“Better than the fairground,” called Peter.
“Better than anything,” Poppy called back.
They could not look down to see the world coming up to meet them, for they were surrounded by clouds, and it all seemed like a mist of many colours wrapping around them. They assumed they would be carried back to the horrible forest where they had started.
But it was a very different experience when they landed. With a huge freezing splash, they fell into deep dark icy water, and the rainbow disappeared.
Flinging up their arms, both called desperately for help but could see nothing. Poppy swam well, but she was accustomed to a bright sunny afternoon on a beach or in a swimming pool, while Peter could not swim at all. He was floundering and gasping, so Poppy, kicking madly to keep herself afloat, grabbed Peter around the waist, hauling him up partially out of the water.
The sky above was midnight blue and studded with stars, but then, right behind them, came an even darker shadow and blackness shut out the sky, the starlight, and the reflections on the water.
A boom, like huge waves hitting wood, echoed and Poppy tried to turn to see what the dreadful monster could be. Holding onto Peter made turning difficult, but eventually she managed, and gazed up at the endless darkness which now came closer. Then she heard the creak of wind in the mast, and the crack of the sail slamming back against it, and guessed what it must be.
She yelled into Peter’s ear, “There’s a boat coming. Wave your arms and shout.” He obeyed at once and they both waved and called desperately for help.
The Steady Eye had been sluggish, with her sail limp and the wind low, changing direction and then dropping. But her owner, Arthur Crinford, was not concerned. It was early in the season, and he was more interested in educating his new found son into the pleasures and skills of life at sea, rather than arriving at his destination. He had already done business with the Catalan town of Barcelona, and felt he’d made a good bargain with wine for wool, and Jerez for bleached linen. He was now sailing towards his final dock in the Balearic Islands, before returning to England. Already he was complacent. No storms, no accidents, and no plague. It had been a pleasant voyage.
And then he heard the screams. John rushed to the gunwales.
“Dad, tis something in the water. Not fish, neither. Look, reckon tis folk there.”
“So far from land?” Arthur hurried over to the ship’s side.
“Reckon them’s drowning.”
“John, throw the rope ladder over the side while I drop the sail.” Everyone else was asleep below deck, swinging like babies in cradles, snoring in the row of hammocks over the bilges. So both John and his father ran in opposite directions and John tossed the thick rope ladder over the side, calling out as he did.
“Climb up. Tis safe. Grab the ladder. Quick, afore we runs over yer.”
But then, as Poppy thrust Peter upwards and he managed to grasp the lower rungs of knotted rope, John stared, stunned, suddenly recognising them both. He nearly collapsed on the spot, but instead stood peering down, bending over with both hands reaching out to help them in, mouth open in astonishment, and hair in his eyes.
Peter clambered over into the ship, and within minutes, so did Poppy, soaked and shivering. Everyone stared at everyone else.
“Magic,” gulped Peter.
“Crazy,’ muttered John. Where did yous come from?”
Poppy managed to smile. “Sparkan,” she said. “The rainbow brought us.”
John shook his head and brushed the hair from his eyes. “Ruddy weird,” he said with a sudden grin. “Best come to me dad’s cabin and get dried off. Don’t know what I’s gonna tell him. Tis magic, that be sure.”
Salt water streamed from their clothes over the planks of the deck, but for both Poppy and Peter it seemed as though they had passed through wonder, horror and finally wonder again in a matter of minutes. It was the final wonder they found even more amazing, and knew there could not have been such an incredible coincidence that it was John’s ship that rescued them, and so surely it was meant.
It was the next morning when they sat together, huddled in blankets, drinking hot steamy spiced Jerez, eating dried ship-biscuits, and exchanging stories.
“Always rotten food on boats,’ John apologised.
“No medieval fridge,” nodded Poppy.
“So we’re going to the Spanish islands?” asked Peter, excited again. “Then home? It’s so long since I saw Alice and Alfie and Sam.”
“Reckon will be back in about a month,” said John. “I looks forward to it an’all. But first, tis warmer in Spain and I loves the sea. Tis called the Middle Sea hereabouts, and I’s seen fish size o’ cows jump out the water wiv tails flappin’ up to the sky.”
“I shall love it,” grinned Poppy.
“And I shall love it too,” added Peter, “Tis even better than Lashtang. The only trouble is, my lute got soaked. It was full of salty waves and the wood is crooked and the varnish has cracked.”
“We’ll buy yous a new one,” said John, as if he was now a happy millionaire. “I reckon we can get them things in Spain. I likes their music.”
Poppy pulled a face. “Hope I don’t get seasick. A month at sea is a long time. I think it takes two hours to fly to Mallorca from London in my time.”
“We ain’t got none o’ them funny engine things like you future folk,” John grinned. “Tis a month there and another month home.”
Although completely astonished at discovering his son’s two close friends floundering at sea for no obvious reason, Arthur Crinford had learned to accept strange events ever since John entered his life, and accepted Poppy and Peter on board without objection. He did, however, insist that John continue his education.
“We shall dock in the Island of Mallorca tomorrow, depending on the wind,” he said. “It is a small land mass, but the people are hardworking, deeply religious, and quite friendly. They are mostly farmers or fishermen so we can trade a little for enough food for our journey home.”
The only cabin was the captain’s, a tiny cupboard of a space, with one narrow bed against the wall, and a tiny table covered in papers, all screwed down to the floorboards. This was given to Poppy during the night, and to Arthur Crinford during the day while the sailors, who knew exactly what to do anyway, worked in the sunshine. Both John and Peter squeezed into a spare hammock in the cargo hold, sleeping toe to toe, and dozing to the shattering sounds of snoring from the crew in the other hammocks next to them.
“This,” muttered Poppy, when she found there was no place to wash, “is a ship without any space at all.”
“Reckon they’s all like this,” laughed John. “Who wants ter wash anyways?”
Dusk had fallen like a soft grey fog across the ocean, and Arthur had stomped out of bed and up on deck when it happened. The first stars had begun to flicker out, Poppy was saying goodnight before she trundled down to the bed Arthur had just left, and John and Peter were deciding to wait for another hour before falling into their hammock.
“I ortta keep me ol’man company,” said John softly. “Reckon he needs me.”
“But you’ve been awake all day. You have to sleep some time,” Peter said.
“You do what you like,” Poppy yawned, “but I’m tired. This sea air is exhausting, but at least I don’t seem to get seasick.”
“Tis calm weather,” John smiled.
Poppy took one step down the tiny narrow wooden stair to the cabin, when one of the sailors shouted, “Ship to larboard. Gaining fast, not under sail so must be man powered. I’d guess at least twenty oars. And I’d guess more pirate than trader.”
Arthur yelled back, “Is it flying a flag?”
The man in the crow’s nest high on the mast way above the boom called down, “Yes, captain, but at this distance I can’t make it out. Not Spanish colours, I reckon. Nor Moors, neither. Now sailing directly and turning to approach our prow, full on.”
“Pirates,” muttered Arthur, white-faced, and turned to
John. “Get your friends below deck. This could be dangerous.” “Into the cabin,” Arthur insisted, and marched away to lean over the side, gazing at the small ship approaching fast. Then suddenly he reached up and rang the watch-bell, shouting, “quick, arm yourselves and then get to the oars. We’ll be under attack in a few moments.”
And everybody ran.
John, Peter and Poppy stared at each other. Then together they raced down the little steps to the one cabin, and shut the door behind them. But John grabbed a long sword from its scabbard, hanging by the bed. “I’s gonna stand by me dad,” he said. “You best stay here. If tis pirates, best not see a girl. You look after her, Pete.”
And he slammed out of the cabin and back up the steps. The door swung shut behind him. Peter mumbled, “I should go and help too.”
Poppy sat on the bed. “I wish I could. But neither of us can. We’d just be in the way.”
Peter sat close, leaned to whisper in her ear, and murmured, “You’ve still got a golden fig or two in your pockets? Eat one, and try to make magic. Go on. I bet you can if you try.”
A thud of reverberating force shook the ship and Poppy fell off the bed, tumbling to the dirty scuffed boards. A small brown mouse looked up at her with accusing twitches of its whiskers, as if blaming her for the entire disruption, before running into a gap between wall and floor. Half a dozen men were shouting but it was impossible to hear the words. Poppy stayed on the floor and buried her head in the rumpled blankets on the bed. “I don’t have any powers,” she said, extremely muffled. “I’ve tried. But I’m useless.”
“Don’t give up so easily,” said Peter, shouting now over the thunderous noises on deck. “It won’t hurt to try.”
It was indeed a pirate ship, flying a flag of blood red and with the raging splash of twelve oarsmen rowing fast on either side, heaving to the rhythm of the drum, wild white spray hurtling upwards and the waves crashing against the wood. At the prow stood a tall, wide shouldered man in a strange combination of bright clothes, a dirty satin coat, a wide red sash around his waist, and a variety of knives stuck through it. His hat was bright with five different feathers, and his beard was black with both curls and dirt.
“Surrender, you lubbers,” called the pirate captain. “My crew is forty strong. You’ve no chance. Give up your cargo, and I’ll let you live.”
John was muttering to his father. “P’raps we ortta do it,” he said. “We ain’t got nuffing o’ proper value.”
Arthur shook his head. “It’s a trick,” he said. “These pirates are after the ship, not the cargo. If I surrender, they’ll kill us all. Besides, our casks of Jerez will bring in a fair coin. I want you safe, back in the cabin.”
“I done fought in battle fer the true king,” said John, holding his sword to the moonlight. “I ain’t gonna hide now.”
With a splintering crash, the pirate ship pounded into The Steady Eye, which was steady no longer. Both crafts swayed apart and then thundered together again, and John could hear the slitting of wood at the poop. He stepped forwards, surrounded by the sailors who had abandoned their oars, and instead rushed to face the attack.
Arthur Crinford answered. “I’ve faced fust-lugs and churls like you before,” he shouted, “and I’ve hurled their black-hearted captain into the sea, and rowed over him.”
“Grappling irons,” roared the pirate, turning to his grinning crew. And a cascade of thick ropes were hurled from the pirate ship to the other, with iron hooks to grip the gunwales. And as he held to one of the ropes himself, kicking into a great swing, he called, “Kill them all and take the ship for ourselves.”
Now that the two ships were clamped together, side by side, the pirates began to swarm on board, facing Arthur, John and the rest of the English crew. The clash of steel was instantaneous and blade slammed against blade. John, whirling around from one man to another, saw that several were already injured but could not tell what side they were on in the chaos. He managed to hit one man over the head, and he fell. John wondered if he had the strength to throw the pirate into the sea, but he was too busy now fighting for his life.
The hulls of the ships ground and scraped together as the decks vibrated with running feet and flashing blades. John had first thought his father was a bit soft, but now he saw what a great and courageous fighter he was. They now stood back to back, swords in one hand, knife in the other, legs apart to balance themselves against the violent rocking of the deck. The huge white sail of The Steady Eye was now filling with wind, pulling the ship against the grappling irons which held it firm.
Below the deck, Poppy and Peter stared up as running feet echoed down and they wondered if their ceiling would crash inwards, with the pirates falling through the holes into the cabin.
Alright, “mumbled Poppy. “I have to try. But I haven’t got a magic knife like Nat. I haven’t got anything except the golden fig.”
“Eat one quickly,” urged Peter, bending over her. He helped her pull one from her Lashtang pocket, and watched as she began to stuff it in her mouth, chewing quickly as the juice dripped down her chin. She wiped it off with one finger, licked her finger, and smiled.
“I feel better now.”
“Then let’s think of what to try next,” Peter said, sitting beside her. “We can’t just say kill all the pirates, can we?”
“No way.” She jumped up and started marching around the little cabin’s tiny central table. “How about a big wind?”
“That might capsize us more than them.”
“So I need to see their captain,” Poppy decided. “And try to make him fall over into the water.”
“Oh, Pops,” sighed Peter, “can’t you think of something easier?”
“I know.” Poppy hugged herself, excited. “I’ll call down Wuz. If he can hear me, and if he can get here, then he’d terrify the pirates and fight them too.”
“Frightening our side as much as there’s.”
She nodded. “Yes, but we run up and tell John and his dad that Wuz is a good dragon and not to hurt him.”
Peter did not seem especially impressed by the idea, and was fairly sure Poppy wouldn’t be able to manage it, but he said he’d try to help. They both stood and raised their hands as they had seen Messina and the others doing magic, and Poppy called loudly, “Wuz the dragon. Come down the ladder to Poppy and Peter.”
“Hang on,” called Peter suddenly, “I’ve just thought of something I can do to help.”
“Then hurry,” Poppy was more and more excited. “I can feel this working and my fingers are tingling. Look – there’s a little light on my thumb.”
Meanwhile the noise upstairs had escalated as the two ships thudded and rebounded, one grappling iron broke and swept like a boomerang, smashing one of the pirates in the face, everybody was swearing and cursing at everyone else, and the clash of steel was continuous. One man hurtled overboard and splashed into the sea, but again John could not see if it had been friend or foe. He was not hurt himself except for a cut on his knuckles and bruises on his arms, but he knew his father had been injured somehow. This was not the same as the one battle John had fought before, when he wore full armour and a helmet. But now, just like last time, there was blood in the air and that made him feel sick.
He saw the ferocious pirate captain striding towards him and raised his sword again, wondering what hope he had against a man that size and experience, but before he could do a thing, his father had stepped in front of him, and was immediately in a fierce fight. John rushed to join in, and as Arthur and the pirate swung their swords, John thrust his sharp knife hard into the back of the bearded pirate captain’s neck, straight through his dirty white collar. The man staggered, surprised, and Arthur took advantage, pushing harder with his own sword.
However, within seconds the captain recovered. He was bleeding but continued to twirl and dance, attacking Arthur from every side. John was forced away by another man, and was soon out of breath.
And then, with a shriek like the call of a m
assive angry eagle, a dark shape flew down from the night sky. Everyone stared up at it in astonishment, including Arthur and John, but with another screech, the strange flying object had picked up the pirate captain with its two back claws, flew with him across both ships, and finally dropped him into the ocean at some distance away. Immediately the waves swallowed him.
“Tis a dragon,” yelled several men. “Kill the thing.”
“No,” shouted Poppy, rushing up on deck. “It’s helping us. Don’t hurt the little dragon.”
With his long tail swinging, Wuz stretched his wings and picked up another of the pirates, flying first in a dizzy circle and then flinging the man into the water. A third pirate disappeared the same way.
“Ca’ptin Tom is gone,” yelled another. “Get our ship unhooked and let’s get outta here.”
While the remaining pirates rushed to disentangle the iron hooks and ropes, Wuz caught another short fat pirate and hurled him into the dark waves. Arthur Crinford and his crew stood utterly stunned, watching the magic unfold.
“Tis a dream,” murmured one sailor.
John’s father shook his head. “I used to think that,” he said, “but the magic is no dream. This is real, and we are saved.”
John had hurried over to talk to Poppy, and Peter had also crept up from the cabin and was watching the panic.
“I did it,” said Poppy proudly. “I told you I met dragons on Sparkan. Well, this is our friend Wuz. And I managed to call him down from Sparkan while Pete played a special song on the lute.”
Peter blushed. “It’s a tune the dragons loved when I made it go with a song they like to sing. But my lute’s all cracked from falling in the sea, so it didn’t play very well. But Wuz heard anyway, and Pops made real magic.”
Tripping over each other and leaving their weapons clattering on the deck, all the pirates were lurching frantically away and back to their own ship. One tumbled headlong between the two gunwales as the ships parted, and others collapsed on their own deck, peering back at the dragon silhouetted against the moon.
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