The Thief and the Beanstalk (Further Tales Adventures) Page 3

  Nick knew what the cruel man meant: If he didn’t climb the tree, there would be no meal. Finch released him and stood up, putting his hands on his hips. He dared Nick with his eyes to decline the challenge.

  There were some chuckles from the gang, and Finch arched one eyebrow in amusement. Nick scowled and bunched his hands into fists. He wanted to pound Finch’s smirking face, but he had a good idea of what would happen if he tried. So he turned his rage to the tree. With a scream, he ran right at it, leaped, and grabbed a low branch.

  The branch was dead. It snapped off as Nick pulled himself up, and hit the top of his head with a thunk. Then his momentum carried him into the trunk of the tree. To save his nose, Nick turned his face to one side. He scraped his cheek badly on the coarse bark, before he bounced off and hit the ground.

  The gang hooted with laughter. Some doubled over with mirth; some merrily slapped each other on the shoulders. The big crazy one was lying on the ground, pointing and kicking madly.

  Nick held his palm to his stinging face. He looked at the tree again, plotted a safer way up using the swarming vines for grips, and began to climb. The higher he went, the less the gang laughed. He felt a rush of satisfaction as he silenced their ridicule.

  Standing on a great horizontal branch, far above the gang, Nick stared down at Finch with a defiant expression.

  “All the way up, boy!” Finch shouted through cupped hands. Nick looked to the upper reaches of the tree. He had a problem now. The vines did not grow this high, and the only branch within easy reach appeared unsafe. Its bark had fallen off, exposing the pale dry wood underneath. Sure enough, when he tugged on the branch, it cracked off in his hands. He let it drop, giving it a careful nudge in Finch’s direction as he released it. Finch glared up as the rotted branch landed inches from his feet.

  With that limb gone, Nick had only one option left. The next branch was higher and farther away. He couldn’t reach it without jumping. If his aim was off or his grip was weak, his life would end in a bloody crunch on the forest floor.

  He heard Finch’s voice from far below. “Hurry up, Nick. Stew’s getting cold!”

  Nick looked at the gang. Only the big toothless one was laughing now, his tongue lolling like a dog’s. The others stood watchfully, probably hoping for a dreadful and spectacular ending.

  Nick steadied himself with one hand on the trunk beside him, bent his knees, and launched himself. For a moment that seemed infinite, he was airborne. Then the branch slapped into his fingers. His legs swung under and beyond the branch, the force nearly making him lose his grip. As he swung back, he was able to secure his handhold. He heard voices calling from below.

  “That’s the way, Nick!” “Thattaboy, Nick!” Most of the band clapped and whistled their approval.

  He waited for his swinging motion to subside, then hooked his leg over the branch and pulled himself up. The rest of the climb was easy. Branches radiated like spokes from all sides, and he soon reached the top of the tree.

  Nick clung to the thin trunk and swayed in the refreshing breeze that whistled over the forest canopy. The ancient oak towered over its neighbors. He looked to the west, where the sun had already set. Beyond the forest, he spied a handsome white fortress, perhaps two miles away. Then he caught the scent of the boiling stew far below him and remembered why he’d dared to climb so high.

  “More, please,” Nick mumbled, the last spoonful of stew bulging in one cheek. He slid the empty bowl toward Pewt, who looked at Finch. This would be the fifth helping.

  “He said I could eat all I want!” Nick reminded Pewt loudly. Finch gave the cook a single sharp nod. With a heavy sigh, Pewt ladled the bowl full again. The rest of the gang waited anxiously, to see if there would be any left for them.

  Nick scraped the bowl clean, then dropped the spoon and licked the insides. He slammed the bowl to the table, leaned back, and let out a deafening belch.

  A full stomach was a novelty for him, and his began to ache. Nick walked, slightly bent, to a soft place on the ground near the fire. He lay down on his side and rubbed his protesting belly. Then exhaustion overtook him. His head bobbed and his eyelids fluttered shut.

  Finch watched the whole time, with narrowed eyes and a subtle smile. He told Toothless John to fetch a spare blanket and cover the boy.

  When someone woke him with a whispered warning, Nick didn’t know how long he’d been sleeping. One rough hand was over Nick’s mouth so he could not yell. The other was across the top of his head, pinning him down so he could not turn to see who was behind him.

  “Don’t make a sound, Nick. If I take my hand away, you promise not to talk?”

  Nick nodded as best he could in the iron grip. The man took the hand off Nick’s mouth. He left the other across Nick’s forehead and eyes, and went on quietly talking.

  “Don’t try to see who I am now. I’m just here with a quick word of advice, then I’ll be off. You’re a brave one, Nick. Anyone can see that. But you’re just a boy, and boys do things that ain’t so smart. So heed these words: Whatever you do, never, ever cross Finch. Or try to leave the band. Once you join Finch, you’re his till the day you die.

  “Listen to this story, lad. It’s instructional. A few years back, on a late summer night just like this, one of our gang decided he could get the best of Finch. We had ourselves a bunch of fine jewels we’d stolen in our travels. Finch likes jewels, you know, because they’re small and easy to cart around when we move on. One morning the bag of jewels was gone—and so was this fellow, a bloke named Montescue. As angry as you might have seen Finch get, he was a hundred times as mad when he found out one of his own betrayed him. He looked more like a demon than a man that morning, I tell you.

  “He stood there for a while, thinking dark thoughts. Then he gathered up a few things in a pack. He told us he was going on a little trip, and we should stay where we were until the next full moon, then move to a new forest he’d scouted. And then he turned and walked off. I don’t know how he knew what direction to go. Finch just has a sense about those things—lets his instincts guide him, like a wolf.

  “The full moon passed, and we saw nothing of Finch. We moved on like he said, with that crazy Toothless John in charge. Autumn came, autumn went. We started to think he’d never be back.

  “One night, after a storm that left every tree covered with snow and ice, we were all gathered close around the fire to keep warm. Then we heard a horse coming, clop-clop, through the woods. I looked around, and everybody was shaking—and it wasn’t from the cold. Who’d be out riding on a bitter night like that? The sound got closer and closer, until at last the horse and the rider came out of the blackness and into the clearing.

  “I thought I was looking at Finch’s ghost. Nobody else said a word, so I guess they had the same idea. Even Toothless was cringing. The horse was all white and bony, and Finch didn’t look much better. He got down, moving all stiff and slow, and walked over to our circle around the fire. The fellows on that side scooted out of his way.

  “Finch walked right up and practically put his nose into the flames. I could see that his whiteness was from the snow and ice that stuck to his clothes and hair. He stood there a while, just melting. Then he reached into his coat and brought out that old bag of jewels. The sack had dark stains all over it now. He looked every one of us in the eye as he held it, then he let it drop to the ground. Next he reached deeper into his coat and drew out that knife of his. Even from where I sat, I could see all the notches and dents in the blade.

  “Finch threw the knife into the ground between his feet. ‘Sharpen that,’ he said. Nobody moved for a second, but then Toothless grabbed the knife and ran for the whetstone. Finch sat by the fire and stared at the flames. Not a minute later, he just keeled over, asleep before he hit the ground. He slept all night, and the day after, too. That bag just lay next to him the whole time. Nobody dared to touch it, or look inside to see if all the jewels were still there.

  “We never got the whole story from F
inch about how far he ventured to catch up with poor Monty. But the point is this: If you betray Finch, he’ll follow you to the ends of the earth for revenge. Finch never forgives. Never forgets. You get what I’m telling you, lad?”

  Nick nodded.

  “That’s good. I’m leaving now. Don’t try to see who I am. Understand?”

  “Yes. I won’t,” whispered Nick. The hand came off of Nick’s eyes. He heard footsteps fading away. When he finally dared to look around, he saw no one, and all the tents were dark.

  Chapter 5

  Nick was still sleeping when Finch grabbed a handful of his shirt and pulled him to his feet. His legs wobbled for a moment as he snapped out of his slumber.

  “Morning, boy!” said Finch. Nick’s dark hair was a tangled mess. Finch spat on the palm of his hand and smoothed it down. “Now that you’ve slept on it a bit, tell me: Are you glad you joined this band of mine?”

  Nick looked around, wiping grains out of his sleepy eyes. Most of the gang was awake already, and some were staring at him. He remembered the warning from the night before, and looked at their faces, but couldn’t guess which one had come to him in the night. It took a while to decide that the incident had really happened and he had not only dreamed it. Suddenly he realized that Finch was waiting for an answer. He knew there was only one safe reply.

  “Yes, I’m glad,” he half mumbled.

  “Happy to hear it,” said Finch. “But I wonder if you have the grit to be a thief like the rest of us.”

  Nick straightened out of his slouch. Hadn’t he proved himself by climbing the tree? “I’m a thief already, you know.”

  “Truly, now? And what have you stolen?”

  “Food, mostly. Other stuff, too” Nick shrugged. He wished he hadn’t left his sack of trinkets behind when he was chased from the farm.

  Finch smirked at him. “You’ll be stealing more than food for me, Nick. Are you thief enough to get away with it?”

  “I am.” “We’ll see.”

  The entire band hid on opposite sides of the forest road. Finch didn’t hear the approaching wheels yet, but his sharp ears caught the whispered conversation between Squint and Pewt.

  “What kind of a nutty robbery is this?” muttered Pewt. “Why don’t we just drop a tree across the forest road and put an arrow in the driver’s back when he stops?”

  “Finch knows we can do it that way,” Squint said knowingly. “But that’s not the point. The point is to test the kid’s character, and make sure he hasn’t got any.”

  Pewt snorted. “When is the wagon coming, anyway?”

  “Should be any moment now. I spotted them at Jack’s fortress, loading the chest onto it first thing this morning.”

  Finch had heard enough. “Quiet over there!” One day soon, that nettlesome Pewt was going to wear out his welcome. Finch was thinking about ways to end the cook’s employment when he heard the sound he was waiting for.

  Nick was a hundred yards down the road, closer to the approaching wagon. Holding a long coiled rope that was tied to a large iron hook, he crouched behind a tree that grew by the roadside. The other end was knotted securely to a knobby root of the tree. He could hear the wagon drawing near but would not be able to see it until it rounded a bend in the road, just ahead of where he hid. His nerves were jangling as he went over Finch’s instructions in his mind.

  The volume of clattering hooves jumped as the wagon drew near the bend. Nick poked his head out and risked a quick look. The horse came around first, a handsome brown beast pulling the wagon briskly along. Before the driver came into view, Nick pressed himself against the side of the tree.

  Finch had instructed him well. As the wagon rolled by, Nick kept his back to the tree and circled around, always out of the driver’s sight. Then, with the hook in hand, he ran after the wagon, staying as low and quiet as he could. The rope uncoiled as he ran.

  Nick kept his eyes on the driver’s back, afraid the man would turn and see him. But the driver was unsuspecting, whistling as he rode through the cool, sun-speckled forest.

  Nick was fast and nimble, and he soon caught up. This was the most dangerous moment: mounting the back of the wagon, without alerting the driver. “If you just jump right on, he might feel your weight jostle the wagon,” Finch had told him. Finch seemed to be an authority on all things nefarious. “So wait until the wagon runs over a bump, or hits a rut, and then climb aboard. That way, he’ll never notice.”

  Sure enough, one of the wheels hit a stone. As the wagon bounced, Nick grabbed one side and hauled himself aboard. He looked up, certain the driver would turn around and catch him, but the man just chuckled at the rough ride and resumed his merry whistling.

  The wagon had walls on both sides but no gate in the back, to make it easier to slide cargo in and out. The chest was right in front of Nick, a wide wooden rectangle with metal and leather hinges. Nick had to hurry now. At any moment, the rope would pay out completely. Creeping forward on hands and knees, just a few feet from the driver, he put the hook over the near handle of the chest. Then he retreated, glad to be beyond the man’s reach. He swung his legs over the back of the wagon, slid off, and ran to hide behind a thick shrub. As he turned to watch the results, Nick was surprised to find himself exhilarated by what he’d just done.

  The rope snapped taut, forming a long, straight line between the root of the tree and the back of the wagon. It twanged like the string of an instrument. As the horse trotted on, the chest slid off the wagon bed and fell with a heavy crash.

  The driver whipped his head around. When he saw the chest lying in the road behind him, his mouth dropped open in a dumbfounded expression. Nick had to clap a hand over his mouth to stifle a giggle.

  The driver tried to shout something, but could only sputter. Then he pulled back on the horse’s reins, and the wagon came to a stop. He stood on the bench and looked back at the trunk. It dawned on him too late that someone was up to no good. His head swiveled like a storm-blown weathervane as he saw twelve dangerous-looking men burst from hiding and charge from every direction. As Nick watched the savage attack, he suddenly found the situation not funny at all.

  The driver fumbled for the reins to spur his horse on, but two men seized the horse’s bridle. Toothless John leaped on the cart and drove a hammering fist into the driver’s jaw. The poor fellow dropped headfirst to the ground. The gang surrounded him, each one bearing a club, a knife, or an ax.

  The driver struggled to his knees, holding his head and grimacing with pain. Then he looked at the merciless bunch around him and his face went pale. He tried to talk, but his voice trembled as he pleaded for mercy.

  “Look, boys, I won’t give you any fight. Take it, you can have the chest. The horse and the cart, too. Just let me go, won’t you? Please?” Finch laughed first and the rest of the gang echoed him. They drew their circle tighter, like a noose. The driver put his hands together, either begging or praying.

  Nick stepped from his hiding place and ran closer to see what would happen. Finch stepped forward and grabbed the sobbing driver by the hair. He raised the jagged knife with his other hand.

  “No!” screamed Nick. Finch froze, then turned his head slowly around. He held the blade high and glared at Nick for a long, long moment. Then he tucked the jagged knife into its sheath.

  “Don’t worry, lad. Were just teasing him a little. That’s all.” Finch pulled the driver to his feet by the hair and gave him a shove toward the wagon.

  “Go ahead, my friend. On your way. We will keep the chest, as you were so kind to offer.”

  The driver gaped at Finch, his breath hitching. He turned to go, but the gang still surrounded him in an unbroken circle.

  “Let him go!” Finch growled. Toothless stepped aside at once. With an exaggerated, mocking bow, he gestured for the driver to pass. The man took a hesitant step, then ran for the wagon. Toothless John stuck his foot out and tripped the driver as he ran past. The man stumbled into the side of the wagon. With a whimper, he climbed on
to the bench, snapped the reins, and urged the horse on.

  Some of the gang looked puzzled. Some looked angry. Pewt stared after the wagon, shaking his head.

  Finch ignored them and gave Nick that mask of a smile. “Nicely done, Nick. Why don’t you go open that chest and see what we’ve got?”

  While the boy ran to the chest, the gang turned to Finch.

  “What was that all about?” hissed Pewt. “Since when are you so merciful?”

  “Shut up, you maggot,” shot back Finch, talking low so Nick would not hear. “Are you blind? Did you see the look on that boy’s face? He’s got no stomach for blood. He might have run off on us, and that would have spoiled everything. Listen, all of you. This was just a test, to make sure he’ll do as we say. We need him for one more job, and that’s that. You can do whatever you want with him after he gets us into Jack’s house.” Toothless John looked pleased at the thought.

  “Aren’t you forgetting something, Finch?” asked Squint. That little smirk was back on his face.

  Finch whirled around angrily. “What?”

  “The advantage of surprise. Lost it, haven’t we?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Well, what do you suppose will happen when that wagon gets back to Old Man Jack’s place, and the driver tells Jack what a lovely time we showed him in the forest? Don’t you suppose they’ll be a touch more concerned about defending the fortress, with a band like ours lurking about?”

  As Squint’s words sunk in, Finch closed his eyes, bared his teeth, and pounded his palm with a fist. He felt like he might explode. Squint took a step back, perhaps thinking he’d tweaked his volatile leader too much.

  Then, just as suddenly, Finch calmed himself. He let out a deep breath, opened his eyes and began to speak softly. The gang passed quick glances to each other; they always found his icy composure more unnerving than his rage.

  “No, we haven’t lost anything. We simply have to move our plans up a bit. That fellow was heading away from Jacks house. He won’t be back till tomorrow, if he has the courage to come back at all. And we’ll attack tonight.” Finch had waited too long for this opportunity. He would not be denied.