The Skull (7 page)

Within a week, a single green sprout was rising above the soil in the pot containing the wooden idol. It curled upwards, pale, almost white at first, but growing stronger as it reached towards the light. A tiny leaf seemed to grow and unfurl as William watched. The idol was winning.

But by the tenth day, all three pots had sprouted, and by the time all the payments had been collected and the boat had been prepared to leave, the result of the experiment was clear. Two of the pots had modest crops of sprouts. Two or three shoots tentatively probed the air above their soil. But the third – the darker seeds from the French side of the Channel – were exploding. They had almost all germinated, and they brimmed over the top of the bowl, leaves spreading to hide the soil, jostling for the light like hungry chicks.

It was time to present his results. Not to the whole village this time. He spoke to Elizabeth, and she gathered a few farmers that she thought might listen, just before he was ready to leave for France. William had hoped to go up and say goodbye to Marie, to see if he could bring her back anything from her old country, but there was no time. At least he would only be gone for a few days.

The farmers sat quietly and listened while William explained what he had done. They were as suspicious, to begin with, as they had been before. The village was proud of its seeds, and when they sold their crop,
it sold well because it had a reputation. A new seed was a big risk. But William spoke slowly and clearly, and when he had finished, he placed the three bowls next to each other on the table.

His audience leaned in. The green shoots told a story no one in the room could afford to ignore. William answered their questions one by one. Yes, they had had the same amount of water. Yes, the soil had been the same soil. Yes, they were planted together.

Elizabeth nodded at her son, almost smiling. It was going well. Then Old Jack, the quietest of the farmers, and the one who'd tended his land for the longest of all of them, slowly sucked his breath through his missing tooth, and nodded at the bowl containing the wooden statue.

Everyone turned to listen. He was no great friend to new ideas, and still dug with the lucky spade his grandfather had used. He was held in great respect by all the other farmers, and he knew the land inside and out. He smacked his lips thoughtfully.

‘Tell me, son.' He spoke slowly and deliberately. William held his breath. What had he forgotten? What had he overlooked? Old Jack nodded at the idol again. ‘Tell me, did you do the dance?'

William laughed as a wave of relief swept over him. He flushed slightly.

‘Yes, Jack. I did the dance.'

‘In that case, son, I'll take some of your seeds if you can get 'em.' He paused and then added sternly, ‘But don't go getting any ideas. You'll bring us that statue too. It'll take more than a bowlful of sprouts to change most of their minds.'

It was a clear night as William and his mother pulled the little boat from its hiding place and pushed it into the water. He could feel her standing on the beach, watching him long after he lost sight of her in the darkness. The water was calm, but he knew she hated sending him alone, and would worry until he returned.

‘The sea can turn,' she always warned him. ‘It can turn so quickly!'

He knew he could handle himself on the water, but he didn't blame her for worrying. His father had been able to handle himself too, and the sea had still taken him.

There was enough wind for the sail, but he couldn't risk raising it, not until he was well out of
sight of land. Night was a busy time at the shoreline. The game of hide-and-seek played out between the customs officers, the navy and the big smuggling gangs was barely less than a war. Either side would kill him before they asked who he was, and being a small, dark dot on a huge dark sea was the best defence he could hope for.

He dipped his oars silently into the sea, and pulled the tiny dory slowly and smoothly out towards deeper water.

The moment he passed the tall outcrop of cliffs that marked the end of the cove, he knew he was in trouble. He jammed his oars into the water and pushed hard to bring himself to a halt.

The naval lugger had its sails ready, but was barely moving. Not patrolling, not chasing, just waiting. For him? He didn't think so. It was a big, fast ship to send after a boy in what was little more than a rowing boat. But if they saw him, he'd have no chance. And the ship was very, very close. He could see the figures milling about on deck. He could see the buttons on their uniforms shining as it loomed out of the darkness above him.

He quickly and silently brought his boat around, and looked up at the sentries. They were scanning the
horizon for smugglers' vessels. Luckily, nobody was looking straight down.

William thought quickly. If he could get back around the outcrop of rock without being spotted, he could loop around to the other side of the cove. By then he'd be too far away for his little boat to be seen.

Wincing at the sound each oar made and the noise of the water slapping against the hull, he rowed as quietly as he could back around the cliff. The moment he was out of sight of the naval lugger, he sunk his oars into the water again and rowed with all his might.

It was a race against time now. The ship was not in full sail, but it was catching some wind, and it would only be a few minutes before it rounded the cove and he came fully into its view. His boat had seats and oars for two more men, and was heavy enough to need them to get up any great speed, but on the way back, there would be no room for helpers, so he was on his own. His arms and legs burned with the effort as he raced the little boat across the cove.

Just as he reached the outlying rocks marking the boundary between the cove and the next beach along the coast, he saw the lugger's bow appear like a dark shadow. It was in sail and gaining speed.

What now? He pulled the boat around, and started into the next cove. Perhaps he could find somewhere to shelter until the ship had passed. But as he skirted the final rock, he realised his problems were much more serious.

Where the shallow waters of the cove shelved off into the deeper channel, another boat was waiting. Bigger than the revenue ship, and older. Patched, scratched, splintered, and painted black, with dark sails. He knew it well enough. It belonged to the Harkler gang, and you did not mess with the Harkler gang.

The ship was low in the water, and that meant it was full of cargo. That in turn, meant it had just arrived, so as well as the thirty or so smugglers on board who would be ready to kill him on sight, there would be another hundred or so on the beach or rowing cargo to and from the ship, ready to kill him if he tried to land.

William did the only thing he could do. He tested the wind, hauled up his tiny square sail, yanked it tight, and headed straight out to sea. The wind was not strong, but he caught it well and started to pick up speed.

The shout went up almost immediately. First from the big ship, then from somewhere in the water
behind him. He squinted into the darkness where he could just make out a small rowing boat. The rower had arms like tree trunks, and the boat's bow lifted out of the water as it sped towards him.

He frantically dipped his oars in the water, adding his own strength to the power of the wind, and the boat picked up a little more speed. It would not be enough to pull his heavier boat away from his pursuers, but it didn't need to be. He just had to stay alive until the smugglers and the navy encountered each other and he could slip away from them both.

He heard a shot from the big ship, and a hole punctured his sail. He ducked, but carried on rowing. The tub-boat was gaining on him now, and he could see the rower clearly. A huge, heavy-set man with a bald head that seemed to be nothing but a growth on the heaving muscles of his shoulders. To his left, the smugglers were running to the side of their ship. He could see them shouting and pointing at him. Those with guns were aiming them. Those without were signalling his position to the other tub-boats.

Away to his right, where the smugglers still could not see, the naval ship had also spotted his sails and was in full chase. It would be on him in seconds. Against all his instincts, he steered left towards the
gunfire. It had the effect he wanted, and as the shots seared into the water around him, the big rower in the tug-boat lost his nerve and broke off the chase.

William turned back to the right, rowing hard and trying to get back out of range of the guns. They were firing randomly and in the dark, so as he headed away from the coast, he tried to keep his range from the big ship constant – just far enough that the chances of being hit were slim, just close enough that the swarm of little rowing boats now shadowing him would fear being hit themselves. It was a dangerous game, and he was running out of time.

Suddenly, all hell broke loose. The navy lugger reared out from the cover of the cove. The smugglers started to reload in panic as a crack of simultaneous gunfire erupted at them from the navy ship. The rowing boats were scattering as their occupants headed for land, sea, or just out of the way of the speeding ship.

The naval ship itself was also changing direction. William realised with relief that it was no longer chasing him but was turning to take the Harklers' vessel head on.

As the wind grew in his sails, the sounds of shouts and gunfire gradually died away behind him. There
would be a battle tonight, but he would not be part of it.

Eventually he could see no land in any direction and hear nothing but the sea. The stars were bright in the sky, and their reflections twinkled in the sea so that he almost felt as though he was drifting among them. His destination might as well have been Mars.

The wind was good, and the weather calm, but it took all night and all the following day before he caught sight of the French coast. He knew the beaches well and had a good idea where he could bring the little boat in, hiding it among rocky outcrops protected from view from the sea or the shore. To be on the safe side he waited for dusk and high tide before slipping in to shore, securing his boat, curling up in the bottom of the hull and finally collapsing into sleep.

This wasn't going to be easy. The cart with its idol was important to the locals and William didn't think that putting it on a boat and taking it out of the country, however briefly, would go down well with most of the people he did business with. The one trader who might be able to help was not someone he enjoyed meeting.

He kept off the main street and put his head down as he slipped into town, circling around behind a shabby row of cottages to De Cuir's back door.

The fewer people who knew he was in town, the better. If things went wrong, they could go very wrong indeed, and William's ability to trade here in France was the only thing keeping him and Elizabeth fed.

De Cuir's home was dark and shabby, just like the man himself. He was thin, sour and unshaven. As he ushered William in, his eyes darted along the street to make sure nobody had seen the Englishman enter, and he closed the door quickly behind them.

Most of the people William dealt with in France were not criminals. At least, not real ones. They didn't ask much about where the fleeces he sold came from, or where the brandy and tea he bought in exchange went. Like the farmers back home, they were not well off enough to refuse a good bargain, and they saw nothing wrong in striking one. Trade across the Channel was a way of life. Illegal and dangerous, but a way of life nevertheless.

De Cuir was different. He charged high prices and would rip you off if he got half a chance. But he could get you
anything
. Whatever you needed, somehow,
somewhere, he would know someone who could lay their hands on it, if the price was right.

William sat on a hard chair in his back room, and explained exactly what he needed. The idol, the cart and the seeds. De Cuir listened, drumming his fingers against each other. William could see his narrow eyes darting from side to side, but his expression did not change.

When William finished De Cuir laughed dryly, without smiling. ‘Your crops aren't growing so well, are they?'

William didn't answer that. ‘Can you get me what I need?'

‘The beans I can bring you. They are no problem. This charm… There is only one Lady of the cart. She travels from one village to the next. The farmers, they make an offering to the Lady – and another to the cart driver. Then he goes away, and returns next year. It is a… a service.' De Cuir waved his hand. ‘He follows the season of sowing. You see?'

‘You mean you cannot get it?' said William.

‘I did not say that. The weather, it is not so honest with us this year. In the South, it has been warm early – the seeds have been planted. The Lady, she has finished her work, and come early to town.' He
paused. ‘But we… we are still too cold for planting. We have storms. The lady cannot do her work for two – three weeks yet.'

William smiled. ‘You mean it's here?'

‘Possibly,' said De Cuir vaguely. ‘There would be a price.'

‘Of course.' William explained what money he had and that there was no way to negotiate – he could get no more. De Cuir looked disappointed, but William could tell he wasn't really. ‘That's all I have. We can make a deal, or not.' William shrugged.

The Frenchman nodded. ‘The driver keeps her in a barn, and stays in town enjoying free food, wine and friendship wherever he goes.' He pulled his lips tight, in what probably passed for a smile. ‘He would not notice if she went on a trip for a couple of weeks.' He suddenly grabbed William's wrist. His hand felt like an iron cuff. ‘But no more! For some reason, people look to me when things go missing here. I don't want questions. You understand?'

‘So you can get it?'

‘Me? I will have nothing to do with this.' De Cuir paused. ‘The cart is built to be pulled by two heifers. I will leave two for you at our usual place, and I will tell you where to find the cart. Anything you do will
be your own decision. I want to know nothing more about it. You will give me half the money now, and leave the heifers and the rest of the money at the beach, where I will leave the seeds.' He held out his hand.