Dominoes

by Barbara Gaskell Denvil

But as he spoke, John called out, “My dad, I reckons. I need me dad. He knows tis me.”

  “Home yes. The excitement of the sea,” called Poppy, one eye on the assistant constable.

  “Hush,” Nathan begged as he saw Poppy about to speak again. “You’ll confuse the knife.”

  The world immediately went black, and the puppy whimpered. Ninester was whimpering too and dropped his pear. Violet Crinford shrieked at the top of her voice, John said, “Where’s we going now?” and all the friendly sounds of the market faded away. The minstrels’ music disappeared, and the calls of the stallholders, the gossip of all the busy customers, and even the cawing of the ravens. For a few minutes they could hear the puzzled voice of the assistant constable, and his daughter asking if it was magic or heresy, and then those voices also went away.

  Then into the utterly black silence, they began to hear the gurgle of the ocean, and the waves slapping against the side of a boat. Then they heard the creak of ropes hauled up, the sound of the wind cracking in the sails, and the distant shouting of men. Bump, crash, the sound of metal blades smashing together, and the high wail of the seagulls.

  Half guessing what had happened, Nathan shouted, “I wanted my dad, not John’s dad. But then Poppy talked of excitement. It’s all a muddle.”

  It was John who yelled back, “Reckon we’s got my dad. And it ain’t your granny neither. Tis mine, what I don’t want. Not never.”

  But they had all landed, not on the deck of Arthur Crinford’s trading ship, but on a completely strange ship with the decks streaming in salty water, and half a dozen angry men staring at them.

  Alfie grabbed Alice, John still stood holding the little dog, Nathan, Poppy and Ninester stood together, completely lost. Margery the maid had not been brought along, but Violet Crinford was standing in the middle of everyone else, shaking her hands and getting very loud hiccups. Neither the assistant constable nor his daughter had accompanied them, Lob took Deben’s hand, and shouted, “What now? This ain’t normal.”

  “No it ain’t,” said a tall man in a combination of odd brightly coloured clothes. “Who is you lot? And where did yous all come from, then?” With a short sword in one hand, a long sword in the other, and three knives stuck through his belt, this was clearly not a peaceful sailor ready to barter and trade. He waved the tip of one sword in Deben’s face. “You, yer ugly snood, what’s yer name?”

  His companions began to crowd around, and one of them grabbed Violet. “Is you a good cook, fatty? Reckon I should bring you down to our pots and pans. We set a pretty little fire below decks. Set you to work there, shall we?”

  “Yeh, she looks like me mum,” said another man, short, far, and extremely happy to find a mother-figure. “I’d like that.”

  “Tis bad luck to have a woman on board,” objected another in the growing crowd.

  “Throw her overboard then,” suggested the fat one. “But tis a shame. I miss me mum.”

  Violet Crinford seemed to be on the point of fainting, and Nathan interrupted, saying, “This woman can’t cook. She has her own cook at home.”

  “Well, wot’s she doing here, then?” asked the fat man.

  “What are any of you doing here?” insisted the tall man with all the swords and knives. “This is my ship. How did you get on board?”

  “That’s hard to explain,” said Poppy. “But is this Lashtang or the Middle Sea? I mean, England or France or Italy?”

  “Bay o’Napoli, of course,” said the man. “And heading south to Egypt. I think we shall have to make you all walk the plank.”

  Meanwhile, the waves had been rising, slopping over the gunwales and the small ship was rolling and tipping as it swung around in the wind. Deben was hanging over the side being extremely sick. He groaned as his father wiped his mouth with a large kerchief, but almost immediately he was sick again. “I don’t think my boy would make a good sailor,” said Lob. “How do we get off this boat?”

  “By walking the plank,” said the tall thin man. “But first I want to know just how you appeared.”

  “Me dad’s got a ship, like this” said John. “Pr’aps you knows him. Mighty good sailor, he is, and I done sailed wiv him a few times an’all.”

  “Name?” demanded the tall skinny man.

  “Arthur Crinford,” John said at once. My dad’s the captain, he is, and tis his own ship.”

  The tall man’s expression changed, and he smiled very wide, and clapped John on the back, so the puppy whined, frightened. “Arty Crinford,” he said cheerfully. “You his boy, then? I know Arty well. We’ve sailed together when we were both younger. But then we went our separate ways. He went the respectable way, and me, I wanted adventure. I don’t trade, I just take what I want.”

  Blinking and a little scared, John said, “You’s a pirate?”

  “Course I am,” said the other man. “This ship is the Terror of the Seas, and I’m Captain Terror. But me and your dad, we don’t fight. I’d never steal from his bilges. I see him every now again as we pass, and we wave as we go.”

  “A pirate?” demanded Violet, disgusted but too frightened to say much. “I demand you put me off at the next port.”

  “That’ll be Cairo, and they’ll take you straight off to market as a slave,” said the captain. “If you don’t want that, then shut your mouth and wait your turn. Now who is all the rest of you?”

  “Me friends,” said John quickly. “But we never meant to come here. T’was a mistake. a proper strange one.”

  “We all makes mistakes from time to time,” grinned the captain. “But now I got Arty Crinford’s lad on me ship, we’d better celebrate.” And he turned to the crew standing behind him. “Most of you knows me mate Arty. So let’s have a feast. Ale, boiled fish and cabbage.”

  Poppy didn’t think this sounded very exciting. “I’m not hungry,” she said rather faintly. “Perhaps you’d like some chocolate instead,” and she dug deep into one of her inside pockets and pulled out half a bar of squashed chocolate crumble, handed it to Captain Terror, and said, “Have you got a galley?”

  “No lass,” said the fat man, coming over. “Tis a small ship and we just got a pot and a pan and a stone slab where we lights a fire. But I likes the look o’ that brown stuff what you calls choklit.”

  The captain, however, had eaten the lot and there was no more to come. “Sorry,” mumbled Poppy. “I only had a little bit left.”

  The captain was certainly not saying sorry. “Great taste,” he said with a huge grin. “Where can we steal some more?”

  When Poppy shook her head, everyone crowded around and scowled at her. “I buy it in – Hammersmith,” she said. “That’s a long, long way from Egypt and Italy.”

  The waves were rising higher and the squall of the wind was threatening. All the planks of wood which made up the ship’s hull and its decks were groaning and creaking, and the sail was battering back against the mast. The puppy was whimpering, nuzzling close to John’s neck. John passed it back to Ninester, who let it lick his chin. Ninester, with one quick cuddle, had fallen in love.

  “We’d better take shelter for a few hours,” decided Captain Terror. “Head east for the Bay o’ Sicily, and we’ll drop anchor on the coast. But no sneaking off, you lot. I still need to know where you came from.”

  Nathan couldn’t blame the captain since quite a handful of odd people all appearing in the middle of the ocean on his ship would certainly seem a highly suspicious puzzle. Most sailors believed in some magic, but this was going too far.

  “Shame he’s a pirate,” murmured Alice. “A decent trading ship would have let us off.”

  “Not necessarily,” pondered Alfie. “They’d probably think we’re invaders from the Medici or something. All these Italian states are at war with each other.”

  “Even the pope,” added Peter.

  “I reckon tis good luck this pirate is pals wiv me dad,” said John. “Pirates is nasty folk. But maybe this one ain’t so bad.”

  “But I asked the knife,�
�� began Nathan, when Poppy interrupted.

  “Everybody was speaking at once and the knife couldn’t hear properly,” she said. “Our dad and John’s dad, and then our granny and then John’s granny. And I think it was Ninester who said the word Terror.”

  “Bundle them all downs below deck,” called the captain. “I need to steer this ship out this storm.”

  “I could help,” called John. “I got mighty good at this sailing lark.”

  “Here then, but obey my orders,” said the captain.

  Everyone else was pushed down some tiny narrow steps and found themselves in a damp and smelly wooden cave, with practically no light. There were spare sails folded up, a huge spare mast lying at the side, and many wooden crates piled on top of each other. There seemed also to be casks of beer, baskets of stale bread, and a couple of large locked chests. “For treasure,” giggled Poppy, pointing.

  “Perhaps I should pick the locks,” smiled Peter.

  But Alfie shook his head. “They’d probably kill us.”

  Ninester was now cuddling the puppy, although in both fear and excitement, it had piddled itself all down Ninester’s smart silk coat. He didn’t seem to mind and sat quietly, stroking its ears. Meanwhile Deben had crawled into a corner. He had been sick over the side so many times, he couldn’t be sick anymore, and he sat groaning and moaning, leaning against the inside of the hull with his father sitting close and sympathetic. Violet Crinford, on the other hand, was furiously marching up and down the creaking floorboards, but staggering to one side or the other every time the ship tipped, which was often. Indeed, soon it was rolling and tipping constantly, and even Mrs Crinford had to sit down. But she was still shouting. “How dare you,” she screamed at the top of her voice. “You are all criminals. You have abducted me onto a pirate ship. I shall have you all executed. I am an innocent old woman and you are all thieves and – and – and cut-throats.”

  Nobody took any notice of her, but it was hard to ignore her repeated threats and insults. Finally Deben crawled to his feet, staggered over to her, and walloped her over the head with a large metal hook from among the many spare tools lying around. “Shut up,” he demanded loudly. “I am the empole, I am mortally ill, I have been horribly sick for the past hour, and I shall have you thrown overboard unless you are immediately silent.”

  Violet Crinford had no choice other than to be silent, since she promptly fainted on top of Alfie.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Granny held up the large glass jar and peered again at the four tiny sparkling stars trapped inside. No longer carefully keeping together, dejected, at the bottom of the jar, they were flitting almost wildly around the circular interior, up to the lid, down, and then around again.

  “I’m not at all content with these creatures,” said Granny, tapping the side of the glass. “I believe they are planning something unpleasant.”

  “No,” Zakmeister shook his head, setting all his long black plaits swinging. “They’re in panic. Frightened. Nothing to worry about.”

  “I doubt Yaark has ever been frightened in his life,” said Granny. “These four dangerous creatures are building up power with the intention of breaking out.”

  “Ask Messina,” said Zakmeister.

  The cottage was dancing with sunbeams and the warmth spread through every room, bringing a sense of happiness and bright comfort. But Granny Octobr was neither happy nor comforted. “I believe this one small jar needs to be sealed in a second larger jar,” she decided, and carrying the jar with her, went off to find her daughter.

  It was actually her son-in-law Bayldon she met first, bumping into him as he came in from the garden. “Ah,” said Bayldon, “You’re just the one I wanted to talk to. It’s about Nathan and Poppy. They’ve been gone too long. I’m thinking of travelling with Sam and seeing if we can find them. At least Sam knows the various places they go.”

  “Poppy is supposed to be at Bymion Palace,” Granny frowned. “Though I admit she’s been rather a long time. And young Nat is at Sparkan.”

  Bayldon, however, continued to look dubious, and somewhat worried. “Well, I shall start by going to the old palace,” he said. “Poppy may be a very practical and intelligent young lady, but she’s also head-strong, determined and full of dangerous ideas.”

  Granny looked at him over the top of her glasses. “Neither you nor Sam have any magic,” she said firmly. “Go with Sherdam or someone who can actually achieve something.”

  “Not you?” asked Bayldon, unoffended.

  But Granny tapped the glass jar again. “There’s something wrong with this,” she said. “Not everyone agrees with me. but as far as I can see, there’s danger brewing.”

  “We know the stars are dangerous,” Bayldon frowned. “But they’re trapped. And if Messina says they can’t get out, then I certainly believe her.”

  “My daughter’s magic,” said Granny, “is the strongest I know. But even she can make mistakes. And this is a mistake we cannot afford to make.”

  “Then get another glass jar. Bigger. Lock the other one inside and say some magic words. So then we have Yaark trapped with Messina’s magic and yours too.”

  “That’s exactly what I was thinking of doing,” Granny smiled suddenly. “So I shall. Very good. So take Messina or Sherdam with you, and off you go to the old ruined palace and find Poppy and the others.”

  Continuing to watch the four tiny sparkled whizzing around the jar, faster and faster, Granny sat a moment, pondering. Then she got up in a hurry, reached down a huge glass jar from her top shelf, which used to hold flour and still held a few traces of white powder, popped the smaller jar inside, and screwed on the big blue lid. She murmured, “Plakket and jacket. You are closed for eternity. Altabella shall be obeyed.”

  Setting the double jar on the kitchen table, Granny sat and watched. Almost immediately the stars stopped speeding around and around, and they settled quietly at one side. Now that, decided Granny, was a very good result. She felt she had trapped Yaark and the three others even more securely than before. With an occasional glance at the newly secured jar, she started to make a lemon custard pie.

  Sam, looking for Granny, wandered into the kitchen and grinned. “That’s a lovely smell, Lady Altabella. Is that for dinner?”

  Without turning, she closed the oven door, saying, “Your favourite, my dear. Yes, dinner indeed. Sit down and tell me how the stars are behaving.”

  “What stars?” asked Sam, staring around.

  Granny turned immediately. “In the two jars on the kitchen table.” But there was no jar. She could see that herself. “Has it fallen?”

  He got down on his knees, crawling beneath the table and poking his nose into every corner. Then Sam looked up and said, “Nothing.”

  She flew from the kitchen. She had not run so fast for many years, and she was quickly out of breath, but she raced and didn’t stop. Messina, eyes half closed, was sitting in the small living room, and had been planning new magic. She leapt up as Granny rushed through, calling, “What? What? What on earth is so urgent?”

  “Idiots. All of us. Idiots,” cried Granny as she scurried past.

  One by one they followed her, throwing down their books, or whatever they were studying or practising, running after Granny even though not one of them yet knew what the trouble was. But soon they discovered the horrible truth.

  Outside the cottage, past the long windowed building which had been much enlarged and extended over the years, there was a small garden where various folk who had at some time lived there, had planted bushes, flowers and climbing plants. But there was no fence and beyond the flowering orders was wild grass which stretched into the distance, up gentle hillocks and onwards amongst the trees.

  Here, amongst the roots of the first silver birches, was a great pile of glass. It had been shattered into the tiniest pieces, shards and splinters, as though beaten over and over by hammers. Some slivers seemed charred, even slightly burned and then melted. The lids of both jars lay at some d
istance, probably exploded since they too were scorched and blackened. Nothing was left to show what there had been before, but the shattered remains of both jars, heaped in one single lump, would presumably be dangerous if touched, for magic had twice been used to make them unbreakable. Not only had the jars broken, but had been destroyed utterly. Not one remaining piece was larger than a fingernail.

  No one had ever seen Messina cry before. Now she buried her face in Bayldon’s shoulder and wept. “I have failed my people,” Messina gulped. “I had success in my hands, and through arrogance, I have let it escape.”

  “Not arrogance, my love.” Bayldon pulled his wife close, trying to comfort her.

  But she said, “I must have been arrogant, thinking my magic stronger than Yaark’s. I had him. I thought he was safe trapped. I was studying how to destroy him. But he has nearly destroyed me.”

  “You are still alive, still strong, still able to fight,” said Granny, very matter-of-fact,. “And I’m wondering if the fault is mine. I saw the wretched stars very active and very fast and thought they were trying to escape. So I put the jar into another larger one and spoke more words of safety. Perhaps it was wrong in some way. But I don’t understand.”

  “We’re all fools.” Messina sat down on the garden bench and wiped her eyes. Bayldon sat beside her and took her hand, but she looked up at her mother. “We had trapped the greatest danger in all Lashtang. And now we’ve let it get away.”

  It was Sherdam who sighed, saying, “And now Yaark will hate us even more.”

  “Not just Yaark. Three others like him,” murmured Zakmeister.

  Sam was sitting on the grass, his thumb in his mouth, a habit he had as a child but had not used for some time. Now, utterly miserable, his thumb seemed to give comfort. And he mumbled, “Yaark is blue the green one’s Thwy. The pink one’s Oplick. And the nasty black one’s Flibweed.”

  “And now they’re all out there, furious, powerful and free.” Zakmeister smiled. “No worse than before you captured them, Messina dear. Don’t blame yourself. None of us is so strong we never make mistakes.”