The Whipping Boy (5 page)

A bear!

Jemmy would have preferred Cutwater's own company. But before he could find his legs, the hairy beast took flight.

It went crashing away to Jemmy's left.

Jemmy got his breath back. Then, almost without thinking, he dove into the hollow of the dead tree and snugged himself in.

Moments later he caught the merest glimpse of Cutwater cupping an ear. Turning on his heels, the rattleboned man gave a shout. "Practically got you by the hind leg, pesky Prince!"

Jemmy let out a small sigh of relief. Cutwater would have a mighty surprise if he caught that bear by the hind leg.

As the sounds of the chase grew fainter, Jemmy crawled out of the hollow root. The sun was now high enough to send down smoky rays of light through the treetops. Which way was the river?

And then he saw Prince Brat, his face lobster-red from running, at the edge of the clearing.

"Unfaithful servant!" he protested, glaring hard at Jemmy.

Until this moment, Jemmy hadn't had a moment's pause for anger. But now fury shot into his eyes. Curse this blabber-tongued, hateful prince! "You betrayed me!"

"You'd have deserted me without a care!"

Jemmy bristled. "Ain't it me they think is the prince? If you hadn't pointed me out under the straw, Cutwater would have flown off to pick up my tracks. And we could have crept away dead easy. I wouldn't be running my lungs out!"

The prince pondered this for a moment. He nodded. "Then I forgive you."

Jemmy was speechless for a moment. "Forgive me! Don't trouble yourself, my good and loyal Prince. And get yourself another whipping boy."

"But I have not dismissed you from my service," said the prince calmly.

"I dismiss myself," Jemmy fired back. "I'll get where I'm going, and you can find your own way back to the castle."

"I'll go with you."

"Not likely!"

Jemmy turned to the right and beat his way back into the foliage.

Jemmy could hear Prince Brat following in his tracks, step by step. He grimly pressed on.

Brambles, reaching out like cat's claws, tore at their fine garments. The forest trees rose all around them like prison bars.

Finally, Jemmy spun around. "Lay off! Go your own way!"

"This way suits me," said the prince.

"Well, don't follow me. I've no more idea than a gnat where I'm headin'."

"Silence," whispered the prince, with a turn of his head. "Hear that?"

They froze, the two of them.

A voice came wailing through the woods.

"Tunia! Pet-Pet-Petunia!"

And then a young woman appeared, barefoot and jangling with bracelets. She moved through the trees as quickly as a wood spirit.

"Pet-Pet-Petunia!"

She carried a coiled rope in one hand and held outstretched in the other an amber chunk of comb honey.

"Come here, darlin'! Come to Betsy."

Suddenly, as if sensing a presence in the trees, she headed toward Jemmy and the prince.

"Petunia? You there, naughty rascal! Smell the honey? Come feast yourself, Pet!"

Jemmy didn't know what to make of this woman—girl, really. For as she drew closer, he reckoned she couldn't be more than fourteen or fifteen years old. He stepped out into full view, with the prince clinging to him like a shadow.

"Miss?"

She stopped short. "My eyes! Who are you?"

"Lost," said Jemmy. "Would you know which way to the river?"

"'Course I do. Ain't we headin' for the fair, me and Petunia? Have you seen him?"

"Petunia?"

"Got loose, he did! My dancing bear. World famous!"

"Scared me out of my skin," Jemmy replied, and pointed. "Back there."

She turned on her heels and started off.

"Hey!" Jemmy shouted. "Where's the river!"

"Where it's always been. Due south!"

"Which way is south?"

Betsy paused to set her arm like a signpost. "Straight on!"

"You certain?"

"Certain I'm certain. Didn't Pa always say I had a head like a compass, rest him in peace!"

And she was gone.

Their clothes were ripped to tatters by late morning when Jemmy and the prince caught sight of the sparkling river. And almost at once they dove back into cover.

Mounted on high-stepping horses, a pair of soldiers were advancing along the river road.

"They must be out searching for you," Jemmy whispered. "If they catch me with you, I'm done for!"

Prince Brat didn't seem to be listening. His eyes were fixed on the passing soldiers.

"Look here," Jemmy muttered impatiently. "I can't have you sticking to me like a barnacle. Ain't you had a snoutful o' running away? Go back with the soldiers!"

The prince shook his head. "Let them pass." And then he added with the faintest of smiles, "This is the first time no one has had fits because I got my clothes grimy. The ladies keep me clean and starched as a pillowcase!"

"But you're a prince!"

"Is my face dirty as yours?"

"You don't belong knockin' about outside the walls!"

Prince Brat gazed off into the distance. "Did you have lots of friends when you lived on the streets?"

"Heaps."

"Heaps—of course."

"And hardly a one of 'em wouldn't fight me over a bone. Go back. Your pa must be having double fits o' worry."

The prince answered with a flash of resentment. "I might as well be stuffed and hung on the wall like a stag's head—for all he notices me."

"You remind him often enough, with all your pranks. How long are you going to let him sweat and stew?"

"I don't know," declared the prince. "Maybe I'll never go back. This is the best time I ever had!"

"Gaw," Jemmy murmured.

The soldiers had passed by.

Following the river, Jemmy ventured toward the city. Prince Brat strode along beside him.

"Soon as I can, I aim to give you the slip," Jemmy warned. "You'll be on your own."

The prince said nothing.

The tide was low and they traveled out of sight of the road, below a grassy embankment. In the distance, against billowing white clouds, stood a jackstraw jumble of ships' masts.

"You
can
fend for your own self, can't you?" Jemmy asked suddenly.

"Of course I can!" answered the prince in a stinging voice. "I don't need flocks of servants to fetch and carry for me."

"It's settled, then."

"Settled! Skip off anytime you like."

With the tide out, a wide mud flat lay exposed. From long habit, Jemmy kept his eyes peeled for treasure. Sandpipers scattered like mice before him.

He spotted a barrel stave and pounced upon it.

"Trash," remarked the prince. "What are you doing?"

"Mudlarking."

"What?"

"I've got to eat, don't I? If I can collect enough driftwood, I can sell it as firewood."

The prince shrugged and walked on ahead. Jemmy gazed after him for a moment. What did a prince know about living off the streets? His meals had always appeared on China plates and silver trays as if by magic. Left to himself, he'd starve.

"It's not my worry," Jemmy muttered.

"What?"

"You, that's what. If you get hungry enough, you'll scramble back to the castle."

The prince glared back at Jemmy, and then stooped down to retrieve the broken leg of a chair from the mud. "Is this worth anything?"

Jemmy nodded. Before long, the two of them had collected three more barrel staves and the back of the chair.

Then Jemmy found something even more valuable to him—a bent and battered birdcage. He could go into business with that! Straightened out, it would hold rats.

They rounded a bend and the crack of a whip sounded in the air like a firecracker. Jemmy crawled up the embankment for a look.

A weary old coach was mired in a mudhole on the road. The coachman, looking just as old and rickety, held the reins of his two-horse team and cracked his whip in the air again.

"Pull, gents! Be good lads! It's me own fault, not leadin' you around this bog. Me eyesight ain't what it was, is it, old tars?"

Jemmy watched for another moment as the horses tried to pull the coach free. The coach was enameled blue, with yellow lettering painted on the door panel:

Capt. Harry Nips

HOT-POTATO MAN

Jemmy crawled over the embankment. A ride to the city would suit him fine.

"Sir? Would you take on a passenger? Here, let me set these barrel staves under the wheels."

"Don't mind if you do," said Captain Nips. "I'm late for the fair as it is."

Jemmy busied himself, laying a firm track for the wheels. Prince Brat watched from the edge of the embankment.

"You must be carrying a heavy load," Jemmy cried out. "Try again, Cap'n!"

The old man cracked his whip, the horses strained—and the coach rolled up out of the bog.

"Hop in, lad."

Jemmy opened the door and saw that the coach was heavily loaded with raw potatoes and a huge iron kettle. Jemmy settled himself as best he could, and the coach lurched forward.

At last, Jemmy thought, you're free of the prince! But he couldn't resist a backward glance.

Prince Brat was standing in the center of the road. He'd dropped his load of driftwood and merely gazed at the receding coach.

Jemmy straightened, and folded his arms. The prince wasn't his lookout any longer. But he'd stood there like a wounded bird. Blast him! A prince hadn't a cockeyed notion how to fend for himself.

"Stop, Cap'n!" Jemmy shouted. "We left me friend behind."

The hot-potato man pulled up on the reins. Jemmy leaned out a window. With an arm he motioned Prince Brat to come along.

For an instant, Jemmy thought he saw a smile flash across the prince's face. But it had vanished by the time the heir to the throne joined him inside the coach.

They rode in silence. Jemmy wondered what had possessed him to refer to Prince Brat as his friend. Friend? Cows would give beer first!

Then, minutes later, the coach rocked to a sudden halt.

"Stand and deliver!" came a shout.