Read The Smugglers' Mine Online
Authors: Chris Mould
The Smugglers' Mine (6 page)
Complications
In the days that followed, things began to change dramatically on the island. The lookouts returned to their watchtowers at dusk, which was a sure sign that the villagers believed the wolf had returned. Stanley watched from his window and with a growing sense of worry, he saw the silhouettes of figures clambering up the stilts to the very top.
A sense of fear and darkness returned to the Rock and on top of this, Stanley and Daisy were greatly saddened at the loss of their good friend Phinn. His lonesome grave now stood out on the bleak moor, with only the wild winds to keep it company.
And to worsen matters further, the gypsies had decided they had no choice but to leave the island again. They knew that one day they would return to the peaceful charm of the Rock, but right now the same dreadful creature that had driven them away before had worked its wicked way once again.
Stanley and Daisy stood at the harbor with the Carellis and a handful of villagers as they watched the wooden wagons crawl down across the moor. The long timber trail snaked through the hills and finally arrived on the cobbles, making their way to the ferry.
One wagon stopped, and out came Bartley.
His huge figure stooped to climb out through the small frame of the door. His eyes were reddened and he threw his huge frame around Daisy and then Stanley.
“Before we go, Stanley, I thought you might like to take this,” he said, struggling to get the words out through his tears, and he put something into Stanley's hands. It was Phinn's hat.
“He always said it brought him luck,” he
continued. “It's just a shame he wasn't wearing it the night he was attacked.”
continued. “It's just a shame he wasn't wearing it the night he was attacked.”
Stanley and Daisy begged him and Greta to stay. They could leave the wagons out on the moor and stay at the Hall. Sure, it would be chaos, but it was big enough for all of them.
But no, the decision had been made
for
them. That was how they saw it.
for
them. That was how they saw it.
“One day, Stanley, we will return. And you had better promise me that when we do, you will still be here,” said Bartley, shaking his hand and almost crushing it without even realizing.
“I shall be here,” said Stanley, brushing off a tear and massaging his fingers. “I'll be waiting for you.”
They stood at the harbor wall until the ferry had grown tiny and the waving hands
had merged with the flapping wings of the seagulls that followed them.
had merged with the flapping wings of the seagulls that followed them.
As they returned to the Hall, someone from the Mayoress's office was nailing posters to every post he could find.
Stanley and Daisy stopped and stared. Surely not!
Edmund Darkling escaped from his prison cell!
“How on earth could he possibly manage that? Those bars are made of the strongest iron,” exclaimed Stanley.
And then he began to wonder.
“What is it?” quizzed Daisy.
“Oh, er ⦠nothing. I had a thought, but I'm sure it's wrong,” he mumbled.
“Well, come on then,” she said as they stood staring at the poster. “Don't keep me in the dark, Stanley. What
is
your little thought?”
is
your little thought?”
“Well, when the Darklings first came to claim the Hall, Greta explained something to us about their past. Do you remember?”
“You mean, about their connection to the
werewolf, that they had an ancestor who had suffered the curse?”
werewolf, that they had an ancestor who had suffered the curse?”
“Exactly.” Stanley grimaced. “A direct bloodline to the wolf, the very man who built Candlestick Hall in the first place. Brice Darkling. Bitten by the wolf, but lived to tell the tale and father a line of children who spread the lupine strains through generations.”
“Are you saying that
Edmund Darkling
is our werewolf?” Daisy asked, open-mouthed.
Edmund Darkling
is our werewolf?” Daisy asked, open-mouthed.
“Maybe.” Stanley was unsure. “I know it sounds ridiculous, but how else could he break through those bars?”
Their discussion was broken in two.
“Blisterin' blood boils, whatever next? Escaped criminals! Werewolves! Folks leavin' the island in despair! This place be goin' downhill, lad.”
It was MacDowell, scratching his head and staring at the poster over their shoulders. They chatted away, wandering into the village, and found themselves outside the candle shop. The door was slightly open, and inside Victor was working away.
The three of them went in to say hello and sat a while, talking over the unfolding drama and predicting what would come in the days ahead.
But Daisy could see the old Darkling place from where she sat, and she caught sight of something she didn't like. She nudged Stanley and they stared out through the window.
Young Berkeley was heading around to the back of the house, and they could hear the hatch of the coalbin lifting and a small person disappearing down the chute. Berkeley's sisters were in the kitchen, but little did they
know what he was up to under their very feet.
know what he was up to under their very feet.
MacDowell had caught on, and now he too was filled with panic. What was the boy up to? How much did he know? And when would they get the chance to find out what he was doing in the Darkling cellar?
The Littlest Pirate
It was late the following afternoon when they spotted Berkeley again. Daisy had been out fishing with her uncle in the morning, and when they returned with their catch she took a good amount of fish up to the Hall for Mrs. Carelli. She stayed awhile, and they all sat out in the sun, basking on the lawn.
They watched the sea move back into the
distance and Stanley wondered about the mine being exposed while the tide was out.
distance and Stanley wondered about the mine being exposed while the tide was out.
Then Berkeley ran across the harbor. He was on his own, and most likely up to no good. Stanley got to his feet, watching Berkeley's every move. But he'd gone right down into the village and was now out of sight.
“Anybody want to take a walk?” asked Stanley.
Right away, the rest of the treasure-seekers' alliance were on their feet, trotting along in the sun in order to spy on the young lad.
Stanley had been given a key of his own for the shop, and this made things a little easier when they were snooping. They cut across the back of the shops and houses and entered Victor's place through the rear door, piling up at the window, shoving their faces at the little square panes and forcing their eyelids wider in the hope that they would see more.
They knocked a row of candles to the floor as they pushed up to the window, each one breaking in half as it landed, before rolling across the floor.
And again, from where they watched, they could see a small figure disappearing around the back of the house. They listened quietly. Bang! They heard the sound of the coalbin door opening and closing.
“Why doesn't he just go through the house from the kitchen?” quizzed Daisy.
“He's like us,” said Stanley. “He doesn't want to be discovered. His mother knows only too well what a pest he is, always up to no good.”
“Very true,” said Daisy.
Back outside they went, looking this way and that. Luckily the warm afternoon had sent most people down onto the baking sand, and the village was deserted.
They couldn't decide how to enter the basement. They needed a silent
approach so that they could stealthily look in on mischievous Berkeley, but there was no way of sneaking in because the drop was too dramaticâthey always landed with a thud and went rolling across the floor. There wasn't really any other way.
approach so that they could stealthily look in on mischievous Berkeley, but there was no way of sneaking in because the drop was too dramaticâthey always landed with a thud and went rolling across the floor. There wasn't really any other way.
Or was there?
“I got an idea, lad,” claimed MacDowell. He explained some harebrained plan to Stanley that Daisy wasn't sure about at all. She watched in great doubt as MacDowell clasped tightly on to Stanley's ankles and let the rest of him dangle down the chute so that he could peer in.
If Stanley kicked his right foot, it meant that he wanted to be lowered farther in. And his left? That meant there was danger and he needed to be pulled back. Who knew what dark danger might be lurking there? Perhaps
if they were right about Edmund he was hiding out in there, and Berkeley was bringing him food and water.
if they were right about Edmund he was hiding out in there, and Berkeley was bringing him food and water.
But Stanley could see and hear nothing. No sights or sounds that gave anything away. Lower he went, farther and farther ⦠until old MacDowell's back could take no more.
“Ahh, Stanley, old MacDowell don't 'ave the strength 'e used to 'ave!” he cried, letting go of Stanley's ankles and watching him disappear headlong into the darkness. The fall was followed by a THUD, and Stanley arrived on the floor in a heap.
“Er, sorry, lad. Me back gave way,” called MacDowell, poking his head through the opening. “Can yer see owt?”
Stanley lit the stump of a candle in his pocket and the room came to life. Berkeley was not to be seen, and in the corner of the room the stone had been lifted again and the access to the mine had been exposed.
“The little devil!” Stanley snapped. “Quick, come down here!”
The other two joined him, and all three stared at the corner of the room.
“And how do you think he's done that?” gasped Stanley. “I couldn't have lifted it in a million years and he's half my age and size.”
“Keep the noise down, Stanley. They're just above us,” whispered Daisy.
MacDowell scratched his chin and narrowed his eyes in thought.
“Mmmmm. Most of them are above us, Daisy, but I think at least one of them is below. Come on,” Stanley insisted. “We need to find him.”
Down they went, back into the dank blackness of the mine. MacDowell pulled out more candle stumps from his pockets and handed them around.
“I'll head this way,” he said, pointing straight on. “You two take these.” He indicated identical tunnels that ran along either side. “We'll meet up at the far end, and if anybody gets hold o' that little ⦔
“MAC!” said Daisy firmly. “If we do find him, we must be careful. He has just discovered the greatest secret this island has, but he's a little kid! Take it easy on him.”
“Aye, lass. Yer right.” He clomped off through the darkness, his head banging on the tunnel as he went and his huge feet lolloping over the stones. “Ouch, ow, ouch!”
The three headed into the darkness alone. The deeper they went, the colder and darker
it became. Daisy had suggested that as they went along, they should leave large drips of candle wax at shoulder height along the rock. That way, they could always trace their way back.
it became. Daisy had suggested that as they went along, they should leave large drips of candle wax at shoulder height along the rock. That way, they could always trace their way back.
Stanley's eyes opened wide. He held the meager light from his candle up to the walls and stared at the glittering gold that went on forever. The whole island was one great big chunk of pirate treasure. He stopped and looked in detail at the bits of skull and bone that lay embedded in the rock.
Every one of those skeletal pirates had a ghastly tale to tell, no doubt. Hundreds of years ago they must have sailed a thousand miles just to get here and dig in the mines. Many a buccaneer's battle had been fought down here, and even now, in their death, they still held on to each other's filthy stinking bones in a brave attempt to win the treasure.
In the lowest points, the air was cooler still and the walls still wet. The odd crab scuttled out of the light as the candle passed by, and in the narrowest passages harsh barnacles scraped on Stanley's arms.
Stanley had to pinch himself: he had become so carried away with what he was seeing that he had forgotten his task. He was searching
for Berkeley, and time was of the essence. Right now, one of the Darklings might venture into the cellar and uncover the raised flagstone.
for Berkeley, and time was of the essence. Right now, one of the Darklings might venture into the cellar and uncover the raised flagstone.
Up ahead, Daisy could hear something. A chinking sound, almost as if someone was tapping away at the rock that surrounded them. It echoed through the tunnel, which made it seem louder. Daisy held up her candle and squinted into the distance to sharpen her view. Nothing. She moved a little farther on.
Every now and then the tunnels spilled out into big hollows with high ceilings. They formed little caves and then farther on, the way ahead disappeared into more small passageways.
Daisy wandered into one such cave, and there in the distance, silhouetted by his candlelight, was Berkeley's unmistakable stubby frame.
She stood still and watched him. He was holding a small hammer and chisel and bashing away at the rock. Every now and then a small piece fell onto the floor, and he shoved it into a small cloth bag. He had stuck his candle onto a blob of wax on the wall so that his hands were free.
“The littleâ” began Daisy, but she was stopped short when her own candle suddenly blew out in a draft.
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