Celestial Land and Sea

by Amy McLean

  "Nearly ready, Captain!" Michael announced as he hastily removed a knot from the mainsail.

  "Thank you, I am glad that everything is in order."

  Grace continued to walk the deck until she approached the stern of the ship. Cathleen came bursting out of the doors to the crew's cabin. Unfortunately, she hadn't been lucky enough to escape the evils of Joyce, as she'd come bounding down the hill toward the ship shortly after Joyce had left, swinging what looked to Grace like a picnic hamper from her arm. "Who's that man?" she'd asked after she'd walked by him, but Donal decided it wasn't worth a proper response.

  "Nobody with whom you need to concern yourself, Cathleen," he replied, hoping the young girl would never have to be on the receiving end of Joyce's bitterness.

  A grin spread across Cathleen's face from ear to ear. "Miss Gráinne!" she beamed as she took in the breadth of the ship.

  "Cathleen, would you be kind enough to inform the men that we are ready to leave?"

  "Oh, yes! Absolutely!" Accepting her responsibility, Cathleen bounced back through the doors of the cabin and out of sight.

  Grace turned to face the ladders that led to the captain's cabin. She knew it was there that she belonged. She'd had no difficulty in racing back up the ladders when she'd rushed to return home on her first visit to the island, but now she had a duty to fulfil, and the thought of taking that next step was daunting.

  She placed a hand on a rung just above her head and pulled herself up. She ascended slowly, taking each step one at a time with caution. The ladder was longer than she had recalled. Eventually she reached the top. She straightened herself and looked around.

  There it was, right in front of the door to her cabin: the steering wheel.

  She inched toward it until she was standing right behind it. Her eyes moved forward so she could take in the entire ship. It looked larger than before, as she watched the crew return to their positions on deck. The two smaller masts were ready. It was just the mainsail that they were waiting for now.

  Michael stood beneath it. Grace caught his eye and he signalled to confirm that all was ready. As she nodded toward him in response, he began pulling a rope. Grace watched in awe as the sail moved higher up the mast. It began to unfurl, ready to play with the wind.

  Once it was finally in position Grace noticed that this sail was not plain like the other two. Instead, there was a crest spread across its background. It took Grace a second to notice that this was the same crest that had appeared in the wax on the back of the letter she had addressed to Elizabeth I. As it flapped gently in the wind though, Grace noticed something different about this version. Beneath the crest were three words: Terra Marique Potens.

  The phrase seemed familiar. Grace was sure she'd seen it somewhere before. She sifted through her mind as she tried to retrieve its meaning. After a few moments of staring at the crest, she remembered it.

  "The clan motto!" she gasped to herself. She'd read it somewhere online during one of her research sessions. It took her a moment to remember the translation, her knowledge of Latin being little to none. She whispered to herself when it came back to her: "Mighty by land and sea."

  She thought about the phrase. There could be no motto more significant for Gráinne O'Malley than that. From what she'd read - and from what she felt in the boots of Gráinne—there was no doubt that it was a perfect motto.

  And she knew this sentiment was one she was bound to follow. On this day the motto was not only for Gráinne, it was now time for Grace Byrne to rise to the challenge and live up to Gráinne's O'Malley's name.

  Donal gave her a wave from the deck, a signal that it was time. Grace inhaled, then shouted with as much gusto as she could summon, "Up with the anchor!"

  From somewhere down below she heard the anchor being hoisted as several men obeyed the command. This was it. The moment had finally arrived. There was nothing left for Grace to do except steer the ship out of port. She moved her hands over the wheel, trying to steady the tremors in her fingers. From the crafted wooden wheel stretched six handles, each one reaching out from the centre of the circle, and Grace stretched out her arms at either side to measure it. Her arms barely exceeded its width, her own frame standing tiny in comparison. Her left hand reached for ten o'clock, and her right hand for two, and her fingers grasped the wooden handles.

  "Off we go, boys! London's calling!" Her shouts were greeted with a chorus of cheers from below as she turned the wheel. She laughed joyously as the Pirate Queen slipped away from the shore. Grace no longer felt as if she were playing a part; she had become Gráinne O'Malley.

  17

  Lord Bingham scurried along the corridor, clutching the letter tightly in his fist. How proud Her Majesty would be of him when he delivered it to her. Once she found out who it was from he was bound to be rewarded. Even Her Majesty could not deny that he had assisted in bringing her to him.

  He stopped outside the room. The door was closed, but he knew she was in inside. Voices drifted from within. He pressed his ear against the door to listen.

  "Your Majesty, there is not much time left. Something must be done with the boy to prevent questions being asked, and—"

  "Do you not trust my judgement, my Lord?"

  "Yes, Your Majesty, of course I do, but—"

  "Then we shall leave it at that. I shall ensure that young Tibbott will come to no harm until we are ready to proceed with a full execution. And I can assure you, Lord Burghley, that it will be most satisfying. As long as we are able to bring the mother here, I see no flaw in my plan. She must not feel that she is in a position of power. Now, will that be everything for today?" she asked.

  "Yes, Your Majesty."

  He bowed and started for the door. Bingham shuffled out of the way just in time to save him from being sent flying into the room. Lord Burghley had left and the door was closed again, but instead of knocking he decided to remain hidden behind it for a moment. If he'd just heard the muffled sounds correctly, then Her Majesty was not going to receive this letter well at all. If it looked like Gráinne O'Malley was the one coordinating their correspondence, then she would not be happy. Perhaps it would be best if he just quietly walked away and carefully disposed of the letter. If she never knew it had existed...

  The door opened.

  "Lord Bingham?" Elizabeth stood in the doorway. "Whatever are you doing lurking out here?"

  "Your Majesty..." he quivered. Straightening his back from the hunch he'd fallen into, he tried to compose himself. The letter was still in his hand. "There has been a note for you, Your Majesty."

  "Then let me see it." She had to snatch the letter away from him as he firmed his grip on it.

  She tore at the seal in one swift motion and unfolded the parchment. Her eyes flicked over the letter as she read it. After she finished reading she remained still. This had not been part of her plan.

  "Your Majesty?"

  "Silence!"

  Bingham took a step backward at the outcry.

  "This will never do! She must not interfere like this. I specifically ordered you to capture her and bring her to me. I do not recall having requested for her to come to me willingly." She thought for a moment. "Unless... Yes! Let her arrive; and I shall speak with her. She will regret the day she ever stepped foot in my palace. There is not much time until she arrives. I must prepare! Get out!"

  Bingham raised a hand to speak.

  "I said, GET OUT!"

  He scampered back down the corridor and out of sight. Elizabeth would welcome this female pirate into the palace and there she could gain complete leverage. It seemed like the perfect plan. She didn't know why she hadn't thought it until now. With both mother and son in her grasp nothing could stop her. She turned and hurried through the door to start the preparations. There was not a second to spare. She could almost taste the satisfaction as she commenced plotting for the meeting. Revenge was sweet and it would soon be hers.

  18

  The voyage so far had been fairly pleasant. It had t
aken Grace much less time than she had imagined to learn to control the wheel, becoming used to its weight and the speed at which it turned almost instantly once they'd set sail. From her perch Grace could see that everything seemed to be going smoothly on deck too.

  "Cathleen!" she called to the girl, who was standing just beneath Grace at the entrance to the crew's cabin. "Please come up here!"

  Cathleen raced up the ladder and a second later was standing beside her.

  "Cathleen, I want you to do something for me. I want to go down to the deck to see how everybody's getting along, but I don't want to leave the wheel unattended. Would you take the wheel for a while and keep an eye on the horizon for me?"

  "Miss Gráinne, I'd feel honoured. I wish to have a ship of my own one day, something as wonderful as yours, I do hope. How I love it up here!"

  Grace moved to the ladder and began the descent. 'The sea is calm at the moment so you shouldn't need to correct our heading. Just shout down to me if you need anything."

  As Cathleen bounced in front of the wheel, Grace reached the bottom rung of the ladder and jumped off, landing with both boots on deck.

  "Captain!" Michael called from mid-ship. He was standing tall as he adjusted ropes near the mainsail.

  "All is well. Everything is working according to plan. Thank you for all your help." Grace tried her best to sound authoritative but only succeeded in maintaining a friendly tone. She liked her crew, and she thought it was important that they shouldn't think they were working for her, but rather that they were working with her. The last thing she wanted was to end up sounding like Mr Barrie.

  She made her way to the starboard side of the ship where a cluster of men were gathered at the prow. She sauntered toward them, her ears now recognising the sound that was coming from their direction. She followed the notes of a woodwind instrument as she approached.

  "Got this in France a few years back, I did," said the man holding the instrument. He had stopped playing as his captain stepped in front of them, choosing instead to point the flageolet in Grace's direction for her to inspect.

  Grace had never seen the instrument before and couldn't remember ever hearing its name, but it resembled the recorder she used to play when she was in primary school, with a series of small holes running down the tube from the mouthpiece. The sounds it made were certainly very similar. It brought back memories of the hours she'd spent in the music room after school, the chaos of cellos and violins and recorders all squeaking and screeching at once.

  "I'm just having a walk around the deck," she said, smiling at the man with the flageolet.

  "Cearney's been giving us a merry song to keep us going, Captain," said one who was sitting on top of a crate.

  "And Breandan's been bashing about on that old crate like a lunatic. Fancies himself as a bit of musician, so he does." Another sneered at Breandan cheerfully as the cluster of men mocked and chuckled.

  "Leave off, I was just having fun." Breandan blushed.

  They were only teasing him, but Grace could tell Breandan was taking it to heart. "Well, I thought your addition of percussion alongside Cearney's playing was very..." she hesitated as she thought of the right word ..."effective! Yes, it added dimension to the music."

  "See, the captain liked it!"

  "Yes. Well, I'd better be off."

  Grace headed back up the deck before there was a chance to be sucked further into the conversation. Cearney started playing his flageolet again as Breandan returned to drumming on the wooden crates. Grace smiled as she noticed the other men dancing out of the corner of her eye.

  "Thank you, Cathleen. I appreciate your help," said Grace as she climbed the ladders.

  "I'm always happy to help you, Miss Gráinne. I've enjoyed being up here. The view is splendid!" If she wasn't careful, her smile would soon tickle her ears.

  Satisfied that everything below was in working order, Grace took her position at the helm. She turned her attention to the mainsail, admiring the beauty of the crest.

  As she was observing the design, an unexpected drop of rain fell onto her shoulder. It was hard, wet. She glanced up at the clouds above to meet the blue-black sky that was moving in from the west. This was the last thing she needed.

  "Gráinne!"

  Grace panicked when she heard Donal shout. There was a force in his voice, an undeniable fear. She glanced round, frantically searching for him. She finally locked eyes on him as he waved to her from the top castle.

  "Gráinne! Over there!" He was pointing at something now, something behind Grace. She swung round and hurried to the side of the ship.

  She gasped.

  Another heavy drop of rain landed at her feet as she turned her attention to the telescope on the upper deck. She drew the eyepiece toward her and peered through so she could see it as closely as Donal was able to. It was even worse than she had first thought.

  The ship was heading straight for them. Grace had feared a run-in with another vessel as it would throw them off track, an upset to her plan which she knew they couldn't afford. There was no time for mishaps or alterations; Tibbott's life was at risk and they had to act fast. It hadn't even occurred to Grace that they might be confronted by evil pirates.

  She stared at the black flag waving menacingly from the other ship. The skull seemed to glare at her as it brandished swords in the place of crossbones. She shifted the telescope so she could read the name that was carved onto the side of the ship:

  Devil's Orifice.

  "That can't be good," Grace uttered to herself.

  "What is it, Miss Gráinne? What's wrong?"

  Grace jumped up. Cathleen was by her side now, with her shawl pulled over her head to protect her hair from the increasing downpour.

  "Cathleen, I need you to run down to the deck and inform everybody that it is almost certain that we're about to be attacked." Her heart was racing, the words shaking as they left her mouth. She could hardly believe what she was saying.

  "Oh my!" Cathleen gasped. "Yes, Miss Gráinne. Right away!" She flung herself down the steps and began racing around, informing one man then the next of the imminent danger.

  Grace fought through the rain as she pushed on the wheel, turning it to try to steer away from the oncoming vessel. She knew Donal was still keeping watch from the top castle. He'd alert her when it drew closer.

  Below the happy tune of the flageolet had been replaced with raised voices of men barking threats into the wind.

  Grace had struggled with the wheel in her attempt to alter the ship's course, but it was too late.

  Now she could see it closing in on them. The wind seemed to favour the other ship, the oncoming storm driving it closer and closer.

  "Gráinne, what's the plan?" Donal called to her once he'd climbed down onto the deck.

  "We fight! Ttell Michael to prepare the cannon. We haven't much time."

  "Right away!"

  "Cathleen," she called down to the girl, who was looking particularly lost as she tried to shelter in front of the cabin, "I need you up here again."

  She scrambled up the ladder, her heart racing as she climbed. There was no way she was going to let her captain down.

  "Miss Gráinne! What are we going to?"

  "Stay calm, Cathleen. I need you to take the wheel again. I need to go inside for a moment to get something, but I want you to come for me if you see anything through the telescope. I should just about have enough time. I won't be long."

  Before Cathleen had a chance to respond, Grace had disappeared into her cabin. She didn't know what had made her think of it, but she knew that it was finally time to bring it out.

  She'd panicked the first time she'd seen it, she couldn't deny that. It had seemed threatening. Now, however, she had never been more thankful for anything in all her life. She lifted the lid up from the chest, praying it was still there.

  It was.

  Lying on the bottom of the wooden chest was the sword that had frightened Grace on her first visit. It stretched acr
oss the full length of the chest, the thin blade gently curving to narrowly miss scraping against the side panel. She reached for the handle, clasped her hand around it.

  She leaned forward as the ship rocked, Michael having just fired the cannon. Grace prayed it had reached its target.

  She steadied herself and pulled out the sword. There was a striking beauty to the weapon that she could not deny. The silver blade gleamed, as if brand new, not four hundred years old, as the candlelight reflected off its surface. The handle moulded around Grace's hand as the metal curved into a protective dome. It was patterned with a line of rubies running round its centre. Each one glistened, the colour of blood.

  Grace stumbled as the entire ship rattled with the collision. The front of the Devil's Orifice had bashed into the Irish ship, causing it to shudder under the pressure. The cannon had missed its target. They were now under attack.

  Grace's hand tingled as she brandished the sword tightly, preparing herself to face the fight. It was heavier than she had imagined, but not unmanageable. She charged out of the cabin and through the doors, clutching onto it. She wasn't as nervous to brandish the weapon as she had expected, but instead she was filled with a sudden sense of satisfaction that came with holding it. She leapt off the upper deck, not giving a thought to the ladders, and landed with a thud on the deck, both boots firmly on the surface.

  Just in time.

  The crew watched as the captain of the enemy ship swung onto the Pirate Queen. He was clutching onto his own sword, just as Grace had anticipated. This only reassured her that her thoughts had been accurate: this was not going to be an easy battle.

  The captain of the other ship sauntered toward Grace's crew. They had now all assembled, holding out all manner of swords and cutlasses in the direction of the oncoming attack. It struck Grace as odd that there was nobody behind this other captain. Nobody had followed him off the ship. There was no way he would be able to take on everybody standing before him on his own.