“Unbelievable!” Bonnie Mary exclaimed. She was unsure whether she felt awe or anger at what the strange creatures had done with her life savings. What could she say? She had to laugh. She’d certainly never expected to foil Fetz like this!
Madsea’s eyes danced in the red glow of the lava pools. “Yes. Yes. Yes. It’s all here. The treasure is all here!” The silver teeth in his mouth flashed as he approached one of the smaller nests. Arms outstretched, he welcomed the gold into his embrace like a long lost friend.
A large, rusty-ruffed male, cracked open a sleepy eye from its lofty position atop a towering nest. An odd feeling came over Bonnie Mary at this. With a clairvoyant’s sense, she clearly pictured what Madsea was about to do and knew instinctively that disaster would soon follow.
“Don’t,” she advised him softly, trying to move her lips as little as possible. “Them birds — I don’t think we should be riling them.”
“Nonsense,” snorted Madsea. “They’re birds. Just stupid big birds.”
“Birds or not, I think we best scarper.”
“How like a woman’s cowardice to fold at the slightest sign of danger. See? You’re all alike at the core, even you, the great Captain Bonnie Mary Bright!” Madsea grasped the nest closest to him. It was one of the few empty ones in the chamber, the young male who should’ve been guarding it otherwise occupied with trying to woo a nearby female.
“If we could just get this blasted thing … off!” grunted Madsea. “Help me, Mary!” Madsea pulled at the nest, trying to dislodge it from the ground without Bonnie Mary’s assistance. As he continued to yank at the nest, a cry of alarm rose from a nearby avian sentry. Other birds in the vicinity chimed in, and screams of outrage echoed through the chamber.
Sensing her cue to flee, Bonnie Mary turned and dove back into the tunnel. She ran up the steep slope toward the faraway entrance of the cave, never stopping to look behind her.
They’re alive!
Little Jane’s thoughts pumped along with her vigorous legs, Melvin thumping woodenly against her thigh, her heart beating in time to the joyous news as she ran.
“Wait!” cried Villienne, close behind her, but she had no time for caution.
The path up the mountain narrowed as it twisted between the rocks. Little Jane slid around a bend behind a large pointed boulder.
She heard sounds of panting and groaning. At first she assumed it was an injured animal, but as she rounded the corner she realized her error. On the path lay an unmistakable human form of indeterminate gender covered in dust and spattered with blood. It sobbed and snuffled with its nose to the ground, the top of its grey head facing her as she moved cautiously forward. It heaved suddenly, throwing off a shower of black rock dust as it arched its back.
Little Jane watched as what she could now see was a man tried to push himself up on trembling arms, broad sailor’s hands splayed in front of him. She saw the letters tattooed on his knuckles just as he managed to raise his head.
They read HOLD FAST.
Raising one cheek from the dust, Long John glanced up to see blurry human forms moving toward him. He thought they were the sailors from the Panacea, come for him at last, and resigned himself to his fate. He was too tired and hurt to even think of getting away. He concentrated on focusing his eyes, and the multiple figures coalesced into a single image of Little Jane, arms flapping willy-nilly about her as they always did when she ran. He smiled at the precision of the illusion. Perhaps Providence had seen fit to grant his final wish after all. He reached out a hand to the wavering mirage, not expecting to touch it but wanting to all the same. The phantom Little Jane grew closer as he stretched out his arm. Then, quite unexpectedly, it barrelled right into him.
“Papa!”
“Little Jane. Is it really you?” he rasped.
“Yes,” she cried, wrapping her arms around him.
He buried his face in her braids, smelling the familiar tang of salt and seawater, and knew she was no phantom then. She was his beloved daughter, his own, his Little Jane! He cried with relief to see her unharmed. As her eyelashes touched his cheek their tears mingled, together at last.
Little Jane pulled away and through her tears stared in horror at the blood that trickled down her father’s face. “Papa, you’re hurt. What happened? Who did this to …” Her voice cracked as she scanned his battered body.
“No, forget that. Listen to me, Jane. We’ve got to help your mother. He’ll kill her. Help me up.”
“No,” said Villienne, who’d finally caught up. “You’re in no condition, Silver.” The magistrate bent gently over the injured pirate. “Just tell me where she is. I’ll get her back for you safe and sound.”
Thoughts tumbled unsteadily through Long John’s rattled brain. “She’s up there, up the path somewhere. Fetz … Madsea’s following her, heading up to the cave. It’s the cave with the pear trees in front’a it —”
“Virgaleaus!” exclaimed Villienne excitedly. “I was right.”
“Aye, aye,” continued Long John impatiently, “the cave with a gold statue at its mouth. That be the one. Take this with you.” Long John reached into the pocket of his breeches and removed the knife.
Villienne hesitated, seeing Kingly’s blood still on the blade, but Little Jane’s reflexes were faster. She grabbed the knife and ran.
“Little Jane, stop!” Long John yelled as she flew up the path. “Come back!” His hand tightened on Villienne’s wrist. “Villienne, please. Go after her. She’s just a girl. He’ll hurt her if he catches her! Leave me here. I’ll be a right.”
But though Little Jane heard her father’s words, she didn’t stop. She sprinted onward, the knife flashing in her little hand, Melvin still bumping on her thigh, running faster than she ever had before.
Momma, hold fast, she thought, frantically. I’m coming!
Back in the bird’s volcanic lair, Madsea turned as Bonnie Mary fled back up the tunnel. “Silly cow. Good riddance, ye rubbish!” he yelled after her. He had no need of the foolish woman now that the treasure was nearly his. He returned to tugging at the golden nest in earnest.
The peculiar orange birds grew increasingly agitated the more he tried to dislodge their handiwork. Their cries rose louder, echoing eerily off the walls of the chamber. Disturbed by the sound, small rocks began to fall from the ceiling, but Madsea was oblivious to all but the shiny nest. Orange wings beat the air behind him, but a swift wave of his hand frightened the birds away.
“Winged vermin!” he yelled. “What do you want with gold anyway? You’re birds for Pete’s sake.”
Out of the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of something big and reddish-orange, there one moment and gone the next. The flock squawked louder, emboldened by this apparition, but Madsea’s fury only grew.
“It’s mine by rights!” he screamed, his ragged voice overpowering their cries. “All those years I should’ve been pulling in the lucre. Get back!” Madsea swatted another bird away and gave the little gold nest another good yank. He was pleased to note it was beginning to loosen at last. Soon he would have it.
But a change had come over the deportment of the birds that even Madsea was beginning to notice. Their cacophonous cawing had ceased. The cavern was silent.
Like druids at a holy gathering, the orange birds stood about him now in a solemn circle. Their heads swayed in unison, their long beaks bobbing soundlessly up and down, up and down.
By the glow of the bubbling lava pools the rust-ruffed birds advanced together. Every bone in Madsea’s body screamed at him to run, but he could not release the golden nest, not now that he was so close …
“It’s mine, mine by all what was done to me!” he shouted in frustration. “I earned it, not you.” Tears wet his cheeks, but the peculiar birds only cocked their orange heads at him and blinked their beady black eyes.
Then he heard a sound from the back of the chamber, like many wings flapping in unison. In fact, the wings in motion were only two, but between them they containe
d enough feathers to cover a hundred smaller birds. As Madsea watched in disbelief, the immense creature separated itself from the deep shadows near the very top of the cavern, ponderously moving its bulk off the grandest nest in the chamber. Then, with a single squawk, it launched itself into the air. The other birds widened their circle, heads bowed low, as he descended among them, like some ancient titan of the avian race.
As Madsea stared, the creature landed with a ground-shaking thump on the floor of the cavern. It was old and ugly, and utterly enormous. The bird peered curiously at Madsea, fixing him with one huge obsidian eye as if he were a fresh morsel of food.
Unnerved by the creature’s gaze, Madsea glanced down at its enormous claws, hideously twisted and burned from years of melting gold. Even with the sight of those terrifying claws, he refused to release his hold on the little golden nest.
All of a sudden, one of the smaller fledglings flew up awkwardly into the air and boldly landed on Madsea’s arm, apparently eager to claim the nest’s shininess for its own.
“Off! Off you foul thing,” cried Madsea as he smacked the fledgling away. It flapped clumsily, trying to correct its flight path, but the little creature went careening off into the cave wall. It let out a pathetic cheep and slid to the ground, stunned. The other birds looked on as the young bird stumbled to its feet and tried to walk, trailing an injured wing.
A hundred pairs of eyes turned to glare at the intruder in their midst; the foolish man who’d dared to injure one of their most vulnerable members.
“Bird-brains,” scoffed Madsea. “As if you lot had a single thought or feeling between you.” Under the shadow of the giant bird, he began pulling at the nest again.
The beast clacked its massive beak once in warning and raised it to deliver the fatal strike. Then and only then did Madsea let go of the nest.
Bonnie Mary staggered out of the tunnel, blinking and sneezing in the sunlight, and saw the statue of Nakika, still standing sentinel by the mouth of the cave as always, just as if nothing had happened. She tried to wipe the dust and grime off her face. She suspected she had bird guano in her hair, but she didn’t care. Giddily, she inhaled the fresh mountain air. At that moment, it tasted better than the finest of fine French wines.
It struck her as strange that she could still hear the eerie birdcalls and the faint flapping of ghostly orange wings even so far from the bird’s nesting site. It was as if once heard, the sound could not be unheard, in the way that some awful sights, once seen, remain ingrained in one’s mind forever. The sight of Jim’s battered body, for example.
She knew she had to find him soon. If she didn’t take him away from here, who knew what sort of carrion those birds might favour? With a shudder, Bonnie Mary turned away from the mouth of the cave … and collided with something soft.
“Mama?” said a small voice.
“Little Jane?” With tears of delight and amazement, Bonnie Mary looked down and saw the face of her daughter. She clasped her tightly to her chest and kissed her dear little head a dozen times. Bonnie Mary held her so close that Little Jane soon found herself gasping for air.
“Oh, Little Jane,” sniffed Bonnie Mary. “I were so worried about you. But what’re ye doing here? Who brung you?”
“No one brung me.” Little Jane laughed. “I brought meself! Ishiro and Villienne and them others all come along for the ride, but it was all me own idea. I’m here to rescue you, Momma. See,” she added, brandishing Melvin the sword and the shiv knife with pride.
“The knife? But I gave that to your fa —” Bonnie Mary glanced anxiously about her. “Where’s Jim?”
“Back down the path. I think he’s hurt … hurt bad.”
“Oh,” sighed Bonnie Mary, joy that Jim still lived vying with worry in her mind. “That stubborn fool. I shouldn’t have left him. Come, Jane, show me where he be.”
Little Jane took her mother’s dusty hand in hers and together they began to pick their way down the steep path toward the spot where Little Jane had last seen her father.
As they came around the first sharp turn, they nearly ran straight into Villienne.
“Captain Bright!” exclaimed Villienne, grasping her hand in awkward greeting. “What a delight to find you looking so much better than your husband. I’ve so much to tell you.”
“Later,” Bonnie Mary interrupted him. “We’d best get outta danger and find Jim before Madsea do. Come!” Dazed, Villienne followed Bonnie Mary and Little Jane as they scrambled down the path.
“I just don’t understand,” protested Villienne as he stumbled after them. “What is this fellow’s issue with you people anyway?”
“Revenge, for something what happen a thousand years ago, what weren’t our fault even then,” growled Bonnie Mary.
“Goodness!” Villienne frowned. “But where is this Madsea person now? I’d like to give him a piece of my mind, I would. He’d have to listen to me, you know. I am the magistrate. Is that why we’re running? Is he chasing us?”
“Was chasing. Not anymore. Now it’s the birds, them’s what’s chasing us.” Bonnie Mary panted as she ran.
“Birds? Now I really don’t understand.”
Bonnie Mary swore as she tripped over an outcropping of rock. “Can you ever be quiet? I’ll explain it all when we’re back on the ship.”
“Wait,” interjected Little Jane. “He’s right. We don’t got to run away from the birds. You told me yourself the curse is all just rumours to scare people off the island. The birds ain’t cursed as long as you don’t try to eat ’em, right?”
Just as Bonnie Mary was about to explain to Little Jane how false that theory was, they heard a noise, like an explosion deep inside the mountain. Suddenly, in a shower of pebbles and black powder, a bizarre scarecrow of a man burst out of the cave in front of them.
Little Jane, Bonnie Mary, and Villienne stopped in their tracks and stared at the apparition who had appeared so suddenly.
The bleeding, dusty figure raised a single fist to the sky and screamed something that to Little Jane’s ears sounded very much like “I’ll get you for this, ye blasted Silvers!”
[1]From the poem Kubla Khan by Samuel Taylor Coleridge.
Chapter Seventeen
The Bird King’s Revenge
“There must be more’n one tunnel out of there,” moaned Bonnie Mary.
The skeletal stranger shook himself in a spectacular shower of black dust.
“Mum, who’s that?”
“Fetzcaro Madsea,” hissed Bonnie Mary, between gritted teeth. “He’s the man what tried to kill us.”
Little Jane stared in horror at the would-be murderer. He was covered in what looked like bird guano and clinging orange feathers. Angry red bite marks dotted his face and every unclothed spot on his body. Beneath that, Madsea’s whole whippet-thin body vibrated with visible fury.
Madsea turned and saw them, and his hands balled into fists, the bloody beak marks standing out in fierce relief against his chalky white skin.
“It’s you!” His voice broke in a strangled cry that ricocheted off the walls of the canyon below. “You did this. You and Jim. It was you what gave those birds the treasure. You led me in there to trap me. Scurvy liars, the lot of you!”
With a sudden show of strength Madsea leapt up over the rocks and took a wild swing at Bonnie Mary, but she managed to grab his wrist as it came at her, pinning it against the side of the mountain.
“Can’t you see,” Bonnie Mary shouted, “I ain’t in control of them beasts! It ain’t me, nor Jim, nor anyone human what carried off the treasure!”
Madsea thrashed as she struggled to keep his wrists pinned firmly against the rock. Villienne and Little Jane rushed to help; however, covered as he was in a slick coating of blood, guano, and feathers, Madsea managed to slip free. His foot connected with Villienne’s stomach, sending the startled magistrate tumbling backward into Little Jane. They sprawled to the ground.
Bonnie Mary circled her foe, fists raised.
“Li
ar! You and yer sodding husband,” Madsea screamed as he struck out at Bonnie Mary, coming at her from her blind side. Instinctively, she raised her arms to protect her face, giving Madsea the chance to land a kick to her belly with the spiked sole of his climbing shoe.
Little Jane blanched in horror.
“Ha! Now let her see you for what you really are. I’ll show you —” he began, but fell silent as he felt something sharp jab into the small of his back.
“You leave me Mum alone!” shouted Little Jane as she pressed the blade into the fabric of his shirt.
“Oh, really?” Madsea gave a phlegmy, liquid laugh. “Is this the best you can do, little girl?” With a movement too fast for her to counter, he twisted away, nearly tearing the blade from her hand. “Have at me then.”
“Remember, you asked for it,” warned Little Jane. And then, for the first time ever outside fencing practice, she said the words she’d waited her whole life to say: “En garde, coward!”
With the shiv in one hand, she drew Melvin from the sash around her waist with the other. She lunged, and the sword’s blunt wooden tip connected hard with Madsea’s narrow chest, causing him to stagger back.
Little Jane willed her muscles to relax, adopting the crouched, ready posture Jezebel Mendoza had taught her. Her gaze darted from Madsea’s eyes to his knees and back again. That was where the strike would come from, Jezebel always said. You see it first in the eyes and second the knees, ready to spring forward. Last in the hands, prepared to deal the blow.
She tensed as she waited for the first signs of Madsea’s attack, but he remained where he was, as if frozen to the spot.
“Well?” she exclaimed impatiently. “Have at thee then.”
An expression of terror fell over Madsea’s narrow features and Little Jane realized, with a start, that he was truly frightened now. Frightened of her!
Little Jane and the Nameless Isle Page 16