The Whipping Boy (2 page)

"Lies! Anyway, the moon's up, good and bright. Come on."

Jemmy stared at him with dreadful astonishment. "The king'll have a gory-eyed fit!"

"Positively."

"He'll hunt us down. You'll get off light as a feather, but I'll be lucky if they don't whip me to the bone. More likely I'll be hung from the gallows. Scragged for sure!"

"Your lookout," said the prince with a dry grin. "Carry the basket, Jemmy-From-The-Streets, and follow me!"

The night moon had lit their way like a lantern.

But by dawn the runaways, double-mounted on a horse from the castle stable, were hopelessly lost. A thick fog had swirled in, they'd strayed from the road, and trees had closed in on them.

"Forests is creepy things," said Jemmy, hanging on to the basket as best he could. "Gimme cobbled streets anytime."

A low branch almost swept them off the saddle.

"Boy," said the prince, "get down and lead this dumb-headed beast."

"Lead it? In this fog? I'd need two hands and a lantern to find me own nose."

But Jemmy slipped off the saddle. A plan had been tumbling about in his head. Here's your chance, Jemmy, he told himself. Slip away in the fog. Run for it! No more whippings for you, not if you can't be found. The great sewers, Jemmy, that's the place to hide!

"What's keeping you?" asked the prince. "Grab the halter."

"I'm thinkin'."

Leaves crackled under Jemmy's feet as he began to back off. His mind was made up. Once the fog cleared, he'd find the river. Hadn't his pa taught him his way through the maze of mighty brick sewers! That's where they'd caught the fiercest rats to sell by the cageful. The dog-and-rat pits paid fancy prices for the best fighters, and that meant sewer rats. Who'd think to look for Jemmy under the city?

Jemmy took another crackling step backward—and froze. A sudden yellow glow floated in the fog. The prince burst into squawks and bellows.

"Who's there? Let go! Take your hands off me, you insolent rascal!"

There came a rough, booming reply. "Well, what we got here?" The glowing lantern swayed. "A noisy brat on a fine beast of a horse."

Jemmy edged closer. A cutthroat! he thought.

Like a snake striking, a ghostly hand darted through the fog and clutched his arm. A second cutthroat! Jemmy looked up and barely made out a long, bony face with hollow cheeks and a nose like a meat cleaver.

"I got another, Billy!" cackled the second man, shoving Jemmy forward.

Billy pulled Prince Brat from the saddle and threw him into Jemmy.

Raising the lantern, the man held it close enough that Jemmy could feel the heat of the flame. Billy was a big man, he saw, big and raw as a skinned ox. And he smelled like a ton of garlic.

"Not much of a catch—two sparrows," said Billy. "But ain't they trimmed up in fancy rags, Cutwater?"

"Ain't they!" echoed the rattleboned man.

"Got any gold in your pockets, lads?"

"No business of yours!" snapped the prince.

"Ah, but so help me, it
is
my business," Billy said with a thunderclap of laughter. "Don't you know who
I
am?"

"A clod and a ruffian," declared the prince.

"Worse'n that!" corrected the big man. "Ain't you never heard of Hold-Your-Nose Billy?"

"Famous, he is," put in Cutwater. "Put to song, is Billy."

Jemmy thought he remembered. Hadn't he heard ballad sellers fling that name about the streets? The exploits of Hold-Your-Nose Something-or-other in verses by the yard? "The highwayman, are you?"

"The same."

"The murderer?"

"Only in the line of duty," Hold-Your-Nose Billy chuckled. "So you won't mind if we take your horse and empty your pockets."

"Not a copper between us," said Jemmy. A prince didn't carry money, for he had no use for it, and Jemmy's accounts were kept on the books.

"What's in the basket?" piped up Cutwater.

"Hands off, villain!" snapped Prince Brat. "Don't you know who I am?"

Jemmy gave the prince a sudden jab of his elbow to keep his mouth shut. Not a word!

But the heir to the throne raised himself to his full height. "Bow to your prince!"

Fog swirled around the lantern. "Bow to what?" asked Cutwater.

"I am Prince Horace!"

"And I'm the Grand Turnip of China!" Cutwater snickered.

"Dim-witted villains!" shouted the prince. "I command you to turn us loose. Or Papa will hang the pair of you in chains!"

Hold your trap! Jemmy thought. Don't you have a thimbleful of brains? A prince would make a fine catch for these rogues. "Me friend's muddle-headed," he declared. "His paw's nothing but a rat-catcher. But don't he put on airs, though!"

"Got enough lip for two sets of teeth," chortled the big highwayman. "Cutwater, take the lantern and fetch the horse."

"What do you reckon's in the basket, Billy?"

"Plenty of time to find out."

The lantern floated off. The evil-smelling Billy clutched each boy hard by the ear.

"Stir your legs. Walk! And don't let me catch you on our turf again. Do I make myself clear?"

"Clear as window glass," said Jemmy with a sigh of relief. "If you'd be kind enough to point us toward the river, I'd be ever so much obliged."

"Billy!" came a shout from Cutwater. "They ain't just common sparrows. Have a look at this saddle."

Hold-Your-Nose Billy hung on to the boys' ears. At the horse's side, Cutwater was holding the lantern close to the saddle.

"Skin me alive!" declared the big man in awe. "That's the king's own crest."

"We stole it, horse and saddle!" Jemmy put in desperately.

"Bosh!" retorted Prince Brat scornfully. "Didn't I tell you who I was? Bow low, you fools, and be off!"

But the two men neither bowed nor fled. Hold-Your-Nose Billy threw a bushy-eyed glance at his fellow outlaw.

"Cutwater, what do you reckon a genuine prince on the hoof is worth?"

"His weight in gold at least, Billy."

Wisps of fog clung like tattered rags to the trees, and then the forest cleared. But so thick were the pines that the morning sun barely touched the ground.

Hold-Your-Nose Billy pushed aside a low branch, revealing a rickety timbered hut with a moldy thatched roof.

"There's our castle, Your Young Majesty," he said, chuckling. "Accept our hospitality! I hope you won't mind sleeping on the floor."

The floor was hard-packed earth. Braided garlic bulbs hung like knotted ropes from the rafters.

"I'm hungry," announced Prince Brat.

"And feast you will," said Hold-Your-Nose Billy. "Cutwater, serve 'em up our finest bread and herring."

Jemmy had made many a meal on bread and herring, when he was in luck, and felt hungry enough to ask for seconds.

Prince Brat bared his teeth. "I'd sooner eat mud!" He reached for the wicker basket, but Cutwater snatched it back.

"What we got here?" muttered the bone-thin man, and threw back the lid. "Roll your eyes at this, Billy! Meat pies, looks like, and fruit tarts—and a brace of roast pheasant! We'll eat like kings!"

"Hands off—that's mine!" the prince cried out.

"
Was
yours," yapped Cutwater.

Lawks! Jemmy thought. Hadn't the prince run away in royal style! He had even brought a China plate, a silver spoon, and a silver knife for himself.

Digging around deeper in the basket, the garlicky outlaw called out to Cutwater. "Bring the lantern closer! What's this?"

In the gloom of the hut, the big man lifted out a golden crown.

"That's mine!" bleated the prince.

"
Was
yours," corrected Hold-Your-Nose Billy, placing the crown on the tangled red nest of his hair.

"Prince Hold-Your-Nose Billy!" Cutwater burst out joyously. He began to scratch himself as if his shirt were crawling with fleas, which, Jemmy thought, it probably was. "We're dog rich!"

"That crown? A trifle," scoffed Hold-Your-Nose Billy. "We can be richer 'n dog rich."

The empty-headed prince! Jemmy thought. Why had he brought along his crown? To cock it on his head and expect vagabonds and cutthroats to fall to their knees?

The big, raw-faced outlaw grabbed Prince Brat off the ground and took the heft of him as if he were weighing a sack of potatoes.

"Fifty-five pounds, by my reckoning," he said. "We'll write the king a command, Cutwater. Fifty-five pounds of gold coin in trade for his royal tadpole."