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

“What’ll Miz Winn say if you slobber all over her family Bible?”

But the dog persisted, sending out urgent thoughts. “The back of the book! I could see it from where I was lying. The back, Ben. Down inside the spine, something’s there!”

Ben quickly shut the book and stood it on edge. He peered down the space between the spine and the pages. “You’re right. It looks like a folded paper. Wait!” He took an ivory pair of chopsticks (one of the captain’s souvenirs) and delicately fished the object out.

As Ben carefully unfolded the paper, the black dog looked on. “A piece of torn parchment, with two tiny holes burned in it. There’s some wording on it. Read it, Ben, read it!”

The boy scanned the writing awhile. “It starts off strangely. Listen: ‘Re, keep safe for the house of De Winn thy treasure.’ ”

Ned’s tail wagged furiously. “Treasure! I think we’re on the right track. But what does ‘re’ mean?”

Ben continued staring at the scrap of parchment. “That’s where the parchment was torn. ‘Re’ is probably the end two letters of a longer word. But well done to you for spotting this in the Bible’s spine.”

Ned’s tail wagged. “Hah! Who said horses were man’s best friend? What about us dogs, eh, shipmate?”

Ben put the parchment down. He leapt upon the big dog and wrestled him all over the floor, knowing this was his favorite sport, but the Labrador got the better of Ben. Pinning him to the carpet, he began licking his face. “What other way can your poor hound serve you, O master?”

Ben giggled as the dog’s tongue tickled his ear. “You can let me up, you great, sloppy hound!”

Though they searched high and low, there were no other clues to be found. It was late by the time Ben had tidied the room up and put everything back in its place. He folded the torn parchment and put it in his pocket. “Well, at least that’s a start, though I don’t know what the message means, or the two burnt holes in the paper. But it’s something definite to begin with. Let’s hope we can solve the problem before time runs out for Miz Winn and Chapelvale. Right, mate, bed for us, I’ll just go to the bathroom and wash my face.”

Ned looked indignantly at Ben. “But I just washed your face for you a moment ago, there’s base ingratitude for you!”

The blue-eyed boy gave his dog a glance of mock severity. “One more word out of you and I’ll wash your face for you, with soap and a scrubbing brush!”

20

SUNDAY MORNING, BEN ACCOMPANIED Miz Winn to church services, dressed in his new clothes. He felt rather self-conscious in the new outfit, his unruly hair wetted and brushed into a part. The black Labrador had stayed home to keep Horatio company. Mrs. Winn brought her walking stick, as it was quite a walk to the church on top of the hill. At the churchyard gate they met up with Alex and Amy Somers, together with their parents. Mrs. Winn knew the Somerses, and she stood and chatted with them.

Alex caught Ben staring up at the spire, looking rather nervous. “It’s only a church steeple, Ben, what are you looking for?”

There was a trace of perspiration on Ben’s forehead, and his face was slightly pale as he answered. “The bell, has this church got a bell?”

Mr. Braithwaite wandered close by, still in his scholarly gown. He scratched his frizzy hair as he peered over his glasses. “Er, what’s that? Oh, a bell y’say, hmmm? ’Fraid not, young er, er, fellow. The, er, bell of St. Peter’s church was, er, donated to the cause by the clergy and parishioners during the, er, er, Napoleonic Wars. Yes, hmmm, indeed, to make armaments for the Duke of, er, Wellington’s army. Bell metal, useful stuff, very good very good!”

The feeling of whirling waters, angel voices, and the Flying Dutchman out somewhere plowing the misty main passed. Ben felt an immediate surge of relief. At least he did not have to worry about a church with a mute bell-tower. Amy tugged his sleeve to go inside, the service was starting.

St. Peter’s, for all its size, was comparatively small inside. Beneath the arched wood ceiling, supported by eight plain limestone columns, were two main aisles. There was an odor of lavender furniture polish on the benches, kneeling hassocks were of frayed chenille. Morning sunlight poured through the few well-preserved stained-glass windows, capturing myriad dust motes in slow swirls. Ben sat with his two friends whilst Reverend Mandel, a severe grey-haired man, delivered a sermon on the merits of charity to one’s fellow creatures. Ben felt as if someone was watching him. He turned his head and took a quick glance at the pews behind. There was Wilf Smithers, with his mother and the girl from London. Obadiah Smithers was not given to attending church on Sunday, or any other day for that matter. Ben smiled at Wilf. Surprisingly, Wilf smiled back.

When service was over, Mrs. Winn stopped to drop a coin in the box for the new bell fund. Wilf came up behind Ben and jammed a scrap of paper into Ben’s pocket.

“Bet you won’t be there!” he muttered in Ben’s ear and moved away to join his mother and Maud Bowe at the lych-gate outside, where a pony and cart were waiting to take them home.

Walking back downhill, Mr. Somers kindly assisted Mrs. Winn, offering her his arm. Ben walked ahead with his two friends, who saw him take the paper from his pocket and read what had been written on it. He laughed.

“Wilf slipped me this outside the church. Listen.” Ben read out the badly written message: “‘You meet me this afternoon at four behind the liberry if your not scared. Do not bring your dog cos I only want to talk. I will be alone. If you do not come your a cowerd.

“‘Singed by W. Leader of the Grange Gang.’”

Ben sat down on the grassy slope, shaking his head and chuckling to himself. He passed the note to Amy, who read it again, smiling at the childish scrawl.

“Somebody ought to teach Wilf Smithers to spell library and coward . Oh, hahaha! He’s put the letter g in the wrong place, instead of signed, it’s singed. Written with a fiery pen, eh. Hahaha!” But Ben’s young friend did not find it the least bit funny.

“Of course you’re not going. Are you, Ben?”

Summer breeze took the part out of Ben’s unruly hair, and he flicked it out of his eyes. “Why not?”

Alex had a number of reasons. He stated them all, anxiously. “Well, for a start, Wilf won’t be alone. He’ll have his gang hiding nearby. He doesn’t just want to talk. You’ll get beaten up, that’s why he says not to bring Ned along. We know you aren’t a coward, Ben, you don’t have to go!”

Ben’s strange blue eyes were smiling, but the younger boy could see something icy behind his careless merriment. It sounded in his voice as he stood up and continued walking. “Four o’clock, I’ll be there. Wouldn’t miss it for anything!”

“Then we’ll be there, too!”

Ben turned to Amy. “I’d rather you left this to me, but if you really want to be there, you’d be best doing what Wilf’s gang will do. Hide yourselves and keep an eye on my back. I’ll shout if I need you, promise I will.”

Amy’s fists clenched at her sides. “We’ll be there, won’t we, Alex?”

Ben could see her brother’s legs trembling as he replied. “You can count on us. We won’t run off and leave you!”

Ben threw an arm about his shoulders and squeezed lightly. “Thanks, pal, I’ll feel safer with a friend like you around. Thank you, too, Amy. Well, I’m off for lunch and a nice nap in a deck chair on the lawn. See you two at four. Oh, sorry, I won’t see you because you’ll be hiding, but I’ll feel a lot better knowing you’re there. ’Bye, pals!”