by Logan Joss
He took a flying leap towards them but their tender jolted forwards again and left him hanging by his fingers in mid-air.
‘Mèlli, watch out!’ Trevor called, misunderstanding his actions.
Mèlli grabbed wildly at the first thing she could get her hands on—a crewman’s ledger—and batted at his fingers with a vengeance. He gave a yelp of pain and let go, falling to the waves below.
‘Oh no!’ Trevor cried, realizing their mistake. They leaned over the side and saw the man come up from beneath the waves, coughing and spluttering but in one piece. A fishing boat had already started heading to his rescue.
‘We’re nearly there,’ Mèlli said, her voice thin with exhaustion, as she gestured loosely upwards with her arm.
The harbordrome was just above them.
Trevor, who had finally got to grips with the control levers, steered them as calmly as he could towards one of the docking berths on its edge. His whole body was trembling and it took all he had to bring the tender alongside the loading platform. The harbordrome was alive with activity, but, to their surprise, none of the merchants or workers seemed to have noticed the goings on below and continued to go about their own business.
Seeing that it was safe to do so, Mèlli stepped off the tender and secured it with a mooring line to a cleat on the platform. Trevor disembarked to join her and paused, his hands on his knees to steady his nerves.
‘Some rescue!’ Mèlli said with approval, as she started to make her way down the jetty. ‘Did you see that pilot’s face?’ she laughed. She turned to Trevor but he was not there. He was standing where she had left him, looking out across the city. She went back to join him. ‘What’s wrong?’ she asked.
Trevor said nothing so she followed his gaze to the top level of the city, where a huge cloud of black smoke hung ominously. Clusters of bright green fire barges doused the building beneath.
‘What’s that?’ she asked.
‘We killed him,’ Trevor said, his voice soft and deflated.
‘Who?’
‘Sklõff. And some others.’
Mèlli stared at him wide-eyed. A rush of painful memories crowded her mind. Sklõff’s smug, conceited face. His cruel eyes bearing down on her. The beatings. The torture. The helplessness. ‘What do you mean?’ she said, her voice barely a whisper.
‘That’s his villa. What’s left of it.’
They both stared at the plumes of smoke for a moment longer.
‘We need to leave,’ Mèlli said and turned back down the jetty.
‘Which one shall we take?’
Mèlli looked around the harbordrome, her eyes searching among the many vessels moored there. But only one would do. Its gleaming black hull called out to her like a beacon.
‘That one,’ she said.
34
The Harpy’s Song
THE HARPY’S SONG seemed to be deserted. The gangplanks were down but the only sound coming from the vessel was a rhythmic straining of the mooring lines on the cleats as it swayed gently in the breeze. It was as if the great galleon were sleeping, blissfully unaware of the world around it and unconcerned with the plight of its master.
The empty deck was an eerie sight; a pail of soapy water and a mop lay abandoned and tools were scattered, dropped without a thought as the crewmen hurried to the aid of their captain. The only signs of life were the visiting seabirds who nested on the cliffs below. They preened their pink feathers in the sunshine, making themselves at home in the absence of the crew and soiling the pristine deck with their droppings.
Trevor followed Mèlli down the forward companionway to the lower decks. They came out in the mess hall, where the long dining table had been laid for lunch. There were untouched platters of food—fruits, vegetables and baskets of bread—and in its center lay the roasted body of some sort of animal. It was the size of a small pig but had two pairs of eyes.
Mèlli stopped, picked up a long carving knife that lay next to it and sliced off a piece of meat. She took a bite. ‘Mmm…merabòo,’ she said and offered the knife to Trevor, but he just shook his head and took a piece of bread instead. Mèlli shrugged and stabbed the knife into the table.
They continued down another companionway that led to the crew’s sleeping quarters below. It was a long room filled with rows of beds on either side, suspended from the ceiling one on top of the other like bunk beds. Trevor sat on one and, to his surprise, it rocked precariously and tipped forwards. He stood up quickly. ‘I think I broke it,’ he confessed.
Mèlli chuckled. ‘It’s supposed to do that. Stops the crew from falling out in rough weather.’
Trevor thought about that for a moment but wasn’t quite convinced.
Beyond the sleeping quarters, they passed through a storage area. One side of the room had crates full of rigging and spare parts, while the other had shelves piled high with red firesilk. Trevor ran the tips of his fingers along the length of the fabric; it felt like the surface of a liquid but with a strange prickling sensation like it was charged with electricity.
Without warning, Mèlli stamped her foot hard on the wooden floor and called out in her best deep voice, ‘Is anyone there?’
Trevor nearly jumped out of his skin. ‘What you doing?’
‘We need to know if anyone else is on board. We haven’t got time to search the whole vessel.’ Mèlli called out again and they both listened for a response, but there was no sign of movement anywhere.
They climbed a ladder that took them back up through the floor above and out onto the main deck, directly in front of the captain’s quarters.
‘Don’t you think we should get going?’ Trevor asked, anxious to get out of Aÿena.
‘I just want to look in here first,’ Mèlli said.
Trevor followed her in reluctantly but stopped in awe as soon as he entered. ‘Wow! This is so different from the Leviathan’s Roar.’
He gazed at the sumptuous interior with its ornately carved fixtures and lavish furniture. The floor was covered with a plush carpet and the windows had thick, embroidered drapes. With a sense of mischief, he sat at the enormous wooden desk and pulled open some of its drawers. He drummed his fingernails absentmindedly as he waited for Mèlli to return from the next room.
She was in the captain’s sleeping chamber, standing transfixed in front of a life-sized portrait of Sklõff. The artist had captured every detail of his face, including the ruthless glare in his eyes. With a spike of rage, she snatched a glass decanter from a shelf, smashed it against the bed frame and tore into the canvas with its broken edge. She ripped a gash through Sklõff’s face and then tossed the decanter aside to tear the hateful face apart with her own hands.
Satisfied, she admired her handiwork for a moment before turning her back on her tormentor and slamming the door behind her.
‘We need to get the gangplanks up,’ she said to Trevor as she strode out onto the deck.
Trevor jumped up from the desk and ran out after her. She was standing by a large capstan next to the nearest gangplank.
‘Help me turn it,’ she said.
‘Wouldn’t it be quicker if I went and did the other one?’
‘No. It’s going to take both of us to turn them.’
Mèlli was right. Even with both of them leaning their full weight against the handles and pushing with all their might it was hard work. Slowly but surely, the capstan turned and the lower part of the gangplank started to fold upwards. The entire walkway folded in half and was gradually drawn into the hull beneath the deck.
But before it was all the way in, Trevor noticed four men running towards them.
‘Mèlli, look!’
‘Quick, the other gangplank!’
They ran to the other capstan but it was too late. Before they got there the men were already boarding the vessel. So they turned on their heels and ran back the way they had come.
‘Come ‘ere ya thievin’ little urchins,’ the men shouted. ‘We’ll ‘ave ya hung from the spreader for this.’
/> ‘What we going to do?’ Trevor cried as they ran amidships and past the main mast towards the captain’s quarters.
‘I don’t know. Just keep running,’ was all Mèlli could offer.
As they reached the rear of the vessel, they ran in different directions. Mèlli climbed a ladder that took her up onto the quarterdeck, while Trevor carried on around the stern behind the captain’s quarters. The crewmen split up in response. Two followed Trevor, and the other two, Mèlli.
‘‘Ere ain’t she that little scrub captain Sklõff ‘ad in the ‘old?’ one of the crewmen suggested.
‘Yeah, I think you’re right,’ the other one grinned. ‘If we catch ‘er Sklõff will reward us ‘ansomly.’
But Mèlli had other ideas. She dummied a move in one direction, only to skip back in the other. She led the men all the way up onto the poop deck and down again on the other side, around the galleon’s great wheel and down another ladder back to the main deck. But the crewmen were still hot on her heels.
One of the men chasing Trevor had the foresight to double back and head him off in the other direction. Trevor skidded to a halt as he saw the man appear around the corner in front of him, grinning greedily from the midst of his thick ginger beard. Having nowhere else to go, he climbed up to the quarterdeck and ran forwards. Below him on the main deck, he could see Mèlli hurtling towards the stern companionway and disappearing to the deck below, the two men not far behind. He swung around and looked from side to side anxiously. There was no sign of either of his pursuers but he knew they must be somewhere close by. Which way to go? In that moment of hesitation, the crewman’s head appeared over the top of the ladder. In a heartbeat, he was up. He faced Trevor, his arms out and his knees bent ready to pounce. Trevor stepped back slowly, each step matched by his pursuer.
Mèlli sped through the mess deck, pulling chairs down behind her to thwart her assailants. She looked back over her shoulder as she ran and saw the first of the men fall as the skidding chairs caught him in the shins. The other pushed past him and vaulted over the fallen chairs. In one movement he pulled the carving knife from the table and hurled it after Mèlli. Just as she started to climb the steps to the main deck, it whizzed past her ear and lodged in the top step. She stumbled out through the companionway and ran as quickly as she could around to the side of the opening and, with a heave, lifted the heavy wooden hatch and held it poised. She waited. As soon as she heard the man’s footsteps on the stairs below, she slammed it shut with all the force she could muster. It came down hard on his head, knocking him out cold.
Without pausing for breath, she rounded the opening, reached down to pull the knife from the top step and lifted the other door, letting it fall shut before sliding the large metal bolt across. She ran back across the deck, the sounds of pounding fists and angry shouts ringing out behind her, and closed the aft companionway, trapping the men below.
Her heart was pounding hard and she felt weak but she knew she had no time to rest. The man was sure to find a way out. And what if more of them returned? She had to get the vessel into the air.
A voice from above drew her attention. She looked up to the quarterdeck to see Trevor pinned against the mizzen mast by two huge crewmen.
‘There’s no-where to run now boy,’ one of them growled.
Fighting the instinct to go and help, she ran to the port side of the galleon, located one of the mooring lines and sliced it with the carving knife. Its keen blade cut through the rope with ease. She scanned the vessel quickly and saw that the stern mooring lines were on either side of the quarterdeck. She ran to the nearest one and severed it but the sudden movement caught Trevor’s attention and he turned his head to look at her. She flung herself against the side of the captain’s cabin to conceal herself as the two crewmen followed his gaze. She crept round to the starboard side, her back tight against the wall, just as a crewman, with a bald head and a jagged scar down his left cheek, leaned out over the railings.
‘Ain’t nothin’ there,’ he said.
‘Did ya think ya could trick us, boy?’ Ginger Beard laughed.
Mèlli cut the other stern line and ran forwards along the starboard edge. But as she reached the mooring line amidships, they spotted her.
‘Look! She’s cuttin’ the lines. Stop her!’
Scarface flew across the quarterdeck and slid down the ladder. Mèlli finished cutting the mooring line with the now blunting knife and ran forwards as fast as she could. Only one more to go, she thought. As she reached the forward line, the crewman was already halfway along the deck and closing fast. She sawed at the rope frantically but it seemed to take an eternity to break; she had to hack the last few strands before, finally, the galleon was free.
With Scarface right behind her, she had no time to reach the wheel at the stern of the vessel, so she started up the ladder to the forecastle. He snatched at her ankles as she climbed, clawing at her skin with his jagged nails until he managed finally to grab hold of her left foot. He pulled hard. Mèlli’s heart leaped into her mouth as she felt her hands slip, but she managed to hold on just enough to swing up her right leg and kick him hard between the eyes. He gave a yelp of pain and fell to the deck, clutching his nose in one hand and Mèlli’s shoe in the other.
She staggered to the secondary control console and eased the lever forwards. Slowly the Harpy’s Song began to rise. A heartbeat of relief was followed by a heartbeat of terror as she realized her mistake. The galleon began to list, its stern rising but its bow held fast by the last remaining mooring line. Mèlli pulled the lever back to right the vessel, but as she did so, the crewman began to climb the ladder towards her. She saw his bald head appear over the top of the ladder and had an idea.
At the top of her voice, she yelled, ‘Hold on tight, Trevor.’
Hoping that he had understood, she threw the lever forwards again. The vessel lurched, just as Scarface was stepping onto the forecastle, its stern rising quickly and listing dangerously to the port side. Crashing and breaking sounds came from below and the scattered tools slid forwards, the pail spilling its water in a soapy rivulet across the deck as the stern rose high above the bow. The crewman, taken by surprise, lost his footing and tumbled sideways. The deck disappeared beneath him as the vessel turned. Only a blood-curdling cry revealed his fate as he was crushed between the jetty and the gleaming black hull.
Mèlli pulled the lever to right the vessel, her arms shaking as she struggled to hold on. Overcome by a sickening fear, her eyes searched the quarterdeck. It was with a huge wave of relief that she made out the shapes of two hands and those unmistakable white trainers wrapped tightly around the mast. He was okay!
When he heard Mèlli’s shout of warning, Trevor had clung to the rigging of the mizzen mast with every ounce of his strength. He squeezed his eyes shut as he felt the vessel tilt beneath him like one of those pirate ship rides they have in theme parks. Now, although he felt like everything was the right way up again, he barely dared to peel his eyes open and see for sure.
Ginger Beard had managed to hold on by clinging to the rail that surrounded the quarterdeck and had now pulled himself upright and was straightening his clothing. He looked up and caught Trevor’s gaze; his face contorted into a grimace as he launched himself towards him.
Trevor’s arms were still wrapped around the mast, clinging to two wooden pegs that stuck out from either side. He glanced upwards and saw that they continued all the way up the mast. They must be footholds! Before he could stop to think, he heaved himself up and began to climb. He forced himself not to look down as he climbed higher and higher, but he could tell the crewman was right behind him by the ragged heaving of his breath. Beyond the lower yard-arm, the mast started to narrow. Climbing was easier now that he didn’t have to stretch his arms and legs so far, so he managed to go faster and put some distance between himself and his pursuer.
When he reached the upper yard-arm he snatched a downwards glance and immediately regretted it. His head swam as he saw how high
he was. But he couldn’t go back down the mast so his only option was to continue upwards or find another route down.
At each end of the yard-arm hung blocks with long ropes threaded over pulley wheels and hanging down to the deck below. Tentatively, he took hold of the yard-arm with both hands and held tight as he managed to ease his leg over and cling on tightly with all four limbs. He had to get to that rope. With a painful slowness, fear rendering his body stiff and unresponsive, he edged his way cautiously along its length.
The crewman had paused his ascent and was watching Trevor’s antics with amusement, seemingly waiting for him to fall. But his face paled with horror as Trevor reached out for the rope and he realized what was about to happen. He started back down as fast as he could but it was too late.
Trevor grasped the rope in both hands and edged his body slowly around the yard-arm until gravity took him and he slid off, swinging in mid-air and clinging to the rope for dear life. As he flailed his legs, trying to wrap them around the rope he realized he was falling. No, not falling—he was floating gracefully to the deck below as a sail unfurling from within the lower yard-arm countered his weight. The rising sail caught the crewman as he hurried down the mast and sent him sprawling to the quarterdeck.
Trevor landed gently on the main deck and allowed his legs to buckle beneath him. He crouched there, still clinging to the rope, as the breeze caught the open sail and pushed the Harpy’s Song into the jetties on either side. Relieved to be back at ground level, he let go of the rope and allowed himself to fall back onto the deck. The rope streaked back upwards with a whirling of the pulley and, as it did so, the sail collapsed and fell downwards, tumbling past the lower yard-arm and covering the entire quarterdeck with folds of scarlet.