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

Ben changed hands, swapping the basket from right to left and tightening his hold on a package beneath his arm. He caught a thoughtwave from Ned. “Good boy, don’t let that basket drop now. Over here, Ben, look who’s with me.”

The Somerses were sitting on the post office steps, stroking Ned, who was enjoying the attention immensely. Ben spoke aloud to the dog as he approached.

“You great lazy lump, you should be carrying this. Whew! Miz Winn certainly takes some keeping up with for an old lady. Hello there, you two!”

Amy pointed to the package beneath his arm. “What’s in the parcel, Ben?”

To her surprise he looked faintly embarrassed. “Some new clothes. Miz Winn bought them. I didn’t want her to, but she thinks I need to look respectable for Sunday church service tomorrow. Move over there, pals.”

Ben sat with them on the post office steps, watching folk following their weekend shopping routines as always. Shop doorbells tinkled as people came and went, standing beneath the canvas awnings, gossiping and viewing the goods behind the bull’s-eye-paned windows of drapers, chandlers, butchers, and dairy produce merchants. Housewives with heavily laden shopping bags hanging from the handles of baby perambulators, calling to husbands who were chatting to other menfolk outside the newsagent and tobacconists. Children with coned paper bags, emerging from the sweetshop, sucking on treacle toffees, aniseed balls, and nut brittle, gazing absently about to locate their parents. Ben could not help commenting.

“Odd, isn’t it. You wouldn’t think that the place has less than a week left as a village. Don’t they care, what’s the matter with them?”

The girl watched Ben’s intense blue eyes studying the scene. “My mum says it’s because they’re village folk, with a village mentality. She says they won’t accept it could happen to them. These village families go back centuries. They just don’t know what progress and change mean. If anything frightens them, they push it to the back of their minds and get on with their lives. Hoping it’ll go away, I suppose.”

Alex’s face reddened, and he stared down at the step. “Like me. I try to ignore Wilf Smithers and his gang. I wasn’t much use to you yesterday, never said a word, just stood there like a lump.”

Ben patted his friend’s arm reassuringly. “But you did do something, pal, you stood alongside Amy and me. It was Ned who saved the day. I was as scared as you or your sister—there was a whole gang of them. No shame in being afraid when you’re outnumbered more than three to one, right, Amy?”

The girl could see their new friend was being kind to her brother, and she nodded. “That’s right, Ben. There’s better ways of being brave than letting yourself get beaten up by Smithers’s gang.”

Ben rose as he saw Mrs. Winn approaching. “Your sister’s right, Alex. Courage shows itself in different ways—chin up, pal, you’ll see.”

Mrs. Winn loaded more purchases into the basket and greeted the two young people.

“Well, good morning, do you remember me? You came with your father when my cat was sick last year. Now let me see, you both had names beginning with A . . . Amelia and Alexander!”

Alex had cheered up a bit, and he corrected her. “Amy and Alex, Miz Winn. I remember you gave us apple pie and lemonade. How is your cat now?”

Mrs. Winn rummaged through her purse as she replied. “Horatio’s fine, thank you, fine. Ben, how would you like to take your friends for some ice cream? Evans Tea Shoppe makes their own, you’ll enjoy it. I’ll come over later for tea and a scone. Here, Amy, you can be in charge of the ice cream money. Don’t forget to buy one for Ned, too. He’s a good dog.”

Ben picked up the basket. “Where are you going, Miz Winn?”

Setting her lips tightly, she pointed at two figures entering a building on the square’s east side. “Right where those two are going, to my lawyer’s office. I’ve been hoping to see Mackay. Time’s of the essence, isn’t it.” She had said nothing about an appointment. “I’ll see you later.”

As they watched Mrs. Winn walking swiftly across to the lawyer’s office, Amy nodded to the man who was ushering a young lady into the building ahead of him. “That’s Obadiah Smithers, Wilf’s dad. He’s the one who’s buying the village to turn it into a cement factory. I don’t know who the lady is, though.”

Ben glanced at the pair. “Neither do I, but I saw them get off the train together when I arrived here. Maybe she’s from London, part of that firm Smithers has dealings with—”

Alex interrupted. “Jackman Donning and Bowe, that’s who my dad said they were. Wonder which one she is?”

17

EVANS TEA SHOPPE DID SERVE GOOD ice cream—it came in a long dish, pink and white with raspberry sauce and chocolate crumbs sprinkled on top. Mr. Evans worked in the back of the shop, baking and making ice cream. Blodwen, his wife, an immense jolly woman with a strong Welsh accent, served them. Though animals were not usually allowed inside, she was charmed by the big black Labrador, who looked very meek and offered his paw. Mrs. Evans lifted the edge of the tablecloth. “Ooh look you now, there’s a lovely dog, he is. Sit him under the table now. Indeed to goodness, who’d be keepin’ a fine dog like him outside with no ice cream!”

As Ned tucked into his ice cream, which came on a tin plate, Ben tuned in to the dog’s thoughts. “Delicious, wonderful stuff. Just the thing after a hard morning’s shopping!”

Ben put his feet on the dog’s back as he answered. “You great furry fraud!”

Ben pulled aside the lace curtain. From where he was sitting he could see an ancient, rambling, one-story building at the square’s northwest corner. It was a jumble of wattle and daub, stonewalling and patches of worn brick, with crumbling mortar, makeshift repairs against the ravages of time. The faded roof of thatch sat on it like a badly fitted wig with a raggedy fringe. A large bump sticking up in the center of the roof gave it an odd, rather comical aspect. The whole thing was fronted by an overgrown patch of greenery and a rickety fence, partially broken by bushes growing through it. Sunlight shading through high hawthorns lent it an air of picturesque dilapidation. He pointed with his spoon.

“Is that the place they call the almshouse?”

Alex looked up from his ice cream. “Yes, but you’d best stay away from it, Ben. The mad professor lives there!”

Ben laughed, as if the other boy was joking. “Haha, mad professor?”

Amy backed her brother’s statement up. She whispered, “It’s true, Ben, a mad professor does live in the almshouse. He doesn’t like people and he seldom comes out—even Wilf Smithers and the Grange Gang don’t go near there. They say he has a double-barreled shotgun and he’s not afraid to use it. Alex is right, keep away from the almshouse!”

From her side of the table Amy could see Mr. Mackay’s office. “Look, Ben.” She pointed. “There’s Miz Winn coming out of the lawyer’s office. I wonder what she was doing in there?”

Even from a distance it was plain to see that the old lady’s dander was up. Mr. Mackay, a small, dapper lawyer, was standing between Mrs. Winn, Obadiah Smithers, and Maud Bowe, anxiously trying to prevent trouble. He was not having much success. The old lady, her chin thrust forward pugnaciously, was wagging a finger at Smithers and Bowe, evidently giving them a piece of her mind. Several times the pair tried to walk away, but she confronted them, not giving up until she had said what she wanted. It was Mrs. Winn who finished the argument as well. She stamped her foot and marched off, leaving her foes dumbfounded. Mr. Mackay scuttled back into his office, glad to have all three away from his premises before they attracted too much notice.