The Command - Brian Jacques - Flying Dutchman 02

Ben, Ned and Karay all gazed at the finished sketch. It was everything Dominic said it would be. Ned placed a paw on the artist’s knee as he communicated with Ben. “This is absolutely brilliant! It’s as if I’m looking at myself in a still pool. It’s me to the life!”

Ben agreed, speaking out loud to the others. “This is truly remarkable! You have a great talent, Dominic!”

Karay chimed in, “Aye, you’re pretty good. Will you draw me?”

Dominic took out a piece of flat, dried aspen bark and began sketching on it with a charcoal stick, shading and shadowing with deft flicks of his thumb to give depth. When he came to the eyes, he chuckled. “You are quick and clever, Karay, with a swift temper. Everything you see that you want must become yours. You are a rogue and a thief, but a pretty one.”

The girl snatched the knife from Ben’s belt and pointed it. “Who do you think you are, talking about me like that?”

The artist held up the picture, with the eyes completed. “See!”

Karay gasped with shock—it was all there. Her beauty and wildness were captured perfectly, along with the furtive slyness of a thief shining from her eyes. Her cheeks reddened as she grabbed the bark portrait and hid it beneath her shawl.

“This is mine now. I’ll pay you for it when I make some money. Now ‘tis your turn, Ben. Go on, draw him, Dominic!”

For a moment Dominic locked eyes with Ben, gazing hard. Then he shook his head and began putting his materials back into the satchel. “No, no, I cannot draw Ben!”

Karay teased him. “What’s the matter, haven’t you got the skill? Or are you just scared to, eh?”

Ben looked away from Dominic, for he knew what the artist had seen. Over half a century in a boy’s eyes, the wild seas, Vanderdecken and the Flying Dutchman, roaring oceans, thundering cannon, Captain Thuron lying dead beneath deep fathoms in a sunken ship. That and a thousand other things, things not of this earth. Like the terrifying beauty of an angel damning a ship and its crew to eternity.

Ben took the knife gently from the girl. “Let him be, Karay. How can he draw bad dreams and nightmares—there have been enough of those in my life, eh, Dominic?”

The artist agreed. “Too many for a simple facemaker.”

Karay snapped her fingers together. “You’re the Facemaker of Sabada! I’ve heard of you before. Hah, I expected you to look like some kind of terrifying wizard. Weren’t you the one who was locked in the pillory in the town of Somador for the picture you made of the magistrate’s wife?”

Dominic nodded. “Aye, that was me, though I didn’t want to sketch the woman in the first place. Her husband, the magistrate, he insisted on my doing the portrait—he said that I was to make her look beautiful and gracious.”

Ben handed the facemaker’s knife back to him. “And did you?”

Dominic chuckled. “I tried to, but she came out looking as she really was, a glutton and a miser.” His face hardened. “For that, the magistrate had me beaten and locked by my head and arms in the pillory for three days and nights. So, you see, this talent of mine can sometimes be a millstone about my neck.”

They sat in silence for a while. Karay began to feel sorry about her treatment of Dominic. She saw him cast a brief glance at the crust of bread in her hand. “Do you have any food in your satchel, Facemaker?”

He smiled ruefully. “Alas, no, just drawing materials and an empty flagon I use for drinking water.”

The girl peered into the darkness. “If there were a stream or a lake near here, I could have got us some fish.”

Ned’s ears perked up as he sent a message to Ben. “Tell her I’ll find water. There’s always some about in woodlands. Hope there’s fish, too. I’m starving!”

Ben answered the thought. “Right, then, we’ll have to start playing silly little games for our friends’ benefit.” He took the flagon from Dominic’s satchel and let the dog sniff it as he spoke to Karay. “Watch this. Here Ned, good dog! Water, where’s the water, boy?”

The black Labrador chuckled inwardly. “As if I didn’t know, eh? The things I have to do to impress folk!” He wandered off slowly, sniffing the ground and the air.

Ben turned to Karay. “Go with him, he’ll find water for you.”

The girl was delighted. “Good old Neddy … I mean Ned. Sorry.”

Together they took off into the night.

Ben looked across the fire at Dominic. “I’m glad you didn’t try to sketch me. What did you really see?”

The Facemaker of Sabada averted his eyes. “Too much, my friend, far too much. I have enough problems of my own without adding your burden to my mind. How has one of your age lived through such perils ? I saw things in your eyes I have never seen, even in dreams. Somebody my own age who has had the experiences of so many years. No, Ben, it is too much for me to understand, let’s not talk about it. Your secret shall remain with you, and Ned, too, I think. Trust me, I will be a true friend to you both.”

Ben shook the artist’s outstretched hand gratefully. “Thank you, Dominic, I know you’ll be a rare and good pal. There, that’s that! I hope Karay and Ned find water soon. Tomorrow we’ll travel together, all four of us, to the fair at Veron. But, for now, let’s enjoy a bit of peace and quiet without our fierce girlfriend.”

Dominic smiled. “Oh, she’s fierce and quick-tempered alright, but Karay has a good heart, I know it.”

Still feeling the odd drops of rain, they sat back and relaxed, the fireglow creating a small cavern of light and warmth in a dark forest night.

Both the lads had dozed off for the better part of an hour when they were roused by Karay and Ned returning. Boisterously the dog and the girl romped in, emptying their spoils onto a flat chunk of rock. Karay was wet but triumphant, and Ned shook water from his coat, woofing softly as he gave out thoughts to Ben. “Fish! Look at those beauties, I caught one of ‘em!”

Karay busied herself with the four fat rudd, strung through their gills on a thick reed. “Pass me your knife, Facemaker. Your Ned’s a good fisherdog, Ben, he caught this big one!”

She chattered away animatedly whilst cleaning the fish. “Ned found a stream, quite slow runnin’ and clear. I tickled the rudd out from under the bank, an’ Ned trapped one in the shallows. Found watercress too, see? Got some wood sorrel, dandelion roots an’ raspberries. You just watch me, I’ll make a meal for us, fit for a king …”

While Karay rattled on, Ned communicated with Ben. “You should’ve seen her, mate, she let those fish swim into her hand, tickled them a bit, then slung ‘em out onto the bank. A body would never be hungry long with Karay as a pal!”

The girl was as good as her word. They dined on roast fish with chopped herbs and toasted bread. The raspberries provided a dessert.

Karay sucked on a fish bone. “That’s the last of the bread— how far is it to Veron?”

“About six hours’ steady walking,” Dominic replied.

Karay piled more wood on the fire. “Good! If we set off at dawn we should make it about midday. Get some sleep now.”

Ben saluted her. “Aye aye, marm, right away!”

Ned stretched out and sighed. “Bit bossy, but a good cook!” Ben was surprised when Karay lay back and began singing. Her voice had the husky sweetness of a Spanish lady he had heard singing on the quay at Cartagena, soothing and melodic.

“I will search the wide world over,

By the sea or by land,

Like a dove I’ll soar the seasons,

‘Til I touch his hand.

Through the towns where folk gather,

O’er lone windswept hills,

I will never cease roaming ‘til

My dreams he fulfills.