Free The Runaway's Gold by Emilie Burack Page A

inside me, found the courage to speak.
    â€œI have been wronged, sir,” I stammered. “Badly wronged. And I fear if Knut finds me before I find me brother, John, I will lose the chance to set things right.”
    For a moment the old man held me in his stare.
    â€œCan you believe me?” I pleaded. “Please—I speak the truth!”
    â€œAnd will you not tell me why it is you must catch up to your brother?”
    â€œNo,” I said, slowly exhaling. “I cannot.”
    He continued to stare, his eyes searching mine.
    â€œI do not see Satan in you, lad, but I feel his presence close at hand. Are you certain there is nothing more about this you can tell me?”
    I glanced away, willing back me tears. “Only that if I can’t get back what John has taken, me family will not be long for the quartering.”
    I thought again of the humiliation of Gutcher, Aunt Alice, Catherine, and wee Victoria being added to the church’s list of paupers—passed from the quarters of one family to the next for their food and shelter.
    â€œI see.” He sighed, looking out at the horizon. “Alas, those insuch a state are already so many, I fear the day we cannot manage them all.” Then he took a deep breath, opening his arms to the sky before turning back to me. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt a man as strong as Mr. Blackbeard to finish the journey on his own.”
    I looked at him, stunned. “You mean—we’re to move ahead? Without him?”
    â€œAye, lad,” he replied, stumbling back to the path. And to this day I still do not know why he chose to believe me. “Hoist on the kishie. It’s downhill from here. Together we shall repair to Lerwick with all convenient speed!”
    IT WAS DUSK WHEN WE STOLE OUR FIRST glimpse of Lerwick. Unlike the narrow voes of the western island, the sparkling water of Bressay Sound was jammed with vessels of every size imaginable, all silhouettes in rapidly fading light. And along the water were clusters of houses—more than I had ever seen—with Bressay Isle across the harbor, peeking above a bank of clouds.
    â€œI have many times dropped to my knees and prayed upon seeing what lies before you,” Reverend Sill explained while continuing down the path at a brisk pace, thrusting his stauf hard into the ground in keeping with his stride. “In my many years of service to our Lord, I have traveled treacherous waters by sloop and schooner. Once a year to Edinburgh, for my duties at the Kirk, and every other year to Fair Isle to celebratethe Sacrament of the Lord’s Supper—the poor heathen there, having no other man of the cloth to see to their salvation! Alas, none of these places grasps my heart as the beauty we now see before us. But it is many a poor soul who discovers this only after flinging himself so far afield that he can’t seem to get himself back.”
    To me delight, the path gradually transformed into a proper road cut deep into the moss—the first I had ever seen—wide enough, even, for a pony and cart! And the croft houses we passed were set in clusters, so close together there seemed to be no shared scattald or space for arable land.
    â€œWhere do they grow their bere and corn?”
    â€œHoot, lad!” Reverend Sill clicked his tongue. “The men of Lerwick are men of the sea, not crofters! Coopers, chandlers, and fishmongers—all bound to Mr. Marwick’s docks.”
    â€œThen where do they get their meal?”
    â€œWhy, they buy it, of course—at the market!”
    It wasn’t another half mile before the road became even wider, and we came upon the first proper house I had ever seen up close. No thatch! No rubble stone! Three stories high, with windows framed with real glass! In the fading light I was able to make out the faint outlines of similar houses we passed, each seeming grander than the last, many with additional structures for