by John Patrick
Samuel and Mary were determined not to miss their father the next morning. They pledged to stay up all night to make sure. After their mother had settled for the night, they sat in the kitchen and waited. By one a.m. the candle had burnt out and they decided to take turns sleeping. Mary lay down on the floor with her blanket and was quickly asleep. Samuel would have first turn staying awake in the chair. Within minutes he was snoring.
Samuel awoke with a start. The kitchen was still dark but the sky beyond the window had the first navy blue hints of dawn. Was it too early for his father? Samuel took his blanket and went outside. He walked to the front of the house and sat on the top step. He wrapped himself in his blanket and waited.
James was awake too. He and Brock had spent the whole night on top of the cathedral tower. After a few hours, James' blinded alcoholic happiness had faded and left him with a gut-wrenching emptiness, a sadness, compounded now with a sense of failure. He spent the rest of the night staring at the stars, irrationally debating what he should do and chewing over Brock's comments. At long last morning began to creep in from the east and push the black from the sky.
James' head hurt and his mouth felt as dry as a desert. He wanted to vomit. Was this the plague? James had never experienced a hangover but the taste of port that kept revisiting his throat made him realise that last night's indulgence was a more likely cause. Brock was flat on his back, mouth open and snoring loudly. James grabbed his few possessions and headed for the stairs. It was a long way down and the sight of the spiralling stone stairs made his head spin. He felt the vomit well up inside his chest; he dropped the blanket and spewed, splattering his legs, his blanket and his friend. Brock felt nothing and continued to snore. James picked up his things and made his way very slowly down the stairs.
Once outside James clenched his teeth and tried to forget his pounding head. He walked briskly through the empty streets. His throat was even more parched, made worse by the taste of acidic vomit. There was a water standard on the way where he could get a drink. He cut through the back alleys until he came to a small square. In the centre stood a fountain. The sound of the water gushing from the mouth of an ugly stone fish was almost refreshment in itself. James dashed to it and was about to put his face into the flow when there was a shout.
'Oi, you, get away from that!'
Before he time to turn and respond, a rock crashed into his back.
'Go on, we don’t want your sorts ‘ere!' Another rock flew and crashed into the fountain. 'Clear off before I 'ave ya locked up!'
'I just want a drink. Let me be.' James pushed his face into the cool flow. He opened his mouth and let the water flood in. A blow landed between his shoulders and dropped him to the floor.
'I warned you. Now clear off!' The warden stood alongside James, clutching his wooden baton with both hands as if playing baseball. 'I'm not havin' your sorts dirtyin' my water. Go on, piss off!'
James clambered to his feet and shuffled away. His back burnt with pain, his head hurt even more but at least his thirst was partly quenched.
He continued his walk through the quiet, waking streets and until he grew close to Monnington Street. He turned a corner into a neighbouring road; the street was blocked. A barricade of boxes, wooden planks and carts sat across the road. Several men were dragging furniture across the street to add to the blockade. James cursed quietly to himself. He had to pass. He wrapped his foul-smelling, vomit-stained blanket around him, and with head down walked briskly towards the lowest point in the unfinished wall.
'Oh my God. Look, there’s one! One of ‘em’s comin’! Ralph stop him!'
James quickened his pace, but he wasn’t fast enough. Three men had already grabbed swords and clubs and now stood filling the gap. At the road side, a fourth was busy trying to load his musket.
'You’re not comin’ through ‘ere mate. Turn around now so we don’t 'ave to ‘urt ya.'
James kept his head down and kept walking.
'I said turn 'round!'
James looked up at the men blocking his route and the half-built barricade. Should he turn and walk away. What if all of the routes to his family were blocked? Could he be over this before they knew what was happening? Maybe not but what was there to lose? He dropped his blanket and sprinted towards the middle of the barrier. He jumped onto the pile of wood and furniture and tried to scramble over it. But it was like trying climb a sand dune and the barricade collapsed around him. Hands grabbed at his shirt and legs and pulled him back, throwing him onto the ground. Boots began to crash into his body kicking him mercilessly into his chest, his back and legs. James tried to crawl out from the onslaught but a foot landed in his face and threw him over onto his back.
'Stop it!? Get off him! Leave him alone for heaven's sake!' It was a woman’s voice. 'Do you wanna catch the bloody disease? Don’t touch him!'
The barrage stopped; James crawled out and then staggered to his feet. Defeated, bruised and bloodied he retreated back down the street. Ralph meanwhile, had finally loaded his musket. He raised it and took careful aim at James’ back. There was a flash, a cloud of smoke and a scream. The shot whistled over James’ shoulder. Ralph fell to the floor blinded and burnt by a backfire.
James didn't quicken his pace. He continued to trudge away from the blockade. He tried two more streets but roadblocks seemed to be appearing everywhere on these more upmarket roads, and even where the road was clear his appearance was so dirty and dishevelled that he was attracting attention and abuse. Rocks were hurled, sticks and clubs raised and he'd be chased away. There seemed to be no way for him to get back to his family.
A few miles away Annabel Collins was stood at her drawing room window waiting impatiently. She had also planned to return to Monnington Street just after dawn to catch James with the stone. She had anticipated trouble with her route this time, and had hired some muscular assistants to help ease her way through. They were late. Finally the carriage swept up the gravel drive. It contained three burly, well armed court guards. She'd give them a piece of her mind for being late when they got to the house.
Samuel sat on the doorstep for hours. He snoozed, waking frequently to check for his father. Eventually Mary awoke and came looking for him. She found him fast asleep. She put a hand on his shoulder. Samuel awoke with a start.
'Is 'e 'ere?' asked Samuel hopefully.
'There's no one 'ere 'cept for you Sammy.' Mary sat dejectedly by his side.
Samuel stood up on tip toes and peered down the road. There was no sign of his father. A tear welled in his eye as he sat back down by his sister. Mary put an arm around him.
'They prob'ly just made 'im work early or somethin'. Bet ya ‘e’s alright.'
'Maybe he'll be 'ere tomorra?'
'Yeh, bound to be.' replied Mary. 'Come on; let's see 'ow they're goin' in the carriage 'ouse.' She grabbed Samuel by the elbow and pulled him down the steps. 'An' we need to make more o’ that water.
A smirk appeared on Samuel's face. 'Hey, d'ya reckon them two might 'ave got together. Ya know, old Misses Munro an' Shipton.' he sniggered and swept away the tear.
'Samuel! That's disgustin'!'
'Think 'ow ugly their babies would be!'
They were both still sniggering as they entered the kitchen. Elizabeth was coming downstairs from the main house. She was ecstatic. Alice was well again. She had woken without fever; the runny nose and cough had gone. Elizabeth hummed as she watched Alice methodically descend the steps one by one; following just close enough to be able to grab her if she stumbled. She had to admit, this did look like the work of the stone. From now on they would all be drinking it at least four times a day, she thought. Alice saw her siblings coming through the back door and charged excitedly at them, arms open wide. Mary jumped back.
'It's all right,' Elizabeth laughed 'she's fine! Look at her!'
Mary eyed her with suspicion. Alice seized her leg.
'Did you give 'er the potion?' asked Samuel.
'I did Sammy. An’ you're right, it worked! Fr
om now we're all drinking it!' she smiled as Alice pushed herself between Mary's legs. 'And your father, children. Is he there? We need to give him some of this. Did you see him?'
Samuel shook his head.
'Sam sat out there since 'fore dawn, Mum. He ain't come.'
Elizabeth's cheerful expression evaporated. 'There’s still time. I'll go and see. Look after Alice for a while.'
After Elizabeth had disappeared Mary filled a bucket with water and Samuel ran the stone around the top. The water slopped over the side as Samuel staggered across the driveway. Alice followed enthusiastically behind.
First call was to Mother Munro. She gulped the water down. 'And food children? You've brought me some food?' Mary handed her some bread and apples. 'An' who's this lovely wee child?'
'This ours sister, Alice.' explained Mary.
'Och she’s a pretty wee thing. Come sit with me.' Mother Munro reached a hand out, but Alice shrank shyly back behind her sister’s leg. Mother Munro’s expression changed to a scowl. 'Please yoursel'.' She hissed at Alice, giving her one-toothed snarl.
A moist cough came from above.
'An’ who’s that you got hidin’ up there?' asked Mother Munro. 'Is that the man you told me 'boot? The man who stole the stoon?'
'He didn’t steal it,' explained Samuel 'he won it.'
'Is tha' a fact? I think the boys may like a wee chat wi’ him.'
'What boys?'
'Och, ye'll see, soon enough.'
Mary was feeling uncomfortable. She tapped Samuel on the shoulder. 'Come on. Let’s get this up there.'
Samuel climbed the ladder and then reached back from the top to pull the bucket up from his sister.
'Come on Sam! Most of it’s on me ‘ead!'
Samuel chuckled and hauled it the last few inches onto the platform. Shipton also seemed to have benefited from his doses of the potion. He was awake, sitting In the corner, his knees tucked up under his chin, the key still dangling around his neck and a nervous expression on his face. Samuel dropped the bucket alongside him, spilling yet more.
'‘Ere y’are! Big delivery!'
'Shhh!' Shipton put a finger to his cracked lips. 'Who’s that woman you got down there? What’s she doin’ ‘ere?' he whispered.
Mary pushed Alice over the top step and came and knelt alongside them. 'That’s old Mother Munro. She told us ‘ow to get the stone to work. She knows all about it.'
'That’s what I’m worried about. I 'eard what she said. An' she's Scot, ain't she?' muttered Shipton. 'Look kids, I’m real grateful for all your ‘elp an' that but it’s time I was gettin’ on me way. If you let me ‘ave the stone back, then I’ll be off.'
'But you ain’t well enough yet' pointed out Samuel 'an’ any’ow, you can’t ‘ave the stone back. We need it!'
Shipton’s expression transformed from fear to anger. 'That belongs to me!' He lunged forward but before he could reach Samuel, pains from his wound pulled him back. He grabbed at his flank. He forced a grin. 'Look, you been real kind, gettin' me the key an' all, real kind. But I need that stone. It’s mine. Just give it me and I’ll be gone.'
Samuel and Mary stood back out of reach.
'We ain’t got it. It’s in the ‘ouse.' said Mary, 'An’ I'm sorry but we need it too. If you stay ‘ere we’ll give ya as much water as ya can drink. An’ if...'
'Shhh!' hissed Shipton again.
The door was creaking open. Samuel crept forward on all fours and peered over the edge. Two kilted men entered the carriage house.
'Is it him? The Scot?' hissed Shipton.
Samuel nodded soberly. 'There’s two of ‘em, in them skirts.'
'Oh my God!' Shipton looked to the heavens. 'You’ve killed me. You’ve gone and bloody killed me!'
Mary looked out through the small attic window. 'P’rhaps we could climb out of ‘ere Sam.'
'Oh thanks a bloody bundle!' hissed Shipton 'Don’t worry ‘bout me will ya!'
Alice wasn’t aware of Madadh and Cormag below, and even if she had been, she wouldn’t have known to be scared. She was busy trying to pick up a bright red ladybird that she’d found crawling on the straw. She touched it and it buzzed away towards the edge of the balcony. She dashed after it, at least as much of a dash as her clumsy toddler legs would allow. The platform was made of irregular wooden planks, bent and warped with time and moisture. As she ran, her foot caught on a raised edge near to the top of the ladder. She tripped, fell and disappeared head first over the edge of the balcony.
Chapter 27
