Squinting at him cunningly, Greybeard said, “Shall I have to come to Mockweagles?”
“Ah ha, he’s clever, isn’t he, Ruthie? He’s prepared the way for himself nicely. That’s the sort of man I prefer to deal with. I -”
“Where is Mockweagles?” Greybeard asked.
“It’s what you might call my research headquarters. I reside there when I am not travelling the road.”
“I know, I know. You have few secrets from me, Doctor Jingadangelow. It’s twenty-nine storeys high, more like a castle than a skyscraper…”
“Possibly your informants have been slightly exaggerating, Timberlane, but your general picture is of course amazingly accurate, as Joan will tell you, eh, my pet? But first we should get a few details straight; you will want your lovely wife to undergo the treatment too?”
“Of course I will, you old fool. I can quote poetry too, you know; to be a member of DOUCH(E) you have to be educated. ‘Let me not to the marriage of two minds omit impediment…’ How does it go? Shakespeare, Doctor, Shakespeare. Ever make his acquaintance? First-class scholar… Oh, there is my wife! Martha!”
He staggered to his feet, knocking over his glass. Martha hurried towards him, anxiety in her face.
Charley Samuels was close behind, carrying Isaac in his arms.
“Oh, Algy, Algy, you must come at once. We’ve been robbed!”
“What do you mean, robbed?” He stared stupidly at her, resenting the interruption of his train of thought.
“While we were bringing you in here after you were attacked, thieves got into the boats and took everything they could lay their hands on.”
“The sheep!”
“They’ve all been taken, and our supplies.”
Greybeard turned to Jingadangelow and made a loose gesture of courtesy.
“Be seeing you, Doctor. Got to go – den of thieves – we’ve been robbed.”
“I always mourn to see a scholar suffer, Mr. Timberlane,” Jingadangelow said, bowing his massive head towards Martha without otherwise moving.
As he hurried into the open with Martha and Charley, Greybeard said brokenly, “Why did you leave the boats?”
“You know why! We had to leave them when we heard you were in trouble. We heard they were beating you up. Everything’s gone except the boats themselves.”
“My rifle!”
“Luckily Jeff Pitt had your rifle with him.”
Charley put the fox down, and it pulled on ahead. They pushed through the dark, down the uneven road.
There were few lights now. Greybeard realized how late it was; he had lost the idea of time. Potluck’s Tavern had its single window boarded up. The bonfires were mere smouldering cones of ash. One or two stalls were being shut by their owners; otherwise, the place was silent. A thin chip of moon, high overhead, shone on the expanse of flood water that threaded its way through the darkness of the land. Breathing the sharp air steadied the pulse in Greybeard’s head.
“That Jingadangelow’s behind all this,” Charley said savagely. “He has these travelling people in the power of his hand, from what I’ve seen and heard. He’s a charlatan. You shouldn’t have had anything to do with him, Greybeard.”
“Charlatans have their ambivalences,” Greybeard said, recognizing the preposterousness of the words as soon as they were out. Hurriedly, he said, “Where are Becky and Towin?”
“They’re down by the river with Jeff now. We couldn’t find them first go off, then they turned up. They were busy celebrating.”
As they came off the road and padded over soggy ground, they saw the trio huddled by the river bank near by the dinghy, carrying a couple of lanterns. They all stood together, not saying much. The celebration was over. Isaac padded unhappily in the mud, until Charley took pity on him and lifted him into his arms.
“It would be best if we leave this place straight away,” Greybeard said, when examination proved that though the two boats were indeed all that was left to them, they were intact. “This is not the place for us, and I am ashamed of my part in this evening’s events.”
“If you’d taken my advice, you’d never have left the boat in the first place,” Pitt said. “They’re just a lot of crooks here. It’s the loss of the sheep that grieves me.”