“Fisherman’s Hell is the place sailors go when they are not fit to return to land,” Haroyld explained. “It’s the place they go when they are broken and cannot be repaired. Once a man goes to Fisherman’s Hell he never comes back. Even the people who drop them off at Fisherman’s Hell won’t step on to the island for fear of being trapped. They just throw the men overboard and the current drags them in. The currents around Fisherman’s Hell never wash back out. If a ship gets too close it will be sucked in as well. The island is so powerful not even Hans Pilfer could escape.”
“Hans Pilfer?” Oona said. She took her eyes away from the island and looked up at Haroyld. “Who’s that?” She had never heard that name in any of her books or from spying on lessons at school.
“Hans Pilfer was a famous pirate who sailed the Northern Sea on the hunt for treasure instead of whales. And he found it. By the time he went missing he was one of the wealthiest men in the world.”
When he saw the look of curiosity on Oona’s face, Haroyld decided to tell her more about Hans Pilfer’s disappearance.
“It’s a well-known tale to men of my age,” Haroyld said before he began the story.
The Golden Ingot was the most beautiful ship that ever sailed. It was carved from golden oak – one of the rarest woods in all the South – and each mast was encrusted with glistening jewels. It’s said that Hans built the ship himself. But most believe he stole it.
That’s all Hans Pilfer ever did. He stole from castles, he stole from taverns, and, most of all, he stole from other ships. He was so good at stealing things that by the time he turned thirty he had robbed everything worth robbing in the North. So, in search of more treasure, he turned his golden wheel south.
Hans Pilfer stole from southern farmers; he stole from southern knights; and, he stole from southern princes. One day while robbing one of these princes, he came across a castle that was full of the grandest jewels he had ever seen. He stole a ruby necklace, a sapphire belt and a golden crown so heavy that if you wore it your feet sunk five inches into the ground.
Weighed down with this wondrous treasure, Hans and his crew boarded their ship and headed for home. But the Golden Ingot got caught in the midst of a wild storm. The heaving currents and the swirling winds took hold of the ship and carried it far beyond their home and deep into the North.
Hans didn’t mind the detour. After all, he was still richer than he had ever been before. While his men led the ship back home, he opened bottle after bottle of his most expensive stolen wine and guzzled it down. By the time night fell he was stumbling about on the deck: ruby necklace around his neck, sapphire belt around his waist and golden crown atop his head. That’s the last time he was ever seen. When the sun rose to greet the next day, Hans was gone. All that marked his exit was a broken piece of rail where he had slipped (or perhaps been pushed) and tumbled into the icy sea.
Ten years passed. No one heard a word from Hans Pilfer. Most presumed he died on the night he fell into the ocean. After all, wearing jewels like that he should have sunk straight to the bottom. But then, eleven years after he disappeared, a ruby necklace washed on to the shores of Iceblown Harbour. On each ruby was engraved a different letter. Together they spelled: “Help me. I’m on Fisherman’s Hell.”
A few men thought about going north to rescue him. But they feared the trip was too dangerous. After all, to get Hans Pilfer off Fisherman’s Hell they would have to go there for themselves. The risk was too great. It was a fool’s errand. No one would survive the trip.
Another two years passed. Then, one morning a sapphire belt washed up in Whitlock. Each sapphire was engraved with a different word. Together, the sapphires spelled: “Whoever saves me gets the crown.”
This time temptation became too much. Men across the North, and a few from the South as well, boarded ships and set sail for Fisherman’s Hell. Over one hundred men left in search of Hans Pilfer and his golden crown, but not a single one returned.
“That was over two hundred years ago,” Haroyld said to Oona. “No one’s been brave enough to sail there during my time, but if they did I bet you five silver crowns they wouldn’t come back either.”
A moment later the wind changed direction, and the cries from Fisherman’s Hell faded away. Haroyld turned from the island and looked up at the stars. He studied the constellations twinkling above and shook his head.
“We are very far north,” he said. “The storm must have strengthened the currents in the sea. We’re two weeks ahead of where I thought we would be.”
With Oona’s help, Haroyld laid out his map. Then, using the stars as a guide, he traced his finger along the path they had already taken and stopped at the point where they currently were.
“Look here, Oona,” he said. “Look where we almost are.”
Oona peered over the navigator’s shoulder and gasped. “The Icelands,” she said. “They’re just up ahead.”
Haroyld nodded. “You won’t know when we pass through, not at first. There’s no fence or flag to mark its place. The water will just get slowly colder, the air as well, and instead of passing shards of ice we’ll sail by chunks of ice as big as whales.”
“When are we going to reach it?” Oona asked as she glanced between the navigator’s map and the dark ocean stretching before them. Even when she first snuck on board the Plucky Leopard she hadn’t felt this excited or frightened. She had almost died in the Northern Sea. What dangers would she encounter in the Icelands?
Haroyld glanced up at the stars and then back down. “According to my calculations, we’ll reach the Icelands in about two hours.”
While everyone else on board the Plucky Leopard slept, and Karl kept watch from the crow’s nest, Oona and Haroyld stood at the bow and waited. If they had looked up, they would have seen Barnacles there too: sitting at the top of the highest mast, his blue eyes locked on the sea ahead. He never felt more free and alive than when one of his ships was ploughing through the Icelands.
“Have we reached it yet?” Oona asked. She stretched on to her tiptoes and peered towards the sea below. The water was calm tonight, almost like it was sleeping. The ship ploughed through it so easily it felt like they still stood on land.
Haroyld glanced at his map. “Almost,” he said.
Oona asked if they had reached the Icelands fifteen more times before Haroyld changed his response from “almost” to “Yes!”
Oona climbed up on to the railing of the Plucky Leopard and peered down into the sea. Despite what Haroyld had said about not being able to spot a difference, Oona was certain more ice slushed in the waves below. And when she breathed in, the air smelled different. Not with a new scent, but like all the old scents were starting to freeze.
“That was just a lake before, Oona Britt. But this here—” Haroyld pointed his arms out towards the vast sea stretching before them. “This is the proper ocean. Forget fish. We’re on the hunt for whales now.”
*
While the girl, the cat and the navigator looked north, something in the water watched them. It had been a long time since this creature had seen a ship. After all, it had been asleep for fifty years; it only woke in the deep chill when a great winter hit.
The creature had been asleep for so long that the ocean floor had grown over the top of it. Now, clumps of rock were attached to its back. The weight was so great it had taken two weeks for the creature to rise to the surface. It had taken a further three weeks to find its prey.
Most animals in the Northern Sea survived off a diet of whales and fish. But not this creature. It had a far more limited diet. So limited, in fact, that it only ate one thing.
The creature could see two of these things right now, standing on the deck of the ship. By the size of the vessel, the creature knew there must be even more on board. It just had to wait for the right moment to get them. But it couldn’t wait long. A hunger almost as deep as the ocean filled its body. If it didn’t eat soon, it would fall into a sleep so heavy it would never awaken.
> So, as the Plucky Leopard continued onwards, the monster of the deep followed it.
THE VERY GREEDY PRINCE
Captain Britt’s wife knew they had reached the town they sought when the horse stopped plodding forward and instead started to munch on a row of turnips lining the road.
“Keep going!” she yelled. She stuck her foot out of the carriage window and gave the horse a strong kick. “It’s too far for us to walk from here.” They were so far from the town they could not see a single dwelling.
The horse ignored the captain’s wife and kept on eating. It didn’t even stop when she climbed out of the carriage and whacked it with a handful of turnips.
“Stupid thing,” Missus Britt hissed. “I wish the darn driver took you instead of the other one.”
Two days prior, the driver, fed up with the whining of his passengers, had fled with one of the horses. He was going back north. Apparently, he preferred to brave the worst winter in fifty years than spend another day with them.
Missus Britt was still hitting the horse when a man yelled, “Thieves! Thieves in the northern paddock!”
Captain Britt’s wife turned to see a short farmer running towards her. He was carrying a basket full of turnips and waving his arms wildly in the air.
“Be gone with you, thieves!” he yelled.
Captain Britt’s wife had never been so offended. She, a thief? And to be accused by a farmer. How dare he say such a thing? People like him did not have the right.
When the farmer reached Captain Britt’s wife he beat her with his basket. Turnips flew everywhere. The horse was so quick it gobbled most of them up before they hit the ground. The few which it missed soared through the window of the carriage and hit the Britt sisters on their heads. One even landed in Berit’s mouth.
“Argh! Turnips!” they screamed. The girls ran out of the carriage and joined their mother on the roadside.
The farmer’s eyes jumped with alarm. “More thieves!” he yelled. “More thieves in the northern paddock.” When his basket grew empty, he leant down and pulled more turnips out of the ground. He threw them at the Britts as well. “I won’t stop until you’re gone,” he warned. “And there are more than one thousand turnips in this field alone.”
“Gone?” the captain’s wife said as she dodged a particularly large turnip that had been aimed at her head. “We’ve come all this way to see the prince and we’re not going to leave yet.”
“Oh, I can take you to see the prince,” the farmer said. “But he won’t be at all pleased to see the likes of you. He hates stealing. He only has one place for thieves: in the cold dungeon beneath his castle.”
The captain’s wife turned as white as an iceberg. “Dungeon?” she said. “There’s no need for that. We’re not thieves. We can pay for all of the turnips, even the ones you threw at our heads.” She stepped up into the carriage and returned a moment later holding a handful of silver coins.
The farmer stared at the coins and scratched his head. His hair was the colour of hay. “What’s that?” he said.
“Money,” the captain’s wife replied.
“I don’t think he’s ever seen it before, Mother,” one of her daughters said. And then all six of them sniggered.
“I have so,” the farmer said. “Only I ain’t never seen money like that.”
“Oh, of course,” the captain’s wife said. With the threat of imprisonment looming over their heads, she had grown far more polite. “I bet you’ve never seen money from the North.”
The farmer stopped gathering up turnips and stared at the ladies before him. His eyes grew bright with an idea.
“Did you say the North?” he said.
“Aye,” the Britts replied.
“Is that where you’re from?”
Again, the northerners nodded.
“We’re from Nordlor,” the captain’s wife said proudly. “The Village of One Thousand Ships. You may have heard of it. And we’ve come all the way south so my six beautiful daughters can marry the princes of their dreams.”
“Well, why didn’t you say so?” Now, instead of picking up turnips to throw at them, the farmer was handing them turnips for free. “Wait here,” he said. “Don’t move an inch. I’ll go and fetch the prince.”
*
“Here he is,” the farmer said proudly when he returned one hour later. He was smiling and did not seem to mind that the Britts’ horse was still eating his turnips. “Prince Manfred of Turnip Town.”
The six Britt sisters and their mother looked up at the prince. His hair was as black as the horse he rode, and he wore a cape of purple velvet so long that it looked like a dress. But their eyes did not remain locked on the prince. Instead, they were drawn to the thick golden chains that adorned his horse’s neck. The chains were made of solid gold and glistened in the sun.
“Mother,” Sissel said, tugging on her mother’s dress, “Aren’t they Freydis’ old reigns?”
“Oh, hush, Sissel!” her mother hissed in a whisper. “Not now. The grown-ups are talking.” She pushed her daughter away and smiled up at the prince. “It’s wonderful to meet you Prince Manfred.” She attempted a curtsy – a southern custom Lady Summer had taught her about – but her shoe caught on the end of a knobbly turnip and she tripped and fell to the ground.
“Please, call me Prince Turnip,” the prince said, as he watched the Britt daughters help their mother up. “A pleasure to make your acquaintances, ladies.”
The prince jumped off his horse and shook their hands one by one. His fingers felt like a bucket of slippery eels. Then, he looked them up and down like a merchant appraising a barrel of whale oil. “Yes,” he said with a purr. “They will do nicely.”
“They?” the captain’s wife said.
“Yes. I would very much like to marry them all.”
“But, Mother,” her daughters moaned. They pulled their greedy eyes away from the glittering gold chains and tugged on their mother’s dress. “We don’t want to share.”
“Hush now, girls,” the captain’s wife hissed. She knew that a mother was meant to think the world of her daughters, but she also had to be realistic. She had now seen the type of ladies who lived in the South and, though it pained her to admit it, her own daughters’ prospects were not the greatest. This would most likely be the best, perhaps the only, offer of marriage they received. But she did have one final question before she gave her six favourite daughters away.
“Just how rich are you, exactly?”
While Missus Britt mulled over Prince Turnip’s marriage proposal in the South, Freydis Spits searched Nordlor’s shore for a shell. The money from her winter prediction had run out and she needed to find a new one to sell.
Freydis was about to stop searching for the day when a shell washed right up at her feet. She picked it up and raised it to her ear.
Words tumbled inside the shell so quickly that Freydis could not hear. She knew the fortune it held must be important, for she’d never heard a shell speak as urgently as this. But before Freydis could unjumble the words, a crab crawled out from the shell and bit her on the ear.
“Foxes and thunder!” Freydis screamed. She threw the shell on to the shore. It cracked and twenty words fluttered away on the wind. Freydis yanked on the crab until it released her ear. She knelt beside the broken shell and tried to piece it back together. But the shell was broken beyond repair, and the future inside was lost.
“Bears and wolves and thieves in the night!” Freydis cursed. She had really wanted to hear that fortune. She bet it would have been grand. After all, before it broke she had heard all sorts of glorious words: knife and death; betrayal and loss; and Oona and nardoo.
OONA’S BIRTHDAY SURPRISE
Two nights after the Plucky Leopard entered the Icelands, the first twinkling of Northern Lights appeared above the ship. With each passing night, the lights grew bigger and brighter until half the time you couldn’t even see the stars for all the dazzling lights in front of them. To Oona, it felt like a p
resent from the heavens: like the Lords and Ladies of the Sea were thanking her for saving Olf’s life.
As they ploughed deeper into the Icelands, shards of ice built up around the ship. Haroyld warned Oona that if they put down anchor the sea would freeze around them, and they wouldn’t be able to move for half a year.
One night, as they looked up at the sky, Haroyld said, “The Northern Lights are so bright tonight: the brightest I’ve ever seen. I think they’re shining for you, Oona. Happy birthday.”
“It’s my birthday?” Oona said. They had been at sea for so long she had lost track of time. Her father must have lost track of time too. He hadn’t wished her a happy birthday all day, not even when she’d shown him all the fish she had caught for breakfast.
The navigator nodded. “Mathilde and I never forget the date.”
Haroyld reached into his coat and pulled out a small gift. It was wrapped in brown paper and tied together with sailor’s string.
Oona’s eyes widened with surprise.
“It was you,” she said. “You left all of those presents outside my bedroom window. But why?”
“Mathilde and I saw the way your family treated you and we didn’t think it was right. Everyone deserves to feel special, to feel loved, to get a present on their birthday.”
Though Oona was delighted to find out the identity of her secret friend, she was also slightly disappointed.
“What’s wrong?” Haroyld asked when he saw this second feeling cross her face.
“It’s nothing,” Oona said. “Well…” Oona wanted to say something to Haroyld that she’d never felt brave enough to say to anyone before. But she was afraid she might hurt his feelings. “It’s just, I thought someone younger might have given it to me. I thought maybe I might have had a secret friend my own age – a boy or a girl in Nordlor who actually liked me. None of them ever have, and I doubt any of them ever will. Except maybe for Trine.”
“You’re a rare girl, Oona,” Haroyld said. “You’re different to everyone else. But that’s not a bad thing. Not at all. True, it does mean it will take you longer to find friends. But they are out there. And I bet that once you find them they will last a lifetime. Now, go on.” Haroyld nodded to the present Oona still held. “Open it. I think it’s the best one I’ve given you.”
The Girl, the Cat and the Navigator Page 9