The Firebird Chronicles

by Daniel Ingram-Brown

  Chapter 11

  Martha

  Martha’s home was a makeshift wooden cabin on the flat roof of a sandstone tenement. The next building along was three storeys higher, creating a corner in which the little shack nestled. The tenement stood next to one of the narrow river-streets that criss-crossed the city, the churn of water a constant thrum. It had once been the home of a wealthy patrician, vestiges of grandeur still visible. But the old house had been converted into apartments and was now occupied by a multitude of characters from across the Oceans of Rhyme: pale-skinned women from the Starlight Isles, swarthy men from the Furnace Islands, and everything in between. There were even camp beds squashed into the hallways. The house buzzed with half-spoken languages, its air heavy with the scent of foods from distant shores.

  To get to the cabin, the crew had to climb through an apartment window. A bald man gave them a friendly wave, but didn’t seem to understand their apologies or thanks. As they crawled onto the roof, Martha motioned to some tall, wicker baskets and told the Dark Pirate they were supplies for the Black Horizon.

  The crew squeezed into Martha’s cabin and she began to bustle about, preparing food and filling large earthenware jugs with water. The room was crowded but in a cosy way, the floor strewn with woven rugs and patterned cushions. There was a bed in the corner, a knitted blanket thrown over it. Dreamcatchers, ceramic pots and dried herbs hung from the ceiling, and the smell of freshly baking bread wafted from a large, clay oven. In the centre of the room a low, wooden table stood. Despite the lack of space, Martha ushered the crew around it.

  Fletcher sat on the floor, cross-legged, squeezing himself between Alfa and Nib. Alfa was reclining, her elbow on the table. Fletcher nudged her and she shuffled up a little but was still uncomfortably close.

  The Dark Pirate instructed Knot to start loading provisions from the wicker baskets. Knot busied himself, moving in and out, filling the large chest and packs with salted meats, apples, onions, cheese, sea biscuits, canvas and thread, lantern oil and sundries for the ship.

  ‘You must be hungry,’ Martha said, setting a bowl of steaming stew on the table. It smelled rich and sweet.

  ‘Famished!’ Fletcher replied.

  Martha handed out wooden bowls. ‘Go on then. What are you waiting for? Tuck in!’

  Fletcher didn’t need to be asked twice. Taking the ladle, he served himself a large portion.

  ‘Leave enough for the rest of us,’ Alfa whispered.

  ‘There’s plenty for everyone,’ Martha said, setting down a freshly baked loaf of bread. ‘There’s more where that came from.’

  ‘See!’ Fletcher reached across and tore a large chunk of bread.

  Alfa glared and shuffled up, squashing him again. He wriggled about, trying to push her back.

  ‘Will you two stop that!’ Nib said. ‘You’ll knock the table!’ He raised an eyebrow at Fletcher and winked.

  Fletcher’s face flushed. ‘You’d better tell her,’ he muttered. But he stopped pushing and tucked into his food. Alfa caught Sparks’s eye, and they giggled.

  The Dark Pirate sat at the end of the table, reclining. ‘What a feast, Martha. Fit for a king, as always.’

  Martha smiled. ‘Always for you.’

  The Dark Pirate looked away. Was he embarrassed? He was obviously close to Martha.

  ‘So, how do you two know each other?’ asked Scoop.

  The pirate frowned.

  Martha laughed. ‘Well, there’s a question.’ She laid a hand on the pirate’s shoulder. ‘Do you want to answer, or shall I?’

  ‘You were always better at telling stories,’ he answered, looking down. He began to eat.

  ‘Well …’ Martha sat at the table with them. ‘Where to start …?’ She thought for a moment. ‘Before Leo––’

  ‘Don’t use that name.’ The pirate looked up, his spoon clattering in the bowl.

  Martha looked thrown. ‘But it is your name. I can’t tell the story without––’

  ‘Dark Pirates do not use their given names. You know that full well.’

  ‘You can’t pretend there was no before. You are who you are.’

  ‘I’m not pretending. I fully accept who I am, past and present. But when I vowed to forsake the ways of the land, I chose to lay down that name. I chose to identify with the sea, with something bigger than any individual identity.’

  A trace of sadness passed across Martha’s face. ‘Then what should I call you?’

  ‘Him or the Dark Pirate. Anything but that.’

  ‘What about my friend?’

  The pirate met her eye. ‘Yes. That will always be true.’

  A smile flicked across Martha’s face. ‘Well then … before my friend was a Dark Pirate––’

  ‘I’d assumed he’d always been a Dark Pirate,’ interrupted Scoop. ‘I mean, we’ve never known him any other way.’

  Martha laughed. ‘Oh no. No, he certainly had a life before.’

  The pirate carried on eating, as though he were not being talked about.

  Martha continued: ‘Before my friend was a Dark Pirate, he lived just a stone’s throw from where we are now.’

  Scoop interrupted again. ‘You lived on the Basillica Isles?’

  Fletcher sighed.

  ‘I did,’ the pirate said. ‘I was born here.’

  ‘You’re Basillican?’

  ‘I am. Or at least I was, before I left the land.’

  ‘We both were,’ Martha said. ‘Well … I still am. We were childhood friends. Leo––’ She stopped herself. ‘My friend lived two houses from here. I grew up in this house.’

  ‘She lived inside, back then,’ the pirate added, ‘before the house was given for the care of refugees and the homeless, before she moved into this cabin.’

  ‘Yes, it was different back then. My parents owned the house.’

  ‘All of it?’ asked Scoop.

  ‘Yes, the whole house. I come from one of the oldest Basillican families, a very wealthy family.’

  The pirate slurped his stew. ‘Her parents used to throw grand parties for the great and the good.’

  ‘Do you remember? You used to steal the canapés.’

  ‘I do. Who could forget your father’s farfetched stories. And his laugh. It was like the bellow of a walrus.’

  ‘Ha!’ Martha looked delighted. ‘Yes.’ A faraway look passed over her face. ‘He was a generous man. They were good times, weren’t they?’

  ‘They were. But they were a lifetime ago.’

  ‘Yes, before things changed.’

  ‘What changed?’ asked Scoop.

  ‘The Falcon family. They gradually consolidated their power. So many people came here to find a better life, drawn by the city’s wealth. The Basillicans began to resent those who came, to fear them. Conflicts broke out, ugly scenes, unbecoming of this great city. And with fear came the clamour for a strong leader, someone to protect the city’s wealth, its status, to return it to its great past. Gradually, people turned to the Falcons and their militia, the Red Hawks. Slowly, they undermined the city’s traditions of shared decision making, the way of the shell—’

  ‘I’ve seen people wearing shells,’ interrupted Scoop, ‘stitched to their clothing.’

  ‘Yes. It’s a sign of the old ways. The shell is a symbol of protection for the weak, one of the city’s founding principles. Sadly, not one shared by the Falcon family or the Red Hawks. Many still hold the old principles though, and hope one day we might return to them.’ Martha sipped her drink. ‘Well, by the time my friend and I came of age, young and idealistic as we were––’

  ‘Don’t,’ the pirate interrupted. He looked uneasy.

  Martha turned to him. ‘I’m at peace with all that has come to pass. I wouldn’t change the way things are, the choices we made. We’ve both taken our stand in different ways. I don’t regret the people we’ve become, even though we’ve both lost many things in the process. I think your companions should know the man they travel with. This is a story you wou
ld never tell yourself, so allow me this one indulgence – please.’

  The pirate paused, his spoon midway to his mouth. Reluctantly, he nodded.

  Martha gave him a sad smile. ‘By the time we had both come of age, we had become fond of each other – very fond. We had imagined a life together, a home, children …’ Her voice trailed away.

  Scoop stared at Martha. ‘You were …’

  ‘We were betrothed, yes. But, for the very reasons I loved him – I still love him – my friend decided he was not able to settle for such a life. At the time, the city had all but collapsed. The village of tents you travelled through had begun to form. The Red Hawks were given complete authority. My friend decided that something had to be done, that we could not continue as if nothing had changed. And I agreed. He decided to embark on a journey I could not share, to forsake the ways of the land, the wealth and status he’d been given by birth, and take to the sea. He decided to become a Dark Pirate. He chose a lonely call, one I respected, one I respect now, even if at the time, it broke my heart.’

  A heavy silence fell.

  The Dark Pirate began to speak. ‘I …’

  ‘You don’t need to say anything,’ Martha whispered. ‘You did what you thought was right. We did what we thought was right.’ She looked back at the crew. ‘That day I decided that when this house came into my possession I would move here, into the old cabin we used to play in as children. I decided to open my home for the care of those in need. I’ve lived this way ever since. It’s been my own attempt to shed my status and live for something better. I don’t regret it for a moment. I’ve been showered with riches, so many good friends, such beautiful community …’

  As Martha was speaking, there was a whistle outside. She flinched. ‘Stay here,’ she said, her manner changing. Rising, she dashed out of the cabin.

  The pirate put down his spoon, his features hardening. ‘Get ready. I think we may need to––’

  ‘They’re coming,’ Martha said, rushing back in.

  The pirate rose. ‘Quickly. We need to move.’

  ‘Who’s coming?’ Scoop asked, getting to her feet.

  ‘Red Hawks,’ Martha replied. ‘Someone must have told them you’re here. You’re in danger. You need to leave. If you’re caught––’

  She shot round, startled by shouting from the house.

  ‘Quickly. They’ll be here any moment.’

  The crew scrambled for their cloaks, picking up their packs. Knot lifted one end of the chest, dragging it onto the rooftop.

  As they were leaving, the pirate turned. ‘Come with us,’ he said to Martha. ‘I know the sea is a hard life. I cannot offer all I may have hoped, but––’

  ‘I can’t!’ interrupted Martha. ‘My home is here.’

  The sun was beginning to set, making the sandstone garish red. The pirate paused, but then nodded. Scoop could feel the tenderness between them, the ache of being pulled in different directions, the ghost of a hope, a desire lost.

  ‘That way,’ said Martha. She signalled away from the window. The sound of a scuffle echoed through it. ‘Go around that corner and through the second window. The stairs there lead directly to the river-street below. I’ll delay them as long as I can.’

  ‘No, Martha. I won’t have you put your life at risk––’

  ‘Don’t argue. This is my house. I deal with Red Hawks all the time. I know how to handle them.’

  ‘Martha, be careful––’

  ‘Go, will you! I will not allow you to be caught – not here!’

  For a moment, the two old friends gazed at one another. Then, Martha planted a kiss on the pirate’s cheek. ‘Go,’ she whispered. ‘I’ll be here next time you visit. If you don’t leave now, you’ll be putting your crew at risk.’

  The sound of heavy footsteps echoed through the window.

  The pirate gripped Martha’s hand for a moment. Then, releasing it, he turned and dashed away.

  Chapter 12

  A Dark Day

  Scoop darted after the pirate. She glanced back. Through the window, she could see a Red Hawk arguing with the bald man they’d passed earlier. The soldier knocked him out of the way.

  ‘What are you doing in my house?’ Martha demanded, blocking the window.

  ‘We’ve been informed there are fugitives here.’

  ‘Nonsense! Everyone in this house has the correct papers. I work with the authorities. You know that full well.’

  ‘I have my orders. We’ve been told to make a full search. Move out of the way.’

  ‘No!’

  The argument continued as Scoop rounded the corner and clambered through the window to the river-street.

  The crew ran down the stairs, their boots pounding. Scoop zigzagged after them, jumping down a few steps at a time. When they reached the bottom, the pirate pulled open a rickety door and they tumbled onto a narrow ledge. Knot began to drag the chest along it, Rufina, Alfa and Sparks following. Scoop was about to follow when a shot rang out. She froze. The blast echoed along the narrow corridor. A look of horror spread across the pirate’s face. Swinging round, he pushed past Scoop and ran back into the building.

  ‘What’s he doing?’ cried Rufina. ‘We have to get out of here!’

  ‘He’s going back,’ called Scoop. ‘He’s going back for her!’

  Nib met Fletcher’s eye. ‘Come on!’ The two of them pushed past Scoop, dashing after the pirate. ‘You carry on,’ Nib called over his shoulder. ‘We’ll meet you further up.’

  ‘Be quick!’ yelled Rufina.

  Fletcher followed Nib back into the building. They bounded up the stairs. They could hear the pirate ahead. He was quick, but the boys were agile. They caught up to him just as he was climbing back onto the rooftop. Nib grabbed his cloak but the pirate struggled free and disappeared. The boys clambered after him, desperately trying to catch up. As he rounded the corner to Martha’s cabin, Nib managed to seize his arm. The pirate tried to shake him off, but Fletcher lunged forward and caught his cloak. The boys hauled him back.

  ‘Let me go,’ he snarled.

  ‘No! We need to get out of here,’ Nib hissed. ‘You’re not thinking straight.’

  ‘I won’t leave her!’

  ‘Martha wanted us to get out of here,’ Fletcher gasped. ‘She wanted us to help the Storyteller.’

  At the Storyteller’s name, the pirate’s struggle weakened. The boys pressed their advantage, grabbing him further up the arm and dragging him back. But with a huff, he yanked them forward. The three of them stumbled out around the corner.

  A group of Red Hawks stood in a tight knot outside Martha’s cabin. Fletcher could see a bright skirt through their legs. One of the soldiers shifted and Martha came into view. She was sprawled on the ground, her body twisted. A pool of dark blood was slowly spreading.

  ‘She’s been shot,’ whispered Fletcher.

  ‘No.’ The pirate’s voice was hoarse.

  Martha wasn’t moving.

  ‘She’s dead,’ Nib said, blankly.

  ‘No!’ The pirate moved forward, but the boys grabbed him.

  ‘She’s gone!’ Nib hissed, pulling him back. ‘There’s nothing we can do! We need to get out of here!’

  The pirate struggled, but his strength had gone. He thrashed, but Fletcher and Nib managed to pull him back.

  As they disappeared around the corner again, one of the Red Hawks looked up. ‘There,’ he barked. ‘It’s them!’

  Without thinking, Fletcher and Nib ran. Dazed, the pirate followed.

  They flung themselves back through the window and hurtled down the stairs. If the Red Hawks had shot Martha, they certainly wouldn’t spare them. Fletcher could hear soldiers scrambling through the window above. Glancing up, he saw a face appear through the railings.

  ‘There!’ a soldier shouted. A musket appeared. Crack! The shot vibrated through Fletcher’s body, the plaster next to him exploding.

  The threat seemed to shake the pirate into action. He grabbed Fletcher, pulling him
to the side of the stairs. The three of them leapt down. Reaching the door, they threw it open. There was another shot as they dashed onto the ledge.

  Scrambling along the narrow walkway, Fletcher’s foot slipped, almost sending him into the water. Nib caught his arm and they hurried on, their hearts thumping. The tenements rose either side of them, their tops stained red with the setting sun. Any moment, Red Hawks would emerge onto the path and there would be nowhere to hide. Behind them, Fletcher heard the door bang open.

  ‘Halt!’ one of the soldiers shouted. ‘Halt, or we fire!’

  Fletcher heard them raise their muskets.

  An arm reached out and grabbed him. ‘Quick, over here!’ He was dragged onto a second river-street that cut away to the side. There was a shot and a bullet whizzed past. He turned to see Rufina staring at him. She released his arm.

  ‘Thanks,’ he panted.

  Below, a motorised gondola bobbed on the water. Knot, Alfa, Sparks and Scoop were already on it, the chest and packs stowed at one end. A long-faced ferryman stood at the tiller, a shell pinned to his hat.

  ‘Quick, give me your pack,’ Rufina said. Grabbing it, she threw it down to Knot. ‘Now, get in.’

  Behind, the sound of heavy boots was growing louder.

  Fletcher jumped into the gondola, helping Nib down. The boat rocked dangerously as the pirate jumped aboard. As Rufina leapt down, the ferryman started the motor.

  The little boat zipped away as the Red Hawks appeared.

  ‘Duck,’ yelled Nib.

  Fletcher threw himself facedown as a shot cracked out. The blast ricocheted from the narrow walls, followed quickly by another. Fletcher could feel Scoop pressed next to him, her breathing heavy.