Wild Jack (9 page)

It was an old oak, huge in girth. Sunyo took another arrow and shot it. He missed the tree by a yard at least.

Wild Jack took the bow himself.

“The sapling that stands apart, next to the ragged bush.”

It was much farther than the oak, about seventy feet from where we stood. Muscles rippled along his arm as he drew back the string.

“The height of a man's head.”

The arrow hissed through the air, and we followed him across the clearing. The sapling offered a target perhaps two inches wide, and the arrow's head was embedded in it dead center. The shaft stuck out on a level with Wild Jack's brow.

• • •

During the days that followed we joined in the life of the men in green. This included learning to ride on horseback, something we did very badly to start with. We fell off in turn, and at the end of the day our legs ached and the insides of our thighs were rubbed sore. Ben gave us a foul-smelling ointment which lessened the smart, and during the next day or two we began to get the knack of horsemanship.

But it was not all riding. There was a river a few minutes from the camp, fed by the stream from which the outlaws took their water. It was well supplied with fish, and Ben and Daniel showed us their ways of catching them, using rods and lines with ingenious baits and hooks on the end. The rods were long and supple, and they cast the lines far out over the tumbling green waters. The pile of fish grew steadily in the wicker baskets beside us. The sky that day alternated between sun and threatening clouds, and while we were fishing, a sudden shower drenched us to the skin. But then the sun came out again, drying and warming us.

Kelly, who had handed his rod over to Sunyo, said, “Boy, this is the life.”

Daniel smiled. He was a slow-moving, genial man who boasted of laziness. He was very strong. There was a story that when a companion broke a leg he had carried him ten miles back to camp, without even looking tired at the end. He said to Kelly, “It's not always like this. The sun doesn't always shine, and it isn't always summer. There's also autumn and winter—hard times and cold times. And work as well as play. Even I can't always avoid it.”

Kelly said, “Sure, I understand that. But it's all so different from what we were told about the Outlands. They told us about the savages, and the terrible lives they had to lead—grubbing for food, being eaten by wild animals when they weren't starving to death.” He looked at the heap of fish in the basket. “They're going to taste pretty good. The food back home was nowhere like as good as we've been getting here.”

Daniel smiled again. “Appetite is the best sauce, and appetite is something the Outlands do guarantee you. But fish from the river are better than the kind they breed in the energy tower coolant pools, too—I'll grant you that. Do you think we have enough for supper yet?”

I had one tugging at the end of my line. The sensation of its quick, dragging weight was strange and incredibly exciting. I said, “Not yet!”

Ben was stretched out in the sun, with his eyes closed. He said sleepily, “Don't hurry him. We have plenty of mouths to feed, and I would say the three latest can do more than their share. They're almost in your class, Daniel.”

• • •

The following day most of the men went off on a deer hunt. We were expecting to go with them, but Wild Jack said no; a deer hunt was a serious business, and anyone as inexperienced as we were would only be a nuisance. There would, he pointed out, be other hunts in the future.

The camp seemed weirdly empty with only a few men left behind—mostly those with minor ailments or disabilities, like the one whose leg had mended badly after a break so that he walked with a heavy limp; he was the one Daniel had carried back to camp. The day was hot, and in the early afternoon we pondered what to do. It was Kelly's suggestion that we go down to the river again, not to fish but to swim.

The girl Joan had been left behind also. We had not had much to do with her so far, but I found myself disliking her more and more. There had been several occasions when she made sarcastic comments on our skills or lack of them, and I had come to loathe the sound of her laughter. It tended to echo in my mind even when she wasn't there.

But overhearing us make our plans, she announced her intention of joining us. I thought nothing to this and said as much. She looked at me with an air of detached contempt and addressed Kelly. “I'm coming with you. All right?”

He shrugged and nodded. On the way to the river, while she was leading the way with Sunyo, I whispered my protests, and he said, “All right, I know how you feel. But you must admit she seems kind of important to the outlaws. They all make a fuss over her. She's sort of a mascot, I guess. Even though she's a pain in the neck, I reckon we have no real choice about something like this.”

She insisted on showing us a place she said was good for swimming, a quarter of a mile upstream from the fishing spot. I was relieved that at least she did not suggest coming in with us but was appar
ently content to sit on the bank and watch, though I found that irritating enough.

The rest of us dived in and messed about for a time. It was very different from the heated swimming pools of the cities: more fun, Kelly claimed, though I was not so sure. I missed the diving boards and slides, and it was disconcerting to put your foot down and touch mud or a sharp stone.

In the past, swimming had been one of my favorite sports, and I had been reckoned to be good at it. Since we had been with the outlaws, Kelly had proved a better horseman than I, and Sunyo a better archer. For that matter, I had come worst out of the test of crossing the ravine. It would be a nice change to have something at which I could excel.

So I challenged Kelly and Sunyo to a race. The river ran straight for some distance, and a willow overhung the water at the point where it curved away to the right.

I said, “Race you to the willow. OK?”

I had a lead right from the start and increased it steadily. When I put my hand on a root of the tree growing out of the bank, Kelly was five yards behind me, with Sunyo trailing.

Joan had followed us along the bank. She looked down at me and said, “Not bad, for a city boy.” I ignored the remark and climbed out. “I'll race you back.”

“No, thanks.”

“I'll give you time to get your breath.”

I was stung by that. “I don't need to get my breath!”

“All right, then.”

She kicked off her sandals, pulled off shirt and pants, and stood in briefs and breast band. She looked at Kelly, who had also come up on the bank.

“Give us a start.”

I was rather proud of the racing start I made, but when I looked, she was ahead of me. I was using the crawl stroke, and I put everything into it. For a while I thought I was closing the gap; then, her brown arms cleaving the water as though effortlessly, she drew farther ahead. She beat me by at least the distance I had beaten Kelly, if not more.

I was fed up with myself, furiously angry with her. The other two complimented her on her swimming, but I could not bring myself to say anything. The sun
was hot, and we all sat on the bank, drying ourselves. I remained silent, but Kelly and Sunyo talked, mostly about the men in green. Kelly went on and on about Wild Jack—what a great guy he was. I was feeling choked with everything connected with the Outlands, Wild Jack included. I said, “Great—for a savage.”

Joan turned on me quickly. “Shut up, city boy. Or I'll shut you up.”

I laughed. “Go ahead!”

“Don't tempt me.” Her voice was cold, but her eyes flashed fury. “I was reared in the Outlands, not in one of your soft cities. I can fight as well as swim. If you want that delicate city nose of yours rubbed in the mud, just go on talking about savages.”

I remembered the way those arms of hers had cut through water; although slim in build, she was obviously very strong. I wasn't afraid, but I had a suspicion that if I did get into a fight with her it could prove both tough and inconclusive. And she had made me look enough of a fool as it was.

So I shrugged. “One thing we don't do in the cities is fight girls.”

She laughed. “Right! You don't have to here
either, as long as you don't insult Wild Jack.”

I ignored that. It was Sunyo who said, with an open interest unusual for him, “You defend Wild Jack very fiercely.”

“Not that he needs it.” She shook her head, laughing again. “But if I do, why not? He's my father.”

• • •

That night they roasted a deer over the campfire, and we had spells of turning the handle of the spit which was mounted on a block of wood alongside. The work was hot and tiring, but we had the smell of roasting meat to spur us, and pots of ale were brought to quench our thirst. Afterward came the feasting, and later still the men in green sang, singly or in unison. I did not know the songs, but some of them had a strange, almost haunting familiarity.

It was pleasant, anyway, to listen, full of roast venison, with the fire blazing against the dark screen of trees and the sky overhead deepening from blue to purple. Ben told a comic story in verse, with snatches of song, about an outlaw who got lost in the forest. The others had obviously heard it many times before but still found it very funny. A lot of it was lost on us, but we laughed with the rest.

As the fire crumbled into embers, Wild Jack came to talk to us.

“Are you boys all right?”

Full and drowsy, we said we were.

He said, “I reckon you've had long enough with us.”

Kelly said quickly, “You're not sending us back? I thought we could stay here.”

“Long enough to decide if you want to stay, I meant. There's a city only a few hours' ride away. We could take you there tomorrow.”

“I'm staying,” Kelly said. He added, “If you're willing to have me, that is. Do I take an oath or something, sir?”

Wild Jack grinned. “No oaths and no ‘sirs.' I've told you, we're all free men in the Outlands. What about you, from the land of the rising sun?”

Sunyo said, “I want to stay.”

Wild Jack turned to me. “Well, Clive?”

A good deal went through my mind. The Outlands had proved very different from what I had expected—different and, despite what I had said on the river bank, a lot better. But, thinking of Joan, I thought of Miranda and then of the things I had left behind in the city. I remembered my red speedboat and all the
rest I had taken for granted. I thought of my ­parents—of my father who was by now certainly organizing a search party for me. And I remembered Gary's treachery; that was a score that needed settling.

It was different for Kelly and Sunyo. For them, going to a city meant a return to the island, to the stockade. My father might be able to do something for them, but it was not something which, in their shoes, one would like to bank on. The city a few hours' ride away was Southampton. Tomorrow afternoon I could be with the Sherrins.

I said, “I'd rather go back.”

I did not glance at Kelly and Sunyo. Wild Jack looked at me, but his face was shadowed and I could not read his expression.

He said, “Your decision, lad. Free men can choose their futures.” He put a hand on the shoulders of Kelly and Sunyo. “We've got two new men, anyway. And two are better than none!”

9

B
Y NOW I WAS ACCUSTOMED
to sleeping rough, and I was weary from all the activities of the day, but I did not sleep well that night. For a long time I lay awake and listened to the steady breathing of Kelly and Sunyo. In the morning I was tired and sluggish and morose.

For the last time I had breakfast with the outlaws. Tonight I would be eating city food, from Mrs. Sherrin's well-stocked freezer or maybe in a restaurant. I tried to think of what I might choose while I chewed on a hunk of gammon but could not summon up much interest in the prospect. So I imagined
Miranda sitting on the other side of the table from me and felt a little better.

Afterward we went along the forest trails southeast toward Southampton. I had the gray pony, Gibbon, on which I had learned to ride. He looked small and unimpressive beside Wild Jack's black gelding, Captain, but I had grown fond of him. He had tolerated my crude efforts very well. He was altogether amiable in temper and very sure-footed.

Wild Jack, Daniel, and Ben were in the party, together with Kelly and Sunyo and Joan. I had no idea why she had chosen to come, unless it was to be certain of getting rid of me. She had not said anything about my decision to go back to the city, but I had a fair notion of the thoughts that would be passing through her mind. I looked at her covertly as we rode over a patch of rough ground. She was not really bad looking, I supposed, unless you compared her with someone like Miranda.

We came at last to the edge of the forest and a sight of the highway. It looked strange and bleak after the green confusion of the trees. The empty road ran into the broad and equally empty circle which surrounded the town, and beyond that I saw
the high gray wall of Southampton. Everything out there had a cold, smooth look.

I could still change my mind. Kelly and Sunyo would be pleased and so, I was fairly certain, would Wild Jack. With the parting so close I was beginning to realize how much I was going to miss the life I had recently been leading. Yet it would be stupid and silly to be influenced by thoughts like that. When you made a decision, you had to stick to it. An airship rose from behind the distant wall, and I thought of the other airship which would carry me back to London. I thought, too, with a quick and warming thrust of anger, of the surprise Gary would get when he saw me.

We all dismounted. I said good-bye to Kelly and Sunyo and wished them luck.

Kelly said, “Same to you, boss.”

Sunyo's hand gripped mine. “We'll remember you.”

I thanked the men in green for all their hospi­tality and help. Wild Jack said, “No need for thanks. All men are brothers in the Outlands.” He smiled. “We wish you well in your city life.”

I nodded, not wanting to talk. He took Gibbon's reins and said, “You could have kept him—we are well
enough off for horses—but I doubt if it would be practicable in London. I doubt if he would enjoy the life either, being an Outlander born and bred. But there is something you can take to remember us by.”

It was tied to his saddle, covered by a piece of cloth. He undid the cord and pulled the cloth away. He lifted up a small wicker cage holding a bird, a pigeon reddish-brown in plumage.

“Rusty!” I shook my head. “I can't take him. You said he was your favorite, your best bird.”

“Birds don't last forever, any more than men. He's served his time and earned a soft retirement. You can build him a pretty cage, a golden one if you like, to end his days in. And think of your outlaw friends when you give him his seed.” He shook hands. “Good-bye, lad.”

Joan came from behind him. She said, “Good luck, Clive.” That was the first time she had used my name—it had always been ‘city boy.' “I shall miss you.”

I was almost too surprised to do anything, but I put my hand out awkwardly. She ignored it; instead she reached forward quickly and kissed me.

“Good-bye.”

• • •

I followed the highway toward Southampton's gate. No car passed me in either direction during the quarter of an hour it took me to reach it, but there was nothing unusual in that. Every year the roads were used less, and some people argued that they ought to be allowed to decay completely; airships provided adequate transport both for passengers and freight. For that matter, passenger traffic on the airships was declining, too. People were more and more inclined to remain in the city of their birth rather than go to the trouble of traveling to another which would be no better or, in fact, much different.

Cars were equipped with radio transmitters to beam a direct warning of their approach to the guard on duty, but there was also an auxiliary link with the gatehouse. I pressed the button and waited, knowing my image would be appearing on the screen inside, for examination by the guard. At last the gate slid open, and I walked inside.

The sergeant on duty looked at me closely and with suspicion. As he studied me, I became conscious of the figure I must cut. My clothes had been washed in the river and dried in the sun, with no
mechanical press to provide them with city neatness. They were also badly torn in places.

He was a big man and fatter than he ought to be, heavily jowled, though he seemed to be only in his thirties. A few weeks in the Outlands, I thought, would melt away that surplus flesh. His manner showed the typical policeman's mistrust of the unusual. He snapped on his memocorder and said, “Right. Details. Name?” I told him. “Where do you come from?”

I was not going to tell the true story just yet; I needed to get in touch with my father first. I told him that I had gone out into the forest on a dare. That was something boys occasionally did, even though it was forbidden. Then I had got lost.

“Are you from this city?”

He probably knew most of the boys in the city. I shook my head.

“From London.”

“You came seventy miles through the Outlands on your own?”

He was skeptical; it was not something which would have convinced me easily. I said, “I was given help.”

“Help?
How?
Are you telling me you were helped by savages?”

Outlaws, I thought, not savages; but I had the sense not to say it. I nodded.

“They gave me food. And they were coming this way and let me travel with them.”

“I should have thought they'd be more likely to cut your throat.” He felt between his teeth with a fingernail. “It's a bit of a tall story. I suppose you don't know anyone in Southampton who would vouch for you?”

I was ready for that. “Mr. Sherrin. He's . . .”

“I know Mr. Sherrin.” He looked less hostile, even impressed. Mr. Sherrin was obviously respected in police circles. He pointed to the visiphone.

“You can call him from here.”

• • •

To my surprise and delight, Miranda came with her father to pick me up. I asked how she had managed to get away from school, and she told me it was a holiday, the anniversary of the birthday of the first president of the Southampton Council.

We traveled back in their car, a better one than I would have expected, scarcely inferior to my father's
limousine. I was a bit surprised by their house, too, which was a mansion standing in impressive grounds. Mr. Sherrin did not say much in front of the chauffeur, and I did not volunteer anything except to ask about my parents: had they been very worried? He said they had and would be relieved to get news of me.

From time to time I glanced at Miranda, and she smiled back. Her hair was arranged in a new style, piled up in whorls over her head. It was pretty, but I wondered for the first time if the gold was real, then disliked myself for thinking it.

The Sherrins' butler was about Wild Jack's height and about his age; but there was nothing wild about him. He walked with a stoop, as though a small but heavy weight rested permanently on the back of his neck. Mr. Sherrin asked, when he opened the door for us, “Any messages, boy?”

Boy, I thought. The butler shook his head.

“No, master. No messages.”

Mr. Sherrin said, “Come along into my study, Clive. We'd better have a talk. No, not you, Miranda. There'll be plenty of time for you and Clive to talk later.”

She smiled and shrugged and went away. I followed Mr. Sherrin into his study, a large well-­furnished room with a view across a wide lawn where a gardener was trundling a mower. There was a visiphone fitted on the desk and I said, “Could I call my father first? Since they've been worried.”

“No point.” He showed me a chair and sat down himself. “I called before we came to get you, but he wasn't available. I've left a message for him.”

His face was gray, I thought, as well as his hair. His skin had a soft, tired look.

I said, “I could try my mother, then.”

“I've done that, too. She's out. Don't worry. They'll call you here as soon as they can. Tell me what's been happening to you.”

I told him, and he listened without interruption. He nodded in sympathy when I was indignant about the way I had been treated by the police and later on the island. It wasn't until I reached the part about our being found by the tribesmen and taken to Wild Jack that he started asking questions. He seemed quite interested in the outlaws.

I told him how well they had looked after us and how different the Outlands were from the stories
about them. I explained that the savages were not really savage, while the outlaws, in their own way, were as civilized as we were.

Mr. Sherrin smiled. “You're very enthusiastic about them.”

“There's no real reason, is there, why the world should be divided the way it is, with some people living in cities behind walls and others in the wilds? It doesn't really have to be like that?”

“It's a complicated question, but there's a lot in what you say.” He pressed a button on his desk. “You look as though you could do with a bath and clean clothes. And something to eat.”

I shook my head. “They fed us very well.”

The butler came in. Mr. Sherrin said to him, “Show Master Clive to his room and see that he has everything he wants.” He smiled. “When you've tidied up, you can have lunch with Miranda. I have to go out, but I'll see you later.”

I was taken to a room on the first floor. The butler offered to carry Rusty's cage, but I refused. I put the cage down on a table near the window, from which there was a view across the city to the massed green of the Outlands beyond.
The butler showed
me the bathroom and told me clothes would be sent up. He asked me if there was anything else I wanted.

“No, thank you, boy.”

I spoke without thinking, falling back naturally into the use of the term. He showed no resentment, and, of course, there was no reason to think he felt any. There had always been masters and servants and always would be. It was part of the nature of things—no one's fault. All the same I was confused. I stared out the window toward the distant, different world I had just left.

But there was no point in brooding; the important thing was that I would soon be home. Something occurred to me. Mr. Sherrin had said both my parents were out when he called. There were several places my father might be, but if my mother were away from home at this time of day, she would almost certainly be at her ladies club at Blackfriars. I could visiphone her there.

I turned off the bath the butler had started running and headed downstairs. There was no one about. The door of Mr. Sherrin's study was open, and I heard voices inside. I was hesitating when I heard my name in a woman's voice—Mrs. Sherrin's.

“Even though he's not very bright,” she said, “he's bound to start suspecting something soon. When he doesn't get a call from his parents, for instance.”

Mr. Sherrin said, “We can stall him for an hour or two. I want Miranda to talk to him—that's why I hauled her out of school. It's this one who calls himself Wild Jack I'm interested in. I didn't want to ask him too many questions myself, but he'll talk to Miranda.”

“That's not as important as the main issue,” Mrs. Sherrin said. “Things are still tricky. Now that he's turned up like this . . .”

It was incredible at first, and then I thought it must be some kind of lunatic joke. But as they went on talking, it all fell into ugly but convincing shape, and I began to understand. Being picked up by the police and sent to the island had been no mistake. It had been done deliberately. And yet my part was only incidental; the real plot was directed against my father.

Plots and intrigues, I knew, were nothing unusual in city politics; it was one such that had resulted in Mr. Sherrin's banishment from London. In this case
the idea had been to involve me with a subversive group who were supposed to be agitating for improved conditions among the servants. Since I was his only son, this in itself would weaken my father's position, but there was also an ulterior motive. His impulsiveness was well known and would, it was hoped, provoke him to the kind of rash action which would enable his enemies to trip him up.

This was the explanation of my being denounced and taken to the island. I was to be kept there, well away from London, while a case was prepared against me. Then I would be put on trial, along with others. They were sure my father would take illegal action to free me, and when he did, they were ready to take counteraction to destroy him.

That was the word Mr. Sherrin used: “destroy.” I had a feeling it was meant precisely. He was too big a man merely to be banished.

I tried to think clearly. I was supposed to be having a bath and changing. There was not much time before they would start looking for me, and I must not waste a second of it. If I could get as far as the wall. . . .

I turned to go, but realized as I did that someone
was coming through the hall toward me. It was Miranda. I saw the look in her face, uncertain and wary. The silly, irrelevant thought went through my head that I had been right about her hair—it was dyed, not natural.