Temptations of Pleasure Island (9 page)

“This isn’t right,” Sarah whispered. “It isn’t right, and something’s got to be done about it.”

R
eb was grooming Lightning, and that was a job he always liked. It gave him pleasure just to run the brush down the great horse’s back. From time to time Lightning made a grab at him, but Reb knew the horse was not really trying to hurt him. He laughed and tapped Lightning’s nose.

“You rascal!” he said. “You’re about as worthless a horse as I ever saw!”

When Lightning extended his lips and made a slobbering sound, Reb reached into his pocket and pulled out an apple. “You’re always begging, aren’t you? I’d be ashamed of myself if I was you.”

He watched, smiling, as the great stallion ate the apple, and then he began the grooming again.

Wash was sitting over to one side, watching. He was eating an apple himself, with careful, small bites.

“What do you reckon a horse like that is worth, Reb?” he asked curiously.

Reb studied the stallion with a critical eye. “I don’t know about these finnigs they have around here, but back in Texas he’d be worth enough to sell the farm for.”

“And he belongs to the princess?”

“Yep.”

“She sure likes to win, doesn’t she?”

“Well, who doesn’t?”

“But these people around here think winning is everything. It’s a shame how some of them have gone
flat broke betting on crazy things. Do you know what the latest event was?”

“I don’t know. Probably pretty wild.”

“They had a chicken race.”

“A chicken race! Chickens can’t race!”

“Well, these did—sort of. And people bet good money on them.” Disgust crossed Wash’s face, and he got to his feet. He came over and stood close to the head of the great stallion. He began talking to the horse. But suddenly Lightning thrust out his big head and pushed Wash in the chest with his nose.

“Hey!” Wash yelped as he went over backwards and fell into the straw.

Reb stood laughing down at him. “Be glad he didn’t bite your nose off,” he said.

Wash got to his feet and glared at Lightning. “I hope you lose today,” he said grumpily.

“We don’t lose, do we, Lightning?” Reb said, patting the stallion’s nose.

At that moment a crowd of young girls trooped into the stable with slips of paper in their hands. They were all about Reb’s age, and they swarmed about him, asking for his autograph.

Reb shooed them back, saying, “Don’t get too close to that horse. He’s not partial to women.”

One of them laughed and fluttered her eyelashes at him. “Are you partial to girls, Reb?”

Reb just grinned at her and then signed all the slips. “Now, you girls scoot out of here. You’re not supposed to be in the stable anyway.”

“Why don’t you meet me after the race, Reb? We could have a good time,” a tall, dark-haired girl said and winked at him boldly.

“Can’t do that. Have to take care of this horse. Now you girls get on out.”

When they had gone, Wash grinned. “Well, what does it feel like to be idolized?”

“I don’t care much for it,” Reb said. He sat down on a bale of hay and asked, “Got another one of those apples? I gave Lightning all of mine.”

Fishing around in his pocket, Wash produced an apple, and Reb took out a knife to peel it.

“The peeling’s the best part! It’s good for you,” Wash told him.

“Aw, I always peel my apples, and I guess I always will. Now, you tend to your apples, and I’ll tend to mine.”

The boys sat on their bales of hay, talking com-panionably. After a while, Wash went back to the subject of the autograph hunters. “You really like people yelling your name, don’t you? And girls coming and asking for your autograph?”

“Oh, it’s all right.”

Wash stared at his friend in amazement. “Well, I think
I’d
like it. Of course, I can’t ride a horse like you can.”

“Let me tell you something, Wash,” Reb said.

He gestured with the knife until Wash said, “Don’t point that thing at me. It might go off.”

Reb closed the knife, and then his face grew sober. “Why do you think those girls came in here?”

“Because they idolize you, like I said.”

“What do they know about me? That is, what do they really know about Bob Lee Jackson?”

“I suppose they know you’re a good rider.”

“That’s right. And that’s all they know.”

“Well, what does that prove, Reb?”

“It proves that it isn’t
me
they like. They just like something I do. Suppose I broke a leg and couldn’t ride a horse. Would they like me then?”

Wash seemed to think hard for a moment, and then he shook his head. “No, they’d like the fellow that took your place riding the horse.”

“That’s right. Well, that’s why I don’t get real excited when they come around.”

The two talked about that for a while.

At last Reb said, “Abbey told me once that those girls that win beauty contests never feel good about themselves. They don’t know whether guys like them because of who they are or because they won a contest. That seems to be the way it is.”

“You sure do explain things good, Reb,” Wash said. “You’re just a walking encyclopedia.”

“Sure, anything else you’d like to know?”

Wash thought for another moment, then said, “Would you mind explaining Einstein’s theory of relativity to me one more time?”

Reb jumped at him, and the two wrestled around in the straw until Wash begged for mercy.

“All right,” Reb said. “Now I’ll explain it to you.”

Lady Maeve was meeting with the council. The king was not present today. She had told him it was not necessary for him to attend the meetings anymore.

Maeve was well pleased with herself. She now ruled the council with an iron hand. She looked around at the men’s faces. They were still and washed of all emotion. She knew that she had frightened them all into submission.

“The people are getting tired of the games,” she said. “The games are too mild.”

“What are you suggesting, Master of the Council?”

“I’m suggesting that we make the competitions more exciting. There will be some changes made, and I will expect you to back up any move I make in doing this. It’s for the good of the country. You understand me?”

A murmur of agreement went around, and Maeve said, “Then you are dismissed!”

Lady Maeve left the castle then and made her way to a gray building with no windows. Stepping inside, she narrowed her eyes, for the only light there came from lanterns. This was the prison of Pleasure Island.

The warden met her and seemed flattered that she had come. “Ah, Lady Maeve,” he said. “You’ve come for an inspection.”

“I’ve come to set one of your prisoners free.”

The warden swallowed hard. “The king, I suppose, has signed his release?”

“I will sign the release. That should be sufficient.”

“Well, yes, of course, Lady Maeve. What is his name?”

“His name is Sylvan.”

The warden blinked. “You don’t want to free that man!” he cried. “Sylvan is the most notorious con man on the island! He’s swindled countless people out of their life’s fortunes.”

“I did not ask for your opinion, warden. Take me to him.”

He bowed. “Yes, Lady Maeve!”

Minutes later she stood in a dank prison cell. Straw was on the floor, and the only light was a single candle. A man sat across from her—on a bed complete with a plush mattress and quilt. She stared at him intensely, and he stared back.

“What do
you
want?” he muttered.

The sorceress moved a step closer. “I want to take you out of this place, get you cleaned up, get you good food. Anything you want.”

Sylvan grinned, revealing amazingly white teeth. Despite his prison uniform, he was a dapper looking man. He was well over six feet tall and had a manicured mustache and beard.

“You must want something rather important—and illegal—done to promise me that.”

“And will that stop you, Sylvan, if I ask you to do something illegal and dangerous?”

“Let me out of this place—” Sylvan smiled grimly “—and I’ll poison the king himself.”

Lady Maeve smiled in spite of herself. “It hasn’t come to that—yet. I want you to become head of the new national gambling game.” She knew that Sylvan had himself operated various gambling schemes that cheated people, including animal races, sporting events, and gambling casinos.

Now the man stood up, apparently keen to hear her offer.

“What is it you want, madam?” he asked graciously.

“I want to expand on these mild little games of chance. I want the people to be offered the opportunity to bet everything, everything they own. I want to call this game ‘You Bet Your Life.’ If they win, they capture a great prize. If they lose, they belong to me—and the salt mines.”

Sylvan, the criminal, grinned and nodded. “I’m your man, Lady Maeve. A little slavery never hurt a kingdom.”

T
he Fletcher household had become a second home to Josh and Sarah. Sarah was very fond of Lalita, the six-year-old daughter, and she spent hours with her. It proved to be a relief to play simple games with the child instead of getting caught up in the whirlwind of activities that seemed to engulf the entire island.

Josh enjoyed the company of Jacob and Mark. The man was like a father to him. Jacob was kind and patient and witty, and he seemed to delight in Josh’s company.

Mark undertook to teach Josh something about wrestling and was very patient with him. Wrestling with Mark, of course, was always a one-sided contest. The young man was fully developed, tremendously strong, and faster than a striking snake. However, he did manage to teach Josh a few of the fundamentals of the sport.

As the two of them were practicing one day, Mark said, “It’s not strength so much as it is speed, Josh. Strength is important, of course. But the strongest man in the world would be helpless if he were trapped in a bone-breaking hold. Here, let me show you.”

Josh listened carefully to his friend’s instructions. Although he was aware that Mark was allowing him to control the situation, it gave him a thrill when he was able to send Mark over his head to land on the mat that they were practicing on.

“You see? And I outweigh you by seventy-five
pounds. So you could use this hold successfully on practically anyone except another professional wrestler.”

They took time out then, just long enough for a short break. When they went inside the house, Mark’s mother offered them some delicious little cakes she had just made. Josh happily began eating his as fast as he could.

Lalita laughed at him. “You can have all the cakes you want, Josh.”

“They’re just so good I can hardly stand it,” he said. “I can’t help gobbling.”

Lalita said, “Mama and Papa don’t like it when I eat like that.”

“That’s right. And you listen to them. Don’t use me for your model, Lalita.” Josh grinned at her and took another big bite. “I never did win any medals for my table manners.”

Jacob Fletcher seemed to hear something then. He got up and went to the window and looked out. He exclaimed, “Why, it’s our friend Feanor!”

His wife joined him at the window and said, “What in the world has happened? He looks terrible.”

Raising the window, Jacob called out, “Feanor, come in!”

Josh and all the Fletchers turned to the door as the man entered. Josh had met Feanor. The man and his wife had three fine sons and a little daughter. They had eaten meals together with the Fletchers a few times when Josh was also there.

“Whatever is wrong, Feanor?” Mrs. Fletcher cried, going to him. “Is it your wife? Is she sick? Or one of the children?”

“No. It’s even worse than that.” Feanor groaned.
He passed a hand in front of his face, and Josh could see that it was trembling. Perspiration had burst out on his forehead, and he was a terrible ash gray color.

“Here, sit down, Feanor,” Jacob said. The man seemed almost unable to obey, and Jacob had to help him into a chair. “Now,” he said kindly. “What is it? Tell us. You have friends here. We can help with whatever problem you have.”

“I’ve been a fool,” Feanor groaned.

“Well, so have all of us at one time or another,” Jacob said. “We all make mistakes.”

“Not like this one!” He seemed unable to speak except in a feeble whisper.

“Just tell us what it is,” Mrs. Fletcher urged. “There’s a solution for most things. We just have to find it.”

Feanor looked up then, and Josh saw a hopeless look in his eyes such as he had never seen before. He thought,
What in the world can it be?

“I’ve lost everything,” Feanor finally managed to tell them.

At once Jacob stiffened. “Feanor! You haven’t been gambling again, have you?”

“Yes, fool that I was!” Feanor cried. “I know you’ve warned me about it a thousand times. I thought it was a sure thing this time. I thought I couldn’t lose.”

“There’s no such thing as a sure thing in gambling,” Mark put in. “What did you bet on, Feanor?”

“The dog races. And I talked to the owner of one of the dogs. He assured me that he couldn’t lose, so I—”

He broke off, and Mr. Fletcher said grimly, “So how much did you bet, Feanor?”

“Everything. I had no choice. All the races and contests are now part of the new royal lottery. If you
want the
grand
prize, you have to bet all you own-including your livelihood.”

“What do you mean, ‘your livelihood?’” asked Jacob worriedly.

“If you lose, you become an indentured servant of the kingdom for five years—to work for the king somewhere in the salt mines,” answered Feanor sullenly. “Unless you can find some means to pay—and of course you can’t. Even your home is gone.”

“Not your house too!” Mrs. Fletcher cried. “Surely not that!”

“That too. Now that I’ve lost, they’ll send me to the salt mines at Borea. And my poor family—they’ll have to live in one of the shacks in the mine workers’ village.”

Josh had never seen such fear and disgust mingle in a person’s face. Josh truly felt sorry for him. He knew that Feanor was a hardworking man and good to his family. But Jacob had once told Josh privately, “My friend is addicted to gambling. He just can’t keep himself from betting on everything. I fear he is going to run into trouble someday.”