by Lynne Jonell
“When they got to the island—” the boy began, but he was interrupted.
“How did they get to the island?” the friar asked. “Was there a harbor deep enough for the royal ship to dock?”
Gavin looked puzzled for a moment. “There couldn’t have been a wharf, sir. The island was uninhabited.”
“Correct.” Friar Gregory stroked his chin. “So, who knows how they got from the ship to the beach? Alison, your hand was up first.”
“They took two ship’s boats, sir.”
“And what are ship’s boats? I thought the ship was a boat.”
“If it’s big enough, we don’t call it a boat—we call it a ship,” Alison answered gravely. “And a ship always carries at least one boat, and sometimes more small boats, like rowboats or little sailboats. The sailors lower them into the water, and they go back and forth between the ship and the shore, like a sort of water taxi.”
“Excellent. Duncan, can you finish the story?”
Duncan nodded. “They sailed around the island and landed on the other side. Once they were out of sight of the ship, the duke and his men attacked the earl, kidnapped the Princess Lydia, and sailed away into the Rift. The earl’s men tried to follow in the second boat, but they were too late. In the distance, they thought they saw a whirlpool take hold of the duke’s boat. Afterward they found a broken bit of the boat with its name painted on.”
“A sad tale,” said Friar Gregory. “How can we be sure it is true?”
“Because there were witnesses!” cried Duncan. “The earl’s men saw what happened, and the earl himself was wounded, almost to death. He wouldn’t have done that to himself.”
“Witnesses can be bribed,” said the friar, “and the earl’s men might be loyal to him, no matter what he’d done. Is there any other way we can know the truth of the tale?”
Duncan’s ears grew warm, and his fingers did a quick double tap on his thigh. Friar Gregory almost sounded as if he were calling the earl a liar. “There were other witnesses, sir,” he said. “A whole shipful of them.”
The teacher inclined his head. “How could people see what happened from the ship, when the fighting was on the far side of the island?”
“May I draw a map, sir?” The book Duncan had read this morning had made it clear. He went up to the board and took a piece of chalk.
“See, here’s how the island curved around the flat bit. But here, past the sandy part, the flat ledge extended out into the sea a long way, like a point, barely above water. It stuck out so far into the sea that if you walked to the very end, you could be seen from the ship.”
“Go on.” Friar Gregory clasped his hands, smiling.
“The duke and the earl were there, together with the princess. They were clearly seen, silhouetted against the setting sun. All at once, the duke pulled out his sword, struck the earl a cowardly blow, and pushed him off the ledge. Then Duke Charles threw the princess over his shoulder and ran out of sight, back to the beach and his small boat. By the time the ship managed to raise anchor and work its way around the island, the duke had sailed off into the Rift. The earl’s men tried to follow in their small boat, but first they had to pull the earl out of the rocks where he had fallen. They were wounded, too.”
“Excellent,” Friar Gregory said. “Full marks. Now, for extra credit, who can tell me why the duke would do such a thing? He had lands and power already. What good would it do him to kidnap the princess?”
Duncan gazed out the window. Who cared why the duke had done it? He was just plain bad, through and through.
Suddenly there came a clatter of hooves and a snorting of horses. A gleaming black carriage stopped at the monastery gates.
The bell at the gate tinged sharply. The gatekeeper shuffled out with the key. Every student’s neck craned as gray trousers emerged from the cab, then muscular shoulders and a bald head. A disappointed sigh moved across the classroom like a breeze over a field of dry stalks. “That’s not the earl,” someone said as the man strode toward the monastery office.
Duncan’s chair clattered to the floor. He was on his feet, staring. “It’s the earl’s man! The one who paid me!”
How the cheering started Duncan didn’t know, but Friar Gregory was pounding on the desk to restore order when the door to the classroom opened and the headmaster’s assistant poked his head in.
“Duncan McKay? You’re wanted in the headmaster’s office. Now.”
* * *
Duncan hesitated at the half-open office door. He didn’t want to interrupt when the headmaster was talking.
“… the only son of a widowed mother. Yes, we’re very proud of the lad—and although it hasn’t yet been announced, I think I can tell you that his score on the national test couldn’t possibly be better!”
Duncan flushed. He could see the headmaster’s profile as he sat at his desk, and the legs of the man sitting in the chair opposite, crossed at the knee. The gray trousers had ridden up on the crossed leg, and a wedge of hairy calf showed above the stockings. Duncan reached out a hand to knock.
“Come in, my boy!” Father Andrew was beaming. Duncan stepped forward and gave a quick bow, aimed halfway between Father Andrew and the stranger.
“Sit down, Duncan. I was just telling Mr. Bertram, here, a few things about you. You seem to have caught the earl’s interest! The Earl of Merrick, Duncan!”
Duncan found it suddenly very hard to breathe. In the pause, a cream-colored cat wound her way into the office and settled under Father Andrew’s desk. Her green eyes stared at Duncan from the shadows. Meeoow? she questioned. Mrrraowwow?
Duncan shook his head slightly. No, he hadn’t found Fia; but didn’t Mabel have any more sense than to interrupt? He couldn’t exactly meow about her missing kitten, not now.
Mr. Bertram cleared his throat. “You ran off too quickly, young man.” His tone was friendlier than it had been on the dock. “The earl wanted to speak with you.”
“Me?” Duncan’s voice squeaked with astonishment. He tried again, lower down. “Me, sir?”
“You interested him. He said, ‘That’s not a common boy,’ and told me to follow and give you this”—the man held out a silver coin—“as a reward for your unusual quickness and courtesy.”
Duncan stared at the glinting coin on the man’s palm. A silver piece! It was more money than he had ever earned at once.
Mabel crept out from under the headmaster’s desk. “We can’t find any of the monastery kittens,” the cat told him in a quick, insistent series of meows. “Have you seen Old Tom? I want to ask him some questions!”
Duncan didn’t dare meow back. “At the wharf,” he said under his breath, still staring at the coin.
“Yes, yes, the earl saw you at the wharf,” said Mr. Bertram, sounding impatient. “Take it, boy, can’t you?”
“And what do you say to the gentleman?” prompted the headmaster.
Duncan gave his head a small jerk to clear it. It was confusing to have two conversations going at once, and it was making him look like a fool.
“Thank you, sir,” he said, taking the coin with another small bow. He felt with delight the weight of silver in his hand—heavier than the coppers he was used to—and tried valiantly to ignore the cat who was still attempting to get his attention.
Mr. Bertram uncrossed his legs. “By the way,” he said, “if the boy could be excused from school this afternoon, I’d be happy to give him a tour of the schooner, and present him to the earl, too. The earl was very impressed with Duncan … McKay, was it?” He smiled. “I am sure the boy reflects great credit on your school. Perhaps he could tell the earl about the superior education he has received at this fine monastery. The Earl of Merrick is a very great supporter of education, you know. A very great financial supporter.”
He reached to shake the headmaster’s hand, but Mabel crouched in front of him, meowing desperately up at Duncan. “Old Tom tried to tell us that kittens were going missing. If only I had listened more carefully—mrrrrooooow
w yow yow yow yowwwww!”
Mr. Bertram took his foot off Mabel’s tail. “I’m sorry. I seem to have stepped on a cat.”
“Oh, dear!” Father Andrew watched in concern as Mabel streaked out of the room. “I hope there was no damage done.”
“No,” said Mr. Bertram, inspecting the top of his shoe. “She didn’t scratch the leather at all.”
There was a little silence.
“Oh, damage to the cat, you meant!” said Mr. Bertram, smiling.
* * *
Duncan bounced a little on the cab’s leather seat and looked out in delight as the landscape jolted past. This was much faster than walking. In fact, his whole life seemed to be speeding up suddenly; he felt a little dizzy. He could not get over the feeling that he was dreaming, somehow.
But the intoxicating smell of leather and sweet oil, the brisk clip-clop of the horses’ hooves, and the jouncing he got as they bumped along the cobblestone streets had never been a part of any dream he had had.
Mr. Bertram was asking the usual questions that grown-ups asked children. How old was he? What did he like about school? Where did he live? What did his mother do? Was she home in the afternoons, or did he let himself in with a key?
That last question wasn’t usual. But Mr. Bertram had a special fondness for keys, he said; it was a hobby of sorts, and he liked to see all the different kinds. Duncan handed over the house key that he kept in a buttoned pocket. He was glad Mr. Bertram was quiet as he examined the key. It was more fun to watch the rapidly moving landscape than to answer questions.
It wasn’t until the cab had passed the third cluster of cats that Duncan realized something unusual was going on. He opened the window and hung his head out so far that the straps of his cap fluttered in the breeze, but he couldn’t hear anything distinctly—just a jumble of agitated meows.
The stevedores were still loading the schooner. A large crate was rolled out of a shed, bound with ropes and fitted with a padlock. As Duncan followed Bertram up the gangplank to the schooner, the harbor crane’s iron hook swayed down on its chain and was attached to the ropes. Duncan watched from the deck as the crate was slowly raised, bit by bit, from its pallet on the dock. He took a step closer and then another step. There was a faint noise—something he could barely hear.
“I’ll go and find the earl,” said Mr. Bertram, behind him.
“Yes, sir,” said Duncan, never taking his eyes from the crane. “Oh, I forgot—may I have my key back, please?”
“Certainly, certainly—it’s right here,” said the man, fumbling in his pocket. A moment later Duncan heard a tiny ping.
“Oh, how unfortunate! I seem to have dropped it into the deck vent,” said Mr. Bertram. “Don’t worry. It will be below somewhere. I’ll be right back.”
Now the crane’s great arm was swinging the crate over the deck of the ship toward the large square hole in the deck—the cargo hatch. A man on deck had a long hooked pole to guide the crate in its slow journey.
Duncan wondered if he was hearing things. There it was again—a thin, pitiful crying, barely audible amid the shouts of men and the grinding of machinery. It sounded almost like a kitten, crying for its mother—no, more than one kitten. It sounded like a whole crate full of kittens, swinging overhead.…
Choking with horror, Duncan looked up as the crate’s shadow passed across the wooden deck. It was almost to the cargo hatch—they were going to lower it into the hold—
“NO!” he shouted. He waved his arms at the crane operator; he ran at the man with the long pole, grabbed his arm, and yanked hard.
Confusion. Yelling. The crane operator turned, startled, and the boom swung partway back. A man let go of his rope. Another pulled his too hard. The pulley block shifted, the load tilted crazily, and the hook unhitched. The crate hurtled down, crashed onto the deck, and splintered into pieces. Kittens of every color poured out, crying, scampering for the gangplank. One white kitten lay motionless on the deck.
CHAPTER 8
Hero of the Nation
DUNCAN RAN TO THE KITTEN AND LIFTED HER with careful hands. Fia stirred weakly.
“Are you all right?” Duncan whispered. “Say something, Fia!”
Fia’s tiny chest moved as she breathed in and out. “Mommy?” She opened first the blue eye, then the green, and blinked at him.
“Is anything broken?” Duncan asked anxiously.
Fia waved all four paws, one after another, then her tail. She wiggled her ears, scrunched her nose, and sneezed. The sudden motion didn’t seem to cause her any pain.
Relieved, Duncan tucked the little cat into his shirt, where she could feel his heartbeat. “You’re safe now; just be still and rest. I’ll take you to your mother soon.” He buttoned his shirt up tight so she could feel secure and protected.
Duncan rose to his feet and turned around, bracing for trouble. Bertram was on deck again, and behind him was the earl.
Bertram’s eyes darted from the wreckage of the crate to the earl to the escaping kittens, his mouth open as if he had been given a problem too difficult to solve. The earl spoke sternly. “What is the meaning of this, Bertram?” he demanded. “Who had that crate delivered to my ship? Is this someone’s idea of a joke?”
Bertram blinked.
The earl’s voice was loud enough to be heard by everyone on deck. “I allow my ship to carry other people’s freight from time to time, but a crate of kittens is going too far. This must be reported to the island police.”
Bertram adjusted his face. His expression became both serious and shocked. “Yes, my lord.”
The Earl of Merrick glanced at Duncan. “And here is the lad who was clever enough to smash the crate. But why did you do it? Did you know it held kittens?”
“I heard them meowing,” Duncan said. He didn’t add that they had all been crying for their mothers.
The earl shot Duncan a keen look from under his bandage. “Smart lad. Bertram told me about your score on the national tests, too. You’re a credit to Arvidia.”
Duncan ducked his head, flushing. Then suddenly he remembered his mother’s game of Noble Manners. “That’s kind, sir, but it is you who are the credit to Arvidia.”
The earl chuckled. “Perhaps we should congratulate your mother for raising such a fine scholar. I believe I’ll send her flowers! Give Bertram your address, and he’ll see to it … after he reports to the Dulle police, of course.”
Bertram pulled out a notepad and pencil. “Come, boy, the address,” he said in his rasping voice. “Don’t you think your mother would like flowers?”
Duncan hesitated. His mother would love flowers, but she would hate getting attention from a stranger, even if he was the hero of the nation. Still, he could hardly say no to the Earl of Merrick. He slowly recited his address.
The earl smiled a charming, crooked smile. “Come, I’ll show you around the schooner while Bertram is gone. Would you like to see the ship?”
“I would like that very much, my lord!”
Bertram snapped his notebook shut. “Perhaps the lad would like refreshments, as well.”
“An excellent idea,” said the earl. “Speak to Cook about it, will you? Oh, and Bertram … a word in private…”
The two men stepped away, the earl speaking in low, stern tones. Duncan caught the words “crate” and “kittens” and nodded to himself. The earl would find out who had done such a terrible thing and see that it never happened again.
Duncan peeked inside his shirt to check on Fia. The kitten was sleeping. He really should get Fia back to her mother—Mabel was probably frantic by now—but it wouldn’t take much time to see the ship, and he would never get a chance like this again.
The earl was coming back. Off to one side, Duncan saw Bertram exchanging a few words with a large man in a dirty apron. Then Bertram jerked his head at a strong-looking sailor and strode down the gangplank. The sailor hitched up his pants and followed Bertram to a waiting black carriage and its stamping horses.
“And wha
t would you like to see first?” said the Earl of Merrick.
A half hour later, Duncan had climbed the rigging, peered into the hold, looked at the tween deck, where the crew slept, patted the figurehead (it was a wolf), and pretended to fire the two bow chasers, long brass guns like cannons that were mounted on low wooden carriages painted with the names Belcher and Bulldog. The earl had seemed interested in him the whole time, too. Somehow, without quite knowing how it had happened, Duncan found himself telling the earl all about himself and his mother—not just the usual things, but how his mother made him wear a cap all the time, and didn’t want him to come in first in anything, and wouldn’t let him go to the Academy.
Perhaps, Duncan thought uneasily, he had told the earl too much. But if the king and the whole nation of Arvidia trusted the Earl of Merrick, certainly Duncan could trust him, too.
And now the earl was showing him the great cabin.
It was the largest one, placed at the rear of the ship. The stern, Duncan corrected himself. You never talked about the back of a ship—that made you sound like a landsman. You always called it the stern. And the front was the bow. But he had only been on small boats, never a ship, and so he had never seen a cabin like this, with a wall of square windows that stretched from side to side, filling the room with light.
A long, curving bench ran under the windows, with lockers beneath for storage. Duncan knelt on the bench and gazed out at the bay and the shimmering sea beyond. Surprisingly, there was a little walkway just outside. He found the door and stepped over a high threshold onto a narrow balcony. The fresh breeze from the bay brushed his cheeks. Below him, seagulls skimmed the surface of the water, screaming their high, piercing cries as they searched for small fish to devour.
“Do you like the gallery?” asked the earl, behind him. “Not many ships have them, but I enjoy a private walkway behind my cabin.”
Duncan was confused. “I thought that was the name for the ship’s kitchen.”
The earl stood beside him at the railing, looking down at the dimpled water that sucked and splashed against the ship’s hull. “Not quite. A ship’s kitchen is called a galley. This little balcony at the back is the gallery.”
