Read The Smugglers' Mine Online
Authors: Chris Mould
The Smugglers' Mine (3 page)
Just Desserts
The following afternoon, Stanley found out that he and old MacDowell had something in common: they both had the ability to sleep for most of the day. They bumped into each other at breakfast, which, as Mrs. Carelli rightly pointed out, was not normally at three o'clock in the afternoon.
They sat together at the kitchen table, locked in conversation and getting along famously.
MacDowell was intrigued by Crampton Rock, and full of questions for Stanley.
MacDowell was intrigued by Crampton Rock, and full of questions for Stanley.
“Tell me one thing, lad. Somethin' is troubling me,” began MacDowell.
“Fire away,” said Stanley.
“Well, whenever I looks around me outside, the streets is full and the folks is goin' about their business, and I see a dog now and then. Not the same dog, mind you. Lots o' dogs. Big dogs, little dogs, hairy dogs, skinny dogs, chubby little fat dogs ⦔
Stanley knew what was coming.
“Now, it's come to me attention that they all 'ave a little something in common!” MacDowell paused and looked at Stanley, his eyes a little wider and his face a little closer.
“Carry on,” said Stanley, smiling.
“Three legs, Stanley. They all got three legs,” he exclaimed.
“It's the wolf,” announced Stanley. “The werewolf! I did warn you that this place is cursed. There isn't a dog on the island that has escaped an attack from that thing without losing a limb.”
MacDowell stared at Stanley in disbelief.
“Well, sufferin' seagulls, I don't believe it. If ever a place was cursed it's this one! Are yer sure there ain't no wolf at present, Stanley? I'd hate to lose a branch from me tree, so to speak.”
“A branch from your ⦠? Oh, I see what you mean,” said Stanley. “Er, no ⦠there is no wolf right now. We hope it will not return.”
“Good news, lad,” answered MacDowell. “For an old man who's taking it easy, that's good news.”
“Actually,” began Stanley rather gingerly, “I had rather hoped I might enlist your help!”
“Oh?”
“Well, you see, I have this map. An old mapâ”
MacDowell stopped Stanley in his tracks.
“Oh Stanley, please. Stop. Don't tell me yer taking me on a treasure hunt. I've 'ad enough o' treasure huntin' to last me a lifetime. I've seen more maps than I've had hot dinners. It's always the same: a load o' work, only to find that someone else got there before you did. It's 'appened to me a thousand times and the last time I made the effort and came out of it penniless, I swore I'd never let it happen again.
“And besides,” MacDowell continued, “I got one o' me little inventions boilin' away in me brain. Once I gets an idea, that's it, I can't stop. Now, do yer think there's somewhere I can use a little workspace?”
Stanley realized that his companion was nothing more than a retired old sea dog with all the “pirate” already knocked out of his sails. He gave a big sigh and went to tell Daisy what was, for her, the good news.
As Stanley was returning from visiting Daisy
in the lighthouse, he noticed a commotion down in the village. He wandered closer to the crowd of people outside the courthouse.
in the lighthouse, he noticed a commotion down in the village. He wandered closer to the crowd of people outside the courthouse.
“It's Mister Darkling, Stanley,” muttered a man Stanley recognized as one of the fishermen who also helped out in the court. “He's been sentenced to imprisonment for the attempt he made on your life. He got what he deserves.”
Stanley walked a little nearer. The crowd was jostling and shoving, and cries of “Murderer!” went up. Mrs. Darkling and her children, Annabelle, Berkeley, and Olive, were being escorted safely home through the swarm, and Mr. Darkling jeered back at the onlookers as he was taken away to prison.
Stanley did not feel particularly happy at this outcome. He didn't feel that the Darklings were a threat to him anymore. Yes,
when they had come to the Hall and tried to claim it as their own; it had been a terrible time for him. But they were a family, with three childrenâand yes, they were a little odd, to say the least, but nonetheless they would be better off together.
when they had come to the Hall and tried to claim it as their own; it had been a terrible time for him. But they were a family, with three childrenâand yes, they were a little odd, to say the least, but nonetheless they would be better off together.
That was the reason that Stanley had given when he refused to give evidence in the trial. But the strange laws of Crampton
Rock meant that the trial continued without him, and now the Darkling family faced a lifetime of seeing their husband and father only through a barred window.
Rock meant that the trial continued without him, and now the Darkling family faced a lifetime of seeing their husband and father only through a barred window.
Stanley's heart sank. He felt almost guilty, even though he could have died by the dirty deeds of Edmund Darkling.
He wandered back up the cobbled climb to the Hall, and as he reached the door MacDowell and Victor were leaving the house with their arms full.
“Good news, lad. Victor 'as given me permission to use 'is work space down at the candle shop. 'E says he won't be needin' it yet, not until he gets the business back up and running,” chirped MacDowell. “Mrs. Carelli says that if it's all right with you, I can stay a while and try and make meself a bit o' money before I move on,” he explained. “What do yer say, Stanley?”
“Er ⦠yes, fine, Mac. It's fine.”
“Ah, Stanley, you're pure gold. From the tip o' yer nose to the ends o' yer toes, you're pure gold. Wait till yer see me invention. I'll be made o' money before yer can say
crab soup.”
crab soup.”
Stanley scratched his head. He'd heard that expression before somewhere.
He stood and watched MacDowell and Victor head into the village, then turned inside to tell Mrs. Carelli the Darkling news.
As the evening drew in, the warm aroma of home-cooked food filled the kitchen, and Victor and MacDowell returned to the Hall. Victor had a look of amusement on his face and MacDowell was looking pleased with himself.
“Ah, Stanley. If ever there was a man to make a sensible judgement, it'd be you.”
Stanley, sitting in his favorite chair, eyed old MacDowell quizzically.
“What would yer be guessin' this was then?” MacDowell asked, revealing something that he had concealed inside his long coat.
Stanley stared at the contraption. “Er ⦠it looks like a wheel on a stick.”
“Aha. Wrong!” insisted MacDowell. “This, Stanley, is the Crampton Canine Lost Limb Support thingy. And tomorrow,” he continued, “there will be many a piece o' silver crossing the palm of old MacDowell down in the village square. Thank you, thank you, ladies and gentlemen.' He took a bow as Victor and Mrs. Carelli clapped and Stanley stared in disbelief.
“Are you serious?” asked Stanley. “You're going to sell
those
to the dog owners in the village?”
those
to the dog owners in the village?”
“Aye, lad. If ever there was a plan to make money on the Rock, this be it.” He was clearly pleased as punch with his idea.
That night, as Stanley pulled his covers over him, he wondered if there would ever be a way forward with the map. Would he ever get any further than the damp darkness of the Darkling cellar?
Down the corridor, old MacDowell was drinking himself to sleep with a bottle of grog that he kept tucked under his pillow, dreaming of the riches that he hoped were coming his way.
And down in the cold, harsh darkness of Crampton jailhouse, Edmund Darkling listened to the lock turning in the door as he settled into his cell. A clear night was framed by his barred window.
There has to be a way out, he thought. No man can live like this, certainly not for long.
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