The Runaway's Gold (28 page)

After so many years locked in Lerwick Prison, Malcolm seemed to revel in the relentless blow of fresh sea air. Even McNutt appeared impressed at the speed with which he deftly stitched the fabric this way and that, his tangled mat of red hair flying as the ship pitched up and over the waves.

By noon Marwick's spry packet had outrun Her Majesty's cruiser, and by sundown we were already nearing the Orkney Islands.

I had never slept at sea, and me nights below deck were misery: swaying this way and that, me cracked ribs throbbing
against the moldy canvas hammock, me stomach heaving. Oh, how I longed for our croft house and me sturdy box bed. Hour after hour I raced above deck, propelling meself over the gunwale and retching in the darkness.

On the third morning I staggered up the ladder, hair crisp with sea salt, and pitched what little hay we had left to the ponies. Like me, they were restless and frightened, whinnying desperately and pawing their hooves in the butter-yellow light on the deck.

“Where are we, sir?” I asked Compie Twills. He was standing at the binnacle, the sextant and charts before him.

“North Sea,” he said, eyes a-twinkle.

“You mock me, Mr. Twills,” I said, blushing at me ignorance.

“See that, over there?” he said, pointing off the port side. I could just make out a dark line above the water. “Mainland Scotland that is.”

“So soon?”

“Aye. Thought for sure we'd been blown off course in the night when I couldn't get a sighting, but, by God, we've come over a hundred miles! Been out on the sea all me life, and not but a few other times have gone so fast. The captain'll be pleased about that, I suspect.”

“Aye. And he is, Mr. Twills.”

I was startled to see Captain Canfield standing behind me. His Irish brogue mixed with shortened quips of Shetland speech gave a peculiar, commanding rhythm to his words.

Compie nodded and then quickly glanced at his charts. “McNutt—he's making good work of this wind.”

“We got lucky,” Captain Canfield said. “Canna last long, but we'll take what we can get.”

Since coming aboard, I had only observed the captain from afar. He was a proud, square-shouldered man with a long face, his nose and cheeks red and crusty from years of sun and wind.

“Robertson, is it?” he asked. “Do you know you're standing next to one of the most gifted helmsmen on the North Sea?”

I shook me head. “I've little knowledge of the sea, sir. Mr. McNutt will tell you it's all I can do to keep from falling overboard.”

“Your Daa, he is a crofter-fisherman, no?”

“Aye.” I nodded. “And me Gutcher as well. Should I be home, this would be me first year to join in taking of the cod.”

Captain Canfield studied me, his eyes taking in me frayed gansey and breeks. “My niece tells me that you read.”

“Aye,” I answered. I was surprised by the comment, me face coloring as he spoke. “Me Midder was an educated woman. And me Daa reads as well. Me brothers and I attend school when we can manage it.”

“Then I'll need your help tomorrow night.”

“Help, sir?”

“Aye. When we near land.”

“Sunderland, is it? Near the mines?” I asked, having heard of shipments of coal coming from that part of England. “Is that where we are to land?”

The captain paused and drew his fingers down his closely cut orange-and-gray whiskers. “Not quite. A beach just to the north. Where there'll be no need to register with a Customs House. Roker, it's called. Mr. Twills here knows it well.”

Compie raised his eyebrows.

“Am I to help unload the ponies?” I asked, touching me hand to me tender ribs.

“No. The other men will see to that. Something far more important. I'll be sending you ahead to deliver a message. One that must be relayed accurately to a Mr. Plimpton. Do you think you can do that, lad?”

Compie looked over, aghast. “Plimpton, sir? The lad?”

“Aye, Mr. Twills,” Captain Canfield answered, but he looked straight at me.

I swallowed hard, glancing at Compie and then back at the captain. “That's it, then? Bring a message to this Mr. Plimpton?”

“My niece tells me you are trustworthy. And yet one has to wonder. You were, after all, in Lerwick Prison, were you not?”

“I was,” I said, quickly looking down.

“Then, perhaps, by doing what I have asked, you can prove to me that my niece is not misguided in her thoughts. As you know, she has done much to arrange for your safety.”

Me breath quickened as he spoke, but as I looked up there seemed a slight glint in his eye. “I will na' let you down, sir,” I said. And oh, how I meant it.

“SO WHAT YA SUPPOSE HE'S AFTER?” MALCOLM asked later that day when we found ourselves shoveling the ponies' muck from the deck. With eleven men and thirty-two ponies on board, it was the first time we had managed to have private words since leaving Shetland.

“Best I can figure, it's Plimpton buying the ponies. To sell to some colliery.”

Malcolm shuddered. “Ooooo, it's an evil fate—a pony sent to the coal mine. They say once they lower 'em down in the pits, they don't see the light a' day for the rest of their pitiful lives.”

“Must come up to feed.” I reached me hand to stroke the shaggy-haired animal munching straw beside me.

“Nah. Do it all belowground, I'm told. And when the coal dust gets to their eyes and starts to fester, they sew 'em shut.”

“Sew their eyes?” Me stomach turned as I studied the animal's dark pupils and silky, long lashes. I hadn't forgotten that stallion's teeth on me ear, but I couldn't wish a fate such as that on any living creature.

Malcolm nodded, grimly. “The captain's in charge of the sale. He's Marwick's man. It's on his shoulders that the money is collected and accounted for.”

“Doesn't explain why he asked if I could read and write,” I murmured. As I bent over to pitch a shovelful overboard, a pair of large rivlins came into focus.

“What's this I hear about you goin' ashore at Roker?” Angus Moncrieff asked.

I glanced up at his sneering face. “Dunna remember talkin' to you.”

“The captain's wrong in the head to send you ashore. Told him, I did, that he'd be lucky to have you return. That you'll take the payment for the ponies and flee your merry way into England!”

I had to admit, the thought had crossed me mind. England, after all, was the last place anyone knew Sam Livingston had gone. If he had returned to America, it would be from those shores he would have sailed.

“Keep to your own affairs, Moncrieff,” Malcolm snapped. “Or pick up a shovel. There's plenty a' piles a muck from these ponies to be cleaned off deck.”

“Hah! I didn't sign on to this ill-fated ship to shovel. Gave that up when I left the croft. The way I see it, the only good in bringing you two convicts aboard is to clear the stinkin' piles o' manure from the deck so the rest of us seamen can handle the real work.”

“Shut it, Moncrieff,” McNutt barked, seeing us from across the deck. “Get back to tarring those ropes or I'll have you join them!”

But as Angus stomped off, Malcolm dropped his head to me ear. “He's got a point, ya know. It'll be dark when you get ashore. If you run for it, no one's gunna go after ye. Canfield'll be too wrapped up in deliverin' the ponies to take the time.”

I looked to me left and right. “Don't be a haf-krak, Malcolm! I'm not leavin' without you.”

“Well, you're never gunna find Livingston or his gold cooped up here on Marwick's ship. After we get rid of the ponies, we're on our way to Belfast!”

AT SUNSET ON NIGHT SIX OF OUR JOURNEY, Roker beach was already in sight. Compie saw to it that the
Ernestine Brennan
drifted cautiously inland, just close enough for her to be seen from the steep cliffs above the beach. He nodded to Captain Canfield when he was sure of his spot, and McNutt dropped anchor. But it wasn't until well past midnight when a blue light flashed twice from the shore, and McNutt responded with the flash of a lantern from the bow.

“Are you ready, lad?” Captain Canfield asked as red-capped Jimmy and two other seamen lowered the yoal into the water off the starboard side.

I nodded, still unsure of what I was to do once ashore.

“There may be others,” he cautioned, “but you must only speak to Plimpton. He will ask why I have not come personally. You're to let him wonder.” Then he handed me a roll of parchment tied with string, and beckoned Compie and McNutt to our side.

“These are the terms of sale. Mr. Marwick will accept nothing less. Get Mr. Plimpton's signature and return it to me with the security money. Only then will I start rowing the ponies ashore.”

“And if he doesn't pay?” I asked.

Compie glanced at McNutt.

“He will,” Captain Canfield said. “With the mining reforms, Mansfield Colliery and others like it are desperate for ponies. Not to mention the price is such that he will make a tidy profit. What Plimpton doesn't know is I haven't the time to sail farther south to garner a better price.”

I started down the ladder to the boat and then stopped. “I mean no disrespect, sir,” I whispered, “but why me? Surely Charles or one of the other men would be more . . . convincing.”

“Aye, sir.” McNutt snorted. “I canna see how a lad his size will have much effect on Plimpton.”

“Precisely,” Captain Canfield replied. “My orders are to get two hundred fifty pounds for the lot. Not a copper less. Should I go personally to negotiate the deal on a mere load of ponies, or send you or Charles in my place—it will be immediately apparent to a shark such as Plimpton the true desperation of our situation.”

He gazed out into the dark night, the stars twinkling above, and sighed. “With any luck, no word of Mr. Marwick's troubles has yet reached these shores.”

“But if the lad fails,” McNutt started. “Surely we canna take the chance—”

“Which is why I am sending Mr. MacPherson as well,” Captain Canfield said.

Me heart skipped a beat as Malcolm's formidable frame appeared in the darkness before me.

McNutt grimaced. “A lad and a thief?”

Captain Canfield grinned, slapping McNutt on the back as
I continued down the ladder. “The way I see it, two ginger-haired escapees from Lerwick Prison are just what we need to get the job done.”

But as Malcolm started down, I saw the captain grab his shoulder. “We've no room for mistakes, MacPherson,” he said, his hushed tone harsh and direct. “Do I make myself clear?”

“Aye,” Malcolm said, dropping into the seat in front of me and reaching for the oars.

“Be quick about it, then,” McNutt called down to us. “It'll take eight trips in that yoal to get these ponies ashore. We've three hours at the most.”

MALCOLM AND I CUT THE OARS THROUGH THE choppy black sea, following the waves in to shore. When I felt the boat scrape bottom, I jumped into the icy water and hauled us onto the sand.

“Now's our chance!” Malcolm said, springing over the gunwale and grabbing fast to me arm. “Run for it! To the top of the bluff!”

But it was as if me feet were frozen in the sand.

“Come on!” he whispered, whipping around to face me. “Opportunities, lad, opportunities! We've gotta take 'em when they come our way!”

I yanked me arm free and looked away. “Gave the captain me word.”

“Ya canna be serious!” Malcolm scoffed. “The man works
for Marwick. He's the reason all a' Shetland's on the brink a' starvation! Dunna tell me you're lookin' out for
him
!”

“If Marwick goes, so goes the rest of the island. Me family and yours included.”

“Aye! And if he stays in business, his stranglehold will never end!”

I turned back in the direction of the ship, afraid to meet his eyes. “I know that, Malcolm,” I whispered. “Even so, I canna run.”

“Aye, the good captain, he took us on. But come, lad—it's not as if we owe him our lives. And who knows what kinda man this Plimpton is?”

I looked at me friend, the words spilling out before I knew what I was saying. “He asked if he could trust me, Malcolm. I gave him me word.”

“Your word?” Malcolm rolled his eyes and moaned into the breeze. “Look here, Chris Robertson, do ya want to find Sam Livingston and that gold or not?”

“'Course I do! But, but—”

“Then dunna be daft, lad! Don't you see fate is helpin' us once again? We just got a free ride to England! Could be in Liverpool in just a few days' time, catching a ship to America. We may never get a chance like this again!”

I kicked the sand, shifting from one foot to the next. “He's Mary's uncle, Mal. She told him I could be trusted.”

For a moment Malcolm stared, mouth open, the waves
crashing behind him. And then the flesh of his cheeks began to quiver in the moonlight.

“So that's it, is it? It's Miss Mary you canna let down, not the captain? Lor', lad—ya didn't tell me you were in love with her!”

“It's not that, it's, it's . . .” I looked away, thankful for the cover of darkness, me cheeks growing hot.

“Here we are, halfway to finding out about a stash of gold ducats,” Malcolm blurted, “and you want to prove yourself
trustworthy
?”

He threw back his head, a deep-throated chuckle bursting into the night. “All right, then, lad. I canna believe I'm agreein' to this, but have it your way. Just keep in mind that if I get me throat slit by Mr. Plimpton, it's on your shoulders.”

The clouds drifted across the moon as we scanned the shoreline, the crisp March wind stinging our cheeks. Just then I heard a rustling to me left and a figure sprang from the darkness. The next thing I knew, Malcolm lay face-first in the sand at me feet, a dark figure on his back. And before I had even a chance to cry out, the cool edge of a blade was at me throat.