The Wreckers Read Online Free Page B

interest as these men planned my death so coldly.
    “Give him a moment,” said Spots. “Let him make his peace, Caleb.”
    In the stillness, head bowed, I heard the pulse of faraway surf. A gull cried as it wheeled through the sky. The clop of hooves on the stones—the rider came so slowly—was like the chiming of bells. I couldn’t see clearly. My eyes, I’m ashamed to say, were wet with tears. I only waited for the knife to strike, and gritted my teeth to stop from screaming.
    And then a voice cried out, loud with anger, and the tall man, Haines, said, “Do it, Caleb. That’s Simon Mawgan coming.”
    Caleb grasped my collar. The hooves came faster, harder. I tried to pull free but only twisted onto my back. And there I lay like a dog, flat upon the stones with my neck bared, my head turned away. Caleb crouched beside me.
    With a snorting of breath, the black horse barreled into the group of wreckers. It reared up, hooves flailing, and skittered in a tight circle. “Stand back from there,” yelled the rider, Simon Mawgan.
    Caleb kept his hold on me. “Leave us be,” he said.
    Mawgan pushed through on his horse until the hooves stamped on the stones beside me. Only dimly could I see him, a man as wide as a barrel, draped in a riding cloak of black and gold. He said, “Let that lad up.”
    “This is no concern of yours,” said Caleb.
    “It is if he’s from the wreck. Now stand back, I say.”
    “You don’t order me about, Simon Mawgan,” said Caleb. But with a last twist of my coat, he let go nonetheless, and stood, the knife balanced in his hands.
    “Put that down,” said Mawgan. He looked round the group of men. They turned their heads, or lowered them, avoiding his stare like schoolboys caught in a prank. Only Caleb glared back, his eyes like gun slits. “There’s been killing enough.”
    “Not yet there hasn’t,” said Caleb. “The wreck’s not dead.”
    “The wreck is
mine
!” roared Mawgan. “Or do you argue with that now? Any of you?”
    Again the wreckers—all but Caleb—hung their heads. Even the horses seemed to sag and skulk away.
    Mawgan laughed. He was rather fat below his cloak, and his cheeks—reddened by wind and sun—shook like jellyfish. “ ’Course you don’t. I’m surprised at you, Spots. I’d think you a better man than this.”
    “You’re whistling down the wind,” growled Caleb. “Ifthat boy lives, we’re all off to the knacker’s yard. Mark my words, Simon Mawgan. And you’ll be with us. Aye, you’ll be there.”
    “We’ll see about that,” said Mawgan. “Now, help the lad up.”
    Caleb didn’t move. It was Mawgan himself who heaved his bulk from the saddle and held a hand down toward me. “Can you stand?” he said. “ ’Course you can. A few scratches and such, but you’re fit as a fiddle. Climb on, lad, and I’ll ride you up to the moor.”
    The moor was the last place I wanted to go. But Mawgan, seeing my shock, laughed harder than ever. “I’m taking you home,” he said. “I’m taking you up to Galilee.”
    He made a cup of his hands and gave me a boost. And I settled on the flanks of his big black mount, looking down at Caleb, and at Stumps beside him like a blot of a man. With a sly gesture, Stumps touched my father’s ring to his lips.
    Mawgan put a foot in the stirrup. Caleb, behind him, raised his knife and slowly pointed the tip directly toward me. He held it there, then just as slowly touched the blade to his neck. The message was clear, delivered in utter silence as the breeze fluttered in the cape of his coat. And I could hear the words in my mind as though he’d spoken them aloud:
    “I’m not done with you yet.”

Chapter 4

G ALILEE
    W e rode down the waterfront and up through the village, and the horse pranced like a colt, though it carried better than twenty stone upon its back. Simon Mawgan was so roundly fat that I had to spread my arms far apart to keep a hold on his hips. He wore no hat, and his hair was as