[Flying Dutchman 01] - Castaways of the Flying Dutchman (21 page)

Jon indicated the sampler. “Thankee, sir, you can keep this for your library archives, we'll make do with Amy's translation.”

The librarian was once again his former self. “Er, quite, er, that is, thank you, Mr., er, yes, very good!”

BACK AT THE ALMSHOUSE ALL TIDYing
up was forgotten as they sat around the big oblong table and studied the poem from the sampler and Amy read out the first line slowly. “ ‘Take the Commandments paces west.' ”

Jon shrugged his shoulders. “What's a Commandments pace?”

Ben had guessed, but he let Alex answer. “Must mean ten paces, because . . . there's ten Commandments!”

“True, true.” The old man nodded approvingly.

Ben winked at Alex. “Well done, pal.”

“ ‘Away from the bless'd naming place,' ” Amy went on.

Alex looked disappointed. “That's not so easy.”

Amy reasoned, “Whatever a bless'd naming place is, we've got to take ten paces away from it. Naming place, naming place. Any ideas, Ben?”

Ben looked stumped. “Naming place, let me see. . . . Does it mean the name of a place, or a name like mine and yours, Amy, Alex, Jon—”

The old ship's carpenter interrupted. “I remember when I was young, I hated my full title, Jonathan. Though my ma used to say, ‘Jonathan you were christened and Jonathan you shall stay.' You can't change your christening name!”

Ned had settled down for his afternoon nap beneath the table, when Ben disturbed him by banging on the table as he gritted out in frustration, “The bless'd naming place, where is it?”

Recognition hit Alex like a slap in the face. “Christening! Naming place! It's where they baptize babies!”

Amy whooped delightedly and hugged him. “What a clever brother I've got, he's a genius!”

Crimson-faced, Alex shrugged off his sister's embrace. “Where was the naming place here, Jon, d'you know?”

Ned flashed his master a thought. “Right under this table, I think. Feels as if this bumpy chunk of stone's the base of something bigger that was broken off.” The Labrador shuffled lazily out to find another napping spot, remarking, “Of course, I might be wrong, but it's worth a try.”

Ben mentally answered his friend's idea. “Thanks, pal. Now let's see if I can discover it without giving away our secret.”

Jon was stroking his beard, looking this way and that.

“Hmm, baptismal font, every church has one, though I've never thought of a font being in this old place. Hmmm.”

Ben patted Ned as he lumbered by. He spoke aloud to the dog, so his three friends could hear.

“What's the matter, old boy, not comfy enough under there? Let's take a look.” Dropping on all fours, he crawled under the table. “Hahah!”

At the sound of Ben's exclamation, Amy crouched and stared under the table at him. “Something there?”

“I think so, it's a sort of raised square bit with a broken part sticking out the middle. Will that be it, Jon?”

The old ship's carpenter nodded to Alex. “It may be. It may be. Let's move this table. You take one side. Lass, take care of the two bricks under the leg. Stay there, Ben!”

The table was moved, the boy stayed on all fours by the remnants of the baptismal font, looking up at Amy for approval. Instead, it was the Labrador who received her hug.

“Good old Ned, it was due to you we found it, good boy!”

If a dog could ever smirk, Ned did. He flicked his tail toward his master. “Sorry about that, pal, but credit where it's due, y'know. Nothing like a hug from a pretty girl, eh!”

But Ben was more intent on solving the mystery than bantering with Ned. He watched Jon trace the graven lettering around the limestone base with his clasp knife blade, reading aloud. “ ‘In nomine Patris, et filius, et spiritus sanctus.' In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit—I remember that from Sunday Mass when I was a lad. This is it. This stub is probably the column of the font basin. How did the rhyme read, boy?”

Alex walked over and stood by the font base. “Ten paces west from here. Anyone got a compass?” He met Jon's slightly disapproving stare blankly. “How'r we supposed to know which way west is?”

The old ship's carpenter smiled. “I can tell you've never been to sea. Show him, lad.”

Ben faced the open rear windows, warm with afternoon sunlight. “West's where the sun sets, over there.”

Alex began measuring out ten paces solemnly in the right direction. Amy sat down on the floor beside her strange friend, and whispered to him. “Jon said that as if you'd been to sea. Have you, Ben?”

He tried to shrug off the question. “The sea? Oh, for just a little bit, nothing much really.”

She stared curiously into his clouded blue eyes. It started to race through his mind again—how could he tell her: wind, waves, storm, the world of waters. A dumb boy and a half-starved dog, crouching in the galley of the
Flying Dutchman,
with a captain (Vanderdecken) roaring oaths at the heavens as he tried battling his way around Cape Horn in the teeth of winter gales. Murder on the high seas, an angel dropping to the deck, the numbing shock of being plunged into an icy green maelstrom of ocean.

He was wrenched back to reality by Jon clapping a huge arm about his shoulders. “Are you all right, lad?”

The feeling ebbed. He shook himself. “Er, yes, mate, I'm fine. Bumped my head on that table when you moved it. I'll be all right, it's nothing.”

His dog had caught Ben's thoughts. To distract Amy he leapt on her and began licking her face.

She tried laughingly to push him off. “Hahaha, what've I done to deserve all this? Get off me, you great silly dog!”

Ben shook a finger at her as he held Ned's collar. “Don't blame him, Amy, you started all the hugging off!”

Her brother called, “I'm about three feet from the window here. That's ten paces. What happens now?”

The old ship's carpenter took over. He paced out ten steps, going past Alex to arrive one pace outside the open windows in the churchyard. “Your pace was shorter than the person who wrote the rhyme, mate. Mine is slightly longer, I think. But it's somewhere about here.”

They joined him outside in the late afternoon. Amy brought the translation with her, she read the next part.

Alex winked at Jon. “That's got nothing to do with going to sea, I'll bet. Come on, mate, let's see you solve this one!” A real friendship was beginning to show between the hesitant boy and the old carpenter.

Jon ruffled Alex's hair as he looked around. “Give me a bit of time, matey, we'll crack it!”

The Labrador snickered as he passed Ben a thought. “The heavenly twins, that could be us!”

The boy struggled to hide a grin. “Heavenly? Not you, mate. Now stop fooling about and help us.”

Amy sat on the windowsill. “Heavenly twins. . . . Maybe it's those two stars, you know, the sign of Gemini. They're always called the heavenly twins!”

Jon gazed up at the sky, thinking aloud. “Only trouble with that is, it's daylight. How could the heavenly twins watch Sol's dying face?”

The younger boy plucked a blade of grass and chewed on one end. “What's a Sol?”

Ben had heard the expression before, so he explained. “Sol is a name given to the sun. The sun sinks in the west, you've heard the expression. The dying sun sank into the west. I've read it in books many a time.”

Amy nodded. “Ben's right. So what we're looking for are two things. Heavenly twins standing ever gazing at Sol's dying face.” She walked out into the churchyard, grass rustling against her long skirt. Ben followed her. Together they stopped, about halfway across, and leaned on one of the many crooked moss-grown gravestones, staring at the back of the almshouse. Ben saw the twins straight away, but he waited a moment until Amy caught sight of them. She leapt upright, pointing. “There they are, underneath the middle window: the twins!”

Two gracefully fluted columns of limestone formed the window edges. Beneath them, as if supporting the columns with their wings, stood two carved stone angels, facing outward, their hands joined in prayer, faces looking upward to heaven. Amy's voice caused a prowling jackdaw to take flight as she shouted shrilly, “The heavenly twins standing ever gazing at Sol's dying face!”

Ned looked accusingly at his master, passing a thought. “You knew that, didn't you? Before Amy called out, you'd guessed where the angels were. I must say, though, having seen a real angel, those two don't bear much resemblance, huh!”

Ben raised his eyebrows. “Don't be hard on the stone-mason, Ned, he'd probably never seen an angel.”

“‘Turn as a third Gospelmaker would to the house named for the rock,' ” Alex read out loud. “Now I'm really stumped. I don't know any Gospelmakers.”

The old carpenter drew a silver watch from his pocket and consulted it. “Well, we can all go home and think about it. You'll be wanted for dinner soon. I say we meet back here tomorrow, same time?”

Alex grumbled a bit; he was certain they were on to something, but Jon was right. Ben and his dog stood with Amy on the other side of the wall, waiting while her brother bid his newfound friend good-bye. Alex held forth his hand.

“See you tomorrow morning, then, Jon. Don't worry, we'll solve it. We're doing something to save Mrs. Winn's village for her. Not like some of the dead and alive types around Chapelvale, eh, mate?”

Alex's hand vanished inside the old carpenter's huge grasp. Jon's eyes crinkled into a fond smile as he shook it. “Aye, mate, we won't go wrong with you helpin' us!”

 

 

Dinner had already been served at the Smithers house. Maud Bowe retired outside to the garden, where she sat, perusing the illustrated pages of a book entitled
Fashion Hints for the Lady about Town.
Though she gave the impression of enjoying her country stay, Maud was longing to be back among her friends in London. Young Wilf slouched out into the garden, a heavy bandage and splint on his right arm, which was resting in a sling. He scowled at Maud and slumped down into a cast-iron chair, drumming his heels hard against the legs. Maud glanced over the top of her book at him.

“Wilfred, do you have to make that din?”

He drummed his steel-tipped boot heels louder, staring defiantly at her. “Name's not Wilfred, it's Wilf!”

Closing the book, she stared primly at him. “All right, then. Will you cease that infernal noise, Wilf?”

He stopped, smiled maliciously, and started drumming again. “I can do what I like 'round here. I live here, you don't!”

“I'll tell your father!”

“Go and tell him, I don't care.”

Maud massaged the side of her forehead daintily. The noise was really getting to her. Finally she stamped her foot.

“Why don't you go up to your room? I thought you were supposed to be injured. You should be in bed!”

Wilf was enjoying tormenting her and beat his heels faster. “Mother says I need fresh air. You go up to
your
room!”

Maud knew she had lost the battle of wills. Before she retired to her room, she stood over Wilf, hissing nastily. “Stupid village clod! Wilfred, Wilfred, Wilfred!”

Wilf continued drumming, grinning smugly at her.

“Miss Maudy toffee nose!”

She stalked off without another word, her thoughts racing. Maybe when her father's toughs came up from London, she could find a reason for one of them to give Wilf an accidental cuff across the ear. They were good at things like that.

When she had gone, Wilf produced pencil and paper from his sling and began laboriously writing, trying to use his left hand. It was useless, Regina would write for him. This time he would fix Ben for good, without violence or fighting. He sat waiting for his gang to visit.