Wicked's Way

by Anna Fienberg

  ‘No!’

  ‘You’ll thank me one day, lad. You don’t know it yet but you’ll be betrayed again. Your mother was only the first. You are just like I was but for me, all the way along, there was no one to turn to. For you it’s different. You have your Captain to follow.’ He pointed to the road ahead. ‘And I will always be a step ahead of you.’

  ‘That’s right, sir,’ Wicked said quickly. ‘And I’m willing to set sail now like we said. Why bother with those stupid villagers? I don’t care about them – or her, anymore. I learnt my lesson.’

  ‘Ah, Wicked, your actions show otherwise. I demand complete commitment. How can I be sure of that, with a silly girl still around?’

  ‘But no, I am, I will be! You’ll see, let’s go, I’m ready!’

  The Captain gave a knowing smile, and shook his head. Then he started off again at a quick pace up the path.

  As Wicked watched the distance growing between them, he understood no words would sway him. He clenched his fists, knowing they, too, would be useless. The Captain was like the stone wall he had just run into. And now he was making for Treasure.

  He had to reach her first. Hide her. Warn her.

  Ahead, the rope-bridge swung high above the river. The hand ropes were frayed and dipped low, and a few of the slats were loose. He couldn’t be sure of all the planks; only his feet and his weight would find out which parts were true.

  He looked down at the grey-green water below and imagined the long drop through emptiness. The smack against the rocks would be killing.

  As he stepped out onto the bridge, his stomach heaved. He tried to choke down his fear. Where was his centre? He couldn’t feel it. Keep moving, that was it, wasn’t it? But his legs were shaking – they used to be sure as tree trunks, there for him always like the earth, the rope, his mother. Look ahead …

  He was almost halfway when the slat beneath his foot broke. As he slid through the bridge his fingers grabbed at the rope and he swung wildly in the air.

  He flapped like a fish on a line. The rope burnt his palms. The faraway rocks spiking up through the water flooded him with panic; he could see his body falling through space, landing on stone, pierced through.

  One hand began to slip.

  ‘Don’t look down!’ A voice rang out from across the ravine.

  Wicked twisted to see the path winding up into the forest. He glimpsed only bush and further back, boulders, framing the sandy track. Was it her, or just the voice in his head?

  ‘If you can reach the next plank and haul yourself up, it’ll take your weight.’

  ‘Where are you, you wretched girl?’ the Captain thundered. ‘When I get my hands on you …’

  ‘You’ll never get me, I know every inch of this island. And that’s a fact.’

  He almost laughed. The girl with the notebook and a hundred things to say. The girl who’d found him when he was lost. Across all the years, all the loss and longing, the distance and the silence of the sea. She was here. Now. For him.

  ‘See what that wench made you do? You’re going to die in that river. And for what? Stupid boy!’

  Hand over hand, he covered the distance to the next slat and swung himself up until he was lying on his stomach. But when he lifted his head and saw what was ahead, his courage leaked away. Fear snatched his breath, clamped his guts. It made him forget everything.

  ‘Will, one foot in front of the other!’

  Now her voice came from a different direction.

  ‘Find your balance inside. Put your hand on your stomach, just like you taught me on Thunder Island.’

  Treasure. He’d known her back when he’d known himself and suddenly, he knew what to do.

  Will stood up. He took one careful step and held his breath. Good. He took another. And then, oh, he was walking! He didn’t need the hand rope, he held his arms out straight, his centre a solid ball in his belly. Lifting his gaze to the end of the bridge, he focused on the prize.

  Only fifteen, ten steps to go. Eyes steady on the base of the fig tree at the finish.

  A figure appeared beside it, leaning casually against its knotty trunk. The Captain waited, with a coil of rope.

  His step wavered.

  The Captain tensed, watching.

  Will pretended to waver again. Treasure had a chance if he kept hold of the Captain’s attention. He hoped she was running now, back to the village.

  He tried to slow his progress. Five, four more steps. There was no more calling out from Treasure. Even the breeze was still.

  As he stepped onto the ground, the Captain’s heavy rope caught him around his ribs. It tightened into a hold that made breathing hard. He didn’t struggle. He stood inside it, quiet and still.

  ‘Stubborn as a toad you are,’ spat the Captain. ‘But you’re where you belong now.’

  ‘Aye,’ agreed Wicked. But his heart felt as if it had stopped beating.

  ‘You see?’ The Captain waited. ‘Well, what have you got to say for yourself? What were you trying to do?’

  Wicked’s breath was loud in the quiet.

  ‘You nearly killed yourself up there, and where did that leave you? Nowhere. Same place your mother left you.’

  ‘Your mother didn’t abandon you, Will. She was stolen, just like you.’

  Treasure!

  ‘Lying strumpet, I’ll be coming back for you,’ the Captain roared. He pulled at Will’s ropes, dragging him back across the cliff.

  ‘The man who came to chop wood. He was from the circus on the Mainland.’ Treasure’s voice followed them, but she was nowhere to be seen. ‘Your mother tried to outrun him but he chased her downriver, all the way to the Cannonball Sea. He caught her and took her away in his boat, and made her work for the Big Top. And you know who sent him to fetch her?’

  ‘Bilge!’ cried the Captain. ‘You’re a filthy baggage—’

  ‘The Captain, Will. It was he who wanted her. He needed a star to draw the crowds and he fancied her, too. He was wild about her – met her back when your father did, but she didn’t want him. So when your father died, he took her and made her work in his circus. Then he took the person most precious to her. But she escaped, Will, and sailed the seas to look for you. She even joined the pirates!’

  ‘What? The Bonny Lasses?’

  ‘Yes!’

  ‘Codswallop, you foul-mouthed wench,’ the Captain shouted. ‘When I catch you, you’ll wish you’d never been—’

  ‘You might have found each other if the fires hadn’t started. She was wounded, so badly …’

  ‘Oh what balderdash! What does this wench want from you, a cut of your gold? You might want to believe her waffle, Wicked, but how can you trust her? I am the one who’s saved your hide, time after time. The rest is just stories.’

  A shudder ran through Will like lightning through a tree.

  ‘Let the woman alone now,’ he said quietly. ‘I will be your slave.’ His eyes were on fire. ‘But know this, Captain. I will never be your willing slave. You are a monster. You suck the sweetness out of every good thing. You’re like winter or disease or death, you wither … everything. Do what you like, you are dead to me.’

  The Captain paled. His mouth opened, but no words came out.

  ‘Will, catch!’

  It must have been pure instinct, he thought later, but Will flung out his hand as Treasure threw an object from the thick of the bushes, his fingers closing over something square and silver. He flicked off the stopper, and hurled the flask at the Captain.

  A gush of purple liquid shot out and drenched the Captain’s face. His eyes widened in surprise then shut tight as the liquid streamed down his neck and torso, onto his legs, pooling into his boots.

  Like a blob of paint splashed with water, the Captain’s colours washed out. Fading towards the edges, he became an outline, a pencil drawing, until even that was rubbed out and the patch of sandy track where he once stood was rinsed clean. Only a silver belt buckle escaped, hovering bizarrely in the air. A heartbeat later,
it fell clunk to the ground.

  Will and Treasure stared at the empty space. The sky was silent. A curtain of air shifted, quaked, then twitched back into place with a final sigh.

  Treasure put out her hand and Will took it in his and they stood like that, together, gazing in awe at the sunlit ocean where once there had been the shadow of the Captain.

  Chapter 32

  As Will and Treasure made their way into the village, a crowd was gathering in the square. Villagers and pirates stood in huddles, shading their eyes, peering through the trees that fringed the market. Behind them, tourists looked on in interest. ‘Is royalty visiting?’ asked a man at the homewares stall.

  ‘There she is!’ shouted Horrendo, pointing. ‘See, didn’t I tell you we’d be all right? No need to worry. She’s here, with … oh!’ He stopped suddenly.

  Treasure kept hold of Will’s hand, and as they stepped into the square, she held it up for all to see.

  ‘We won,’ she cried. ‘The Captain’s vanished,’ and a cheer went up that deafened the gulls.

  She pulled Will forward, but he hung back. His eyes were searching the crowd. When he saw Horrendo, hovering on one foot, he told Treasure, ‘There’s something I gotta do. Will you wait for me?’

  Treasure grinned. ‘What, another ten years? I’ll be an old lady by then!’

  Will hurried through the crowd. ‘Horrendo! I have something for you.’

  Horrendo lifted his head. ‘Your name is Will, is that right?’

  Will nodded.

  ‘Pleased to … er, meet you,’ Horrendo said, and they both smiled.

  ‘I took something that belongs to you.’ Will put the biscuit tin of herbs into Horrendo’s hands. ‘I’m sorry for stealin’ this, and for putting the island in such danger. All those things you said about me, back when we first arrived – well, they were all true. I’ve been a scoundrel and a blaggard. What can I do to put it right?’

  ‘Such a good question! Sometimes asking the right question is more important than the answer.’ Horrendo beamed broadly at him. ‘The Wise Woman told us that when it was most important, you would act from love and kindness. She said you might have stolen the herb, but you wouldn’t let the Captain have your heart. And that is what would save you – and us.’

  ‘But how did she know?’

  Horrendo sighed. ‘I asked her once if she could see into the future, and she said, “Perhaps I see what folk are capable of, not just what they do.”’

  The two stood together, thinking.

  ‘I wish I hadn’t taken so long to understand things,’ Will said slowly.

  Horrendo nodded. ‘Folk have to find their own way, in their own time. Sometimes there’s nothing to be done until the person is ready. I thought I had to fix everything myself, and it was such a burden. Always worrying if every little thing wasn’t perfect. But you made me see I can’t change everyone – I’d have to use magic to do that and ugh, I’ve had enough of curses.’

  ‘Speaking of magic …’ Will sucked his cheek. ‘Has Rascal come back, or … Doomsday?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The parrot. I …’

  ‘Oh, yes, he’s here. Or rather, he went with Rascal on an errand.’

  Horrendo looked cagey, Will thought, which was an unusual expression for him.

  ‘What kind of errand?’

  ‘Oh you’ll see soon enough.’ Horrendo seemed to struggle with himself. ‘It’s not my place to meddle. Or push things along.’ He bit his lip. ‘Although of course we all need a little help sometimes, a bit of advice or reassurance. It’s not wrong to ask for that, or to give it!’

  At that moment, as if Treasure couldn’t bear to have him out of her sight any longer, she came running towards Will. Her face was shining in the sunlight, her braid bouncing.

  Will stretched out his arms and Treasure ran right into them.

  At the tavern that night there was such a roar of voices that sometimes Will had to clap his hands over his ears. He wondered if he’d ever get used to it. The lonely quiet of the caves, Turtle Island, the crow’s nest at sea – it still called to him. For a moment, sitting at the table with the sound washing over him, he wanted to obey its call. He could crawl back into the silence like diving under a wave, and make the world stop.

  Then he looked at Treasure beside him. She was telling him about a strange bitter fruit on the Mainland, and the face she made when she described the taste caused him to laugh out loud. I never want you to stop telling me, he thought. I want to hear about every single place you’ve ever visited. And I want to go there with you.

  But Dogfish had risen to his feet. ‘Good evenin’, all. Ain’t we celebratin’ a great victory here tonight? Folk said the Captain was gone for good when he dropped off the edge of the world. But I always said the old devil would come back, I said—’

  ‘Somebody shut him up!’ shouted Squid.

  Dogfish waved his hand. ‘Ye all might jeer and jest, but didn’t I always say …’

  ‘That man ain’t human,’ voices chorused all around the tavern.

  ‘An’ we still don’t know when he’s gunna return from his … er, retirement,’ called out Goose.

  ‘Aye,’ everyone agreed, their faces turning to Gretel.

  The Wise Woman stroked the cat on her lap. ‘A spell of banishment will do wonders for the Captain’s outlook. It’s what he feared and loathed most. He hates to be invisible.’ She sighed, and with a strange knowing look, she added, ‘And he hates to lose. It quite crushes him.’

  People were quiet as they waited for more.

  ‘Be ready, for one day he will gather his strength and return.’ Gretel looked down at her lap. ‘But not in the form you know him. Remain united, and he won’t be a threat to this island.’

  ‘Well, that’s all right then ’cause whatever faces us in the future,’ Dogfish went on, ‘we’ll stand together an’ defeat the evil blighter.’

  ‘Let’s give a cheer for Devil Island!’ said Pandemonium. She led the whistles and shouts and when they subsided, she went on. ‘This is the best place to raise nippers in all the Cannonball Seas. So ain’t it time to think of another name for our home? Any ideas, put ’em in the Suggestion Box by the door.’

  ‘Aye,’ cried Squid from the end of the table. ‘A snappy name could be good for business. What about “Magic Island” or “Delicious Delights”?’

  ‘An’ while we’re celebratin’,’ Dogfish cut in, ‘let’s congratulate our chef, Horrendo, for the finest meal he’s ever put before us.’ He hauled Horrendo to his feet.

  ‘Speech! Speech!’ the crowd called.

  Horrendo blushed. Biting his lip, he said, ‘Well, actually, this time, I have to admit, I did do it all myself.’

  ‘Steady on, I helped ye, remember?’ the First Mate put in. ‘I’m yer insistent!’

  ‘Oh yes, indeed, you were a marvellous assistant,’ Horrendo quickly agreed.

  ‘I think what Horrendo is trying to say is that for the first time he cooked without using the magic ingredient.’ Gretel smiled at him and her cat yawned, showing a long pink tongue. ‘You know, Will did you a favour, Horrendo, by stealing that herb. You’ve proved your natural talent and reaped the rewards of your hard work.’

  As folk went back to chatting over dessert, Will’s eyes kept returning to Gretel. Finally she turned to him. ‘Is there something you’d like to say to me?’

  Will scowled. He tried to turn it into a smile, but his mouth kept turning down. ‘I have to ask you something. How much heartache can you prevent? I mean, do you just let tragedy happen, and not lift a finger?’

  Horrendo leant over and took Will’s hand. ‘Ssh, Will,’ he whispered. ‘That’s a bit rude. She’s a Wise Woman.’

  ‘Aye, and doesn’t a Wise Woman have the power to stop bad things happening?’ said Will. ‘Miss Gretel, what about Thunder Island? What about all those years at sea?’

  Gretel’s face stayed as cloudless as always. But her eyes shone brighter. ‘Sadly, I don’t pos
sess the power that you imagine, Will. Those shoes I gave you were meant to keep you safe. But your love for your mother turned out to be greater than your fear, and you strayed into harm’s way.’ She looked away, through the windows, at the starlit sky. ‘That was something I didn’t know. Something new I learned, that I could never have foreseen.’

  Will was quiet for a moment. He gazed into her eyes, and saw a deep sorrow. ‘Thank you, then,’ he said gently. He wanted to ask if he would ever see his mother, but something in her face stopped him, and the words died in his throat.

  He looked around the room, at the living list of people he’d known ever since he’d been grown. There was Buzzard running his hand over the table, admiring its lacquered finish, and Squid and Goose arguing over the last piece of pie. Bombastic was having an arm wrestle with Rowdy, and Hoodlum had Hermy in the glass box on his lap. Even the two pirates from the jolly-boat were swilling Coconut Delight. As Will looked at the men he felt a wave of sympathy. In their bewildered faces, he saw himself just a short while ago. He knew their fear, their old angers and helplessness. Because now he knew himself.

  Will nodded at them, and they raised their glasses to him. At the back of the room, perched on a stool, Mischief was drawing it all, a piece of charcoal in his hand and an absorbed expression on his face.

  Will was glad they were all safe. But there was one boy missing. Where was Rascal?

  An accordion started up, and Pandemonium took Dogfish’s hand, whirling him into the centre of the room. Will looked to the small podium at the front where the music was playing. The accordion was so tall and wide, and the boy playing it so slight that Will had to stand up to see who it was. Rip! Those knuckles he used to crack when he was nervous flew over the keys, his foot tapping like a wild thing. Funny, the lad’s hands didn’t look nervous anymore, they looked as if they knew exactly what they were doing, just like Will’s feet on the tightrope all those years ago.

  Will grinned and started to sway to the music.