying to pretend he hadn't heard the metallic crash behind him.
Paul began to pull up the chain of Beatle, using the Titanium Pound Coin to give himself enough strength. John squinted into the darkness of the pit. He could see a shape moving around the hole where the storm grate used to be. John's eyesight wasn't very good, and much of the floor was in shadow. But he could make out a large dark form prowling across the floor towards Ringo... John tried to pull him out of reach, supporting Ringo by his waist while Ringo's hands went round John's neck. Just keep Ringo high enough that the Beast couldn't reach his soul....
The shape that was the Beast seemed to rise up from the ground. There was the sound of an irritated growl, a scratching noise, and a loud cry of pain from Ringo. John didn't hesitate. Keeping one hand supporting Ringo, with the other he drew his sword. "Get out, beast," he ordered in a low, authoritative voice, and he swung the sword.
The only answer was a snuffle that came from lower down - the Beast seemed to have jumped back just before the Sword would have hit. Perhaps he recognized that John was not just holding a Sword, but the one Sword that could destroy him. In any case, he seemed to have backed off - for a moment, anyway. How long could you hold off a Beast like that?
Paul couldn't see all of this, but he saw and heard enough, and doubling his efforts, he lifted all of his mates out of the pit before they could find out what the Beast would do.
The Beatles collapsed on the ground, Paul placing the manhole cover firmly back in its place. The boys remained in a shaking heap for several seconds.
Then George happened to look over at Ringo. "Are you all right? You're bleeding."
Ringo twisted round to see the back of his legs, where George was looking. His pants carried shred marks and were soaked a deep red. Blood continued trickling freely from his calves. "Well, at least it's not me soul," he remarked.
George frowned. "That looks nasty, though. Can you even stand like that?"
Ringo's legs had been shaking, but he'd put that down to terror. Now he tried to stand up, only to find that his legs trembled from the wounds and wouldn't take his weight. He collapsed back to the ground.
"Here." Without another word, George pulled out the Jar of Green Marmite Yeast Extract.
Ringo looked at it uncertainly. "Will it work on me? Maybe it'll only accept you like the Sword of Truth does for John."
"It's been at the hospital kitchen for years," George pointed out. "It works on everyone."
Ringo took the jar and unscrewed the lid, which it let him do with no problem. He dipped in his finger and scooped up some of the salty spread - half of the Marmite Yeast had already gone. George, peering inside, noticed that, too. Perhaps Paul had been right about him eating it too much. It was their emergency healing food, after all. Plus they needed it to stop the Beast of Bodmin Moor. He had to save it for when they needed it.
Ringo ate his fingerful of Marmite Yeast, which tasted nice even though it was way too salty. A warmth came over his body as the smooth, creamy substance slid down his throat. It was somehow like comfort food, even though it was only a spread.
As Ringo swallowed his mouthful, he noticed his legs felt much better. Twisting again to look at them, he saw that, although his pant legs were still shredded and soaked with blood, his legs themselves had completely healed.
Ringo stood up. Now that the moment of danger had passed, he was beginning to feel a little silly for having gotten himself into this mess in the first place. "I'm sorry," he began. "I shouldn't have..."
"Never mind," laughed John. "We know why you went off by yourself like that. None of the rest of us were last."
But the incident had made all of Ringo's worries about no object choosing him seem silly now, and he felt a rush of warmth towards all his mates. His mates, too, felt relieved that Ringo was safe and back with them, and without really planning it, the foursome came together for a group hug.
Voices sounded outside the alleyway. "Not now! I'm trying to find John Lennon; I know he came down this way...."
"But this is important, sir!" The voice was breathless, and seemed to belong to another police officer, though a somewhat younger and lower-ranking one than the first. "Someone's broken into the Bristol Museum and Art Gallery! Whoever it was made a real mess of the place. We think it happened last night, but no one there will tell us anything!"
The Beatles, who had pulled apart to eavesdrop, exchanged glances for a silent conversation. The museum had been broken into - just like the bank back in London. The Beast of Bodmin Moor was in Bristol, even though he'd had no way of knowing where the Beatles were going to be. And he'd chosen not to attack Ringo last night as soon as he'd trapped him. There was something else he'd needed to do first. Something even more important.
John gave his mates a decisive nod. Though he didn't speak, not wanting the policeman to hear him, his mates all knew he was saying, "On to the Bristol Museum."
