“Not just a little girl in pants now, am I?” she countered boldly, moving to strike him again.
However, Madsea seemed distracted, mechanically parrying her blow, not hearing her words. Taking advantage of his momentary lack of concentration, Little Jane moved in closer, the knife firm in her sweaty grasp. Even now, as she prepared for the final strike, she couldn’t help but notice how his eyes refused to focus on her. Instead, they appeared to gaze up in rapt attention at something behind her. Little Jane raised the shiv, but hesitated. Something was not right. With mounting horror, she realized it must be someone other than herself who had Madsea so petrified. And if Madsea was so scared of this person …
Even though she knew it could give him the tactical advantage, Little Jane had to see what manner of man had terrified him so. She turned around and found herself staring into the black eyes of the largest bird she’d ever seen. Its enormous body nearly blocked the entrance to the tunnel Madsea had just emerged from.
Little Jane froze and, in her fright, did what Jezebel Mendoza told her never to do — she dropped her sword.
Luckily, Bonnie Mary had the presence of mind to pick Melvin up. “Back away slow,” she whispered to Little Jane over her shoulder. “Don’t go startling it.”
Little Jane edged carefully backward, just as her mother instructed. But Madsea stood motionless, as surely as if he’d grown roots. The enormous bird slowly began to advance on him, clacking its immense beak.
All of a sudden Little Jane heard the sound of wings flapping. A small orange bird appeared at the entrance to the cave. More birds followed, and still more birds. Soon they poured forth from the abyss in a geyser of screaming orange feathers. Their cries split the air and their claws struck the ground, sending stones and dust flying up all around them.
“Get behind me, love!” shouted Bonnie Mary. Little Jane moved behind her mother and watched as, with one graceful sweep of Melvin, Bonnie Mary whisked a tide of birds away from them. Little Jane glanced around and was relieved to spot Villienne a little ways down the path, pelting his avian assailants with specimen jars from his pack.
Luckily, Villienne’s specimen jars proved curiously successful weapons against the birds, as their bright, reflective surfaces were an ideal distraction. Whenever a jar broke, the birds couldn’t resist fighting for even the tiniest shard of sparkling glass.
“Take that!” shouted Villienne triumphantly as he smashed the jars on the rocks all around. “And that!” Soon enough, though, he realized his supply of jars would exhaust itself long before the orange birds did, for there seemed no end to the avian onslaught.
With Little Jane’s gaze fixed on Villienne for the moment, a stealthy orange bird took the opportunity to peck at her hand, attracted by the glint of the knife.
“Stop it!” Little Jane pulled her hand away, still holding the weapon firmly. It flashed silver in the light and many bird heads turned, suddenly alerted to the existence of this previously overlooked shiny object. They immediately converged on Little Jane, mad with desire for the glittering item.
“Mummy, help!” shrieked Little Jane as the birds swarmed over her.
Wielding Melvin like a scythe, Bonnie Mary slashed away at the birds, knocking them off Little Jane, but there were too many for her to repel completely. One tough little avian managed to propel itself up and under the arc of Bonnie Mary’s arm. The creature pecked at Little Jane’s fingers and the shiv fell from her hand.
Before the cry of pain even burst from her lips, the birds were upon the shiny knife, screeching, fighting for possession of the object with lusty beaks and clawing talons. Little Jane leapt back, taking cover behind a large rock. She scanned the scene before her, trying to find her mother and Villienne in the melee. The harsh sound of ripping canvas caught her attention. In horror she watched as two birds, trying to get at the valuable specimen jars at their source, seized the sides of Villienne’s knapsack. Though it was still attached to his back by the shoulder straps, they slashed at it with vicious talons until it tore open.
“My precious samples. No! Desist, you harpies.” Villienne swung at the birds as they pulled at his knapsack, but there were too many of them. They made fast work of the bag, rending it apart down the seam. The remainder of its shimmering glass contents tumbled out and shattered on the rocks, kicking off another avian frenzy.
“Stop! Stop! Do you know how long those took me to collect?” yelped Villienne, trying to wave them away with his hands. Little Jane could see it was a useless gesture, as new birds just flocked to claim the shards as soon as he’d shooed the old ones away.
At least they seemed to forget all about attacking Little Jane, Bonnie Mary, and Villienne in their passion for the pieces of glass. Little Jane breathed a sigh of relief as her mother grasped her hand behind the boulder. Safe at last.
Unfortunately, it was at precisely that moment that the enormous bird, which Bonnie Mary had come to think of as the Bird King, made its ponderous full exit from the mouth of the tunnel. With the entrance at last completely unblocked, the larger birds were free to emerge at last, and they spewed from the tunnel in an endless stream of fury.
“Hit the deck!” screamed Bonnie Mary, and though there was no actual deck to hit at the moment, she pulled Little Jane down to the ground with her. The air burst around them in an explosion of beating wings, clawing talons, and snapping beaks.
Dozens of the enormous birds that Bonnie Mary had seen in the cavern, too big and slow to make it off their nests for the first push, brought up the rear. In the nesting cavern they’d seemed such sleepy, slow-moving creatures. But no longer. Like a fire, slow to kindle, now raging out of control, they streamed forth, streaks of furious orange against the black of the cave’s mouth.
And still Madsea stood there. Silver talons clawed the air above his head. Mighty beaks clacked around him. Yet in the strange realm that constituted the mind of Fetzcaro Madsea, there reigned a curious, unaccounted for feeling of peace and pleasure.
Madsea felt fine, seriously fine. For the first time in over a dozen years, he could breathe, really breathe, without coughing, gasping, expectorating blood, or even spitting out a single glob of phlegm. In fact, he realized he hadn’t felt so fit for some time.
His lips formed a stiff line of determination. All he had were his fists, but with such newfound health coursing through him, he felt strong enough to take on the entire French navy. Soon he would have those golden nests. Nothing could stand in his way.
He laughed and caught a sharp look from the strange little girl in pants who had pulled the knife on him moments before. Then the creatures came on, streaking out of their dank den into the brilliance of the sun.
Swiftly, Madsea launched himself at the nearest orange bird with a flying roundhouse kick guaranteed to send a stout man straight to dreamland. Unfortunately, in his sudden glee at his newfound health, Madsea forgot two crucial facts: One, a bird is not a stout man. Two, the giant king of the peculiar orange birds was standing right there.
The enormous bird let out a shriek and flew at Madsea, its mighty silver beak opening wide like a great pair of scissors. Madsea had just enough time to jump back. The beak missed him by mere inches, fastening onto the tails of his coats instead.
Holding the fabric tightly, the bird pulled Madsea closer. Madsea loosed his arms from his coat sleeves and shrugged the garment off, leaving the incensed bird to toss aside the empty scrap of fabric. With all the strength in his scrawny, wasted arms, Madsea tried to pull himself up onto a large rock and out of the furious bird’s reach.
He had almost made it up when he heard an angry cheeping nearby. Perched on the rock above him stood a small bird. It was sporting an awkward, dragging wing.
The tiny bird cried shrilly as it dug a pair of sharp little talons into Madsea’s right hand.
Madsea creamed with pain and pulled his hand away.
The bird screeched again as it raked its talons across the back of Madsea’s other hand. He pulled his l
eft hand away from the rock, but, suddenly realizing he was no longer holding on to the rock with any hands at all, he fell in a heap to the ground below. Dizzily, he scrambled to his feet and tried again, pulling himself up on the massive boulder. He got his right leg up and over the rock, but his left leg dangled. Even dazzled by the unaccustomed brightness of the sun, the Bird King couldn’t help but notice Madsea’s leg squirming in front of him, looking very much like a giant, appetizing worm.
The bird’s great beak opened again, sharp and silver in the light. Madsea tried to pull his leg away as the Bird King lunged straight for it.
Chapter Eighteen
The Power of the Seal
Villienne had helped Long John hop up the path as far as he could before he had run off after Little Jane (at Long John’s insistence). After several unsuccessful attempts to stand on his own, the proud pirate had resorted to the indignity of crawling, dragging his injured half-leg behind him. He had to reach his family. But his progress was too slow for his liking, and he tried once more to stand. He hopped forward a few times, tripped, fell on a bed of green lichen, and blacked out.
When he came to, he heard screams and what sounded like hundreds of screeching birds. It took him a few minutes to realize that he’d landed on a ledge that jutted out over the steep cliff. Had he not been dizzy to start with, he certainly would have been as he gazed down at the azure curve of the moat sparkling cheerfully up at him, the serrated fangs of pointy black rock rising behind it.
As carefully as he could, Long John began to roll away from the edge. Aware that he was dangerously close to both the precipice and creeping unconsciousness, he used his fear of the former to prevent him from slipping into the depths of the latter.
The sounds of screams and screeching birds got louder and louder as he rolled. As he reached the path, the first person he saw was Bonnie Mary. With a sword in her hand and Little Jane at her side, she swiped away the swarm of orange birds that flapped around her in unbelievable numbers.
Unable to reach them, Long John could only watch as the incompetent magistrate tried his best to help them. Expecting the worst of Villienne, he was surprised to see the magistrate hold his own against the birds as Bonnie Mary and Little Jane rallied their forces to escape to safety behind some rocks.
Then Long John spotted Madsea. He was struggling to climb a large boulder, desperate to get away from the largest and most peculiar bird he’d seen in all his life. The bird’s head swayed back and forth on its long, stalk-like neck as it prepared to strike. Madsea’s legs dangled off the rock as he tried to wriggle up onto the ledge and out of the grasp of the bird’s massive beak.
As the beak opened like a pair of enormous silver scissors, Long John closed his eyes and waited for the horrible snap of bone.
But then something quite unaccountable happened. Amid the dusty scuffle Long John heard a familiar voice shout “No!” Long John opened his eyes and craned his neck to try to see over the rocks, but all he could tell was that something was preventing the bird from lunging at its prey. Something or someone seemed to be holding it back.
Suddenly, Madsea lost his precarious grip on the boulder and fell. The giant bird lunged again, but once more came up short, screaming and struggling against whatever was holding it back.
As the bird twisted around, Long John saw Doc Lewiston, of all people, holding tight to the furious bird’s tail feathers, keeping it from striking the final blow it needed to finish Madsea off.
The bird’s head turned on its long swanlike neck to get a good look at its assailant. Lewiston let go of the bird’s tail feathers, and the Bird King staggered backward and fell in the dust with an undignified squawk.
“Captain, quickly, before it can recover,” Doc Lewiston shouted at Madsea.
Madsea groaned and crawled toward the doctor.
Lewiston snatched up the captain. Despite his newfound vigour, Madsea was still as light as a feather, and he sagged into unconsciousness. With the captain in his arms, Lewiston dashed behind the tall rocks near the edge of the path. Long John watched as the giant bird blinked and looked around, searching for the men.
Then the wings and bodies of more orange birds came between Long John and his view of the Bird King’s attack. Even Little Jane and Bonnie Mary became difficult to distinguish amid the struggling masses of orange, though for a brief moment he did manage to catch a glimpse of Villienne. The embattled magistrate stood surrounded by more birds than Long John could count, all of them after the shards of broken glass scattered around him. His knapsack had already been torn to pieces by this point, leaving him reduced to bravely trying to whip the creatures away with what few strips of canvas remained.
“Look here,” Villienne scolded the impervious orange birds. “I’m a card-carrying member of every scientific, natural, historical, and biological society in Britain. Trust me; you don’t want an unflattering species designation from the Royal Society!”
Villienne took a whack at one of the birds with a vivid scarlet ruff. It wheeled away, momentarily stunned, but quickly recovered and circled back toward him, a creature with a mission. With needle-sharp talons outstretched, the bird dove at Villienne, determined to get at whatever shiny objects he might still be hiding.
Sensing the tide of battle about to turn against him, Villienne jumped back.
Though failing in its mission to acquire more shiny objects, the vengeful bird did manage to tear off a large piece of Villienne’s shirt. With a cry of victory, it rose into the sky, carrying a scrap of monogrammed white linen away as a trophy.
Soon the rest of Villienne’s shirt fell about his ankles in shreds, leaving the unimpressive breadth of his chest exposed to all the world.
As Villienne’s narrow torso caught the light, the heads of all the peculiar orange birds in the vicinity swivelled in his direction like puppets controlled by a single string. For some bizarre reason they appeared mesmerized by the sight.
Little Jane saw the sea of orange bird heads turn ominously toward Villienne. Rarely exposed to the elements, Villienne’s chest was as white as the underbelly of a frog and nearly as hairless. But it was not the paleness of his chest that so attracted the peculiar orange birds. There, for all to see, hung the symbol of royal officialdom, the British magistrate’s Seal of Office. The golden disc reflected every ray of the golden afternoon sunlight off its scrupulously polished surface. Silence descended over both humans and birds, as if, for a moment, everyone was under a spell.
Then Little Jane was struck by a moment of inspiration.
Year after year she’d watched those birds as they flocked to the Pieces of Eight to perch upon its masts and railings. She knew them intimately; knew what they feared, knew what they wanted. And now, finally, she knew exactly how to give it to them.
“Villienne!” she shouted. But he remained frozen to the spot, stunned by the countless pairs of eyes staring fixedly his chest.
“Villienne,” Little Jane repeated. “Throw it to me.”
“Throw what? This?” he asked, holding up the empty straps of his torn bag.
“No. Not the bag. The seal!” Little Jane shouted, exasperated. “Throw me the magistrate’s seal!”
“Oh, the seal.” Villienne lifted the gold chain over his head. “Ready?” he bellowed back at her as the squawking began.
“Ready!” she yelled. “Now!”
Villienne hurled the disc directly at Little Jane. She watched it fly through the air, worried that Villienne’s throw would fall short, but on this one day, Villienne threw with perfect accuracy. Little Jane caught the seal before a single orange bird could touch it. She turned and faced the edge of the cliff. Aiming for the gap between two large rocks, she threw the seal as hard as she could.
But hard as she threw it, the wind and her height worked against her, and the seal did not go flying over the edge of the cliff as she intended. It was her throw, not Villienne’s that came up short.
Little Jane gasped in horror as the gleaming medallion h
it one of the boulders and bounced back onto a patch of green that bordered the edge of the cliff. The seal rolled on its side in a dizzying circle, before coming to rest just feet from the edge.
With covetous shrieks the creatures lunged after the golden seal. Little Jane, Bonnie Mary, and Villienne rushed forward, but the birds were much faster. To everyone’s surprise, however, the magistrate’s seal was not the only thing that had come to rest in that particular patch of green.
With the last of his rapidly dwindling strength, Long John pulled himself forward, heedless of everything save the gold circle of the magistrate’s seal, expanding before his eyes like a brilliant yellow sun. He stretched out one trembling hand and grasped it. Then he turned toward the cliff and, with a flick of his wrist, tossed the seal over the edge. The medallion flew out over the edge and disappeared from view. Wasting no time, the frenzied birds dove after it, down into the chasm.
Long John flattened himself against the ground, pressing his cheek against the soft lichen as they rushed past. He closed his eyes, trying to imagine he was sinking into the mountain, being absorbed by the rock itself, ignoring the awful brush of wings across his back.
The birds flew straight off the cliff in a thick knot of feathers, pushing and shoving, screaming and scrawing as they went.
Bonnie Mary turned away from this spectacle to glance back at the mouth of the cave, where several of the larger birds stood silently flanking the Bird King. The large bird looked down its long beak as if it disapproved of the undignified frenzy of the smaller birds, which could still be heard fighting over the seal.
As Bonnie Mary watched, the bird cocked its massive head toward her, wrinkled eyelids blinking over its deep, inky black eyes. At that moment, she could’ve sworn the creature understood her. She realized, with some amusement, that she’d unconsciously straightened her posture as if under another captain’s scrutiny.
As one veteran fortune-hunter to another, Captain Bonnie Mary bowed respectfully to it. It should have felt ridiculous, but somehow, under these circumstances, it seemed the right thing to do. And why not? she thought. They were both captains, weren’t they? Hardy survivors of a mad lifelong hunt for gold and fortune.
Little Jane and the Nameless Isle Page 17