The Runaway's Gold (29 page)

Mr. Plimpton

ho are you?” a foul-breathed voice whispered in me ear. From the corner of my eye I could see two scrawny figures flip Malcolm over, with three other dark figures surrounding us.

“We're here for Plimpton,” Malcolm managed, spitting sand from his mouth.

“Plimpton's not here,” sneered the man with his knife to me throat.

“Take us to him, then,” I said. “We've got somethin' we think he wants.”

“I don't know you,” the man replied, pressing the blade into me skin. His ragged sleeve smelled of decaying fish.

“Captain Canfield sent us,” I said, me heart pounding in me chest. “With a message.”

“Oh, did he now?” one of the men said with a chuckle. “And what would that message be?”

“Me orders are to speak only to Mr. Plimpton,” I answered, trying desperately to keep me voice from trembling.

“And what if I say that's not possible?”

“Then we leave,” Malcolm barked. “There's plenty down this coast in need a' the captain's cargo.”

The men were silent for a moment or two.

“If we're not back in ten minutes' time,” Malcolm continued, “Captain's orders are to leave us.”

“He'll leave his own men, will he?”

“Aye, he will. He has business elsewhere.”

A long-faced figure emerged from behind the others. He had dark greasy hair hanging like sheets about his eyes, and a small lad cowered at his side. I suspected he was no older than me sister Victoria. “What is it ya have that'll take so long to unload?” the man asked.

“As I said, me orders are to speak only with Mr. Plimpton,” I quavered, the blade still at me throat.

“I'm Plimpton,” the greasy-haired man said, his upturned lip showing a twist of yellowed teeth. He grabbed cruelly to the boy's struggling arm, and then he shoved the lad in front of him.

“It's ponies we have,” Malcolm cursed. “Shetlands. Now call off your brutes and Chris here'll hand over the terms. Unless, o' course, you are na' in need a' the business.”

Plimpton laughed, his hands folded at his chest. “More honest prospects down the coast, has he? Such as John Miller in Morpeth? Or perhaps he's happier with
honest
Stan Waterhouse in Durham? Aye—all savory characters—each one. Waitin' dutifully for the fine captain?”

“Perhaps,” Malcolm said as he staggered to his feet. “That's the captain's business, now, isn't it?”

Plimpton stared for a moment. Then, with a wave of his hand, the man behind me lowered the blade from me throat. “Let's see what you has to offer.”

I glanced quickly at Malcolm as I pulled the parchment from me pocket. But when I handed it to Plimpton, he shoved it back violently and spat on the ground.

“Captain says you're to sign it if he's to unload the goods,” I said. I reached down and grabbed it back, me heart beating wildly.

Malcolm elbowed me. “Think he's needin' ya to read it to him.” And I finally understood why I'd been sent.

One of the men pulled up the metal plate covering the light from his lantern as I unrolled the parchment. And then I cleared me throat. “Thirty-two Shetland ponies. Sturdy and in good health. Price: two hundred fifty pounds,” I read. “One hundred pounds security to start unloading. Yours sincerely, Captain James Canfield IV.”

Plimpton laughed and spat on the beach, and as he did I saw the small child slowly slip behind him.

“Sign here and pay the security money and we'll start bringing them ashore,” I said, pushing the document toward him.

Plimpton licked his cracked lips, the white of his eye darting in the moonlight. Then he suddenly noticed the child and his hand shot out like a cannon, grabbing him by the scruff of the collar. “You'll stand by me side and learn or I'll give ya a beatin' worse than yesterday,” he commanded, darting his eyes from me as he hauled the child back before us. “I'll give ya five pounds each pony and be done with it.”

“That's only one hundred sixty, total,” I said.

“Not a chance,” Malcolm scoffed. “These are purebred Shetland stallions. Your collier friends are na' gunna find nothin' finer for that price, and you know it.”

Plimpton glared, while the lad seemed to sink into the body of his oversized coat. “One eighty-five for the lot, then. And that's me final offer.”

Malcolm stared for a few moments and then gave me a nod. “Come, lad. Back to the ship.”

“But, Malcolm,” I whispered as we started, “we need to sell 'em!”

“Shut it and walk,” Malcolm muttered. But it wasn't until I started pushing the yoal back into the water that Plimpton's lad ran up and grabbed the back of me gansey.

“Me dad,” he stuttered. “He—he—he . . . You've gotta come back!”

When we returned to the group, Plimpton snatched the parchment from me hand. Then he pulled a knife from his belt and deftly slit the tip of his thumb and pressed it firmly to the parchment. “Don't worry,” he laughed as I looked on in horror. “The captain'll know it's from me.” As he spoke, he reached into the dark leather sack slung over his shoulder, counted out a stack of bills, and slapped them on me palm.

“Had to be trustworthy,” Malcolm muttered as we rowed back to the ship. But he didn't say anything more.

When we delivered the parchment and security money to the captain, McNutt ordered the crew to begin lowering the first of the ponies, bucking and kicking, by rope, down into the yoal. Only four ponies fit in each load, and it was all Jimmy could do to keep the boat from capsizing as he and Angus rowed to shore.

“Well done,” Charles said as we watched the spectacle before us. “Me uncle took a big risk sending you and Malcolm down there alone. Frankly, I half expected you would run.”

I shrugged, relieved to be safely back on board.

“Yes,” Captain Canfield said, approaching from behind. “One can never be sure things will go as planned with a man like Plimpton. Makes his livelihood from double-crossing both us
and
the Crown, and making sure his goods come in at the best price possible. The trick now will be for you and Mr. MacPherson to collect the remaining one hundred fifty pounds.”

I turned to him, aghast. “You're sending us back?”

“Aye, Robertson. A deal is only a deal when both parties
have met their obligations.” Then he pulled Malcolm aside and whispered something I couldn't make out.

Sweat formed on me brow as Malcolm and I watched Angus and Jimmy row back and forth to the beach, McNutt all the while fretting over the time. “Go—move!” he bellowed each time they returned and four more struggling ponies were lowered from deck.

When the final four ponies were secured, Jimmy came back aboard and Malcolm and I were sent down the ladder to join Angus.

With the three of us plus the ponies, the boat moved precariously through the chop of the sea. The nervous beasts, feet hobbled with rope, snorted and struggled to get their hooves up on the gunwales. We nearly capsized three times before we finally reached shore. And as I looked at the pitiful, trembling beasts, I thought of their cruel and heartless fate.

“Angus, drop anchor and wait here,” Malcolm ordered.

“I'll not take orders from you!”

“Captain says we're not to unload the last of the ornery beasts until we have the rest of the money,” Malcolm said. “'Course, if you'd like me and Chris to stay aboard and you collect from Plimpton, just say so.”

Angus glared at him. “Be quick about it, then. I'll not hold the panicking ponies for long in these waves.”

As we waded ashore we could see the men waiting, the other ponies now unhobbled and corralled together nearby.

“One hundred fifty pounds,” I said meekly, finding Plimpton
among his men. But as I spoke I noticed a strange flicker of light from the top of the cliff beyond the beach.

Plimpton leaned into me face, spit flying as he spoke, while the four men with him closed around. “I canna read, lad, but I've
always
been able ta count. The captain promised thirty-two ponies. Only twenty-eight have come ashore.”

“Hand over the rest of the money, and you'll get the lot,” Malcolm barked, eyeing the leather satchel over Plimpton's shoulder.

As he spoke, I gave his ankle a swift kick, raising me head to the cliffs. “You got company up there, Plimpton?” Malcolm asked, stepping back toward the boat. “'Cause if ya do, this deal is over!”

Suddenly one of the men also noticed the light. “Revenue Men!” he cried. “They've seen us!” And then the one light was joined by another two, then three. And as the sound of a gun blasted in the distance, the ponies reared and bolted free across the sand.

“The ponies! Get the ponies!” Plimpton commanded, shoving his son ahead of him, men scattering in all directions.

“Not without our full payment,” I screamed, grabbing but just missing the satchel from Plimpton's shoulder as he slipped into the dark.

“Oh no, ya don't,” Malcolm cursed, tackling him to the sand.

“Stop—smugglers—in the name of Her Majesty!” a voice shouted from the cliff. And then another shot boomed into the sand before us.

As Malcolm and Plimpton rolled this way and that, I noticed a glint. Plimpton's knife had come loose from his belt. But as I sprang to grab it, Plimpton's hand got there first.

“He has a knife!” I yelled as Plimpton, lip bloodied, inched the blade toward Malcolm's powerful arms. “No!” I shouted, grabbing his greasy hand just as a bullet from the approaching officers grazed past me. Then I forced the knife to drop into the sand.

“The satchel, Chris,” Malcolm screamed, holding Plimpton down. “Grab it!” His massive arms pummeled the smuggler as the lights of the Revenue Men closed in on us. Then Malcolm rolled him over and I ripped the satchel from his shoulder.

“Run!” Malcolm shouted, walloping Plimpton in the gut as another bullet sped past us. And the next thing I knew we were waist deep in water and throwing ourselves into the yoal.

“Row like the Devil, Angus!” Malcolm shouted as I struggled to pull up the anchor.

“We're not goin' anywhere with these stallions on board!” he cursed. “Load's too great!”

“Well, let 'em go, you haf-krakked idiot,” Malcolm shouted. “With any luck they'll find the others and run to freedom.”

Angus and I quickly unhobbled the ponies, the boat nearly capsizing as the terrified animals—snorting and kicking—scrambled awkwardly over the gunwale and into the waist-deep water. As we rowed furiously to the ship we watched them swim ashore, whinnying wildly to the other ponies on the run, and finally galloping free along the beach in the moonlight.

“Beasts'll lead them officers straight to Plimpton's men,” Malcolm said. “Couldn't happen to a nicer lot.”

I grinned, tossing him the satchel as he settled into the bow. When we reached the
Ernestine Brennan
, McNutt was already unfurling her sails.

“Move, move!” McNutt ordered as we climbed up the ladder, gunfire still roaring from shore.

“Ah, young Robertson,” the captain said. Charles was waiting eagerly at his side as we climbed aboard. “Am I to assume you've had a successful night of it?”

“If you mean with delivering the ponies, sir, I guess you could say we were successful.”

Charles cleared his throat. “And the additional one hundred fifty pounds?”

“We collected, all right,” Malcolm said, pulling himself over the gunwale and onto the deck. “And damned near died in the process.” Then he pulled Plimpton's satchel from his shoulder and presented it to the captain.

“Is it all there?” the captain asked, eyebrow raised.

“No idea. Not much time for countin' with bullets flyin' over your head. Whatever's in here, it's all Plimpton had.”

Captain Canfield glanced quickly from Malcolm to me. “I half expected the two of you would run.”