by Alex English
‘Horace,’ she whispered. ‘How in Lockfort am I going to get you out of there?’ She glanced round the clearing in desperation and spotted a long, dry branch on the forest floor. She grabbed it, pinched her nose tight with one finger and thumb and, pulse racing, stepped towards the plant. Still holding her nose, she thrust the end of the branch between the tooth-like thorns that fringed the petal mouth. The bud shook slightly and seemed to clamp itself even more tightly shut.
‘Mmmmph!’ A muffled complaint came from inside.
Echo pulled down hard on the other end of the branch, but the plant didn’t give. She bounced up and down in an attempt to force the bud open. As she did so, she saw a tiny gap open up between the rim of thorns and caught a glimpse of Horace’s hand. Lungs burning, she slammed her body down again.
There was a loud, splintering crack, the branch snapped and Echo tumbled on to the ground. She took an involuntary gasp and felt her head spin with the plant’s perfume. She stumbled to the edge of the clearing before daring to breathe again. Glancing back, she saw one end of the branch still wedged in the plant’s mouth. But the bud was still tightly closed.
Anger engulfed her. Horace might be irritating at times, but that didn’t mean she’d let some overgrown flower have him for supper. How dare it take her friend? She scrabbled around in the bushes for another stick, a shorter, stronger one this time. Gripping it in both hands, she glared at the plant. The edges of the tooth-fringed petals seemed to be curved slightly upwards in a smug grin. Was it . . . was it laughing at her?
Echo took a deep breath and ran at it, beating its thick stem like a wild thing. But it was no use. The flower simply swayed gently, as if being rocked by a light breeze. When her breath gave out, she stumbled back out of the clearing, panting, and gazed at her enemy. The plant didn’t have a scratch on it and, worse still, Horace seemed to have stopped wriggling and complaining.
What now? She had to get him out. Could he even breathe in there? Was his mind completely scrambled by the plant’s perfume? Panic rose in her chest and she tried to steady herself. She instinctively reached into her pocket for the pin, but instead of firm metal her fingers closed round something round and slimy. She snatched her hand back in disgust. What was that?
Very carefully, she put her hand back in her pocket and pulled out a slippery white sphere. She rolled her eyes. It was that disgusting pickled sweetroot she had pocketed after their impromptu picnic on Galligaskins. She was about to fling it into the undergrowth when an idea sprang into her mind. What was it that the professor had said about pickles?
Vinegar is a natural weedkiller.
Would it work? She could only try.
Echo gripped the stick in one fist and the pickled sweetroot in the other. ‘Think you can get one over on me?’ she snarled at the plant. ‘Well, think again, you . . . you weed!’
Holding her breath, she stormed over to it and stabbed the stick between the fringe of teeth. The plant shivered a little, but didn’t budge. Echo wrenched at the stick with her right hand and levered the petals open.
As quickly as she could, Echo shoved the pickled sweetroot through the gap in the plant’s razor-sharp teeth and backed up until she was a safe distance away. She stooped forward, hands on her knees, gasping to get her breath back. Then she gazed up at the plant.
The petals were still firmly closed in what was now most definitely a smug grin. Echo dropped to the ground and put her head in her hands. She had lost Horace. This was all her fault! And now she was all alone on the most dangerous of the Violet Isles. She had never meant this to happen. Why had she ever thought they could do this by themselves? She stifled a sob.
There was a strange rumble and Echo looked up at the sky through tear-filled eyes. A thunderstorm. This was all she needed.
The rumble came again, deep and throaty, and Echo suddenly realized it was coming from the clearing. She looked at the plant where Horace was trapped and saw that, where once it had been stock-still and smug, now it was quivering, its petals convulsing.
As she stared, the plant began to thrash from side to side and let out what could only be described as a big plant burp. As its petals opened and slammed shut again, Echo caught a glimpse of Horace lying curled up, still and sticky with nectar.
She jumped to her feet. ‘Horace!’ she yelled. ‘Horace, you’ve got to wake up!’
But before she could race forward there was a huge, ground-shaking gurgle as the plant shuddered. Echo froze, gaping, the stick still gripped uselessly in one hand as, with one last mighty groan, the bud burst open, spitting both the pickled sweetroot and Horace out into a high arc through the air.
There was a crash and a muffled cry as Horace landed somewhere beyond the clearing. Echo broke from her trance and ran, careering through bushes and slipping over leaves, in the direction he’d flown.
‘Horace!’ she yelled.
‘Urrrghhh.’ There was a muffled grunt from a clump of ferns up ahead. Echo plunged through the bushes, jumped a small stream and slithered over the rocks to the other side. She pushed the ferns apart to find Horace sprawled in a heap, groaning and plastered with nectar from head to foot.
Was he hurt? She dropped to the ground beside him. ‘Are you . . . are you all right?’
Horace rubbed the goo from his eyes and blinked at Echo. ‘I don’t know.’ He tried to stand, swayed and tottered to one side. Echo got up to steady him and covered her nose at the hypnotic scent of the flower’s nectar. ‘We need to get that stuff off you. That’s what’s making you feel funny.’
She took Horace’s arm and guided him back towards the stream, where he sat down in the shallow water. Echo waded in next to him and scooped handfuls over his head.
‘What happened? What was I even doing out here?’ Horace rubbed the sticky nectar off his face and blinked. ‘Wait a minute, I do remember! I thought I saw a Lesser Blackspot in the bushes. And I followed it and I found those plants.’
Echo rolled her eyes, but couldn’t help smiling with relief. Horace and his butterflies! ‘There are no butterflies on Tyrian, Horace. Doctor Beetlestone said.’
‘That’s why I followed it. I wondered what it was doing out here. Anyway –’ Horace brightened as he reached into the pocket of his soaking breeches – ‘I suppose I should thank you really. If we hadn’t argued, I never would have managed to get these.’ He took out a little waxed paper packet and peered inside. ‘Thank Lockfort they’re still dry.’
‘What are those?’
‘Seeds.’ Horace grinned. ‘From that big plant. It’s called a Goliath’s mantrap. I’ll be able to grow one at home now.’
‘Grow one!’ Echo jumped to her feet. ‘Why would you want to grow one of those monstrous things?’
‘To feed my butterflies.’ He showed her the shiny purple seeds, as smooth and iridescent as pearls.
‘Careful,’ said Horace, as Echo leaned to look more closely. ‘They’re even more potent than the plants. Send you right to sleep.’
Echo swiftly stood back. ‘I’ll take your word for it. But now we should get back to the Hummerbird – I was crazy to think we could come here without a plan. We’ll fly back to the lab and I’ll tell Professor Daggerwing everything. He’ll know what to do.’
Horace stood up with a squelch and shook the water out of his hair. ‘Hey, look!’
Echo turned to see what he was pointing at. ‘What?’
‘It was a Lesser Blackspot.’ Horace’s cheeks were glowing.
‘A Lesser what? Oh . . .’ Echo trailed off as she realized Horace was pointing at a little brown butterfly. She shook her head in annoyance. ‘This is no time for butterfly hunting, Horace.’
But Horace wasn’t listening. ‘Most peculiar,’ he muttered, half to himself. ‘These varieties are city butterflies. They lay their eggs in sailcloth. They don’t live out in the islands. How could they have got here?’
‘Who cares!’ Echo threw her hands in the air. ‘This whole trip has been a stupid mistake. Come on, I’ve h
ad enough of this place.’
But Horace wasn’t listening and he resisted Echo’s tug on his wet sleeve. ‘There are more of them.’ He pulled away from Echo and marched off through the bushes after a cluster of fluttering brown shapes.
‘I’m not coming!’ Echo yelled after him. But Horace plunged onwards and disappeared into the undergrowth. ‘Okay, fine,’ she said, following his trail. ‘But, if you get eaten by another carnivorous plant, I’m not rescuing you.’
Echo almost walked into Horace’s still sopping back as he came to a sudden halt. He pointed up at the canopy. A thin plume of blue-grey smoke snaked its way into the sky from somewhere beyond the trees.
‘Smoke,’ he said. ‘But what would make smoke out here in the islands?’
Echo’s pulse quickened at the only possible answer. ‘Another airship,’ she whispered.
‘But that means . . .’
‘It means we’ve found the Black Sky Wolves!’
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
‘Come on.’ Echo crept forward through the bushes, Gilbert clinging to her shoulder and her blood pounding in her ears. Could she really be this close to finding the sky pirates? Could she really be this close to finding her mother?
As they reached the edge of the undergrowth, she pushed the damp leaves apart and, suddenly dizzy with a mixture of excitement and fear, sucked in a shuddering breath. Down on the beach a huge vessel, easily five times larger than the Hummerbird, bobbed on the breeze. In place of the shining copper gondola, there was an open wooden deck, like a seafaring ship’s; instead of a balloon, huge sails billowed from two tall masts. The airship was tethered to the sand, and a rope ladder snaked down the side of its hull to the beach below. On the main deck, Echo caught sight of a huge, bald, tattooed man with great rounded shoulders and seemingly no neck. A gleaming cutlass was tucked in his belt.
‘What is it?’ whispered Horace, peering over her shoulder.
‘Sky pirates,’ she breathed.
Horace pushed through the leaves beside her and shook his head, the colour draining from his face. ‘No, no, no!’ He covered his eyes with his hands. ‘Please tell me this is a dream! I didn’t think we’d really find them. Let’s go.’
‘Not yet,’ said Echo, unable to tear her gaze away from the ship. ‘I want to see if my . . .’ Her voice was shaking. She swallowed and composed herself. ‘I need to see if my mother—’
There was a metallic swish from behind, and a shriek from Horace, as Echo spun round to find a small, buck-toothed, eyepatched girl brandishing a cutlass as long as her arm.
‘Stop right there!’ she snarled, stamping her peg leg. ‘Don’t move a muscle.’ The girl glared at them with the eye that wasn’t concealed by a patch. ‘Who dares try to approach the Scarlet Margaret?’
Gilbert froze on Echo’s shoulder.
Echo licked the salt from her lips. ‘We’re looking for the Black Sky Wolves.’
‘And what business have you maggots got with the Black Sky Wolves?’
‘Maggots?’ spluttered Horace. ‘I hardly think—’
‘Shh,’ said Echo, silencing him with a look.
‘But she’s only about eight. How dare she . . .’ Horace trailed off, as the girl stalked towards him, cutlass raised.
‘Something to say, maggot?’
‘No, no, I . . . er, no. Do carry on.’
‘Walk,’ the girl snarled, gesturing towards the beach with the tip of her blade. She marched Echo and Horace through a cluster of rock pools towards the sooty stretch of sand where the airship was moored. Out in the open, the ship looked even larger than it had from the safety of the bushes. Gilbert squinted up at it from his perch on Echo’s shoulder and her pulse quickened as she caught sight of the rows of cannons studding its hull. She took a deep, shaky breath and scanned the deck, but the thick-necked pirate had disappeared from view.
They stepped into the ship’s shadow and Echo gazed up at the rope ladder swaying in the breeze.
‘Up there,’ snarled the girl, prodding Echo between the shoulder blades with the tip of her cutlass. ‘And no funny business.’
Echo grabbed the coarse ropes in both hands. She put her foot on the first rung, swallowed and shot a last nervous glance up at the hull. What was waiting for her at the top? Could her mother really be on the ship? Was she locked below decks somewhere, chained up and forced to work? Would she recognize Echo, when she hadn’t seen her for so long? A prickle of fear ran up her spine as she remembered the cutlass glinting behind her. Would she even get a chance to find her mother? She set her jaw and willed her hands to stop trembling. She could do this. She swung herself up on to the first rung.
‘What’s going on down there, Flora?’ A man’s voice rang out from above. Echo looked up to see a skinny man with a shock of white hair aiming a catapult at her from the deck of the ship.
‘Got us some prisoners!’ yelled the girl. ‘Two kids with a . . .’ She flipped up her eyepatch and squinted at Gilbert. ‘Some kind of frog.’
Gilbert raised his crest and hissed in disgust, but the girl simply snapped back her eyepatch and ignored him.
‘What business do you have here?’ the man shouted.
‘Well, I . . .’ Echo’s voice had dried to a croak.
‘It’s a personal matter,’ interrupted Horace, a slight tremor in his voice.
Echo swallowed, grateful for the interruption.
‘Personal?’ The white-haired pirate snorted. ‘What’ll we do with ’em?’ he shouted to the girl he’d called Flora. ‘Gut ’em here or take ’em up to walk the plank?’
Echo glanced at Horace, who had turned as pale as Gilbert, beads of sweat forming on his upper lip. She found her voice. ‘I’m looking for my mother.’
The two pirates looked at each other, then broke into laughter.
The white-haired pirate’s grin turned to a glare. ‘I’ll give you five seconds to tell me why you’re really here, and then I’ll let Flora here loose with her cutlass, understand?’
Echo’s words tumbled over each other in her panic at the talk of gutting. ‘My mother is on your ship. Or at least she was. You . . . you kidnapped her!’
The pirate raised his eyebrows. ‘Nah, not us. We don’t do that any more. Not since Indigo Lil took over. More’s the pity. I used to enjoy a good kidnapping.’ He smiled dreamily for a moment, before remembering himself and fixing Echo with another glare. ‘Right, let’s see what the captain makes of yer.’ He pointed to the rope ladder. ‘Bring ’em up, Flora.’
Once they’d climbed to the top of the ladder, the whitehaired pirate reached over and hauled a shivering Echo on to the deck. Horace followed, his face tinged with grey, then Flora, her cutlass gripped expertly between her teeth. Echo looked around. The ship was just as vast as it had looked from below, and the crew bustled here and there, busily sloshing soapy water over decks, scrubbing masts and polishing metalwork.
‘Bulkhead! Beti!’ yelled the white-haired pirate. ‘Got two spies here to walk the plank!’
Echo swallowed as the bald, thick-necked pirate they’d seen earlier climbed out of a hatchway to the main deck and thudded over. He was joined by a gap-toothed woman with long skirts that clinked with bottles. ‘Maybe I should take their organs first, in case they come in handy,’ she said, drawing out a little saw from one of her pockets and putting her face up to Echo’s with an evil sneer.
Echo shrank back at the woman’s hot, cinnamonscented breath.
‘What crew you from?’ said the bald man, who must have been Bulkhead, putting one meaty hand to the hilt of his cutlass. He narrowed his eyes and leaned in. ‘You after the Tyrian pearl too?’
‘The Tyrian . . . ? We’re not from a crew,’ said Echo. ‘We’re—’
‘Reckons we kidnapped her mother. Or that was her story anyway,’ said the white-haired pirate.
‘You did kidnap her,’ said Echo, glaring at him. How could she convince them? She put her hand in her pocket and found the hairpin, and it filled her with courage. ‘I
saw a photogram of her on this very ship. You’re the ones who stole the Port Tourbillon Crown Jewels, aren’t you?’
Bulkhead puffed up his chest, making the octopus tattoo that coiled across his collarbone swell to twice its former size. ‘We are indeed. One of my proudest piratin’ days.’
‘Then you’ll recognize this.’ Echo drew the pin from her pocket, trying to steady her shaking hands, and the pirates’ eyes grew wide in recognition.
‘You little thief!’ Bulkhead grabbed her wrist as a crowd of heckling pirates gathered round.
‘I’m not a thief!’ Echo’s voice trembled. Was she going to walk to her death after coming so close to finding her mother? She had to convince them. Her voice rose in desperation. ‘It’s my mother’s, I swear on my life!’
‘You know what we do to thieves?’ the woman called Beti snarled.
‘Gut her like a fish!’ yelled Flora, waving her cutlass in the air.
‘Gut her! Gut her!’ they all chanted. ‘Chop off her toes!’ screeched Flora.
‘Chop them! Chop them!’
‘Slice off her fing—’
There was the clunk of boots on the deck and the yells of the gathered sky pirates suddenly hushed as they all turned. The boards creaked as the footsteps came closer.
‘What in all the seven skies is going on here?’ It was a woman’s voice. An angry voice that made all the sky pirates stand nervously to attention.
Echo shrank back as a woman in a tricorne hat with a huge cream plume came storming through the crowd in buckled boots. Bulkhead licked his lips nervously. Echo tightened her grip on the hairpin and swallowed. Was this the dreaded Indigo Lil? The captain of the Black Sky Wolves, who smeared indigo clay on her face and liked to feed enemies’ fingers and toes to cloud eels? What had this woman done with her mother? What was she going to do to them?
‘To the plank!’ yelled Flora, with a whoop.
The crowd of sky pirates began shouting again, leering at Echo, pulling her this way and that.
‘To the plank!’ they roared. ‘To the plank!’