Castaways of the Flying Dutchman fd-1

by Brian Jacques

  Covering his palm with the sleeve edge of his jersey, he wrenched the flap of tin back and shook out the

  contents onto the table. Immediately the four began sorting through the papers. They were yellowed with age. Amy

  studied one.

  "Old back issues of the Chapelvale Chronicle! Look at this one, it's dated 1783. 'Pitt the Younger becomes

  British Prime Minister.' 'American Independence to be recognized.' 'Monsieur Montgolfier is to fly in a balloon.' I'll

  bet Mr. Braithwaite would be interested in these."

  Jon piled them in a stack. He seemed disappointed. "Well, they're of little use to anyone else. Come on, lass,

  let's take them over to him."

  Being a historian, Mr. Braithwaite was delighted with the find. So eager was he to have the papers that he made

  a grab at them, knocked them off the library desk, and sent them in a cascade across the parquet floor. "Er, oh dear, er,

  I do beg your pardon, Mr. Preston. Very, er, clumsy of me, I'm sure!"

  But the old carpenter was not listening, he was holding up a square of material which had fallen out from

  between the folds of one edition of the Chronicle. "Look what I've found."

  Alex recognized the thing instantly. "That's a needlework sampler, like children used to embroider their

  alphabets on. What does it say?"

  Amy knelt by Jon and read aloud the bit she could understand. " 'Evelyn De Winn. 1673.' Ben, it was sewn by

  one of Winnie's family!" The embroidered writing was extremely neat, showing what a clever needlewoman Evelyn

  De Winn had been, though it was hard to make out the rest of the letters, as a lot of them were strangely archaic, each

  letter s being shaped like an f.

  Mr. Braithwaite was suddenly transformed from a bumbling librarian into a scholar of Old English text. He took

  up pen and paper excitedly. "Give it here, I'll translate for you. Amelia, sit there and write this down, please!"

  There were no "ers," "ahs," or other hesitations from Mr. Braithwaite as he dictated in a clear, slow voice to her:

  "Take the Commandments paces west,

  away from the bless'd naming place,

  to where the heavenly twins stand ever

  gazing at Sol's dying face.

  Turn as a third Gospelmaker would

  to the house named for the rock,

  'twixt here and there you must stop to drink,

  your first reward to unlock."

  Mr. Braithwaite scratched his fuzzy mane. "Hmm, 1670, a time of persecution for British Catholics and noncon-

  formists. That was when the almshouse ceased to be St. Peter's and the new church was built on the hilltop. They

  called it the Chapelvale Church, though secretly it was still known to the local Catholics as St. Peter's, hence its

  present name."

  Jon indicated the sampler. "Thankee, sir, you can keep this for your library archives, we'll make do with Amy's

  translation."

  The librarian was once again his former self. "Er, quite, er, that is, thank you, Mr., er, yes, very good!"

  25.

  BACK AT THE ALMSHOUSE ALL TIDYING UP was forgotten as they sat around the big oblong table and

  studied the poem from the sampler and Amy read out the first line slowly." 'Take the Commandments paces west.'"

  Jon shrugged his shoulders. "What's a Commandments pace?"

  Ben had guessed, but he let Alex answer. "Must mean ten paces, because . . . there's ten Commandments!"

  "True, true." The old man nodded approvingly. Ben winked at Alex. "Well done, pal."

  " 'Away from the bless'd naming place,' " Amy went on.

  Alex looked disappointed. "That's not so easy."

  Amy reasoned, "Whatever a bless'd naming place is, we've got to take ten paces away from it. Naming place,

  naming place. Any ideas, Ben?"

  Ben looked stumped. "Naming place, let me see... Does it mean the name of a place, or a name like mine and

  yours, Amy, Alex, Jon—"

  The old ship's carpenter interrupted. "I remember when I was young, I hated my full title, Jonathan. Though my

  ma used to say, 'Jonathan you were christened and Jonathan you shall stay.' You can't change your christening name!"

  Ned had settled down for his afternoon nap beneath the table, when Ben disturbed him by banging on the table

  as he gritted out in frustration, "The bless'd naming place, where is it?"

  Recognition hit Alex like a slap in the face. "Christening! Naming place! It's where they baptize babies!" Amy

  whooped delightedly and hugged him. "What a clever brother I've got, he's a genius!"

  Crimson-faced, Alex shrugged off his sister's embrace. "Where was the naming place here, Jon, d'you know?"

  Ned flashed his master a thought. "Right under this table, I think. Feels as if this bumpy chunk of stone's the

  base of something bigger that was broken off." The Labrador shuffled lazily out to find another napping spot,

  remarking, "Of course, I might be wrong, but it's worth a try."

  Ben mentally answered his friend's idea. "Thanks, pal. Now let's see if I can discover it without giving away our

  secret."

  Jon was stroking his beard, looking this way and that.

  "Hmm, baptismal font, every church has one, though I've never thought of a font being in this old place.

  Hmmm."

  Ben patted Ned as he lumbered by. He spoke aloud to the dog, so his three friends could hear.

  "What's the matter, old boy, not comfy enough under there? Let's take a look." Dropping on all fours, he

  crawled under the table. "Hahah!"

  At the sound of Ben's exclamation, Amy crouched and stared under the table at him. "Something there?"

  "I think so, it's a sort of raised square bit with a broken part sticking out the middle. Will that be it, Jon?"

  The old ship's carpenter nodded to Alex. "It may be. It may be. Let's move this table. You take one side. Lass,

  take care of the two bricks under the leg. Stay there, Ben!"

  The table was moved, the boy stayed on all fours by the remnants of the baptismal font, looking up at Amy for

  approval. Instead, it was the Labrador who received her hug.

  "Good old Ned, it was due to you we found it, good boy!"

  If a dog could ever smirk, Ned did. He flicked his tail toward his master. "Sorry about that, pal, but credit where

  it's due, y'know. Nothing like a hug from a pretty girl, eh!"

  But Ben was more intent on solving the mystery than bantering with Ned. He watched Jon trace the graven

  lettering around the limestone base with his clasp knife blade, reading aloud. " 'In nomine Patris, et filius, et spiritus

  sanctus.' In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit—I remember that from Sunday Mass when I was a

  lad. This is it. This stub is probably the column of the font basin. How did the rhyme read, boy?"

  "Take the Commandments paces west,

  away from the bless'd naming place."

  Alex walked over and stood by the font base. "Ten paces west from here. Anyone got a compass?" He met Jon's

  slightly disapproving stare blankly. "How'r we supposed to know which way west is?"

  The old ship's carpenter smiled. "I can tell you've never been to sea. Show him, lad."

  Ben faced the open rear windows, warm with afternoon sunlight. "West's where the sun sets, over there."

  Alex began measuring out ten paces solemnly in the right direction. Amy sat down on the floor beside her

  strange friend, and whispered to him. "Jon said that as if you'd been to sea. Have you, Ben?"

  He tried to shrug off the question. "The sea? Oh, for just a little bit, nothing much really."

  She stared curiously into his clouded blue eyes. It started to race through his mind again—how
could he tell her:

  wind, waves, storm, the world of waters. A dumb boy and a half-starved dog, crouching in the galley of the Flying

  Dutchman, with a captain (Vanderdecken) roaring oaths at the heavens as he tried battling his way around Cape Horn

  in the teeth of winter gales. Murder on the high seas, an angel dropping to the deck, the numbing shock of being

  plunged into an icy green maelstrom of ocean.

  He was wrenched back to reality by Jon clapping a huge arm about his shoulders. "Are you all right, lad?"

  The feeling ebbed. He shook himself. "Er, yes, mate, I'm fine. Bumped my head on that table when you moved

  it. I'll be all right, it's nothing."

  His dog had caught Ben's thoughts. To distract Amy he leapt on her and began licking her face.

  She tried laughingly to push him off. "Hahaha, what've I done to deserve all this? Get off me, you great silly

  dog!"

  Ben shook a finger at her as he held Ned's collar. "Don't blame him, Amy, you started all the hugging off!"

  Her brother called, "I'm about three feet from the window here. That's ten paces. What happens now?"

  The old ship's carpenter took over. He paced out ten steps, going past Alex to arrive one pace outside the open

  windows in the churchyard. "Your pace was shorter than the person who wrote the rhyme, mate. Mine is slightly

  longer, I think. But it's somewhere about here."

  They joined him outside in the late afternoon. Amy brought the translation with her, she read the next part.

  "To where the heavenly twins stand ever

  gazing at Sol's dying face."

  Alex winked at Jon. "That's got nothing to do with going to sea, I'll bet. Come on, mate, let's see you solve this

  one!" A real friendship was beginning to show between the hesitant boy and the old carpenter.

  Jon ruffled Alex's hair as he looked around. "Give me a bit of time, matey, we'll crack it!"

  The Labrador snickered as he passed Ben a thought. "The heavenly twins, that could be us!"

  The boy struggled to hide a grin. "Heavenly? Not you, mate. Now stop fooling about and help us."

  Amy sat on the windowsill. "Heavenly twins.... Maybe it's those two stars, you know, the sign of Gemini.

  They're always called the heavenly twins!"

  Jon gazed up at the sky, thinking aloud. "Only trouble with that is, it's daylight. How could the heavenly twins

  watch Sol's dying face?"

  The younger boy plucked a blade of grass and chewed on one end. "What's a Sol?"

  Ben had heard the expression before, so he explained. "Sol is a name given to the sun. The sun sinks in the west,

  you've heard the expression. The dying sun sank into the west. I've read it in books many a time."

  Amy nodded. "Ben's right. So what we're looking for are two things. Heavenly twins standing ever gazing at

  Sol's dying face." She walked out into the churchyard, grass rustling against her long skirt. Ben followed her.

  Together they stopped, about halfway across, and leaned on one of the many crooked moss-grown gravestones,

  staring at the back of the almshouse. Ben saw the twins straight away, but he waited a moment until Amy caught sight

  of them. She leapt upright, pointing. "There they are, underneath the middle window: the twins!"

  Two gracefully fluted columns of limestone formed the window edges. Beneath them, as if supporting the

  columns with their wings, stood two carved stone angels, facing outward, their hands joined in prayer, faces looking

  upward to heaven. Amy's voice caused a prowling jackdaw to take flight as she shouted shrilly, "The heavenly twins

  standing ever gazing at Sol's dying face!"

  Ned looked accusingly at his master, passing a thought. "You knew that, didn't you? Before Amy called out,

  you'd guessed where the angels were. I must say, though, having seen a real angel, those two don't bear much

  resemblance, huh!"

  Ben raised his eyebrows. "Don't be hard on the stonemason, Ned, he'd probably never seen an angel."

  " 'Turn as a third Gospelmaker would to the house named for the rock,' " Alex read out loud. "Now I'm really

  stumped. I don't know any Gospelmakers."

  The old carpenter drew a silver watch from his pocket and consulted it. "Well, we can all go home and think

  about it.

  You'll be wanted for dinner soon. I say we meet back here tomorrow, same time?"

  Alex grumbled a bit; he was certain they were on to something, but Jon was right. Ben and his dog stood with

  Amy on the other side of the wall, waiting while her brother bid his newfound friend good-bye. Alex held forth his

  hand.

  "See you tomorrow morning, then, Jon. Don't worry, we'll solve it. We're doing something to save Mrs. Winn's

  village for her. Not like some of the dead and alive types around Chapel-vale, eh, mate?"

  Alex's hand vanished inside the old carpenter's huge grasp. Jon's eyes crinkled into a fond smile as he shook it.

  "Aye, mate, we won't go wrong with you helpin' us!"

  Dinner had already been served at the Smithers house. Maud Bowe retired outside to the garden, where she sat,

  perusing the illustrated pages of a book entitled Fashion Hints for the Lady about Town. Though she gave the

  impression of enjoying her country stay, Maud was longing to be back among her friends in London. Young Wilf

  slouched out into the garden, a heavy bandage and splint on his right arm, which was resting in a sling. He scowled at

  Maud and slumped down into a cast-iron chair, drumming his heels hard against the legs. Maud glanced over the top

  of her book at him.

  "Wilfred, do you have to make that din?"

  He drummed his steel-tipped boot heels louder, staring defiantly at her. "Name's not Wilfred, it's Wilf!"

  Closing the book, she stared primly at him. "All right, then. Will you cease that infernal noise, Wilf?"

  He stopped, smiled maliciously, and started drumming again. "I can do what I like 'round here. I live here, you

  don't!"

  "I'll tell your father!" "Go and tell him, I don't care."

  Maud massaged the side of her forehead daintily. The noise was really getting to her. Finally she stamped her

  foot.

  "Why don't you go up to your room? I thought you were supposed to be injured. You should be in bed!"

  Wilf was enjoying tormenting her and beat his heels faster. "Mother says I need fresh air. You go up to your

  room!"

  Maud knew she had lost the battle of wills. Before she retired to her room, she stood over Wilf, hissing nastily.

  "Stupid village clod! Wilfred, Wilfred, Wilfred!"

  Wilf continued drumming, grinning smugly at her.

  "Miss Maudy toffee nose!"

  She stalked off without another word, her thoughts racing. Maybe when her father's toughs came up from

  London, she could find a reason for one of them to give Wilf an accidental cuff across the ear. They were good at

  things like that.

  When she had gone, Wilf produced pencil and paper from his sling and began laboriously writing, trying to use

  his left hand. It was useless, Regina would write for him. This time he would fix Ben for good, without violence or

  fighting. He sat waiting for his gang to visit.

  26.

  DUSK WAS TAKING THE PLACE OF DAYlight. Outside the lace-curtained windows, a nightingale's

  melody was punctuated by an owlhoot, and dusty moths beat their wings on the windowpanes, in an effort to reach the

  interior light.

  It was just before Mrs. Winn's bedtime. She sat at the kitchen table with Ben, trying to help him with the riddle.

  He had told her of the discoveries that he, Amy, Alex, and Jon had made so far. The old lady seemed
tired and

  despondent. "Do you really think any of this will help me and the village, Ben? Time's growing shorter by the day

  now. This all sounds a bit airy-fairy, compared to the way Smithers and his London firm are forging ahead. I looked at

  one of those clearance notices posted in the square. It's so official, so full of legal jargon. All 'wheretofore' and

  'hereinafter' and 'clause B subsection D,' it made my head spin. Oh, I wish we could come back at them with

  something more solid instead of a few ideas based on guesswork."

  Ben saw the old lady was close to tears. She was plainly scared and worried by the entire situation. He took her

  hand. "Stop fretting, Miz Winn, everything will turn out for the best, you'll see. Now come on, help me with this

  problem. 'Turn as a third Gospelmaker would to the house named for the rock.' Does that mean anything to you?"

  Mrs. Winn went to warm some milk. "There were four Gospelmakers: Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John. They're

  always referred to in that order, so Luke must be the third Gospelmaker. Does that make any sense?"

  Ben watched her spooning cocoa and sugar into a jug. "Yes, yes. You're right! So which way would Luke turn,

  north, south, east, west; left, right, backward, or forward?"

  The black Labrador, who was lying with his chin on both front paws, chuckled. "That's a question—which way

  would Luke look. Luke look, get it?" ...

  Ben looked sternly at the dog. "This is no time for jokes. If you can't help, then take a nap."

  Ned closed both eyes, thinking, "Luke looks left."

  Ben answered the thought. "How d'you know that?"

  The dog opened his eyes. "I can't explain it, but it sounds right, doesn't it? Luke looks left."

  Ben said it aloud. "Luke looks left. What d'you think, Miz Winn?"

  She paused from stirring warm milk into the mixture in the jug. "Hmm, Luke looks left.... Of course, L is for

  left, R is for right. Luke starts with L, so that must be it. Well done, my boy!"

  Ned snorted aloud and closed his eyes again. However, he soon opened them again when the old lady filled his

  bowl with hot cocoa. She poured warm milk for Horatio.

  "He's never been fond of cocoa, so I give him warm milk."

  Ned threw out a thought as he slurped cocoa noisily. "Huh, foolish old feline!"

  Mrs. Winn was far too tired to continue clue-solving. Ben took her arm and walked her through to the