The Icy Hand

by Chris Mould

  “I don’t know what you are talking about,” Stanley said, shrugging his shoulders.

  Partridge leaned forward so that Stanley could see each hair on his face. He grabbed Stanley’s coat and pulled it close, bringing the boy with it.

  The old pirate smelt disgusting—a most horrible whiff of ancient rotting bones and putrid flesh. “Listen to me, young fellow. When someone placed the Ibis in their hand I’d been asleep for thirty years. I traveled three thousand miles along with Mr. McCormick here to come and take what is rightly mine. So let us not enter into lies and tall tales that don’t make sense. There’s a good lad.” He let go, patted Stanley on the head, and ruffled his long hair.

  “I can feel the beating heart of that precious little bird. I know she is near, Stanley. Think carefully. Don’t go losing everything you have for the sake of something you don’t even need.”

  Stanley knew that he was more at risk than he had been with the pirates he had dealt with last summer. There was something far more dangerous and cut-throat about Partridge and McCormick.

  Partridge stepped out into the hallway as Stanley and Daisy helped Mrs. Carelli to her feet. Stanley had never her seen her looking so crestfallen. They had really knocked the wind out of her sails, and he held on to her tightly in a bid to protect her.

  The Stormbringers crunched their feet over broken glass, and their snow-caked clothes left muddy water dripping everywhere.

  McCormick pushed past Stanley, grinning as he lifted his patch to reveal an empty socket. Stanley jumped sideways.

  “Thank you kindly,” McCormick sneered. His lolloping frame hung awkwardly out of shabby clothes, and his enormous hands and feet seemed too big for his body. He carried a cudgel that looked like it had done some damage in the past.

  “It is somewhere here,” Partridge whispered. In seconds he had found the pike and stood in front of it, his eyes closed, as if in a trance. “Here, Mr. McCormick, she lies here, within this case.”

  Before Stanley could say anything, Partridge took hold of the case and pulled it clean away from the wall, bringing dust and rubble down on himself and not caring one bit.

  “No, it’s here. In my hands,” he announced. “I feel it.”

  The pike’s eyes opened wider, in shock, but he did not speak a word. His instinct was to dart away through the water, but alas, it was not possible.

  Partridge made his way to the front door with his friend in tow.

  “We have what we were looking for, Mr. McCormick. Now that was quite simple, wasn’t it, Stanley? Thank you for your hospitality. I do hope to see you again, my dears.”

  He made his way outside, leaving the door wide open for the blizzard to come sweeping in.

  As McCormick turned to leave, he grabbed Stanley by his waistcoat and lifted him up with one hand till they were face to face. He smelt just as bad, if not worse, than old Partridge. “If you ever try to cross Partridge and McCormick again, young Buggles, I will squash you like a fly.”

  An overwhelming rush of anger surged through Stanley. Who on earth did this long-legged louse think he was? His right arm was squashed against the door, but he raised his left and landed the sweetest hook right into McCormick’s only eye.

  “Aaaarrrrgh!”

  McCormick dropped Stanley immediately, wailing in pain. He took his cudgel and swung it blindly as tears leaked from under his eyelid.

  Stanley dodged and the nail on the end of the weapon embedded itself in the doorframe, leaving the cudgel stuck in midair.

  Partridge had seen the tussle, but his hands were not free and he was growing impatient. “Come now, Mr. McCormick. We have what we need. Let us not waste our energy on extending the battle we have already won.”

  McCormick cursed at Stanley and made his way blindly outside, holding on to the coattails of Bastabelle Partridge.

  They climbed into the carriage, snow blowing into their faces. Partridge shouted in foul temper at the black mare and they bolted up onto the moor.

  Stanley, Daisy, and Mrs. Carelli stood breathless in the doorway, the blizzard spinning around them, as the carriage moved off. Finally they dragged themselves away and forced the door shut against the storm.

  Back inside they shook with fear and fever. They were frozen to the core of their bones, and they perched in front of the hearth to catch the last of the heat from the embers.

  “Who on earth were they?” asked Mrs. Carelli, nursing her injuries and shaking like a leaf.

  “I’m afraid that they were more old enemies of Admiral Swift’s,” said Daisy.

  “But what on earth did they want with Stanley’s sardine?” she quizzed.

  Stanley promised he would explain in the morning, but right now he felt that she should be wrapped up in bed. She would be sore when she woke and would need a day of rest.

  Daisy and Stanley hurried her upstairs and made her comfortable—and for once Stanley felt good that he had taken charge. But when he was sure she was fine for the night, he climbed back into his woolens and headed out of the door. Daisy was close behind. It was bitterly cold but they were both moving so fast they were sweating profusely.

  Daisy caught up with Stanley. “Can you see them yet?” she asked.

  “No, but I’ve picked up the tracks and they’re heading this way.”

  They pressed on together. “What are we going to do, Stanley? They’re too powerful for us.”

  “Let’s worry about that when we get there,” Stanley said. His brow was knitted: what grated on him the most was not the loss of the Ibis, but the way McCormick had treated Mrs. Carelli. Stanley was hell-bent on revenge, on something far more punishing than a sock in the eye.

  Back inside Candlestick Hall, Mrs. Carelli felt sure that Stanley had crept out. She knew him too well to think otherwise. She pulled her aching body from the bed and wandered down the corridor. Perhaps she was mistaken, and they were in their beds after all. But no, Daisy’s room was empty and so was Stanley’s.

  Mrs. Carelli walked from room to room, looking out through the windows and trying to catch a glimpse of them. Finally she entered Daisy’s room again, strained to see out through the snow, then groaned at the pain in her side. She collapsed on the bed and gave a huge sigh. “That boy will be the end of me,” she gasped.

  She lit the candle that was perched on the small cabinet beside the bed and spotted the book Daisy had been reading before she went to sleep. At the top of the page, in a handwritten script, she read: “Life and death and back again.”

  Mrs. Carelli knew those kids had been up to something. But this just sounded like nonsense! She read on, glancing through the endless notes and diagrams. The subject had no fascination for her, yet something made her continue.

  Suddenly, out on the moor, Daisy glimpsed the black shape of the carriage ahead. Stanley’s heart leapt. They had reached the top of a hill, and from their lofty viewpoint they could see the coach twisting and winding, struggling in the snow.

  The carriage lurched forward: a front wheel had bashed into a snow-covered boulder! The wheel came reeling off and fell in pieces to the ground, spokes everywhere.

  “Aha,” gasped Stanley. “A stroke of luck! Come on, Daisy, there must be a way for us to win this battle.”

  Daisy pulled her hat down over her forehead and shoved her freezing hands deep into her pockets. Something jabbed at her hand and she took it out.

  It was the tooth that she had found out on the moor. She wrapped her fingers around it and held on tight. Perhaps it would bring them luck.

  They drew nearer. They could see Bastabelle Partridge was enraged.

  McCormick was fumbling around trying to fix the wheel, but all to no avail.

  Partridge began to unfasten the horse.

  “Quick, Daisy, look. They’re going to get away!”

  Daisy held the tooth more tightly, so tightly that it almost cut into her hand.

  Back at the Hall, leafing through the book, Mrs. Carelli came across a passage decorated with silver swirls
. Almost in a trance, she read out loud to herself:

  By grip of claw

  or hair or bone,

  And with these words

  outspoke alone,

  Through icy blizzard wind of east

  will tread the blackened midnight beast.

  And as she spoke the words, a terrible gust took the page and whipped it out from the book, whisking it out through the window.

  “Aah, these blasted windows need seeing to as well,” cried Mrs. Carelli. She slammed the book shut. “Wait till I get my hands on that pair of ruffians!”

  Her candle flickered out, and the page flew across the moor.

  Even the mighty Partridge was struggling to withstand the gale that was blowing up. His mare was spooked by the storm and, breaking free of the coach, it bolted across the moor. The pirates’ chance of a quick escape had just disappeared.

  “Wait, Stanley, something is … happening,” said Daisy.

  “What do you mean?” said Stanley, hopping from foot to foot in confusion.

  “I don’t know!”

  They ran behind a huge rock for refuge, and not a moment too soon. A strange light was circling the ground before them. A cracking and sparking began, followed by a clap of thunder.

  Suddenly, the hulking frame of a werewolf appeared right in front of them through a whirling mist. The very werewolf that Stanley thought he had defeated all those months ago!

  The two friends were so frightened that neither could move a muscle.

  Through his terror, Stanley looked into the wolf’s eyes.

  Something was different.

  Daisy managed to whisper, “Stanley, run! Run as fast as you can.”

  But Stanley found that he was no longer afraid. Surely if the wolf had wanted to savage them, it would have already done so.

  “No,” he hissed. “Stay right there.” He grabbed the sleeve of Daisy’s coat. “Don’t move an inch.”

  Stanley crept closer to the beast, so close that he could see the scar left by his very own silver bullet. Like Admiral Swift and the pirates, this must be a ghostly apparition of the wolf’s former self. But that didn’t make it any less fearsome. Saliva dribbled from its teeth and its blackened silhouette was the image of pure evil. It made a low rumbling sound.

  This thing could swallow him whole if it wished.

  “Stanley, what are you doing?” whimpered Daisy.

  “Stay calm,” he answered. “I don’t know how on earth our werewolf got here, but I am sure that he has come to help us.”

  The wolf eyed him closely, tilting its head at him. Stanley still had the stink of McCormick and Partridge about him and he could see that this troubled the beast.

  As the werewolf approached Stanley held his breath, slowly opening his coat. The stench left on his waistcoat by McCormick was so strong it made him feel sick. The beast sniffed at the musty places where McCormick had been. A grumbling growl emanated from deep within, but still it did not move toward the pirates.

  With growing confidence, Stanley set off toward Partridge and McCormick.

  “I’m right with you, Stanley,” cried Daisy, trotting on behind. And through the corner of her eye, she could see the shape of the beast keeping close to them. It moved catlike among the pines, slinking from tree trunk to tree trunk, weaving among the stones and boulders.

  Stanley knew they didn’t have much longer. They were nearing the evil pair, and he knew that if they saw them out here on the moor the pirates would surely finish them both off.

  Finally, the beast picked up the pirates’ scent from the ground and raced ahead of Stanley and Daisy.

  Stanley let out a shuddering sigh of relief, as McCormick spotted the wolf and froze for a second.

  Partridge grasped at the rifle strapped to his back. In a flash it was in his hands. He blasted two shots at the wolf, but they simply made no difference. The beast continued. Partridge reloaded and fired again.

  Stanley and Daisy were stuck in the field of fire, crouching low behind rocks, dodging the whistling bullets. But soon the wolf was so close that the pirates’ swords were drawn. It was two on one … but surely they wouldn’t win against such a ferocious beast.

  McCormick and Partridge were swinging their blades wildly while the monster tore at their arms and legs.

  Stanley wondered how he had ever overcome the beast. Partridge was wounded again, and the beast had tossed McCormick like a rag doll. Partridge took another snap from the great powerful jaw—and the pair was down and out.

  Little by little, their spirits wisped up into the air, ghostly spinning shapes shooting like fireflies up into the black of midnight.

  The wolf stood breathless, staring intently at Stanley, saliva still dropping from its open jaw. The snow and wind abruptly stopped and there was calm.

  Wheezing badly, the beast dropped to the ground, its heart thumping in its chest.

  Stanley ran forward.

  “Careful, Stanley,” squeaked Daisy. “Don’t go too near!”

  Nearby, the pike was lying forgotten in its case.

  “Stanley, you are either brave or stupid. I am not sure which.”

  But Stanley was unafraid. As he neared the wolf, he could see a large wound in its side. He fell to his knees in the freezing snow and softly stroked its weary head, its eyes half-open as if in sleep. Stanley wrapped his arms around the great body and tucked his frozen face into the warmth of its belly.

  Running his hands through the wolf’s long fur, Stanley felt its solid shape. With his head pressed to its chest, he listened to its beating heart slowing down. He held the wolf tight and watched as its spirit slowly died, the same flickering light soaring upward and disappearing.

  “My father once said that even your greatest enemy is a friend somewhere along the road. You just need to take the trouble to make the journey and find out where.” Stanley sniffed.

  Daisy took her hand out of her pocket and when she opened it, the tooth had disappeared.

  Stanley felt a great sadness come over him. But as he glanced up, he realized that Partridge and McCormick were gone for ever. He and Daisy were safe, and the worst thing that could happen to them now was a roasting from Mrs. Carelli.

  “Perhaps you could come and get me now, if it isn’t too much trouble,” grumbled the pike. “I don’t wish to lie in the snow all night. I have had quite enough trial and tribulation for one day.”

  Daisy giggled. She had not heard the pike speak before.

  The fish’s huge mahogany case was battered and broken and way too heavy for Stanley to lift. As the storm died away, the two friends removed the pike so that Stanley could carry him neatly in his arms. Then they headed home.

  12

  Not Quite the End

  They had gone only a short way when Stanley struggled more with the pike’s weight.

  “I’m sorry, I need to stop, Daisy.” He was worn out and his arms had taken as much punishment as they could absorb.

  “What a fuss about nothing,” teased Daisy. She was always prepared for everything, and produced a short length of rope from her coat pocket. Swiftly, she secured the pike onto Stanley’s back.

  “That’s much better,” he declared, and they pushed on.

  They decided to take a different route home; they’d gone so far across the moor that it would be easier to go back down past the lake, by the water mill, and through the churchyard.

  It was a relief to avoid the howling wind and snow battering at their faces. So much so that, what with getting rid of Partridge and McCormick as well, the journey home was almost pleasant. Bright moonlight illuminated their way and the worst thing they had to deal with was the heaving snow drifts that crossed their path.

  As they walked they chatted happily. Stanley was looking forward to the next day, planning it in his head. They would sit around a great fire, drinking warm drinks and toasting marshmallows over the flames, and they wouldn’t have a care in the world.

  He smiled a big smile and looked across at Dai
sy. Soon his winter visit would be over, but for now he would enjoy Crampton Rock and his newfound friend.

  They were nearing the lake now.

  “Ah, the water. I can almost feel the ripples against my scales.”

  It was the pike. He was awake again, mumbling to himself.

  “I can smell it,” he continued. “It is almost too hard to resist. Once I was king there. I held council with many friends. I was held in high esteem … and now I sit wearily in my glass case, bearing despicable insults and harboring stolen goods.”

  His voice was growing louder.

  “Please just go back to sleep, will you?” said Stanley. “There’s not far to go.”

  The lake was in front of them now and as they passed by they saw that the surface was frozen. Stanley couldn’t resist pressing his foot on to the ice, testing it until it made a cracking sound and a small fracture appeared.

  “A sardine!” the pike cried. “A sardine! How could she call me a sardine? I come from a long line of great and powerful pikes. I have the strength of a million sardines. My markings are distinguished and inimitable. How could she think I was anything else?”

  “Please!” continued Stanley. “I’m sure Mrs. Carelli didn’t wish to hurt you.”

  Daisy concealed her amusement. “Poor old Mr. Pike,” she whispered. “He has had a hard time lately. Perhaps he will settle down once he is back in place and things are quieter. Now come on, Stanley. There’s a hot meal waiting at home.”

  The thought of a meal spurred Stanley into action. He turned sharply, ready to race after Daisy, but at that crucial moment his foot slipped. The pike jerked out of its bindings on his back and fell, sliding for a long moment before its weight pierced through the ice.

  In what seemed like an instant it was gone, once more gliding through the shimmering water.