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

The boys ran off, with Will, the shipman, and the lawyer in their wake, calling, “Hi, wait for us!”

43

WILL’S MA HAD TAKEN LITTLE WILLUM to bed with her, in Winnie’s room on the ground floor. On the sofa formerly occupied by little Willum, Mr. Braithwaite lay, wrapped in his gown, overcome by slumber. Hetty took the plaid traveling rug and covered him over with it. “Good old feller, it was him who thought of lightin’ the candle. That got us started.”

Mackay bobbed his head in a small bow. “But I’ve no doubt he couldn’t have got much further without the help of you ladies, excellent work all ’round!”

Amy, Eileen, and Mrs. Winn were far too excited to contemplate sleep. They showed the results of their labors to the menfolk, who told them of the capture of the London toughs.

The blue-eyed boy took a look at the writing, then at the old map with the four dots upon it. “It’s marked here as Eastpath, where’s that?”

Eileen blushed in the lamplight. “Oh, ’tis a pretty little lane. Will an’ me used to walk there, when we was a-courtin’.”

Mr. Mackay knew a bit more about the area. “Ah yes, Eastpath. Now, correct me if I’m wrong, Jon, but isn’t that the old stagecoach way, to the east of the village square?”

Jon confirmed the solicitor’s words. “Aye, that’s the place,” the old shipmate said. “Once the new road was built from Hadford, for the waggoners to use, the path fell into disrepair. Of course, that’d be nigh on a hundred years back. Eastpath will be so overgrown we’ll have a right old job tryin’ to locate a milestone.”

Will shook his head. “Oh no we won’t, friend. I recall trippin’ over that stone an’ sprainin’ my ankle one evening as I was runnin’.”

Amy chuckled. “Were you chasing after Eileen?”

Will’s big, jolly wife gave Amy a nudge, almost knocking her over. “No, it were I who was chasin’ after Will!”

Mr. Mackay coughed officiously to dispel any more talk of the romantic escapade. “Harrumph! Yes, well, we’re going to need spades, lanterns, and so on. Shall we get started? Our time is short now.”

The black Labrador passed a thought to his master, who was sitting stroking him. “Pity the poor girl who ever tries to chase that dry old stick.”

The gig was loaded up, ready to go. Ben stood at the door with Mrs. Winn. The old lady looked very tired, he hugged her affectionately. “You go back inside and have a nice nap, Miz Winn. Leave this to us. I promise we’ll come back here with anything we find, straightaway!”

She kissed Ben’s cheek. “I’ll have breakfast ready for you.”

The dog was obviously holding a mental conversation with Horatio. As they climbed into the gig, Ben eyed the Labrador. “What was going on between you two, Ned?”

The black Labrador laid his chin on Ben’s lap. “I told him to keep an eye on things while we were gone.”

The boy scratched the back of his dog’s ear. “I suppose he gave you a lot of nonsense about sardines, butterflies, and mice. Poor old Horatio, he’s got a bit of a one-track mind.”

Ned shook his head. “No. Surprisingly, he said he’d watch over the house and if anything happened he’d track us down and let me know. I think that Horatio’s finally come to his senses. Just in time—can’t go around with a headful of sardines and butterflies all his life!”

Delia trotted dutifully through the darkened village, passing the almshouse and heading up the overgrown path. It became very dim, overshadowed by an archway of overhanging trees. Ben was imagining what it had been like all those years ago: stagecoaches laden with passengers and mail, carriages bearing merchants and gentry, carts laden with produce. All of them fearful to be traveling such a lonely and shaded path, where highwaymen and thieves might lurk. The strange boy glimpsed the crescent moon, struggling to cast its light through the leafy canopy. Unwittingly his mind wandered back to the Flying Dutchman , Vanderdecken, and his villainous crew—they would probably have reveled in the highwayman’s trade.

Amy bumped against him as the gig lurched to a stop. “Don’t go to sleep, Ben, I think we’ve arrived at the place!”

Three lanterns had been brought, the seaman lit them and gave one to each of his young friends. “Here y’are, mates. You’re in charge of lightin’ and the maps. Stay close to ’em, Mr. Mackay. Me an’ Will can do the digging. Where is Will?”

Eileen had unharnessed Delia from the shafts, allowing her to rest and crop the grass. She pointed. “Over yonder, t’other side o’ the path, with Hetty.” She raised her voice. “You found it yet, Will?”

The dairyman called back to his wife. “No, not yet, my dear. Ouch!”

The maidservant Hetty could be heard giggling. “You found it now, Will. Tripped straight over it. Like as not sprained your ankle again!”

Will was thankful the darkness hid his furious blushes. “No harm done. Bring some light over here, you young ’uns!”

A massive ancient oak tree overshadowed the path at that point. Beneath the shade of its outstretched limbs a half-buried milestone had been standing for centuries. Ben held his lamp close to the stone. “This is it! Look. ‘Chapelvale One Mile.’ See, beneath the letter M of Mile, there’s the arrow pointing downward!”

The Labrador passed him an observant thought. “Or is it supposed to point outward, like the one on the tree at the ruined smithy?”

Ben looked up at the lawyer. “What d’you think, sir, do we dig down, or is the arrow meant to point outward to another spot?”

Adjusting the glasses on his nose, the solicitor peered at the stone. “D’you know, I’m not too sure. What’s your opinion, Jon?”

The old seaman put down the spades and pickax he had brought from the gig. “Who’s to say, sir. There ain’t no clues tellin’ us what number o’ paces we should tread if we were to dig in another place.”

Hetty settled the argument by taking a penny from her apron pocket. “Trust to luck, sez I. Toss a coin. Tails, we digs down, ’eads, we digs somewheres outward from the arrow.” She spun the coin, Alex held the lantern over where it fell. “It’s tails!”

44

MORNING SUNLIGHT FILTERED INTO the bedroom as Maud Bowe sat at the bedroom mirror, inserting a last clip into her elaborate hairdo. The Smithers household had grown peaceful and quiet since that young horror Wilfred had departed for boarding school, accompanied by his mother. Mrs. Smithers would take up lodgings close to the school, until her dear Wilfred was settled in, as she put it.

Maud smiled at her reflection in the mirror. Today was the last day she would have to spend in Chapelvale, dreadful rural backwater!

“Hetty! Hetty! Where the blazes are you, I want my breakfast!”

Arriving downstairs, Maud found Mr. Smithers red-faced and irate. “Ah, Miss Bowe, have you seen the maid, is she dusting upstairs?”

Maud swished by him on her way to the kitchen. “No, she’s not, though if she’d been anywhere within a mile of the house, she’d have heard you bellowing, sir!”

Smithers followed her out, watching as she put the kettle on and buttered a slice of brown bread. “What’re you doing, miss?”

Cutting the bread into triangles, she placed it on a plate. “Making my breakfast, obviously. It must be clear, even to you, that Hetty can’t come for some reason.”