[Flying Dutchman 01] - Castaways of the Flying Dutchman

“Somebody ought to teach Wilf Smithers to spell library and coward. Oh, hahaha! He’s put the letter g in the wrong place, instead of signed, it’s singed. Written with a fiery pen, eh. Hahaha!” But Ben’s young friend did not find it the least bit funny.

“Of course you’re not going. Are you, Ben?”

Summer breeze took the part out of Ben’s unruly hair, and he flicked it out of his eyes. “Why not?”

Alex had a number of reasons. He stated them all, anxiously. “Well, for a start, Wilf won’t be alone. He’ll have his gang hiding nearby. He doesn’t just want to talk. You’ll get beaten up, that’s why he says not to bring Ned along. We know you aren’t a coward, Ben, you don’t have to go!”

Ben’s strange blue eyes were smiling, but the younger boy could see something icy behind his careless merriment. It sounded in his voice as he stood up and continued walking. “Four o’clock, I’ll be there. Wouldn’t miss it for anything!”

“Then we’ll be there, too!”

Ben turned to Amy. “I’d rather you left this to me, but if you really want to be there, you’d be best doing what Wilf’s gang will do. Hide yourselves and keep an eye on my back. I’ll shout if I need you, promise I will.”

Amy’s fists clenched at her sides. “We’ll be there, won’t we, Alex?”

Ben could see her brother’s legs trembling as he replied. “You can count on us. We won’t run off and leave you!”

Ben threw an arm about his shoulders and squeezed lightly. “Thanks, pal, I’ll feel safer with a friend like you around. Thank you, too, Amy. Well, I’m off for lunch and a nice nap in a deck chair on the lawn. See you two at four. Oh, sorry, I won’t see you because you’ll be hiding, but I’ll feel a lot better knowing you’re there. ’Bye, pals!”

They watched him turn off to the house with Mrs. Winn on his arm. Alex gritted his teeth. “I won’t run away this time, Amy, I’ll stay and help Ben!”

Amy took the hand of her normally timid brother. “You never ran last time, Alex, you’re getting braver by the day, just like Ben.”

At midday Mrs. Winn took lunch on the lawn with Ben, Ned, and Horatio. It was a soft summer Sunday, and they had a pleasant time, basking in the quiet, sunny garden. Walking to and from church had tired the old lady out. Her eyes flickered as she watched two white butterflies circling, weaving interminable patterns around the lavender-blue blossoms of a buddleia bush. Bees droned lazily between dark crimson roses and purple-yellow pansies, the fragrance of flowers lay light upon the still early noontide. Within a short time she was lying back in her deck chair, sleeping peacefully.

Ben and Ned held a thoughtful conversation. “So then, ancient hound, what are your plans for the day?”

The big dog rolled luxuriously over on the grass. “Think I’ll take a tour of the area with my feline friend.”

Ben raised an eyebrow. “I take it you’ve finally got through to Horatio, then. A good talker, is he?”

Ned’s ears flopped dolefully. “Not really. Sometimes he makes sense, but most of the time his thoughts are pure nonsense.” He dabbed a paw at the cat’s tail. “Isn’t that right, pal?”

Horatio turned his staring golden eyes upon the dog.

Ben watched; it was obvious they were communicating. “What’s he saying, Ned?”

The Labrador shook his great head. “I’ll translate word for word his exact thoughts at this moment. He’s saying, ‘Miaow miaow! Butt’fly, mouse, birdie, nice. Mowwwrrr! Winnie Winn give ’Ratio sardine an’ milky milky tea, purrrr nice!’ ”

Ben chuckled. “Keep at him. I’m sure Horatio will improve.”

The Labrador stared forlornly at the cat. “Little savage, scoffing butterflies, mice, and birds. Ugh! What are you going to do for the rest of the day, Ben, sit out here and snooze?”

The boy rose quietly from his deck chair. “No, I’m off to do a bit of exploring by myself. . . . See you back here . . . shall we say about six?”

Ned waved a paw. “Six it is. Dinner will prob’ly be about seven. Mind how you go, Ben. Shout if you need me.”

Ben walked briskly to the gate. “Righto, and you bark out loud if you want me for anything. See you later, mate.”

21

CHAPELVALE VILLAGE SQUARE LAY DESERTED and still in the summer afternoon, Ben was the only one about. Crossing the square, he strolled up to the almshouse fence. Only the unruly lilac and privet bushes held the rickety, sagging palings upright. He stood at the gate, weighing the ancient building up. A poor jumble, its thick hanging thatch, long overdue to be rethatched.

Ben unlooped a faded noose of cord that kept the gate fastened, which creaked protestingly as he opened it, and started down the weed-scarred gravel path. A gruff voice cut the air with thunderous power.

“Out! Get out, you’re trespassin’! Out, out!”

Ben stopped and held his arms out sideways. “Excuse me, I was only—”

The voice from behind the almshouse door roared threateningly. “Out, I said! I’ll give you a count of three. I’m loading my shotgun! Out, d’ye hear. . . . One! . . . Two!”