Minerva's Voyage (15 page)
“No one in their right mind would be out in this,” I comforted myself. “Except me. So the old man won't be either.” But I couldn't convince myself. Perchance he was a wizard who had caused the thunderstorm himself. He certainly looked like one with his long hair, white beard, and loose robe. He might catch and imprison me in the message tree, or do worse, and no one would ever see me again. I wished a hundred times that I'd listened to Fence.
Finally, after what seemed like hours of limping and worrying, I reached our lean-to, gasping for air. I was scratched and sore and wet through, but more than relieved to be back with no one behind me. I dived headlong into our shelter, falling on top of both Fence and Tempest in my haste. True it is, it was a very small, stinky space.
Tempest yelped. I yelped back.
“Get off. You're soaked. I warned you it was going to rain,” said Fence nastily. He gave me a shove. “And I told the admiral you were lost, as you said I should. But it's too late to tell him you're found, though now, at least, I can sleep without worrying.”
“Don't sleep yet,” I said, rubbing a particularly damp and painful part of myself. “I was wet even before the storm hit. Not that that matters. But I have so much to say to you.”
“In the morning. Not before.” He yawned and was asleep in a minute, his nose making a faint bubbly sound as he breathed. Tempest was soon snoring too. He was lying on his back with his paws in the air, silly beast that he was. I pushed him into Fence, squelched down in as small a space as possible so as not to lie on his tail, and shivered.
I couldn't wait to tell Fence, but come morning there was much else to think about. The rain had stopped, and it was already waxing hot. I crawled forward and poked my head out to get the moldy stink of damp clothing and dog out of my nostrils. But there, right in front of me, stood Proule, a vicious expression on his face. I tried to duck my head back in, but he'd already seen me, and pulled on my hair to prevent me from disappearing. He placed his boot on my hand.
“Here yer are, cockroach, and God blind me if I ain't been searching for yer all the livelong night.” He let go of my hair and stood straight. But he kept his foot on my hand and pressed.
“I'm very sorry, Master Proule, but I found my way home very late indeed, after bumping into a great number of trees,” I said apologetically, staring up at him from my lowly position. I had learned to be very, very polite to Proule, and didn't mean to change my usual behaviour while he was treading on my fingers.
“Winters sent me and some others out after yer, damn him. Like I ain't needing my sleep. That man has ideas above his station.”
“Well, thank you for looking.” As it happened, I was very glad he hadn't found me, or I might not be here now, very uncomfortably half in and half out of the lean-to. I felt at rather a disadvantage, with him standing there so tall and sweaty, and me trapped on my hands and knees, unable to either go all the way out or all the way back in.
“I'll be watching yer, cockroach. Don't disappear again. I want yer where I can see yer.” He took his boot off my fingers and placed it on my neck.
“No, sir. Yes, sir,” I muttered, unable to move.
There was a long pause. Finally, he removed his foot. “Get along with yer,” he hissed, and I took this as a cue to withdraw my hand and duck my head back into the lean-to.
After a few minutes I poked it out again, just to make sure he'd gone. He had. Or at least, he wasn't within punch
ing or kicking or smelling distance. I was beginning to understand better why tortoises vanished into their shells. True it is, I was feeling a bit like one myself, my head com
ing and going as it did. I wondered if tortoises ever got dizzy.
Fence and I were standing a little way off from the camp, hidden by trees. I was explaining what I'd seen the night before in the way of verses, cobwebs, old men, and lightning, trembling at the memory of it all, when we heard a clamour nearby.
It was Proule and Mary Finney. “You stole my shillings,” she screamed. “All I had in the world for my old age.” She clutched his shoulder and began to drag him towards camp.
Proule tried to disengage himself. He couldn't get her hand off him so he punched her twice in the belly. She doubled over.
“Listen good, or yer won't
make
it to old age. I ain't even seen yer stupid shillings, woman. And how did
yer
come by them? Huh?”
“You have 'em, I know it,” she gasped. “Buyers said he won two shillings off you last night, and you're usually skint.”
“He's a liar. Those shillings I give him are mine and always were,” Proule yelled. “Now shut yer yap or I'll give yer a hiding so bad yer'll crawl into a hole and croak there.” He hit her again, and she crumpled. Certainly Proule seemed in a terrible mood this day, mayhap from lack of sleep. But that was no reason to hit a woman, even a poor excuse for one like Mary Finney. Besides, she was the only woman we had on the island, and she did the cooking. Fence ran to her, and after a moment's hesitation I followed.
“Go away, Master Proule, you bad, evil man,” yelled Fence, shaking his fist and displaying his reckless â and to my mind rather stupid â courage.
“Why, yerâ¦.”
“Go away or I'll tell the admiral,” Fence shouted, waving his arms at Proule and then throwing them around Mary, who was still winded.
“And I'll see that he does,” mumbled I at last, finding my tongue. I hated Mary, but I hated Proule more. And I had to support Fence, who had supported me often enough. If that meant I might possibly worm my way into Mary's graces, so much the better. I had enemies enough and to spare. And I couldn't help but remember the tall tree's message.
Tempest rushed out of nowhere, as dogs are apt to do, on his way to somewhere else. And he bit Proule on the knee. This was no doubt at least in part revenge for past crimes.
“Hear, hear, what's going on?” cried Beerson, running up to us.
“Nothing. There ain't nothing going on,” yelled Proule, swatting at Tempest. “That blinking cur bit the hell out of my knee.”
“Hear, hear,” Beerson said again, kicking the dog as he clearly didn't know which of the two, man or beast, was the miscreant.
Tempest removed his canines from Proule's flesh and growled mightily at Beerson. But he knew when he was outnumbered. He left fast, tail between his legs.
“He stole my shillings,” groaned Mary, “the dung-faced thief. They were in the pouch attached to my skirt.
I've carried some of them all the way here from England and earned the others on the voyage. Rightly earned by an honest woman, washing clothes and cooking for the crew.
For my old age, y'know. Now they're gone and the pouch is gone too.”
“There, there, mistress. We'll track the mongrel down and recover the pouch. Mayhap it's in its mouth.”
“I ain't talking about the the dog, you dimwit. I'm talking about Proule.”
“Sorry mistress.” Beerson looked around for the culprit but the culprit had vanished.
“He stole my money
and
he socked me in the belly. Not once but thrice. These boys, though it pains me to say it, ain't involved.” She paused before adding grudgingly, “They likely saved me from a worse roughing up.”
“Don't you worry. I shall tell the admiral,” said Beerson.
“He'll get to the bottom of it one way or another, praise the Lord.”
As Beerson helped Mary back to camp, with us follow
ing, she turned to me. “I've misjudged you, Starveling, and though I ain't exackly sorry for it, as you're such a rude little parasite, I'll be sure to try an' treat you better in future.”
As this seemed both a compliment and an insult bound up together, I just nodded, not sure how to reply.
We were soon at Winters' hut.
“We have no dungeon here. Take two crewmen and fetch Proule. Tie him to a tree so he cannot escape,” Win
ters ordered Beerson, when he heard. “Let me think on this matter further, for he has performed other outrages lately. I will hear evidence, and we shall have a proper trial.”
“When shall we have it, sir?” asked Beerson.
“In three days, to give us time to prepare.”
“That means we can still go to the maze tomorrow night, at the time of the full moon,” Fence whispered to me.
“Huh? I'm not so sure that's a good idea.” The very thought of the labyrinth now filled me with dismay.
Winters was still talking: “That is my ruling, Beerson.
Find Proule immediately, and keep him safely bound until Friday.” I was suddenly glad to be here on this island with the admiral, and not back on the other one with that lunatic Boors, who would certainly forget who Proule was less than a half hour into the trial, if not before.
“Proule can't hurt you now,” Fence said, after they had caught him. We were friends again and I grinned at him. Later I silently ticked off a list of the villains who according to the message tree might run me to ground. There were none left! Scratcher was stuck on the other island; Mary was reformed; and Proule was securely tied to the trunk of a tall palm tree.
If my head hadn't still pounded and thumped every now and then, I would have cantered for joy. Later I realized that who was absent could in certain circumstances become present, and that who was tied could come untied. I shivered at the thought. Also, those who were reformed could fall back into their old ways, but somehow I didn't believe that would happen with Mary. She knew where her bread was buttered, as I had said once or twice of myself. As Scratcher had said of me. Not that there was any butter here. Nor bread neither.
C
HAPTER 27
S
MALL
B
EER AND
M
INCE
P
IES
I hadn't wanted to retrace my steps along the path. But the most interesting thing about my friendship with Fence was that when one of us wanted to back out of an adventure, the other was usually hot to be on its trail. I had been full of excitement and vigor two days before, when Fence had trotted away with his pail bumping against his knee. Now it was his turn to urge me on, as we sat in the lean-to. “Just think, Robin, we have come this far. We've solved the verses and ciphers â at least for the most part. You've found the entrance to the labyrinth itself. Not much left. Only the cave and the crown to discover. The royal treasure itself. We can't play the weasel now.”
“Play the weasel?”
“Give up.”
“You're very brave all of a sudden,” I said sourly.
“I had a think that time you went on by yourself, and I realized it was right cowardly of me to go back.”
“I don't blame you for that. True it is, I should have returned with you. But I didn't. Still, things being as they are, you don't know what frighted me. You haven't seen the old wizardy man with the white beard. You haven't seen the many-branched lightning or heard the thunder crash like cymbals. You haven't seen the message tree or branches alight with glittering cobwebs or the spiders blazing within or ⦠uhâ¦.” I ran out of breath and words at the same time.
“You described them to me right well, as you're now doing all over again. And remember, we defeated Proule, who's a real devil. The men caught and bound him. I reckon we could stand against anyone or anything, as long as we stick together. And mayhap we could take Tempest with us. He can be brave as a lion too.”
Tempest yawned.
“Besides,” continued Fence, “we don't even know if the old man you spoke of is evil.”
“True.” But I still hadn't wanted to go.
That night, though, Peter Fence woke me from a dream of mince pies and small beer, which I'd stolen off the barrows often enough in the past. Bleary with sleep, but with wickedness rising somewhat fitfully within me, as well as a sense of loyalty to Fence, I agreed we should find the labyrinth again. This time, perchance, we would journey through it to the bright or bitter end.
We were at the end of the pathway, having turned around and doubled back several times to ensure no one was following us. The dog appeared and disappeared, appeared and disapeared again, in and around trees and shrubs and tall feathery ferns. At one point he must have gone for a swim, because he came back soaked and shook himself all over us. Phew. There is nothing quite like the smell of wet dog, unless it's dead dog. My nose wrinkled in disgust.
It was now about midnight, the full moon shining hard upon the path, turning its sand grains into tiny gems. The stars, too, winked like diamonds. There were hundreds upon hundreds of them. It was almost as bright as daylight. The scene before us was an exact reflection of the cipher, except spider webs shone golden green, showing the way into the labyrinth. No thunder, no lightning, not a single message on a single tree, and not a cloud in the sky. The old man hadn't shown his face either this night. I took a deep breath. Suddenly, the second verse of the emblem, which I'd thought lost forever, came back to me, and I recited it to Fence: