Elephants and Castles

by John Patrick

Mister Wiseman's store was crowded with desperate shoppers jostling and competing for what little was left. Mary and Samuel pushed their way to the front to look for the familiar figure of the store owner, Damien Wiseman, a canny elderly man, with one eye and several missing fingers. He’d thrill Samuel with tales of his exploits in the Civil War and how he had single-handedly won battles and rescued fair maidens. He had a different story for each of his four missing fingers and Samuel knew each one word for word. Some said he had bought his business on the back of treasures he had plundered during the campaigns but nobody knew for sure. Samuel wouldn't have cared. That would have made him all the more exciting. Today though Samuel couldn't see Mister Wiseman. He strained forward over the counter to look for the old man but instead there were two teenage boys looking flustered and trying to justify the lack of stock.

  'Get back from there!' one of them shouted at Samuel.

  'Where's General Wiseman?' asked Samuel, dropping back to the floor.

  The boys looked at each other and smirked. 'He's gone with his army to the country.'

  'What, he ain't here?' Mary was horrified. She wasn't as impressed by his stories but she enjoyed his kindness and knew he would have been sympathetic to their plight.

  'He's left us in charge til he’s back - if he’s back. What do you want?'

  Mary pulled out the note and handed it across. The young man read through it quickly.

  'Well, half of this we ain’t got no more and for the rest we need cash. There’s no credit for anyone.'

  'But this is from Mister Jarvis. He always comes ‘ere. Mister Wiseman knows ‘im.'

  'No credit. Not for nobody. Dead people ain’t good at payin’ bills.'

  'He won’t be ‘appy if he hears you’ve treated us like this.' warned Samuel.

  'You got money or not. If not, I got lots o’ folk here to serve.'

  'Well, we ain’t got much money but we got all o’ this.' Samuel poured the contents of the box across the counter.

  The banter and chatter around them went quiet. All eyes fixed on the strange collection on the counter.

  One of the shop boys picked up a bracelet and looked at it with bemusement. 'You ain’t serious? We can’t take this stuff.'

  'You could sell it from your shop.' explained Samuel. 'People want this stuff they do. 'An' these jewels is worth a lot.'

  'What, these? These are just pebbles. And look at this stuff.' He held aloft a tarot card. 'Look, the Bishop comes in here. What’s ‘e gonna say if he sees this sort of stuff on the counter. I ain’t gonna offend him. Not for any amount o’ money.'

  'But we gotta get the supplies, please!' pleaded Mary.

  The shop assistant shook his head. 'Right then! Who’s got cash ‘ere today? Cash only.'

  'Please. We gotta get this stuff!' shouted Mary

  But they weren't listening.

  'That’s it. We’re stuffed.' Mary sniffed.

  A hand landed on Samuels shoulder and squeezed it gently. A soft female voice spoke into his ear. 'Wait, young man. Please, don’t go. I’ll buy your goods.'

  Samuel turned around. Behind them stood a young woman in her mid-twenties her blonde hair tied back tightly behind her head. She was in a full length white embroidered dress. Samuel had never seen anyone so pretty. He stood and looked open mouthed. She smiled kindly back at him.

  'You, shopkeeper, give them what they need. Put it on my bill.'

  'Yes Miss Collins, straight away.'

  'Samuel, it’s rude to stare!' whispered Mary, tapping his arm.

  The woman laughed. 'Don’t worry. Anyway, we can’t see a handsome young man like this starve now, can we?' She rubbed her soft hand across Samuel’s cheek. His face flushed with embarrassment. 'And in return I ask only one thing. I would like the pick from your fascinating box of goodies. Just one small item is all I want. My choice. Is that a deal?'

  Mary and Samuel looked at each other. How could they refuse? What a bargain! This was better than they had dared hope. They both nodded.

  'Good, then the deal is done. My name is Miss Annabel Collins. You may have heard of me? Daughter of Judge Collins?'

  The children shrugged, and anyway, who cared. She was paying the bill.

  'Not to worry my darlings. Come on, bring your things and we'll go outside. This is exciting don't you think?'

  Samuel scooped up his treasure from the counter and piled it back into the box. Except, that is, for his favourite red stone. He slipped that carefully into his trouser pocket and they followed the young woman out of the shop.

  'Ain’t you buyin' no stuff?' asked Samuel.

  'What, me?' she laughed. 'Oh no, my staff take care of that. I simply come out of curiosity, see what provisions the stores have, see what’s happening in the world. Wooldridge here takes care of my needs.' She pointed behind her to a tall middle-aged man smartly dressed in dark two-piece suit, cane and hat. Wooldridge nodded coldly to the children. Behind him, a couple of shop boys were bringing out their purchases.

  'Why you helpin’us?' asked Mary.

  'Children, children. The only good thing about such difficult times is it gives one the chance to show kindness of spirit, to show God how we can all pull together.' She smiled and added 'And anyway, I’m sure I’ll find something I like in that box of yours.' She gestured to them to follow her towards her carriage.

  Mary was tired. She was sick of the box and just wanted to get the supplies back home. 'Misses Collins, it’s like this…' she started.

  'Miss Collins. Not Misses, it’s Miss Collins.' she pointed out with a little irritation.

  'Miss Collins, we’re real glad for what you done an’ all, but we really don’t ‘ave any use for this box now anyhow.' Mary pulled the box from under Samuel’s arm. 'So you can ‘ave all of it.'

  'No, that’s my stuff!' protested Samuel.

  'We got what we need.' whispered Mary. 'Let's just get rid of it.'

  Annabel Collins nodded to her manservant and he removed the box from Mary’s grasp. The shop boys dropped the packages on the ground by Mary and Samuel.

  'It's been a pleasure doing business with you both.' observed Annabel Collins.

  'It's been a real...'

  But before Mary could finish her sentence, Annabel turned to Wooldridge. 'Take me home.' She ordered brusquely and marched towards her carriage.

  'What d’you do that for?' complained Samuel.

  'Come on, we got our errands, let’s just go.'

  Samuel reluctantly began picking up the bags and packages. 'I ought to give away your things an' see how you like it!'

  Loaded with supplies and sweating in the afternoon heat, they began the long walk home.

  Sitting inside her carriage, Miss Collins eagerly tipped the box out onto the seat and spread the contents out. She knew what she was looking for.

  But the bright red stone wasn’t there.

  She searched again. She picked up the box and shook it. She threw the cushions off the seat to see if it had rolled into the gaps. Still no stone. She hurled the box against the wall of the carriage. She leant her head back and screamed. 'Wooldridge! Wooldridge! STOP!'

  The driver pulled the carriage to a shuddering halt. Wooldridge jumped down and opened the carriage door.

  'Wooldridge you idiot! It’s not in there.' She hurled the box through the door towards him. Wooldridge ducked as it flew past his head. 'You’ve brought me a box of useless rubbish. God, why do I put up with you? Get me that damn stone!'

  Without expression Wooldridge picked up the box, replaced the contents and set off in search of the children.

  Samuel and Mary were making slow progress. The afternoon was getting hotter and stickier and the supplies were getting heavier. They grew close to Shipton's house. Mary became uneasy.

  'Come on Sam, let's go the other way. I ain't goin' near 'im again!'

  Samuel groaned. 'Oh no. It's miles that way! It's 'ot - an' I'm whacked. I ain't walkin' no further than I 'ave to.'

  'What if he sees
us? Come on Sam, it's only a little bit further.'

  'No. You go the long way if you want to but I've 'ad it. He's prob'ly sleepin' any'ow.'

  Mary reluctantly conceded. She was exhausted too.

  Soon they could see the crudely etched sign over Shipton's door. They looked nervously for any signs of his greasy black hair and beard but all they could see were pedestrians hurrying about their business. Samuel dragged the sack of flour across his right shoulder, hiding one side of his face. Mary pulled a white cloth from her pocket, tied it as a headscarf and pulled it forward across her cheek. They walked as far to the to the opposite side of the street as they could, keeping their faces pointed to the ground.

  Shipton's slurred words appeared through the hubbub. 'No, ya see, I don't need all that stuff. People like me, we only 'ave to close our eyes an' we can see the future clear as day.' He was stood on his doorstep trying, to woo new customers, but without the pull of his trinkets he'd only managed to attract a handful of unimpressed listeners. 'My family go back gen'rations' he went on 'we 'as foretold all sorts of things, big an' small. We…' He paused and raised a hand to shade his eyes from the bright sun. He squinted across the street. Was he looking at those thieving children?

  'You’ve foretold what?'

  Shipton didn't reply. He was struggling to see through the bobbing heads.

  Samuel and Mary sensed the pause. Mary hastened her step, keeping her gaze fixed downwards. Samuel couldn’t resist having a peak. He slid the sack back on his shoulder and peeped around it. Shipton recognised him in an instant; the nervous eyes, the pale young freckled face. For a moment the two of them locked their gaze together.

  'It’s them!' Shipton leapt from the step into the small crowd.

  'It's who? What's 'e on about?'

  'Come here! I need that stuff!' He pushed his audience out of the way, but then stumbled and fell.

  'Mary, he’s comin'!' shouted Samuel.

  Mary span around in panic. Shipton climbed back to his feet and then began shoving his way across the street towards them. Mary looked around for an escape; they were loaded up and couldn't run. There was a small alleyway between a house and an Inn a few yards ahead.

  'Sam, quick, in ‘ere!' She grabbed his arm and dragged him into the passageway. The alley was a dead end. It was littered with empty wooden crates, barrels, broken bottles and empty flagons. Halfway down was a side entrance to the inn. They dashed behind a pile of crates and hid, dropping the supplies against the wall. Rats rustled and scurried around them. They were surrounded by rotting food scraps, bones and kitchen waste. The air was thick with flies and reeked of rat urine and decaying meat. They crouched down and waited.

  Footsteps entered the alley. Mary put an arm around Samuel and pulled him in close. She screwed her eyes tightly shut. Perhaps he wouldn't see them; perhaps he would have a quick glance and move on. But the footsteps grew closer. Mary held her breath. Something tickled her leg. She brushed at it. Then she felt a scratch then a bite. She opened her eyes. A long-tailed black rat was sat on her foot, its eyes black as coals staring coldly back at her. Mary squealed and swiped at it. She fell backwards, and into something. She turned her head slowly. There was a pair of black shiny boots poking out from crisp black trousers. Those weren't the legs of Shipton. It was Annabel Collins’ manservant, Wooldridge glaring down at her; the box of trinkets clutched under one arm.

  Mary grinned. 'Oh thank the good Lord! It’s you! You’re with that lady, ain't ya? We thought you was that fortune teller bloke from across the way! Look Sam, it’s ‘im!'

  'Thank God!' Samuel beamed.

  'Is there somethin' we can do fer ya?' asked Mary ''Cause we're in a bit of an 'urry?' she kept an anxious eye on the opening to the street as she spoke. She knew Shipton would still be looking for them. She reached down for her packages. 'Grab the stuff Sam. Let’s get goin’ before 'e comes down ‘ere.'

  But Wooldridge wasn't done with them yet. He seized Mary's long hair and threw her against the wall. He raised his cane and pressed it into the base of her neck. 'You have something that belongs to Miss Collins.' he snarled. He pushed the cane deeper into her throat, the brass tip disappearing into her flesh. 'Where is it girl?'

  Mary tried to answer, to explain that she didn’t know what he was talking about, but the cane was choking her, she couldn't speak. She tugged at it with both of her hands but Wooldridge just pushed harder. Mary gasped for air but none came. Her vision was beginning to fade, her head was spinning.

  Samuel threw himself at the stick and held onto it with all his might. 'Get off her! Get off!' he screamed.

  Wooldridge booted him away but Samuel held his grip and dragged the cane away from his sister's throat. Mary collapsed to the floor, dragging rasping breaths into her desperate lungs.

  Wooldridge looked down at them both and smirked. Samuel's desperate tug on his cane had pulled away its lower half, exposing a long slender blade that had been hidden within its shaft. 'Thank you boy.' Wooldridge grabbed Mary’s long brown pony tail and dragged her back to her feet. He pressed the point of blade under her jaw. 'You’d better be able to help me girl, or your mother won’t recognise your face tonight.' He rammed the box into Mary’s belly, causing her head to jolt forward and drawing a little blood from her chin. 'You can keep the rest of this garbage. Now hand it over!'

  'Please.' sobbed Mary 'I don't know...'

  'Don't play games with me girl! You know exactly what I want.'

  Samuel began to root through his pockets. He pulled out arm bands and necklaces and held them out. 'Here Sir, I got these.'

  Wooldridge smacked them dismissively from his hands. 'Not that trash, the stone. The red stone!'

  Samuel pushed his hand back deep into his pocket. He knew there was something special about that stone. He pulled it out and held it aloft with a trembling hand. It seemed brighter than ever, casting a warm glow into the shadows of the alley.

  'That’s more like it! Now that wasn’t hard was it?' Wooldridge ripped the stone from Samuel’s hand and shoved it into his jacket. 'She will be pleased.'

  'Come on Mary.' urged Samuel reaching a hand out to his sister, 'Let's get out of 'ere!’.

  Wooldridge seized Samuel's outstretched arm and hurled him against the wall alongside his sister. ‘Not so fast. You're not going anywhere! People can't know who has this stone.'

  'But we ain't gonna tell nobody!' pleaded Samuel

  'That's quite right, you won't.' Wooldridge pointed his blade at the children.

  Mary and Samuel edged back until they reached the door to the inn and could go no further. Their escape was blocked either side by walls of crates and empty barrels.

  'We won't tell nobody!' sobbed Mary. 'Let us go an' we won't say nothin'.'

  'That's a chance I can't afford to take.'

  Samuel banged on the inn door and rattled the latch but there was no response. Wooldridge grasped Samuel by the throat and pushed him up against the door. He drew back his blade. Mary froze, mouth gaping, breath held. The box tumbled from her grip and emptied onto the ground.

  'You shouldn't do tha'!'

  Wooldridge felt a prod in the back of his head. He turned his neck to see the barrel of a pistol looking back at him, inches from his face.

  'Gi' me the knife.' Shipton reached down, took the blade and tossed it back down the alley. His hand was trembling and the pistol barrel waved wildly in front of Wooldridge’s nose. 'Now gi' me back my stone.'

  Wooldridge hissed. He reluctantly took the gem from his pocket and tossed it into the waste on the floor.

  'You boy, pick up all me things.' Shipton gestured to his trinkets scattered over the ground. Samuel knelt down and began to refill the box once again. 'An' find me that stone.'

  Wooldridge said nothing. He looked at Shipton’s sweating forehead, his trembling hand and the quivering barrel of the gun. He looked at the hammer on the side of the pistol. It wasn’t cocked. He smiled to himself. This man obviously didn’t have a clue what he was
doing. Wooldridge stretched out his right arm sideways.

  'Oi, what you doin’? Put your arm down, I’m warnin’ ya!' shouted Shipton, the gun flapping ever more wildly. 'I ain’t afraid to blow your friggin’ brains out!'

  'Please, go right ahead.' smirked Wooldridge. A long slender dagger slid from his sleeve and into his palm.

  'Why, you...' Shipton pulled the trigger on his pistol. There was no shot, not so much as a click. Shipton cursed and tried to cock the gun but there was no time. Wooldridge thrust his blade deep into Shipton’s abdomen and twisted. The pistol fell to the floor. Shipton clutched desperately onto Wooldridge’s shoulders, but Wooldridge was having none of it. He pushed Shipton’s failing body backwards and watched him crumple to the ground.

  'Sam, run!' screamed Mary. She dashed down the alley but Wooldridge stepped in front of her and blocked her escape.

  'Get back up there!' he snarled 'Both of you. I've not finished with you yet.'

  Mary and Samuel retreated back up the alley away from the knife. Wooldridge dropped to his knees and began foraging through the filth in search of the stone.

  Mary and Samuel were penned in. The passage was too narrow to try and dash past Wooldridge. The only windows were high above and the overhanging walls meant there was no way to climb upwards.

  Wooldridge grumbled ominously as he fumbled through the rancid waste. 'You two are causing me too much bloody trouble!' he hissed. 'When I find this thing I'm going to sort you out!'

  An idea struck Mary. She grabbed two cracked old flagons from the floor and shoved one into Samuel’s arms. 'Ere, Sam, chuck this!' She lifted her flagon above her head and hurled it at the inn door. It shattered against the oak planks and showered fragments of pottery around her. 'Go on Sam, fling it!' She let out an ear-piercing scream then reached for another.

  Wooldridge jumped up. 'What the hell are you doing?' He charged at Samuel but he was too slow and another flagon smashed into the Inn. Mary screamed again and hurled a broken bottle. Samuel began to howl.

  Wooldridge reached for his knife. He'd shut the pair of them up for good. But at the opening to the alley, curious onlookers were beginning to gather, peering into the shadows. Wooldridge hesitated; he didn't want attention.

  The back door to the inn rattled then creaked open. A man filled the opening; he was huge, overweight, unshaven, with a grubby blood-stained apron stretched over his pregnant-looking belly. In one hand he held a wooden club.

  'What the 'ell's goin' on? Who’s makin’ that bloody racket?' He caught sight of Shipton lying on the ground clutching his abdomen, blood pooled in the dirt around him, then Wooldridge, dagger still pointing from his right hand. He raised his club and pointed it at Wooldridge. 'What's your game?' he growled.

  Wooldridge didn't wait to answer. He bolted down the alley, pushed his way through the onlookers and was gone.

  The inn-keeper walked across to Shipton. 'It’s you! I might ‘ave bloody known.' He turned to the children and pointed his club again. 'I want you two and 'im gone from here. I'll be back in two minutes. If you're still 'ere, I'll finish the job meself.' He stepped back inside the inn and slammed shut the door.

  'Come on; let’s get out of 'ere!' Samuel started to quickly gather together the supplies.

  Mary hesitated. She looked at Shipton’s pathetic figure bleeding in the dirt. 'Sam, ‘e just saved our lives. We can't just leave 'im 'ere.'

  'An' he nicked all our money!' pointed out Samuel. 'This is all 'cause of 'im. Serves ‘im right!'

  Shipton managed to drag himself up to sit against the wall. He was pale and panting. Sweat ran down his face like rain on a window and soaked his shirt. 'Help me across to me 'ouse.' he gasped. 'That's all I ask, then I'll be right.' He held a hand out to Mary and tried to smile. Samuel frowned.

  'Come on Sam. It ain't a lot to ask. He can’t ‘urt us now can he?'

  'But he robbed us!'

  'Look at 'im Sam. It'll take us two minutes to get 'im back to 'is 'ouse an' then we're gone.'

  Samuel huffed his disapproval but went along with Mary's suggestion. They hid the supplies away again, but not the box of trinkets. Samuel was determined not let that out of his sight.

  'Lord’s sake Sam. Let's get rid 'o that stuff!'

  'No way! This is precious. Haven't you seen how everyone's after it?'

  It took a several attempts but eventually they managed to haul Shipton to his feet then the three of them staggered like drunks into the street. They barged their way towards Shipton’s house. As they got closer, Shipton suddenly pulled back and turned his head away. On the step of his house stood two men, arguing over something, fingers pointing, arms waving wildly in the air. Mary recognised one as the landlord who'd been demanding his rent from Shipton earlier. The other was a stocky red-headed and red-bearded man in a white shirt and blood-red tartan kilt. He was clearly angry about something.

  'I can’t go back there.' Shipton mumbled towards the ground.

  'What?' demanded Mary, turning her head to hear.

  'I can’t go back there!' hissed Shipton then gasped for air again. 'Get me away from 'ere quick!'

  'You gotta be kiddin’!' Samuel was not impressed. 'I ain’t takin’ ‘im nowhere. We leave ‘im right ‘ere!'

  'That man' stuttered Shipton 'will slice me up like a piece o’ meat.' He kept his face pointed downwards. 'Leave me ‘ere if you want but I ‘ope you can sleep tonight knowing what you done' to me. You'll 'ave blood on your ‘ands, both o' ya.'

  'I’ll sleep. I always sleep.' muttered Samuel.

  'Why, what you done to ‘im?' asked Mary.

  'I ain’t done nothin’ to 'im, I swear! Just get me away, please!' pleaded Shipton. 'I’ll explain everythin’. You’ll be saving me life. I’ll make it worth your while I promise!'

  Shipton found new strength and began to stagger along the street, his arms draped onto a shoulder of either child, dragging them along with him. 'I ‘ope you got that stone kids. We’re gonna need that stone.'

  They set off for Monnington Street. As Shipton tired, he leant more of his weight onto Mary and Samuel’s aching shoulders. Samuel's other arm burnt with pain from carrying the box. There were no offers of help from passers-by, just worried looks and people crossing the street to stay well clear. Finally, the house was in sight. But Shipton was growing weaker.

  'Mary I can’t ‘old ‘im, he's too heavy!'

  'Keep trying Sam, we're nearly there.'

  But Shipton's legs finally buckled. He fell to the floor, pulling Mary and Samuel down into a heap with him. Mary crawled out and sat against the wall.

  'Bloody ‘ell Sam, what we gonna do now?'

  'Let's just leave ‘im ‘ere.' suggested Samuel, rubbing a bruised elbow.

  'Gimme ... a minute, I’ll be... right.' groaned Shipton without conviction, his face ghostly white. He tried to sit himself up but his arms were too weak and he slumped back onto the road.

  Mary and Samuel looked around for help. Across the street people stood and stared from a safe distance, but none were coming forward to offer help. Walking along the street towards them was a woman loaded up with bags. Three young boys around her were fighting over food and struggling with luggage. The woman was Fran.

  'You share that properly, you ‘ear. There’ll be no more to eat tonight. Matt you give a bit to little Zac. Matthew… Matthew, stop eating it all, you pig!' She tried to clip Matthew around the ear but loaded with bags she couldn't get close.

  Matthew's response was to force as much bread as he could into his mouth and then offer a food filled grin back at his mother.

  'You wait ‘til I get you home you greedy little urchin!'

  Matthew laughed and skipped away down the street. He nearly fell on top of Shipton and the children.

  'Matthew! Watch what you’re doing!' howled Fran. She dropped her bags, ran to her son and pulled him away. 'I've warned you before Matt, why don't you listen? Keep away from them sort o' people!' She waved a disparaging finger and then looked
again at the figures sitting on the ground. 'Mary! Samuel! What the bloody ‘ell are you two doin’ ‘ere?' A broad, toothless smile consumed her face. She reached down a hand to either child and pulled them to their feet. She hugged them tightly into her body. 'I just visited your posh ‘ouse. I missed seein' you two rascals.'

  The children hugged Fran in return.

  'An’ who’s ‘e? What’s ‘e doin’ down there?' Fran squinted down at Shipton lying on the ground, his clothes stained with blood. She pulled Mary and Samuel back away from him and then turned to her own children. 'Boys, boys, keep back. 'E's not safe!'

  'No Aunty Fran,' said Mary, breaking free of the hug ''E saved our life, ‘e did. An’ he got stabbed in the belly for ‘is trouble. We’re takin’ him back for Mum to look after.'

  Fran took a cautious step closer and peered down her nose at Shipton. 'You sure he ain't got it? You know, the Infection?'

  'No, look!' Mary bent over and hoisted up Shipton’s shirt revealing the wound. Shipton groaned.

  'Oh dear. That’s not good. Not at all good.' Fran frowned. 'Suppose it’s better than plague though. Still, I don’t fancy your chances at the ‘ouse. I went round, just to be sociable an' see you all, and that fat cook slung me out. She’s a witch! Real nasty to the boys just ‘cos they was ‘ungry and ‘ad a snack. I told her, don’t come cryin’ to me when you want somethin’ ‘cos I won’t help you, oh no! Not one bit! You mark my words!' Fran tossed her head back and ran a hand through hair greying hair. 'An’ if she won’t let your Mum’s sister come for a short visit I don’t reckon she’ll be ‘aving grubby injured strangers to stay.' She knelt down to Shipton, placed a hand on his forehead and dragged his sweat-soaked hair back from his face. 'He doesn’t look good does he? What’s 'is name?'

  'His name is Mister Shipton. It’s a long story Aunty Fran but this fella was gonna hurt me and Sam an’ Mister. Shipton 'ere stopped ‘im. That’s ‘ow he got stabbed.'

  'Yeh, after 'e robbed us.' added Samuel.

  Fran turned and looked earnestly at Mary. 'Look, 'e can come and stay with me. I can fix ‘im up. I know some people. An' any’ow, I need a man about the place. It’s been a long time since…' Fran paused 'It’s been a very long time.'

  'But your place is miles away. He’ll never make it.' argued Mary.

  'We can go slow, carry ‘im if we ‘ave to. We’ll get there.'

  'Sit me up.' grunted Shipton.

  Fran and Mary propped him against the wall. His head lolled back like a rag doll against the bricks, his mouth gaped open.

  'Hmm, maybe you’re right.' said Fran. 'He could snuff it any minute.'

  'Get off! They're mine!' screamed Samuel. Fran's boys had spotted the trinkets and were fighting to get their hands into the box. Samuel was frantically trying to fend them off.

  Fran came to his assistance. 'Boys, boys, get out of it!' She smacked Matthew around the head then picked a bracelet up from the ground. 'Sammy, what the bloody ‘ell is all this stuff?'

  'It’s Mister Shipton’s.' He held out a handful of polished stones. ''E can tell the future with these.' Then he held out several bracelets 'An’ these‘ll keep you safe through anythin’.'

  Fran held up a bracelet marked with letters that she couldn’t read etched into the leather. 'What do they say?'

  'Dunno. But it’s magic.'

  'Well ‘e can’t be very good can ‘e?' Fran held up another and shook it as if looking for life.

  'Why?'

  'Well, ‘e didn’t see that knife comin’, did ‘e?'

  'No, no.' Samuel jumped to Shipton’s defence. 'It's not like that. Per’aps… per’aps 'e knew ...'e knew we was gonna be in danger an’ that’s why 'e was there to rescue us. And per’aps he ain’t dead 'cause these charms is keeping ‘im alive.' Samuel raised his eyebrows. He was pleased with his explanation. 'Yeh, that’s it.'

  Fran paused to think about Samuel's argument. He might have a point. 'Well any’ow, we can’t leave ‘im ‘ere for the rats and crows. If he ain't up to walkin' no more then I guess we'll just 'ave to find somewhere to 'ide 'im at your place for now.'

  Chapter 9