Snap

by Barbara Gaskell Denvil

“Never heard of it.” Shaking his head, John was only interested in sucking the gravy from his fingers.

  “I like them stories of King Arthur and Lancelot,” said Sam, offering Mouse a tiny piece of meat. “I like all the stories. Songs too. But I ain’t never heard of Lam-Tangy.”

  “Lashtang. And Hazlett.” Nathan could still hear the faint murmur of song from the smithy as it echoed through the wall.

  “No.” Sam curled back down, stroking Mouse. “That’s not a story I know. It must be one of your funny future ones.”

  The rain stopped with a last slurp and just as Nathan had decided he must accept the inevitable, go outside, and face the smith to ask where the song came from and what he knew about the Hazlett twins, when Alice, Alfie and Peter came racing down the steps, flung open the little broken door, and danced into the cellar, beaming with success.

  “We did it,” shouted Alice, clapping her hands.

  “We got the parchment,” said Alfie, dancing too in spite of his bad back. Even the bruises on his face looked cheerful.

  “I did it,” Peter jumped up and down, pointing his new shoes. “I unpicked the lock where the old fraud keeps his secret papers.”

  “Now my uncle has the document,” explained Alice, “and he’s going to take it to a lawyer he knows. Mister Weeks, Uncle Henry says he’s very good and very honest. It will take time and they’ll have to take it to court, but I think it’s all going to work out. I shall be free,’ and Alice clapped her hands again.

  “We just finished all our pies,” apologised John.

  “No matter. We had food at the Ordinary,” said Alice, unable to stop dancing.

  Nathan grinned and congratulated her, saying, “We’ll put that horrible baron in prison yet, just wait and see.” But it was the smithy next door he was thinking of, the Hazlett twins and the strange country of Lashtang.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Percival Weeks sat, straight backed at the small table, with a very creased piece of parchment spread in front of him.

  Watching him from the other side of the table, the one-legged man, balancing on his wooden crutch, tapped the parchment with a firm fingertip. “There,” he said.

  The lawyer Weeks nodded. “Using some form of liquid bleach,” he murmured, “urine, perhaps, I hope to remove the ink blot and discover what is written beneath.”

  Uncle Henry looked dubious. “But you might also remove the word underneath by mistake. I fear urine would be too strong,” he said. “Is there no way of seeing through the inkblot?”

  “Not as far as I know.” The lawyer peered closely at the parchment for some minutes but then shook his head. “I have heard of a special glass made in Italy, which magnifies some things. It is a globe, filled with water, and looking through this enlarges the vision of what is seen. So exciting. There is, however, nothing so magical in England I believe. But I shall do my best. I intend to visit the Constable himself, and I also am well acquainted with one of London’s most respected judges. You must accompany me, if you will, Mister Fallow.”

  Returning to the inn at the London end of the great Bridge, Uncle Henry settled in for the night. He had an appointment for the following afternoon with the Constable, and was practising exactly what he would say as he fell asleep, his bed warmed by a brick heated in the inn’s downstairs fireplace, and his pillows fluffed up to muffle his satisfied snores.

  It was not so far away to where Alice was excited both by the developments and her uncle’s success so far, but also by the glorious red velvet cloak with its thick martin lining. She pulled the cloak over her shoulders and swirled, turning circles on the cellar floor, encouraging the velvet to billow out around her.

  “I shall wear this to meet the lawyer and the judge tomorrow. I’ll feel so grand. It will certainly help my confidence.”

  “You’re not going to see the Constable too?” Nathan asked.

  But she paused, shaking her head. “No. You see, he already has a warrant for my detainment on suspicion either as a thief, or the victim of an abduction. Silly, isn’t it? But I can’t risk being held in detention for a week or more.”

  Once again they were able to curl by the heated wall and sleep soundly, excited for the morning. This time Alice used her new cloak as her blanket, and gave her own blanket to Alfie.

  Nathan had intended to go and face the smith next door, to ask him questions and keep asking until he understood the mystery. But it had not happened that way. Instead, listening avidly to Alice’s explanations of the events that day with her uncle, Nathan had stayed where he was. Eventually he had heard the smith lock up, let his furnace sink to a low burning heat, put away his tools, and leave the building, plodding out into the damp shadows.

  There had been no more singing.

  Nathan had not dreamed, but it seemed that Alfie had. He woke the next morning as dawn rose over the city in a pastel pink promise behind the heavy clouds. Alice was up early as always, and as happy as the dawning sun. But Alfie woke with brick dust in his eyes and a frown more like the clouds than the dawn.

  “I bin thinking,” he said.

  “Now that’s a flaming miracle fer a start,” John grinned.

  But Alfie was not joking. “What if,” he addressed Alice, “Yer Uncle Henry just wants yer money too?”

  Alice turned at once, her frown as deep as Alfie’s. “What are you suggesting? You think my uncle’s a thief?”

  “Well,” interrupted Sam, still curled up with Mouse, “there’s plenty of proper nice people what steals when they must.”

  But Alice was staring at Alfie. “That’s very rude. You’re talking about my uncle, who is just trying to help me.”

  “But he ain’t a rich man,” Alfie pointed out. “There’s no poor man what don’t dream o’ having more coin. And I reckon he’d love to come and live in your big house, ‘stead o’ that teeny cottage miles away from the city. And if he’s so good and honest, why did he leave you alone all them years, knowing you was in that pig-man’s power, but didn’t do nuffing to help?”

  “If he wanted to steal my property,” Alice said crossly, “he would have done something, wouldn’t he! Knowing he was my real guardian, if he wanted to steal – well – he’d have gone straight to the Constable.”

  “Yet he weren’t no help at all.”

  “Because Aunt Margaret was frightened. The baron threatened to have them both thrown in gaol if they interfered.”

  “And how does we know this lawyer is a good man too?” Alfie had started to march around the cellar, hands clenched at his sides.

  “Because he’s trying to find what’s under the ink blot on the testament,” Alice sighed, sitting down and slumping her shoulders. “Don’t lose your temper, Alfie. Just come with me and you can see exactly what happens.”

  “Oh well.” Alfie stopped, glared down at his feet and kicked his new pillow into the corner of the room, which seemed to relieve his anger. “Reckon I can watch and wait,” he said, “but I’ll protect you, and if yer uncle don’t do the right thing, then watch out.”

  Alice stayed sitting where she was. “You’re my best friend, Alfie. But don’t go thinking everything is a risk. I’ve known Aunt Margaret ever since I was little and she was always so sweet when Papa was alive. He was usually off at court so I never saw that much of him, but Aunt Margaret often visited my mother, so I trust her now.” She was cuddling her grand new cloak, and the fur lining tickled against her cheeks. “We’ll go together to see Mister Weeks the lawyer, and you can wait outside when Uncle Henry and I talk to the judge. Then we can both wait together when Uncle sees the Constable.” She nodded earnestly. “I’ll tell you everything, I promise.”

  This appeared to please Alfie, who looked relieved. Nathan mumbled, “You have to trust some people sometimes, after all.” But his own distrust of the smith next door had been troubling him all night. He knew he had to face the man sooner or later. He sat quietly, watching as Alice combed her hair and swung her cloak around her shoulders. Alfie then took
the same comb and pulled it through his dark hair, which made Nathan smile. It was the very first time Nathan had ever seen Alfie make an attempt at looking respectable.

  ‘Right,” Alfie said. “We goes to meet yer uncle first at the inn. Then the lawyer to see if he done seen through that ink blot.”

  Alice nodded, then looked around at the others. “I’ll be back later on to tell you all about what’s happened,” she said, excited and happy again while looking very ladylike in the expensive cloak. “There’s enough money for all of you to buy food. Alfie and I might be late back.” She stroked the velvet cloak. “This is gorgeous, but don’t go stealing anymore please?” she pleaded. “If you get thrown in gaol, it will make everything so much harder.”

  “I’m staying here with Mouse,” Sam said, still wrapped in his blanket. “She’s got all fat and purrie, so she won’t need to go hunting today. Her tummy’s all full.”

  Peter pulled his thumb from his mouth with a plop. “And I’ll be here in case you want to come and get me for unlocking anything.”

  Nathan was about to say he would be happy to stay in too, when John stood up with a grin and looked over at Nathan. “If this lot is off ta lawyers and such like, then reckon you and me, Nat, should go visit Pimple. I got mighty fond o’ him. He can’t work at them beer tubs no more, so’s we could buy him. We got enough money if I talk that mean old codger into a good price.”

  Alice and Alfie were already bustling up the steps outside, and Nathan could hear Alice laughing so he guessed Alfie had cheered up. He looked back at John in surprise. “What on earth would we do with a horse? How would we feed it? Where would we put it? “

  John frowned. “Buy hay. Tether Pimple outside like they do wiv goats. And ride a horse in ta market when we wants to, and not always walking.”

  “What’s wrong with walking?”

  Shrugging, John looked at Sam and Peter. “Dunno. I likes walking meself. But Alice is gonna have a fine house and shouldn’t be walking everywhere. And them,” nodding at Sam and Peter, “only has little legs.”

  “I’m not that little,” Peter objected. “I’m ten.”

  “I think I’m ten too,” added Sam. “But I might be eight. Or I might be ten. I could be anything at all.”

  ‘You’re too little for ten. Reckon you’re eight.”

  “Oh, come on then,” sighed Nathan, not admitting that visiting Pimple would make a good excuse not to have to go and talk to the smith. “Let’s go there and see what happens. At least we can think about it.”

  It was a slow morning wander, with both John and Nathan thinking more about Alice and the baron than they were about their own business. As the errand to see Pimple was certainly an excuse and a diversion for Nathan, so he was fairly sure it was serving exactly the same purpose for John, helping him not to think constantly of the threat and the danger.

  They discovered Pimple, head down into a small scatter of old hay, standing in the yard outside the barn where the owner was loading two carts with great heavy barrels. Two other horses, bigger and smarter and certainly younger, were also waiting in the yard, munching on their hay, turnips and clover, ignoring their small and shabby companion.

  Hearing John’s voice, Pimple looked up. His eyes brightened and he trotted over to the fence, where a large turnip was waving temptingly. “Here, poor old Pimple,” John called. “Look what I brought ya.”

  The horses and cart’s owner trudged out from his barn, wiping his huge hands on his apron. “You want to hire my cart again?” he asked hopefully.

  “Not today.” Nathan shook his head. “We thought we’d visit Pimple. We like him.”

  “Aah.” The man appeared disappointed. “Well, you won’t be liking him for much longer. He goes down this evening when I close up.”

  “Down where?”

  “Down the floosie,” said the man, with obscure meaning and a tap to the side of his nose. Seeing the puzzled faces staring back, he added, “Horse meat.”

  John yelped. “You can’t do that, Fred. E’s a lovely old horse.”

  Yawning, Fred appeared unmoved. “I ain’t feeding that useless plodder forever, now he can’t work proper hours, but he’ll make enough meat for a few pies. I’ll skin the body and sell it to the big pie shop out by Cripplegate.”

  “They sell horse pies?” asked Nathan, horrified and wondering if any of the pies he’d eaten recently had been made of horses or dogs or cats.”

  “I’ll buy im,” said John suddenly. “But alive, with his bridle.”

  “Well,” Fred scratched his head. “How much you got? You can’t have the cart.”

  Nathan thought a moment. “Sixpence.” He had not the slightest idea how much an old horse might be worth.

  “More,” Fred scowled. “That ain’t half enough.”

  “One shilling.”

  John was patting Pimple’s neck. “Them bullies wants ta cut yer poor little throat? Well, I shan’t let em. Reckon you’ll be happy living wiv us.”

  “I’m sure Alice and Alfie will be delighted.” Nathan was quite sure they wouldn’t at all.

  “Two shillings,” said the horse’s owner. But John turned, pulling a furious face.

  “Greed and cruelty,” said John very loudly. “You should be giving that poor old thing fer free. He done worked fer you all his life and now you reckon on slitting his throat.”

  “Hush, keep your voice down. You’ll upset the customers.”

  John raised his voice even louder. “You slaughter all yer animals, does you? You fill them beer kegs wiv blood, no doubt. Poor horses, chained and flogged.”

  “Alright.” Fred shrugged, surrendering. “One shilling and sixpence, if you take the horse and leave quietly.”

  Led by his bridle and still slobbering on turnips, Pimple almost pranced his way along the two streets back to the cellar doorway.

  Then everything happened at once and Nathan didn’t’ have time to think, didn’t understand everything that was happening, and was so confused he nearly ran around in a circle.

  First of all Sam, having heard the noises of hooves and John’s voice, peered up from just inside the crooked cellar door, calling, “So pleased you’re back. Quick. There’s something wrong with Mouse. I think she’s dying.” Then he looked again. “And what’s that?”

  Pimple nudged John’s arm with his nose, hoping for more turnip, but John was hurriedly tethering him outside.

  “Our new horse,” John said, jumping down the steps and disappearing into the shadows. “Now, what’s wrong wiv Mouse?”

  And as Nathan turned to follow John, the smith from next door wandered out, his bellows in his hands. He was a huge man, with shoulders as wide as any furnace. He looked searchingly at Nathan, said nothing and quickly turned back to his doorway. But he was singing.

  Pausing at the top of the cellar steps, Nathan, one foot in the air, heard the first words of the song.

  Over the horizon, to where the mountains soar,

  Wander Lashtang snow and ice,

  Explore the forests and the fields,

  But see your world no more.

  He nearly fell down the steps, heard his own heartbeat race, and turned back with a gasp.

  And that was when he saw the fat man with bright red hair under his large pink hat, walking up the alley towards the Tower wall, talking cheerfully with three other men. It was the baron. Seemingly, chatting loudly, Baron Cambridge had not seen Nathan, but it was inevitable that he would, any moment. Unsure and dizzy, Nathan could not decide whether to rush down to hide in the cellar, or to run in the opposite direction. It took just one blink for him to realise that he could be seen leaping down the cellar steps, and then the baron and his friends would have all of them cornered. So Nathan took one very deep breath and began to run as fast as he could down the alley away from the baron.

  “Hey, brat,” the baron yelled. “I know you.” Nathan kept running. “After that urchin,” the baron urged his friends. “He attacked me, the wicked creature, and
nearly killed me in my own kitchen. He’s one of the felons that has kept poor Alice prisoner for more than a year. Catch him and I’ll have him flogged.” And then he raised his voice even louder, screeching, “Stop thief.”

  Feet pounding, up one lane and down another, rushing past intrigued shoppers who turned to stare, pushing them aside, with no time even to breathe. Nathan’s hair was in his eyes but he couldn’t stop to shove it away, and all he could hear were the footsteps of the baron and his friends coming closer. He felt sick but he didn’t stop, and although it was a clear and frosty day, Nathan was sweating. He had never run so far nor so fast in his life before.

  Very soon as Nathan rounded the corner towards the market stalls, he realised his mistake. As he ducked between the flap and flutter of the awnings, avoiding the fruit sellers and the baskets of the green and fragrant bunches of spiky rosemary, parsley, sweet thyme and sage outside some of the stalls, he also ran past a narrow doorway, tucked between a counter selling pots of treacle, and another with clusters of nettles and dandelions for a medicinal broth.

  He did not recognise the little shop at first, but then he did as the shopkeeper came lurching from the doorway, pointing an accusing finger at him.

  “There he is, rotten little thief,” yelled the man. “He’s wearing the cape I made.”

  Nathan stopped, mid-street. “But I paid what you asked for it,” he said, extremely upset.

  “But whilst I was serving you, your friend stole the most expensive cloak in my shop,” shouted the man, furious.

  “That wasn’t me.” Nathan whirled around, looking in all directions, and saw many of the stall owners and shopkeepers converging. His knees began to shake.

  “It was your friend,” accused the tailor. “You bought a cheap cape so he could steal the best in the shop.”

  With a gulp and a groan, Nathan began to run again, this time backwards and away from the market street and the hoard of angry men striding towards him. “Hue and cry,” he heard someone shout. “Stop thief.” “Thieving brat.” “Call someone in charge.”