The Voyage to Magical North

by Claire Fayers

  Brine hauled him back up by the collar. “They’re gaining on us. Try again.”

  Peter rubbed his forehead where he’d banged it. A wave broke right over him, and he gasped and spat out salt water, his ears ringing with the thunderous roar of waves and sails. This wasn’t working. He needed quiet to work magic: quiet and calm and plenty of time. He had none of those.

  Brine kicked him.

  In a burst of painful clarity, Peter saw Minutes—not only saw the islands but felt them. They settled into his thoughts, heavier than a thousand anchors. He braced his feet on either side of the boat, drew a new arrow in the air, and heaved.

  The boat picked up speed. Peter kept pulling. He had no idea how much magic the starshells had left or how long it would last at this rate. He didn’t dare think about it.

  The pirate ship thundered down on them as they fled. The ringing of bells grew louder, mingled with voices yelling at them to stop. The boat skimmed faster across the waves with every second, until it felt like they were flying. Peter felt like laughing. He was doing this—he was actually doing it!

  Brine screamed. Peter’s eyes flew open.

  The pirate ship had changed direction. Now, instead of following them, it cut across the sea behind them. A surge of water lifted the rowing boat high and slapped it back down with a jolt that snapped Peter’s teeth together. Brine dropped one of the oars, and the boat swung wildly as the starshell pieces let out a final blaze of light and turned gray, their magic exhausted.

  Brine leaned out and grabbed the floating oar, her face red with effort and fury. “This is not fair!” she shouted. Whether this was at Peter, the pirates, or the universe in general, he didn’t know.

  Together they stared up at the approaching ship. Dark planks gave way to a lighter patchwork, scoured to the color of old bones by the sea winds. High on the prow, in faded paint, Peter could just make out letters. Half an O, an I, the bottom strokes of an N.

  The bells on board the ship slowed, then stopped. The silence was worse than anything—it meant they’d lost. Lost their chance to escape, lost their lives, probably. Peter found the paper he’d drawn the mind-control spellshape on. He looked at it one last time, trying to memorize it, then he crumpled the paper and dropped it overboard. If the pirates found it, they’d know what it was, then they’d know what he was, and after that, it would be kidnapping or death. He ought to throw the starshell into the sea as well, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He tucked the pieces into his pocket with numb fingers. Whatever happened, he wouldn’t let the pirates have them.

  That was all he had time for. A rope rattled down and slapped into the boat right at his feet. Peter gazed in silence at the man who climbed down. He was short, and so broad across the shoulders that he was almost rectangular. His arms were blue with tattoos and thick enough to double up as oars. He grinned at them both, revealing uneven off-white teeth. “Ahoy, my hearties,” he said. “Cheer up—you’ve just been rescued by the Onion.”

  CHAPTER 4

  Is your life dull and friendless, your misery endless,

  Do you just need a shoulder to cry on?

  Then shout ‘hip hooray’ for she’s coming your way

  On a ship that is almost Orion.

  Oh, she’s strong and she’s swift and if you get my drift

  She is all that your heart could desire.

  For one chance to see her, fair Cassie O’Pia,

  A man would walk naked through fire.

  (From THE BALLAD OF CASSIE O’PIA, Verses 1–2, Author Unknown)

  The Onion. Even on Minutes, Brine had heard the stories. The oldest and most glorious pirate ship on the eight oceans, named after the first stars that burst upon the midnight sky—and but for an unfortunate misunderstanding at the sign writer’s, the ship would bear the name of Orion still. Her crew were the fearsomest warriors ever to have left land, and her captain, Cassie O’Pia, was a woman so beautiful that her face had not only launched a thousand ships but caused several others to capsize with excitement. The Onion saved the Columba Islands from the bilious plague. The Onion slew the Dreaded Great Sea Beast of the South. The Onion defeated the evil pirate magician Marfak West and his amphibious desperados.

  After all the stories, Brine had expected something more exciting. The woman who faced her was only a little taller than Peter, and the only way her plain, square face could have launched any ships was if she’d head-butted them into the sea. Her eyes, it was true, were a pair of dancing sapphires, and her hair fell to her waist in a tumble of curls that might have had a hint of red if she’d bothered to wash, but right now they were more dirt colored than anything else. Apart from a crescent of emerald around her neck, she was dressed like a common fisherwoman, sea-stained and scruffy.

  “You don’t look like a pirate,” said Brine, and she could have bitten off her tongue as several of the crew grinned.

  The woman’s eyes crinkled. “What did you expect—wooden legs and parrots?”

  “I don’t know. What’s a parrot?”

  “A type of vegetable, I think. Which reminds me—welcome to the Onion.” She put out her hand. “I’m Cassie O’Pia, but you can call me Cassie.”

  Brine continued to stare.

  “She wants to know your names,” one of the pirates growled.

  Brine knew what Cassie wanted. She just wasn’t sure she wanted to answer. “My name’s Brine,” she said reluctantly. “And this is Peter. Thanks for rescuing us. We were—uh—fishing, and we got blown off course.”

  Cassie followed Brine’s gaze to the little boat, with its noticeable lack of nets and fishing equipment. “Fishing,” she agreed. She smiled. It was a brilliant smile, one that might be able to launch a ship or two, after all. “The first rule of the Onion is we don’t ask questions. Once you’re aboard, it doesn’t matter where you came from.” She paused. “Where are you two from, by the way?”

  Brine scowled. “I thought the first rule of the Onion was you didn’t ask questions.”

  “And the second rule is we don’t follow rules,” said Cassie. “So?”

  “Minutes,” said Peter. “We’re from Minutes.”

  Cassie raised an eyebrow. “You look like you could be.” She turned to Brine. “But you’re definitely not. You look more western to me.”

  Brine’s heart missed a beat. She’d read about the Western Ocean in Magus’s books. Not a lot, because hardly anything was known about that part of the eight oceans, and nothing she’d read had felt even the slightest bit familiar.

  “Not entirely western, though,” said Cassie, dashing Brine’s hopes straight back down again. “And I thought I’d seen almost everywhere. Where are you from?”

  Brine shrugged.

  “She doesn’t know,” said Peter. “No one does. She was found at sea.”

  Trust Peter to open his big mouth. Brine tried to kick him but he sidestepped. Everyone turned to look at her, and she felt herself grow hot under the pirates’ scrutiny. She pushed a hand through her hair. “What happens now?” she asked, trying to look as if she didn’t care. “Are you going to make us walk the plank?”

  “Do we have a plank?” one of the pirates asked.

  “I’m sure we can find one,” said Cassie, still looking at Brine, “but it seems a lot of effort for two children. The thing is, we can’t take you back to Minutes, either. There are currents around the islands that would drive us straight onto the rocks, and I don’t risk my ship—not for anyone. However…” She stretched the word out as if she was about to do them a big favor. “However, we’re on our way to Morning. It’s the biggest trading island in the Columba Ocean, and you can buy pretty much anything there—including passage back home if you want it. Or information about the western islands.” Her smile broke out like lightning through a cloud. “Or, I suppose, if you want to go back into the sea right here, you can do that instead. What do you say?”

  Brine looked at the rolling waves. Her stomach rolled in harmony, making her feel queasy. She re
ached three conclusions in quick succession. One: If they went home now, Magus would kill her. Two: Even if he didn’t, she’d still have to go and live in Penn Turbill’s giant, bookless house. Which led to three: What was so bad about being a pirate, anyway?

  “We’ll stay,” she said.

  “An excellent decision.” Cassie clapped her on the shoulder. “Mr. Hughes, take them to the galley.”

  The short rectangular man stepped forward with a grin. “Call me Ewan,” he said.

  * * *

  “Don’t take this personally,” said the cook. “It happens to everyone.” Her name, improbably, was Trudi Storme. Short and sunburned, with a frizz of yellow hair and a figure that started going out at her neck and didn’t return until her knees, she looked like a mushroom that had been struck by lightning.

  Brine prised another sucker off a tentacle. “What, everyone you know has been kidnapped by pirates and forced to chop octopus in a kitchen that smells like a whale’s stomach?”

  “Quite a lot of them, yes,” said Trudi, who appeared to be one of those people who’d heard of sarcasm but thought it was some sort of exotic fruit like a pineapple. “Except that it’s a galley, not a kitchen. You can tell because it’s on a ship.”

  A fat, cream-colored cat wandered through the door. Trudi tossed it a tentacle. “This is Zen, short for Denizen of the Deep. Cassie bought him to catch rats and mice, but he really only likes fish.” She turned sharply. “Peter, don’t touch that!”

  Peter had been poking at a pot over the fire. He jumped back.

  “What’s in there?” asked Brine, peering into the dark red liquid. It looked like something had died in there—unpleasantly.

  Trudi swelled with pride. “I call it a Cataclysm of Pot-Roasted Cephalopod with a Concasse of Alginate in a Black Spice Sauce.” She saw their puzzled looks, and her shoulders drooped. “Tentacle and rum stew,” she said with a sigh.

  * * *

  Some careers, Brine thought, were simply not meant to go together. On Minutes, it was quite normal for a fisherman to also make furniture, and the island doctor spent his evenings painting seascapes. Pirate and gourmet chef, on the other hand, combined about as well as oil and honey—which is to say, you can do it, but it won’t do either of them any good.

  “When I was a girl,” said Trudi, “I dreamed of keeping house for a rich man. I was going to spend all day in his kitchen, prodding at pans and saying things looked interesting. But the only prodding we do here is with a cutlass, and if something looks interesting, it usually means trouble.”

  Trudi didn’t often have people to talk to, Brine guessed. She nodded, pretending to listen while she worked, pausing now and then to slip Zen pieces of tentacle under the table and glare at Peter, who was peeling the skin from a fish so slowly the oceans would freeze before he finished.

  Trudi chattered on. “The real problem is ingredients. Nothing keeps on a ship, and there’s only so many times you can mix fish with more fish before people get bored. I’m hoping we can restock on Morning. Cassie did say everything would be all right this time.”

  Peter put his knife down. Brine stopped, her own knife midair. “What happened last time?”

  “Nothing. Nothing happened.” Trudi looked away. “Would you like to hear the story of how Cassie O’Pia fought Marfak West on the Island of Rats? It’s really good.”

  “No, thank you,” said Brine. “I’d like to hear the story of what happened last time you visited Morning.”

  Cassie put her head round the door. “Didn’t I tell you we don’t ask questions on the Onion? Is that stew ready? Grab some plates, you two, and follow me.”

  She smiled, but her voice carried an edge that warned them not to argue.

  Brine picked up a stack of wooden plates and followed her up on deck. The day was bright, but it felt like a cloud hung over the ship. Brine didn’t dare meet Peter’s gaze. She knew he’d be feeling the same as she was, and he’d be blaming her for all this. She was the one who’d agreed to stay on board, after all.

  What exactly had they gotten themselves into?

  CHAPTER 5

  Magic in its natural form is too weak to be manipulated, but when naturally concentrated in starshell, some people are able to draw it out and use it. This talent is rare, and many believe it is unnatural.

  Because starshell pieces are constantly absorbing magic from the air, even if a magician empties one completely, it will fill up again in time. Oddly enough, the bigger the piece, the faster it replenishes.

  (From ALDEBRAN BOSWELL’S BIG BOOK OF MAGIC)

  Peter had already decided he was going to murder Brine. Maybe not completely, just enough to teach her a lesson. He should never have let her talk him into this fish-brained plan. He tried to catch her eye so he could glare at her, but she was very carefully not looking at him. Of course, this was all one big adventure for her. She probably didn’t even understand that they were in real danger.

  He could feel the outline of the starshell pieces in his pocket as he climbed the ladder to the deck, and he had to concentrate on walking normally so Cassie wouldn’t guess he was hiding something. Right now the starshell pieces were useless to him, and they were dangerous. It would take days for them to get their magic back, and if any of the pirates found them and realized what he was, they’d make him stay on board, casting spells for them forever.

  Cassie reached across Peter and handed a plate to a man who was as tall as a mast and the color of burnt toast. “This is Tim Burre from Auriga. That’s in the west,” she added, with a sharp glance in Brine’s direction. “All right, everyone gets a helping of stew, unless they’re on punishment rations, in which case they get two helpings.” She tripped over the cat. “And watch out for Zen. Octopus is his favorite.”

  For the next half an hour or so, Peter put plates into hands and ladled out stew. By the time he’d finished, he was hungry enough to eat some of it himself. It tasted of the sea: too salty and with an unpleasant undercurrent of seaweed. He found a corner to sit down in, away from the rest of the crew, and hoped they’d forget about him for a while. He couldn’t avoid Brine, though.

  “Thanks for blabbing about me to everyone,” she said, sitting down next to him.

  Peter lifted his head. “I was trying to stop them from asking questions about me. If they find out I can do magic, they’ll never let me leave. Magicians are too useful.”

  “You?” She laughed. “You’re as useful as a paper boat.”

  “And you’re so much better than me, I suppose?”

  She flicked stew at him. “Don’t be childish. We’re stuck here together for now. We need a plan.”

  “I seem to remember it was one of your plans that got us stuck here in the first place,” said Peter.

  Brine stared at him unapologetically. Peter sighed. Unfortunately, Brine was right: They had to do something, and like it or not, she was the only person on board he could trust at all. He lifted Zen away from his plate. “This doesn’t mean we’re friends.”

  “No, of course not.”

  They shook hands.

  “What’s the plan, then?” asked Peter.

  Brine shifted closer so she could whisper. “Did you notice how Trudi went a bit odd when she mentioned Morning? I think we should find out why.”

  * * *

  “Hello,” said Peter, approaching one of the crew. “I just wanted to say thanks. If you hadn’t spotted us, I don’t know what would have happened.”

  The pirate shoved his hands into his pockets and grinned. Half his teeth were black and the rest were either yellow or missing. “You’re welcome. The name’s Rob Grosse. Third in charge of boats and rigging. What do you think of the Onion?”

  Peter tried not to recoil from the blast of Rob’s fishy breath. “She’s nice.”

  “No she’s not. She’s glorious. Greatest ship on the oceans, never defeated in battle.”

  “Not even at Morning?” asked Peter.

  Rob’s smile snapped off. “You don’t
want to hear about Morning. Have you heard how we defeated an army of swamp beasts on the Isle of Bats?”

  “No,” said Peter, “and I—”

  “It’s called the Isle of Bats because it’s full of bats.” Rob sat down on a bucket. “What they don’t tell you, though, is that the island is basically one great swamp. The insects get eaten by birds, the birds get eaten by the bats, and the bats are massive. Big enough to lift a man off the ground.” He spat on the deck. “But Cassie had heard there was treasure in the swamp, and so there we were, digging about in the sludge.”

  “I’m sure it was very interesting,” said Peter, “but what about—”

  “Night fell, and so did the bats. It was as dark as the inside of a whale, and we were covered head to foot in swamp until you couldn’t tell us one from another. The bats screamed round our heads like demons. We kept killing them, and more kept coming. Then, just as Cassie was saying not to worry, because it could be worse, monsters came rising out of the swamp.”

  “Nothing like Morning, then,” said Peter.

  “No, not a bit like Morning. Haven’t you been listening? Swamp monsters, as big as horses and with teeth like sharks. You don’t get them on Morning.”

  He stopped as Ewan Hughes appeared.

  “Bored already?” asked Ewan. He handed Peter a mop and bucket. “If you’ve got time to talk, you’ve got time to work. You can clean the deck.”

  * * *

  “Hello,” said Brine. “You’re Tim Burre, aren’t you? Do you need any help?”

  Tim looked up from the pile of ropes he was mending. He seemed a little surprised to find her talking to him. He handed her a rope. “I can teach you to tie knots, if you like.”

  “Great,” said Brine, sitting down next to him with fake enthusiasm. “Cassie said you were from the west. How far west have you traveled?”

  “I haven’t,” he said. “If you go west of Auriga, you’ll fall off the edge of the world. Everyone knows that.”

  Brine laughed, then realized he was serious. “The world’s round. You can’t fall off.”