“Hey!” the boy yelled from down the road. “The chest is locked—it won’t open!”
The band strutted over. Finch squatted beside the chest and inspected the lock for a moment, twirling his arrowhead beard. He pulled a slender pick from his pocket. “A fool could pop this lock. Squint, I’ll have this open before you can finish ‘Tom’s Gone.’”
Squint cleared his throat and recited:
Tom’s in the farmyard
To steal himself an egg;
Along comes the farmer
And cuts off his leg.
Tom’s gone a-hunting
On the King’s royal land;
Along comes the sheriff
And cuts off his hand.
Tom’s gone a-napping
In the Queens royal bed;
Along comes Her Highness
And—
“Got it,” said Finch. The lock clicked open and Finch swung the lid up. He looked inside, and then he put his boot against the chest and kicked it over in disgust. “Bah! Nothing but books!”
Books spilled onto the dirty road. It was a heap of worthless junk to the gang—too heavy to haul on their journeys, and besides, there wasn’t a scholar among them. But the boy seemed enthralled. He picked up the most colorful book from the pile.
“You know how to read, boy?”
“Just some letters. I never got as far as words.”
The boy flipped through the pages with an unpracticed hand. Inside on every page, there was a single large letter, a drawing, and a word underneath: A with a picture of an ax. B with a picture of a bee. He turned several pages together. There, with the letter G was a picture of a giant.
“You like that book, Nick? Its yours, for a job neatly done’” said Finch. “The rest will kindle our fires. Lets get back to camp.”
Two of them tossed the books back into the chest and picked it up, sharing the load. The band went back into the forest, heading for their lair, and Nick followed with the book tucked under his arm.
Finch walked nearby, observing. He’d come close to losing the boy. But Nick seemed more at ease now—even a little proud of his performance, and pleased with his reward. Finch was sure the boy could be trusted with one more task—the only one that mattered.
All Nick had to do was climb the vines and open the door to Jack’s house. The less he knew about that beanstalk nonsense, the better. Finch didn’t want crazy ideas getting into the boy’s head. And as for what would happen after the door was open, the boy must know nothing of that at all.
Finch pictured the small group of people who lived in Jack’s house: the servants, the little girl, the old legend himself. Reaching to his side, he gave his jagged knife a gentle squeeze.
He looked forward to meeting Jack and his friends, very soon indeed.
Chapter 6
Things were busy at the encampment that afternoon. Some of the gang sharpened their blades and axes. Others threw knives at targets stuffed with straw.
As night fell, the air turned unusually cold, raising the prospect of a killing frost weeks before its time. The moon appeared, nearly full, bringing crisp illumination to the world below.
Nick was wearing different clothes now, pants and a shirt of much finer material. Squint, who had some talent for tailoring, had cut and sewn stolen clothes down to size for him. They were dyed black so Nick could approach the fortress unseen. The shirt even had a cowl sewn onto the back that Nick could pull over his head to further conceal his presence.
Compared to the rough and itchy texture of Nick’s old tunic, this softly woven fabric felt like heaven. It had pockets, a novelty for him. On this cold night it felt good to bury his hands deep inside them.
When Nick shed his old garment to try on the new, Squint took one sniff and tossed it into the fire. Nick watched it burn. The whole time he was on his own, eking out a bleak existence, he wore the same rag. Now it was going up in flames, and the smoke curled and sifted through the trees. Then it was gone altogether.
Later Nick sat by that same fire, stroking his throat with one hand. He couldn’t get the image out of his head: Finch standing over the helpless driver.
“Something the matter, boy?” Again Finch had crept up silently behind him. “Not having second thoughts, are you? I’m counting on you, you know.”
Nick saw cold eyes staring back, icy blue hoops around black holes. It was frightening, the knack Finch had for guessing what he was thinking. Nick recalled the anonymous warning and chose his words carefully. “I’m not having second thoughts. I’ll do what you want.”
Finch paused for a while, cracking his knuckles and looking wary. Then he sat and leaned close. “Listen, Nick. What were doing isn’t wrong, the way I see it. When you see a falcon swoop down on a rabbit, do you blame the falcon for what he’s done?”
“No.”
“Of course you don’t. Because that’s what falcons do. They take what they need to survive. It’s no different with people, Nick. You’re either a rabbit or a falcon in this world. Remember when I found you in that field, squatting down to nibble on some vegetables? You even looked like a rabbit, frightened and weak, waiting for someone to pounce. Lucky for you I came along. Now you’re one of the falcons, one of the strong—all because I took you under my wing.”
Finch peered at Nick’s face, trying to judge the effect of his words. Nick fought to keep his expression unreadable. Finch gripped Nick’s shoulder, and his fingers dug in like talons.
“Just don’t disappoint me, boy. Here, tell me the plan again, so I know you’ve got it straight”
“I wait until you tell me to go,” Nick recited. “Then I run to the fortress. Climb up the ivy to a window. Get inside and go downstairs. Look for the big door and slide open the bolt that locks it shut. Then push the door open just a crack, come outside, and signal you with the lantern”
Finch nodded his approval. They sat and watched the fire for some time, both lost in their own thoughts, before Nick spoke again.
“Finch,” said Nick, “do you think Old Man Jack really has a hen that lays golden eggs?”
Finch stiffened. “Who told you about that?”
“Squint told me. while he was sewing these clothes for me. He said the fellow we’re stealing from is supposed to be the Jack that climbed the beanstalk.”
Finch glared at Squint, who was sitting under the great oak, scratching his fleas with both hands. “And did our friend Squint tell you the whole story?”
“No, I already knew it. Everyone knows it. But it’s just a story, isn’t it? There aren’t really giants and beanstalks and magic hens.”
“That’s right. Just a story. Now get some rest.”
Nick went to the other side of the fire, where he’d slept the night before. He lay on the soft mossy ground and pulled the blanket over himself. He was anxious about the task ahead, and it was difficult to sleep. So he did what he often did when sleep would not come easily: He tried to remember his mother’s face.
There was a time when he could remember her clearly, and his father, too. But as time passed, a dark haze settled across those memories.
As Nick closed his eyes and concentrated, he could see the shapes of their faces, but the features shifted and blurred, never quite right, never truly resolving themselves into the mother and father he had known.
There must be something wrong inside his head, Nick decided. The images he did not want to see—Finch, the knife, the driver’s throat—he couldn’t banish. And the things he truly wanted to remember slipped away the harder he tried.
Hours later Nick stood by the forests edge, flanked by Finch and Squint. Except for one thug that Finch dispatched to a position north of there, the rest of the gang was gathered in silence behind them.
The moon was still high, throwing too much light, but Finch had no choice—this would be the night. Beyond the woods, Nick saw Jack’s fortress on the low hill. The sentry paced along the top of the near wall, then turned the corner and disappeared from sight.
Nick had caught only a glimpse of the fortress when he climbed the dying oak to earn his dinner. Now that he saw the place in its entirety for the first time, he marveled over the pristine walls of white stone.
Finch knelt to issue final instructions. “When you go in the window, look for the stairs to the lower level. The front door will be down there, on the opposite side from where you enter. When you slide the bolt and open the door, turn left and come around the corner to face us, then give us the signal. Understand?”
“I know what to do,” said Nick.
“Smart lad,” said Finch. He stepped to the edge of the clearing and lifted the covered lantern, which now had a long cord tied to its top. Keeping it hidden from the fortress with his body, he opened and closed its hinged door three times. A moment later, a lone figure emerged from the forest. With a bow in one hand and a slain deer slung across his shoulders, he might have been an innocent hunter who stayed out late and was heading home. The sentry soon spotted him, and went to the corner of the fortress to watch the stranger amble past.
Finch handed Nick the covered lantern and slapped him on the back. “Now, Nick. Run!” With the black cowl pulled over his head, Nick raced into the open field and up the gently rising slope. Dressed in black from head to foot, he looked like a shadow that had escaped its owner and gone fugitive.
It wasn’t a long way, but to Nick it seemed like a mile. The fortress grew closer with agonizing slowness. It was like running in a dream.
At last he reached the safety of the walls. The only way for the sentry to see him now was to stick his head over the side and look straight down.
Nick pulled the cowl back and tilted his head to look at the soaring walls. He’d never seen a building this tall; the fortress seemed to go up forever. The window he had to enter was just a dark slit high above, flat across the bottom and rounded at the top. Against the white stone, the ivy looked like veins filled with black blood.
Now that he was standing here, looking at the vines that seemed dangerously thin and weak, the task seemed hopeless. But there was no turning back. The hard look in Finch’s eyes had made that clear.
Nick needed both hands to climb, so he took the free end of the cord that was tied to the lantern and knotted it to the belt around his waist. He reached out and grabbed two of the thickest vines, one in each hand, and pulled himself up, choosing his first foothold where two vines intersected. The ivy held. He repeated the motion, shifting his weight smoothly from hand to hand, foot to foot. As he rose, the lantern was a pendulum beneath him, swaying gently at the end of the cord.
Moving steadily, Nick was soon halfway up the wall Maybe I can do this. He paused for a moment when he heard the sentry walking above him. He knew the man was unlikely to see him, but he held his breath anyway, until the footsteps moved off.
Another minute brought him a few feet from the window, where a stone sill jutted a few inches out. The vines grew thinner here, and Nick sensed them loosening as he climbed. Careful now. A single jerky motion might cause the ivy to lose its grip on the rock and send him plummeting.
Nicks foot slipped off a toehold, putting all his weight suddenly on the vines in each hand. He probed frantically with his feet for support. As the vines in his hands peeled away from the wall, he began to topple.
In desperation, Nick reached for a seam between two of the great stones. Just before he lost his balance completely, his fingers slid into the crack and he steadied himself.
Before he could sigh with relief, he heard below him a clang of metal hitting stone. He looked down in horror. His near fall had started the lantern swinging wildly. It had struck the wall once, and after bouncing off, was coming back to hit it again. In Nick’s precarious position, he could not move to prevent it.
But this time, the lantern hit the soft leaves of ivy instead of the stone, and the sound was muffled.
Nick looked up, expecting the sentry’s head to appear over the top of the wall. He heard footsteps approaching. But the man simply walked by, just as before, unaware. Nick allowed himself to exhale, then climbed the remaining few feet.
He was just below the window, ready to reach over the sill, when a loud scream pierced the silence. It came from inside the window. Nick was so startled he nearly echoed the scream. The rapid footsteps of the sentry approached, not ten feet above. He yanked the cowl over his head and pressed himself against the wall.
“Little Ann, are you all right in there?” the sentry’s voice called down. Nick was sure he’d be seen clinging to the vines, only half hidden by the jutting sill.
The sound of a young girl crying came from the room. She was calling for her father. Nick heard a door opening, and the voice of an old man.
“Ann, my little love, what is it? Have you had a nightmare?” The little girl went on crying, unable to speak.
“There, there, now. Remember, your daddy’s gone off in the wagon, and he won’t be back for two days. But Jack is here to take care of you,” said the old man.
That’s him—that’s Jack, thought Nick. And the girl’s father—that was the man we robbed in the forest this morning.
“Is everything well down there, Master Jack?” called the sentry. Nick shut his eyes, as if that would help him stay hidden. He heard Jack come to the window. The old man leaned out to speak to the sentry on the wall above. The hand resting on the sill was inches from Nick’s shoulder.
“It’s fine, Bill Just a nightmare. Too many scary stories from wicked old Jack, I’m afraid.”
The sentry chuckled. “Yes, sir. Poor Ann. Too bad Henry’s not here” The sentry resumed his watch. Jack held his hand out in the night air.
“Who would think it would grow so cold after such a fine day? Ann, you should close these at night. Here, I’ll do it.” The old man pulled the heavy curtains from either side and they met in the middle.
Nick was dizzy with relief. If Jack glanced down, he’d have been seen for sure. And as the sentry looked over the wall, Nick must have blended into the shadows below the windowsill. He gave silent thanks to Squint for the black garments.
Nick waited while Jack calmed the little girl. There was something haunting and familiar about the way the old man spoke to the child. It wasn’t that Nick knew Jack’s voice. It was that some time ago, his parents spoke to him that way, in soft and comforting tones. They were voices that went with the faces he could no longer remember.
“Tell me, Ann. What were you dreaming about?”
The crying had stopped, but the girl’s voice trembled. “The giant was chasing me.”
“Oh, my!” said Jack playfully. “I guess I shouldn’t tell you that scary story anymore.”
“No, I like to hear it!” Ann said excitedly, her mood shifting abruptly.
“Oh, you do, now? What part do you like best?”
“I liked it when the giant chased you. But why couldn’t he catch you, Master Jack?”
“What’s that you say?”
“If the giant was so big, why couldn’t he run faster than you or climb down the beanstalk faster?”
“Hmmm. I guess young Jack was too quick for that bad old giant. Or maybe the giant was afraid of heights!”
“But then how did you chop the beanstalk down so easily? You were just a boy, and you said the beanstalk was bigger than a bunch of trees.”
“What, you doubt my strength? Feel that muscle!”
The little girl giggled. “But what happened to the giant when he fell and died? What did you do with his bones?”
Despite his growing misery from the cold, Nick was interested in Jack’s answers. The girl asked good questions.
“My stars, what a curious child! That last one will take a little explaining, I suppose,” said Jack. He whispered as if revealing a fabulous secret. “You see, little Ann, that beanstalk was a mighty thirsty plant. Imagine how much water a plant would need to grow so big! The roots of that beanstalk spread all around like this….”
Nick heard the little girl laughin
g hysterically. Jack must have been tickling her.
“And they sucked all the water out of the ground. That made the earth very dry and dusty. When that wicked giant came crashing down, he made a deep hole in the ground, and a great cloud of dust and dirt and rocks flew into the sky. And when the air finally cleared, there was no sign of the giant. But the beanstalk—that you could see for months before it rotted away.”
“But Master Jack, why did—”
“So many questions!” interrupted the old man, laughing. “I’ll answer one more, and then you must promise to go to sleep.”
Yes, please go to sleep! thought Nick. The strength in his hands was failing. And though he’d found a good handhold in the stone, it felt as if the vines under his feet were weakening.
“Master Jack?”
“Yes, my love.”
“Isn’t it wrong to steal?”
“Yes, it is wrong.”
“But didn’t you steal those treasures from the giant?”
The old man didn’t answer for a while. Then, in a different, sadder voice, he said, “Yes. I certainly did.”
“But was it all right, because the giant was evil?”
“What do you think? Is there ever a time when it’s right to steal?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, you do something for me, Ann. Think about that as you fall asleep tonight. And in the morning, you tell me what you’ve decided.”
“Yes, Master Jack.”
Nick heard the door close inside that room. Now that Jack was gone, he had to hold on as long as he could to give the girl a chance to fall asleep. But the muscles in his arms and legs were on fire, while the cold stone was numbing his fingers and toes.
A minute passed, maybe two. He didn’t know if the girl was sleeping yet, but he couldn’t wait another second. He wasn’t even sure if he had the strength to climb into the window anymore.
Jack kissed Ann good night, then stepped into the hall outside her room and eased the door shut. His smile faded and his shoulders slumped as the familiar feeling overtook him. He felt like a drowning man who came to the surface only briefly to feel the sun shining on his face, and then despair gripped him again as it always had and tugged him into the dark abyss. He was an old man, but he suddenly felt even older.
The Thief and the Beanstalk (Further Tales Adventures) Page 4
