The Stone of Surinam

By Michele Sheldon

Thirteen-year-old Kat discovers a whole new level of being in trouble when she and her motor-mouthed foster brother, Ned, sneak into a neighbour's garden and find themselves in 1670 London just after the Great Fire and the Black Death.

Conman Scardsale can't believe his luck when the two children, wearing strange clothes and shoes of whee

• Language: English
• Publisher: Beastling Publishing
• Release date: Apr 4, 2022
• ISBN: 9781838465551

Michele Sheldon

Michele worked as a print journalist for many years and her short stories have been published in many different magazines and anthologies and been short listed in for the Bridport Prize and the Colm Toíbín International Short Story Award among others. Alongside arts organisation Hand of Doom, she was commissioned by Kent Wildlife Trust to write an audio trail for Cromers Wood next to Kent Science Park and project manages Folkestone StoryMap, an audio trail of stories and memories in the town. In 2018, she was commissioned by Canterbury's Marlowe Theatre to write a play about how we remember World War 1. Her plays have been performed at Dover Castle, Quarterhouse, Folkestone, and London's Chapel Playhouse and Chiswick Playhouse and her first short comedy film The Beast of Romney Marsh is available on the British Comedy Guide.

Book preview

1

Spring, 1670 London. Escape

Faster, Ned. Faster! Kat said, clasping her hand tightly around her brother’s sticky fingers as she glanced behind her.

Scarsdale, a towering beanpole of a man, had just emerged from an alleyway at the top of the street. His long, black, greasy hair and tatty black ruffs and cuffs were in such motion that he appeared like a giant crow ready to take flight. And although Kat didn’t turn around long enough to see Mr Growler, she could recognise his snarling anywhere, imagining the saliva frothing around his jaws.

Stop those children! They’re thieves! Scarsdale’s voice thundered, momentarily silencing the early morning bustle of the market traders, who watched the teenage girl and young boy sprint past.

Please don’t let him get us, muttered Ned. Please.

Kat pulled him along, feeling his little legs half sliding beside her as they sped along the slimy, waste- strewn cobblestones.

The early morning sun was only just beginning to lick away the darkness but the market traders were already setting up their stalls, their chatter filling the chilly spring air. A teenager with bright red cheeks stood hunched over a wooden table. He was chopping a huge lump of meat into raggedy steaks. Catching Kat’s eye, he waved his bloody cleaver in the air before throwing his head back and laughing. Kat flinched. Not just at the violent gesture but at his teeth: black stumps that looked like the remains of the burnt wooden timbers lining the street after the Great Fire. She glanced at the ground next to his stall. It appeared to be moving. And as she went by, she saw why. Hundreds of maggots were writhing around in a heap of intestines that even the stray dogs and cats wouldn’t touch.

I hate this London, she said, holding her hand over her mouth as she caught a whiff of the rotting flesh.

Kat couldn’t understand how people could ever get used to the stink and filth. They were surrounded by disease and death. And that was just the humans. There were no glossy-haired dogs and cats; only mean-looking mongrels, sporting bald patches, fleas and festering sores. They hobbled from one pile of rubbish to another on broken and twisted limbs, only stopping to scratch and bite at their sores and flea bites, or one another. And then there were the spiders, fat-legged, long-legged and even ones with pointy legs like they were walking on their tiptoes. They were everywhere.

Kat slowed for a second to glance behind her again, relieved to see the road had been blocked by a wagon carrying building materials. But it was short-lived. When she turned again, she saw Scarsdale clamber over the cart with Mr Growler diving underneath.

She tried to pull Ned along faster but he came to a sudden stop, yanking her back, as a loud bang echoed along the road. Across the street stood a group of five or six builders, some no older than herself. They were cursing a fallen pile of bricks that lay scattered and broken at their feet. The four-storey house they were building looked out of place among all the temporary wooden shacks scavenged from fire-damaged buildings.

When Kat and Ned turned to race ahead, their path was blocked by a group of children dressed in rags.

Boo! one of the older ones shouted in Kat’s face.

Help us, please! Kat motioned behind her as Mr Growler bounded towards them.

We’re trying to get to Pudding Lane, said Kat, urgently.

It’s not much further. Just left at the ruins of Magnus Church, a boy with sparkly amber eyes said. We’ll stop ‘em.

The group parted to let them through and she pulled Ned back into a sprint. A moment later, Kat looked behind her. The children were true to their word. They had spread themselves across the road, kicking around an inflated pig’s bladder they used as a football. One of the boys aimed the ball at Scarsdale and it hit him square in the face.

Yes! she said with a big grin as she watched him stumble into the meat market stall.

It wobbled violently before righting itself as the red-faced teenager threatened Scarsdale with his meat cleaver. Meanwhile, Mr Growler, who’d leapt up and caught the bladder with his teeth, ran through the children’s legs as they tried to grab it from him.

Look out! said Ned, pulling Kat into the centre of the street.

She glanced up to see a woman leaning out of a top floor window above them emptying a bucket. Its contents rained down, the stench of urine hitting her nostrils just before the dark yellow liquid splashed up the back of her dress.

Not again! she said, before looking ahead. We’re nearly here, Ned. Just a little further.

She pointed to where several newly-built stone houses stood on either side of the street, looking almost embarrassed amongst the ruined houses. The grandest of them was carved ornately like a Roman temple, decorated with monstrous faces bearing down on them.

That’s it! That’s the one. Have you got the - , Ned began to ask.

Kat waited for him to finish his sentence. But instead she felt his hand being yanked from hers. Her fingers and toes tingled with little electric shocks of fear.

Get ‘em, Mr Growler. Get ‘em good, commanded Scarsdale.

Leave him alone, screamed Kat as she kicked out.

Mr Growler’s horrid little rat’s mouth let out a yelp before launching himself on her newly soiled skirt.

I hope it poisons you, snarled Kat, as she tried to yank her skirt free. Ned, go, she added, pushing a key into Ned’s hands and shoving him towards the grandest house in the street.

I’m not leaving you, said Ned as he went to karate kick Mr Growler.

But as if conspiring with their pursuers, the wheels shot out of his wheelie shoes, skimming the dog’s fur. Ned landed on his bottom in a heap of mucky straw and felt his ear being twisted.

What you trying to do, boy? Wheelie him to death?

Get off! shouted Ned, noticing another group of builders at work at a house opposite. This man has kidnapped us. Someone call the police!

The men laughed, called out a few bad-sounding words, before losing interest and going back to erecting the wooden scaffolding around the half-built house.

Save your breath. No one cares, smirked Scarsdale, looking up and down the street before prizing open Ned’s hand and snatching the key.

And you, he said, moving his face inches away from Kat’s. You need to get yourself cleaned up. You’re on stage in an hour’s time.

Scarsdale eyes shone like green emeralds dropped into a bird’s nest of wrinkles. His face was red from running but also from the mesh of broken veins criss-crossing his pock-marked face like toddler scribble. Kat clamped her hand over her nose as she took a full blast of his rancid breath. It smelled of rotten eggs and onions, so bad that Kat wouldn’t have been surprised if it had the power to burn like acid.

You got your rats, good lad, said Scarsdale kneeling down to pat Mr Growler’s bristly back. Now let go, he whispered as if talking to a child.

Mr Growler growled one last angry growl before reluctantly dropping Kat’s skirt, leaving a trail of saliva and tooth-marked holes.

But we don’t belong here, you know we don’t. How many times do I have to tell you? Please, can’t you just let us go home? pleaded Kat, salty tears clearing a clean path on her grubby cheeks.

Kat felt Scarsdale’s bony hand grab her arm, propelling her back up the street.

Whatever dark spirits magicked you here, they don’t want you no more, said Scarsdale. But I do! The two of you are going to make me a fortune.

2

Three months earlier. Arrival

‘Twas Mr Tingley then? The snake’s been giving me dark looks every time I pass his shop. You tell him that sending children round to fright me will not muster money out of thin air.

No one sent us, said Kat, watching the tall skinny stranger pacing around the wooden-panelled room.

She glanced around her, desperately trying to get her bearings and make sense of what had just happened. One moment, they’d been in Mr Tegg’s garden; the next they were standing in a dark room with a deranged Jack Russell-cross bearing his yellow fangs at them and the skinny stranger running around like a trapped bird, screaming the house down. The man had been fast asleep when they found themselves in the room, the rat- faced dog on his lap, snarling in chorus with his master’s snores. The dog had opened one eye and then the other, for a moment as shocked to see them as they were to see him, before leap-snarling onto the floor, waking his master from his slumber.

Two large logs burnt fiercely in the huge stone fireplace. The flames cast an eerie glow over the gloomy room as well as dark shadows over the man’s gaunt face. Kat closed her eyes for a second, hoping that when she opened them again she’d find herself at home under her warm, comfy duvet, or at the very least back in Mr Tegg’s garden. But as she opened them, she felt the wood smoke stinging her eyes.

Where are we, Kat? said Ned, staring at the thick, cloudy glass window behind him.

Where are you? spat the man, pointing his twig-like finger at Ned.

You...you... are in my brother’s house. Do not try and pretend otherwise. Have the cats come out to play while the mice are away?

I think it’s the other way round Mr,’ said Kat. It’s the mice come out to play while the cats are away."

The man looked thoughtful for a moment. That’s what I said.

Didn’t, mumbled Ned.

I definitely did, said the man his eyes going all squinty. Didn’t I Mr Growler? he added, turning to the dog as if expecting a reply.

Ned and Kat glanced at one another nervously. The dog whimpered.

See! said the stranger, looking pleased with himself.

Are you Mr Tegg’s brother then? asked Kat, desperate to change the subject so as not to anger the man who not only looked deranged but behaved so too.

Her mind was racing, trying to work out how they’d suddenly appeared in this room after sneaking into Mr Tegg’s garden. She wondered if Mr Tegg had managed to capture them, after all. That they’d fallen down a secret tunnel entrance and he’d knocked them out, or drugged them somehow, before dragging them into his house.

Her eyes were slowly growing accustomed to the dim light and she began to notice how sparsely furnished the room was.

Apart from a plain wooden chair by the fire where the man had been asleep, the only other furniture was a large chest of drawers pushed up against the opposite wall. Above the fireplace hung a portrait of a smug-looking man with long, curly, fair hair and a wispy beard. He wore clothes similar to the stranger and a thin smile, as if enjoying a private joke with the artist. She glanced at the wooden panelling, remembering a visit to a museum in London where you learnt how people lived hundreds of years ago. She was sure she’d seen a similar wooden-panelled room there. Kat scanned the walls and skirting boards for light switches, plug sockets, lamps, any signs of the modern world. But there were none. If this was Mr Tegg’s house, then he really had shunned the outside world.

Mr Tegg? said the man, rolling the letters around his tongue as if they tasted rotten. Mr -.

A sharp knocking at the door interrupted him.

Sir, a soft voice came. I heard screaming. I thought it was Master Samuel, sir.

The door opened and a girl about the same age as Kat appeared. Kat and Ned stepped back, shocked