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

The rest of her afternoon was spent rummaging out her wardrobe for something pretty to wear at dinner.

The old lady was putting the finishing touches to her hairpins when Will drove Delia to the gate. Alex and Amy were with him. The Labrador loped out and met Delia, decided immediately that they would be friends, and stayed by the horse’s side. The old seaman came striding jauntily up, his beard combed and a fresh red kerchief bound around his neck. He helped Mrs. Winn up into the gig and they were off.

The dinner was a success, thanks to Eileen and Will’s mother: roast beef and potatoes with all the trimmings, followed by fresh strawberries and cream. Will and Jon cleared the table whilst the ladies sipped glasses of elder-flower wine, which Amy and Alex’s mother had sent along. Little Willum dozed off on the sofa, and Ben poured lemonade for his two young friends. Jon and the dairyman came in from the kitchen, carrying a glass of beer apiece.

After supper Will produced the chalice from behind his back and set it on the mantelpiece. It was filled with water and had six white roses in it. Mrs. Winn stared at it, enraptured. “Oh, it’s so beautiful! Does it belong in your family, Sarah?”

Will’s ma smiled. “No, it belongs in your family, Winnie!”

While Eileen and Will’s ma excitedly related the tale of the discovery, Will showed something to the others.

“Miz Winn ain’t the only one gettin’ a surprise this evenin’. Look what I found when I was emptyin’ the wax from that pot.” He placed a flat piece of wood, about eight inches long by an inch wide, upon the table. It was dark, greasy, and well preserved from the tallow that had encased it.

Ben turned it over, running his thumbnail over the wood. “There’s some carving on it—hard to make out, though.”

Alex produced a pencil stub from his pocket. “Let me try.”

They held the lamp close as he ran the pencil lead inside the carved grooves.

His sister studied the results. “It looks like the letter U carved alongside itself eight times, with some sort of stick-leg creature at each end, very roughly drawn. Looks like two dogs to me.”

The big Lab sniffed disdainfully and pawed at Ben’s hand. “Dogs: indeed? If I were a dog and I looked like that, I’d drown myself. I’d say it looks more like two horses. You tell her, pal, go on, defend your friend the dog!” Ben did, and Will and Jon were inclined to agree with him.

At the other end of the table Mrs. Winn held the chalice lovingly. “Thank you, all of you, this is the most marvelous discovery. I don’t want to sound ungrateful, but I wish that it had been something less beautiful and more practical, like the deeds to Chapelvale. That’s what I really need.”

The farmer’s normally cheerful face darkened. “Aye, that rogue Smithers ain’t even made us an offer for Hillside Farm yet. I wouldn’t let him over the pasture fence. Still, if they started a quarry an’ a factory, we’d be forced to leave. A man can’t dairy farm with all kinds o’ blastin’ an’ machinery chuggin’ night ’n’ day. My business’d be ruined. It ain’t right, I tell you, it just ain’t right!”

Eileen lifted the sleeping baby from the couch. “We know that, m’dear, but they got the law an’ big-business friends in London, aye, an’ plenty o’ money, too. All we got is good intentions an’ time that’s gettin’ shorter by the day.”

The blue-eyed boy interrupted. “But we’ve got the golden chalice and this carved stick, which has got to be some kind of clue. We can’t give up. Who knows, the next thing we turn up may be the deeds. With the value of that chalice and the deeds to the land, we’d soon have the upper hand!”

Jon stared hard at the stick, scratching his beard. “But where do we look? There may be a clue to the carvings on this stick, but there’s no words, no rhyme, no riddle. Maybe the carvings are describing someplace, eight letter U s and what we think is a horse . . . where’s that?”

Will’s ma spoke up. “Would a map of the area help ye?”

Ben felt a tremor of anticipation. “Have you got one?”

Without a word, Sarah Drummond went off to her bedroom. She returned with a framed picture. It was a child’s picture of St. Peter’s church on the hilltop, drawn in lead pencil and colored neatly in with colored wax crayons.

Will flushed to the roots of his hair. “Oh, Ma, you ain’t goin’ to show ’em that ole thing, I was but ten years old when I drew that in school.”

She shook her head, reading out the writing across the top. “Master William Drummond. Aged nine years. Class 3a.”

Ben studied it. “Pretty good for a nine-year-old, Will.”

Will’s ma slit the pasted backing strip with her fingernail. “Aye, Will drew it for me, I’ve always liked it. But that’s not what I want to show you. Take a look at this.” From behind her son’s childhood artwork, Sarah slid out a paper, yellowed with age.

“ ’Tis an ancient map of Chapelvale village an’ its surroundings!” She unfolded two creases where the map had been folded under, one toward the top and the other toward the bottom of the map, commenting, “I can remember lookin’ at this when I was a little girl, don’t know who put it there, or where it came from, but as you see, the map is bigger’n the frame. Whoever put it there had to fold the paper to make it fit. It’s a very old map of hereabouts, but except for the railway station an’ one or two other bits, Chapelvale ain’t changed much, has it. Now then, missy, can you read the writin’ on the parts that were folded under? My eyes ain’t up to it.”

Amy held the map up to the lamplight and read haltingly. “ ‘E.D.W. Anno Domini . . . 1661’! That’s what it says along the top. The bottom bit has two lines of writing:

“Lord, if it be thy will and pleasure,

Keep safe for the house of De Winn thy treasure.”

The old ship’s carpenter’s voice shook with excitement. “Ben lad, those are the very words written on the two bits o’ paper I glued together. Here, look, I’ve got it with me!” He took the repaired paper from his back pocket and read out the lines triumphantly:

“Lord, if it be thy will and pleasure,

Keep safe for the house of De Winn thy treasure.”

“Word for word, the same! Well, sink me!”

Ben found himself laughing at his friend’s delight. “Don’t sink just yet, mate. Let’s take a look at them together—the writing seems the same. E.D.W. Ah, Edmund De Winn!”

Alex made a very sensible suggestion. “Your thin paper is almost like tracing paper, Jon. Why don’t you lay it on top of the map and see if the writing matches up?”

Jon passed the thin paper to Amy. “My hand’s beginning to shake with excitement, you do it.”

Brushing her dark hair aside, the girl placed the map flat on the table. With careful precision, she laid the thin paper on top, nudging it gently until the two lines of writing were exactly on top of each other.

“It matches almost perfectly, every dot and loop of Edmund De Winn’s writing. Top and bottom, line for line!”

Alex placed his thumbs at the far side of both papers. “I’ll hold them steady, anybody got a pencil?”

Being a carpenter, Jon invariably had a well-sharpened pencil stub behind his ear, which he produced. He winked at the boy. “Aha! I see your plan, shipmate. You want me to mark the map through the four holes in the tissue paper. Hold her steady, now.”

As the old seaman painstakingly marked the map through the four holes in the thin paper, Ben caught a thought from the Labrador.

“Look at Winnie. There’s a picture of hope, you can see she really believes things are starting to happen.”