The wickwire watch, p.25
The Wickwire Watch, page 25
Chester began to sing. Before Ink could protest, he caught sight of Caradoc returning to the grove with the wheelbarrow. He stopped at one of the garden fountains and stooped over, gripping the stone rim and breathing as hard as a man twice his age. But why? The wheelbarrow was empty. Ink watched as he seemed to curse under his breath, then began splashing water onto his face. His gloved left hand shook.
Ink made himself look away. He would not be made to feel pity. Not for anything.
Chapter 25
Captain Victorious
“Oh, damnation,” Chester was the first to lament the next morning.
The world had frozen over. The houses were coated in a layer of sparkling frost, the bushes and vines dusted white. Every tree stood slicked with ice and the ladders propped against them stuck fast to the trunks. The grass was a sickly shade of blue. Curtains of icicles hung from the fountains. The Colonists made their way across the grove in stunned silence as they surveyed the disaster. The wheat and corn were ravaged, most of the stalks bent or snapped under the weight of the ice. The vegetable garden hadn’t fared any better, nor the last crop of their beloved vineyard.
Damnation indeed.
There had been no warning—not one sign or hint of an approaching cold snap. But there was little to be done now. The frozen vegetable garden would have to be dug up to salvage what they could. Others would go through the cornfield, raking through the ears now fallen to the ground. The ruined wheat field would be hewn down to fuel the oven and boiler.
After breakfast, Ink was sent to the cornfield with Evering, Chester, and the Plumsleys. Chester tried to resume his cheery attitude, whistling brightly as they worked, but no one else had the heart to join him. Ink hadn’t seen such low spirits since the day he’d announced the death of Mr. Bash.
“We needed this harvest. We were running low as it was,” Harriet remarked to her husband as they passed by.
Ink turned to Evering. “So what happens now?”
“Now?” the red-haired lad replied, tossing aside yet another ear of spoiled corn. “Now we’ll have to go down and pillage and plunder what we need.”
“Well, that’s not so bad,” Ink said. “Plenty of folk pinch things now and then when they ain’t got the coin for it.”
Evering raised an eyebrow. “That may be. But the difference is when they get caught, it only means a bit of time locked up somewhere. We wouldn’t be so lucky.”
As the morning wore on, the frost began to melt away. The topsoil of the vegetable garden turned to mud as the spades worked the ground. Martin walked around with a hammer and broke up the ice in the fountains, bringing them to life again. By late afternoon, they’d saved just under half a wheelbarrow of carrots, a handful of radishes, and five cabbages. None of the corn had survived.
They gathered around the wheelbarrow and stared down at the pitiful crop with faces so forlorn anyone else would’ve thought they were looking into an open coffin.
Caradoc removed his hat and sighed. “I’ll start looking for a suitable town for us to visit. Fortunately, we’ve still got a few days before we head into the mountain pass.”
“It’s so strange,” Delia said. “We’ve never had a sudden frost this early in the year. It almost seems . . . I don’t know . . . malicious.”
Simon nodded. “Well, we’ve had hard luck before. We’ll make it through again.”
“There’s still apple preserves to be made,” Harriet replied. “Plenty of work for tomorrow.”
Wendolen let out a long sigh. “I suppose this means no Harvest Feast. I was rather looking forward to that.”
The group went silent again. Evering kicked at a rock. Ink wiped his nose on his sleeve. The wind rustled through the leaves. A bird called.
Caradoc frowned. He cocked his head, then leaned to his left.
“Evering . . . did you just hear a bird?”
Evering shrugged. But then he began to think. There were no birds on Riverfall.
“Yeah. I did. Sounded kind of big, too.”
Knowing it would be folly to make any sudden movements, everyone began to slowly turn their heads this way and that, searching for the source of the noise. Ink grew bewildered when their gazes came to rest on something just over his shoulder. He turned to look behind him.
A flock of large, gray geese had landed in the vegetable garden, pecking around at the uprooted spoil left behind. Ink counted fifteen of them. Enough for a slew of Harvest Feasts.
“Let’s all stay calm,” Simon said. “We’ve got to spread out and get around them, then push them towards the trees so they can’t fly off.”
“Ink!” Chester hissed. “You have that pistol on you?”
“Simon’s still got it.”
“Damn!”
The Colonists began to close in, bending low and sweeping their hats gently towards the birds. Growing anxious, the geese made chortling sounds and clustered together, then turned and started padding towards the orchard.
“Get around them in front!” Delia said. “Hurry!”
Everyone rushed to close the gap, but the geese had caught on to their scheme. With a loud, panicked honk their leader sounded the alarm, instantly scattering the flock and inciting them to make a mad dash for the trees.
“It’s every man for himself!” Chester cried, breaking formation and chasing after the nearest frightened fowl. The others followed, catching up the sacks still lying around the orchard.
It was pandemonium. They whooped and hollered and bellowed out war cries and goose calls, honking and cooing and clucking. The birds were terrified, but the trees were so close it was impossible for them to fly more than a few feet at a time.
The Whistlers were closest to making the first catch. They got alongside one of the larger geese and, after a count of three, lunged for it at the same time. But it made a sudden jerk to the left and swerved away under Martin’s short arm. Jeremy managed to throw a bag over one of the birds but lost his hold on it. The goose went lumbering away, trailing the bag along the ground. Josephina nearly gave up the chase altogether when one of the birds turned and hissed at her. She shrieked and pulled back, letting it pass by unchallenged. Evering was so determined in his efforts he forgot to watch where he was going and almost ran head-first into a tree. Riva, who had nearly coaxed a goose motionless with an enchantment, lost her focus as she fell to laughing at him. A few feet away, Caradoc cursed as the bird he was chasing suddenly doubled back and flapped out of sight. He changed course and went after Simon’s prey instead, trying to push him out of the way. Simon pushed back, then stumbled, giving the bird a chance to zip away to the left before either of them could catch it.
It was Ink who had the first victory. He waited behind a tree until a goose waddled by, then leapt out and brought an apple sack down over its head. It struggled violently at first but Ink held on until it became calm. Abner hurried over, pocketing a handkerchief he’d been using to mop his red face.
“Here, Ink! I’ll hold that for you. I’m too old for this sport anyway. Go on! Get another one!”
A few minutes later, Ink claimed a second victory using the same method. Jeremy ran up and took hold of the bird with a smile. “Well done! You’ve got the trick of it!”
“Yeah,” Ink said. “Not bellowing my guts out like an idiot!”
Jeremy laughed as the boy ran off again. Riva, meanwhile, managed to calm one of the geese long enough for Delia to whip a bag over its head. Chester had picked up a scythe and was shouting like a crazed warrior, trying to bring the blade down on anything gray and once coming dangerously close to shearing the tail off Oswald the cat, who had joined the hunt.
On the far side of the grove, Simon made a mighty leap and came down onto the back of one of the larger geese, which promptly turned its head and bit him on the fleshy web of his hand. Caradoc overturned a nearby wheelbarrow and helped shove the bitter captive underneath. They collapsed on the ground against it, ignoring the angry squawks coming from within. Simon put his hand to his mouth and sucked on the wound. Caradoc bit his lip to keep from laughing.
“Don’t you say a word,” Simon warned.
Martin, Harriet, and Wendolen cornered a bird by the stream. It panicked as they closed in, spitting out angry hisses and ruffling its feathers. As the Whistlers came towards it with open bags, it let out a squawk and hurried in the opposite direction. Wendolen held her arms wide, lengthening the blockade made by her already sizeable figure. She chuckled.
“Oh, there’s no getting past this wall, darling!”
At the same time, Ink caught up with Jeremy’s pre-bagged bird, still trailing the sack from around its neck. Within seconds he flipped the bag over its head, then scooped it up into his arms and ran back towards the others.
“Here!” he cried, dumping the treasure into Caradoc’s lap and taking off again.
Simon smiled as he watched the others scurry after the remaining flock. “There now. That was just what we needed. A bit of excitement to raise our spirits.”
Just then, Chester ran by with his scythe raised high and his greased hair sticking out in all directions, screaming like a madman as he chased after a bird barely taller than his knee.
Caradoc looked back at Simon. “Should we be worried about him?”
They captured eight geese in the end—four of them thanks to Ink’s craftiness. As they marched towards the coop to incarcerate their prisoners, Chester and Abner rushed forward and raised the boy up onto their shoulders.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” Chester cried, still wild-haired. “All hail to Riverfall’s conquering hero! The one and only . . . Captain Victorious!”
“Let me down,” Ink complained while the others clapped and cheered.
“Don’t worry, I’m very good at this. No keener eye on earth! No swifter hand or foot! Tremble before him all ye beaked and feathered! Cower and fear all ye villains and scoundrels!”
“Careful there,” Martin said, “I think we fall into that last category.”
“Oh,” Chester said. “Right you are.”
In celebration of their good fortune, and despite the meager pickings from the fields and gardens, preparations for the Harvest Feast commenced in full force later that afternoon. All traces of ice had long since vanished, and the weather turned so mild again they declared it the most peculiar frost they had ever seen.
Ink followed Jeremy and Delia to a clearing in the meadow behind the Dining House where there sat a large canvas tarp, and just beyond, a shallow pit littered with charred wood and ash. Ink helped them remove the canvas and was surprised to find a huge table beneath. The craftsmanship was magnificent. A menagerie of animals had been etched into the surface, showing scenes of frolicking deer, wolves on the hunt, bears fishing in a river, and a hundred others.
“Bless my eyes,” Ink said, running his fingers over the table’s sleek surface.
“This is one of our most treasured possessions,” Delia said. “We use it only for very special occasions.”
“Did you steal it?”
“No, we did not steal it. We once had a pair of talented woodworkers among us. This is their creation, as well as the table in the Dining House.”
Ink clucked his tongue, staring at a great shaggy wolf carved into the back of one of the chairs. “Now that’s skill halfway worth something.”
Delia’s eyes grew solemn. “Yes, well . . . that Entress woman certainly put an end to it quickly enough.”
She turned and went back towards the house with Jeremy. Ink shook his head at her, tracing his fingers over the image of a flock of geese in flight.
By six o’clock the next evening, the table was fully furnished with every delicious thing they could afford to serve. Each of the Colonists came to the table wearing their finest apparel—tailored jackets, waistcoats, neckties, gowns touched with ruffles and lace, cotton gloves, and even a few choice pieces of jewelry. Ink stuck to his usual attire of oversized hat and coat, much to the chagrin of the Plumsleys, who never ceased offering him stylish things to wear.
When the prizes of the goose-catch were brought to the table, golden brown and dripping with juice, cheers and applause broke out. Once everyone’s plate was filled, Martin poured the first round of wine. This particular matter was one of special significance as it was Chester’s “top shelf stuff” which he always saved for the occasion of the Harvest Feast. Ink, Jeremy, and Simon’s glasses, however, were filled with water.
Then came a toast to Captain Victorious, who was made to sit at the very middle of the table. Ink’s ears reddened as everyone stood and raised their glasses to him, but he played to the crowd and accepted the praise with arms raised in mock-graciousness.
“Merely a trifle,” he said. “Give me a challenge next time, eh?”
Chapter 26
Something to Hope For
The evening was sublime. From the moment they took their places at the table, the beleaguered, world-weary fugitives transformed into a merry group of party-goers. The laughter flowed as freely as the wine, every eye bright, every face shining with mirth. The simple goodwill and affection among them could not have been more generous. Even the old gray cat was treated to a plump leg of goose for his part in the hunt. For those few precious hours, every ache and burden was carried off, as though they had stepped into a world where trouble had never darkened their door.
Upon finishing her second helping, Josephina rose from her seat and led the group in an exuberant toast and round of cheers to the Whistler’s much-appreciated culinary skills.
“Making it all worthwhile!” her sister added with a grin.
Chester cleared his throat with dramatic flair as he helped himself to another glass of wine. “And speaking of skills . . .”
“What? You found some?” Simon teased.
Chester laid a hand on his shoulder. “Jealousy is a terrible thing to waste, Simon. Save it for a woman, all right?”
Simon shook his head as a round of laughter followed.
“As I was saying,” Chester continued, “I’ve been thinking about that job we’ve got to do downstairs. Now, because we managed to get most of the vineyard harvest in—thanks be to God for that—we’ve got plenty of merchandise to do a proper show to a proper-sized crowd. We’ve got to be somewhere close to Burgess Valley by now. I think that’s our best bet.”
“Oooh!” Josephina said, placing an excited hand on his arm. “Absolutely superb! Wen and I have perfected the most wonderful little operetta. Sure to draw the attention of the masses!”
“Attention?” Ink said. “Ain’t that dangerous for you?”
“Not a bit,” Wendolen answered. “When Jo and I heard about the chance to help on Damiras, we had to slip out the back door so no one would try to stop us. And when it became clear to our dear, enterprising manager that we were nowhere to be found, he wasted little time in replacing us with look-alikes to keep raking in the coins.”
“What?” Ink said. “So there’s another pair of Plumsleys out there?”
“Of course, neither one of them can sing worth a pint of frog spit,” Josephina said. “But they solved that problem by having them mouth along to recordings we made before we left.”
“But it also means we can show up anywhere we like and reveal our identities without consequence,” Wendolen said, “so long as we don’t appear in the same town as the false Plumsleys. Comes in handy every now and then.” She nodded down the table. “Chester’s in the same boat.”
“Really?” Ink said. “There’s a bunch of fake Chesters running around down there?”
“There’s not enough hair cream in the world,” Caradoc replied.
Chester hooked his thumbs under his lapels. “As a traveling purveyor of . . . unique merchandise, I never stayed in one place for more than a week or two. Wasn’t missed when a handful of Cassrians were unaccounted for after that debacle on the island, so I was never suspected of playing a part.”
“And you’re sure Burgess Valley is the best spot for a raid?” Martin said. “Last I heard it was one of the fastest-growing cities in the river valley.”
“Big towns are always best,” Abner answered. “Easier to get lost in them. Go unnoticed.”
After a good deal of debate, it was decided in the end that Simon, Jeremy, and Delia would do the actual pillaging and plundering, while Chester and the Plumsleys would be on hand to provide a distraction. That still left them two bodies short of a proper raiding party. Their number had to be small enough to avoid notice, but large enough to help one another load up the goods and be on the lookout for trouble.
Martin, as usual, refused to set foot down on Eriaris, and Harriet wouldn’t leave his side. Evering’s eager offer to volunteer was instantly shot down by his father, and Riva declared she was too nervous to show her face in a city so close to Entrian Country, which lay just over the mountains they were fast approaching.
“Well,” Abner said, “Guess that leaves me and you, Caradoc.”
Ink glanced across the table. Would Caradoc keep his promise never to put too much distance between them? Would he stay behind and leave the others one man short? Or would he leave Ink locked up somewhere for safe keeping while he was gone? Ink searched his face for a clue, but the man was impossible to read.
At last, he began to nod. “Why don’t you stay, Abner? Ink and I will go down.”
The movement of cutlery and glasses stopped. Eleven bewildered expressions turned towards the boy, then back to Caradoc. Ink’s eyes had gone as wide as his dinner plate.
“We were just talking about skills,” Caradoc continued. “We saw Ink put his own to use yesterday. I think he could be a great help.”
Harriet glared at him from across the table. “You wouldn’t possibly be using this as an opportunity to bait a Spektor with him, now would you?”
