Minerva's Voyage (18 page)

Winters nodded and Proule turned to the mariner who had been with him that fateful day he'd almost killed me. “Now, John Pickernose, yer was standing right by. I didn't hit the boy, did I?”

“Aye, you did, Master Proule. You thumped 'im black and blue, you clonked 'im proper, to within an inch of 'is life. For fear of God and the admiral, I will not tell a lie.” Pick
ernose bowed to the crowd. The crowd clapped.

Proule roared: “That cockroach Starveling fell over a rock. Pickernose there is a bald-faced liar.”

“Am not. You're the liar. If Piggsley and even Boors were here, they'd swear to your villainy on the
Valentine
too. That sailor Timothy Mungle never fell out of the rigging by 'imself. You gave 'im a 'elping 'and cos 'e bested you at dice.”

“That's a ruddy lie. And Piggsley and Boors are both swine.”

This set the crowd to laughing. “Case proven,” said Winters. “Let us move on. Stand before me, Mary Finney.”

Mary stood. There were grass stains on her rear.

“Did Mortimer Proule steal your shillings? Do you so charge?”

“He did. And my pouch,” she grunted, glaring at Proule.

“Them shillings was for my old age, Admiral.”

“Huh? You're in your old age now, you crone!” yelled Scratcher. The crowd laughed again. The admiral quelled Scratcher with a look.

“Peter Fence, step forward.”

I gave Fence a little push.

“What do you have to say for yourself, young man?” asked Winters.

“I have something for you, sir.”

“Pertaining to this case?”

“Aye, sir.” Fence drew the crimson pouch from his sleeve and held it up. The crowd gasped.

“That's my property,” exclaimed Mary.

“God blind me. He stole it, Admiral. Yer can see for yerself. He stole the shillings too, no doubt about that,” said Proule. “He's guilty as sin.”

“Then what should I do with him?” asked Winters softly. The crowd hushed.

“Yer should hang him high, Admiral. Hang him high.

That's what the law demands, ain't it? And get that cockroach Starveling to pull on his legs. Fence can give him one of them stolen shillings for the service done him in his last moments.”

“No mercy?” asked Winters, even more softly.

“No mercy!” grinned Proule, with a terrifying contortion of the face. “No mercy!”

“No mercy,” echoed a couple of members of the crowd. Someone punched someone else in the mouth, knocking him out. There was a brief halt in the proceedings as his adversary tried to revive him by jumping on his belly, but Winters soon resumed his questioning.

“Mortimer Proule, the boy entered your hut at my request. Isn't that so, Peter Fence?”

“Aye, sir.” Fence blushed. Proule turned as white as ox tripe.

“Where did you find the pouch?” continued Winters.

“Hidden in the tree boughs that formed the roof, sir.”

“But no shillings in it?'

“No sir. Not one.”

“You are a brave and honest boy. Now go sit down,” said Winters.

“Where is the money, Proule?” asked Beerson, having finished eating and dusted bits of roast bird off his nose.

“Yes, where is the goddamned money?” echoed my old master, scratching his ear.

“I'll never tell a man jack of yer,” yelled Proule, confirm
ing his guilt.

“Mortimer Proule,” said Winters, “the case is proven against you. You prescribed your own punishment when you thought you were sentencing Peter Fence for the same crime, a crime that you, in fact, committed. In addition, the law of England dictates that any man or woman who steals a shilling or more in money or goods shall be put to death. Accordingly, you shall be bound to the tree until tomor
row at ten bells, at which time a rope will be slung over a high bough, and you will be hanged by the neck until dead. Starveling will be employed to pull on your legs. You might think of giving him one of those shillings for his pains.”

“Save me, Admiral Winters. Think of what we've been through together, at sea and on land!”

“I am at a loss to know what you mean when you refer to what we've been through together,” said Winters. “Speaking for my own part, I have been through very little
with
you, a great deal 
without
you, and more than I want to
on
account
of you. Take him away.”   “Yer tricked me, yer ruddy bastard!” Proule lunged forward and struck Winters full in the face before anyone could stop him. Winters, with surprising strength, knocked him backwards onto the ground. Trusty and Ruffles rushed over, each grabbing one of the villain's legs.

“Where's my shillings, you knock-kneed beast?” shrieked Mary.

“Yer'll never get one of those shillings, never, d'yer hear me? I'll take the secret of where I hid them to the grave,” he screamed as the two men dragged him away feet first and set him upright before tying him to the tree close by.

“Stand upon your guard,” Winters ordered them. “And wear your weapons at all times.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” said Trusty or Ruffles, brandishing a stick. One eye, I noticed was staring at Winters, the other at me. It was Ruffles!

“Save me, for the love of God,” cried Proule.

“
No mercy
,” cried the crowd.

C
HAPTER 33
T
HE
E
SCAPE

The night had been warm, and I had spent it half in and half out of the lean-to. Tempest had lain across my inside half, his wet nose too near my privates for comfort. He licked the salt on my hose occasionally. He weighed more than a cask of wine. I kept trying to shift him and get my legs out from under, but then he'd climb on Fence, who was curled up inside. Fence would mutter away, still dreaming, about letting the topsail fly and casting something undecipherable into the sea. For the most part his chatter was even more annoying than the dog pressing down on my knees and licking my thighs, so more than once I pulled Tempest off him.

I soon fell back to sleep, but was woken by the rising sun. I blinked. Something small and furry was running across my face. It nipped my ear. A mouse! “Go find cheese or chestnuts,” I cried, swatting at it. It ran away.

Climbing all the way out of the lean-to, I stood up and yawned, stretching my arms. Tempest was chasing the mouse. I looked to see if he'd got it. He seemed to have lost its scent, but something else caught my eye — a crowd had gathered around the tree whereon Proule was tied, and there was an immense hubbub to boot. It couldn't be that the hanging was taking place without me there to pull on Proule's gangly legs. Sunrise was much too early an hour for the execution.

“Fence,” I said, ducking my head back in, “Get up quickly, something is happening yonder.”

“Down with the mainmast,” he mumbled. “Lay her ahold!” Or words to that effect.

“Wake up, will you?” I shook him. “We're not on the ship now.”

It took several more shakings, but soon we were on our way to the tree, Fence still tottery and bleary-eyed. He woke up, though, when we reached the scene that was causing so much tumult. Proule's ropes had been cut, and the condemned man was gone.

Winters reached the spot a moment or two after us. He examined the rope before saying, “He couldn't have freed himself. And he was searched quite thoroughly to see if he had any shillings about him. He had not, and he had no weapon either.”

“Right sir,” said Beerson, who had been standing around praying.

“And those guarding him had sticks, not knives.”

“Aye, sir.”

“Beerson, that register we made of everyone we brought to the island. Fetch it, if you please, and let us call out the names.”

Beerson did so. Everyone was present and responded with an aye, even the shrill-voiced Mary.

“Was there anyone whose name was not called out, who in other words was not on the list?” asked Winters.

I raised my hand. “Me sir, I came later.”

“That puts me in mind of remembrancing,” said Beer
son. “Master Thatcher was not on the list either, sir. He arrived later too.”

“Is Thatcher present?” Winters' voice was raised.

Silence. The sun shimmered through the trees. The breeze blew through the leaves. The grass continued to grow a scintilla at a time in its usual fashion. But everything was changed.

“Scratcher could easily have cut the rope. He had a knife, Admiral, a sharp knife he carried always.” My voice was high and squeaky. “He used to threaten me with it.”

“Beerson,” ordered Winters, “take at least six men and search the island for Proule and his dishonourable cohort. If you catch them, they'll both hang.”

“Aye, sir, we'll go immediately. As St. Paul said: ‘Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, and have not charity, I am become as sounding brass, or a tinkling cymb…'”

“Yes, yes,” growled Winters, clearly irritated. “Get on with it.”

Fence and I didn't wait for the men to hear the rest of their Bible portion before they got organized. Terrified that the two ruffians would find us before being found themselves, we disappeared into the woods instantly, and made for the labyrinth.

C
HAPTER 34
H
IDDEN AND
D
ISCOVERED

Five minutes later the dog was bounding after us barking like a fool. “Sh,” I said, “shut the hell up, or you'll get us all killed.”

He refused to give over. I had a strong urge to kick him, but Fence wanted to try pinching his nose again. This time it worked. I suspect that with life and limb at stake, Fence pinched a lot harder.

“Why would Scratcher be with Proule? Why would he release him? They were fighting like nobody's business the last time they were together,” I wondered.

“People make up. We did.”

“True it is. But there must be a reason for it. He wouldn't put himself into danger for nothing.”

A short distance from the path that led to the labyrinth we heard a rustle and a footfall, and raced to hide in a dense cluster of trees and bushes. We flattened ourselves behind a fallen tree trunk that was covered in moss and fungus. I smelled moldy earth. Inhaling some of it, I smothered a cough. Fence clamped his hand over the dog's jaws and pushed the animal's shoulders down so that the rest of him followed. Tempest whined a little, but couldn't get his mouth open to bark.

“What's that noise?” someone said, voice muffled.

“Nothing. Or something. Beasts of the forest, more'n likely. Damned if I know where we are, or where we ain't, Scratcher.” A familiar odour assailed my nostrils. It beat out the moldy smell by a mile. It was Proule! He must be almost as close to me as I was to Fence. I hardly dared breathe. Nor, frankly, did I want to. The stench was horrible.

“Don't call me Scratcher, you demented son of a gorilla.”

A mumbled apology. Another rustle. We ducked down even further. A twig grazed my nose.

“I'm no fool. You're playing me. Give me my half, and be quick about it,” yelled Scratcher. Half of what? Hell's Bells.

Half of the shillings, of course. That's why Scratcher had set Proule free.

“Yer'll get it, no worries. I buried the booty by a ruddy great rock. We just need to find it. The commotion of the trial has driven where it lies straight out of my head. All I know right now is where it ain't. It ain't here.”

They passed by in a cloud of Proule's stink, chuntering at each other while Tempest growled soft and deep in his throat. They left a smelly residue behind them, so we couldn't be sure they were gone and looked both ways before emerging from our hideout. I coughed profusely. Then we found the path, and rushed along it to the entrance of the labyrinth. Near the end, Tempest, who kept getting in the way in his doggy fashion, jumped in front of my feet, trip
ping me, and I lurched into Fence. All three of us collapsed in a sorry tangle.

“Welcome,” said the old man with the white beard as we tried, somewhat unsuccessfully, to unscramble ourselves. “I knew you were beset by enemies. I thought you might return.” He pulled the dog off us, helped us up, and ush
ered us in. I noticed his feet. They were pretty big. But what choice did we have?

C
HAPTER 35
E
NTERING BY
I
NVITATION

Beneath the sky lay the labyrinth. Beyond the labyrinth was the shore, its secret sand script washed away by the tide. Above the shore were the rocks, and beyond the rocks was the cave. Under the earth a bed stood by the wall, and a throne-like chair filled the space between the entrance and the bed. A huge fire burned in the grate within a circle of rocks. All in the cave, in fact, was exactly as it had been before, with one exception: The gold medallion, winking precious gems on its glittering chain, was gone.