The Cat’s Eye Shell (11 page)

‘We'll work it out in the morning,' Tom said to Rollo, who beat his tail once or twice against the rug, but looked very mournful. ‘Go to sleep,' he
told him, and obediently Rollo lay down and put his head on his paws. He did not shut his eyes.

Tom did, but he did not sleep for a very long time.

Emilia woke very early, feeling utterly miserable. She lay for a while, sniffling, too unhappy to get up, too unhappy to go back to sleep.

There was a soft tap at the door. She sat up but did not speak.

The door opened. It was Tom.

‘Are you all right?' he asked.

She shook her head.

He bit his lip. ‘Come on,' he said. ‘It's almost dawn. I heard the duke get up and go out. I think we should follow him, make sure everything's all right.'

She nodded her head, and slid out of bed. He
hesitated, his hand on the knob. ‘Do you really believe those charms of yours are magic?'

She nodded again, and bent her head to look at the bracelet clasped about her thin wrist. Three charms hung from it, gold and silver. She put up her other hand and clasped the golden crown.

‘But … how?'

‘They just are,' she said, her voice thick. She pulled on her skirt and was ready to go. ‘Where's Rollo?'

‘Out here. He slept with us. It was Rollo that woke me, whining at the door.'

‘Good dog,' Emilia said, and caressed the dog's rough head. He gave a little whuff and licked her hand.

Luka was waiting out in the corridor, his hair standing all on end, his coat askew. He did not look at her, and so she did not look at him.

‘Come on,' Tom said unhappily.

The three children went down the stairs and
out the front door. They saw the black shapes of Nat and the duke moving quietly down the street and followed them at a distance. Down at the quay, a small boat was bobbing up and down, a man hunched at the oars. There was no sign of the watchman. Nat and the duke climbed into the boat, and the oarsman began to row. The children watched from the shelter of the great Strand Gate as the boat disappeared into the darkness.

‘They must be rowing out to a ship at the mouth of the river,' Luka whispered. ‘The river's too silted up for them to sail in any more, Father Plummer said.'

‘Let's go up there,' Tom said, pointing at the church spire, silhouetted against the fading darkness. ‘You'll be able to see for miles from there.'

Silently the other two followed him up the lane to the church, built on the hill's highest point. It was still dark, but the horizon was rimmed in
silver. The church door was unlocked, and they slipped inside, trying to be as quiet as mice. Rollo's claws clicked on the stone floor, and Emilia put her hand on his shaggy ruff.

It was a small church and it took only a moment to find the steep and narrow steps that led up to the ramparts. They went up in single file, Tom leading the way. Luka and Emilia had still not spoken to each other, or even so much as glanced at each other.

From the battlements around the spire, they could see for miles, across rolling fields and rustling marshes and winding river, all slowly lifting out of the darkness as the sun warmed the edges of the world. The sea glimmered faintly to the south, and they could see a great ship waiting at the mouth of the river, its masts dark against the sky. Luka stared at it through his telescope.

‘They're pulling down a flag,' he commented. ‘I wonder why?'

‘Let me see,' Tom commanded.

Rather unwillingly, Luka passed him the telescope. Tom put it to his eye, and stared through it for quite a while.

‘Why, that's Cromwell's flag they're pulling down,' he cried. ‘See the Irish harp?'

‘What? What do you mean?'

‘Cromwell had a new flag designed, with a harp in the middle, for Ireland,' Tom said impatiently. ‘Don't you know anything! The dear old Union Jack, banished like everything else. He truly is a Crumble-and-Ruin!'

‘No, I mean … that ship? It's flying Cromwell's flag?'

‘Aye! It's gone now. They've rolled it and put it away.' Tom lowered the telescope, looking sick and white. ‘It's a trap, isn't it? That's one of Cromwell's navy ships, not a merchant boat bound for France. The duke is heading straight into a trap.'

Luka grabbed the telescope and scanned the
river. ‘There's the duke,' he groaned. ‘Their little boat is halfway down the river.'

‘Nat did this,' Tom cried. ‘Father Plummer was right, he is a traitor!'

‘But what can we do?' Emilia sobbed. ‘Is it too late? Can we save him?'

‘Come on!' Luka slammed the telescope closed, and took the steps down at a run, the other two close on his heels.

They ran to the Mermaid Inn. The innkeeper was sweeping the front step. Luka seized his sleeve. ‘Get Milosh!' he cried. ‘Now! We need him.'

The innkeeper stared at him, then narrowed his eyes in sudden suspicion.

‘Please,' Emilia said. ‘Truly, it's important. We would not ask if it wasn't.'

The innkeeper nodded. ‘All right. It had best be important!'

‘It is!' Emilia cried. ‘It's life or death!'

Tom was already leaping up the stairs, two at a time. He reached the priest's room and, finding it locked, banged on it furiously.

‘Wha-aaat?' a sleepy voice asked.

‘Father Plummer, you were right!' Tom cried, heedless of who might be listening. ‘It's a trap! Nat is a traitor! The duke is heading into a trap!'

The door swung open, and the plump little man peered out, his sparse hair standing all on end. ‘You sure?'

‘Aye,' Luka cried. ‘He's right. We saw!'

The priest dragged on his shoes. ‘We need Milosh!'

‘He's coming,' Emilia reassured him, leading him back down the stairs at a run. Rollo bounded before her, and almost knocked the innkeeper off his feet as he came hurrying out of the taproom.

‘What is all this?' he demanded. ‘It's not even dawn!'

‘Please,' the priest said. ‘Our friend is in grave
danger. We need the Owlers, and we need them fast.'

The innkeeper nodded. ‘Milosh is here. He spent the night in my stable. Why? What is wrong?'

‘Dastardly treachery,' Father Plummer said darkly. ‘We need a boat, fast!'

‘But why?' Milosh's voice drawled from the doorway. Unlike everyone else, he was fully dressed, and his eyes were bright and shrewd.

Incoherently they told him the tale, Emilia tugging at his sleeve all the while.

‘Ship … pulled down flag … Cromwell's harp … duke'll be trapped … king's business … must not be captured …' they told him.

It was a sign of his quick intelligence that he grasped the meaning, and the urgency, at once.

‘We'll need to run!' he cried, and led them, not straight down the lane to the quay, but through a maze of backstreets and alleys until he was at the
southernmost tip of the town, and scrambling down through gardens to the river. Here a boat was well hidden under low bushes. As the priest and the children scrambled on board, Rollo leaping after them and making the boat rock wildly, Milosh untied the boat and pushed it off.

‘Don't you worry,' he whispered, flashing a grin. ‘No one knows this river better than me!'

A
lthough the sun was slowly rising in the east, on the river all was still dark. The only sound was the rustle of the wind in the rushes, and the occasional splash. The tide was going out, and Milosh barely had to work at his oars to keep the little boat hastening towards the sea.

‘We have no hope of fighting a whole navy ship,' he whispered. ‘We must get our friend the duke before he's on board.'

‘But they are ten minutes or more ahead of us,' Emilia said, clutching her hands together.

‘Aye, but I have a few tricks up my sleeve,' he answered. ‘Am I not a Rom?'

She watched as he raised a hand and fingered the earring in his ear. A quick look flashed between them, charged with sudden understanding. Emilia slid her right hand down to grasp the chain about her left wrist. First she touched the golden crown, for luck and magic, and then the silver horse, and lastly, the rue flower.
Help us
, she thought.
Hide us …

Mist rolled up from the river, obscuring them. Milosh manoeuvred the boat one way, then another, even in the darkness knowing the treacherous route between the sandbars.

They heard voices close by, cursing. ‘Just hit another sandbar! Bloody mist! Where did it come from? I can't see a thing!'

Milosh and Emilia smiled at each other.

Thicker and thicker the fog rose, black-bellied and red-backed where the rising sun poured its
molten heat upon it. Ahead of them loomed the great seagoing ship. Its masts seemed to rise out of cloud like those of a ghost ship. The river was invisible, but Milosh knew it so well he could row blindfolded, in black moonless nights or fog-bound mornings. The other boat did not fare so well.

‘Oddsblood!' someone exclaimed. ‘Have we run aground again?'

Emilia covered her mouth so she would not laugh aloud.

Their boat came silently up under the great black hull of the ship. She smelt of seaweed and barnacles. It was an exciting, exhilarating smell, quite unlike anything Emilia had smelt before. It made her long to sail the high seas, to go to places no one had ever been before. She caught her breath, and in the dim grey light her eyes met Luka's. She stared at him imploringly, unable to bear it if he was still angry with her. He stared back, then, tentatively, smiled.

Milosh seized hold of a wet, dripping, algae-draped rope.

Behind them they heard someone cry, ‘Ship ahoy! Where are you? Light a lamp or we'll run aground again.'

‘We're here!' came a low voice from right above them. A lantern kindled, but the mist suffocated its rays so it was nothing but a fuzzy ball of orange hanging in the grey.

They heard the bump as the prow of the other boat bumped into the ship. Milosh drew a pistol, and cocked it. He passed it, hilt first, to the priest who shrank back as if it were a viper.

‘I am a man of peace!' he protested.

‘And are we not at war?' Milosh replied softly. ‘I need to hold this boat steady, and then get us away again. Take my pistol.'

Father Plummer took it and held it away from him with both hands.

Milosh slid the boat closer to the other.
They were busy making fast, and calling for a ladder to be tossed down, and did not hear them approach.

‘Luka, Tom, you will need to tackle the other boat,' Milosh whispered. ‘Be ready!'

The bow of their boat bumped into the stern of the other. The duke looked around in surprise, peering through the mist. ‘What was that?' he asked.

Nat looked up, immediately suspicious. ‘Quick, my lord, up the ladder!' he hissed. ‘I do believe treachery is afoot!'

This made Luka so angry he stood up, crying, ‘My lord, Nat is the one who has betrayed you! We've come to rescue you!'

‘Luka? What are you talking about?'

‘This is no merchant ship,' he cried. ‘It's a navy ship! Come away, quickly!'

The duke glanced up at the ship, taking an involuntary step away.

‘Don't believe him,' Nat said desperately, leaping to his feet. ‘He's nothing but a filthy, lying gypsy, as trustworthy as a snake.'

‘How dare you speak so of Luka!' Tom yelled and flung himself into the other boat. He knocked Nat flying. ‘You're the snake! Treacherous cur!'

Nat threw him backwards, and scrambled up again, drawing his pistol.

‘Nat! No!'

But even as the duke cried out in horror, Nat cocked his pistol and fired. Tom cried out and fell backwards, hitting the water with a great splash.

‘Tom!' Luka cried and dived overboard, first sweeping Zizi off his shoulder with one hand. She had never been treated so roughly, and shrieked with terror, clinging to the bulwark with her tiny paws and looking everywhere for her master.

Emilia flung herself forward, searching the fast-moving black water with desperate eyes. ‘Luka? Tom?' she sobbed.

Zizi leapt into her arms, gibbering anxiously, and Emilia cradled her close, sick with fear. There was no sign of the boys.

On the other boat, Nat had levelled his pistol at the duke. ‘Get up into the ship,' he ordered, breathing heavily.

‘Nat!' the duke exclaimed, his face white with shock and horror.

‘Climb up into the ship, else I'll shoot!'

The duke glanced round him in desperation. The oarsman stood up too, reaching for the pistol in his belt.

Suddenly there was a loud explosion and a flash of fire. Nat jerked, cried aloud, and fell forward. At once the duke dived over the side. In a few swift strokes he was beside Milosh's boat. A trembling and astounded priest, his hands and face blackened with smoke, dropped the pistol and bent to heave the duke aboard. At once Milosh dipped in his oar and sent the boat skimming away into the pre-dawn darkness. Bullets sprayed up water on either side, and splintered the boat as the oarsman behind them fired after them.

‘Luka! Tom!' Emilia cried in despair.

‘The tide will have carried them this way,' Milosh whispered. ‘Now hush! They'll be after us in a moment.'

The ship was indeed alive with the sound of shouting and running feet and the sudden kindling
of lanterns. They heard a great roar and then the whizz of a cannonball flying overhead. It crashed into the water behind them.

Desperately Emilia scanned the dark water looking for any sign of the boys. Zizi clung to her, frightened and bewildered, and Rollo cowered in the bottom of the boat, not liking the dreadful sound of the cannons that boomed behind them. The boat slid silently over the fast-running water, mist curling over its prow.

Joy suddenly filled Emilia like a warm golden light. She turned her face to Milosh, waving and pointing. He nodded and altered the boat's course. Within seconds they were drawing up beside the two heads bobbing in the water. Luka was dogpaddling furiously, Tom lying unconscious in his arms. He looked up at them and opened his mouth to speak, but Milosh silenced him with a gesture. Hurriedly the duke and the priest dragged the two boys on board, then Milosh at
once began to row with deep, powerful strokes that sent the boat racing across the water.

Zizi leapt from Emilia's shoulder to Luka's and petted him all over his face with her tiny paws, then seized his ear and tugged it sharply. He gathered her close and crooned to her, and she snuggled her face into his shoulder, crooning back. Emilia knelt beside him and clasped his arm with both hands, trying to show him without words how very glad she was to see him. Then she turned to Tom, lying in the bottom of the boat. His eyes were shut. There was blood on his shirt.

Emilia caught her breath in dismay. She looked at the priest who silently passed her his hipflask. She dribbled a little brandy between Tom's pale lips and he swallowed, and then coughed. She sighed in relief as his eyelids fluttered then opened. He saw her face and smiled weakly. As he tried to speak, she shook her head swiftly and laid her finger on her lips. He nodded his
understanding. Indeed, the sound of the boats in pursuit came clearly across the water.

Emilia carefully eased open Tom's shirt. The material was stuck to the wound, but she was able to moisten it with some water and lift it clear. Emilia had never seen a gunshot wound before. It looked very ugly. She bit her lip and quickly unbuttoned her bedraggled petticoat and tried to tear it into strips. The material was too tough. The priest silently passed her a knife, and she was able to make a soft pad to press against the wound, and then roughly bind it into place. Tom looked sick and exhausted, and she gave him more brandy, then passed the flask back to Father Plummer. With a grim smile, he gulped a mouthful and passed it to the duke, who drank as deeply. Milosh had a swig as well, and then insisted on Luka drinking a mouthful, for he was shivering violently, the wind off the sea blowing against his wet clothes.

Their boat had slipped past the ship and was now out to sea, fighting big waves that rocked them violently. Tom bit back a groan. ‘Not far now,' Milosh whispered. ‘Just let us get to the marshes, and they will never find us.'

The sun was above the horizon now, and the mist that had protected them was quickly evaporating. Emilia could see the ship behind them, still shrouded in grey, but ahead of them was a vast sheet of water, with black-headed seagulls soaring above it. Beyond were the rich green fields of the reclaimed marsh, shining here and there with waterways lined with rushes and sedge. Milosh sent the boat flying across the bay, and it slid into the green shelter of the reed beds just as the last of the mist dissolved and the navy ship sailed out into the daylight.

Milosh lifted his oars and turned back to look, lifting his hand to shield his eyes. Luka groped in his coat pocket and brought out his telescope, and
put it to his eye. ‘Soldiers everywhere,' he whispered. ‘Oh, look, there's Nat!'

‘He's not dead?' Father Plummer cried in relief.

‘Alive and kicking,' Luka said. ‘He's got his arm in a sling.'

‘I'm glad I didn't kill him,' the priest said.

‘It's a miracle you hit him at all,' Milosh said. ‘I was afraid you'd get me!'

‘May I see?' the duke said and Luka passed him the telescope. The duke stared at the ship for a long time, then gravely handed the telescope back to Luka.

‘I'm very grateful to you, my friends,' he said with a shudder. ‘A minute more and I'd be clapped up in that ship's stinking hold, on my way to London and the Tower. I can hardly believe it of Nat. He volunteered for this job! I guess he was a spy all along. No wonder I kept falling out of the frying pan and into the fire. He must've been betraying me every step of the way.'

The duke's voice had grown so choked he could barely speak. He sat silently, his breath coming harshly as he sought to compose himself, then he said roughly, ‘I cannot thank you enough! You've saved me from a truly terrible death, and from torture too, no doubt. How on earth did you guess Nat was a traitor?'

Luka took the telescope from his eye long enough to quickly tell their tale, then went back to scanning the horizon behind them, though there was nothing to see but a high wall of rustling green reeds.

‘We could never have made it without Milosh,' Emilia said, and the smuggler winked at her.

‘What is that thing you keep squinting through?' he asked Luka in lively curiosity.

‘It's a telescope. A far-seeing tube. It makes things that are far away look close by,' Luka said, giving it to the smuggler.

Milosh held it to his eyes and exclaimed aloud
in amazement. He examined the ship closely, then swept the telescope this way and that, looking at the birds, the marshes, the far horizon. ‘It's magic!' he cried.

Luka laughed. ‘No, it's science,' he said, sounding so much like John that Emilia wanted to pinch him. She forgave him the next instant as he said, rather hesitantly, ‘You can have it if you like.'

Milosh lowered the telescope and stared at him in incredulous joy. Then he narrowed his eyes in suspicion. ‘In return for what?' he demanded.

Luka had the grace to flush. ‘In return for your help,' he said. ‘We would never have been able to rescue the duke without you.'