Brian Jacques - [Flying Dutchman 01] - Castaways of the Flying Dutchman

O’er hill and mountain, land and sea,

’cross desert dry and pasture green,

mystic countries, towns, and cities,

what strange sights those two have seen.

Gaining wisdom, wit, and knowledge,

in joy, and sorrow, peace, and war,

helping, caring, bringing comfort,

always traveling, learning more.

Is it not surprising, then,

each of them has changed his name,

Den is Ned, and Neb is Ben,

the two who from the Dutchman came?

Where are they now, our dog and boy,

where heaven commands they go,

beyond the echo of some far bell?

Read on and you shall know!

THE VILLAGE

11

ENGLAND. 1896.

THE RAILWAY HAD FINALLY COME TO Chapelvale. Obadiah Smithers drew a turnip-shaped gold watch from the pocket of his brocade waistcoat and consulted it. “Hmph! Eighteen minutes past two, a quarter hour late. I’d liven ’em up if it were me running this railway, by thunder I would. Time’s money, and I can’t afford to waste either, that’s what I always say!”

The young lady sitting opposite him clung to the velvet strap as the train jerked noisily to a halt. She adjusted her bonnet, agreeing with the older man.

“That’s what my papa always says, too, sir.”

Obadiah plastered a few strands of hair into position on his red, perspiring brow. Standing, he adjusted his black-tailed frock coat and donned a silk top hat.

“Sensible man, your father, ’twas him and I who persuaded the powers that be to install this branch line to Chapelvale. Progress, y’know, this town needs t’be dragged into modern times, been a backwater too long. Can’t stop progress, m’dear.”

Maud Bowe hated being referred to as “m’dear,” or “young lady.” However, she smiled sweetly at Mr. Smithers. “Indeed, sir, progress and modernity go hand in hand.”

But Obadiah was not paying much attention to her observation. He was struggling to get the door of the private compartment open, without much success. Lowering the window, he bellowed officiously at a porter. “You there! Get this confounded door open this instant!”

Both engine and leading carriages had overshot the platform by twenty feet or more. Recognizing Chapelvale’s most prominent citizen, the porter came running and snapped the door open with alacrity. Obadiah fumed as he allowed himself and Maud to be helped down onto the sleepers and rough limestone pebble. “What’s the matter with you people, eh? Can’t you stop the train in its correct position?”

Bridling at the unjust accusation, the porter complained. “Ain’t my fault, sir, I don’t drive the engine, y’know!”

Obadiah Smithers’s face went brick red in its frame of muttonchop whiskers. He shook his silver-mounted walking cane at the man and almost tripped over a sleeper. “Damn your impudence! Get along to the guard’s van an’ pick up this young lady’s luggage before the train goes an’ it ends up who knows where. Go on, get along with you!”

A towheaded lad aged somewhere between thirteen and fourteen years, accompanied by a big, black Labrador dog, emerged from the guard’s van. Over one shoulder the boy toted a canvas bag with a drawcord neck. He dug into his pocket and passed a silver sixpence to the guard, winking. “Thanks for the ride, Bill!”

The guard, a cheery-looking young man, grinned as he returned the wink and patted the dog’s head. “Now, don’t go shoutin’ to everyone that I let you ’n’ Ned ride without a ticket. You’ll get me in trouble, Ben. ’Bye, you two!”

The porter came scurrying up. “Baggage for the girl in the private compartment, you got it there, Bill?”

A lady’s traveling valise and a fancy carpetbag were slung out onto the platform by the guard. “There y’are, two pieces!”

Black smoke wreathed up from the engine into the hot blue summer sky. All along the platform train doors were slamming shut. The dog Ned stood patiently at Ben’s side as they took stock of their surroundings. A uniformed stationmaster waved them away from the train with his folded flag as, whistle in mouth, he checked the length of the platform. Hissing noises emanated from the engine as it dripped water on the track. Suddenly, it emitted a rushing cloud of steam. Maud screamed shrilly, hobbling up onto the platform in her long, fashionably narrow skirt.

Shooshing steam enveloped Obadiah Smithers as he stamped onto the platform, roaring, “Engine driver, what’s your name, man? Near scalded us both t’death, you idiot. I’ll report this to your superiors!”

His speech was drowned by a long blast from the train whistle combined with the noise of the stationmaster’s whistle and a grinding of wheels and gears. Chuffing noisily, the train rumbled away up the branch line. Whilst Smithers harangued the stationmaster, a local carrier bore Maud’s luggage to a horse-drawn cart outside the station fence.

With the train’s departure, Chapelvale resumed its customary calm. Ben communicated a thought to his black Lab. “Come on, let’s take a look at the village.”

Ben was opening the white picket gate of the station when he found himself in competition to get out of the gate with the impatient Smithers. “Out o’ me way, silly young ass!”

Ben was trapped in the gateway by the man’s bulk as he tried to push past, brandishing a silver-mounted stick angrily and shouting, “Make way for your elders an’ betters, or I’ll . . .”

“Grrrrrrrr!”

Ned was beside Smithers’s leg, the Labrador’s hackles bristling as it bared its teeth. Obadiah Smithers froze in his tracks. The dog took a step aside, allowing the man an escape route, but Smithers stepped back a pace, too, allowing both boy and dog to pass through the gate. His confidence returned once he was clear of the pair, Obadiah closed the gate and ranted at them in high bad humor. “That beast should be destroyed—it nearly attacked me! I’ll call a constable if you set it on me again!”

The boy turned to face him, smiling at first. Then the smile went from his face. With eyes like two chips of blue ice, he stared at the big, stout man. Smithers was lost for words. Those eyes. He shuddered, transfixed by the strange lad. There was neither fear nor respect in the boy’s silent gaze, only contempt. Dismissing him, the boy turned away and walked off with the dog loping alongside him.

Snorting indignantly, Smithers turned to the girl. “Did y’see that? Impudent young blaggard. If he crosses my path again I’ll lay this stick about him, and that growlin’ cur, too, see if I don’t!”

Ignoring his bluster, Maud went to stand by the cart, and Smithers turned his wrath upon the driver. “What’re you standing there gawking at? Let’s get going!”

Outside the station, Ben and Ned stood at the top of the lane looking down toward the village, which nestled snugly in a valley between two hills. Roads leading in and out were little better than broad tracks of well-trodden, hard-packed earth, old and dusty. None of them straight paths, they meandered and rambled quaintly. Some were skirted by hedges of privet and hawthorn, overhung by elm, beech, and holm oak trees. Others had dry stone wall edgings, the soft greystone chinked with moss and bordered by hogweed, dandelion, and yarrow. The far hill had a spired church on its brow. Cottages and small landholdings dotted patchwork fields where sheep, cows, and horses grazed. Ben stared at the not-too-distant village square with its black and white Tudor shops and buildings, none over two stories high. He passed a thought to his friend.