Mr. Wicker's Window

by Carley Dawson

  CHAPTER 27

  A mouse streaked out the door of the Captain's cabin and did not stopuntil it reached the farther end of the _Vulture_, where it hidquaking behind someone's old shoe. The little creature, quieting downat last and feeling its heart regain a more familiar rhythm, sniffeddistastefully at the shoe. It was plain to see, it thought, that the_Vulture_ was an untidy, ill-cared-for ship. Old shoes were never leftlying about on the _Mirabelle_.

  The thought of the _Mirabelle_ brought Chris's mission on the pirateship into sharper focus. He glanced up at the sky; there was littletime left in which to work safely, for Claggett Chew's sharp eyes hadnoticed the infinitesimal scar on his cheek and his astute brain hadput two and two together. Chris wondered, with a new start of horror,if Claggett Chew could read his thoughts, and if this was why he hadstared at him with such intensity.

  Well, he shrugged, he knew what had to be done and if he workedquickly, and Claggett Chew's swoon lasted long enough, not even hecould stop him. Looking about to make sure he was unobserved, he tookhis own shape again with a sigh of relief. It was almost like holdingone's breath for long periods of time, to be in the shape of a bird ora mouse, but to be himself, he knew, held even greater dangers.

  For the first time he opened the leather bag at his neck and feltinside. The first thing his fingers closed on he pulled out. He turnedthe object in his palm toward the starlight to see what it might be.

  It was a folding knife in a case of tortoise shell inlaid with strangesigns in silver and mother-of-pearl. Chris opened it--the blade wasrazor-sharp--and put it experimentally point down on the wood of thedeck. As if by itself the blade revolved with immense speed, sinkingin so fast that only just in time did Chris snatch it out and hold itmore tightly. Trying it out he found that the blade would go throughanything, sometimes so easily as to scarcely seem to cut, leaving notrace of a mark, it was so keen. At other times when he pressed on it,the blade whirled around, boring a hole as deep as might be necessary.

  What a useful gadget! Chris thought.

  This is just what I need and now is the time! he said to himself, andsprang up the nearest of the _Vulture's_ three masts.

  What he had to do would take long, and there was little time left thatnight in which to do it. For he intended slitting the lines of therigging here and there, not so deeply that they would give way at onceand be soon repaired, but so that with the first hard blow the lineswould break.

  Growing daylight should have warned him long before he was done, forChris wished also to slit the sails, very slightly, when they hadbeen unfurled and the _Vulture_ was under way. The sound of voicesbroke his absorption in his task. Looking down from the top of themainmast where he clung, Chris saw a boatload of returning sailors andrealized with a start that it was nearly sunup. In a moment a rat randown the mast to disappear into the foul-smelling hold of the piratevessel.

  How long must he wait in the hold? Chris wondered. Although he mightbe in the shape of a rat, it was only his outward form that hadchanged. He could not eat grain or refuse that was not suitable for ahuman, and he did not relish having to hold his own in a fight with atrue rat, there in the darkness. He contemplated boring a hole in thehull of the _Vulture_ but decided to wait until the ship was undersail. He bitterly regretted not having brought food with him, feelinghungry after his exertions about the ship. There was nothing else forit but to hide as safely as he could in his own shape.

  This he did, after a thorough search in his rat form to find whatseemed a safe, hidden place high at the top of a pile of the lootstolen from the merchantman. There the exhausted boy, curled closelyagainst any sudden movement of the ship, fell into a sound sleep.

  The dip and sway of a sailing ship cutting the seas, and a ravenousappetite, combined to wake Chris. For the first few moments he wasconfused at where he was. Little or no light seeped into the hold, andhe was further troubled by having no idea how long he might haveslept.

  His first thought was to find food. Climbing down from his sleepingplace he felt his way back to the ladder leading up to the deck. Thehatch at the top of the ladder was open and through it came a longfaded shaft of light and a freshening draught of air. By the qualityof the light, Chris judged the time to be well along in the afternoon.He was debating with himself whether or not to change his shape andventure up to find something to eat, when on one of the lower treadsof the plank ladder he caught sight of a plate of food.

  Chris stood staring at it for a moment. His mouth watered, for he hadnot eaten in many hours and the sight of meat, bread, and fruit wasalmost more than he could resist. But resist it he did, for he arguedin himself: If this has been put here, it must be for me. If it is forme, it may well be poisoned. I shall not be tempted, much as ClaggettChew would like me to be! He therefore left the plate of food where itwas, hoping the rats would find it before long and he would haveproof, through their actions, whether or not his theory was right.Then, as a shadow fell over the hatch far above his head, Chrishastily became a fly, soaring up to hit Simon Gosler on the nose.

  Crawling in a leisurely fashion on the beggar's hump, he lingered longenough to see what the cripple was about. Simon was looking down thesteep ladder, shading his rheumy eyes against the brilliance of thesetting sun with one filthy, crooked hand. Chris, crawling nearer,could make out what the old man was muttering under his breath.

  "The Cap'n, he say go down an' see, is the food et up, sez he. But'tis a weary hard way for a pore ol' cripple to hop down thet steepladder. I'll not do it. He's a sick and fevered man. I shall say itwas et up--the rats will have got it before I get to his cabin, in anycase, an' then who's to be the wiser? Besides, there's no boy on thisship. What a fancy!" he muttered. "He is an ill man, is ClaggettChew. May his bones rot! I need do no more for him than what I have amind to, knowing as many of his misdeeds as I do. Hah!" He rubbed hishands with anticipation. "Any day, Simon Gosler could be Cap'n of thegood _Vulture_, an he say the word to the right quarter!" His eyes, nolonger hidden behind black patches, narrowed with cunning. "And in themeantime, who gets the best share of the spoils?"

  The beggar broke off in a cackle of glee, rubbing his dirty gnarledhands with satisfaction, and turned away to go back to the Captain'scabin with his message.

  Chris flew away in the direction of the cook's galley, where as a flyhe found it easy enough to eat his fill of meat and what few goodthings the _Vulture_ afforded.

  Refreshed, he flew hard against the wind in order not to be blown offthe ship entirely, up to the safety of a part of the rigging fromwhere he could ponder on what he had heard, and see whatever there wasto be seen.

  Tahiti seemed to have been left far behind, for the _Vulture_ was wellout to sea, and no smallest cloud on the horizon gave any hint ofdistant land. The sailors had set the sails and a good breeze filledthe black canvas of the pirate ship. The pirates themselves, stillsurly from having eaten and drunk too well after the fight of the daybefore, were quarrelsome and tired and lay about in sprawling groupson the deck far below. Looking aft, Chris saw Simon Gosler hobblingfrom the Captain's cabin, and Osterbridge Hawsey's graceful,overdressed figure outlined in the doorway. On an impulse, Chris flewdown to hear what they were saving.

  "I thank you, Gosler, for your message," Osterbridge was saying, "forCaptain Chew seems much relieved to have heard it, and I think willnow rest quietly and sleep. Who is it, you say, who has some knowledgeof medicine--the ship's carpenter?"

  Here Osterbridge Hawsey rolled his eyes upward and shrugged hisexpressive shoulders.

  "Dear me! At least to be a sawbones, he has the saw!" he saiddisdainfully.

  "And knows how to drive a nail into a coffin too, master," whined thebeggar.

  "Enough!" cried Osterbridge in sudden anger. "Fetch him at once, andtell the cook, as you pass the galley, to bring the Captain some plainhot broth! He is much fevered."

  The atmosphere seemed right to Chris for all he had to do. WithoutClaggett Chew's commanding and forbidding presence, the pirates wouldbe in
a turmoil. Chris returned to the higher rigging to wait untildarkness should be more profound.

  It was not long before the tropic night fell, deeply blue in the firsthours until the stars should give off their high clear light. As the_Vulture_ rolled and pitched over the sea far down beneath him, Chrisclung to the rigging and took the chance of changing himself into hisown shape. Then, with all the haste he could, he moved a hundred feetabove the hard decks, up the masts and along the sails, setting thenew knife gently here and there to part the fibers of the cloth. As hewent the lines were touched occasionally in vital spots.

  It took long, for it had to be done with care. Chris scarcely made amove without looking down to see whether the sailors might not haveglanced up at the dusky full-bellied sails, but they were weary aftertwo such hard-filled days and soon fell asleep on the planks of theopen deck. Only Simon Gosler hobbled in and out, watching a sailorhere, stealing from another there, lifting his head slowly above thewindow of the Captain's cabin to spy on what went on inside. Like adark malevolent spirit, Simon Gosler, crippled in thought and body,moved restlessly about the pirate ship.

  Chris completed his task on the sails and rigging and slipped down tohide behind the third mast as he looked out to see where Simon Goslermight be. He could see him nowhere, and holding his breath, steppedover two sleeping pirates sprawled on their backs on the deck to reachthe hatch of the hold. He had one last task to perform before leavingthe _Vulture_.

  The hatch top was open, laid back as before, and Chris, feeling somedanger, changed to a mouse as he crouched on the top rung.

  Hesitating, sniffing the fetid air of the hold, he finally ran downthe ladder edge. There he sensed imminent death at its foot in time toleap as far as he could as he reached the last few rungs of theladder. For Simon Gosler stood waiting at the bottom armed with aclub, which he brought down with a splintering crash on the woodencrossbars as the mouse ran past and leapt out of sight. Cursesinstantly filled the hot air like so many wasps. Simon Gosler thrashedaround with the club laying it about him on the floor, narrowlymissing several times, and yelling at the top of his raucous lungs forcompanions to help him. In no time figures carrying flaming torchesclattered down into the hold and Chris, his own shape regained, knewhe would have to be quick as he had never been quick before.

  With a flick the new knife was open in his hand and the blade pressedwith all his strength against the hull of the _Vulture_. He wascrowded into a corner as far as possible from the advancing row oftorches and shouting men. Frantic rats, terrified by the flames of thetorches and the reverberating noise, scampered over Chris's feet orran up over his bending back and shoulders, but he did not move. Theblade whirled in the stout wooden side of the _Vulture_, but it seemedno time before the flicker and wavering red of the nearest torchessent their flares over him from a distance. Chris could make out thesilhouette of hunting figures as the first black trickle of sea waterpierced through the side of the ship and stained the dry planks. Stillthe boy pushed the knife on a moment more until the water was a steadyspurt, wetting his hand with its coolness. Then, as the torches senttheir flames moving into the obscure corner where he had been, a flysoared up and out, over an empty metal plate and four dead rats, overthe stooped screaming figure of a humpback, and a scattered line ofsearching men, out to the freshness of the night and the open sea.

  Only Osterbridge Hawsey, curious at the torches and the shouting,looked out the cabin door in time to see a tiny boat scud past, backtoward Tahiti. And only in his befuddled dreams did he puzzle over howthe small craft could sail against the wind, or wonder how it couldsail so well, when it seemed to be made of rope.