Chapter 26
For innumerable evils have compassed me about (Psalm 40)
The morning dawned, if that is the right word, dark and wild and rain-lashed. The wind thundered overhead and wrenched at the roof slates. The few trees in the town flogged back and forth wildly, and rain squalls terrorised the cobbled streets.
No one thought about school. Billy turned up early, and he and Fenestra sat in the kitchen with Mother, waiting to see what Septimus looked like the morning after. Pert walked down to the town.
The Market Square was a wreck. Every single stall had been smashed, overturned and battered to matchwood, the débris scattered far and wide from the church to the Emporium and beyond. People stood around numbly, looking at the destruction.
“Pirates did it,” said a voice in Pert's ear, and he turned to find Seth and Solomon behind him.
“They went digging for something in the churchyard, and they didn't find it so they smashed everything up in a temper!”
“Where are they now?” said Pert, “do you know?”
“Back on their ship, swearing an' carrying on. Our dad says we all need to get together and sort them out.”
“And when our dad says sort 'em out, you can bet there's going to be some sorting!” put in Solomon. “And our mum. Wicked right hook, she has.”
But the pirates have guns, Pert thought, a wicked right hook might not be enough. “Can you help me tonight?” he asked out loud. “I have to rescue Rosella. She's locked up in the Vicarage and I need a diversion while I break in and get her.”
“Cor, yes, that'll be a lark!” said the boys. Pert explained his plan, and the boys agreed to meet in the churchyard after dark. The diversion might not be necessary, Pert thought as he walked down the Market Square, but it wouldn't do any harm and it would be good to have two spare bodies on hand in case something unforeseen happened.
“Satisfied, now, are you?” said a man as he passed. The group he had been talking to all turned and stared at Pert. “Satisfied? You pleased what your friends did, are you?” said the man again.
“They're not my friends,” Pert replied. “This is nothing to do with me.”
“Yes it is,” another man said, stepping towards him. “Getting all pally with them ruffians, an' then they go an' do this. You should be ashamed.”
Pert turned to walk away, but the group fanned out in front of him. “We ought ter scrag 'im,” one said.
“There'll be no scragging,” said the twins' father, crossing the road towards them. He was a small man, but tight and powerful with big muscles in his arms. “If you want to scrag anyone, Dick Trundle, scrag them pirates, not kids. You start scragging kids an' you'll have me to reckon with. Now then!”
The group muttered and shuffled out of the way. “You best keep off the streets, young Potts,” said his rescuer. “Things are turning ugly, and they're going to turn uglier before the day's out. You take care!”
“Thank you Mr.White. I will. Seth and Solomon are up at the top of the Square, if you're looking for them.”
The man grunted and turned away. Pert walked quickly on, thinking that in a way he was indeed responsible. It was he who had told the pirates to look in the grave, and he'd had a good idea they'd find nothing. He should have guessed that they'd be angry and look for revenge. He had done it partly to create a delay and divert their attention from himself, and partly in the faint hope that the treasure might be there after all, and they'd take it and sail away. Perhaps it hadn't been such a good idea after all. “Too clever by half, Pertinacious Potts!” he said to himself.
The quay was deserted again, and dark catspaws of wind rushed across the surface of the water. Fishing boats rocked and sucked at their moorings. He could see Better Times surging and tugging at her painter, but there was no sign of Walter. This was not fishing weather. This was sitting indoors with your feet in the hearth weather.
Across the marshes beyond the breakwater the reeds were heaving in the wind and there were white horses all the way up the creek where the outgoing tide fought against the onshore gale. It would be unpleasant sailing, the wind in your face trying to get behind the sail all the time, and the short seas kicking up spray over the bows. It wouldn't be dangerous. If the wind did catch you aback you could always drift into the marsh and sit there safe enough. It was when you reached the mouth of the creek that things would get seriously worrying, for the waves would be building up before the storm and would break in your face as they hit the shallows of the creek.
And further out, and especially round in front of Bodrach Nuwl where you took the full force of the westerly blast, there the waves would be big, the size of a house, and down in the trough you'd lose the wind and would flounder and be unable to keep the boat's head into the seas, and as the crest came up under you the full force of the wind would hit you and make the boat heel and then go careering down the back of the wave into the next trough. Pert had never been out in such a storm, but he knew well what it would be like. It would be very frightening indeed.
The Drop o' Dew was closed, with heavy wooden shutters across the windows, and all the doors on the water front were barred and bolted against the storm and against the pirates. At the far end the ashes of the burned out shed were stirring in the wind, and little clouds of cinders rose into the air and were whipped away inland over the house roofs. It was good that it was so quiet, Pert thought, for people to just stay in and bolt their doors was the best thing. Let what would happen, happen, and then come out and take up your normal life again. He wished he could take up his normal life. He wished he could go to the church and set out the hymnbooks. He wished he could think of the Reverend Tench as merely an unpleasant bully to be avoided, rather than as a lunatic rock-murderer, a patricide with foul designs on a schoolgirl.
He wished he could be back in school, keeping his head down, avoiding the notice of the teacher in class and the bullies outside. He wished he could see Rosella march into the classroom, stamping with her boots and slamming her books into her desk, and looking round with that defiant air. He wished he could spend the playtimes sitting with his sister while she prattled about princesses and castles. He wished he could rock in the Better Times with Walter, watching the glint of the sun on the water and the flash of wet roofs in the town, hauling nets while Walter got slowly drunk at the tiller.
Instead he was here, on this wet deserted quayside, buffeted by the wind and not knowing what the day had in store. The townspeople suspected him of dirty dealing and Rosella was imprisoned and in terrible danger. But he had to square his shoulders, and do what he had come for. If the townsfolk thought he was in league with the pirates, then should any of them be watching, he was going to prove them right. He had to speak with the Captain, find out what he intended, and try to persuade him not to take his wrath out on innocent townspeople. Teague thought Pert was important, for some reason. Pert knew this was a mistake. He knew nothing and wasn't important at all, but if there was any use to be made of that mistake, he should make it.
In the bows of the Black Joke two or three pirates sat watching as he walked down the breakwater, watching his feet in case the weight of the wind blew him towards the edge. The ship tugged and fretted at its mooring warps, rocking slightly and creaking. As he approached, more men appeared from the companionway, from behind the gun and under the focs'le. Quite a welcoming committee, Pert said to himself.
“Good morning!” he called, trying to sound confident. There was no reply. Walter Sabbage strolled nonchalantly down the gangplank and waited for him. The pirate was heavily armed, with cutlass and two pistols stuck in his belt.
“Now, young master,” he said quietly, “now, young shipmate, this is an unexpected pleasure. Didn't look to see you come a-callin' today, not at all. Not after that bum steer you give us last night. You're either brave, which I doubt, or very stupid, which I suspects.”
“I didn't give you a bum steer,” Pert said. “I said I didn't know if it was a good steer or a bad one.”<
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“Well, it were a very bad one, my cock, an' we'm not too 'appy with you. Come aboard, then, since you're 'ere.”
The pirate followed him up the plank. Pert felt a little faint. At the top he stopped and said “I've come to see the Captain, please.”
“And so you shall, and so you shall, young cock, don't you fret. The Capting'll be werry pleased to see you, no doubt. But first we thought we'd like to invite you to our cabin, to sit an' 'ave a drink an' a chat, like.”
“I don't drink,” he said.
“You did the other night, with your little grinnin' friend. So you can now. Come this way, young master!”
Sabbage led the way, Pert followed and the rest of the men closed in behind him. They climbed down the steep companion ladder, and went forward into a narrow coach compartment with a long table down the middle and benches either side.
“Sit you down there, cocky, 'an we'll all 'ave a little drinky,” said Sabbage pushing him down onto the bench. The rest of the men sat down with them.
“Not you, Tom Suffling an' Andy Skedge,” said Sabbage sharply, “you gets back an' keeps yer 'eads poked out in case them townies try anything!”
A bottle was produced and passed around, and glasses. Pert shook his head and the bottle passed him by.
“Now, young master,” said Sabbage, “you sure you won't drink with us? I gives a toast, gentlemen! To young master, an' to our good selves, and them as went before!”
There was a chorus of agreement, and clinking glasses. They're just playing with me, Pert thought. I wish I could speak to Teague.
“To them as went before,” said Samivell Secret, the oldest pirate, “aye, I'll drink to that! To Bloody Bill Surtees, what they 'anged at Deptford, an' Captain Thompson as 'id is treasure on Cocos Island an' no one ever find it since, for all they digged an' digged. An' to Benido, that lovely Benido, the darlin' of 'em all!”
“Ah, Benido, the darlin'!” they drank.
“Did you know, young master, that your grandaddy sailed with Benido?” asked Secret.
“What? My grandad ... my grandfather? He was a fisherman, he wasn't a pirate!” Pert gasped.
“Oh, 'e may 'ave become a fisherman,” said the old man, “but e' was a pirate afore that, when 'e was a nipper. Ship's boy, 'e was, on the original Black Joke – 'cos this ain't the first to bear that name, you know. Benido, he were powerful fond o' that boy by all accounts, an' when they took the Morning Star 'e sent 'im aboard to search through the cabins an' see what 'e could find, and 'e found a few trinkets too, I can tell you!”
“Ah, that were a takin', that one. They took that ship, an' took 'er proper,” said Matthew Shattock, who sat next to Pert. “They rousted out them passengers, an' they rousted out their ladies, and they rousted 'em all over the barky, they did!”
“But it did 'em no good, mind,” continued Secret. “'Cos when they got back to the Portugees the Black Joke she piled up on some rocks, an' they all 'ad to sink or swim, an' poor Benido was caught an' they strung 'im up! But 'e didn't mind, not 'im. Laughin' an' jokin', 'e was, right to the end! Adios todos, 'e sung as they dropped 'im. Bye-bye all!”
“I can't believe that my Grandfather Mascaridus was a pirate, though,” said Pert. “He was a respected man, he was one of the Free Fishers, the leaders.”
“Ah, well the Capting's a respected man. We all respecks 'im something awful, don't we lads?” said Sabbage. “Here you are, a toast to our respected Capting!”
And they drank to show their respects. “But 'e's still a pirate,” said Secret, “an' proud to be one. The Brethren o' the Seas, 'e calls it.” He drank deeply. “Ah, the Brethren o' the Seas! 'Ere's to the Brethren o' the Seas!”
They all drank again.
“Bully Hayes,” mused Will Smy, “'e were the last of the pirates, they reckoned, but they was wrong.”
“Ah, 'e were a lad! But 'e weren't the worst, an' e' won't be the last. An' our Capting took care of' im in the end!”
“It weren't the Capting, it were Dutch Pete!” said Sabbage.
“The Capting!”
“Dutch Pete!”
Pert thought there was going to be another fight. “Why do pirates have all these nicknames?” he asked.
“Only the captains,” replied a sallow, ill-favoured man at the end of the table. “It's mostly just the captains.” His voice was more cultured than the rest, as though he had been an educated man once. “It's easier to remember a nickname than it is an ordinary name. Like, for instance, my name's Tobias Smnith. The “m” is silent. Who's going to remember that in fifty years' time? Whereas “Butcher Smnith”, that would get you remembered, wouldn't it? Or wouldn't it?”
“Butcher Smnith?” scoffed Smy. “The only thing you could butcher is yer toenails!”
“Isn't it a bit odd,” asked Pert, “that you all have names beginning with “s”? Isn't that rather a coincidence?”
“No, lad, no coincident about it,” laughed Sabbage. “S stands for seaman, which we all are, except for Squance who'll always be a damned lubber however long 'e sails. And S stands for secrets, wot we've got a lot of. And S stands for strong, which we 'as to be for 'aulin on ropes an' such, and S stands for savage, which we sometimes is in defence of our rights, like. And S stands for sorry, which we'll all be if we don't find what we're lookin' for and which you'll be if you don't 'elp us find it, young sir.”
“And S stands for sister,” added Matthew Shattock. He put his arm round Pert's shoulder and looked him hard in the face. “Wot you've got one of, and a right pretty little thing she is too, an' you need to take great care of 'er in case some 'arm might befall, on account of you ain't told us what we want to know!”
“Oh yes,” said Squance with a leer, “very neat, very trim. Is she ticklish at all, your sister? I wouldn't mind ticklin' 'er with my ticklin' stick. I'd make 'er squeal, you see if I wouldn't!”
“You wait in line, Squancy,” said Shattock. “I thought of it first, so I gets first tickle!”
“I can't tell you what I don't know,” said Pert, standing up. “And you leave my sister out of it!”
“Or what?” said Shattock. “Or what, my fine cockeroo? You'll push us over like you did the teacher? Well, I ain't no teacher, an' you'll find I don't go down so easy.”
He gave Pert a shove with both hands, and Pert stumbled with his back to the table. Suddenly there was a knife at his throat.
“I'll slit you from side to side,” the pirate growled, his noisome breath in Pert's face, “an' I'll slit yer sister from top to bottom, an' I'll toss the both of you over the side for the crabs an' the hagfish! Now, where's it at? Where's yer dad, and where's what 'e took?”
“Enough!” The authority of the voice made Shattock freeze and blanch. He let go of Pert and the knife disappeared. Trinity Teague stood calmly before them, his feet apart and his hands in the pockets of his frock coat.
“This boy is our ... associate,” he said quietly, “and he will not be harmed or threatened unless I say so. Is that clear, Shattock? Squance?”
The men shifted their feet and looked at the deck. “Yessir!” they both muttered.
“Make it so, then, and be sure to keep it so. Mr.Sabbage, I hold you responsible for the conduct of these men. No harm is to come to the boy, or there will be a slitting, I promise you. There'll be a
slitting up and a slitting down and a slitting sideways and a crabbing and the hagfish, and it'll be you that's on the pointy end of it, just mark my words! Come, boy. A few words in my cabin, if you please!”
In the cabin the Captain flung himself into a chair and crossed his legs. Pert stood in front of him. “Captain, thank you ...” he began, but Teague held up his hand.
“Don't thank me yet, Master Potts, because we haven't got to the end of this yet, and who knows what may come?”
He stood, and turned to look out of the broad windows at the stern, the view of the harbour and the wind-ruffled water and the fishing boats tossing.
“I asked you to w
ork with me to make sure there was no bad feeling between my men and the town, and you failed. There is so much bad feeling that two nights ago my men left two dead bodies in the streets, and a mob of louts and ruffians marched up the breakwater demanding blood. I had to unveil my little toy on the deck, and then they ran away sharp enough!” He laughed bitterly. “And now I've had to waste time and effort digging up an empty grave, thanks to you and your Mistress Grubb. Though why the grave should have neither gold nor a corpse in it is a mystery I don't care to bother with.”
“Sir, that's not my fault,” Pert said, sounding braver than he felt. “You think I'm in league with Mistress Grubb, and I hate her and she hates me - she said she was going to knock my teeth out with a poker, and cut ... well, she was very threatening. And half the town think I'm little better than a pirate myself, and that I'm in league with you, so they hate me as well.”
“Little better than a pirate? What does that mean? What can be better than a pirate?” He looked Pert full in the face, as though he had been insulted. “There is no higher calling than to go on the grand account. We roam the seas in freedom and power, and we scorn those that try to stop us. There is nothing better than a pirate, boy, and you won't get the better of a pirate, so don't think you will!”
Pert said nothing.
“You know what I want. I want your father, and I want the treasure that is mine by right. If I don't get them very soon, it'll be difficult to hold my men in check, and I shan't bother to try. And they'll know where to lay the blame, and they'll know who it is that's defying us, and they'll know where to find him. And ...” he held Pert with his black eyes, and Pert felt his insides turn to water with fear and loathing, “and they'll know where your sister is, and they'll know where your mother is, and that other little hussy you're so fond of. Oh yes, I know what Mistress Grubb's done with her, and Mistress Grubb will do what I say or I'll blast her blasted Emporium to smithereens. The big sixteen will reach that far, and further. I just have to snap my fingers ...”
Pert swallowed and thought he might be sick. Teague straightened up and laughed. He had evidently decided to lighten the mood. “Well, there we are! Cards on the table, boy! There's no need for any unpleasantness, and my men can go on to the next port and take their pleasure there instead. Just get me what I want. That's all you have to do. This is my proposal.”
He leaned forward over the desk. “This is what's going to happen. It is now ten o'clock in the morning. You have until noon. You will go to the town and tell them that unless I have either Obadiah Potts or the treasure in my hands by noon, I will open fire on them.”
He sat back. “You tell Mistress Grubb that. She thinks she can outsmart me, but it's pretty difficult to outsmart a long sixteen that's loaded with grape and pointing at your bedroom window. Tell her that. Twelve o'clock, or it starts. You can go now.”
Pert ran from the room. At the gang plank the crew loitered threateningly, but made no move to stop him as he left the ship and ran along the breakwater to the town. Pert had no intention of delivering the message. There was no point. Neither he nor the town could deliver the treasure, and he had no father. What he had to do now, he reasoned, was to keep his head down, stay out of sight and let whatever was going to happen between the pirates and the town, happen without him.
He had something far more important to think about. Nothing must interfere with the rescue of Rosella.
He ran home by a circuitous route, avoiding the main streets and reaching Pardoner's Alley from the edge of the town rather than from the Bearward. There he sought out Septimus.
“Listen,” he said. “I need you to listen and be clear. There's going to be trouble soon, bad trouble.”
“How do you ...”
“I just do. Your job is to look after my mother, and Fenestra, and Floris and the little girls over the road. When Billy comes he'll help you. Seth and Solomon are coming with me later to get Rosella, so it's all down to you and Billy here. Can you do that?”
“Of course, my boy. What do you take me for?”
“I'm sorry. It's just that you seem a bit distracted.”
“Oh. Well, yes, I am a little. But it'll be all right. Leave it to me!”
“Right. Where are Fenestra and Billy, anyway?”
“They're upstairs. Fenestra's giving Billy a reading lesson.”
“Good. Now, I'm going to see if I can find Seth and Solomon, or their dad.”
He walked quickly down to the town, and found everything quiet, just a few stall holders clearing up and searching through the wreckage for anything to salvage. Whirlpools of wood splinters and paper traveled across the cobbles, and the wind was moaning between the houses. There was no sign of the twins or their parents, so he walked to their house which was in the small streets below Low Street, between it and the quay, near Primrose Moon's.
He decided to call on Primrose and make sure she stayed indoors. She welcomed him warmly, and promised to stay safe. “The alehouses are mostly shut anyway, an' there don't seem to be much call fer Primrose at the moment. Good thing, probably.”
“Yes. Now you'll stay indoors, and stay downstairs?”
“Yes. I don't like it upstairs in this wind, anyway. I can hear the slates being lifted by the wind. It feels eery. Why?”
“I'm afraid of the pirates' guns. There might be shooting.”
“Can they shoot straight in this wind?”
“I don't think it matters whether they shoot straight or not.”
He went further down the street and found the Whites' house. Seth and Solomon were there, but not their parents.
“They're going round trying to get something organised,” Seth said. “My dad thinks if they get enough sensible people they can take the pirates on. Safety in numbers, my dad says.”
“When they get back, can you tell them I think the pirates are going to start shooting soon? People will be safer indoors and down low. And I'll see you both in the churchyard the moment it's dark.”
His last call was the Vicarage. He could not present himself at the door, of course, but he wanted to spy out the lie of the land for himself. The wind buffeted him and shrieked round the chimney pots as he walked up the hill. He cut through the churchyard where the yew trees were swaying and rustling, and over the wall at the top. He knew he could work his way round behind the Vicarage from there.
He clambered through bushes and up a bank, and came out into a little fenced footpath that skirted the back of the Vicarage. The house had a large garden, but it was mostly on the up hill side. Here nearer the church there was only a back yard, and then the kitchen and domestic rooms.
He climbed up on the fence and looked over. From the plan Vera had given Floris he knew what each window was, and could identify the window of the scullery where Rosella was, unless she'd been moved. It was small and high up, difficult to reach from outside. The glass was very dirty, and he could see nothing moving inside. Beside it was a larger window which gave on to part of the kitchen, and here there was a figure moving about.
This must be either the Vicar, or Vera, or one of the other servants. He was not sure how many people there were in the house – that would have been useful to know. But he thought that as this was the kitchen, it was unlikely to be the Vicar himself.
The flimsy fence was moving under him, shaking at each gust of wind. It creaked, but he did not worry too much about noise. The rushing of the wind in the trees was loud enough to cover any small sound he made. From his vantage on the fence, high over the rest of the town, he was able to look back towards the sea.
The creek was covered in white foam now, blowing inland, and little blobs of foam were whipping off the tops of the waves and flying over the marsh. At the mouth of the creek there was a turmoil of white water. To his right Bodrach Nuwl frowned over the tumult, thrusting his great bulk chest first into the gale. At the edges of the Stonefields the breakers were so high he could make out individual waves even from here, two or three miles away. There was a cons
tant tumult of white water over the rocks and in the various channels between them. This was a Twenty Year Storm, and no mistake.
The fence shook under him, and he looked down in panic. Below him, looking up, was a thin, pale faced girl in stained servant's dress, her hair whipping in the wind.
“Get down, you fool!” she hissed. “Get down before he sees you! Have you come for her?”
He looked around. The kitchen door was closed, and there were no signs of movement elsewhere. It should be safe. He slipped off the fence and landed in the yard in front of her. Close to she was small, a thin figure with hard grey eyes and a tight mouth.
“Are you Vera?” he said. She nodded.
“Is Rosella all right?”
She nodded again. “She's still in the scullery, locked up. I ain't got the key. He keeps it in 'is pocket, or I'd 'a let 'er out already. She got her boots, though. I managed that.”
She pronounced the word “he” with particular venom, Pert noticed.
“Has he hurt her or anything?”
“No, not yet. He went in there once but she started shouting and carryin' on, so 'e backed out. But I know 'im, the snake. 'E'll just wait, and wait, until she's exhausted or asleep or something, an' e'll get 'er then. 'E's been workin' up to this fer days. 'E lost interest in me, 'asn't 'it me or anything for days. 'E's savin' it up, the foul toad.”
“Who else is in the house?”
“Jus' me an' 'im, an' cook what is eighty an' deaf as a post, an' the boot boy what's a bit simple. It's me as does most of the work, and puts up with 'is little ways.”
“I don't understand how he hopes to overpower Rosella if she fights?”
“Oh, 'e's strong.” She shuddered. “Once 'e gets a good grip, you can't get out! I should know. When you goin' to come?”
“After dark. We'll make a diversion, and while he's taken up with that we'll try and break the door. You'll let us in?”
“Oh yes, I'll let you in all right. I'd never 'ave dared try an' let 'er out meself, but I've got enough nerve to 'elp you do it. And enough hate. Once you've got 'er away, I've got a little plan meself. I'll serve 'im fer all 'e's done to me, you see if I don't, the snake!”
Pert climbed the fence and got away, feeling that Vera would be as good as her word. As he reached the churchyard he heard a dull thudding noise and looked around wildly. Was the church tower blowing down on him? Then there was another bang nearer at hand. He looked at the church clock. It stood at twelve o'clock. Trinity Teague had been as good as his word. He was going to bombard the town until they gave him the treasure.
Down the street people were coming out of their doors, looking round in puzzlement. He wanted to shout at them, tell them to go inside and keep safe, but dared not. If they knew that he had known about it before, they would think he had something to do with it.
There was another dull thud, and close behind it another. Then a great crash shook one of the houses below the Emporium, and a hole appeared in its roof, slates and bits of wood sliding down into the street. Another crash sounded nearer the harbour. Teague was using both his guns now, and the bigger one, the long sixteen, was aiming at the Emporium. Pert felt a surge of elation at the thought that Grubb might finally get what was coming to her, but then realised that all the little shop girls were in there as well. For all he knew, they were locked in, unable to escape. But they would probably be in the basement, which would be the safest place.
More people were flooding into the street now, shouting and confused, and then a small group appeared at the bottom of the hill, walking purposefully up and keeping close together. It was Mr.White and Mrs.White and some of the older fishermen. They were coming to get organised. Not far behind them, Seth and Solomon flitted from doorway to doorway. Clearly they had been told to stay at home, and clearly they had no intention of missing the fun.
Suddenly Pert felt his arms seized from behind. “Here's one of 'em!” called a voice, and more arms wrapped him around. He kicked and struggled, and caught a glimpse of one of those holding him. It was Spotty Bunt. He jerked his head back, hoping to get his captor on the nose, but the man was too cunning for that. People were turning towards them now, wondering what was happening.
“Here's one! We got one!” Spotty shouted again. “Here's one of them murdering pirates!” The crowd began to move slowly towards them. Pert wriggled and got one arm free, pulling at the great hand that had him by the throat, but the man was too strong. He felt the breath going out of him and wondered if he were going to faint.
“What'll we do with 'im?” asked a voice. It was Darren Durridge.
“Pull 'is trousers off an' kick 'im in the nuts!” This was Batty Bunt.
“Take 'im to Grubb,” said another voice, older. “She wants this one!”
But his captors weren't to have it all their own way. Someone leaped onto Batty Bunt's back, and there was the sound of a fist crunching. “Dad, Dad!” someone was shouting. Seth and Solomon were leaping and punching, and their father was hurrying up the hill behind them, with his wife not far behind. Will Durridge went to meet him, burly, a cudgel in his hand. Mr.White hunched up, tucking his chin into his shoulder, and his hands whipped round, one, two, with all the strength of that stocky frame behind each one, a fist to Durridge's midriff, the other fist to his head as he bent over in pain. Mr.White left him and moved in on Batty Bunt. One punch was enough for Batty. He went down and stayed down, twitching. Behind him the twins' mother had arrived. She spread her feet, swung her body and delivered a mighty roundhouse punch to the head of Will Durridge. He went down, poleaxed.
The fight was over. Will Durridge and Batty Bunt lay where they fell, and the rest fled. “Now, you two,” said Mr.White, “I thought I told you to stay 'ome! Why can't you do as yer told? An' you, young man,” he addressed himself to Pert, “I think you know more about all this than meets the eye, but I judge you to be a straight young feller so I'll give you the benefit of the doubt. All of you, this is no place for boys. You can get off, but stick together and stay off the streets. There's going to be trouble. Find some safe place to watch from! Go on!”
“Let's go up to the churchyard,” said Pert. “We can see from there, and it's easy to hide.”
“Why don't you rescue Rosella now?” said Seth. "Why wait?"
“Because it's not dark ...” He thought for a moment. “Yes, that's it! We wanted a diversion, and here's a diversion been laid on for us, courtesy of Captain Teague! Right, gather round ...”
They sat on one of the tombs for a council of war. The twins would create a second diversion at the front of the house, while Pert went in at the back.
“The only problems are, will Vera be ready if we arrive now? She's expecting us later. And, how do we break open the scullery door? I've never bashed through a door before!”
“Well, a door's only held shut at one point, isn't? Doesn't matter how strong the door is, you've just got to bash in where the lock is. And the lock goes into the door frame, so that's the thing to attack!”
“Seth, you're a genius.”
Seth tried to look modest, but failed.
The Black Joke Page 27