Fenn Halflin and the Seaborn

by Francesca Armour-Chelu

Speak for yourself. I knew we would, the voice in Chilstone’s head muttered.

  The breeze had picked up a little, and the storm clouds were scudding across the face of the moon. The Warspite’s deck was rinsed with a cold blue light as Chilstone turned to face him.

  “I thought it was you. No one else would have dared to look straight at me.”

  Actually, it was me who worked it out, muttered the voice resentfully. Credit where credit’s due.

  Chilstone nodded and raised his hand slightly, as if he needed quiet to think. He smiled at Fenn and glanced along to where a gibbet had been erected on the starboard side of the ship.

  “I had a feeling you’d come back for your friend. Loyalty is an enduring fault of the Demaris, it seems.” He snapped his fingers at the guards to bring Fenn closer. When they were still a pace away, he raised his hand for them to stop. Gently pressing his cane under Fenn’s chin, he tried to push it up.

  Fenn resolutely looked at the ground. Not because he was scared of meeting Chilstone’s eye, but because he knew Chilstone wanted to have fun with him before he killed him. He remembered the feral cat he’d once seen behind the hut, relentlessly tormenting a shrew; dropping its paw down on the creature’s tail, then releasing it just long enough for the shrew to think it had a chance of escape, before patting it back again. In fact Chilstone’s cruel instinct might work in his favour; the longer he had his fun, the longer Fenn had to think about escape and the better chance Fathom had of getting well away.

  Chilstone began tapping the cane upwards with the words, “Chin up, chin up, chin up!” A little harder each time, until Fenn had to face him. “You have your mother’s eyes,” he murmured.

  And his father’s defiance, the voice hissed. He was never afraid of you either.

  Chilstone shook it away. He’d been looking forward to interrogating Fenn on his own. He couldn’t listen to the voice now.

  “Why do you hate me so much?” Fenn asked.

  “I don’t hate you especially. I hate all Seaborns,” Chilstone replied silkily.

  “Why?”

  “They killed my daughter, crippled me… Isn’t that enough?” Chilstone asked, with a look of genuine surprise.

  “But that was the Resistance,” Fenn replied. “And they were driven to it.”

  From somewhere beyond the Warspite’s bow, Fenn thought he caught the distant sound of a high-pitched whine. At the same moment, one of the Terras on lookout ran back down the deck, a look of panic spreading over his face.

  “Sir?” he said. Chilstone put up his hand and the Terra fell silent.

  “Seaborns … Resistance … they’re the same thing. Isn’t that what you preach? You’ve been busy carrying on their good work.” Chilstone pulled off his left glove. Fenn flinched at what he’d done: two crude pegs of welded steel pipe and wire replaced the fingers he’d lopped off. “Know what I overheard one of my own men saying the other day? That there wouldn’t be much left of me soon.”

  Then we killed him, the voice muttered. Chilstone smiled. At least you could say that for the voice; it understood him.

  “I had no choice,” Fenn cried. “You would’ve killed me.”

  “Sir, it’s important!” the Terra tried again.

  Tell them to stop interrupting! the voice hissed. Chilstone glared at the Terra, then turned back to Fenn.

  “And what choice do I have? There are hundreds of Seaborns willing to kill me, so long as you’re alive.” He looked Fenn over quizzically, as if trying to find the answer to a difficult sum he’d been struggling with, frowning and tilting his head to one side.

  “How did you even know I existed?” Fenn asked.

  A strange flash passed over Chilstone’s face, something between triumph and melancholy. “You have your mother to thank for that…” he began.

  Don’t tell him! the voice demanded. Not yet! But Chilstone wasn’t in the mood for teasing.

  “She told me where to find you. Pleaded with me to save you. But the barge had already been sunk.”

  Fenn’s pictured his mother desperately trying to save him. How frightened she must have felt. But Chilstone was intent on remembering his own misery and didn’t notice the expression on Fenn’s face.

  Dawn was approaching and the sky was turning from deepest sapphire to the darkest plum-pink. Chilstone sighed regretfully.

  “With hindsight I should have left well alone. Sometimes I wonder if it would have been better if I had. Ironic, isn’t it, that my looking for you made you more real to people? You could have mouldered away in that old hovel, and none of us would have been any the wiser. None of this would have happened.”

  He shifted position, easing his head first to the left then right, loosening the cricks in his neck.

  “But I couldn’t help myself. I thought the Sargassons might be hiding you and went searching, when all the time it was old Halflin. If you look at it one way, I made you.” The strange expression flitted over his face again.

  “And what about my parents?” Fenn asked, his voice shaking with anger as he thought again of his mother. She must have died thinking he was dead too.

  “They refused to give me the names of those who killed my daughter, so I had to make an example of them. A powerful leader has to send out powerful messages, Fenn. Simple messages simple people understand – you know that now. A long time ago, I had more room for clemency, but…” He cocked an eyebrow ruefully at his mechanical fingers, twitching them a fraction so that the metal digits scraped against each other. “Look where that got me!”

  “SIR! THE SHIP!” the Terra shouted. He pointed at the water between the Warspite and the estuary. Fenn heard the fear in the Terra’s voice and followed the line of the Terra’s finger.

  Heading towards the Warspite was a trawler, going at such a speed it bounced on the water, frothing up two fronds of surf as high as the bowsprit. Black smoke was pluming out of the back as its engines strained. Whoever was at the helm didn’t care that the trawler would burn out. Chilstone grabbed the telescope and trained it on the figure standing at the helm.

  “Moray!”

  “It’s heading straight at us!” the Terra shouted. The ship was less than two hundred yards off. Fenn remembered Moray’s final words on the matter: leave Chilstone to me.

  Now Moray was acting on them. It was the perfect moment to destroy Chilstone; out on the high seas the Warspite was impossible to get close to, but here – its bow already surrounded by five tugs and in the shallows – it was a sitting duck. Even without the element of surprise, the huge ship could never turn in time.

  The trawler had picked up even more speed and was now only a stone’s throw away. Fenn ducked between the Terra guards and ran towards the stern. He had only got to the mid-beam when a thunderous explosion knocked the wind from his lungs and the deck from beneath his feet. Clouds of acrid, wet smoke billowed into the air and rained down on them as shock waves shuddered through the ship, scattering the gulls roosting on the radar antenna. The Warspite listed violently as water gushed into the hole in her side, then she began to slowly tip, port-side first. The Terras on deck slid down and across the rails plunging into the sea.

  Fenn was hurled against the Scragnet crane and grabbed the lowest rung of its maintenance ladder. The giant magnet had already broken free and was swinging wildly. The blast had knocked Chilstone to the ground, but he’d just managed to hook the end of his cane around one of the legs of the crane.

  He’s getting away again! the voice hissed in Chilstone’s ear. Chilstone’s face was twisted with pain as he clung onto the cane. His metal legs were useless, unable to get any purchase as they clattered and scratched on the wet iron deck.

  Fenn scrambled up the ladder away from Chilstone, who was inching closer, pulling himself up his cane, fist over fist. His cowl, blackened and wet from the soot, tangled over his arms, like bats’ wings. Fenn reached out and grabbed one of the struts to drag himself onto the crane’s arm. The ship shuddered again and slumped deeper and Fenn sli
pped, clinging on desperately. There was a grinding sound from the furthest gun turret as it began to tear away from its footings. Chilstone lunged for the lowest rung.

  Don’t let him get away! the voice screeched, as the pain twisted through the iron pegs in his legs. Chilstone clawed up towards Fenn, dragging his legs behind him. The Warspite groaned as the front of her bow sheared off and began pulling the rest of the hull with her. Water began rolling up the deck towards them.

  Hurt him! the voice shrieked as Chilstone slashed at Fenn’s hand with his cane. Fenn howled in agony as it smashed down on his fingers. He lost his grip and nearly fell, but hooked his leg over a girder, clinging on. Chilstone’s face contorted with fury as he dragged himself higher. He lifted the cane to strike again, but as he raised his arm, he felt the cane fly out of his hand towards the huge magnet as it swung past behind him. Fenn eased himself up and edged along the crane’s arm.

  The gun! the voice screeched frantically.

  There was nowhere left for Fenn to go and he watched in horror as Chilstone unbuttoned the holster; but before he could draw it, the gun had flown from his grasp and pinned itself to the magnet as well. The ship slumped sideways as she took on more water and the magnet swung back towards the crane again. Forgetting his recent metal alterations, Chilstone tried to grab the gun back. Instantly his hand smacked against the magnet with a clang.

  As he struggled to get away, he kicked out, and the straps and iron pegs in his legs also clamped tight to the magnet’s underside. Fenn watched in horror, remembering the flies he used to free from the sticky spiders’ webs spun in the bottles that made the kitchen window back home. The more Chilstone tried to prise himself free, the more entrapped he became. Fenn felt the same sharp lurch of pity for him as he had for the helpless flies.

  The stern of the ship had lifted out of the water but now, as the ship broke into two pieces, it crashed down with a terrible crack, forcing a huge grey wave up towards the Scragnet. Fenn clutched the Scragnet’s arm even tighter, trying to keep a grip in the wet. He watched wide-eyed as the sea began washing around Chilstone; no longer Fenn’s enemy but just a frightened old man, snagged by his own hate, his body numbing with cold as the icy waters rose.

  You failed, the voice said sorrowfully. It’s all over.

  It sounded withered and frail in Chilstone’s ear before suddenly fading away altogether, leaving him with a strange new silence.

  Then, for the first time in years, Chilstone heard the wind sighing over the sea and waves slopping against the hull of the sinking Warspite. He noticed how jagged and forlorn the gulls’ cries were, how sweetly a far-off skylark was singing, and how the Warspite’s wire flag-hoists clattered like the noise his daughter used to make when banging pots for drums. Out of the blue, he recalled the sound of her laughter and remembered the weight of her in his arms as he lifted her to see over the Warspite’s rail. Then the strangest thing happened; he thought he felt her arms around his neck, holding on to him so tightly.

  As a final wave swept up, Fenn desperately threw out his arm, trying to grab at Chilstone’s cowl. But the sea had already swallowed him and he disappeared from view.

  20

  Fenn hit the water at the exact moment the Warspite’s last gun turret disappeared beneath the waves. It was freezing and the water was filled with thousands of bubbles. He was too weak to stop himself being dragged down through the whirlpool, almost as if the Warspite wanted to pull him down to her grave. But the thought of his friends and Halflin spurred him on and he swam as hard as he could through the churning waters, with no sense of up and down, until beyond the swirling murk he saw the yellow glow of daylight. He drove himself towards it, breaking through the surface, gasping for air. The sea around him was deserted.

  At first his heart flipped over with fear, thinking Fathom hadn’t freed the Crescent in time, or that somehow she’d been dragged down in the Warspite’s suction, but then he heard a wild, jubilant yell from far behind him. The Crescent was chugging towards him, safe and sound, with Fathom screaming excitedly at the bow; he had realised the tug was small enough to be pulled down with the drag of the Warspite and had got her a safe distance away. He threw out a buoy and Fenn clung onto it while Fathom dragged him in. As Fenn fell onto the deck, he saw Fathom’s eyes were puffy – he’d been crying. Tikki squeaked and jumped somersaults with happiness as the two boys hugged, crying with relief and exhaustion.

  “I thought you were dead!” Fathom’s words choked out as he hitched Fenn’s arm over his shoulder and lugged him into the cabin. Tikki bounced along behind them chattering with joy and pawing at Fenn’s legs. Inside, Fathom unearthed a stash of hessian sacks in the cupboard and gave them to Fenn to dry off with while he stuffed the stove with logs, making the flames spit and sparkle, green and purple. He left the stove door open so the searing heat flooded the room. Fenn put his boots upside down by the grate to dry.

  “You didn’t pull the rope!” Fathom said. “I waited! And when I hoisted the crate up anyway, it was empty!”

  He dragged Viktor’s chair up to the stove and helped Fenn down into it. Tikki danced impatiently at Fenn’s feet, waiting for him to be dry enough so he could jump up.

  “Then some Terras spotted me so I ran for it… I’m sorry…” Fathom’s voice thickened with guilt.

  “We’d both have drowned if you hadn’t!” Fenn said, shivering. “Anyway, I told you not to wait.”

  Fathom roughly rubbed the hessian sacking over Fenn’s head to dry his hair. His lips were blue.

  “What happened?” Fathom asked, nudging the kettle back onto the hotplate. He held one of the sacks up against the stove to warm it through and a malty smell filled the cabin as the hemp heated.

  “Terras caught me,” Fenn explained.

  Fathom wrapped the warmed hessian around Fenn’s feet; they were like ice. He kept chafing them until they turned pink.

  “I’d just cast off when I heard this massive bang. I kept going to get clear, then watched her go down.” Fathom swallowed hard and looked at his hands. “I thought… I…”

  He couldn’t say what he thought; it was too horrible to imagine.

  “It was Moray,” Fenn said, pulling on his shirt and reaching down for Tikki. Now that he’d stopped moving about so much, Tikki scrambled up onto his lap.

  “But how?” asked Fathom.

  “He had a boat hidden; packed with explosives he’d been stealing from the mines,” Fenn said. “I can’t believe he really did it.” He looked out at the grey sea. “But if he thought I’d been killed he must have thought the Sargassons had nothing left to lose.”

  Fathom stood up and flipped the lid off a tin, tipping the last spoonful of black powder into a mug.

  “People do crazy things when they’re desperate,” he said, pouring the hot water in. The water darkened to a peaty brown as the steam unfurled. “Like pretending to be someone to get a mouthful of food…” he mumbled as he watched the grains swirl. He slid Fenn a guilty glance.

  Fenn put his hand on his arm. “I don’t care if you pretended to be me – I’d have done the same – anyone would.”

  A tear of relief ran down Fathom’s cheek and plopped into the drink.

  “Don’t cry in my coffee!’ Fenn teased, poking him in the ribs.

  “That’s the last of it!” Fathom laughed and wiped his cuff over his cheeks.

  “You, Amber … all of you … you’re the best friends I ever had,” Fenn said, suddenly serious.

  “We’re the only friends you ever had!” Fathom pointed out.

  “True! But if I hadn’t met you lot, I wouldn’t be alive.” Fenn passed the rest of the coffee to Fathom to finish. “Let’s get back to the others.”

  * * *

  They raced to get the Crescent back to the Brimstone, pushing her harder than she’d ever sailed, on a course set for the estuary from where the canal was cut. Both feared the worst for the prisoners on the Hellhulks, and sure enough, as they approached, they saw the Brimstone was
ablaze; the wooden shacks that had once clustered over her sides were charred to cinders, and the surf breaking up against her red-hot hull frothed black with ash. She was deserted.

  “There’s no one left,” Fathom said.

  “Do you think they’ve got behind the Wall?”

  Fathom shrugged, but as they bumped against the dock, they both saw the stone-yard was strewn with bodies of both Seaborns and Terras, where fighting had continued on land. As they looked more closely, though, they saw guns and truncheons lying in the dirt, and Fenn counted at least six dead Malmuts. Dozens of Terra masks had been discarded on the ground, like clots of tar. Here and there, the Terras had even discarded their jackets and ripped off Terra Firma badges, flipping over in the wind like red-and-black petals. A smile spread across Fenn’s face.

  “They’ve surrendered,” he shouted as Fathom dropped the gangplank. Fenn put Tikki deep in his pocket – he was still jumpy and nervous – and as they scrambled across to the dock, Fenn heard a frantic whinnying nearby. Five cob horses were rearing up from the chains fixing them to a huge barge moored alongside. They skittered wildly on the spot, the whites of their eyes flickering. Fenn and Fathom ran over to free them.

  It took some time to calm them enough to unclip the first harness, but as soon as they did, the cob shied away, rearing on its hind legs, before bolting off into the marsh. As they freed the animals, they each sprang away from the water’s edge, cantering inland.

  Fenn frowned. “Something’s wrong,” he said.

  “C’mon. More Terras could be coming.”

  But Fenn was staring out over the water; the tide was turning, but too fast. It was flowing out towards the sea, pulling the boats away from the shoreline. The whole body of water was retreating.

  Suddenly the huge barge alongside them dropped, snapping its mooring lines. In a second it was dragged back by the ferocious pull of the reverse tide and spun away into the estuary like a matchstick. As Fenn watched, the entire water levels sank downwards. It was as if all the water had just disappeared, sucked back out to sea.