Snap

by Barbara Gaskell Denvil

  Nathan saw that Alfie was having trouble on the hard floor, which was just dried earth and quite lumpy, so he spread out his pyjamas as a mattress, and his blanket as a folded up pillow. “Won’t help that much,” he said, “but it’ll be better than nothing. I’m not cold. I don’t need them.”

  Alfie was thankful and he was so tired that soon he was deep asleep, but Nathan found it harder to doze off. He was still puzzled as to why they were back in exactly the place he had fallen from the balloon. He sat up, leaning back against the hot wall, and stared out into the darkness. Mouse was dribbling on his toes, and it was sinking in through the wool. Peter and Alfie were breathing heavily and Sam was snoring a little bit, and even muttered through his dreams. Then, unexpectedly Nathan realised that Alice had crawled up beside him. She put her finger to her lips and beckoned. Nathan followed her until they were both sitting against the opposite wall, far away from their sleeping friends.

  “I wanted to talk to you,” Alice explained. “First of all I have to thank you so much for everything. You’re not really part of our gang but you’ve done so much to help us. You’re a real hero.”

  Astonished and somewhat embarrassed, Nathan mumbled, “Not. Never. I mean, I haven’t done anything.”

  “Yes you have,” Alice insisted. “You kept everyone in the kitchens while I got Alfie out, and John says you really faced up to the baron. Then there’s all the money.”

  “Luck,” Nathan admitted.

  “Yes. But you were quick-witted, and generous. You could have kept quiet and all the money would have been yours.” Actually, that had never occurred to Nathan, so now he just kept silent and blushed a bit. Alice continued in a hushed voice. “And then you said about making a plan to get the baron out of my house. I’ve been thinking about that ever since and just how we could do it. So tell me what you had in mind. You seem to be good at plans.”

  Nathan was still blushing. He used to think he was never any good at anything and had never been considered much use at school. Poppy usually called him stupid. Now he was being called a hero and a mastermind of plots and plans. “Well,” he said slowly, but trying to think fast, “You said your step-father wanted you to marry his brother. So I thought if you went to the brother, and said you’d marry him if he gets rid of the baron, I mean, so you and the brother could keep all the money. If he’s as nasty as you said, then he’ll want to do it. Then of course, once the baron is out of the house, you refuse to marry the brother after all.”

  “That might be tricky.” Alice smiled wide. “But I could try. It would be fun.”

  “I’d help.” Suddenly Nathan realised he was also having fun. “But I might have to leave suddenly. Go back to my own time. I’ve no idea how that could happen but it will one day, I hope.”

  “There was something else I wanted to say,” Alice whispered, her voice even more hushed. “See Alfie doesn’t want anyone else to know, but he admitted to me that he had told the baron we lived by the river, so that’s why I said we had to move house. Poor Alfie. They dragged him off and tied him to a table, and they whipped and whipped him till he was bleeding, and he said the pain was terrible. They kept on and on until he told what they asked. He still wouldn’t give details, but I think the baron would be able to find the warehouse quite easily. I don’t blame Alfie for telling. They said they’d keep whipping him until he died, if he didn’t tell where I was.”

  Nathan shivered. “I don’t blame him either. That must have been awful. And they didn’t even call a doctor for him.”

  Alice shook her head.” I wish I could whip the baron. He’s a pig. He was horrible to me while I still lived there, and now he’s stealing all my money.”

  “Then the plan’s important,” nodded Nathan. “We can sort it out tomorrow with all the others.”

  It was the sounds from the smithy and the heating of the furnace that woke them all early the next morning. As the smith and his assistant began work, there was the huff and puff of the bellows, then a mighty clang and bursts of flame, all echoing through the wall to those sleeping in the cellar below. Nathan woke with a start and Alfie moaned. John Ten-Toes jumped up, as if expecting an attack. Sam and Peter grumbled about still being tired and Alice yawned, stretched and said she would go out, buy some bread and bacon, and bring them all a hurried breakfast. Nathan offered to go with her and she nodded.

  It was quite a hop and a leap up the old steps, and when they reached the top they were surprised to see the lane was already busy with business. A tall man in smart livery was leading a horse to the smithy for new shoes, and opposite at the ironmonger’s shop there was a queue of customers waiting for service.

  The front of the smithy was opened up, and the smith watched intently as Nathan and Alice appeared from the cellar next-door. He was busy twisting metal in the roaring golden flames before him, but he chewed his lip, and nodded as Nathan caught his eye.

  ‘Tomorrow we might get our shoes,” Nathan said hopefully to Alice. “My feet are getting soggy and sore and I don’t want holes in my brand new hose.”

  “I’ve got so used to being barefoot,” Alice smiled, “I don’t care anymore. But these stockings are lovely and warm and I don’t want holes in them either.”

  “Must be strange,” decided Nathan, “being so poor after you were rich before.”

  “Freedom and friendship,” Alice explained. “It’s worth everything else.”

  Even without shoes, they no longer immediately looked like beggars so when they held up two silver coins, they were able to buy exactly what they wanted, and Alice put the rolls of dark bread, the slab of smoked bacon and the wedge of cheese into her basket. But as they hurried out from the bakers and turned towards their new home, they were stopped abruptly.

  “You,” roared an angry gruff voice, and a large hand clamped down on Nathan’s shoulder. Alice, startled, moved aside, keeping a tight hold on the basket and the purse of money.

  At first, struggling against the grasp on his shoulder, Nathan had no idea who the man was, but then he remembered. This was one of the assistant cooks from the baron’s kitchen, whom the head cook called Oliver. He no longer wore his greasy apron, but Nathan recognised the snarl, the beady eyes and the tufts of white hair.

  “I don’t know you. You’ve got the wrong person,” Nathan yelled, still struggling. But the assistant cook had him in an even stronger grip, with one arm twisted up his back, and Nathan could hardly move. It hurt badly, and he yelped.

  “Yes, you cry, little pest,” said the cook. “It’ll be a good deal more painful once I get you to the Constable. I’ll have you thrashed and thrown in the stocks for a week.”

  Nathan had heard of the stocks, but had certainly never thought one day he’d be locked in them himself.

  He was being dragged off, and the crowds of customers nearby were all calling and shouting, some taking Nathan’s side but most taking the side of the cook. “Let him go, you bully,” yelled a stall-holder. “He’s just a boy, and he paid the price asked. He didn’t nick anything.”

  “I expect he’s a runaway apprentice,” an elderly woman said, frowning. “Leave the man alone to do his job.”

  “All them brats is thieves,” objected another man.

  Nathan tried to kick back at Oliver’s shins, but step by step he was dragged off. He waved wildly, trying to ask Alice to get help, but Alice had completely disappeared.

  Back at the cellar, Alfie was deeply asleep, wedged up hard against the heated wall of their new home. Exhausted and still in a great deal of pain, he didn’t even hear the sounds of the smithy next door. Sitting with his back to the wall, just a short distance from Alfie’s feet, Peter had his thumb in his mouth, eyes shut, waiting patiently for Nathan and Alice to return with food.

  After a long wait, John decided he should go and look for them. He was well aware that anything could happen. “Might be arrested as thieves,” he pronounced gloomily.

  “But they got money,” objected Peter, thumb still in his mouth.r />
  “Then maybe some rotten thief done nicked their money,” John said with an even deeper frown. “There’s some rotten folks out there, dangerous robbers and such.”

  Peter returned to the concentration of his thumb. “Go look then,” he murmured.

  John turned immediately and ran towards the steps. “I will,” he said over his shoulder. “Ain’t no one gonna hurt my friends.”

  But Sam was crawling across the uneven brick floor, peering into dark corners, and calling softly. He was worried. Mouse had gone.

  He poked Peter in the stomach and Peter opened his eyes again with a jerk. I think poor Mouse went out to catch mice,” he said softly. “But this is a new place and she don’t know her way around. I think she’s lost.”

  “Cats don’t get lost,” Peter decided.

  Sam was not convinced. “She knows the way back to our old warehouse and the river. But she don’t know here. I’m going to go and look for her. There’s stray dogs out there. They could tear her to pieces.”

  “Mouse is too quick for hungry dogs.”

  “She might be sick. She might be lost. I’m going to find her.”

  “Suppose I’ll come too,” Peter removed his thumb from his mouth and wiped it carefully on his new tunic. “But should we leave Alfie all alone?”

  “Poor Alfie’s got a black eye and purple cheeks and a squashed nose,” Sam said, looking with sorrow at his friend. “Needs to sleep. Reckon we’ll be back with Mouse before he wakes.”

  They crept from the old cellar, clambered up the steps and started to run south towards the river, keeping to the shadows. The day was mildly sunny but the narrow lanes with houses that bent over, almost meeting roof to roof, blocked the sky and made more shadows than sunbeams.

  The river was still lost in morning haze, with a fog blowing up from the estuary far beyond the Bridge. Curls of soft white mist hung over the water, creeping along the banks and hovering in damp shrouds. The little river boats, already busy, could hardly be seen as they rowed both up and downstream, some almost bumping into each other, finding it hard to peer ahead through the mist. But Peter and Sam knew exactly where their old warehouse stood and were able to scurry through the fog without difficulty. However, they were not able to see the two men waiting just outside until large damp hands reached out and grabbed them.

  “That’s them,” one man shouted, grasping Peter by his collar. Meanwhile the other man grabbed Sam.

  “Well, you rascals,” the first man said, holding fast as Peter tried to wriggle away. “We’re the assistant constables, sent out by Baron Cambridge himself, to find the urchins and thieves living in the warehouse by the river. Seems we got you.”

  “Not us,” squeaked Peter. “We’re not thieves.”

  “Nor urchins neither,” said Sam. “And we’ve done nothing wrong. We don’t know no barons.”

  “Well, he knows you,” said the assistant constable. “Says you and some others abducted his step-daughter.”

  “Abducted?” said Sam, irate. “Poor Alice, she ran away. The baron were horrible to her.”

  “Ah,” grinned the assistant constable. “So you do know the baron. You’re brats and liars and you’re both coming with us down to The Poultry Gaol.”

  “And I’ll inform his lordship, the baron,” said the other.

  Marched from the riverside through the winding streets to the small local gaol at the Poultry, Sam, who was still more worried about Mouse than he was about himself, and Peter, who whispered that he’d be able to pick the lock on the door and escape anyway, both suddenly jerked around as they saw Alice talking to John Ten-Toes just past the market. They were both clearly upset, and when they turned as the assistant constables pushed past, and saw Sam and Peter, they gasped and began to follow. Trying to keep out of sight, but determined to see which gaol was the destination, everyone avoided bumping into each other, but whispered messages as the heavy boots of the constables echoed on the cobbles.

  The Poultry gaol was a small one, often keeping only those who would be thrown into the stocks the next morning, taken straight to the judge, or others who would be released after they paid a bribe. Just one heavy barred doorway led to the single dark dungeon, and here Sam and Peter were pushed, each with a clip around the ear, and a warning to behave while they waited for the baron to be informed and make his decision regarding the prisoners.

  But it was also here that Sam and Peter made the astonishing discovery that the young boy huddled alone and miserable in the corner, was in fact their friend Nathan.

  “How did you get here?” demanded Peter.

  “Thrown in. Just like you.”

  “Because of the baron?”

  Nathan sighed. “Yes. That same revolting man. Actually it was one of his cooks who recognised me from the kitchens.” He shrugged. “Was unfortunate he saw me so soon, but I suppose it was bound to happen one day.” He paused, wondering, then asked, “What about you? Thieving?”

  “Certainly not,” said Sam, affronted, as if he had never stolen anything in his life. “We gone back to the old house to look for Mouse, and them assistant constables were waiting for us there. I reckon that baron somehow guessed where we lived, and they were there waiting.”

  “I wonder if Alfie told him after all,” mumbled Peter.

  “Impossible,” said Nathan at once. “Though I wouldn’t blame him if he had. Did you see what a terrible state his back was in? He must have been whipped twenty times or more.”

  “That mean baron’s gotta pay for this,” Sam said, stamping his foot, and then hopping, holding his toes since the stamp on bare concrete had hurt.

  “Well, if we ever get out of here,” said Nathan through gritted teeth, “I’ve got a few ideas. But Alice will have to help too, and she ran away when I got arrested.”

  “None of us ever runs away,” objected Peter, his usually soft voice growing loud. “We saw her out there, she was talking to John, and both of them followed us here. They must have a plan too.”

  The cell was bitterly cold as no light entered. The walls were stone without windows, the ceiling very low, and the floor broken slabs of concrete. Nathan shivered. He was glad he wasn’t wearing just pyjamas anymore.

  Sam started to speak, but his voice dropped to a whisper as they heard noises outside. “Can you pick the lock, Peter?”

  Peter was nodding when the door opened wide with a smash and a slam, and two guards entered with a wooden platter and three rough wooden cups. “Here,” said the first guard, banging the platter down on the ground so that half the bread scattered and one of the cups of water spilt. “Tis all you’re getting, lest you got money for more.”

  They shook their heads. Alice had the purse and all the coins.

  But when they were gone and the door clanged shut again, Peter leaned forwards. “I can do it,” he said.

  Unknown to Nathan, Sam and Peter, John Ten-Toes and Alice were standing outside the gaol walls, just a few steps away, whispering to each other. “Perhaps,” wondered Alice, “I can pay to get them out.”

  “No luck,” John said at once. “The pig-brain baron will pay more than what we can. And I bet e’s promised a purse full ta the Constable if he gets you back in e’s talons.”

  “I expect you’re right,” Alice sighed. “How horrible if he spends my own money to trap me and force me back under his guardianship.”

  John leaned against the outside of the gaol wall. “If we waits a bit,” he suggested, “P’raps Peter will be able to pick that lock.”

  On the other side of the thick stone wall, Peter was saying, “I got my penknife hidden in my belt and I can use that. I know what to do, it’s just a quick twist with the point. We’ll be out afore nightfall. I just need a bit more light.”

  “Well, I ain’t got no candles,” Sam pointed out. “Night is better for escaping anyway, I reckon. Can you do it in the dark?”

  Chapter Seven

  Meanwhile, once more back at the cellar, Mouse landed with a cheerful thump on
Alfie’s chest, having just found her way home. She was plumper than usual, having eaten three mice for breakfast, and she was delighted to be back with her special friend.

  Alfie rolled over with a yelp. “What’s happened?” he muttered. “Who’s dying?” Mouse meowed with a happy dribble. “Oh, it’s you,” winced Alfie, closing his puffy blackened eyes. “And where’s everyone else?” But this was a question Mouse could not answer. So Alfie climbed slowly to his feet, staggered over to the doorway, peered around the corner and up the steps, and realised that it was still day, but no longer early morning. The half-hearted sunshine wafted down into the opening, and Alfie could hear the hearty bashing and clanking noises from the smithy.

  Still weak and wobbly on his legs, Alfie sat down again for a moment, and then quickly made up his mind. It was unusual for him to find himself totally alone, and it seemed likely that something had gone wrong. So he managed to climb the broken steps to the outside world, and began to walk towards Cheapside and the centre of the city. Trying to keep his back straight and stride along instead of shuffling, he arrived at Cheapside and asked the first stallholder if there had been any trouble that day, and if anyone had been arrested.

  The stallholder turned away from his bright rows of polished red apples, and grinned. “Friend o’ yours, is he?” he sniggered. “That brat was arrested. A boy in a blue tunic with brown hair and yellow bits, striped like a wasp.”

  “Like a bee, not a wasp,” said Alfie crossly. “Where did they take him?”

  The stallholder waved a disinterested hand. “Gaol, I reckon. The Poultry, I’d guess since tis the closest.”

  “And a girl too?” Alfie asked, but the stallholder shook his head.

  “No females. Just the wasp boy.”

  Dusk was falling and shopkeepers were beginning to lock up for the night, but the sun, peeping low over the rooftops, was still sending out enough light for the last shoppers before hurrying home. Alfie, trying to ignore the pain in his back, skirted the main shopping area and made his way to the small gaol at the Poultry.