[Flying Dutchman 01] - Castaways of the Flying Dutchman

The old lady shook her head wistfully. “I’ve never been to London, but I hear ’tis a wonderful city, St. Paul’s Cathedral, Buckingham Palace. It must be so nice to live there. Do you ever see Her Majesty Queen Victoria?”

Flash leaned out of the car. “Lots o’ times, me ole darlin’. We seen ’er only last week, didn’t we, Gripp.”

Gripper shot him a murderous glance, but he carried on. “Oh yes, we’re special messengers for ’Er Majesty the Queen. That’s why we got ter get to Chapelvale. So could you tell us the way?”

The postmistress was only too willing to help royal couriers. “Most certainly—head straight down the High Street and take a left turn at the bottom, where you can’t go any further. Then you’ll be on the road to Great Sutley. You’ll pass through there and on to Little Sutley, then Sutley-on-the-Marsh. Take a right there and make for Vetchley-on-the-Wold. Now, when you get there . . .”

Gripper got into the motorcar. “That’ll do, we’ll find it from there. Thanks, marm!”

She caught sight of Chaz in the backseat. “Oh dear, your poor friend’s nose is bleeding. Has he been injured?”

Gripper pulled the motoring goggles over his eyes. “No, he’s all right, marm. Sometimes ’e gets the nosebleeds with motorin’, speed of the car, y’know. We been traveling at twenny-five miles an hour most o’ the way.”

She gasped at the thought. “Twenty-five miles an hour! It’s a wonder you aren’t all dead. Wait there, I’ll get him a clean, damp cloth and a drink of water.”

She scurried inside the post office. Gripper drove off with Chunk complaining from the backseat. “Why didn’t ya wait, Gripp? I coulda done wiv a drink o’ water.”

They clattered off down the cobbled High Street in a cloud of exhaust fumes, arguing among themselves.

“Look, never mind the water, we can’t ’ang about all day!”

“I’b bleedin’ to death through be dose, you should ob waited an’ let ’er see t’me.”

“Shut yer mouf, Chaz, or I’ll stop the motor an’ give you annuder one. Where did she say to turn left, Flash, Little Sutford on the Wold or Vetchley in the Marsh?”

“I dunno, I thought you was lissenin’ to ’er. Pass us one o’ those sandwiches yore missus made, willyer, Chunk.”

“She made those sangwiches fer me, not youse lot. Any’ow, I et am all. That’s why I’m firsty for a drink o’ water.”

“Big fat greedy pig, didyer ’ear that, Gripp. ’E’s scoffed all the sandwiches, the rotten ole lard barrel!”

“Sharrap, the three of youse! I’m tryin’ t’think. Sharrap!”

“Are you finkin’ why there’s a fence acrosst the road, Gripp? Well, that’s ’cos the lady tole yer to turn left an’ you turned right. You’d better back the motor up.”

“No I won’t, ’cos I don’t know ’ow to. You lot’ll ’ave to get out an’ push it backward. Cummon, out, youse three!”

Whilst the others were searching, Ben and Amy took one of the candlesticks and began examining it minutely from sconce to base. They scanned the intricate engraving for any trace of hidden writing. Ned nudged the other candlestick with his nose. It fell over and rolled down the grass bank of the pathside. The Labrador chased after it and grabbed it in his mouth by the top. Eileen was engrossed in searching through the lumps of tallow. Alex had lost interest, having already searched through it once, when he spotted the dog with the candlestick in his mouth. Scrambling forward, the younger boy grabbed the base of it and tried to tug it from Ned’s jaws.

“Where are you going with that? Naughty fellow, give it to me. Let go, Ned!”

But the big Labrador was not about to let go. He dug his front paws into the grass and tugged back, sending a thought out to Ben. “Huh, the nerve of the lad. Tell him to let go, mate. He’s supposed to be messing with the tallow— these candlesticks are our job. Tell him, Ben!”

The boy turned his head to see what was going on, and saw Alex and Ned tugging the candlestick between them. All at once there was a pop, like a cork being pulled from a bottle, and the two fell back upon their bottoms—each holding a half of the candlestick!

Everybody came running at the sound of Ben and Alex shouting. “We’ve found it! We’ve found it!”

The big dog allowed Ben to relieve him of the top half, passing a highly indignant thought to his master. “You’ve found it? Well, of all the nerve, it was me who found it!”

The boy hugged the Labrador’s neck, returning the thought. “Of course you did, pal. When we get home, I’ll make sure Winnie rewards you with the best feed you’ve ever had!”

The dog licked Ben’s face. “Now you’re talking, shipmate!”

Mr. Mackay peered into the hollow cylinder of Ben’s half-candlestick. “Ah yes, yes, yes, a small scroll of paper. I could get at it, if I had a pair of tweezers.”

“Let me try, please.” The lawyer handed the candlestick over to Amy. Her slim fingers and strong fingernails soon extracted the scroll. It was very thin, delicate paper, almost transparent. She gave it to the old seaman, who unrolled it carefully as the others looked on with bated breath.