Jackdaw (14 page)

A small boat, its main mast down and red sails in a crumpled heap, rocked violently with the heaving, thundering waves. It was trying to make the channel into the harbour, Ben could see that much, but with only the small front sail up, he had no idea if that would be possible. A glance at the grim faces around him suggested it wasn’t.

“Is it—” Bethany shouted, her words whipped away by the gale.

“
Dainty Jane
,” someone roared, without looking round, and Bethany’s shriek rose high on the wind. “Look!” A figure was moving on the deck, struggling with the foremast. “That’s Harry. Where’s Aaron?”

“Can they swim for it?” Ben asked aloud, and got a pitying shake of the head from a neighbour. It hadn’t seemed likely, with the plunging waves breaking over dark rocks on both sides of the harbour, but he could see no other way. He glanced round at Jonah, who stared out at the sea, eyes wide and strained. Ben wondered if there was something, anything he could do, and dismissed the idea. If Jonah could quell this storm, he would be a god.

A general cry went up. Ben whipped round, just in time to see the figure fall from the deck of the
Dainty Jane
, over the side. A flash of lightning illuminated the scene, freezing everything in place: the boat, rolled at a terrible angle, the waves curled like a great cat’s claw to strike, the man hitting the dark thrashing water, flailing.

“Oh, damn,” Jonah yelled, as the thunder crashed down. “I have to go, Ben.”

Ben turned. Jonah was stripped to his shirtsleeves, lashed by rain, oilskins in a heap at his feet. He had one end of a massive coil of rope seized in both hands. Ben grabbed his arm. “No!”

Jonah wrenched himself free, starting to shout something, but Ben was already reaching for the nearest fisherman with his free hand. George Tapley, Aaron’s big, slow older brother. “Tie it round his waist!” he bellowed over the storm, indicating the rope. “You need your hands, Jay!”

“What the—” George began, and both Jonah and Ben roared at him, “Tie the bloody rope!”

“Are you mad?” Dora cried. Her face was wet with rain and tears. “Nobody can swim that.”

“He’s not going to swim,” Ben said. This was it, this was discovery, but it had to be done, and they were caught anyway. Not that Jonah had known that, and Ben felt a wild pride rising in his erratic lover. “Good luck, Jay. Go.”

Jonah grinned crazily back, teeth already chattering, eyes blazing unnaturally blue. “I tell you what!” He was shouting to be heard, a whoop in his voice. “This wind!
This
is for
walking
!”

He leapt into the storm.

Dora screamed, long and shrill. It was the only human sound for endless seconds, as everybody saw Jonah jump up from the edge of the harbour. He was thrown wildly sideways by the wind, and scrabbled upwards as if climbing a wall, staggering up till he’d gained a gap of ten feet above the crashing waves, fighting his way to the
Dainty Jane
. The coil of rope was already beginning to run low by the time the babble of incredulity began.

“Help me hold him!” Ben shouted. He thought nobody had heard, then there was a rush of movement, hard competent hands seizing the rope, and Ben’s waist. Ben hung on to the thick, sodden rope that tore at his palms, eyes fixed on Jonah as he was whipped around like a kite.

“How the devil—”

“Bucca…”

“’E’s made it!”

Jonah was at the
Dainty Jane
’s plunging side. Ben couldn’t see the fisherman struggling in the water any longer, but Jonah’s form came briefly to rest on the ship’s side, peering down for an instant, before he dropped into the sea.

“Oh God.” It was Dora, next to Ben, one of the dozen of them gripping the rope, braced and desperately holding on. It was pulled very tight now. “Did he fall? Can he swim?”

“He never falls,” Ben said, wishing it were true. “He never falls.”

“
Can he swim?
” she shrieked.

“I don’t know!” Ben screamed back. They all lurched as the taut rope slackened horribly. “
Jonah!
”

Lightning seared the air bright, and in that second, Jonah erupted from the water, arms out, an angel without wings. He crashed back down, splashed vertically up again, and this time hauled a form up with him. There was a general cry.

“Harry! ’E got Harry! Pull!”

Jonah had looped the rope round Harry, under his arms. He was behind the fisherman, thrashing to keep them both above the waves. The ropemen on the shore pulled furiously, hauling with all their strength in defiance of the sea and waves and gravity.

“’Ware rocks!” someone bellowed, fruitlessly because there was no way it would carry over the storm, but Jonah was already dragging Harry sideways, around, and into the calmer waters.

“Heave! Heave!” A whole crowd on the jetty now, calling, yelling or just gaping.

Their strange cargo lurched towards them, the rope-holders moving down the quay to keep level in an awkwardly coordinated group. Jonah splashed and struggled in the water as he forged forward, pushing and pulling Harry in, and then half a dozen men and women were extending hands to drag the sodden men in to safety. Harry rolled over, gasping. Jonah flopped over the stone after him, retching seawater.

“Jonah.” Ben grabbed for him.

“Aaron?” Bethany shoved him out of the way, eyes wide with fear. “Did you see Aaron? Jonah, where’s my Aaron?”

Jonah tried to speak and hiccupped up another mouthful of salt water. Bill Penrose pushed a thick green bottle that reeked of raw spirits into his hand. He took two violent gulps, and a deep breath. “On the boat. Not moving. Unconscious. Or—”

“Get him.” Bethany’s clutching hands closed round Jonah’s sodden, shuddering shoulders. “You have to get Aaron!”

And there it was. Jonah stood revealed, and everyone wanted him. “No,” Ben said, fiercely. “No, he doesn’t. Look at him!”

Bethany looked up, furious, but Jonah flapped a hand for silence. He assessed the bottle, tilted his head back and drained the lot.

“Bloody hell,” said Bill.

“Right,” Jonah rasped. He turned to gaze at the harbour mouth and the tossing boat. “Let’s see.”

“Christ,” Ben said. “You can’t do that again. Can you?”

“Not a chance.” Jonah’s eyes narrowed. He gave a quick nod and held out a hand to Ben. Ben grasped it and pulled, feeling Jonah’s tight clasp, the closest they could come to a public embrace, as he hauled him to his feet. Jonah’s grin was barely sane as he stood. “I’ll come back, Ben. Promise. Now…watch this.”

He leapt, scrabbling up to the roof of the fish-packing shed. Ben stared, along with the others, Bethany gripping his arm now, and they all flinched together as Jonah sprang out, above them, over to the harbour, heading for the
Dainty Jane
.

Ben could only watch, numb except for the icy pain where the rough rope had torn his hands, as the cries of others narrated Jonah’s movements.

“The rocks—”

“’E’s over ’em. Well over.”

“Lord preserve us. What is he?”

“He’s made the
Jane
! He’s on deck…”

“Aaron!” That was Bethany, Dora and Aaron’s mother, all three crying out together, as the boat rocked violently. Jonah grabbed for a slumped, dark shape on the deck to stop him tumbling over the gunwale, Aaron didn’t seem to be moving.

“Bad, vurry bad,” George Tapley muttered.

“What’s he doing?” Dora demanded. “What’s he
doing
?”

That was a damned good question. Jonah stood straight now, on the
Dainty Jane
’s deck, legs braced, poised and waiting. Ben had no idea what for.

There was a tiny lull in the wind, as if it was gathering strength, and as the next blast whipped down, Jonah flung his arms wide. A terrible high-pitched note cut through the gale, as if the wind had been suddenly channelled into a tiny space. The watchers on the quay cried out or put their hands to their ears, and the tortured wind screamed, and the
Dainty Jane
leapt forward. It had only the one ragged sail, no steersman, but for just a second the wind seemed to do exactly what the boat needed, and it skidded forward, safely into harbour, veering to the quayside.

There was a roar from the little crowd, triumph and incredulity combined. Bethany was wrapped in her mother’s arms, sobbing her relief, Aaron’s mother clutching both of them. Ben glanced at them, back at the
Dainty Jane
, now bobbing and directionless, and then at Jonah, who stood, staring forward, swaying slightly.

“What’s ’e up to?” asked Bill Penrose. “Hoi! Aleman!”

Jonah stood a second longer. His knees buckled with horrible suddenness and he dropped as though he’d been shot.

“Jonah?” Ben croaked. “Jonah! Get that boat in!”

The fishermen were already at work, hauling the battered boat to the quay and tying her up. Strong hands brought Aaron’s limp body to safety, as Ben waited, twitching with impatience, and finally they dragged Jonah out to lie on the stone quay.

His eyes were shut, mouth open, face pallid. Blood leaked from his nose and ears and ran in droplets from his closed eyelids over his cheeks like tears, washed away by the rain. He wasn’t moving.

“Jonah?” Ben was kneeling by his side, grabbing his hand. “Are you all right? What did you do, you damned irresponsible idiot? Jay? Oh sweet Jesus, talk to me.”

Jonah lay still. Ben felt panic thicken in his throat. He wanted to check Jonah’s pulse, but he’d forgotten how, forgotten everything except his lover, unnaturally still, with bleeding eyes. Rain and salt spray lashed his face.

Dora was hovering by him. “We’ll get him inside.” She sounded too gentle.

“He’s fine. He’ll be fine. Jonah!” Ben’s fingers dug into the hand he held, and at last, wonderfully, Jonah’s eyelids flickered and opened. His eyes were filmed with blood, but they focused on Ben, and he managed a half smile.

“Did it,” he whispered, and his head lolled back.

Dora shook his shoulder, speaking more harshly. “
Now
. You come up, you great gawk. It’s wet out here.”

They ended up in the parlour of the Penrose house, along with half the village, it seemed, crowding in. Aaron, head black and sticky with blood, arm hanging at a bad angle, had been taken to his mother’s home, Bethany with him. Harry Penrose sat by the fire, wrapped in blankets, as did Jonah on the other side.

Jonah was hunched on himself, his hair in black and white chaos, eyes wide and wary, still a little red. He was sniffing, but the blood had been scrubbed away, and so had his earlier glee. Everyone was watching him. He looked hunted already.

“How are your eyes?” Ben asked.

“Fine. I overdid it, that’s all. Tried to do more than I could.”

“And it worked.” Ben squeezed his shoulder.

“As far as that goes. I’m an idiot, Ben. I didn’t even
think
about us. They’ll hate me now. We’ll have to run again.”

“So we’ll run.” Ben would tell him about Dora later. “You did the right thing.”

“I didn’t do it because it was right.” Jonah wiped away a trickle of seawater that had dripped from his hair. “I like Harry and Aaron, and I didn’t want Bethany to be sad. That’s all.”

“That sounds as right as it can be. And I’m so proud of you I could shout it to the sky.”

“Really? Oh. Well.” Jonah shot a quick smile up at him, then turned his nervous gaze back to the whispering villagers who crammed into the room and stared at him. “They’re still not going to like it.”

“Are they not.” Ben stood, shoving back his stool with a forceful scrape, hand still on Jonah’s shoulder. Every eye turned to him as silence fell.

They were fearful now, but Ben knew about fear in a crowd. It all too quickly became anger, and Jonah was in no shape to defend himself from a mob. That meant it was Ben’s job.

“Right,” he said, in his most authoritative tone. “Who’s got something to say?”

There was a silence, broken at last by Bill Penrose. “So. New aleman flies, do ’e?”

“What is he?” someone demanded, and there was a clamour.
Bucca
stood out from the flying words, and
spirit
, and
witch
. Ben slammed his hand against the wall, loud thumps demanding silence, until everyone looked at him.

“He’s not a spirit or a bucca.” He kept his other hand on Jonah’s shoulder, feeling the tension. “He’s not a freak or a demon. He’s a man like you, except that he’s got a gift.”

“Magic,” someone said.

“If you like, but what he does is walk on air. He doesn’t curse livestock or spoil milk or whatever else you may be thinking, and I won’t hear any nonsense about that. That’s the first thing. The second thing is, it’s
his
talent to use. Nobody else’s. So if any man here thinks there’s something wrong with Jonah, or if any of you are thinking how you can use him, or if any of you don’t want us here, for any reason at all”—he met Dora’s eye, challenging—“you say so right now and we’ll be gone, as soon as Jonah’s slept off saving Harry Penrose’s life, and please God Aaron Tapley’s too.” He wondered what more to say and fell back on the old formula, so often used to a rowdy crowd on the edge. “We aren’t here to cause trouble, but I won’t have any trouble caused.”

“All very well,” grunted Bill Penrose into the silence that followed. “Fine words. But I tell you this.” He levered himself up, and glowered at his neighbours, calloused hands clenching. “That there bucca saved my brother, and his boy, and what’s more the
Dainty Jane
. Anyone got words for ’im, you’ll feel my fists.”

“I’ll give you words,” Dora said. “My Agnes told me she saw yon Jonah flying in the sky and I gave her a clout for storytelling. What do I say to her now, Ben Spenser?”

Ben opened his mouth, couldn’t think of anything to say to that. “Uh…admit you were wrong?”

“Oh, right,” Jonah said from the fireside. “I just do magic. You’re asking for a miracle.”

Laughter exploded from every throat, powered by relief as much as anything. The villagers surged forward to Jonah, a chorus of marvelling voices raised in questions and astonishment. Harry reached across the hearth, hand out, and at Ben’s shove, Jonah took it.