King of the Wind (13 page)

“It so happens,” he was saying, “that we are on our way to Newgate now. The lady to whom you have just spoken is Her Grace, the Dowager Duchess of Marlborough.”

Mistress Cockburn clapped her hand over her mouth in astonishment. Why, the Dowager Duchess of Marlborough was as much at home in Windsor Castle as the Queen herself. It was almost like meeting the Queen!

“The Duchess is my mother-in-law,” the nobleman went on, “and I am the Earl of Godolphin.”

Mistress Cockburn made a low curtsy, inclining her head until her nose grazed the handle of her hamper.

The Earl returned her bow. “As you mayhap know,” he said, “the Duchess oft visits the prisoners to study their cases. Since today is Visitors’ Day, madam, the Duchess and I would be pleased to have your company to Newgate.”

Mistress Cockburn flushed with pleasure. She was too overwhelmed to talk. So she said nothing at all, but climbed into the coach, and sat facing the beautiful Duchess.

Apparently the Duchess was in a great hurry, for the driver cracked his whip and the coach went flying down the lane and on toward the heart of London. The rattle and clatter made
by hooves and wheels was so great that there was no chance for conversation. Mistress Cockburn had all she could do to clutch her bonnet with one hand and her hamper with the other.

Meanwhile in the Stone Hold at Newgate Jail, Agba and Grimalkin were listening to the visitors’ bell and to the sound of footsteps and chains leaving their dungeon. Finally the bell became quiet, the clanking of chains grew fainter and fainter, and their small world was sealed in silence.

Agba lay down on the meager litter of straw. Perhaps if he slept he would be lost in a dream, and the prison walls would fall away and he and Sham would be together again. Perhaps in his dream he would be grooming Sham, going over the wheat ear quickly, then lingering long on the white spot.

Presently Grimalkin hooked his paw over Agba’s arm as if to attract his attention. The ponderous bolt was rasping along its iron groove. The door was coming open. A breath of air was flowing into the cell. It smelled of lavender mingled with the fragrance of freshly baked cakes.

For a few seconds the light from the corridor blinded Agba. Then his eyes went wide. There, standing on the threshold, was the chief warder, rubbing his hands and bowing like a reed in the wind. And behind him stood Mistress Cockburn with a nobleman and a lady. Mistress Cockburn’s eyes were blacker than burnt raisins and her cheeks flamed. “It’s him all right!” she exclaimed, bursting into tears. “Oh, my poor boy . . .”

Agba smiled at Mistress Cockburn, and such a warmth and happiness coursed through his body that he was afraid he was going to cry, too.

“As I was telling ye, yer Grace,” the warder was saying, “he can’t talk at all. The only sounds he makes is a sing-song humming, sort of like a lullaby when he and the cat beds down for the night.”

“And what,” asked the Duchess, “is the boy’s offense?”

The pulse showing in the warder’s scar was beating fast.

“As I understand it, yer Grace,” he said, “the boy climbed over the wall into the stable yard of the Red Lion in the dead of night. Horse thievin’ was his business.”

Mistress Cockburn flew into a rage. “It’s not so, yer Grace. The boy only wanted to see his horse which he brought all the way from Africa. And he himself wears the story of the horse in a little bag around his neck. Show it to the lady and gentlemen, Agba.”

Agba’s hand went to his neck. He shook his head.

The warder hesitated, then spoke. “Yer Grace, the lady says the truth. The boy
was
wearin’ a bag around his neck, and the constable he . . . he . . .”

“He what?” demanded the Earl.

“Well, the papers is gone, my lord, but I’ll give him the bag with the amulets in it.”

He took the bag from his pocket, and with a false show of kindness tied it about the boy’s neck.

“My poor boy! My poor boy!” Mistress Cockburn said over and over. Then she opened her hamper and placed a tart in Agba’s hand. She gave Grimalkin a crust of Cheshire cheese cake and quickly covered the basket to hide the brightly scrubbed carrots.

Agba bit into the delicious tart. He longed to tell Mistress Cockburn—in words she had taught him from her own cookery book—how good it tasted. But all he did was to eat and smile through his tears.

“I cannot help tumbling out my thoughts,” the Duchess was saying to the Earl in her tinkling, music-box voice. “My life is very near run out, and my only pleasure is doing good. Let
us inquire into this case, and if it prove a worthy one, why could not . . .”

She flashed a radiant smile upon the Earl, and left her words fluttering in mid-air.

The Earl of Godolphin caught up her sentence and finished it off. “And if his case proves worthy,” he said quietly, “I will want him to help in my stables at Gog Magog. By all that is good and holy, I promise it!”

Agba looked up quickly. It was plain to see that he had a question to ask.

The Earl of Godolphin chuckled deep down in his throat. “Be eased of your fears,” he said. “We will go at once to the Red Lion to buy your horse. He will be welcome at Gog Magog. And the cat, too. There is room for all.”

T
HAT SAME fair summer’s day, Sham was lying in his stall at the Red Lion. He no longer needed to be shackled. No one feared him any more. He was too weak to kick and charge.

For weeks he had lived in a kind of daze, willing to lie on his bed of straw and let the world go on about him. Over the half door of his stall he could hear the rattle of pewter cups in the inn and listen to the comings and goings of horses and journeymen. He caught the mingled smell of dust and sweat when the horses came in. He caught the rain smells and heard
the first drops beat out a mournful medley on the roof over his head. He snuffed the winds. But he was no longer a part of the smells and the sounds.

Mister Williams shook his head sadly every time he passed Sham’s stall. “That there ’orse, ’e’s got a gnawin’ pull inside ’im. ’E’s missin’ that boy.”

On this summer’s afternoon the sound made by Mistress Williams banging her pots and pans was suddenly muffled by the thunder of hooves and the rumble of wheels.

Lying half-awake, half-asleep, Sham heard the other horses in their stalls neigh a greeting to the newcomers. He heard the high, scrabbling voice of Mistress Williams. Then a silence broken by many footsteps and the low laughter of a gentlewoman.

The next thing he knew the door of his stall was thrown open, a feather-light creature was by his side, and a boy’s slim brown fingers were stroking his neck.

Sham touched Agba’s cheek with his feelers, as if to make sure of him. Then an excited whicker escaped him. He lipped the boy. He swiped his cheek with a great pink tongue. He tasted the warm, salty tears. Then he neighed his happiness to the whole wide world.

Thrusting his forefeet in front of him, he struggled to his feet. Lying down was no way to greet friends! He shuddered the straw from his coat as if to apologize for his lack of grooming.

A change came over him. He snorted at the half-circle of people about him, at the handsome gentleman in wine-colored
velvet, at the lady in silk and gold lace, at the innkeeper and his wife standing at a respectful distance.

His eyes came back to Agba. “Let us be off!” he seemed to say. “Somewhere.
Anywhere!
”

The Earl of Godolphin laughed in agreement. Then he exchanged a few quiet words with Mister Williams and the arrangements to buy Sham were quickly made. In no time at all Agba and Grimalkin were mounted on Sham, while a gathering of all the chance droppers-in at the Red Lion gawped curiously at the coach-and-six, and at the hooded boy and the tiger cat who sat a well-mannered bay horse.

Mister Williams’ eyebrows were traveling up and down at a great rate. “Split my windpipe!” he said to a journeyman who had once been tossed off by Sham, “it hain’t the same beast, I tell ye! ’E hain’t stubborn nor vicious at all. ’E and the boy are all of one color, and all of one mind. They can’t wait to go! D’you know,” he exclaimed, slapping the man on the back, “that ’orse—’e’s got
brains!
”

The Earl leaned his head out of the coach window. “We will lead the way up to Gog Magog,” he called to Agba. “Our pace will be slow to accommodate the weakened condition of your mount.” And he smiled a little smile of encouragement.

If the road to the hills of Gog Magog had been the road to the garden of heaven, the three silent creatures could not have been happier. It seemed as if the green meadows and the woodlands and clear streams had been created for them alone. The sun warmed their backs. The wind blew for their pleasure. They sucked it deep into their lungs. It washed them free.

Agba was almost sorry when the driver of the coach pulled to a stop before a gate surmounted by the crest of a dolphin. He wished the ride could go on forever.

The Duchess, however, seemed glad the journey was over.

“I declare, my lad,” she sighed, leaning her head wearily against the gilded frame of the coach window, “you and your mount and your kitling appear fresher than when you started.”