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

36

IT WAS SHADY TO THE POINT OF BEING gloomy in the walled courtyard at the back of the police station. The wall enclosing the ancient execution site was over twelve feet high, totally covered by dark green clinging ivy, giving the impression it was built of vegetation and not limestone. It had a heavy timber door for access to the outside, the wood layered with countless coats of dark blue paint. Jon had to work vigorously on the rusty latch and bolts until the door creaked open to admit the two friends.

The feeling of dread Ben had experienced about the station returned, much stronger this time. He had an urge to run a mile from the drear, forbidding place. However, the presence of the girl at his side and the sight of Eileen, the policeman, and the rest of his companions was reassuring. Bracing himself, he strode in over the moss-grown cobbles. Sergeant Patterson was addressing the party.

“Ah’m afraid the history of this auld place is a mystery tae me. When ah first arrived here, I discovered that damp an’ mildew had ruined the auld records. My orders were tae clean up the station, so ah made a grand wee bonfire o’ the soggy documents. Och, ye should’ve seen Constable Judmann’s face. He never spoke tae me for a fortnight. Mr. Mackay, will ye read out yon poem again, sir?”

The lawyer donned his pince-nez and coughed officiously.

“ ’Twould seem at the wicked’s fate

that bell ne’er made a sound,

yet the death knell tolled aloud

for those who danced around.

The carrion crow doth perch above,

light bearers ’neath the ground.”

Braithwaite shrugged apologetically. “So, er, as you see, Sergeant, we’re searching for, hmmm, a gibbet. That is, er, a hanging place, as it were. Hmm, yes, very good.”

Eileen shuddered, rubbing at her upper arms nervously. “Well, I don’t see any sign of where they ’anged folk. Brrr! I feels it, though. Ma would, too, if she were ’ere!”

The dairyman nodded his agreement as he took stock of the courtyard.

An indefinable air of doom did seem to hang over the place. Snails and slugs had left their glistening silver trails over a border of smooth limestone blocks, which separated a garden area running around the walls on three sides. The soil was mainly clay, oozing damp. A few straggling shrubs were struggling to survive, overhung by a sickly laburnum and two purple rhododendrons. The whole atmosphere was hemmed in, dark and claustrophobic, eerie and silent.

The sergeant smiled wanly. “Nae much tae look at, is it? ’Twas over a hundred years since the last man was hanged here. Ah took a glance at the auld records before burnin’ them. All written in curly, auld-fashioned script, an’ very hard tae decipher. Here now, young Somers, d’ye ken how they used tae execute murderers?”

Alex shook his head dumbly, swallowing hard at the thought.

Patterson explained the process, his Scottish brogue severe as he told of the manner in which legal sentence was carried out. “Weel now, a magistrate, priest, sergeant, an’ constable had tae be present, an’ the auld hangman, o’ course. Yon door, the one Jon opened, they let the public in through there tae watch—as an example of what happened tae criminals an’ evildoers. Then the condemned man was brought out in chains, from the holdin’ cell.

“Aye, ’twas a terrible ceremony. The shiverin’ wretch was made tae stand on a box ’neath the gallows tree, while the hangman put the noose ’round his neck. That was when the magistrate read out the death sentence, then he stood aside for the priest tae pray with the condemned man. When the reverend was finished, they usually allowed the man tae say a word tae everyone watchin’. The doomed man’d tell them what a wicked fellow he’d been, an’ how sorry he was tae suffer the penalty for his crimes. He’d then tell everyone tae live good lives an’ profit from the sight of his punishment.

“When all that was over with, the magistrate tipped the hangman a nod, the executioner kicked the box from under the unfortunate wretch, an’ the deed was done!”

Amy clapped both hands over her eyes as if she had witnessed it. “Ugh! It sounds so horrid and cruel!”

Eileen placed an arm about the girl’s shoulders. “Indeed it was, my dear. From what I’ve read, it was quite primitive in small villages . . . they never died instantly. I suppose that’s why the poem says they danced around. Sometimes it took as long as ten minutes before their legs stopped kicking. What a dreadful sight. I can’t think why folks wanted to watch!”

Will clapped his hands, breaking the spell. “Enough of all this! Let’s get searching, friends. Is there a gibbet, tree, or post around here? If there isn’t, we’re stumped!”

37

LOUD BARKING AND SCRATCHING ON the yard door sent Jon hurrying to open it. The big, black Labrador dashed in and straight across to his master. Nobody had noticed the towheaded boy not taking part in the discussion. He had quietly sat on the step of the station house. That was where he now slumped in a faint. The dog licked his master’s face furiously, transmitting thoughts. “Ben, Ben, wake up, pal. Open your eyes. Oh, please!”

Jon sat down on the step and took the boy’s head in his lap. Eileen bustled past and returned with a mug of cold water and a damp cloth, which she applied to the strange boy’s forehead, while Jon patted his cheek lightly, murmuring, “Come on, me old shipmate.”

Ben’s eyelids fluttered, then he came around. Amy seized his hand and rubbed it. “Jon, get him out of here. It’s this place that’s caused him to faint, I know it is!”

Ben pointed to the corner of the garden, right by the angle of the wall. “No . . . wait . . . it’s there!” Struggling from Jon’s grasp, he made his way over to the corner, with the girl still holding his hand. He made a mark in the soil with his heel. “Here . . . dig here!”

Leaning on his dog and holding on to Amy, with Alex hovering anxiously behind, Ben allowed himself to be led outside.

Eileen followed out with the glass of water, and found them seated on the pathside by Delia. “Good ’eavens, you poor lad. What ’appened in there?”

Ben took a sip of water and began feeling better. “I felt dreadful when I walked into the yard, so I sat on the step. Couldn’t trust my legs to hold me up. It was while the sergeant was talking, all that stuff about how they used to hang murderers. I suddenly felt myself drawn to look at the corner of the garden. There was a dark shape there. I found I couldn’t stop staring at it, and the longer I gazed, the clearer it became. . . .”

The younger boy shuddered and cried out shrilly. “What was it, Ben?”

“It was a man, dressed in tattered, olden-day clothes, chains around his hands and ankles. He was hovering about two feet from the ground, neck all on one side, his face horribly twisted, tongue sticking out. He was kicking as if he was dancing a silly jig. The man was looking straight at me. His hands kept twitching and pointing down to the ground beneath his feet . . . I’ve never seen anything so horrible. That must have been when I passed out.”

He stroked Ned, leaning his head against the dog’s neck. “Good old boy, you were the one who rescued me. I felt you coming to me, barking from far off.”

Eileen clapped a hand to her cheek in wonderment. “You felt that, Ben? But how did the dog know?”