Malcolm has a plan

The hour was late, and the boys had run around all evening “like young pagans,” as Bertie’s father had said – Bertie had patted the finger-​​bone beneath his collar and smiled – but they were far from tired.

Even Dunstan was wide awake with the delight and terror of escaping from the familiar comfort of his tower room. There was something blood-​​stirring about spending the night outside, on a heather-​​covered hill that resembled the wild moor, he was told, with two big boys – boys that had already traveled long distances and seen many things – boys that seemed almost wild themselves at times, particularly when Malcolm’s golden eyes shone like a cat’s, as they did tonight.

Malcolm’s small tent seemed so frail a thing to hold the night outside. Dunstan found it difficult to believe that nothing more than this tent had protected his friend through the nights of his journey home and back again – this tent, and Malcolm’s knives, of course. Dunstan wished he were allowed to carry knives, as Malcolm and Bertie did. Perhaps then he would not be so afraid.

“Do you think your Mama and father are sleeping yet?” Malcolm asked Bertie.

Bertie leaned back and poked his head out of the tent to look up the hill at the house.

“The light in their bedroom is out,” he said.

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Malcolm snickered.

“Shut up, Malcolm,” Bertie blushed.

“Anyway, they won’t come outside again tonight,” Malcolm whispered, though there was no one that could have overheard. “Listen, boys: it’s time we talked.”

“About what?” Bertie asked.

“About our plans for tonight.”

“Our plans to do what?” Bertie laughed.

“Bertie-​​boy, you and I are going to see more bones tonight than the one you have under your shirt,” Malcolm said gleefully.

“What do you mean?” Bertie asked.

“What do you mean?” Dunstan echoed.

“You are simply going to sleep, little boy,” Malcolm said to Dunstan. “Night night!”

“What do you mean, Malcolm?” Bertie insisted.

“Remember how Baby heard about that key in the sacristy, that opens the door to the catacombs?”

Bertie sat back in surprise. “I remember.”

“You and I shall see whether Baby’s ears are as good as she claims they are.”

“Do you mean to go down in the catacombs?” Dunstan asked.

“You are going to sleep, and that’s all you need to know. I let you come up here tonight, but don’t think you’re coming with us.”

“Wait a moment,” Bertie said.

“What’s the matter, Bertie-​​boy? Scared of dead bodies?”

“No, it’s not that…”

“Well, haven’t you always said you wished you could see what is down there?”

“Yes, but… with my Da or somebody.”

“With your Da! As if your Da would ever take you. No, we have to do this alone. And tonight’s the night! There’s only a little bit of moon, and everyone is making merry because the King is home, and it’s our chance to have some fun of our own. You know you want to!”

“Yes, but…”

“No buts, Bertie. We have wanted to go down there since forever.”

“Do you think we can do it?”

“I know we can.”

“Oh, no,” Dunstan whimpered.

“Oh shut up, you! Look at him,” Malcolm said scornfully. “He’s already thinking of telling his Mama.”

“But it’s the church,” Dunstan protested.

“We don’t mean to steal or break anything, baby. We only want to look. With our eyes,” he added, making enormous bug eyes at Dunstan. “Haven’t you ever wanted to see what the church looks like at night?” he asked, turning back to Bertie.

“We’ve already seen it for evening Mass,” Bertie said.

“Aye, but then it’s all lit. Don’t you want to see the church in the dark? I would wager it’s something to see!”

“But it’s dark,” Dunstan whined.

“No, really? Didn’t I just say so? Anyway, I brought a torch. And anyway, you’re not coming, so what is it to you if it’s dark?”

“But you don’t mean to leave me here?” Dunstan asked, feeling panic rising in him.

“Nothing will happen to you here. Look, I shall leave you one of my knives,” he said, pulling the knife from his boot and sliding it over to Dunstan. “And Bertie’s Da is here. If you cry out, he will hear you. But if you cry out, I shall slit your throat for a little traitor!”

“Don’t say such things to him,” Bertie said.

“He knows I shan’t do it,” Malcolm said gruffly. “Don’t you, sprout?”

“I know,” Dunstan said.

“I’m only warning you. Now listen – we shan’t be gone long. You can sleep if you like – ”

“Oh, don’t go,” Dunstan pleaded. “Are you leaving now?”

“I suppose so. I don’t want to meet anyone coming home from the castle.”

“Oh…” Dunstan whimpered.

“Just go to sleep, little sprout. We shall be back when you awake. Well, Bertie-​​boy – are you ready?”

“I guess so…” Bertie said uneasily.

“You stay here no matter what, Dunstan. If anyone asks where we are, just say we saw a… a hare or something, and we wanted to see where it has its den.”

“Don’t be gone long,” Dunstan said, shrinking back against the wall of the tent. If he had known they were planning to leave him alone, he would never have asked to come stay with them tonight. But it was too late now. He could only wish he were back in his tower room.

Malcolm and Bertie unfolded their long legs and stood, hunched over like old men until they had left the tent. And then Dunstan heard them walking away, their feet whispering through the long, dry grass, and their own two voices whispering excitedly.

Very soon all he could hear was the chirping of insects and the rush of the wind through the trees, but as he strained his ears to follow the boys away, he began to realize that one could hear a great many more things in the night. Somewhere, far away, a dog barked a warning. Closer by, a nightjar trilled anxiously and then fell silent. Tiny feet scuttled through the grass. A twig snapped. Was it the boys? Or someone else? Something else? He clutched the hilt of Malcolm’s knife.

But this wouldn’t do at all. He didn’t care about being naughty – he didn’t care about seeing dead bodies – he simply could not bear to be left alone with the night, as he never had been before.

Dunstan scrambled out of the tent and ran after them.