Loose Lips Lose Ships

Al and Bert bid farewell to their credulous father early the next morning, stomachs full of barley cakes and maple syrup, minds preoccupied by the problem of Brian and where he might be just then. There were two significant valleys stretching back towards the capital; although the kidnappers might be going by way of either, it seemed likely that they would take the more direct route. They had no reason to think that anyone knew what had happened to Brian.

Besides, Al thought rather dispiritedly, they probably wouldn't change their plans just because they had us on their tail. The lad said there were five of them, and there may have been more outside.

The pair cantered southwards for most of the morning, passing through fields and along game trails until they met up with the main road. Things went faster on the road, and it was late morning when they reached the river, and found that Murphy was plaguing their heels, as ever.

The bridge was gone.

The river Jeckle was smooth, but swift and deep, at this time of year. In the early spring it became a raging torrent, and apparently this spring's transformation had been fiercer than most. The central support still stood tall midstream, with a few splintered planks stubbornly clinging to it, but there was no sign of the bridge's body.

Although the river had returned to its more placid mien, it was neither shallow enough to ford safely, nor slow enough to swim safely.

Al and Bert dismounted, and searched along the bank for inspiration. They found a cockle of a boat, but it had no oars. They discussed various idiotic ways of getting across, and finally settled on a boulder near the boat to eat their lunch and try to think of something practical.

They were just finishing the last crumbs when they heard a cheerful whistling, and a little old man carrying a bulging bag almost as big as he was hove into view. He carried two oars, one in either hand.

The twins hailed him gladly. "Good sir! Is this your boat? We were on our way to aid a friend, but couldn't cross the river. We would gladly pay for a passage across."

The little man beamed at them. "Certainly, lads! That isn't any problem. I'm just crossing myself, as you can see; I have a fine batch of cherries here that I'm taking into town."

"Mmm! Cherries!" exclaimed Bert. "Those make splendid eating. I could do with some of those myself!"

Suddenly the cheer was gone from the little man's face, replaced with darkest suspicion. "Partial to cherries, are you? I don't know that I can give you a ride, after all. Not that I think you're a thief, mind you, but this whole bushel is promised to the mayor. I can't risk losing even a few!"

Al shot an annoyed look at his brother. "He wouldn't take your cherries; but anyway, you don't need to fear. Your boat is big enough for yourself and one of us, or the cherries. I don't like cherries, so you can leave me with them safely enough."

For a moment the rather neurotic little man looked appeased, but then his face darkened again. "But you're twins! Everyone knows that twins like the same things! You're just scheming to get yourself alone with my beautiful cherries!"

Al blinked at this unjust accusation. Actually, he had just been scheming to get across the river. He did, admittedly, like cherries, although he thought that the man's reasoning was nonsense. However, he certainly wasn't going to steal a stranger's cherries. No way this little bugger will believe me, though, he thought resignedly.

Bert stepped forward and redeemed himself. "Goodman, there is no need for you to worry, or for you to take our honesty on faith. We can all get across the river with you rowing, even though you can only take one of us - or the cherries - at a time. We will never be alone with the cherries, and you will be able to see them safely onto the mayor's table."

The man squinted at him, looking doubtful. "How can that be?"

Bert quickly explained his solution. The man agreed readily, and half an hour later they were all safely across the river - with the cherries uneaten.

Solution