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

Ben accepted the old man’s sturdy handshake, adding, “Well, not quite just us two, friend, there’s others interested. My two friends, Amy and Alex Somers. Then there’s Aunt Winnie. I’ll bet Mr. Braithwaite could be useful, too. Oh, and one other, my dog Ned, he’s a good searcher. Actually it was he who really found that paper. You’ll like him, Jon.”

The old carpenter shook his head, chuckling. “I’m sure I will, shipmate, if he’s anything like you! Alex and Amy Somers and old Braithwaite, your aunt, too? Looks like we’ve got quite a crew. You sure you don’t want to bring the whole village along, Ben?”

The boy grinned. “Only if they want to come, Jon. I’m willing to take on any folk who’ll try helping themselves, instead of sitting ’round hoping the problem’ll disappear.”

Jon took out a battered but reliable pocket watch and consulted it. “Nearly four, time for proper tea. D’you like corned beef sandwiches and some of Blodwen Evans’s scones? I bought ’em yesterday, but they’re still fairly fresh.”

Ben remembered his four o’clock appointment. “I’d love to stay to tea, mate, but I’ve got to go somewhere. Tell you what, I’ll see you here tomorrow, say about eleven. Will it be all right if I bring my friends and my dog?”

Jon waved at Ben as he leapt up to the windowsill.

“Aye. See you in the mornin’, then, partner!”

When Ben had gone, the old seaman sat looking at the two bits of paper. He had worked long and hard at trying to defeat Smithers and help his old cap’n’s wife, without an ounce of success. However, he felt with the arrival of the strange lad that things were beginning to happen. Stroking his beard, he stared at the empty window space. It was as if the blue-eyed boy had been sent to aid him by some myste-

22

CHAPELVALE VILLAGE SCHOOL WAS A small, drab, greystone building with the year 1802 graven over the door. Very basic, merely a couple of rectangular rooms with a corridor between them, it was typical of most small village schools. The playground at its rear opened onto the back of the library, which had been built later and was slightly grander. The library had mullioned windows, behind which Mr. Braithwaite could be seen studying a catalogue at his desk. The school playground was hemmed by a low stone wall, with bushes growing over it. Wilf Smithers stood, apparently alone on the dusty playground.

From the far side of the schoolyard, Amy and Alex hid behind a gable of the adjoining library, watching him. All at once the village bully did a little hopskip, punching the air with both fists. A voice, obviously that of Regina Woodworthy, called out. “Give him the old one-two, Wilf!”

He turned to the thicket of lilacs growing over the far-side playground wall, hissing in a loud whisper. “Shuttup and keep your heads down!”

Alex blanched with fear as he murmured to his sister. “That Wilf Smithers is a dirty liar, he was supposed to be here on his own!”

The girl was about to reply when Ben strolled by not a foot from their hiding place. His lips hardly moved as he spoke quietly. “Don’t worry, pals. You’re here, too. Hush now!”

Wilf came across the playground toward his victim, holding out his hand. As Ben shook it, the bully sneered. “Well well, didn’t think you’d have the nerve to show up!” He tightened his grip like a vise and gave a short whistle. The Grange Gang clambered over the stone wall, surrounding Ben.

Smiling, Ben indicated them with a nod. “I see you’ve brought some help.”

Regina poked a finger sharply into Ben’s back. “It’s you who’s going to need the help, stupid!”

Keeping tight hold of his victim’s hand, Wilf called out. “Any sign of that dog about?”

Tommo’s squeaky voice reassured him. “Nah, it’s all right, Wilf!”

Ben never blanched as Wilf applied more pressure to his hand. “Your note said you wanted to see me alone, just to talk.”

Wilf’s eyes grew mean and narrow. “Did it, now? Well, I told a little fib. I’m going to teach you a lesson, to keep your nose out of other people’s business. That’s if you’ve got any nose left when I’m done with you!”

Regina warned Wilf as the back library window opened. “Look out, it’s old Braithee!”

Mr. Braithwaite had been studying in the library, notwithstanding the fact that it was Sunday. Time and tide did not count in the absentminded scholar’s scheme of things. He looked over his glasses at the young people in the playground. “I say, er er, what’s going on out there, er, not fighting I, er, hope! Not nice, er, fighting.”

Regina called out in a little-girl voice. “Oh, no sir, we’re only playing a game!”

The librarian-cum-schoolmaster scratched his bushy head. “Oh, er, very good, very good. Hmm, not nice, er, fighting!” He shut the window and went back to his studies.

Ben suddenly stood on Wilf’s toe, did a neat twist, and, releasing his hand from the bully’s grip, he stood grinning into the bigger boy’s red face. “Hear that? It’s not nice to fight, y’know!”

The sound of Wilf’s teeth grinding together was audible as he leaped forward, swinging a fierce punch at his adversary’s face. He struck air. Ben was out of his way, holding up both palms open wide, his voice soothing and reasonable.

“Steady on, friend, I don’t want to fight you.”

The gang were shouting out now, wildly excited.

“Knock his block off, Wilf!”

“Make his nose bleed!”

“Go on, Wilf, belt the little squirt one!”

Wilf charged like an enraged bull, swinging wildly with both fists. But each time, Ben either ducked or dodged nimbly aside.

From behind the gable wall, Alex almost sobbed with disappointment. “Ben won’t stand and fight, he’s scared!”

Amy began to feel the same way as her brother. She stood out in the open, fists clenched, willing Ben to land Wilf a blow each time the bully went staggering by. However, Ben kept up the same tactics, weaving around his attacker, still open-handed.

“I told you, Wilf, I don’t want to fight you!”

Wilf, breathing heavily, gasped out. “That’s ’cos you’re a coward. Come on, fight, you yellowbelly!”

This time he changed his assault, looping out a savage right. As Ben dodged it, Wilf kicked out just as Regina pushed Ben in the back, sending him onto the kick. It caught his shin. The kick did not injure Ben greatly; however, he decided it was unwise to leave his back uncovered.

Amy, with Alex behind her, came running toward the fray, shouting out, “Foul, foul! Keep your feet to yourself, Smithers!”

Not wanting them caught up in the fight, Ben backed off until he was up against the schoolhouse wall. Shoving aside Amy and Alex, Regina laughed gleefully. “Get ’round him quick! Hahaha, you’ve got him cornered, Wilf!”

She was right. Ben found himself against the wall with the others standing around in a half-circle. Wilf was right in front of him—Ben could not go left, right, or back. Leaping forward, Wilf aimed a swinging right at his face. Ben ducked, and there was a meaty thud, followed by an agonized scream. Amy went white, she could not see what had gone on.

Wilf Smithers came howling and screeching out of the melee, holding his right elbow in his left hand, his face the color of a beetroot. As he stopped and did a dance of pain on the spot, his right hand flapped uselessly.

Mr. Braithwaite came hurrying into the yard, his dusty gown swirling about him as he called out to the dancing boy. “Er, er, what, er, seems to be the trouble, er, Smithers?”