With a loud buzz, the boat tipped to one side. There was another shot, but it was muffled. The pirate stood up. ‘We’re out of range now,’ he said.
Fletcher pushed himself to his feet. He was dirty and wet. They’d turned onto another narrow channel. The Red Hawks were out of sight but he could still hear them shouting.
He looked at Scoop. His thoughts were reflected in her eyes – they were lucky to be alive.
‘We’re not out of danger yet,’ the pirate growled. ‘Don’t relax. They will commandeer the next vessel they see. The city is cut through with river-streets. Keep your eyes peeled. We don’t know where they might emerge.’
‘Where to?’ the ferryman asked.
‘Take us to South Bay.’
‘South Bay? But I saw your ship at port.’
‘I instructed those left aboard to weigh anchor when the sun set. They’ll meet us to the south of the island. I had a feeling we’d need to make a hasty escape.’ The pirate sat down, his head in his hands. ‘We should never have come here. I knew it was a mistake to stop for provisions.’
Nobody replied. Scoop wished she could say something to comfort him, but there were no words.
For the rest of the journey, everyone sat in silence. Every time they crossed another river-street, they looked along it for a flash of red, for a boat of soldiers in pursuit. But no Red Hawks emerged.
Finally, after passing through the backwaters of the fishing district and navigating some foul-smelling tunnels, the river-street opened into a quiet bay. The sight that met them lifted Scoop’s heart a little. The Black Horizon was silhouetted against the last of the setting sun, its sails billowing. The gondola rocked heavily as it pushed out into the sea. The ferry buzzed towards the ship, buffeted by the breeze. Scoop looked back at the golden domes. On the beach, a single Red Hawk was watching them. He turned, running back towards the city. Scoop knew it wouldn’t be long before he alerted his superiors of their whereabouts. If they knew the Storyteller was aboard the Black Horizon, they would hunt them across the Oceans of Rhyme. The clock was ticking; they had to make their escape.
Chapter 13
Horizon’s Broken
Fletcher had long heard tales of the Basillica Isles. The domed city was famous across the Oceans of Rhyme. He never imagined coming here would be filled with such sadness. Behind him, Freddo, Pierre, the Boatswain and Mr Snooze had just been informed of Martha’s death. A heavy gloom hung over the ship.
Fletcher looked up to see a large, black bird perch on the rigging. Strange, he thought, to see a bird like that out here at sea. But he was distracted and thought no more of it.
That night, the crew slept in shifts, taking turns to keep watch as they sailed through the darkness. As the first glimmer of dawn seeped across the grey sky, there was a cry from the Boatswain.
‘Ship ahoy!’
Fletcher, who has been on duty through the first watches of the morning, ran over to him. He looked out, bleary eyed. The dawn was insipid, banks of heavy rain smudging the sky, but through the murk, he could see a speck on the horizon. The Boatswain handed him the telescope. Raising it to his eye, Fletcher could make out the black-winged insignia of the Falcon crest against red flags flying from the ship’s stern and masthead. It was a galleon, three masts in full sail. And it was fully armed, rows of cannon lining its sides.
Fletcher lowered the telescope. ‘Red Hawks?’
‘Yes. And it’s likely they’ll catch us before nightfall. We have little chance of escaping under cover of dark and no chance at all in open combat. They’ll blow us out the water.’
‘What will we do?’
‘I don’t know. I need to speak to him.’
Fletcher gave the Boatswain an apprehensive look. The Dark Pirate’s mood had steadily worsened. This wasn’t a good time to bring him bad news.
* * *
Fletcher was relieved from duty by Nib as the sun languished in the morning sky. Only a couple of hours had passed since the Red Hawk galleon had been sighted, but it was gaining on them.
There were mutterings aboard. The pirate was refusing to receive counsel. He was so angry they’d stopped instead of heading straight for the Threshold, he was now refusing to countenance any other option. There had been raised voices and he’d sent the Boatswain away with a flea in his ear. The usually good-natured fellow now thumped about the ship, a thunderous look on his face. The pirate also refused to accept the Red Hawk galleon was gaining on them, despite clear evidence to the contrary.
‘He’s going to get us all killed!’ Fletcher whispered to Alfa. ‘Somebody needs to do something.’
Sparks was listening. ‘He’s grieving,’ she said.
‘Maybe he is. But we’ll all be grieving soon – for our own lives!’
She shook her head and stormed off.
‘What’s up with her?’
‘She’s upset about Martha,’ Alfa replied.
‘We’re all upset about Martha. That doesn’t mean we should throw away our critical faculties. We’re going to be blown out of the water by Red Hawks. Doesn’t anybody care!’
‘Of course we care, Fletcher. What a stupid thing to say! But what can we do?’
‘I don’t know! We need the pirate to snap out of this malaise and come up with a plan!’
By midday, the Red Hawk ship had closed the distance further. The Falcon flags were now visible to the naked eye. As the sun climbed to its highest point, causing dramatic rays to shoot through the stormy clouds, Sparks emerged from below deck. She was dragging Freddo by the arm. He was carrying his accordion. She walked to the centre of the deck and stood in front of the mast.
She cleared her throat. ‘I’d like to say something,’ she called.
Nobody paid any attention.
Shaking her head, she pulled something from her coat.
‘Woah!’ Freddo said, stepping away. ‘What are you doing? Be care––’
Before he could finish, Sparks raised her hand and fired the pistol she was holding.
Freddo ducked. The force of the gun knocked Sparks from her feet.
Everybody spun round, hands raised to protect themselves. They stared at Sparks. She lay sprawled on the deck, the pistol smoking in her hand.
The pirate bounded out. ‘What the hell is going on!’
Sparks scrambled to her feet, obviously taken aback by the power of the blast. ‘I was just––’
The pirate rounded on her. ‘Is that mine?’
‘Yes, I was just––’
‘You stupid girl!’ He grabbed the pistol, knocking her back to the ground again. ‘You could have killed someone.’
‘I fired it upwards,’ said Sparks, her voice trembling.
The pirate pointed the butt of the pistol into her face. ‘Never, ever take anything of mine again! Do you understand?’ Sparks looked terrified. ‘I have half a mind to lock you in the hold! Get back to your post before I do!’ He turned. ‘That goes for the rest of you, too! Get back to work! I will not have this ship put at risk!’
Behind him, Sparks got to her feet. ‘I just wanted everyone to listen!’ she screamed. ‘I have something to say – something important! Why don’t you listen to me?’ Her face was red. ‘I have something to say,’ she said again, trying to control her voice.
‘What?’ the pirate barked. ‘What’s so important you put the lives of my crew at risk?’
‘Nobody was at risk and you know it.’
The pirate stared at her. ‘Just say what you have to say and make it quick.’
Sparks closed her eyes for a moment and breathed deeply. ‘I think we need to remember Martha.’
‘What?’
‘I think we need to mark her passing, remember her life. We need to allow ourselves to mourn.’
The pirate shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair. ‘We don’t have time.’ He pointed at the Red Hawk galleon. ‘Do you think they’re going to stop their pursuit while we indulge in such sentimentality? We can’t. We have to ke
ep going.’
‘It won’t take long,’ Sparks said. ‘I’ve written something, something to help us mark her passing, something to honour her.’
The pirate frowned. ‘You’ve written something?’
‘Yes.’ She pulled a piece of paper from her pocket. ‘It’s a song. It’s not that good. But I didn’t have much time. Alfa and I are Apprentice Spell-Shakers. We’ve learnt lots of songs of transformation from across the Oceans of Rhyme. I’ve written some new words to the tune, The Breaking Day – the song the mermaids of Dawn Rock sing each morning. Do you know it?’
The pirate nodded.
‘If it’s alright, I’ve asked Freddo to play it? I’ll sing.’ She looked around the ship. ‘And if anyone wants to join me, they can. I’ll sing it twice … but you don’t have to,’ she added.
The pirate nodded again, unable to speak.
‘I’m nervous now,’ Sparks muttered.
The Boatswain stepped forward and laid a hand on her shoulder. ‘It’s a remarkable thing you’ve done. Don’t be nervous.’
She gave a timid smile.
Slowly, the company came forward, leaving the things they’d been doing. Pierre took his hat off.
Sparks nodded at Freddo. Quietly, he picked up his accordion. The bellows hissed as he opened them. Gently, he played a single note. It carried through the air, piercing the silence, bittersweet.
Sparks held up the paper. Her hands were trembling. Tentatively, she began to sing, her voice fragile.
‘Her light has set,
The sky’s jewels darken,
Sea spills into night,
Horizon’s broken.’
The song cut through Scoop, touching her deeply. Sparks was so open, her voice raw. It was impossible to hide. Scoop brought Martha to mind. She closed her eyes and imagined her: her warmth, her beauty, her strength and passion. She thought of her relationship with the pirate; the way they had chosen to sacrifice their own dreams for something bigger, something they hoped would be better. She smiled as she remembered Martha’s house, the colours, the smells, the beautiful diversity, the love that seeped through the fabric of her home.
‘The sky’s a map,
But the stars are ravens,
We’re lost at sea,
And we are broken.
Dreams filled her night,
Her life was spoken,
A better word,
To heal the broken.’
Sparks’ voice swelled. Alfa stepped across to her and reading the words joined her friend, the two girls weaving delicate harmonies.
The pirate began to sob. The Boatswain moved to stand next to him. Together, the two men cried.
‘Her thorn inside
Is our hearts’ token
That all’s not lost.
Her day has broken.’
Tentatively, the company began to sing together, their voices fractured at first, but growing in confidence.
When the song ended, they stood quietly, listening to the slap of the waves on the hull. Sparks folded the paper and put it back in her pocket. She looked around, nervously.
The gloomy atmosphere that had hung over the ship had dissipated. Instead, Scoop felt cold, clear, stillness. The company’s grief was palpable, but somehow the song had given a sense of strength, of clarity.
The pirate wiped the tears from his eyes. ‘Thank you,’ he said. Sparks gave a shallow nod. ‘I’m sorry I––’
‘You have nothing to be sorry about,’ she interrupted.
Pausing, the pirate nodded.
He turned to the rest of the crew. ‘I’m sorry for being stubborn. It’s clear we will not outrun the Falcon ship. We do need to change course.’ He looked at the Boatswain, apologetically. There was a murmur of approval. ‘I do have an alternative plan, if you’ll hear me, but there’s no easy answer to our predicament. Whatever we do, risks will have to be taken.’
‘Better to take a risk than to sleepwalk into danger,’ the Boatswain said.
‘Yes,’ the pirate agreed. ‘I’m sorry for not listening to your counsel earlier. We’ve wasted much needed time.’
The Boatswain lifted his hand to dismiss the apology.
Freddo stepped forward. ‘What do you think we should we do, then?’
All eyes turned to the pirate. A wave slapped the hull and he stumbled. Behind him, the Red Hawk galleon came into view. It was gaining on them. Whatever the plan, they would have to put it into action quickly. The Black Horizon would have to take its chances, whatever the risk.
Chapter 14
Curse of the Southern Ocean
‘In my opinion, there is only one choice,’ the pirate said. ‘We must change course and head directly towards the South Bookend Isles.’
There was a murmur of disquiet.
‘Yes, I know the stories,’ he said, seeing the crew’s reaction. ‘I know the people of the Basillica Isles fear them – and with good reason. But their fear is our best weapon. As we sail south, there will be unrest aboard the Falcon vessel. The crew won’t want to enter the Southern Ocean. I’ve seen mutinies aboard ships that have tried to cross those waters. I believe the Red Hawk commanders will give up the chase, in order to maintain discipline aboard their vessel. They’ll hope to resume the pursuit west of the Bookend Isles.’
The Boatswain looked grave, but nodded.
Sparks spoke up, obviously feeling emboldened. ‘Um … If you don’t mind me asking, why do the people of the Basillica Isles fear the Southern Ocean?’
The pirate considered for a moment. ‘The South Bookend Isles mark the edge of our world. Just as Mortales pass through the North Bookend Isles as they enter the world, so the south is a place of leaving. Beyond them are only the Un-Dead Lands and then, infinite sea. Very few have ever sailed into the Southern Ocean of their own accord. But the stories that have found their way back from those who have, speak of …’ the pirate paused, searching for words, ‘… an enchantment that troubles the waters.’
‘An enchantment?’
‘Well, records are patchy, often unintelligible, but those who return speak of being caught in a sort of … time vortex.’ The pirate stopped. He looked uncomfortable.
‘What does that mean?’ prompted Fletcher.
‘It’s hard to say. Those who’ve returned are … how should I put it?’
‘Just say it. We need to know what we’re sailing into.’
‘They are changed.’
‘How?’
‘They’re older. In some cases, many years older and their minds … well, many have found their testimony easy to dismiss.’
Sparks shifted uneasily. ‘An ageing curse?’
‘In a way, perhaps. I think time itself operates differently there. Even if a vessel strays into the Southern Ocean for a matter of days, on returning, those aboard look and feel as though years have passed, their beards long, their skin grey. Because of this, the Southern Ocean is feared. It holds a solemn place in the mind of Basillicans, who view it with a mixture of holy awe and primal fear. They launch their dead into that sea and carry charms to protect against it. They do not venture there willingly. And Red Hawks are no exception.’
Fletcher coughed. ‘But you’re suggesting we venture there?’
‘I am. It’s either that or wait to be blown out the water.’
‘Not much of a choice, is it?’
‘No, it isn’t. But it’s a choice we need to make.’
Fletcher sighed. ‘Well, I never was fussed with being this age. And I’m not too fond of the idea of being blown out of the water, either. So, all in all, I guess I’m in.’
‘That’s the spirit,’ the Boatswain said. ‘I’m in too.’
‘And me,’ said Alfa.
Sparks frowned. ‘You always want to walk headlong into danger, don’t you?’
Alfa grinned. ‘What’s life without a little adventure?’
Sparks shook her head and sighed. ‘Okay, me too.’
One by one, the crew gave their assent. It was u
nanimous.
‘Then it’s agreed,’ said the pirate. ‘Set our course for the South Bookend Isles, Boatswain.’
‘Right away, sir.’
Sparks raised her hand. ‘Um, how long will it take to get there?’
‘A matter of hours,’ the Boatswain answered. ‘We’ve been sailing west, along the northern edge of the Southern Ocean. We need only adjust our course a little and we’ll cross into it. Then we’ll see what the Red Hawks do.’
‘We will,’ said the pirate. ‘And let’s hope for all our sakes that I’m right and their galleon turns back.’
* * *
Over the next few hours, the crew busied themselves adjusting the ship’s course. Once the new direction had been set, Scoop looked for things to occupy her. She didn’t want to linger on what might happen once they crossed into the Southern Ocean.
She was scrubbing the steps to the forecastle, when she felt something like a cold wind rush through her. She straightened up, feeling nauseous.
Fletcher was passing with a bucket of water. He frowned. ‘Did you feel that?’
‘Yes … it was like something passed through us.’
The Dark Pirate called Fletcher. ‘Or perhaps,’ Fletcher said, beginning to move away, ‘perhaps we passed through something.’ They exchanged a nervous glance.
‘You mean we just passed into the Southern Ocean?’
The pirate called Fletcher again. ‘Exactly.’ He dashed away.
Scoop looked around. The sea here didn’t look any different. She was just about to continue her task, when there was a cry of surprise from the deck above. She looked up to where the Boatswain was studying the marine chronometer (a timepiece he used for navigation). He stepped away from it. ‘That’s peculiar,’ he said, scratching his head.
‘What is it?’ Scoop asked, moving up the steps.
‘See for yourself.’ The Boatswain pointed at the wooden box. It was set with golden wheels and little cogs.
Scoop looked. The wheels were spinning erratically.
The Firebird Chronicles Page 7