The Balmoral Incident by Alanna Knight

conifers closed in on me I knew I was lost.
    I have absolutely no sense of direction and there was nothing to indicate where I was heading. Jack laughs at me. ‘But seriously, in your profession it could be the difference between life and death, never knowing which way to turn when you are being pursued by a man with a gun. Do I need say more? I’m surprised you’ve survived so long. You must have a guardian angel.’
    Remembering Jack’s warning, trying to think clearly through that wine haze was little help and that guardian angel was having a holiday. Perhaps I could retrace my steps. I turned round knowing only one thing for certain, that idiotically, within a few hundred yards from home, I was well and truly lost in a thick forest with trees growing so close together that there was no possibility in the darkness of finding a path, or regaining the path I had travelled so far, if one existed.
    Even the moon had deserted me. It was up there somewhere hidden by the tall treetops with only a brief glimmer as racing clouds obliterated its faint beam.
    I stood still, momentarily breathless. I had to think of something. In despair I looked around again. What was the point in walking ahead? That was useless, even dangerous when I no longer knew where I was going or if it was the right direction.
    Suddenly the absurdity struck me. Here I was lost somewhere on the royal estate surrounded by civilisation, people everywhere within walking distance, I could even hear the faint clip-clop of carriage horses on the Deeside road beyond the river but I might as well have been in the deserts of the Sahara.
    And although it was hardly the time for frivolous thought that I might be in a serious situation, the wine effects had not yet worn off completely and I had an attack of helpless giggles. But my legs were letting me down; walking on this pine-scattered floor was like carrying lead weights, quite exhausting and treacherous.
    I must stop. Wait for a moment, rest – and think what to do next. I leant against one of the inhospitable trunks, but its sharp bits digging into my back denied any possibility of relaxation.
    Now the silence was invaded by intruders gathering around me. The small secret sounds of the night, the scuffles and twitches of a broken branch as an unseen army of small animals busied themselves about their nocturnal business. At least they knew where they were going and they had better eyes than mine. Another of my problems is that I have no night vision. Perfect eyesight by day but blind as a bat in the dark.
    At my back, the spiteful tree trunk was urging me on. I walked a few steps and knew it was hopeless to proceed, perhaps the effects of the wine were wearing off and no longer bolstering my courage, all I felt was a great desire to sit down and close my eyes for a while. To sleep or weep for the predicament in which I had found myself, and for which I had no one to blame but my own stupidity.
    Going ahead, stumbling through the forest was useless. It was like being trapped in a maze and there was only one sensible but unpleasant solution. Sit it out. Find a place and rest there until dawn shed some light on the way out.
    A flicker of moonlight, not much but enough to spot a clearing and kick a pile of soft pine leaves against a nearby tree trunk. Running my hands down it suggested a smoother, more friendly one than the last.
    I had never been afraid of the dark. Until this moment. In the stillness, I became aware of more sounds, a bird’s alarmed cry, an owl’s hoot, a spine-chilling scream from some poor creature caught by a predator. All far away, but closer at hand again those small scuffling, snuffling sounds.
    Then the distant sound of a shot. A broken branch, more like a ghillie out after rabbits – in the dark? After that, I thought I heard the distant sound of dogs barking. Did that indicate the royal stables or were they wolves?
    I listened again, imagination invaded by thoughts of a wolf pack, their