The Cat's Eye Shell

by Kate Forsyth

  Luka huffed out his breath. ‘What? You suspect Nat of treachery?’

  ‘I do. I have done since Arundel. Maybe even earlier. But the duke is a good man, and trusts those that declare they are trustworthy. Me? I’ve been on the run since I was twenty and discovered my vocation. I’ve been betrayed by men I thought of as brothers, and hunted high and low and in and out, till I cannot remember a day I slept easily. So I am not so trusting.’

  Luka and Emilia exchanged unhappy glances. ‘But why have you not accused him?’ Emilia burst out. ‘If you think Nat is a traitor? Why?’

  ‘I suspected you and your cousin too,’ the priest said, smiling genially. ‘And young Tom here. I’ve even wondered about the duke once or twice. Perhaps he wants to be caught, so he can betray the confidences of all he has met these past few weeks.’

  ‘No!’ Tom cried.

  ‘Maybe,’ the priest said. ‘It would not be the first time, believe me. Either way, I have no proof, only suspicions, and I have those always. Why accuse and turn the duke against me? He trusts Nat.’

  ‘So you plan to kill him.’ Tom spoke flatly.

  ‘Who, me? I’m a priest in the service of our Lord Jesus Christ,’ Father Plummer said. ‘It is a sin to murder! No, no. I merely suggested to our friend Milosh here that, if Nat was planning some kind of treachery, perhaps it would be best to nip it in the bud, as it were. Drag him off before he took the duke wherever he plans to take him tomorrow.’

  ‘But much as I wish to oblige my old friend, I said it was impossible. There’s a garrison of soldiers installed up at the old Ypres Tower, keeping a close eye on the town, and these excise men trying hard to appear like normal travellers. It’s too risky. In the town, at least. Once we’re on the water, it’s a different story,’ Milosh said.

  As he turned his face to look from one to the other, the light of the candle caught suddenly at his ear lobe. It gleamed green and strange, like a cat’s eye in the darkness, and Emilia exclaimed aloud.

  ‘What do you wear there, in your ear?’ she asked.

  The smuggler put up a dirty hand and fingered his earring. ‘Why, that’s my good luck charm,’ he said. ‘It’s old, very old. Belonged to my great-grandfather and then my grandfather and then my father and then me. Older still, maybe. It brings in clouds to cover the moon, or rain to hide our tracks, or high seas to hide us from the lanterns of the excise men. I’d never be parted from it.’

  ‘Oh, but please,’ Emilia said, knowing she was doing this all wrong. She was very tired, though. ‘Please, can’t I have it?’

  ‘No,’ Milosh said, scowling. ‘It’s not just a pretty trinket for a wean to beg for. It’s magic, a charm, a talisman. It has meaning.’

  ‘I know,’ said poor Emilia. ‘But truly I need it. Please?’

  ‘No,’ he said and got up, slapping his hat on his thigh before drawing it down over his head. He looked at the priest. ‘Your cargo’s chosen another route. You have no need of me now. I’ll be going.’

  Both Emilia and Luka jumped to their feet, begging him to stay and listen, but he would not. He cast them a look through narrowed eyes, and went out, shutting the door quietly after him.

  ‘Stupid!’ Emilia said. ‘Stupid, stupid!’ She banged herself on the side of the head.

  The priest regarded them with a quizzical expression. ‘Now, that was odd. I had not marked you as a vain and frivolous child, Emilia. Why on earth would you ask Milosh for his earring?’

  ‘It’s magic,’ Emilia said miserably. ‘It’s part of a charm bracelet that was broken up long ago. My Baba told me to find them and join them together again. I have found three, but I need the other three before we can rescue our family.’

  Luka was angry with her. ‘Forget the stupid charms! We could have asked Milosh for practical help. We’ll need horses to get away, and the smugglers have ponies, a whole herd of them, which they use to carry their goods through the countryside. And they’ll know how to hide from the constables, and maybe even how to break into the prison. There was so much I wanted to ask him, and you had to ruin it all with your craze over these stupid charms. They’re not magic, Emilia! It’s just stupid old-fashioned superstition.’

  ‘It is not!’ Emilia cried, bursting into tears. ‘How can you say that! The charms have saved us again and again.’

  ‘Like when?’ Luka said scornfully.

  ‘Like when Lord Harry rescued us from Coldpig!’

  ‘That wasn’t the charms, that was just luck!’

  ‘No, it wasn’t!’

  ‘It was, Emilia. You’ve got all crazy about these so-called lucky charms and forgotten what we’re really meant to be doing. What’s important is rescuing our family –’

  ‘You … think … I … don’t … know … that …’ Emilia was so distraught she could barely speak.

  ‘That’s enough, children. Come, it’s very late and you are both exhausted. Do not fight like this. We’ll leave another owl feather for Milosh tomorrow, and explain it all to him. He’s a gypsy too, I’m sure he’ll understand it all.’ Father Plummer sounded quite bemused, as if he did not at all understand what all the grief and trouble was about.

  Emilia had tears pouring down her cheeks. ‘How … can you … say … how …’

  ‘It’s complete rubbish, Emilia! And you lost us our chance of asking for real help! I’ve humoured you this far, but never again. Never!’ Luka was in such a rage he could not sit still, but leapt up and paced back and forth.

  Emilia stared at him, in utter despair, then she jumped up and dashed for the door. Rollo got up to follow her, but the door slammed on his nose. Tail drooping, he looked back at Luka who kicked at the priest’s bed. ‘Stupid girls!’

  ‘Go to bed,’ the priest said. ‘It’ll all feel better in the morning. Go on. To bed! I’m so exhausted I’m all befuddled, and I’m far older than you. Go on. You can make up in the morning.’

  ‘I don’t want to make up,’ Luka said. ‘Emilia’s nothing but a silly little girl.’

  He went out and banged the door loudly. The priest and Tom looked at each other, then Tom shrugged and went out too, Rollo at his heels. The big brown dog whined outside Emilia’s door and scratched the wood, but there was no answer.

  ‘Come in with us,’ Tom said, and went into the bedroom he was sharing with Luka. The gypsy boy was lying in bed, his back to the door. Zizi was enfolded in his arms, but she peeped over his shoulder and showed Tom her sharp yellow teeth. Tom sighed, undressed and got into bed.

  ‘We’ll work it out in the morning,’ Tom said to Rollo, who beat his tail once or twice against the rug, but looked very mournful. ‘Go to sleep,’ he told him, and obediently Rollo lay down and put his head on his paws. He did not shut his eyes.

  Tom did, but he did not sleep for a very long time.

  Emilia woke very early, feeling utterly miserable. She lay for a while, sniffling, too unhappy to get up, too unhappy to go back to sleep.

  There was a soft tap at the door. She sat up but did not speak.

  The door opened. It was Tom.

  ‘Are you all right?’ he asked.

  She shook her head.

  He bit his lip. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘It’s almost dawn. I heard the duke get up and go out. I think we should follow him, make sure everything’s all right.’

  She nodded her head, and slid out of bed. He hesitated, his hand on the knob. ‘Do you really believe those charms of yours are magic?’

  She nodded again, and bent her head to look at the bracelet clasped about her thin wrist. Three charms hung from it, gold and silver. She put up her other hand and clasped the golden crown.

  ‘But … how?’

  ‘They just are,’ she said, her voice thick. She pulled on her skirt and was ready to go. ‘Where’s Rollo?’

  ‘Out here. He slept with us. It was Rollo that woke me, whining at the door.’

  ‘Good dog,’ Emilia said, and caressed the dog’s rough head. He gave a little whuff and licked her hand.

&n
bsp; Luka was waiting out in the corridor, his hair standing all on end, his coat askew. He did not look at her, and so she did not look at him.

  ‘Come on,’ Tom said unhappily.

  The three children went down the stairs and out the front door. They saw the black shapes of Nat and the duke moving quietly down the street and followed them at a distance. Down at the quay, a small boat was bobbing up and down, a man hunched at the oars. There was no sign of the watchman. Nat and the duke climbed into the boat, and the oarsman began to row. The children watched from the shelter of the great Strand Gate as the boat disappeared into the darkness.

  ‘They must be rowing out to a ship at the mouth of the river,’ Luka whispered. ‘The river’s too silted up for them to sail in any more, Father Plummer said.’

  ‘Let’s go up there,’ Tom said, pointing at the church spire, silhouetted against the fading darkness. ‘You’ll be able to see for miles from there.’

  Silently the other two followed him up the lane to the church, built on the hill’s highest point. It was still dark, but the horizon was rimmed in silver. The church door was unlocked, and they slipped inside, trying to be as quiet as mice. Rollo’s claws clicked on the stone floor, and Emilia put her hand on his shaggy ruff.

  It was a small church and it took only a moment to find the steep and narrow steps that led up to the ramparts. They went up in single file, Tom leading the way. Luka and Emilia had still not spoken to each other, or even so much as glanced at each other.

  From the battlements around the spire, they could see for miles, across rolling fields and rustling marshes and winding river, all slowly lifting out of the darkness as the sun warmed the edges of the world. The sea glimmered faintly to the south, and they could see a great ship waiting at the mouth of the river, its masts dark against the sky. Luka stared at it through his telescope.

  ‘They’re pulling down a flag,’ he commented. ‘I wonder why?’

  ‘Let me see,’ Tom commanded.

  Rather unwillingly, Luka passed him the telescope. Tom put it to his eye, and stared through it for quite a while.

  ‘Why, that’s Cromwell’s flag they’re pulling down,’ he cried. ‘See the Irish harp?’

  ‘What? What do you mean?’

  ‘Cromwell had a new flag designed, with a harp in the middle, for Ireland,’ Tom said impatiently. ‘Don’t you know anything! The dear old Union Jack, banished like everything else. He truly is a Crumble-and-Ruin!’

  ‘No, I mean … that ship? It’s flying Cromwell’s flag?’

  ‘Aye! It’s gone now. They’ve rolled it and put it away.’ Tom lowered the telescope, looking sick and white. ‘It’s a trap, isn’t it? That’s one of Cromwell’s navy ships, not a merchant boat bound for France. The duke is heading straight into a trap.’

  Luka grabbed the telescope and scanned the river. ‘There’s the duke,’ he groaned. ‘Their little boat is halfway down the river.’

  ‘Nat did this,’ Tom cried. ‘Father Plummer was right, he is a traitor!’

  ‘But what can we do?’ Emilia sobbed. ‘Is it too late? Can we save him?’

  ‘Come on!’ Luka slammed the telescope closed, and took the steps down at a run, the other two close on his heels.

  They ran to the Mermaid Inn. The innkeeper was sweeping the front step. Luka seized his sleeve. ‘Get Milosh!’ he cried. ‘Now! We need him.’

  The innkeeper stared at him, then narrowed his eyes in sudden suspicion.

  ‘Please,’ Emilia said. ‘Truly, it’s important. We would not ask if it wasn’t.’

  The innkeeper nodded. ‘All right. It had best be important!’

  ‘It is!’ Emilia cried. ‘It’s life or death!’

  Tom was already leaping up the stairs, two at a time. He reached the priest’s room and, finding it locked, banged on it furiously.

  ‘Wha-aaat?’ a sleepy voice asked.

  ‘Father Plummer, you were right!’ Tom cried, heedless of who might be listening. ‘It’s a trap! Nat is a traitor! The duke is heading into a trap!’

  The door swung open, and the plump little man peered out, his sparse hair standing all on end. ‘You sure?’

  ‘Aye,’ Luka cried. ‘He’s right. We saw!’

  The priest dragged on his shoes. ‘We need Milosh!’

  ‘He’s coming,’ Emilia reassured him, leading him back down the stairs at a run. Rollo bounded before her, and almost knocked the innkeeper off his feet as he came hurrying out of the taproom.

  ‘What is all this?’ he demanded. ‘It’s not even dawn!’

  ‘Please,’ the priest said. ‘Our friend is in grave danger. We need the Owlers, and we need them fast.’

  The innkeeper nodded. ‘Milosh is here. He spent the night in my stable. Why? What is wrong?’

  ‘Dastardly treachery,’ Father Plummer said darkly. ‘We need a boat, fast!’

  ‘But why?’ Milosh’s voice drawled from the doorway. Unlike everyone else, he was fully dressed, and his eyes were bright and shrewd.

  Incoherently they told him the tale, Emilia tugging at his sleeve all the while.

  ‘Ship … pulled down flag … Cromwell’s harp … duke’ll be trapped … king’s business … must not be captured …’ they told him.

  It was a sign of his quick intelligence that he grasped the meaning, and the urgency, at once.

  ‘We’ll need to run!’ he cried, and led them, not straight down the lane to the quay, but through a maze of backstreets and alleys until he was at the southernmost tip of the town, and scrambling down through gardens to the river. Here a boat was well hidden under low bushes. As the priest and the children scrambled on board, Rollo leaping after them and making the boat rock wildly, Milosh untied the boat and pushed it off.

  ‘Don’t you worry,’ he whispered, flashing a grin. ‘No one knows this river better than me!’

  Treachery is Afoot

  Although the sun was slowly rising in the east, on the river all was still dark. The only sound was the rustle of the wind in the rushes, and the occasional splash. The tide was going out, and Milosh barely had to work at his oars to keep the little boat hastening towards the sea.

  ‘We have no hope of fighting a whole navy ship,’ he whispered. ‘We must get our friend the duke before he’s on board.’

  ‘But they are ten minutes or more ahead of us,’ Emilia said, clutching her hands together.

  ‘Aye, but I have a few tricks up my sleeve,’ he answered. ‘Am I not a Rom?’

  She watched as he raised a hand and fingered the earring in his ear. A quick look flashed between them, charged with sudden understanding. Emilia slid her right hand down to grasp the chain about her left wrist. First she touched the golden crown, for luck and magic, and then the silver horse, and lastly, the rue flower. Help us, she thought. Hide us …

  Mist rolled up from the river, obscuring them. Milosh manoeuvred the boat one way, then another, even in the darkness knowing the treacherous route between the sandbars.

  They heard voices close by, cursing. ‘Just hit another sandbar! Bloody mist! Where did it come from? I can’t see a thing!’

  Milosh and Emilia smiled at each other.

  Thicker and thicker the fog rose, black-bellied and red-backed where the rising sun poured its molten heat upon it. Ahead of them loomed the great seagoing ship. Its masts seemed to rise out of cloud like those of a ghost ship. The river was invisible, but Milosh knew it so well he could row blindfolded, in black moonless nights or fog-bound mornings. The other boat did not fare so well.

  ‘Oddsblood!’ someone exclaimed. ‘Have we run aground again?’

  Emilia covered her mouth so she would not laugh aloud.

  Their boat came silently up under the great black hull of the ship. She smelt of seaweed and barnacles. It was an exciting, exhilarating smell, quite unlike anything Emilia had smelt before. It made her long to sail the high seas, to go to places no one had ever been before. She caught her breath, and in the dim grey light her eyes met Luka’s. She sta
red at him imploringly, unable to bear it if he was still angry with her. He stared back, then, tentatively, smiled.

  Milosh seized hold of a wet, dripping, algae-draped rope.

  Behind them they heard someone cry, ‘Ship ahoy! Where are you? Light a lamp or we’ll run aground again.’

  ‘We’re here!’ came a low voice from right above them. A lantern kindled, but the mist suffocated its rays so it was nothing but a fuzzy ball of orange hanging in the grey.

  They heard the bump as the prow of the other boat bumped into the ship. Milosh drew a pistol, and cocked it. He passed it, hilt first, to the priest who shrank back as if it were a viper.

  ‘I am a man of peace!’ he protested.

  ‘And are we not at war?’ Milosh replied softly. ‘I need to hold this boat steady, and then get us away again. Take my pistol.’

  Father Plummer took it and held it away from him with both hands.

  Milosh slid the boat closer to the other. They were busy making fast, and calling for a ladder to be tossed down, and did not hear them approach.

  ‘Luka, Tom, you will need to tackle the other boat,’ Milosh whispered. ‘Be ready!’

  The bow of their boat bumped into the stern of the other. The duke looked around in surprise, peering through the mist. ‘What was that?’ he asked.

  Nat looked up, immediately suspicious. ‘Quick, my lord, up the ladder!’ he hissed. ‘I do believe treachery is afoot!’

  This made Luka so angry he stood up, crying, ‘My lord, Nat is the one who has betrayed you! We’ve come to rescue you!’

  ‘Luka? What are you talking about?’

  ‘This is no merchant ship,’ he cried. ‘It’s a navy ship! Come away, quickly!’

  The duke glanced up at the ship, taking an involuntary step away.

  ‘Don’t believe him,’ Nat said desperately, leaping to his feet. ‘He’s nothing but a filthy, lying gypsy, as trustworthy as a snake.’

  ‘How dare you speak so of Luka!’ Tom yelled and flung himself into the other boat. He knocked Nat flying. ‘You’re the snake! Treacherous cur!’