Minerva's Voyage (17 page)
“Quite a bit. My lies saved you once or twice, but without really hurting anyone. No one, as I know of, was ever hanged for a fib or two told in service of a friend. Stealing, on the other hand, is a capital offence.”
I sniffed. Fence was too perfect for his own good. I could almost see a halo above his head. What had he thought we were going to do with treasure once we found it, if not nick it? What was the point of reading all those emblems, of solving all those ciphers, of risking the wrath of Scratcher, otherwise?
I asked him. His answer was plain enough. “I didn't think it would belong to anyone. This does. It doesn't seem like stealing if it's buried or shipwreck booty, if it once belonged to people who are long gone. They wouldn't miss it. Stealing something owned by a living person is unfor
givable, in my book. My own inheritance, the farm and all the sheep, was stole from me by my stepfather. I can never forget it. And not only that,” he added. “If we take the necklace, the old man will surely find us. He could be somewhere hidden, watching us this very minute. In fact, this could be a test.”
I snorted with derision and we began to argue. We almost came to blows. Fence knocked the medallion out of my hand and onto the floor. I raised a closed fist to punch him, but dropped it instantly. What was I doing, fighting with my only friend? And as it happened, in a certain way Fence was right. This medallion did belong to someone. If we took it now, its owner would almost certainly follow us. It wouldn't be hard for him to catch us, one way or another, and then we'd have a really slippery mess to slide our way out of. This wasn't like grabbing a piece of pie or loaf of bread off the barrows, and that had been reckless enough. This was something worth a king's ransom, and we would almost certainly be hunted down for it.
But I was still fixed on the idea of possessing it. Its brilliant colours glittered behind my eyes when I shut them. It was the closest I'd ever been to riches. There must be a way to nick it and its heavy gold chain without getting my hand chopped off in the process. After all, what did the old man need it for, here on an island, miles from anywhere? I wasn't doing him any real harm. I, on the other hand, planned to return to England. The medallion still lay on the ground. I went down on my knees, as if worshipping it. My fingers crept towards it. I took no responsibility for them. They were acting of their own accord. Soon they caught and clutched it.
“Stop that, Robin,” Fence said sternly. “It's staying here.”
Hell's Bells. But I swallowed my anger. I might not get it now but I'd figure out a solution and act on it. Next time, if Fence was determined to stay saintly, I'd come alone. I'd leave him polishing his halo.
Rather angrily, I slung the flaming bird and chain back on the chair, where they dangled in all their golden glory. But then, unable to resist, I picked the damn thing up again.
“Robin?”
“What is it now?”
“I can hear heavy, raspy breathing. Not you or me. A wild beast. Or someone
old
.”
I dropped the medallion. We turned tail. After we scrambled, or rather tumbled, from the rocks to the shore,
Fence stopped dead. I looked where he was looking and saw something etched deep into the wet sand:
UKQ DWRA YKIA PK REOEP IA
BNKI PDA IAOOWCA K* PDA PNAA
XQP PDKQCD EI BNWEH W*Z KHZ
ZK *KP OPAWH IU CKHZ
“What's that?” Fence yelled. “It looks like a spell.”
“Sh,” I whispered. “I've no idea. And I'm not stopping to find out. There are large footprints around it. You won't stop either if you want to keep your guts and gizzard intact. Come on.”
I gave him a shove to get him started again. He shrieked. We ran for our lives.
I didn't have time to think further about the strange message on the shore. For as we neared our lean-to, who did I see with his graying hair and evil expression but Scratcher! How did he get across from the other island? And how did he know where to come? Never mind, he was here. Too big to get into our shelter, he was standing on the grass beside it, scratching his ear. He was talking to Trusty and Ruffles, but he was waiting for me. As we came down the hill, he pointed right at me.
“Get over here, you pathetic excuse for an insect, you weaselly worm, you disgusting lump of lard,” he yelled, “or I'll come over there and fetch you.” He stamped his feet hard and snorted like a stallion. Spittle flew from his lips. I didn't know what he wanted, but I didn't wish to find out, either.
For a few seconds I was frozen to the spot.
Stupid
Starveling, too scared to scarper
, taunted a little voice in my ear. So much for that: I wasn't about to be called a coward by anyone, not even myself. Scratcher snorted again. Perchance he was sure I would come to him when called, but I was off and running without more ado. He took off after me, pant
ing hard. My bad leg slowed me up a little, but even so, I was much faster than he was. He hadn't done anything in the way of exercise for months, except lift his beer to his lips or clop me round the noggin. He didn't have an icicle's chance in Hades of catching up with me.
I spent a day and a night in the forest labyrinth, totally miserable and hungry, but confident that Scratcher wouldn't discover me there. He didn't, but Peter Fence, who knew the secret entrance, did. Fence came upon me on the second morning. I had hidden myself under branches, but he called out. Recognizing his voice, I answered immediately.
“Praise be I've found you,” he said, handing me a couple of baked eggs he'd carried with him. “I've been tramping all over. The admiral wants you. He needs you to give evidence against Mortimer Proule. You and Mary both.”
This scared me even more. “No, Fence, I'd have to be crazy to go back. Another sharp head knock from Scratcher, or anyone else for that matter, and my brains will spill out. I was too afeard even to go on to the cave, in case he caught me on the way.”
“Or in case the wizard caught you inside?”
“True it is.” I grimaced.
“Scratcher, though, wouldn't be able to find you here in the maze. In any case, Admiral Winters says he'll shelter you from him. He told me to find you and tell you, so there's no need to worry on that account.”
“No one can protect me from Scratcher.”
“The admiral is stern, but he's a right good man. You can trust him. He's helped you before. And he's been keeping Scratcher beside him in camp while I find you. He knows of Scratcher's cruelty. Besides, you can't stay out much longer.
You'll starve, sure as eggs is eggs,” he said, as the last one disappeared down my gullet.
“I can wring the necks of birds. I can catch conies and roast 'em on a spit. I can also go down to the shore and fish.” But it wasn't an inviting prospect. I couldn't hide
and
fish at the same time, and though I was expert at eating small animals, I wasn't half as adept at catching them. If I was fast, they were faster. And doing the actual killing would make me feel a bit queasy, if the truth be known. I loved the taste of bacon, but was sick to my belly at the smell and the blood when Oldham killed the yearly pig. I didn't want to give in too easily, though. It would look weak as small beer, so it took a bit more persuasion from Fence before I agreed to return.
“Scratcher says that Sir Thomas Boors told him where we were,” said Fence as we made our way through the trees.
“Boors must have had a sane moment.”
“So Scratcher took the rowboat, and came right over.”
“He thinks I'm his by right,” I said angrily. “Not a servant but a slave. He thinks if he whistles I'll come running.”
“Not anymore,” said Fence, “Not after he called you and you ran fast as lightning the other way. But he'll have to take the rowboat back to Boor's island, right enough, and then we'll be rid of him. It's all that the colonists there have to travel the sea.”
“That won't make a jot or tittle of difference to Scratcher.” I was glum.
“There's something else,” said Fence. “The admiral sent me to Proule's hut to see what I could find.”
“And?”
“Mary's pouch was stuffed between two cedar boughs he was using for a roof. I looked up and saw the corner of it. There was no mistaking it. It was the same material and the same dirty red as her skirt, No shillings in it though.” He drew the pouch from his sleeve, showed it to me, then stuffed it back in.
I whistled. Mary was right all along. Proule had nicked her money. Of course, if I'd have known about it, I might have nicked it first. But I was careful to say nothing of the kind to Fence. There was something about the air on Winters Island. It got into the heart of me and was making me more devious than ever, just when I wanted to be straight.
So, “Have you told Winters what you found?” I asked instead.
“Not yet. I feel right mean to rat on anyone, even Proule. But the admiral sent me on an errand. So I have to report back as soon as we return to camp.”
As we left the labyrinth, I had the unsettling feeling that someone was watching us. It wasn't the first time. Not by a long chalk. The night before I'd woken in the middle of the maze with that same prickly feeling. I'd peered through a hole in the branches to see the old man staring down at me, lantern in hand. It was as if I wasn't hidden at all. I'd cried out, greatly afeard, and he had vanished into the gloom.
A small crowd had gathered to see Proule lambasted. Many thought it the best entertainment since we'd left England. They were behaving as if they were at the village fair and Proule was one of the freaks. There was much merriment and throwing of eggs at sticks or into buckets. Men sitting on logs were eating tortoise and fowl flesh. A mariner was roasting a pig on a spit, Mary being otherwise occupied during the proceedings. Scratcher, who was standing next to Winters, glowered at me from afar.
“Hear ye, hear ye.” Beerson shouted above the noise, looking extremely uncomfortable in his new role. “At the command of Admiral Winters, we are here for the trial of Mortimer Proule, late of the county of Essex in England. God save the King.”
“God save the King,” one or two people echoed. A couple more clapped.
I thought Beerson had done speaking, but after a short pause he went on: “And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying, Glory to God in the highest, and on earth, peace, good will towards men.” Having finished this strange and inappropri
ate speech, he sat down on the crumbling stump of a cedar, clearly relieved that he'd done his duty.
“Fetch the prisoner,” instructed Winters.
Proule, who had been tied to a nearby tree, was unbound and brought into a circle marked out with small pieces of pink rock. He smelled worse than ever.
“Mortimer Proule, you stand accused of first, beating the boy Robin Starveling mercilessly, and second, stealing Mary Finney's shillings. How do you plead with regard to beating Robin Starveling?”
“Yer don't have the right to govern me. It's not England or the ship. I'll do what I ruddy well want.” Proule spat onto the grass.
“I am the governor of this island, by the grace of God and the King, and permission of Sir Thomas Boors. We will try you whether you will it or no. Do you understand?”
“Aye,” Proule answered grudgingly. “But though yer try me, I ain't submitting to yer governance.”
“Shame!” a man shouted, and his cry was taken up by oth
ers. Someone threw an egg at Proule. It cracked open, and the contents dripped down his face. He wiped it off with his sleeve.
“Mortimer Proule, I ask you again, how do you plead?”
“Not ruddy guilty. I ain't done nothing, as God's my witness.” He sneered at those nearest.
“Not true, not true,” cried Mary, leaping up. “He's a liar and a naughty knave.”
“Hush your noise, please. This is a court, albeit an unusual one,” said Beerson, chomping on a wing that had formerly belonged to a misfortunate bird. Mary plopped back onto the grass, sighing loudly.
“Call Robin Starveling,” instructed Winters. Fence gave me a nudge. I took a very small step forward.
“Robin Starveling, did Mortimer Proule strike you so harshly that you fainted?” Winters' face was stern.
“Yes, Admiral,” I whispered, shaking a little and taking half a step back.
“Speak up, please. And you have had trouble walking ever since?”
“Yes, Admiral, and also trouble thinking straight on account of a blow to the head.”
“You always had trouble thinking straight, you insufferable piece of crap,” hissed Scratcher. “Why I came to claim you is a mystery.”
“Though I am a little better now than I was at first, true it is,” I continued, doing my best to ignore him.
“As God's my witness,” said Proule. “I never so much as touched the boy. Ruddy Hell! I want to call a witness.”
