Rupert stiffened. He saw finger go tense on trigger. “I’d love to do it, Cavalier,” the stationmaster said.
Rupert’s hands went up. “You’re much mistaken, sir,” he began. Inwardly: Yon bell-mouth tolls the knell of all my hopes.
“We’ll see about that,” was the reply. “If proper authority certify thee honest, thou’lt go free and, if thou’st a grain of sense, thank Ebenezer Smail that he’s cautious. Too hellish many masterless men—worse, fugitive Cavaliers—a-prowl these days. I think ye’re two of ’em; but better hang tomorrow than be shot today, ha?” A shout: “Thou on the cab! Sound thy whistle, summon me help!”
Will stooped forward, brought palm to ear. “Eh?” he said. “What?”
“Pull the whistle cord, thou sicksoul! Else I’ve a bolus for thee, after thy fellow sufferer has swallowed his pellets.”
“Zir, I be very deaf,” Will said in the flat tone of those who are. “I zee you oaverwrought ’bout zomethin’ or ’tother. Maybe zuspicious of us, hey? Can’t blaeme you, no, can’t blaeme you. We’ve no fear o’ tha sheriff. I’ll be happy to do your little wish, if you’ll come nigh that I may hear.”
Smail glared. “Stand fast,” he told Rupert. Crabwise, to keep the giant covered, he approached the locomotive.
Will simpered at him. “Look, I unbuckle my zaber in earnest o’ faith,” he called. The weapon dropped on the stones. He leaned far over the side. “Pray, zir, cloase an’ loud.”
He has a thought, Rupert knew. When the Roundhead’s gone as near as he will, I’ll make distraction. … “Ha, beware!” he roared from full lungs.
In the instant when eyes flickered, Will Fairweather whirled over the rail. His boots spurned it, he soared through a meteor’s arc, he struck Smail and they went down together. The blunderbuss crashed.
Rupert sprang across the paving. Dragoon and stationmaster rolled about at each other’s throats. Rupert got hold of an ear, dragged Smail’s head around, drove fist to chin. The man went boneless.
Will crawled from beneath. “What a snock!” he gasped. “It shivered me too. Did you kill tha lout?”
“Nay, he’ll but sleep awhile. Thou—” Rupert seized the narrow shoulders. “Oh, Will, thou couldst’a been slain!”
“Tha blast did tickle my whiskers, zir.” A shrug. “’A be a fool, him. Never zaw that for me ’twould’a been better indeed, gettin’ blown oapen right off, than waitin’ to dangle.” A grin. “Think o’ tha mess I’d’ve left for him to scrub.”
Rupert remained grave; nor did he let go his clasp. He spoke slowly; “My valiant friend, say no more ‘lord’ to me. From this day forth, I would be ‘thou’ to thee.”
“What? H’m? I doan’t follow your Highness nohow.”
“Is’t not English usage? When two of German kind would be dear comrades, they agree they’ll henceforward call each other du—‘thou,’ not ‘you’ on either side. I’d fain make it thus between us twain.”
The dragoon blushed and shuffled his feet. “Oh, really, zir, thic ben’t riaght. I’d never bend this tongue ’round zuch a way o’ speakin’ to your Highness.”
Rupert frowned. “I want it so.”
Will snapped to attention. “Aye, zir. If you … thou zay’st zo. I zuppoase tha order doan’t hoald whan we be with other great loards like, like thy Highness?” He pulled loose. “Zir, we’ve no time to spill on speeches. Tha bang o’ thic gun be bound to draw onlookers.”
Rupert nodded. “Right thou art. Don thy saber again. Reload the blunderbuss—there must be powder and shot in the stationhouse—bind mine host here inside—shoo off whoever comes, telling them our business is secret, urgent, and official. I doubt any’ll be armed. Nevertheless, we need haste as we need air. I’ll uncouple the wagons, turn the engine, signal ahead that we’re on a special mission—clear tracks for us, have refills for man and machine alike ready in Stoke—then disable the semaphore. God willing, I can get it done in an hour.”
“I hoape I fiand a cup,” Will said. “After thic zort of hour, my gullet’ll be too parched for practicin’ these thous o’ thine till ’tis had a princely rinse. Be that why tha Germans drink on it?”
THE BOUNDARY OF CHESHIRE AND SHROPSHIRE.
Rain-brooding weather had slowly been driving eastward, and now the locomotive was headed straight into it. The afternoon was blue-gray, sunbeams which slipped past ponderous cloud masses a brazen color which, despite its hardness, pervaded the green of meadows and leaves until they seemed to glow by their own light. Farmsteads huddled widely strewn across ever steeper hills, hamlets were rare along the serpentine railbed. Wind shrilled chilly through chug and clatter. Sometimes it bore a few drops; they stung.
Will hunched to warm his hands at the filled firebox. “Brrrr!” he said, “Why’ve we not walls an’ a roof around us?”
“Has a helmsman shelter at sea?” Rupert answered from where he stood.
“On zome ships ’a do.”
“A wooden cab would too likely catch fire from stray sparks.”
“An’ an ieron one’d cost. ’Tis cheaper to replaece men as tha’ get cough an’ fever. Though o’ coua’se your Puritan measter will tell you ’a leaves ’em out in tha oapen for to strengthen their moaral fiber.”
Rupert adjusted a valve. “Have cheer. We ought to be in Llangollen about nightfall.”
“Couldn’t we wait till tomorrow, an’ meanwhile fiand dry quarters? It ben’t zeemly tha Prince Palatine arrive like what might be called a drowned rat, zave that rats got better zense.”
Rupert shook his head. “We met a surprise in Buxton, well-nigh lethal. Recall how suspicious they were in Stoke—”
“Tha’ stoaked us, though. What a ham!”
“—no matter that they’d received our message. Were’t not that Cromwell’s conquered so widely around, making it hard to imagine anyone defying him still, they might well have tried to hold us for investigation. Sithence … thou’st seen the burnt-out shells of houses. I know not how far the Roundhead sway extends. Too chancy, stopping to inquire anywhere short of Wales.”
Will clanged the furnace door shut and rose to stand beside his leader. “Canst thou not ask o’ thy ring?”
Rupert turned a whetted glance upon him. “What mean’st thou?”
The dragoon gestured at the asp circlet. Its jewel glinted wan. “Thic, what Queen Titania gaeve. Aim it at a buildin’ along our way. If help’s within for us, tha stone’ll light up.” He hugged himself and sneezed. “True, maybe ’twoan’t reckon just keepin’ us dry o’ernight, with a posset or a cup o’mulled wine inzide, be worthy of its tellin’ us about. Howsomever, no harm tryin’, hey?” He yawned prodigiously. “We’ve had no rest zince yesterday morn. Thy Highness be young, an’ made o’ well-oiled steel; but take pity on an oaldster who’d dearly love a nap if ’a didn’t keep gettin’ roused by tha clunkin’ o’ his eyelids.”
Rupert scowled at the facets and rubbed a bristly cheek. “Um-m-m … the further in hours and miles from yonder moon-dream, the less real it seems. What did truly happen? And why?”
“’Twar real enough to maeke thy ring a beacon this mornin’, when thou drew’st near tha train what delivered us.”
“Indeed? I saw not.”
“I did, my loard. But than, beliake I be in tha habit o’ heedin’ zuch winks, an’ thou not.”
“No doubt. Which one of us does right? How far dare I obey this thing around my finger? A single inch?”
“Hoy, theare! You’d not cast the treasure away, dwould you?”
Rupert’s shoulders slumped beneath their own weariness. His voice dropped likewise. “I’m duly grateful to thee, trusty Will, and … Jennifer … and, well, perhaps those others. Yet what can we be safe in thinking of them? They could be gaudy lures, mere will-o’-the-wisps above a thin-decked pit—the Pit itself. Or tricksters, stirring us to rush about as boys may stir an anthill; they’re not human. Or, if well-meaning, fools who toy with flame. Or fools more shallow still, too worldly-wise to bear in mind t
he next world.”
His companion stared aghast. “Highness Rupert! You’ll not now let tha Calvinist in you o’erriede tha Cavalier?”
“I do not know.” Torment filled the words. “I do not know, forgive me.” Then suddenly the prince drew himself erect. “Aye, I do! Take it howe’er thou wilt, this much is certain: we cannot go astray if we but follow the Word of God and duty of a soldier.”
“Too strait a road, if straight-aimed at defeat.”
“But free of snares and mire. God’s will be done, for laurels here on earth or crowns in heaven. Meanwhile, I swore an oath to serve my King, not chase a moonbeam when he needs me most. We’ll seek his court.”
“Moare liake, his beggared camp,” Will grumbled. Rupert didn’t hear. Will shivered and squatted down to tap a stoup of ale.
Clack-clack went the wheels. They were on a level stretch, no need for guidance. Rupert twisted his ring about and about. Should I then cast this off me, overside, like something glowing blue-white from the fire? he wondered unhappily. Decision: Nay, that would be a craven deed itself when I have no more knowledge than I do. Unworthy of a knight, that I should spurn a love-sign humbly given by the hand of one who dared ask nothing in return save that I let her dare the world for me.
A smile tugged faintly at one corner of his mouth. She’s a mere maiden—merry, though not Mary; a commoner, albeit comely—yet oh, so very England! I recall how I, a youth first visiting this isle, when steeplechasing, wished that I might fall and break my neck, to leave these bones in England. Yon English wheatfield, stalks as slim as she, sun-ripened, goes in ripples like her walk; its hue and heaviness bespeak her hair; the soul above it is no butterfly to flit and preen on jewel-broidered wings, but rather is, I think, a youthful hawk already riding lonely on the wind.
He shook himself. Ha’ done! Belike I’ll never see her more. Or if I do, in peaceful after years, ’twill be with puffed politeness to her spouse and presents for their eight or nine plump children. I hope he doesn’t seek to curry favor. … That’s if the King wins. If the King wins. If.
A sharp curve appeared in the tracks ahead. Rupert took back the steering.
LLANGOLLEN.
Between lowering sky and shouldering shaggy mountains glowed a last brimstone bar of light. Against it hulked the ruins of a fortress, upon a conical hill a mile or so beyond settlement. The town was roofs and steeples rising out of dusk along the River Dee. From its railway station, downstream, one glimpsed the gracefulness of an ancient arched bridge. Bells chimed through a cold, muttering breeze.
A pair of great pole-mounted lanterns cast glow upon the terminal, though this walled off any clear view elsewhere. Approaching, Will asked, “Why yonder lamps whan tha western liane ben’t in use?”
“Perhaps it is,” Rupert replied. “If a loyal force is posted hereabouts, they may well send a train on short runs after supplies. Let’s trust the cargo can feed us ere we tumble into bed.”
“Could be a pallet in gaol, thic.” Will stooped to peer through dimness. “I zee no kindlin’ o’ thy ring.”
“Should there be? I thought it was to shine at extraordinary help or opportunity, not simple friendliness.” Rupert stood quiet for a clock-tick. “Aye, conceivably the enemy’s won this far. Keep that blunderbuss ready; here’s the pistol in my belt. We’ll not debark till we’re sure. At need, I’ll back us out again, and we’ll be gone to earth well before they can organize their chase.”
As he slowed to a halt, his eyes scouted. A few wagons stood on a siding, lumps of black. On the station pavement were the usual boxes and barrels, a pair of the usual horsecarts for carrying off freight. Otherwise was emptiness. No candlelight showed in the stationhouse windows. “Holla!” Rupert hailed through a final gush of steam. “Who’s here?”
A dozen buff-coated musketeers leaped from the door and pelted to disperse themselves. Their captain poised boldly in place. His helmet and sword gleamed beneath the lanterns. “Hold!” he shouted. “Declare yourselves!”
“Tha’ spied us from afar an’ maede ready—Let’s go,” Will chattered.
“Who are ye?” Rupert demanded.
“General Cromwell’s Independents,” the captain snapped. “Speak.”
“Tha’ war ahead of us, Fiend thunder ’em,” Will hissed.
“Get between him and me,” Rupert whispered back. “Let him not see my hands readying us for escape. I’ll talk meanwhile—
“Ah, good,” he responded aloud.
“You say that, from under hair like yours?” the captain scoffed.
Rupert thickened his accent. “Dis iss no var uff ours, good sir. Ve’re artificers from de Dutch statholder, come to study your British trains for him. Ve vere trying dis vun, by leaff uff de master in Stoke-on-Trent, ven ve saw such a vild-looking gang uff men ve t’ought best ve make speed. Good to see ve haff come in de same hands ass ve left in Stoke.”
The captain’s tone grew more amiable. “They’d not have known, there. ’Twas but this day we entered. Semaphores’ve stood idle and trains been frightened off whilst fighting was in these parts.” His alertness never slackened. “Well, come on down. I’ll need to bring you in for questioning. Have no fears if ye’re honest. Why, no doubt General Cromwell himself’ll wish to talk with you.”
“Vun moment, pleasse, vile ve make de enchine ready—Ah!”
Pressure was back at the full. Rupert threw in reverse drive. The locomotive clanked into motion.
The captain yelled. Muskets barked, not only from around the paving wherever cover was to be had, but from the sidetracked vans. Bullets clanged off the boiler and whined away.
Two soldiers darted out of shelter of a crate. They hurled themselves against a horsecart. Will saw their intention. His blunderbuss belched orange flame, inky smoke, leaden hail. The wagonbed shielded the men. They shoved the vehicle across the tracks and shook triumphant fists. “Do your worst, heretics!” one taunted.
“I’ve naught to do it with,” Will keened, clutching his discharged weapon.
The tender struck the wagon. Wooden frame crunched beneath iron wheels, to block and jam them.
“Out, out, men!” the captain cried. “Ring them in! If they surrender not, slay them!”
Fearless in their faith—or shrewdly gauging that they would meet no more serious gunshot—the Roundheads swarmed from both sides. Rupert drew saber and slashed at the ropes securing the ale barrel. A welter of soldiers hurried to form a line on the pavement beside the track.
Rupert dropped his blade and seized the cask. Muscles swelled to rip his shirt down back and front. In one swing he raised the great object over his head and hurled it among those Puritans.
He was a very light drinker. Will alone had not much diminished thirty-six beer gallons. Counting the oak itself, some four hundred pounds struck ground.
Staves splintered and flew on an outward volcano of brew and foam. The sundering crash was followed by screams, gurgles, and strangled ungodly curses.
Rupert retrieved his saber and was in the air before the barrel smote. Landing on shattered flagstones, blade aloft, “En avant!” he roared, and led Will through a chaos of drenched, overbowled, lurching, beer-blinded or half-drowned Ironsides.
More darted from behind locomotive and tender. Three of them, fast runners, sped at a slant to intercept the fugitives near the stationhouse. One, who had not used his musket in the volley, brought it up. Rupert shot him. It was no mortal wound; to hit with a pistol at that distance was rare. But the man sank to his knees, hugging a broken shoulder. His companions had their swords out. “Thou to the right, Will, me to the left,” Rupert called. He attacked. A spark-showering blow knocked the Roundhead weapon loose. On the return, Rupert laid the man’s thigh open. Meanwhile Will hurled an otherwise useless blunderbuss at the nose of his opponent, which made it easy to disable him too when they closed.
On past the station, into the dusk. “They’ll rally and be after us,” Rupert said in rhythm with his feet. “Reinforcements; d
ogs if they can get ’em; surely guides, willing or not, who know this country. Those’re wildwood hills before us. Be thou our leader.”
“We’ll need moare than woodcraft, my loard,” the other answered.
A MOUNTAINSIDE. FULL NIGHT.
Somewhere in the thick wet tangle of forest, a stream clucked. Louder came snap and crash as Rupert fought his unskillful way through brush which his companion parted easily. Faint but clear tolled the voices of hounds.
“Dood ok ondergang!” Rupert panted. “I’d liefer meet a line o’ Switzer pikemen than these damned claw-twigged withes. How canst thou find thy path? ’Tis black as an Ethiop’s bowels.”
“Fiand it we boath must,” replied grimness from the murk. Thunder boomed. “E’en if yon rain comes zoon to wash out our slot, ’tis too laete. Tha’ be on our track itzelf, broaken limbs an’ trampled shrubs.”
“My doing,” Rupert admitted. Pride flashed back into him. “I’m a hunter, not a poacher.”
“Aye,” Will snorted. “Thou ben’t woant to slip on a deer unbeknowanst an’ fell him by one quick shot. Nay, thou’lt chaese him a-hoa’seback till ’a can drag his weight no further. There be a Frenchy naeme for each staege o’ his terror an’ weariness, not zo? Well, Prince, naeme them in thyzelf tonight!”
That anger brought Rupert up short. “Forgive me,” he said. “I meant no offense to thee—was only trying to excuse mine own clumsiness.”
“Aaahhh. …” Will’s resentment faded. “How can I rail at a man big enough to talk thus? I was a-feared for, well, not just my carcass, loard, but ten kids in Somerset … aye, their mother too.”
“Thou canst evade the chase.”
“An’ thou canst not. Come along. What we got to do be fiand yonder beck I hear, wade down it a ways for to break our trail, take squirrel hospitality o’ernight, an’ hoape—can this be done in time—Hoy! Almighty God! Look!”
Light burst on Rupert’s left hand. Ruby, bronze, gold, emerald, turquoise, sapphire, amethyst, it streamed from the jewel facets, forth to bring gaunt unshaven faces, matted hair, sweat-tunnels through coal-dust, vivid against the middle of the night, and to blaze back out of eyes.
A Midsummer Tempest Page 9