I don't think it will stay afloat long on choppy water, so I'm only going to use it if I don't manage to escape in Tortilla. But I feel happier knowing I have another way out if I need it. (So long as Thief-taker Craik doesn't capture me first!)
Oh no! A terrible thing has happened. Captain Cut-throat has been captured – and it's all my fault! Worse still, she had my mobile phone with her when Craik threw her in the lockup! All my plans to escape are on hold again – I have to get my phone back; and besides, Cutthroat saved my life, so I can't just leave her to rot, can I? I knew we should never have gone to Tortilla!
As soon as we arrived in port, Cut-throat sent Rawcliffe Annie ashore on a recce. After his defeat, she knew that Craik would be desperate to catch our pirate gang, and she was right. Annie returned from town with a poster she had torn from the harbour wall. Captain Cut-throat unfolded it and handed it to me.
I was shocked! Me, Charlie Small, the world's most wanted pirate! What would my mum think? Then, with relief, I realized this meant I couldn't possibly go on the raid! For one glorious moment I thought I would be spared the danger of capture or death, and would be able to escape on my pedalo while the others went ashore. But Captain Cut-throat had other ideas.
‘I want you at my side, Charlie,’ she said as she squeezed into her posh frock. ‘You'll just have to go in disguise like us.’
And then she called for the spare dresses!
‘No!’ I cried. ‘You must be joking.’ But the captain insisted and I had to try on every one for the pirates and parade up and down the deck as if I was on a catwalk. Finally they agreed on a full-length, green satin dress trimmed with Spanish lace and a matching bonnet. Talk about embarrassing!
And the long skirt was going to make running away almost impossible!
I had no chance to make a dash for it anyway. I was wedged between Rawcliffe Annie and Lizzie Hall in the rowing boat, and then the captain insisted I stay close to her as we headed for the market. ‘It's your duty as my first mate, Charlie,’ she said. And I knew that if I protested, she'd instantly suspect me.
As the pirates pulled their old trick and rounded up the townsfolk, I kept waiting for the thief-taker to appear with an army of soldiers, but we escaped. At least, we did until it came to the getaway.
With bags full of sparkling loot we swarmed through the narrow alleyways back to the harbour, easily outrunning the angry townsfolk. But then we came to a cobbled street and I suddenly discovered how difficult it is to run over cobbles in a long dress and high heels! As we took a corner at high speed, my ankle twisted on the cobbles and I went crashing to the ground. Captain Cut-throat, who was just behind, tripped over me and collapsed in a tangle of skirts.
It was then that I heard a familiar voice …
‘Take her! Don't let her escape!’ yelled Thief-taker Craik.
Desperately I wriggled out from under Captain Cut-throat and rolled under a market stall parked at the side of the alley I was just in time. The crowd pounced on Captain Cut-throat.
‘Take her to the Eyrie,’ said Craik coldly, and I heard Cut-throat gasp. ‘We'll hang her at dawn and then stake her out on the rocks for the buzzards. Unless, that is, she is prepared to tell me where that weasel-faced viperfish vagabond Black-hearted Charlie is. He's the one I really want!’
I shrank back into the darkness under the stall, feeling terrible. As ruthless, despicable and downright bad as Captain Cut-throat was, I didn't want her to hang! And it was my clumsiness that had got her caught. Now she was being asked to squeal on a fellow pirate to save herself from the drop, but I knew that Captain Cut-throat would never give another pirate up. It went against all she stood for.
‘Where's Black-hearted Charlie?’ she mused. ‘Mmm, now let me think …’
What?! I couldn't believe it! Surely, after all her lectures about honour amongst pirates, Captain Cut-throat wasn't going to hand me over to the hangman! I must have gasped in surprise, or maybe Captain Cut-throat had silently betrayed me, for the next minute the cover around the market stall was pulled back and I was staring straight into the face of Thief-taker Craik. It wasn't a pretty sight!
‘Well, well, look what the cat threw up,’ he said. ‘A bonny little girl. But hold on, surely a girl could never be that ugly … Why, it's my old friend Black-hearted Charlie.’ He prodded me with the tip of his sword. ‘Out you come, boy’
I rolled out from under the cart, and as I twisted, I drew the cutlass that was hidden amongst my skirts. I sprang to my feet, ready for battle.
‘So, you're tired of life already, are you?’ smirked the thief-taker, raising his own sword to the en garde position.
‘No, I'm just tired of you,’ I replied.
‘Aaargh!’ roared the thief-taker as he ran at me, his sword raised above his head. He struck, but I parried as Sabre Sue had taught me, and the blow of his blade sent a judder right down to my feet. Soon the alley echoed to the clash and scrape of our swords as I fought for my life. I ducked as his blade zipped through the air and caught the wall of the alleyway with a clang and a fountain of sparks.
‘Missed,’ I cried, backing down the alleyway: a flight of steps behind me led down to the harbour below. Craik came again, chopping at the air like a frenzied butcher, his blade slicing a tear right across the skirt of my dress.
Oi! That's my best frock!’ I yelled, and charged back at him. Craik drew back his blade to strike, and as he thrust it forward, I quickly sidestepped and he went lumbering past me. The crowd surged forward, but I raised my sword and they quickly fell back again. All in the same movement, I spun round and whacked Craik square on the rump with the flat of my blade. He teetered forward, waving his arms like a windmill as he desperately tried to maintain his balance. But it was no good. With a cry he fell forward, clattering all the way down the steep flight of steps to the harbour.
As he sprawled, dazed and confused, on the cobbles below, I raced down the steps, leaped over him and charged towards the quay. The pirates were already back on the Betty Mae, waving at me to hurry up, so I dropped into an empty dinghy and rowed away at top speed. As I climbed up the rope ladder and onto the ship, Mop-head handed me a telescope and pointed grimly back to Tortilla. I looked through it and saw that the harbour was deserted. Then she tilted the telescope and I spotted a procession of soldiers and townsfolk marching the captured pirate captain up the cliff path from town. They were heading for a huge stone jail set high above the port.
‘That's Craik's Eyrie,’ Kate told me. ‘No pirate who passes through its gates ever comes out alive.’
I swallowed hard. Because that was where I knew I'd have to go next!
We've dropped anchor a couple of miles off shore and are waiting for nightfall, when I can mount my daring rescue attempt.
Why should I bother trying to save such a devious desperado, after the way she's treated me? Well, it is my fault that she's been captured. But more importantly, she has my precious phone tucked into her handbag, and I might really need that one day if I'm ever going to get home.
The pirates are very surprised that I want to go back for their boss. They think it's far too dangerous. As Rawcliffe Annie said, ‘She's been a good cap'n, but deserting her is no less than she'd do to us. It's every girl for herself at a time like this!’
But I've finally got them to agree to at least give me until dawn before they sail away for ever. (In return for my share of all the spoils from Tortilla!)
Since then I've been repacking my explorer's rucksack. I'm taking everything with me – including the hunting knife and torch that mysteriously reappeared on my hammock last night! I'm also going to take a grappling hook on a length of rope, a spring-loaded mini harpoon gun, and one of the remaining clockwork limpets. I've decided that the only way to get to the Eyrie unseen is to climb the massive cliff-face. The pirates think it's impossible, but I reckon that with all my tree-climbing in the jungle and in the rigging of the Betty Mae I have a good chance of making it.
And now, while I w
ait for the sun to go down, I'm writing this – which may well be my last ever journal entry! I'm happy that I've got it all up to date at last. But if the next page is blank, you'll know that Thief-taker Craik has finished my exploring days for ever!
As dusk smudged the cliffs above the port, I lowered myself into the rowing boat with Lizzie Hall. She pulled hard on the oars with arms like steel cables, and we were soon among the rocky outcrops at the base of the huge cliffs on which the Eyrie stood.
‘Good luck, Charlie,’ she whispered as I jumped into the surf. ‘Remember we can't wait beyond dawn!’
I gave her a silent thumbs-up, then waded up to the slime-covered rocks and started to climb. It was very dark now and I had to feel for every hand-and foothold, my nose just inches from the spray-spattered cliff-face, the waves crashing around my ankles as they broke against the shore.
Gradually I left the sea far below. The roar of the wind replaced the roar of the waves, and tried its best to pluck me from the side of the cliff. I held on for dear life, flattening myself against the rock, my fingers aching with the effort of holding on.
Finally I hauled myself onto a small outcrop and discovered a cluster of buzzards’ nests. I was surprised to find so many packed onto the ledge, but then I realized they probably fed off the bodies of the pirates that Craik staked out on the rocks. Ugh! Tomorrow that could be me!
I lay against one of the nests to catch my breath and realized almost straight away that this was a very bad idea. There were two chicks in the nest, ugly things covered in scraps of feather and down, with nasty hooked beaks – and they were nearly as big as me! How big must the mother be? I wondered as the chicks screamed and lunged at me. Then WHAM! the mother's feet slammed into my back, knocking me forward. Her talons closed tight around the collar of my coat, and I was lifted up into the inky darkness.
I didn't know if I was above sea or land. The wind rushed past at an alarming speed, so I grabbed the buzzard tight round her ankles in case she suddenly decided to drop me. Then the moon came out from behind a thick cloud, and I could see that we were racing along the cliff top towards the Eyrie. We were heading exactly where I wanted to go, but I knew the buzzard might change course at any moment. I had to do something before she headed out over the water. But what?
Then I had an idea – I'd drop anchor!
Hanging on desperately to the buzzard's scaly leg with one hand, I managed to reach round and loosen the flap of my rucksack. Scrabbling around inside, I found the grappling hook.
Somehow I managed to tie its rope around my belt. Then I let the hook fall away through the dark to the ground below.
I heard it skim and bounce across the coarse grasses of the cliff top, then THUMP!‘it caught on a rock and the rope was pulled rigid. I held on as tight as I could to the buzzard's legs as we came to a sudden, bone-juddering halt in mid-air. Then the startled buzzard started to plummet towards the ground.
She released her grip on my coat and flapped her broad wings desperately, slowing our fall, but she couldn't go forward while I clung stubbornly to her ankles. Then, just before we crashed onto the cliff top, I let the buzzard go and she soared back up into the sky.
I hit the ground hard but managed to break my fall by rolling in a way I'd learned from the gorillas back in my days in the jungle. Then I lay on the rough grass until I got my breath back, peering into the darkness.
A couple of hundred metres along the cliff top, the forbidding silhouette of the Eyrie rose black against the milky, moonlit clouds that were racing across the sky. I picked up the grappling hook, wound the rope around my arm and crept towards it.
The Eyrie towered high above me; the cliffs on which it stood dropping out of sight below. I crouched in the shadows at the base of the huge stone walls and checked around for guards. Then I took out the mini harpoon and jammed the shaft of the grappling hook into its barrel. Cranking back the spring loader, I shouldered the harpoon gun, aimed it at the top of the wall and fired.
BOOF! The grappling hook shot high into the night sky, the rope snaking out behind. It curved over the top of the wall and I heard the clang as it clattered against the other side. I waited to see if the noise had alerted any guards, and then pulled on the rope until the grappling hook caught fast. Then I scrambled up the rope, over the top and onto a shadowy walkway.
I studied the layout of the fortress. Below lay a courtyard. One end was bordered by a guardhouse. I could see the guards’ silhouettes in the windows, slapping each other on the back and raising tankards to their lips. At the other end was the cellblock, so full of tiny barred windows that it looked like a honeycomb. Captain Cut-throat would be somewhere in there. Apart from a sleepy-looking guard at each of the corner turrets, the rest of the castle seemed deserted.
I darted along the walkway on top of the wall, creeping past a guarded turret, until I came to a door that I hoped would lead me down to the cellblock. The door, of course, was locked, so I pulled out the poison dart from my rucksack and inserted it into the large keyhole. All my practising had been worth it, for after a moment of fiddling and scraping I heard a clunk and the door pushed open.
A stairway led down inside the wide wall. It was inky black and I had to feel my way down, counting the steps to get an idea of how far I was descending. I counted 267 before I came to another door. I must have descended about half-way down from the top of the huge external wall and guessed I would now be on a level with the cells. The door had a grille, and I looked through onto a corridor, lit i by a torch burning on the opposite wall. I picked this lock, slid into the corridor and crept along the wall in the direction of the cellblock.
The corridor led onto a landing extending all the way round the cellblock. The cells / were built around a central well that was open from floor to ceiling, and leaning over, I could see at least twenty more landings disappearing into the gloom below me. Each landing contained over a hundred cells! How on earth was I going to find Captain Cut-throat amongst that lot?
But my luck seemed to be holding, because as I leaned against the wall wondering what to do next, I heard a familiar voice singing from somewhere on the landing below.
‘We were poor little wives of black-hearted pirates, who left us at home, playing at mum …‘It was the captain.
‘Quiet in there!’ yelled the night turnkey as he patrolled the floor below, his feet scraping along the landing. He banged on Captain Cutthroat's cell door. ‘Did you hear me? I said, Shut yer trap,’ and he shuffled off down a flight of steps to continue his rounds.
I crept down the stone steps, along to Captain Cut-throat's cell, and tapped on the door.
‘Captain, it's me. Charlie Small.’
‘Charlie, my boy,’ she cried, hurrying over to the bars set in the door. ‘I knew you'd come. I knew you wouldn't let me swing.’
‘I owe you one,’ I whispered back. ‘For saving me from that octopus.’
I studied the lock on her cell door and realized straight away that it was much more complicated than those I had already opened. There was no way that I could pick it, so I took the clockwork limpet out of my rucksack and clamped it over the huge lock mechanism.
With the limpet fully wound, I flicked the switch and the diamond-coated blades started to spin and cut into the heavy oak door. At first the muffled humming noise wasn't too bad, but when the blades hit the ironwork of the lock, a high-pitched whine cut through the stillness, of the night. I jammed my rucksack over the limpet, trying to lessen the noise, but the damage was already done.
‘Who's making that noise?’ demanded the turnkey from a few landings below. ‘Stop it, I say. You'll wake the whole place.’ I heard the scuffing of his feet as he made his way along the landing and started to climb the stairs.
The blades squealed as they ate through the lock, sending shards of metal curling onto the floor. I willed the limpet to speed up. I willed the turnkey to slow down!
As the old jailer shuffled onto our landing, the limpet blades were already through
the door and spinning silently in the cell. I yanked the limpet off and heaved at the large cut circle of wood and metal in the door; they clattered to the ground. The door swung open and Captain Cut-throat stepped out onto the landing.
‘Let's go,’ she said, and I led her back up the way I had come.
‘Stop!’ cried the old turnkey from behind us. ‘Stop or I'll shoot!’
PATANG!
A bullet ricocheted off of the steps as we disappeared onto the landing above.
‘Catch us if you can, old man,’ cried Captain Cut-throat, and a piercing whistle filled the cellblock as the turnkey tried to rouse the guards.
Along the corridor we raced, puffing up the 267 steps and out onto the walkway on top of the wall. Now we could hear the sound of running feet, of voices calling and shouting. The next minute fifty fearsome guards armed with pikes were piling out of a doorway on the opposite walkway. The guards on the turrets were hurriedly priming their muskets. There was no way we could shin down the rope that still snaked to the cliff top below. We would be sitting ducks.
The guards charged, and I thought we'd had it, but then Captain Cut-throat reached inside her blouse, drawing out a brace of pistols.
‘They didn't look in there when they frisked me.’ She winked. I couldn't say I blamed them! She fired in the air and the guards stopped in mid-charge, ducking down in the shadows. Then the musket-men on the turrets fired back at us and lead shot went whistling over our heads.
Perfumed Pirates of Perfidy Page 6