[Flying Dutchman 01] - Castaways of the Flying Dutchman

Ben spread a clean cloth over the table. “Asleep in the sitting room, we’ll surprise her with a nice afternoon tea when she wakes. Ned, will you tell Horatio to keep from under my feet?”

Ned shook his head. “No use telling him anything, unless it’s about sardines!”

34

BY NINE O’CLOCK ON THURSDAY MORNing the sun was almost as hot as noon—it was a record summer. Jonathan Preston sat at his workbench, a pencil behind one ear. He stared at the poem and blinked. Stroking his beard, the old ship’s carpenter took a sip of tea and bit into a bacon sandwich. Hearing the noise of young people coming in through the back window, he spoke without turning around.

“Aye aye, mates, sun’s been up since six, so have I. What time d’you call this to be rollin’ up on deck?”

Tearing the crust and bacon rind from his sandwich, he fed it to the black dog who’d gotten to the table before his companions. “Like my breakfast better’n your own, eh, feller!”

Amy perched on the edge of the workbench, where she saw the poem. “Have you solved it yet, Jon? St. Matthew’s message?”

The old seaman smiled slyly. “No, not yet. Have any of you?”

Both boys shook their heads. Jon watched Amy drumming her heels against the bench. “Now then, pretty maid, d’you know something you ain’t telling us? How did you find out it was St. Matthew’s message?”

Her brother sounded rather injured. “Yes, how did you? You never said anything to me!”

Ben gave her a mock severe look. “Nor me!”

The girl plucked the pencil from behind Jon’s ear and wagged it at them. “That’s because you were asleep, my dear brother, and how could I tell you, Ben, you weren’t even there. So I thought I’d keep it a secret ’til we were all together. Now watch this.”

She drew two lines between the words of the first line of the writing on Jon’s copy:

“ ’Twould see/m at the w/icked’s fate.”

“Now, spell out the letters between the two lines, Jon.”

He did as she told him. “M-a-t-t-h-e-w. Matthew! Very clever, Amy, I been staring at this for hours, but I never saw that. How did you come to notice it?”

Amy shrugged airily. “It’s called an inclusion—we did it as a word game in school last term. You look for words among words.”

The blue-eyed boy nodded admiringly. “Well done, pal!”

Amy jumped down from the bench. “Not so well, Ben, I couldn’t fathom out any more of the puzzle. Could you?”

“No, I had other things to think about, which I’ll tell you later. I bet Mr. Braithwaite’s managed to solve it.”

Jon tossed the last of his sandwich to Ned. “I went over there earlier, but he didn’t seem to be in the library. Maybe he’s arrived by now—let’s go and see.”

Exiting the almshouse by the front door, they saw the gig with Delia standing patiently in the shafts outside Mr. Mackay’s office. Amy ran across to stroke the mare.

“What’s Will doing in Mr. Mackay’s office this early?”

The door opened partially, and Eileen popped her head around it. “I was about to go’n see if you were up an’ about, my dears. Come on in, we’re all here!”

Mr. Braithwaite, Mr. Mackay, and Will were gathered around the desk, and the lawyer greeted the newcomers. “Good morning, friends. Mrs. Drummond was about to go and see if she could locate you. I arrived here early to look up some old survey maps and see if I could throw any light upon our search.

“Mr. Braithwaite and the Drummonds have been helping me. I think we’re close to a solution, that’s why I was sending for you. By the way, did any of you manage to solve the thing?”

Jon spread his copy on the desk. “Amy did, she figured it was the first Gospelmaker, St. Matthew, whose treasure we’re after. But that’s as far as any of us got. Look at this first line.”

The librarian inspected the line of words, scratching away at his frizzy hair. “St. Matthew, eh. Well well, good, er, heaven, a simple inclusion. Hmm, and none of us, er, er, noticed it. Very good, Amy, yes, very good, very good!”

Amy could not conceal her impatience. “Mr. Mackay, you said that you were close to a solution. What have you discovered?”

The dapper little solicitor coughed importantly. “First we thought we were looking for a bell—does not the second line say ‘that bell ne’er made a sound’? But if we look at the next line we see that the bell in this case is a mere figure of speech, ‘yet the death knell tolled aloud.’ This death knell means in reality that something is finished. For instance, we could say, if Caran De Winn’s title deeds to Chapelvale are not found, that signals the death knell for the entire village, you see? However, the rhyme does not speak of a place, but of people, ‘yet the death knell tolled aloud for those who danced around.’ ”

Will could not stop himself from blurting out. “Wait! I remember my ole granddad singin’ a song when I was a little boy, something about a villain who ended up dancing around ’neath a gallows tree! Sorry for buttin’ in on you, sir.”