Wild Jack

by John Christopher

  He took an arrow from the quiver at his belt and handed that and the bow to me.

  “Shall we see if you have the makings of a bowman?”

  “Where shall I aim?”

  “Anywhere you like, as long as it’s not at anything that can take hurt.”

  I fitted the arrow into the string and tried to bend the bow. It was a lot stiffer than I had expected. By straining hard I managed to pull the string back a few inches, and released the arrow. It traveled weakly through the air to land in the dust a few yards away.

  “You will need practice,” Wild Jack said. “How about you, Kelly?”

  Kelly’s effort was an improvement on mine, but not by much. Sunyo followed. When he took the bow, he first felt the smooth wood with his hands, gently rubbing it, caressing it almost. Before fitting the arrow he took a slow, deep breath; his face had the fixed, distant look it had when he was meditating. Then very slowly he bent the bow and shot the arrow. It carried at least twice the distance of Kelly’s.

  Wild Jack said approvingly, “We shan’t have much trouble turning you into a bowman. But you have to have trueness as well as strength.” He pointed across the clearing. “Try aiming at that tree.”

  It was an old oak, huge in girth. Sunyo took another arrow and shot it. He missed the tree by a yard at least.

  Wild Jack took the bow himself.

  “The sapling that stands apart, next to the ragged bush.”

  It was much farther than the oak, about seventy feet from where we stood. Muscles rippled along his arm as he drew back the string.

  “The height of a man’s head.”

  The arrow hissed through the air, and we followed him across the clearing. The sapling offered a target perhaps two inches wide, and the arrow’s head was embedded in it dead center. The shaft stuck out on a level with Wild Jack’s brow.

  • • •

  During the days that followed we joined in the life of the men in green. This included learning to ride on horseback, something we did very badly to start with. We fell off in turn, and at the end of the day our legs ached and the insides of our thighs were rubbed sore. Ben gave us a foul-smelling ointment which lessened the smart, and during the next day or two we began to get the knack of horsemanship.

  But it was not all riding. There was a river a few minutes from the camp, fed by the stream from which the outlaws took their water. It was well supplied with fish, and Ben and Daniel showed us their ways of catching them, using rods and lines with ingenious baits and hooks on the end. The rods were long and supple, and they cast the lines far out over the tumbling green waters. The pile of fish grew steadily in the wicker baskets beside us. The sky that day alternated between sun and threatening clouds, and while we were fishing, a sudden shower drenched us to the skin. But then the sun came out again, drying and warming us.

  Kelly, who had handed his rod over to Sunyo, said, “Boy, this is the life.”

  Daniel smiled. He was a slow-moving, genial man who boasted of laziness. He was very strong. There was a story that when a companion broke a leg he had carried him ten miles back to camp, without even looking tired at the end. He said to Kelly, “It’s not always like this. The sun doesn’t always shine, and it isn’t always summer. There’s also autumn and winter—hard times and cold times. And work as well as play. Even I can’t always avoid it.”

  Kelly said, “Sure, I understand that. But it’s all so different from what we were told about the Outlands. They told us about the savages, and the terrible lives they had to lead—grubbing for food, being eaten by wild animals when they weren’t starving to death.” He looked at the heap of fish in the basket. “They’re going to taste pretty good. The food back home was nowhere like as good as we’ve been getting here.”

  Daniel smiled again. “Appetite is the best sauce, and appetite is something the Outlands do guarantee you. But fish from the river are better than the kind they breed in the energy tower coolant pools, too—I’ll grant you that. Do you think we have enough for supper yet?”

  I had one tugging at the end of my line. The sensation of its quick, dragging weight was strange and incredibly exciting. I said, “Not yet!”

  Ben was stretched out in the sun, with his eyes closed. He said sleepily, “Don’t hurry him. We have plenty of mouths to feed, and I would say the three latest can do more than their share. They’re almost in your class, Daniel.”

  • • •

  The following day most of the men went off on a deer hunt. We were expecting to go with them, but Wild Jack said no; a deer hunt was a serious business, and anyone as inexperienced as we were would only be a nuisance. There would, he pointed out, be other hunts in the future.

  The camp seemed weirdly empty with only a few men left behind—mostly those with minor ailments or disabilities, like the one whose leg had mended badly after a break so that he walked with a heavy limp; he was the one Daniel had carried back to camp. The day was hot, and in the early afternoon we pondered what to do. It was Kelly’s suggestion that we go down to the river again, not to fish but to swim.

  The girl Joan had been left behind also. We had not had much to do with her so far, but I found myself disliking her more and more. There had been several occasions when she made sarcastic comments on our skills or lack of them, and I had come to loathe the sound of her laughter. It tended to echo in my mind even when she wasn’t there.

  But overhearing us make our plans, she announced her intention of joining us. I thought nothing to this and said as much. She looked at me with an air of detached contempt and addressed Kelly. “I’m coming with you. All right?”

  He shrugged and nodded. On the way to the river, while she was leading the way with Sunyo, I whispered my protests, and he said, “All right, I know how you feel. But you must admit she seems kind of important to the outlaws. They all make a fuss over her. She’s sort of a mascot, I guess. Even though she’s a pain in the neck, I reckon we have no real choice about something like this.”

  She insisted on showing us a place she said was good for swimming, a quarter of a mile upstream from the fishing spot. I was relieved that at least she did not suggest coming in with us but was apparently content to sit on the bank and watch, though I found that irritating enough.

  The rest of us dived in and messed about for a time. It was very different from the heated swimming pools of the cities: more fun, Kelly claimed, though I was not so sure. I missed the diving boards and slides, and it was disconcerting to put your foot down and touch mud or a sharp stone.

  In the past, swimming had been one of my favorite sports, and I had been reckoned to be good at it. Since we had been with the outlaws, Kelly had proved a better horseman than I, and Sunyo a better archer. For that matter, I had come worst out of the test of crossing the ravine. It would be a nice change to have something at which I could excel.

  So I challenged Kelly and Sunyo to a race. The river ran straight for some distance, and a willow overhung the water at the point where it curved away to the right.

  I said, “Race you to the willow. OK?”

  I had a lead right from the start and increased it steadily. When I put my hand on a root of the tree growing out of the bank, Kelly was five yards behind me, with Sunyo trailing.

  Joan had followed us along the bank. She looked down at me and said, “Not bad, for a city boy.” I ignored the remark and climbed out. “I’ll race you back.”

  “No, thanks.”

  “I’ll give you time to get your breath.”

  I was stung by that. “I don’t need to get my breath!”

  “All right, then.”

  She kicked off her sandals, pulled off shirt and pants, and stood in briefs and breast band. She looked at Kelly, who had also come up on the bank.

  “Give us a start.”

  I was rather proud of the racing start I made, but when I looked, she was ahead of me.
I was using the crawl stroke, and I put everything into it. For a while I thought I was closing the gap; then, her brown arms cleaving the water as though effortlessly, she drew farther ahead. She beat me by at least the distance I had beaten Kelly, if not more.

  I was fed up with myself, furiously angry with her. The other two complimented her on her swimming, but I could not bring myself to say anything. The sun was hot, and we all sat on the bank, drying ourselves. I remained silent, but Kelly and Sunyo talked, mostly about the men in green. Kelly went on and on about Wild Jack—what a great guy he was. I was feeling choked with everything connected with the Outlands, Wild Jack included. I said, “Great—for a savage.”

  Joan turned on me quickly. “Shut up, city boy. Or I’ll shut you up.”

  I laughed. “Go ahead!”

  “Don’t tempt me.” Her voice was cold, but her eyes flashed fury. “I was reared in the Outlands, not in one of your soft cities. I can fight as well as swim. If you want that delicate city nose of yours rubbed in the mud, just go on talking about savages.”

  I remembered the way those arms of hers had cut through water; although slim in build, she was obviously very strong. I wasn’t afraid, but I had a suspicion that if I did get into a fight with her it could prove both tough and inconclusive. And she had made me look enough of a fool as it was.

  So I shrugged. “One thing we don’t do in the cities is fight girls.”

  She laughed. “Right! You don’t have to here either, as long as you don’t insult Wild Jack.”

  I ignored that. It was Sunyo who said, with an open interest unusual for him, “You defend Wild Jack very fiercely.”

  “Not that he needs it.” She shook her head, laughing again. “But if I do, why not? He’s my father.”

  • • •

  That night they roasted a deer over the campfire, and we had spells of turning the handle of the spit which was mounted on a block of wood alongside. The work was hot and tiring, but we had the smell of roasting meat to spur us, and pots of ale were brought to quench our thirst. Afterward came the feasting, and later still the men in green sang, singly or in unison. I did not know the songs, but some of them had a strange, almost haunting familiarity.

  It was pleasant, anyway, to listen, full of roast venison, with the fire blazing against the dark screen of trees and the sky overhead deepening from blue to purple. Ben told a comic story in verse, with snatches of song, about an outlaw who got lost in the forest. The others had obviously heard it many times before but still found it very funny. A lot of it was lost on us, but we laughed with the rest.

  As the fire crumbled into embers, Wild Jack came to talk to us.

  “Are you boys all right?”

  Full and drowsy, we said we were.

  He said, “I reckon you’ve had long enough with us.”

  Kelly said quickly, “You’re not sending us back? I thought we could stay here.”

  “Long enough to decide if you want to stay, I meant. There’s a city only a few hours’ ride away. We could take you there tomorrow.”

  “I’m staying,” Kelly said. He added, “If you’re willing to have me, that is. Do I take an oath or something, sir?”

  Wild Jack grinned. “No oaths and no ‘sirs.’ I’ve told you, we’re all free men in the Outlands. What about you, from the land of the rising sun?”

  Sunyo said, “I want to stay.”

  Wild Jack turned to me. “Well, Clive?”

  A good deal went through my mind. The Outlands had proved very different from what I had expected—different and, despite what I had said on the river bank, a lot better. But, thinking of Joan, I thought of Miranda and then of the things I had left behind in the city. I remembered my red speedboat and all the rest I had taken for granted. I thought of my ­parents—of my father who was by now certainly organizing a search party for me. And I remembered Gary’s treachery; that was a score that needed settling.

  It was different for Kelly and Sunyo. For them, going to a city meant a return to the island, to the stockade. My father might be able to do something for them, but it was not something which, in their shoes, one would like to bank on. The city a few hours’ ride away was Southampton. Tomorrow afternoon I could be with the Sherrins.

  I said, “I’d rather go back.”

  I did not glance at Kelly and Sunyo. Wild Jack looked at me, but his face was shadowed and I could not read his expression.

  He said, “Your decision, lad. Free men can choose their futures.” He put a hand on the shoulders of Kelly and Sunyo. “We’ve got two new men, anyway. And two are better than none!”

  9

  BY NOW I WAS ACCUSTOMED to sleeping rough, and I was weary from all the activities of the day, but I did not sleep well that night. For a long time I lay awake and listened to the steady breathing of Kelly and Sunyo. In the morning I was tired and sluggish and morose.

  For the last time I had breakfast with the outlaws. Tonight I would be eating city food, from Mrs. Sherrin’s well-stocked freezer or maybe in a restaurant. I tried to think of what I might choose while I chewed on a hunk of gammon but could not summon up much interest in the prospect. So I imagined Miranda sitting on the other side of the table from me and felt a little better.

  Afterward we went along the forest trails southeast toward Southampton. I had the gray pony, Gibbon, on which I had learned to ride. He looked small and unimpressive beside Wild Jack’s black gelding, Captain, but I had grown fond of him. He had tolerated my crude efforts very well. He was altogether amiable in temper and very sure-footed.

  Wild Jack, Daniel, and Ben were in the party, together with Kelly and Sunyo and Joan. I had no idea why she had chosen to come, unless it was to be certain of getting rid of me. She had not said anything about my decision to go back to the city, but I had a fair notion of the thoughts that would be passing through her mind. I looked at her covertly as we rode over a patch of rough ground. She was not really bad looking, I supposed, unless you compared her with someone like Miranda.

  We came at last to the edge of the forest and a sight of the highway. It looked strange and bleak after the green confusion of the trees. The empty road ran into the broad and equally empty circle which surrounded the town, and beyond that I saw the high gray wall of Southampton. Everything out there had a cold, smooth look.

  I could still change my mind. Kelly and Sunyo would be pleased and so, I was fairly certain, would Wild Jack. With the parting so close I was beginning to realize how much I was going to miss the life I had recently been leading. Yet it would be stupid and silly to be influenced by thoughts like that. When you made a decision, you had to stick to it. An airship rose from behind the distant wall, and I thought of the other airship which would carry me back to London. I thought, too, with a quick and warming thrust of anger, of the surprise Gary would get when he saw me.

  We all dismounted. I said good-bye to Kelly and Sunyo and wished them luck.

  Kelly said, “Same to you, boss.”

  Sunyo’s hand gripped mine. “We’ll remember you.”

  I thanked the men in green for all their hospi­tality and help. Wild Jack said, “No need for thanks. All men are brothers in the Outlands.” He smiled. “We wish you well in your city life.”

  I nodded, not wanting to talk. He took Gibbon’s reins and said, “You could have kept him—we are well enough off for horses—but I doubt if it would be practicable in London. I doubt if he would enjoy the life either, being an Outlander born and bred. But there is something you can take to remember us by.”

  It was tied to his saddle, covered by a piece of cloth. He undid the cord and pulled the cloth away. He lifted up a small wicker cage holding a bird, a pigeon reddish-brown in plumage.

  “Rusty!” I shook my head. “I can’t take him. You said he was your favorite, your best bird.”

  “Birds don’t last forever, any more than men. He’s served
his time and earned a soft retirement. You can build him a pretty cage, a golden one if you like, to end his days in. And think of your outlaw friends when you give him his seed.” He shook hands. “Good-bye, lad.”

  Joan came from behind him. She said, “Good luck, Clive.” That was the first time she had used my name—it had always been ‘city boy.’ “I shall miss you.”

  I was almost too surprised to do anything, but I put my hand out awkwardly. She ignored it; instead she reached forward quickly and kissed me.

  “Good-bye.”

  • • •

  I followed the highway toward Southampton’s gate. No car passed me in either direction during the quarter of an hour it took me to reach it, but there was nothing unusual in that. Every year the roads were used less, and some people argued that they ought to be allowed to decay completely; airships provided adequate transport both for passengers and freight. For that matter, passenger traffic on the airships was declining, too. People were more and more inclined to remain in the city of their birth rather than go to the trouble of traveling to another which would be no better or, in fact, much different.

  Cars were equipped with radio transmitters to beam a direct warning of their approach to the guard on duty, but there was also an auxiliary link with the gatehouse. I pressed the button and waited, knowing my image would be appearing on the screen inside, for examination by the guard. At last the gate slid open, and I walked inside.

  The sergeant on duty looked at me closely and with suspicion. As he studied me, I became conscious of the figure I must cut. My clothes had been washed in the river and dried in the sun, with no mechanical press to provide them with city neatness. They were also badly torn in places.