Free Minerva's Voyage by Lynne Kositsky Page B

continual cuffings Scratcher gave it. But at least I was alive, something I would never have believed a fortnight since. Of course, I had to live with that tyrant Scratcher. I would rather have stayed with Fence, even in a hut the size of a coal hole. Fence, in his turn, lived with Admiral George Winters, while waiting on Boors and swatting flies for him. There were plenty of real ones to swat now we’d come ashore, along with other fliers, creepers, and crawlers. The bugs were bad. The thought of them made me itch. And indeed, I already had several large bites on my arms and legs that looked like the smallpox. Boors must be in heaven, with so many real insects to grouse about. Or hell.
    Today Fence and I had met on the beach.
    â€œPeter Fence!”
    â€œRobin Starveling!”
    â€œStarveling no longer. My belly is stuffed with fowl and tortoises.”
    â€œMine too. And tortoise eggs and fish and crabs. I’m sure I can feel the crabs crawling around inside me. And the voyagers say the crew will roast a pig tonight, to celebrate, as the minister says, our deliverance from the Devil.”
    â€œI know. The ship’s dog caught it by the leg. The men came running, Boors oinked, and I heard it squeal when stuck.”
    We laughed at Boors’ madness and at the poor pig’s demise, although true it is it had made me sick to my stomach when I saw it dispatched. I didn’t much care when a man hanged, even if I was obliged to pull on his legs, because he was likely wickeder even than I was and deserved what he got. But I had a soft spot for most animals — except dogs — and hated to see them killed. They’d done nothing wrong. Most of them were as good as I was bad. They were just hanging around minding their own business when someone decided to come calling with a knife to make soup out of them.
    Fence hugged me as though we’d not seen each other in years. With one accord, we’d made towards the spinney, where we found the pattern of twigs and stones with difficulty, as some of the markers had vanished, likely in a recent downpour. But find it we did, and dug the chest up again.
    â€œDrag it even deeper into the undergrowth,” I bid him, “so nobody sees us.”
    This was done. Puffing from exertion, we spread the emblems out on the spinney floor, putting a small rock on each to prevent it flying away. They were all a little tattered, as well as quite smudged and brittle from their watery adventure, but their verses were still readable; however, the emblem of the ship, the first emblem I’d found, was of course missing, so although I felt we’d got the gist of it, perchance there was more and we’d never be able to solve the puzzle.
    â€œMayhap Scratcher lost it,” said Fence. “He had it last. Under his shirt.”
    â€œHe threw it overboard. Didn’t I tell you?”
    â€œNo. Was he drunk?” Fence looked confused.
    â€œMost likely he was. He certainly is most of the time now. He found two hogsheads of wine washed up, and made me help him roll them along the shore to a clump of rocks and hide them. Every night or two he goes down there to fill his bottle and sometimes Proule’s. The ones we found on the shore. He has enough drink for a year at least. And by then he’ll have made more. He’s experimenting with berries.”
    â€œHe’s right horrible when he’s been drinking.” Fence frowned at the memory of it.
    â€œYes. But then again, he’s almost as bad sober.” My thoughts returned to what we’d been discussing. “He doesn’t still have the ship emblem. But even if he had stowed it somewhere, like the wine, it wouldn’t have done him much good on its own. ‘Go to the Isle of Devils,’ it said. Not much else if I recall. And we’re here. We’re the ones with the other clues … if there are any.”
    â€œI’m sure there are, Robin. Where’s the