Chapter 1

"AT LAST, a bit of clear road. We can make up some time." Darren put his foot down and glanced at his watch. "We'll make it by one thirty at this rate."

Kevin was frowning over the road atlas. Another signpost flashed past and he turned the map upside down. It didn't help. "That's all very well, but this isn't the right road. I think we ought to be further over that way. More to the south." He waved a hand out across the bare hills on the left.

The car continued to accelerate as if with a will of its own down the almost empty road. "You said this was the right way," Darren insisted.

"No, I said the other way was the wrong way. When we came out of Dulchester? Where they were digging up the road, and that bloke waved us to turn right? They've changed the road layout. It's not the same as the map any more."

"You mean you've gone and lost us!"

"I haven't lost us. You should have slowed down while I was trying to find the right way round the ring road. We're going to have to go back."

"Back? Back into Dul-fucking-chester? You've got to be havin' a laugh! This is a good road, we'll carry on along here. There'll be a turning sometime." Darren mashed his right foot into the carpet and they surmounted a hilltop at seventy. There was a moment of zero gravity as they hurtled over the top. Kevin wanted to ask his friend to slow down but it wasn't a cool thing to do.

Ahead, the road stretched like a black ribbon to the horizon. Kevin rotated the map again. "There isn't anything, not for ten miles. By then, we'll be forty miles off course. Look!"

Darren looked. Kevin, eyes widening, snatched the map away.

"Look where you're fucking going... !"

"You told me to look at the map!"

"I meant stop first! And since when did you take any notice of anything I said?" Uneasy silence fell. The car continued on its course for a further three or four miles, at a noticeably reduced pace.

Kevin shook his head. "This is no good. Pull in here and let's work out where we're going." There was a parking place by the roadside. Not a sign of life, unless you counted the sheep, and everyone knew what happened when you counted sheep. Darren pulled in and turned off the engine. With a superior air, he took the map.

"Right, where are we?" he demanded with a sigh.

Kevin jabbed a vague finger. "Just about here."

"And where should we be?"

"Down there."

"That's fucking miles away!"

"That's what I've been trying to tell you for the last twenty minutes."

"We can't waste petrol going back," Darren insisted stubbornly. "What's the scale of this map?"

"Four miles to the inch."

"There's probably a road we can take. A small one that's too small to show up on this map. Let's take the next turning on the left, and it will bring us out down there somewhere."

"We'll be late. Hadn't we better warn the others?"

"We'll catch up with them once we're on the other road. You've probably only cost us half an hour or so."

"I've only cost us... ?"

Darren had already started the engine and they roared out on to the road in a spurt of gravel. "We can call Chris on his mobile and tell him we've been delayed. A flat, or something. Or we got held up by an accident. We'll call from the next garage."

"Garage?" Kevin surveyed the landscape. "Where?"

"There's bound to be one. We'll be needing some petrol, anyway."

Kevin tried to lean across and see the fuel gauge, without making it too obvious. He stretched his arms above his head and yawned elaborately. Darren hunched forward over the wheel and pretended to rub at something on the glass of the instrument panel.

"How much petrol have we got?"

Darren pretended to glance casually at the instrument panel. "Oh, 'bout a quarter of a tank," he said airily. "Maybe a little less. Probably more. Next garage, we'll get some more."

They barrelled on, over another hill. The road, which must have been the pride and joy of some Roman Emperor a couple of thousand years ago, kinked several degrees to the right and headed off even further in an even more wrong direction. Both lads decided it would be diplomatic not to mention the fact.

"Here's a turning coming up," Kevin pointed out. "Next on the left, you said."

"Got it. I told you there'd be something. It isn't on the map, is it?"

Kevin had already checked. "No. How do we know it goes anywhere?"

"It's got to go somewhere." They had reached the turning. It wasn't a particularly wide road, but it was broad enough for two cars to pass comfortably. Or maybe not comfortably.

"Did you see the signpost? Where did it say it went?" Kevin bent over the map again. According to his calculations, there shouldn't be anything around here, just open countryside.

"Couldn't see. There was something in the way. A tree or something. Never mind, it's got to lead us somewhere."

It seemed unlikely. There were no signs of habitation ahead, no houses, no church steeple. The road trundled on into the wilderness, between high hedges. It wasn't quite as wide now.

"There'll be a garage soon," Darren announced.

The road had dipped suddenly and begun a winding descent into a valley. The surface had become pock-marked and pot-holed, and a strip of grass was starting to appear down the middle, where no wheels ever ran. It was a single car's width now. If they met anyone coming the opposite way, someone was going to have to back up half a mile or more.

"What was that?" Kevin asked, as the engine gave a splutter before picking up again.

"Nothing. Just a misfire. A bit of dirt in the carburettor, probably. We'll be okay when we fill up. There's got to be a village down here. Stands to reason."

"It does?"

"We're going down into a valley, right? A road goes down into a valley, there has to be a river at the bottom of it, so there'll be a bridge ... and where there's a bridge, there's bound to be a village." Darren's geography teacher would have had tears of pride in her eyes at this moment.

"If it gets much narrower, we'll get wedged in like a cork." The bushes were brushing along both sides of the car by now, flicking at the mirrors as the wheels bounced through deeper and deeper holes.

Then they rounded a bend, and a tranquil scene opened up.

"See! What did I tell you?" Darren slowed the car to a halt on a patch of smooth grass bordering a narrow river. Or maybe it was a broad stream. Either way, there was no bridge leading to the village which seemed to be nestling up the hill on the further bank. Instead, the roadway disappeared into the water, its course marked by two lines of large stones. The stream flowed busily across the gap. "A ford. It doesn't look too deep, even with the rain we've had this week." He drove cautiously into the water and they lurched across to the other side. "It gets into the brakes, you know," Darren explained. "I'll drive for a bit with my foot on the brake pedal..."

"You won't be driving anywhere," Kevin pointed out. "Not until we open that gate."

It was a big wide five-bar gate, and it was shut. Two stout oak gate posts looked as if they had been there for centuries, and this damn great gate completely blocking the way into the village street.

"What's up with them? Have they got a thing against tourists? Nip out and open it, Kevvo!"

Kevin climbed out and examined the gate. It was secured with a fat chain and a daunting padlock. The whole ensemble was apparently rusted solid. He tugged at it experimentally for a few seconds, then shook his head. Behind him the car engine had stopped. The only sound was the rushing gurgle of the waters, the echoing of birdsong and the dull rattle of the chain as Kevin tried once more. He gave the gate a kick. It stayed shut. Then came the whinnying of the starter motor as Darren tried to start the engine again.

"Fucking won't go," he said needlessly after about three minutes. "Must be water in the ignition."

"Or it's out of petrol."

"It has not run out of petrol!" Darren tried again. Nothing. "There'll be a garage in the village."

"Or a village blacksmith," Kevin suggested. "We'd better push it back off the road. Sit tight and steer, I'll roll you back under those trees..."

"Like one of those Wild West ghost towns." Their footsteps scrunched on the gritty roadway of the village street. There weren't many houses yet, although there seemed to be more buildings ahead, round the bend. And above them, through the trees, a church tower.

"There'll be a pub, anyway," said Kevin. "What's the time?"

"Nearly ten. You can't be thirsty yet!"

"I'm not thirsty. They'll have a phone so we can call Chris. And they can tell us where this garage of yours is. Shit, imagine living in a dead-and-alive hole like this! What do they do all day?"

"What do who do all day?" Darren shook his head. "There's nobody here."

"No, there's somebody." Kevin strode ahead, waving to the woman who had come out of one of the cottages on the bend in the road. "Hang on. Excuse me!"

They both stopped. "Just our luck. We find the only inhabitant and she's a nutter."

"A religious nutter. She crossed herself before she ran away."

They approached the woman's cottage. A curtain twitched, then they heard the sound of bolts being drawn across the door.

"There you go," said Kevin shakily. "Welcome to sunny Wherever!"

"Let's go. Find this pub. Now you've come to mention it, I'm getting a thirst myself."

"You're driving, remember..."

"Not until we get that car going. Or unless..."

"They'll be mad at us. The first game on tour and they'll be two men short. We'll be fined pounds and pounds for being late!"

"Assuming we get there at all..."

"Maybe it will rain and they won't play," said Kevin comfortingly.

"Chris will still fine us. Those old buggers! We're the only two young ones on the team. Shit, it will cost us more than the petrol for the journey."

This thought stayed with them as they progressed up the village street. It was sloping steeply upwards now, climbing out of the river valley, but there were encouraging signs of life ahead of them. A farm cart was parked on the left side of the street, backed against a hefty rock to prevent it running away down the hill. Two patient horses were taking an early lunch between the shafts, lazily tossing their heads in their nosebags. On top of the wagon, which was laden with bulging sacks, a man in a broad-brimmed hat was reclining, chewing at a long straw to prove he was working, not asleep.

"Do you reckon he's real?" Kevin asked.

"This is a Monday, isn't it?" Kevin looked at Darren curiously. "I was just wondering if they're holding an Olde Fashioned Country Fayre. But not on a Monday." He shouted to the man. "Hey, mate! Where's the garage?"

The man stirred, looked around, then sat bolt upright. His hat fell off, revealing a shock of corn-coloured hair standing rigidly on end. "Wha ... what... ?"

"The garage? Is there a garage round here?"

"Or a pub," Kevin suggested. "Is the pub up this way?" The man looked totally blank. The boys stared at each other and shrugged. "Prithee, my fine fellow," Kevin tried again. "Is there an ale-house in this estimable village? An inn?"

"An inn?" Comprehension dawned. The man regarded them with an expression of deepest alarm. "To be sure, aye. 'Tis yonder. Behoind the church, at the sign of the Golden Lion. But there'll not be toime for quaffing ale at this hour. 'Tis haymakin'."

"Shit," Darren muttered. "Is he for real?"

"Thank you, my man," Kevin called, and dragged his friend away up the street.

"What's up?"

"I dunno. But there's something weird about this place. Did you see his clothes?"

"Course I did. Fancy dress..."

"Fancy dress my arse. That was the real thing. Come on, let's find this Golden Lion."

The doors were shut, as promised. Kevin rapped on the polished brass knocker, in the shape of a lion's head. When you raised the knocker and lowered it, the beast's tongue went in and out. It looked unnervingly sexual.

"Nobody here, like he said..."

"There has to be someone here, if it's a pub." Darren shaded his eyes and peered through a window. "They'll be cooking, or something."

"You gen'lmen looking for something? Or someone?"

They turned, surprised at the female voice. It was a motherly-looking woman, smiling at them in an engaging way. An attractive, short and very buxom woman with knowing eyes. Despite looking motherly, she gave the impression of not being as old as she looked at first glance. The expression "a comely wench" sprang unbidden into the boys' minds. She was the kind of auntie that young lads often had wet dreams about being seduced by. She looked them up and down, and her gaze narrowed.

"Ah, you'll be a couple of them, I reckon."

"You what?" Darren started indignantly.

"I beg your pardon?" said Kevin.

She laughed, her face lighting up. "Ah, you are! You'd better come along with me before a crowd do gather. I daresay you won't refuse a drink from old widow Capstick?"

"A drink?"

"Not a poison potion, never fear, lads, although there do be those as calls me a witch." She led the way down a narrow alleyway that ran beside the bulging stone wall of the pub. "'Tis just down this way a step. I can offer you a jug of mead..."

They followed her serviceably broad rump, more out of curiosity than hope. The alleyway led to a whitewashed cottage, set in an open space away from other houses, and sparkling in the sunshine. The whole of one wall was completely covered in some kind of climbing plant with white and purple blooms. The front garden was ablaze with flowers, and bees moved heavily around, doing their business. The front door stood invitingly open. She took them inside.

"Now then," she said, scurrying out of the room and returning with two large mugs and a stone jar covered with a cloth. "Where you from, boys? Not from round these parts, to be sure!" Her more than generous bust swung heavily in her blouse as the pale golden liquid glugged into the mugs. Considerably more than generous.

"Udderleigh," said Darren.

"Just this side of London," said Kevin, in his role as navigator. He accepted a mug and sniffed it cautiously. It smelled of summer afternoons. "We're on our way down to a cricket tour in Devon."

"I heard tell of Lunnon," the woman said. "But Devon? A fair journey. You'd not be walking all the way... ?"

"We left at eight this morning," said Darren. He sipped his mug, not knowing whether to cough or belch. He settled for wiping his eyes. "But Kevin sent us the wrong way out of Dulchester."

"The roadworks," Kevin explained. The widow Capstick stared at them blankly.

"You left Lunnon this morning? Or last night? On horseback? No, not in those clothes. Where's your carriage?"

"The car? Down by the gate, just this side of the river." Darren waved a hand at the window, to where the village street could be seen winding down the hill. "It's run out of petrol," he admitted to Kevin's surprise.

"That's why we were looking for a garage. Or a phone. Could we use your phone to call our team? We'll pay you for the call..." His voice died away. Clearly, Mrs Capstick had not the slightest clue as to what he was talking about.

"Forgive me, young gentlemen. I've met people like you before. Last year, before the harvest, there was a stranger. A man. Quite a bit older than you two." She inspected them frankly, making them feel distinctly uncomfortable. "The rest of the village ... they don't understand. Well, I don't understand, but the others ... A curse, they calls it. A curse."

Kevin nodded. "There was a woman down nearer the river. She crossed herself and ran indoors. Then she bolted the door."

The widow nodded. "Betsy Huggins," she smiled.

"And there was a bloke on a wagon, chewing a straw..."

"The men are away in the fields," said Mrs Capstick. "And some of the women, too. The others stay indoors when they spy strangers. The children are in school."

Kevin raised an eyebrow. "School? Isn't it the summer holidays? It's August."

"There bain't more'n a few on 'em," the widow continued obliquely. "Vicar's wife does the schooling. Daniel's boys, and then there's the brood from the farm. Sam'l Tompkin's lads. Young Jem, an' Hector, an' the maid Sally from the Lion. Maggie Arthur's three. Young Charity." She made a curious gesture with her arms, holding them out in front of her as if she were holding an invisible barrel of beer. "And there's my girls, of course..."

"One woman teaches them all? Are they all the same age?"

"Bless you, no! My lasses are fourteen, but they do carry on their schooling. They shall stay at school until 'tis their time to do the teaching themselves. "You'll stay for a bite of dinner? There's bread and honey. Maisie and Maud shall be home when the church clock do strike twelve. If they don't see you, they will be that curious my life'll not be worth a brass farthing. They don't see many young men like yourselves, you see."

"I don't know," Darren said slowly. "We ought to be making tracks, if we can get some petrol."

"But some bread and honey does sound nice," Kevin nudged his pal. Mrs Capstick brightened instantly.

"I sh'll be getting it ready, then. And we've a mutton pie, if you're famished. No, sit and finish your drinks, I can talk to you from the kitchen."

She bustled out.

"What are you on about?" Darren demanded in a fierce whisper. "We can't sit round here eating jam butties all day."

"And mutton pie. But what else can we do? You won't find any petrol, not here. Besides, I thought you said it was water in the ignition."

"Funn-ee."

The church clock began to strike the hour.

Ten.

Eleven.

Twelve!

"That clock's fast!" Darren shook his watch. "It's not even eleven yet..."

But there was no time for Kevin to reply. The back door banged open with a clatter, and an excited babble of voices sounded from the kitchen. And there at the kitchen door stood the widow Capstick, beaming proudly. "I don't even know your names yet," she apologised. "But you must meet my little girls..."

"Oh, Mama!"

"Mama! Little?"

"This is my Maisie, and this is my Maud."

Kevin and Darren gasped, their mouths remaining open. No words would come out. They stared at the girls, golden-haired twins, at something considerably less than five feet tall, they weren't even as tall as their mother.

But Maud had been right. 'Little' was not the right word. Not the right word at all.

"We have to get back to our classes," sighed Maisie.

"We sh'll be home by the time the church clock do strike five," said Maud. "You'll still be here... ?"

"We'll be gone by then," Darren shook his head regretfully. "We'll need to walk to the next village and get a can of juice. Probably have to buy an empty can, as well."

"Juice?" The twins looked at each other. "Mother can give you some juice. Apples... ?"

"Petrol," Kevin said desperately. "You've heard of petrol! Cars run on it. Maybe the farmer's got some? You could ask the kids from the farm..."

"The kids?" Maud giggled. "You're so funny, Keff!" She still had difficulty saying the unfamiliar name.

"You aren't really leaving us," said Maisie. "Darren, please stay the night. Devon will still be there in another week or two." She approached and touched him under the chin with a delicate finger.

Darren swallowed. Unexpectedly, the girl smelled quite powerfully of sweat. Not at all what attractive young girls were supposed to smell like. But from this close, he could study the arousing swell of her bosom inside the bodice of her blue frock. It was quite simply enormous. Easily four times as big as Emma Goldthorpe's in accounts...

Kevin was getting the same view, in pink instead of blue, as Maud, emboldened by her sister's forwardness, stroked his brow with a slender hand.

Their mother looked on fondly. "Off you go to classes, you two. Happen I can talk to these boys and persuade them to stay a while. They don't make much sense, I'll be bound. Off with you!"

The girls tore themselves away unwillingly. Their bosoms were heaving enormously. The more the boys studied them, the bigger they looked.

"We'll be here this evening," Kevin blurted. "If your mum doesn't mind. We're going to have to see if we can find some petrol this afternoon, but we'll come back later. Won't we, Dazza?"

On mature reflection, it seemed like a good idea. Darren nodded.

Maisie and Maud clapped their hands and literally jumped for joy. When they landed again, they unselfconsciously clutched at their breasts to stop them shuddering and bouncing. The boys had never seen anything quite like it in their lives. None of the girls of their slender acquaintance would ever behave in such an uninhibited manner.

But then, they had never met any girls even remotely as well-endowed as Maisie and Maud.

Yes, they'd be back this evening.

They didn't find a garage, nor a can of juice. For that matter, they didn't even get out of the village. Their heads swimming with strong drink, they tried and failed to explain to the widow Capstick just where they had come from, why, and for that matter, when.

She seemed to be trying to understand, but it was far beyond her comprehension.

"We could take you down to the river and show you our car," Kevin suggested, loudly and slowly.

"I can't drive like this," said Darren. "I'm off my face."

"The car won't go anyway," Kevin remarked.

"You could walk down to the river when the girls come home from school," the widow agreed. "You don't need me along with you, I'm sure!" She wobbled back out of the kitchen, where she seemed to be producing a gigantic vat of stew. "You two aren't used to strong liquor, I'll wager," she laughed. "Do get yourselves out into the garden or some fresh air!"

They wandered light-headedly down the garden path, leaving the reassuring clatter of pots and pans behind them. "What'sh 'appening?" Darren said, his voice slurred.

"God knows. I don't know what's happened, and I know it sounds daft, but I reckon we're back in the eighteenth century, or something. She doesn't know about cars, petrol, or anything. Nor do the girls. They're not having us on. They genuinely don't know. Look at this place. What's unusual about it?"

Darren stared around. A sprawl of houses rambled higgledy-piggledy up the hillside. A typical picture-postcard English village. "Nothin'," he said dully.

"Television aerials? Satellite dishes? Phone lines? Power cables? Nothing?"

"So they have strict planning regulations. That doesn't mean we've travelled back in time."

"What else? How about those twins?"

Darren's eyes became dreamy. "Wow! And one each, too! And those tits! Monsters! How about getting your hands on those things?"

"How old did their mum say they were?"

"I thought she said they were fourteen, but I never seen fourteen year-olds with tits like those."

"Exactly. Tits like those, and they don't wear bras! None of them, not even their mum. Not only that, but they don't have a best friend."

"What are you talking about?"

"They stink! Never mind the ads for deodorants and feminine fragrance and shower gel. Even their best friends would tell them! We're back in the dark ages, mate. Before running water and regular baths. Regular? Maybe Maudie and Maisie bathe once a year, whether they need it or not!"

"Oh, come on!" Darren muttered uncomfortably.

"It's true, isn't it? Would you want to sleep with them?"

Darren considered for a while.

So did Kevin.

It wasn't quite the right twenty-first century answer.

"Well, so would I, actually," said Kevin. "But you do see my point, don't you!"

"They're only fourteen," Darren offered uncertainly. He had a feeling he knew what the answer would be. He was wrong.

"If this really is the seventeen-hundreds, people don't live so long. So those girls are adults. You can see those two are more than ripe for motherhood even if they are only fourteen year-olds. Besides, I'm not superstitious."

Darren thought, ah! He was right after all.

They stopped short, five yards before the gate. The girls hung back like suspicious dogs. "Mama wouldn't like it if we went out," Maisie said hesitantly.

"We could go out as long as Kevin and Darren were looking after us," said Maud.

Darren looked back at them, his face troubled. He nudged Kevin. "What's going on?"

"What's up?"

"Where's the fucking car?"

"Where you left it?"

"Just over there?"

"Maybe it's round the corner, out of sight."

"Or some bastard's nicked it."

"That's all we need! All our stuff's in there. My new bat cost a hundred and fifty quid..."

"Never mind your bat! That's my fucking car!"

"What's the matter, Dazza?" Maisie approached, her breast squashing against his arm. Maud did the same thing to Kevin. He placed his hands on her soft shoulders and gently pushed her away to arms'-length, his sensitive nose twitching.

"Can you wait here, girls? Only for a minute. Me and Darren need to go and check something out." The twins looked confused as Kevin scrambled over the gate, followed by Darren, who had to pull Maisie's hands off his sleeve. They hurried round the corner toward the rippling stream. The car was still there, in the shadows, right where they'd left it.

"Thank fuck!" His hands shaking, Darren unlocked the doors and reached inside. "Everything's still here." He tugged at his overnight bag and disentangled it from the pile of their belongings on the back seat. "Here's yours. We've got towels and toothbrushes and stuff. Anything else we need?"

Kevin shook his head. "I didn't bring any, did you?"

Darren blushed but forced himself to produce an acceptably macho answer. "No, I ... I thought we'd be able to buy a few packets of three in a 7-Eleven."

"If we needed any, that is."

"I reckon we'll need some tonight," Darren persisted bravely. "Those twins are red hot for us. They're practically gagging for it."

This was a common enough misconception amongst young men, but in this case there was every good reason to suspect that these buxom young twins were more than ready to start making babies.

Darren locked the car with feverish fingers. The boys grabbed their belongings and hurried back to the gate. "Where are they?" They climbed back over into the village as the girls came out from behind a bush.

"You were gone so long," Maisie whimpered, running across and clinging to Darren's arm.

"We thought you weren't coming back to us," sighed Maud, standing on tiptoe, her breath hot in Kevin's ear.

Kevin looked back over the gate. Surely, the car ought to be visible from here! As the late afternoon sun bathed the scene with golden light, they could see clear down to the river. The river! "I've got an idea," he said.

"An idea?" Maud looked up at him, her eyes shining.

"It's a nice warm evening, and there's nobody about. Let's go skinny-dipping!"

Darren looked uncomfortable. "What? You crazy? We'll get arrested!"

"Who's going to arrest us here? What you reckon, girls?"

"Skinny-dipping? What is it?"

"You haven't... ?" The girls looked vacantly at them, but whatever skinny-dipping turned out to be, they both seemed to be up for it. Breasts were heaving, and there were erect nipples in their bulging, bursting bodices.

"We've got plenty of towels, Daz! And soap and stuff." Kevin nudged Darren in the ribs. "Soap!"

"Oh, yeah. I see what you mean. Soap!"

"Let's go, then!" Kevin swung a long leg on to the top rail of the gate.

"We can't climb over there," Maud protested. She indicated her dress which clung tightly around her shapely knees.

"What are you climbing over for, anyway?" Maisie was more practical. She went to the end of the gate, unhooked the chain and pulled. The gate swung smoothly open, with Kevin clinging to it to keep his balance. "Boys!" Maisie snorted, and both twins giggled.

Kevin was left staring at the fastenings of the gate. There was no padlock, and the metal of the chain was bright and silvery. It wasn't more than a few weeks old.