The Outrageous Fortune of Abel Morgan

by Cynthia Jefferies

  10

  Soon, Zandar turned the boat into the estuary, tacking to make the most of the light wind. Now we were sailing into the brown water and I could see more of it pouring into the sea like beer down a thirsty man’s gullet. The river looked all brown. It had been raining heavily on and off over the past few days, but I was astonished that rain had so much power over the earth. Surely, if so much soil were lost every time it rained, one day we would be left with bare rock and no means of growing our crops. But I had more to worry about than geography.

  As we slowly turned a bend in the river and found the breeze more to our advantage, I saw in the distance what could only be a city. It lay on both sides of the huge river, and as far as I could see there were spires, towers, houses and smoke rising from countless chimneys. Numerous small boats skimmed from one side to the other and nearest to us it seemed hundreds of larger boats with a thousand masts were tied up. I knew that Chineborough was much larger than my village, but this was like its own country. It obliterated the land and imposed its own solidity. What would it do to me?

  ‘Belay that idleness and bring us some food!’ Samal was glaring at me, having emerged from the cabin and joined his brother at the stern.

  The bread was as hard as biscuits but was edible enough when soaked in the small beer, of which we still had plenty. I cut the remaining cheese into two and took a generous shaving off each piece for myself. By the time I had seen to the brothers’ wants and had brought my own meal on deck, we were much closer to the city. Behind the port some magnificent buildings rose up the hill beyond. There were many churches and in the distance a large white tower, surrounded by battlements. But the smoke of kitchen fires smudged the scene in places and we were still too far away for me to tell what sort of people might live there.

  At length we were mingling with other boats, all seemingly with the one intention of making for a strip of quayside left vacant by a vessel that was being eased out of the way. We were beaten to it by a boat similar to ours but a little larger. It crossed in front of us and dropped its sail, drifting expertly into the exact spot. Zandar let out a curse and followed it in. Samal fended us off and tied our vessel to the one that had beaten us. This seemed to be the way. There were far too many boats for the quay and so most were in our situation. Some, indeed, were tied four or five boats out from the quay. I couldn’t help but hope of some way to escape. Surely, if I could find my way back to Dario, my father would accept that I had spent enough time away from him? If I had proof of my father’s hand in my apprenticeship I would bear it willingly, but now, near dry land for the first time, doubt was shouting at me and escape was uppermost in my mind.

  ‘Come here, lad.’ Zandar was smiling at me. ‘You’ve done well for us, so I won’t put you below while we’re gone. You can stay on deck.’

  Before my heart could miss more than a beat, he was passing a rope around me and tying it securely. If only I had been wearing my boots! But my little knife was with them in the hold and I felt sure that his knots would be more than adequate to hold me.

  Zandar put the flagon next to me along with my tankard. ‘There’s still beer left,’ he said cheerfully. ‘No need to be thirsty. Enjoy the sights.’

  With that, the two men pulled on their boots and left, clambering over the side of our boat onto the next and so to shore. I watched them go. Zandar had left me enough of a tether so that I could move around a little, but not enough to escape. I gazed over the boats and stared at the tantalising bustle on the quayside. Thoughts of my father and the home from which I had been ripped came flooding back, and I blinked my eyes to chase away the tears. I spent a long while struggling with the rope that held me, ever fearful that they would return before I could free myself. But it was hopeless. Zandar had fashioned a kind of harness that passed between my thighs, making it impossible to bring the knot around so that I could see it. Giving up, I sat disconsolate, staring at the bustle on the quay.

  Then, a small figure amongst the throng caught my eye. It was a boy of about my own age, but he was different from any boy I had ever seen. His clothes were splendid like a king’s. He wore scarlet breeches and spotless white stockings. His elaborate jacket fitted him perfectly. It must have been made especially for him, which to me seemed a marvellous thing. His parents had to be very wealthy to afford such luxury for a growing boy.

  He was carrying a small box, holding it as if it were of great value or as if he were in an important procession. As I watched, something made him turn to look in my direction. I had thought that he was wearing black gloves but now saw that his face was as dark as his hands. The pale blue jacket and snowy linen about his neck framed his ebony face and form exquisitely. He was the most singular and most beautiful person I had ever seen. I thought how proud he must be to belong in such a place, and to so splendidly overshadow everything in it.

  And then suddenly, as these things sometimes happen, his eyes found mine. It was as if we were looking into each other’s souls: I with my dirty bare feet and roped waist, he with his fine clothes and skin like burnished coal. But the way he looked at me made my blood run chill in my veins. For he was not a haughty foreigner, striding through the bustle as if he owned the quay. Terror was in his eyes. And as if I might have doubted it, a man close by to him turned and spoke to the princely boy. He cuffed him then and the boy stumbled. I could not hear what the man had said, but the boy might have been whispering in my ear. We are the same, he was saying. This is an evil place and I am no less a captive than you.

  The day passed with aching slowness. The knife in my boot, which could have released me, remained out of my reach in the hold. But the look in the splendid boy’s eyes had chased thoughts of escape into this place. In truth, I wished Zandar, who had always treated me with a rough kindness, would return. I felt vulnerable tethered as I was in full view of everybody. I was afraid that in spite of my dirty face and straggling hair someone might decide to steal me. But nobody gave me a second glance, not even the crew of the two other boats who used our vessel to reach the shore.

  At length, sick of the city, I turned away to contemplate the muddy river and found myself yearning to return to the clean expanse of the sea. I became very hungry, but the food had all gone, and I had had enough of the beer. Eventually, I slept and in the early morning awoke to find that a mist had settled on everything. My clothes and hair were spangled with drops of moisture, as was the rigging. I was cold to the bone, but very soon Zandar and Samal appeared, and at the same time the sun came out.

  ‘Take this and stow it,’ said Samal, thrusting a box of provisions at me. ‘Then come back up. I have a job for you.’ He untied me and watched as I made my way to the ladder. As soon as I returned, he sat me at a pile of short lengths of worn ropes, refastened my tether and gave me a small hook.

  ‘We should have given you this yesterday,’ he said. ‘Make haste to unpick it. The price of oakum has trebled recently and there’s no reason we shouldn’t sell some of our own. You’ve had enough of leisure.’

  He had left me a sample of what he wanted. It looked simple enough to untwist and tease out the fibres, but they were sharp and it was sore work, even for my hardened fingers.

  ‘Here, boy.’ I looked up. Zandar was standing over me. ‘Hold your hands out.’ I did so and he dropped a few dark, sticky fruits into my hand. ‘Dried apricots,’ he said. ‘Everything is for sale in this place.’ I thanked him profusely and tasted one. It was chewy, gritty, tangy and deliciously sweet.

  Soon there was much moving of shipping until at the last we were next to the quay. Two planks were set over the side and several men swarmed on board. Samal went down into the hold. With the shoremen to help, each bale was unloaded. After it was done, Zandar took a turn at the bilge pump. He worked it much faster than I could and soon all was dry.

  While the brothers inspected the empty hold, I worked away at picking the oakum, rewarding myself every now and then with another of the fruits. Soon the shoremen began loading us up wi
th timber and barrels. I mourned the loss of my comfortable bed, but Zandar did not propose that I should sleep on tree trunks.

  ‘Too dangerous for you now,’ he said when the loading was done. ‘You could be crushed.’ He dropped my boots at my feet. ‘We will find you a different place.’

  Once we were under way and drifting downriver towards the sea, he left Samal at the tiller and untied me. He led the way to the front of the boat where I knew his brother slept. Right in the bows were two small bunks. He took my boots and slung them on one. ‘You’ll do well enough there if my brother doesn’t keep you awake with his snoring.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘And thank you again for the apricots. I had never tasted them before. They were delicious.’

  Zandar looked delighted. He clapped me on my shoulder and smiled. ‘You’re a good boy,’ he said. ‘You remind me of my son that died.’

  For the next few weeks we plied our trade up and down the coast, never totally losing sight of land, but sailing north to fetch coal and south to deliver it, while occasionally picking up more exotic imported goods. Occasionally, we would enter some small hidden inlet and goods would be unloaded onto the beach by men who looked as if they lived by night, rather than in the honest daylight. Those men reminded me of the Johnsons and I was at pains to keep out of their sight.

  My thirteenth birthday must have passed, but I had no knowledge of the date. The seasons turned from spring into summer. I grew brown, longer legged and more shaggy-haired. And so, when at last we came to Chineborough once more, I was a very different person from the frightened child who had left it six months before.

  It was late summer, and my hands and mouth were stained purple with the blackberries I had recently picked. Zandar and I had landed at a deserted beach on an island that lay some way off the mainland. He did business of an underhand kind with a man who hurried away as soon as they had swapped some goods, while I went a-berrying to supplement our diet. Zandar had recently discovered, to his delight, the knowledge of edible plants I had gained as a village boy and he used it at every opportunity. When his business was concluded, we returned to the boat along with the berries and a few barrels that smelt to my nose as if they contained a fine French brandy.

  From here, we sailed directly for Chineborough. I had never been there while conscious but realised that between being on the road and waking on the boat I could have been carried anywhere. But I had heard the place described, and when I heard the accents of the men on the shore I felt sure I must be near my home. From that instant, all the memories of the inn and my family returned, as if I had been taken but a day before. I was utterly determined to escape.

  It would not be easy. Zandar was somewhat fond of me, but if he was inclined to trust me, his brother certainly wasn’t. I told myself that I must not be too hasty. I must bide my time until I had the greatest chance of success. And so, I did not try to run as soon as we tied up. I waited, accepting my tether meekly, as if I had no idea where I was. And then came some news I could hardly believe.

  ‘I must go inland on business and Samal will stay with the boat,’ said Zandar. ‘I am minded to take you with me. Do you give your word that you will not run away?’

  I looked as filial as I was able and nodded. ‘Yes. Of course. You have my word.’

  ‘This is plain foolishness!’ said Samal. ‘Leave the boy here to pick oakum. Or let me go as usual. You do not even know the place.’

  Zandar shook his head. ‘We have several times thought that we should both know it. The boy is quick-witted and can help me. Besides, he has given his word.’

  Samal turned away, after giving me a look of such hatred that it made me even more determined to succeed in my escape. I smiled at Zandar, allowing enthusiasm to show. ‘I will be the best help I can be to you,’ I said. ‘As always.’

  Zandar was not a good rider, but he was good enough to guide the hired horse he obtained. I rode pillion and looked about me with mounting excitement as we climbed a steep road inland. Were we going in the right direction? I wanted to throw myself from the horse and run. But there was not enough cover to hide, and even a doubtful horseman would likely be able to run down a boy in this place. I had to wait until I could make certain of my escape. The further we rode from the sea the more uncertain Zandar appeared, and the greater chance I had to make him flounder.

  He had to consult a map every now and then. He was loose-tongued, and while we rode he told me to keep my eyes peeled for the abandoned church and churchyard that lay just outside the village of Dario. There was a tomb there which we needed to find.

  I stared at the back of his salt-caked shirt as he told me this. Dario! Did he not know that this was my home? I began to tremble so much that I was sure he would feel it and ask what ailed me. But he did not. I wanted so much to run, but I knew that this still wasn’t the right time. Above all, I must be patient. In the churchyard there would surely be lots of places to run and hide.

  It frightened as well as excited me, knowing where we were going, for countless plague victims had been buried in that churchyard and no one in the village went there by choice. Ghosts walked there and I feared their clutches. Even so, I was sure that my best chance of escape from Zandar would be there. I would be so close to home that, hiding in the heather, I could make my furtive way to the wall that separated the moor from our garden. Once over the wall, I would be safe. If needs be, I would wait for darkness. I knew the country here and Zandar did not. Soon. Very soon I would see my father again! All thoughts of my father being responsible for my absence vanished in my hunger to see him again.

  To my dismay, it was going to be less easy than I had thought. When we reached the burial ground, Zandar grasped my wrist in an iron grip. He had been muttering about the undead for the past mile or so and seemed to be as frightened of the place as I was. This fear was a side of him I had not seen before and it added to my disquiet. But I could see the roof of the inn! I was so close to being free. If someone would come by I could alert them to my plight, for all knew me here. But there were none but us in this place. I would have to help myself.

  Zandar dismounted, hooked the horse’s reins over the branch of an elder and took me with him into the churchyard. It was overgrown and apart from some animal tracks it looked as if no one had been there for a hundred years. I believe we were both trembling. Samal had told him the place he needed was on the other side of the church and so we pushed our way around, taking one of the narrow tracks. He insisted I go first, but still he held onto my wrist so powerfully it felt as if his hand were pincers.

  To my astonishment, around the far side of the church a much broader track passed through a gap in the churchyard wall and led out over the moor. Near to us, the track ended beside an ancient yew.

  ‘This is the place,’ whispered Zandar.

  It was broad daylight, but I felt the presence of evil all around me. Indeed, the track with its ghostly wheel marks shrieked of the dead abroad. I tried to run, but still he had me by the wrist.

  Together we pulled away a dead branch. Half hidden by the yew and a dark-leafed holly, a stone tomb stood. Its lid was part off, as if its ghost had left it ready for its return. I believe terror owned us both, but Zandar had trapped me between the trees and the tomb. There was no way for me to escape.

  ‘Now, boy,’ said Zandar, glancing into the darkness of the opened tomb. ‘Look lively. I’ll give you a hand in.’

  ‘No! I …’

  Zandar looked sorrowful. ‘You are a good boy,’ he said. ‘Evil will not come to such as you. All you have to do is leave this packet on a shelf inside, collect another that will be waiting there and then call to me. I will immediately help you back up and we’ll be away.’

  Zandar now gripped both my wrists and tried to haul me up to the gaping black hole. I resisted with all my strength and he cursed me. With his knee in my stomach, he released one of my wrists and punched my head so hard my senses floated free. I had no strength to resist as he hauled me to th
e lip and lowered me into the tomb.

  ‘No!’ I begged, dangling helplessly. ‘Don’t make me go into this place! I will die in there. Please, Father.’ At these words I thought I had him. He hesitated for a moment with my legs flailing. And then he seemed to find renewed courage, or maybe he didn’t believe I meant the name I had called him.

  ‘Don’t make a fuss. It will be over in an instant. I will be here. Make haste.’

  With that, he thrust me from him into the darkness. I don’t know if I screamed or if it was the dead I heard.

  I felt the shelf under my boots and found my footing. Zandar had let me go and was now peering in, blocking all the light.

  ‘I can’t see!’ I said. He immediately withdrew, and I scrambled down from the shelf into a deeper gloom.

  ‘Where are you, boy?’ Zandar’s voice quavered from above.

  ‘I’m looking for the packet,’ I said, wavering between pleasure to be free of him and terror at where I was. ‘Don’t you have any light?’

  ‘No. The packet will be on the shelf I lowered you to. So I am told. Do make haste.’

  ‘It’s difficult to see.’

  I laid the packet I held onto the shelf and picked up the other, which I had noticed in the meagre light. I looked up, but he was obliging me by keeping his head out of the way. I was in a tomb, but I was also freer than I had been for over half a year. If I refused to come out, would he be fearful enough to give up on me and go away? But if he left me, how would I get out? I didn’t know if I was tall enough to manage it.