by Angie Sage
There were some ivy-clad ruins deep in the shadows of the trees. In an old, eerily dark archway with the figure IV carved into it they put on their Tristan tops.
“This is some kind of tunnel,” whispered Tod.
Oskar peered into the depths of the archway. “Yeah, you’re right.”
“Can you see a spooky white mist way down there?”
“Weird,” said Oskar with a shiver.
“Yeah,” said Tod. “Let’s go.”
THE PRISONER
Balanced at the top of the rope ladder, Oskar peered into the ship. It was just as Annar had said. The only person on deck was a sailor guarding the gangplank on the far side, and he was facing away. Oskar looked down at Tod and gave the PathFinder “okay” sign. With a movement as sinuous as if he were tracking dune rats, he pulled himself up over the gunnels and slithered silently down on the deck, which was warm and smooth to his bare feet. He crouched behind a raised hatch and waited for Tod.
Tod was up the ladder as fast as the monkey. In thirty seconds she had slipped over the gunnels and landed lightly beside Oskar. They began to crawl slowly forward, keeping hidden behind neatly stowed coils of rope, upturned boats and a stack of packing crates. Soon they reached a long, raised skylight, which concealed them from view and allowed them to head fast for the open cargo hold hatchway that Annar had described.
The cargo hatch ladder took them two decks down into hot, stuffy gloom. As they descended they smelled something nastily familiar—the damp-dog stench of Garmin. As Tod and Oskar crept warily off the ladder, they saw three large cages in the shadows. Each contained a Garmin. The creatures got to their feet, their eyes glinting yellow out of their broad, white faces, their monkeylike front paws gripping the bars. They opened their mouths to show a row of flat, white teeth and two long, tubular fangs from which thick spittle was dropping in a shining thread. One of them flicked out a long, flat, forked black tongue.
Clicker-click-click. Click-click.
“C’mon,” whispered Oskar.
Tod and Oskar dropped down the hatchway into the lowest cargo hold. There were no portholes here, and all Tod could see was the sheen of Oskar’s hair. She took a light stick from her pocket and bent it. Its soft green light showed many more cages lining the sides of the hold.
“They’re empty,” whispered Oskar, who could see much better in the dark than Tod. “And they don’t smell of Garmin.”
A horrible thought struck Tod. “You don’t think they keep people in these?” she whispered.
“I dunno,” Oskar said miserably. He couldn’t bear to think of Ferdie imprisoned like a dog. “Ferdie,” he said in a hoarse whisper. “Ferdie.”
A faint rustle of straw from somewhere in the darkness set Oskar’s heart pounding. “Ferdie?”
There was no response. “Did you hear that?” Oskar whispered to Tod.
Tod nodded. They crept slowly along the dark, silent row. At every cage they stopped, and the eerie green light from Tod’s light stick lit up no more than rough wood and straw. They headed forward toward the prow of the ship and at the very last cage, by the forward bulkhead, a voice said, “Hish!”
“Who’s there?” whispered Oskar.
“Hish. Hish. Water. Water.” The voice was harsh and parched and Oskar knew there was no way it belonged to Ferdie. Tod’s light showed a man sitting cross-legged on the straw, a thin hand gripping the bars. He stared at them, sizing them up. “Water,” he whispered.
From his backpack, Oskar took his precious bottle of lemonade and handed it to the man. The man fumbled awkwardly with the top and Oskar realized with a shock that he had only one arm. Oskar reached in and flipped the top open. The man drank greedily, gulping down the liquid while Oskar and Tod exchanged glances, both imagining Ferdie in the same condition. The man finished drinking and handed the empty bottle back to Oskar.
“I thank you. I thank you.”
“Can we help you—can we get you out?” asked Tod.
“Out?” The man’s wide eyes stared at them, shining in the dim green light. As the water and salts from the lemonade spread to his parched brain he began to think once again. And he realized that the two children in front of him were not the regular crew. And they were as desperate as he was.
“Aye, ye can. Bolt at the side. Simple mechanism. Release it and the front slides up.”
The front of the cage slid open easily and the man crawled out. He stood up slowly and painfully—he had not stretched out straight for many days. He looked at Tod and Oskar. “My heartfelt thanks to ye,” he said. “Samuel Starr, at your service.” He bowed his head.
“Are you the only one here?” asked Tod.
“In these pernicious cages, I am the only one left,” he said, running his hand along the bulkhead, searching for something. He grinned. “No use to them with but one arm.”
“Oh, Oskie,” Tod whispered miserably. “I was so sure we’d find her.”
Oskar was too desolate to speak.
Clink. Something metallic fell to the floor. Samuel swore.
“I beg your forgiveness for my foul words,” he said. “Please, I was trying to discover a key they keep hanging here on a hook. But it has fallen. Can you see it with your light?”
With the glow of her light stick, Tod found a large iron key lying on the floor. She handed it to the man, but he waved it away. “I pray you do it, for my hand is shaking still. Place it in the lock there.” He pointed a trembling finger to what Tod and Oskar could now see was a small door in the bulkhead—the entrance to the chain locker, the place deep in the prow of a ship where the anchor and its chain were normally kept. In the right-hand side of the door was the dark shape of a keyhole.
“My family were PathFinders, way back. And one of us is in there—a child. A PathFinder child. She was here when I came. I cannot leave knowing that she is still here.”
Oskar went deathly pale. Tod handed him the key.
“Here, Oskie,” she said. “You do it.”
THE CHAIN LOCKER
Oskar’s hands were shaking as he turned the key in the lock. The door swung open and a dim light lit up their faces. Oskar felt sick. He was afraid of what he would find. If it wasn’t Ferdie, he couldn’t bear it. And if it was Ferdie, what state would his sister be in after one long month as a prisoner in a place like this?
The heavy door—thick, riveted metal just like the bulkhead—swung silently open. Tod handed her light stick to Oskar and nudged him through the door.
Oskar stared, trying to make sense of what he saw: a lantern hanging from the ceiling showed a tiny figure—surely too small and thin for his robust sister—sitting with its back to the door, surrounded by a sea of shimmering gold. The figure’s right arm was methodically moving in and out, in and out. Oskar was puzzled for a moment and then he realized that, bizarrely, the figure was sewing. It reminded him of a scene from the book of fairy tales that his mother used to read to them on dark winter nights, but it made no sense at all. The figure had not looked around at the opening of the door and Oskar had the feeling that this was deliberate, for something in the tense alertness of the figure told him that whoever it was knew that someone was there and was deliberately ignoring them. And that raised Oskar’s hopes—that was just the kind of way Ferdie would behave.
Oskar’s throat was dry as dust. He swallowed hard and managed to croak, “Ferdie?”
The figure sprang to its feet and swung around; cascades of golden cloth fell to the floor like softly billowing waves.
“Oskie?” came a whisper.
“Ferdie! Oh, Ferdie.” Oskar leaped toward her and Ferdie looked horrified.
“No! Oskie, the cloth, mind the gold, it’s—”
But Oskar didn’t care; all he wanted was to grab Ferdie and take her home. He trampled across the soft gold cloth and hugged Ferdie hard. Oskar was shocked: Ferdie felt like a bag of sticks.
Ferdie’s deep, dark-shadowed eyes stared at her twin and she broke into a sob. “You’ve ruined it. What�
�s going to happen to me now?”
Oskar didn’t know what to say. Behind him came Tod’s voice.
“You’re coming home, Ferdie,” she said gently. “You don’t have to worry about that stuff anymore.”
“But it’s my Lady’s ball gown,” said Ferdie. “I have to finish the buttons by tonight.”
“Ferdie, please—you don’t have to finish anything,” said Oskar. “Because by tonight you’ll be home with Mum and Dad.”
“Mum . . . Dad . . .” Ferdie tried out the words as though she could not quite remember what they meant.
Tod was becoming apprehensive. “Ferdie, we must go before someone finds us.” To the accompaniment of a gasp from Ferdie, Tod now also trampled across the fine gold fabric. “Ferdie’s in shock,” Tod whispered to Oskar. “We’ll have to just grab her and go.”
Oskar nodded. He took one arm and Tod took the other, and together they tried to walk Ferdie forward.
“No! Oh, stop!” gasped Ferdie, as if in pain.
Oskar began to feel scared. He had dreamed of the moment he would find Ferdie so often that it had almost become reality. And in each dream, every time, she had hurtled into his arms and they had run away home together. Never, ever, had he imagined this. What was wrong with Ferdie? Why wouldn’t she come with them?
Ferdie snatched at the shiny gold fabric and for a moment Oskar thought that his sister had gone mad and wanted to take it with her. And then, as she lifted up the fabric to reveal her feet, he understood the awful truth—Ferdie’s ankle was shackled to the floor.
A hoarse voice behind them swore once more. “To do that to such a little one!” said Samuel Starr. “It is a bad thing. A bad, bad thing.”
Oskar kneeled down at Ferdie’s feet. A thick, tight band of steel was fixed around her left ankle and linked to a chain that was welded to a metal plate set into the floor.
“Hish!” came a hiss from the doorway. “Hish, hish. I hear someone a-coming.” Samuel stepped into the chain locker and pulled the door closed behind him. He hurried over to Ferdie, took the shackle in his hand and shook it angrily. “We must shift it. We must!”
Oskar felt in his pocket. Please, he thought. Please let it be here.
Outside they heard the light thub of bare feet on boards as someone jumped off the ladder, followed by the rattle of something being dragged across the bars of the cages. In the light of the lantern, Tod saw Samuel Starr go pale. “It is feeding time,” he whispered. “The turnkey will see I am not there. I—I must go. I will give myself up. It will buy you time to release your sister.”
“No,” whispered Ferdie. “Don’t go. Please, Samuel.”
Ferdie had spent many a lonely night and day listening to Samuel through the thin bulkhead walls. The rasp of his voice had traveled through the tiny grille in the door and while Ferdie sewed, she had listened to his stories, his soft sea shanties and his rambling yarns. The knowledge that not far away there was someone good had kept the worst of her fears at bay and given her hope. And now she could not bear the thought of Samuel giving himself up—to what fate she could not imagine.
So Samuel Starr stayed. And when they heard the turnkey’s gasp of surprise to see his empty cage and heard the running of his feet and the rattle and rush of him ascending the ladder, they knew there was little time left.
“Escape! Escape!” They heard shouts from above and the thub-thub-thub of more feet.
In the last pocket he had left to try, Oskar’s frantic fingers closed around his lock-picking key. He grasped the shackle around Ferdie’s ankle. “It won’t come off, Oskie,” Ferdie said quietly. “You should go now before they catch you, too. Go back to Mum and Dad. Tell them I am okay and that somehow, one day I will come home. I will. I promise.”
“Just keep still, will you, Ferd?” Oskar muttered.
Above their heads they could hear the cry spreading through the ship. “Escape. Escape!” Oskar ran his fingers over the seemingly smooth fetter until he found the telltale line of the join. He ran his fingernail along the join until he came to a small dip, and this was where he pushed his lock-picker in. With two deft twists and a press downward, Oskar felt something within the fetter give and it sprang open. Ferdie gasped in amazement. She shook her foot and she was free.
Everyone stared in astonishment at the sprung shackle lying on top of the billows of gold. Then the sound of bare feet in the cargo hold beyond brought them back to reality. They were not out of danger yet.
“Did you not look in the chain locker, you fool?” demanded an angry voice.
“N-no sir. I thought it best to tell you first, like.”
“And let him hide until you’d gone and then let him creep out nice and easy, eh? Like you had planned it all cozy together? My Lady will be very interested to hear of your new friend.”
There was terror in the voice that replied, “No! No friend of mine, sir. I swear.”
“Well, let’s have a look, shall we? Let’s see if your fine feathered friend really has flown.”
The steps advanced toward the chain locker. Tod and Oskar looked at each other in panic—they were trapped. Samuel threw his weight against the door. “They won’t get in,” he growled. “Over my dead body.”
It was Ferdie who took control. “No!” she whispered. “Let them open the door. Let them come in. You all hide under the ball gown. You, too, Samuel. Now hurry, and get underneath!”
Oskar was back to being little brother. “Okay, Ferdie. Come on, Tod, Samuel. Quick.”
They held up the swathes of cloth for Samuel, who crawled underneath with some difficulty, and then Tod and Oskar dived in. Meanwhile Ferdie had seated herself on her stool and resumed sewing. When the door burst open to reveal a burly sailor in whites followed by a tall man in dark blue, Ferdie looked up calmly.
“Yes?” she said imperiously.
Underneath the folds of cloth, Oskar smiled. So this was how Ferdie had behaved—as though her prison was her palace. His heart beating so loud that he was afraid someone would hear it, Oskar listened.
“Your door is unlocked,” he heard a voice saying suspiciously.
Oskar felt scared. How was Ferdie going to explain that?
Ferdie answered calmly. “Yes,” she said. “A horrible man with one arm came in. He wanted to set me free.”
Oskar shut his eyes tight in terror. What was Ferdie doing, giving Samuel away?
“Did he indeed?” said the voice.
“Yes, he did.” Ferdie sounded disapproving. “I told him to go away. I have my Lady’s ball gown to finish.”
“Oh.” The voice sounded somewhat thrown.
Oskar smiled. He’d forgotten how clever his twin was. But now Ferdie scared him even more.
“Shall I tell you something?” he heard her say confidentially.
“Yes?” came an eager reply.
“That man was really bad. He came rushing in and very nearly trod on my Lady’s gown. He didn’t care one bit. He would have ruined it. I told him to shut the door and leave me alone.”
“Well, well,” Oskar heard the man say.
Oskar could feel his twin give a careless shrug. “Good riddance, if you ask me. Nasty man.”
“You are right in your judgment, miss. He is indeed a nasty man. We will leave you to finish my Lady’s gown. I apologize for interrupting you.”
“Apology accepted,” Ferdie said loftily.
The door closed, and beneath the stifling folds of the gown three people lay very still, listening to retreating footsteps and full of admiration for Ferdie Sarn.
A STARR
As the sound of retreating footsteps died away, Tod and Oskar crawled out from under their golden cloud. Samuel followed slowly. With a stifled groan he stood up and bowed stiffly to Ferdie. “Magnificent,” he murmured.
Ferdie grinned and returned the bow. Oskar smiled too, pleased to see that the old Ferdie was still there.
But Tod was edgy. “We’ve got to get out of here before someone else comes,” she said.<
br />
“Aye, so you do,” said Samuel. “There are loading hatches on the next deck up with ropes there you can use to climb down.”
On the upper cargo deck the click-clicker-clicks started up as they hurried past the cages. Everyone stared deliberately ahead, determined not to look into the yellow eyes that were watching their every step. Quickly, Tod, Oskar and Ferdie followed Samuel, who led them to a cargo door in the hull of the ship. Two large bolts secured the door at the top and a short, thick rope was tied to a handle set in its center. Under Samuel’s instruction, Tod, Oskar and Ferdie held the rope taut while Samuel shot the bolts open. The weight of the door surprised them. It dropped outward and a bright strip of light appeared. Slowly they let the door fall and as it moved down, the strip of light became a beam of brilliance that spilled into the dingy cargo hold, sending the click-click-clicking wild with anticipation. Ferdie squinted in the brightness. After two months living in lantern light, sunlight hurt.
The cargo door stuck out from the side of the ship like a drawbridge, but it was a drawbridge going nowhere. However, this did not worry Samuel. He took a rope and with a deft sailor’s knot he one-handedly secured it to a ring set into a beam in the ceiling and threw the other out over the side of the door.
“Go!” Samuel told them. “And when you get down, you run for it.”
Tod went first so she could hold the rope for Ferdie. In a few seconds she reached the grassy footpath, cool in the shadows of the ship. Weak from her two months’ imprisonment, Ferdie slowly climbed down, then Oskar followed quickly. They all looked up, waiting for Samuel.
Samuel leaned out from the cargo hatch and made a flapping, shooing movement with his hand. Tod realized what Samuel meant. “He’s telling us to go without him,” she said.
“No,” Ferdie whispered. “No!”
“Ferdie, he’s going to be really slow down the rope with only one hand,” Tod said. “He wants us to get away. Now.”
Ferdie gazed miserably up at Samuel, who was standing in the cargo hatch. Samuel waved briefly and Ferdie blew him a kiss. Suddenly, Samuel was pulled back into the darkness of the ship. A shout sent them running: “My Lady, my Lady! Your sewing girl! She’s out!”