Barkbelly

by Cat Weatherill

  “Sweet dreams,” he said, leaning close.

  The sailors laughed and, taking their lantern with them, climbed up the steps and closed the hatch.

  Barkbelly was alone, with neither light to see nor water to drink. There was nothing. Just the blackness of the hold, the creaking of the timbers and the scratching of the rats.

  Chapter 38

  ays passed. How many, Barkbelly didn't know. It was impossible to tally them from the slivers of light that crept through the gaps in the hull planks. Every day a sailor came to give him water and a handful of biscuits, and every day Bark- belly hoped he would leave his lantern too. But he didn't, and as the sailor climbed back up the steps, Barkbelly would feel his hope receding with the light. He wouldn't see sunshine until Barrenta Bay, that was certain, and even then it would be filtered through the bars of a holding pen in a slave market.

  Why do these things keep happening to me? he asked himself over and over again. I am not a bad person. I took a life, that's true, but I saved another. I try to do my best. I was only doing what was right. Why can't they see that? Damn Flynn! I'd like to see him and Kempe and the whole blessed lot of them eaten by sharks. From their toes to their knees, slowly, slowly. Then up to their bits … slowly, slowly! Then—

  “Pirates!”

  The lookout's yell was so loud, it smashed through the deck and flooded the hold.

  “Pirates!”

  Chaos and confusion! A bell ring, foot stomp, Flynn fly, do-or-die, panic-stricken sailor cry, chaos and confusion! Barkbelly could almost feel the ship listing to the left as everyone gathered portside to see the terrible truth.

  Next came Kempe's voice, firing a volley of commands. A flurry of footsteps as sailors ran to obey. A rumble of cannon wheels as the guns were rolled into position. Barkbelly braced himself, waiting for the fighting to begin. But it didn't. A strange silence had settled on the ship. Suddenly he realized why: the lookout had seen the pirate ship while it was still distant and the Hope was trying to outrace it. Listening carefully, he could hear the waves breaking more urgently across the bows. They were fleeing.

  But the pirates were clearly gaining, because as time went by the murmuring above became a babble, then a frenzied chorus of shouts and screams and oaths and orders and—boom!— the Hope lurched violently to starboard and the firing began.

  Barkbelly was flung against the bars as the ship heeled. The hold echoed with thuds and bangs as the Hope returned fire, pounding the pirate ship with grapeshot and cannonballs. And then it happened. A flash of light, a monstrous roar, a terrifying wind and—pdoooom!— the world exploded as an eighteen-pounder tore through the hull planks and smashed into the cargo.

  Barkbelly was thrown to the floor. The hold was a cauldron of dust and debris. Splinters flew like arrows from shattered crates. Eggs ricocheted off the cage. He covered his head with his arms and kept his eyes closed against the onslaught. But then he smelled it. Fire. He peered through the dust cloud and saw a flicker of flame just spitting distance away. The fire was tonguing one of the crates. The dry wood smoked, then flared into orange flame. And inside the crate, the eggs started to move. Slowly at first, then—bang!— the crate exploded and the eggs burst out.

  They smashed against the hull; bounced back off the roof beams; rolled along the floor. They started to grow. The leathery sacs strained and bulged. An arm poked out here; a leg poked out there. The hold was alive with babies, gnashing their teeth and crying for food.

  But now Barkbelly had eyes for only one thing: the fire. It was creeping closer and closer. Crate after crate was being devoured. It was unstoppable. And he was trapped. The cage was iron. The lock was iron. There was no escape.

  “Help!” he yelled. “Help! Someone! Please! Help!” But he knew it was hopeless. The crew would be engaged in hand-to- hand fighting by now, and even if they weren't, they wouldn't hear him above the bawling babies. And why would they save him anyway? He wasn't crew—he was cargo, and that was expendable.

  But then he saw a chink of light. The hatch was opening. Someone was coming down. Through the dust and the smoke he saw the silhouette of a tall man holding a bunch of keys.

  “I'm over here!” cried Barkbelly. “Over here!”

  “I can see that,” said Griddle. “It's just a question of finding the right key.” He started to fumble with the lock. “It doesn't seem to be here.”

  “It must be!”

  “Aye, you'd think so, but it's not.”

  “It must be!”

  “Well, I can't find it. And don't rush me.”

  “Don't rush you! Griddle, the place is on fire, I'm trapped in a cage and I'm made of wood! Ohhhh!” The fire was licking at the bars.

  “Don't fret. If it's here, I'll find it. Oh, bother!” The keys fell to the floor.

  “Griddle!” The fire was burning the boards under Barkbelly's feet.

  “I've got them.”

  “The big one! The big one!”

  “Right.” And the key slid into the lock and turned.

  Griddle pulled off the padlock, Barkbelly pushed open the cage door, they both scrambled up the steps—and fell into the belly of the battle.

  A two-masted brigantine, the Mermaid, lay alongside the Hope and her crew was slaughtering Kempe's men. The pirates fought joyously, slicing the air with silver cutlasses. They swung their swords, parried and lunged, danced like demons. They crawled up the rigging with knives between their teeth, grinning at the sailors who clung to the main yard. Trapped and terrified, they had nowhere to go but down. Down, down, down to the drowning sea and the rip and tear of the killing spree. Sharks had gathered, lured by the tantalizing trail of blood. The water churned crimson; the air was cut with cries. And loudest among them were Flynn's. Barkbelly heard him, and when he looked over the rail, he saw him: he was in the water, fighting a shark. Grimly gripping his dagger, Flynn brought it down, again and again between the glassy eyes. But the shark opened his jaws in a cold smile and the first mate stabbed no more. And Barkbelly felt his heart move with something more than horror.

  Captain Kempe was dead too. Barkbelly could see him on the main deck, lying in a pool of blood. His fine white shirt was soaking it up. Barkbelly remembered that long afterward.

  Finally it was over. The Hope's crew had been reduced to barely a dozen prisoners. Two pirates guarded them while the others tackled the blaze in the hold. But the firefighting was hampered by wooden babies. Some were crawling underfoot. Some were toddling. Some were still shooting around like bullets. The most troublesome of all was a tiny toddler who was so pale she looked almost white. She had attached herself by her teeth to the leg of one of the pirates and wouldn't let go. When anyone tried to pull her off, she growled and gripped harder. The pirate was in agony, but his pleas made no difference.

  Barkbelly and Griddle were watching from the quarter- deck. Griddle held up a finger. “An idea,” he said, and he disappeared in the direction of the galley. Soon he reappeared with an extra-large pork pie. He offered it to the pale toddler. She sniffed at it suspiciously. Then her eyes widened and she dropped from the pirate's leg like a ripe apple. Soon she was climbing up the main mast, holding the pie in her mouth, and the pirate was seeking a dressing for his tooth-marked leg.

  “She's a little monkey, that one,” said Griddle when he returned. “You mark my words! I'm not often wrong.”

  Barkbelly was about to say something when he saw a peacock-blue velvet hat coming up the companionway. Below that, a golden neckerchief…a gorgeous velvet frock coat… matching britches… and two shiny blue boots. The pirate eased himself up onto the deck, then stretched and yawned as gracefully as a cat.

  “If I don't find something to eat soon,” said the pirate, “I swear I will kill someone. Oh—too late.” He teased a lace handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the blood-smeared dagger that dangled from his fingers. “Griddle, be a hero. Fix me my favorite.”

  The cook grinned. “Aye, aye, Cap'n!” he said. And then he saluted,
put his hand firmly on Barkbelly's shoulder and marched him away.

  Chapter 39

  riddle,” said Barkbelly, “do you know the pirate captain?” They were in the galley, frying fish for the captain's table.

  “Oh, yes!” said the cook. “We go back years, Lord Fox and me.”

  “Is that his name? Is he really a lord?”

  “True as I'm standing here. Lord Foxwell of Fenland. He's from a very distinguished family.”

  “Then why is he a pirate?”

  “Well, he likes the dressing up and that's a fact,” said Griddle, “but it's more than that. Truth is he's hungry. Hungry for gold. It gnaws away at him inside, like a big fat worm. It gives him no peace. He always wants more and he'll do anything for it. Anything! He'd sell his own family—in fact, I think he did sell a sister or two…. Aye, he did. He told me. The family's not spoken to him since.”

  “Why would he sell his own sister?”

  “Debts. He's a terrible gambler. And a very bad loser. I once saw him slice open a man, straight down the middle, all over a game of dice. Not very pleasant…. Right, we're done here! Let's get this to the captain's cabin.”

  Balancing platters on both arms, they made their way aft to Captain Kempe's old cabin. Barkbelly had never seen it before, and when he stepped inside… oh, it was so opulent! So light and airy! Compared to the squalor of the mess deck, it was heaven. Golden sunlight poured in through a high glass window. There was even a fireplace!

  Lord Fox was sitting at the table, eager to eat. Griddle set the platters down before him and said, “I was just telling Barkbelly here, we go back a long way.”

  “Oh, we do,” said Lord Fox. “We do. Ten years or more. Must be five or six ships I've raided that have had Griddle as cook.” He pointed to an empty chair. “Sit down, young sir.”

  Barkbelly froze. Sit down? In the captain's cabin? He was a galley boy! But to his amazement, he saw Griddle was already seated—and was helping himself to a portion of fish.

  “Sit,” said the pirate captain again, and with Griddle nodding encouragingly, Barkbelly sat down.

  “So,” said Lord Fox, turning to the cook, “what have you been up to, you old devil?”

  Griddle grinned and the stories began. Times and places, ships and faces…it was a feast of friendship. Barkbelly was welcome to join in, but he had nothing to say and no space to say it. Griddle and the captain had mouths that were never empty of words or fish or wine—and they were unexpectedly generous with that. After one glass, Barkbelly's legs staggered off without him. After two glasses, he was floating somewhere near the ceiling while the conversation swirled beneath him. He was vaguely aware that Griddle was asking Lord Fox what he planned to do with the Hope.

  “Scuttle her,” said the pirate captain. “The ocean's deep just here. She'll cause no problems. The chaps will strip her tomorrow and purloin the cargo. Then we'll move on.”

  “She's in a sorry state,” said Griddle.

  “Yes, she is,” said Lord Fox. “But even if she weren't, we wouldn't take her. She's too big.”

  “Aye, and slow with it,” said Griddle. “What you gain in timber, you lose in time.”

  “Exactly,” said Lord Fox, and he reached for another bottle of wine, pulled out the cork and turned to Barkbelly. “So, you're an Ashenpeaker?”

  Barkbelly sank down from the ceiling and stared glassy- eyed at the captain. “Yes,” he said, pleasantly surprised that his mouth had managed it.

  “Freeborn?”

  “Aye,” said Griddle, noting Barkbelly's puzzlement.

  “Have you ever been to Ashenpeake?” said Lord Fox.

  “No,” said Barkbelly. “No, I haven't…. But I hope to get there one day.”

  “Oh, it's wonderful,” said the captain. “The view from the sea is amazing. The sun rising over Ashenpeake Mountain, with the forest shadowed below… oh, it's fabulous. But the sea can be naughty sometimes. Dreadfully misty. So, much as I would like to promise you a good view of it, I can't.” He slipped another forkful of fish into his mouth. “But perhaps you'll see something.”

  Barkbelly frowned. “I'm sorry, sir….I don't understand.”

  “No?”

  “No.”

  “I will explain,” said the captain with a smile. He buttered a piece of bread and cut it into fingers. “Ashenpeake, as you know, is an island. But it is surrounded by smaller islands, and we have a hideaway on one of them. That's where we're heading tomorrow.”

  Barkbelly's befuddlement disappeared instantly. “How long will it take to get there?” he said, trying to sound casual.

  “With a fair wind, we should arrive by this time next week.”

  This time next week! Barkbelly went wobbly all over.

  “Seven days? They'll pass in no time,” said Griddle. “You mark my words.”

  It was dark by the time the meal was over. When Barkbelly went up on deck, he found the rigging festooned with lanterns. Someone was playing an accordion; the notes flirted in the air, sweetening the smoke of a dozen pipes. The pirates lounged in the golden glow of the lamps, drinking rum and laughing. A silver moon curled like a fingernail in the great dome of sky above. Soft waves kissed the ship in the blue below.

  Barkbelly leaned against the ship's rail and thought about what Griddle had said. Seven days would pass in no time, wouldn't they? He hoped so. He was already counting.

  Chapter 40

  ord Fox's men began stripping the Hope at first light. Shrouds, ropes, ironware, provisions… everything was taken. As the sun journeyed across the sky, the plundering went on. Endless booty disappeared into the Mermaid's hold. Finally there was little left to take except the cargo.

  Barkbelly was swinging from the rigging when he saw the first crate being carried out of the hold by the man they called Tanglebeard. Instantly he scrabbled down and blocked the pirate's way.

  “Where are you going with that?” he said.

  Tanglebeard spat out a glob of tobacco juice. “That's none of your business.”

  “I'm making it my business.”

  The pirate saw Barkbelly's clenched fists and wavered. “It's going onto the Mermaid,” he said. “Along with all the rest o' the stuff.”

  “Oh, no, it isn't,” said Barkbelly, and he wrestled the crate from him.

  “Oh, yes, it is,” said Tanglebeard, and he wrestled it back.

  “Oh, no, it isn't,” said Barkbelly, seizing it again. “This isn't cargo. This is mine.”

  The pirate snorted. “Take it, then, and go. I can't be bothered to argue with you.” He turned back toward the hold.

  “Where are you going?” said Barkbelly.

  “There's plenty more down there,” said Tanglebeard over his shoulder.

  “You can't! They're mine too.”

  Tanglebeard stopped, stiffened, swiveled his head and looked hard at Barkbelly. “Now you're being greedy,” he said. “I was prepared to let you have one—a lad needs something in life to get him going—but now…Do you know how much those crates are worth?”

  “You're not having them,” said Barkbelly. “I will fight you for every one.”

  “Then you will die!” cried the pirate, and he roared with laughter. “You don't know who you're dealing with.”

  “I am strong.”

  “But we are many. You fight alone.”

  “No, he doesn't,” said a voice.

  Tanglebeard looked down. There was the pale toddler, standing no taller than his knee, staring up at him with goose- gray eyes. “I will fight with him,” she said, and she smiled, displaying her sharp wooden teeth. “And so will my friends.” Then she whistled, and from nowhere came an army. They dropped down from the rigging. Crawled out of the hold. Wriggled out of boxes. Slid down the masts. Dozens of fat wooden babies, armed with teeth and fingers.

  Tanglebeard was surrounded. He shifted uneasily. “What do you want, missy?”

  “I want you to fetch the captain,” said the pale toddler.

  “And my name is
not ‘missy.' It is Snowbone. Remember that.”

  Tanglebeard disappeared, cursing under his breath. When he returned with the captain, they had to force their way through an ugly crowd: the entire crew of the Mermaid had surrounded the babies and they were all squabbling like chickens.

  Lord Fox struck an elegant pose in the middle of the rabble and waited for silence. “Now,” he said when it finally came, “would someone care to tell me what this is all about?”

  “It's about the eggs,” said Barkbelly. “I want them.”

  “But they're ours,” said Lord Fox. “We don't attack ships for the fun of it, you know. We do it for the booty. We're robbers.”

  “I understand that,” said Barkbelly. “And if the Hope was carrying wine or wool, I wouldn't argue. But she's not. Those eggs…to you they're cargo, plunder, booty—call it what you will. But to me they are so much more.”

  The captain leaned closer. “Do you know how much those eggs are worth?” he said. “They are worth thousands. Slaves don't come as cheap as you might think.”

  “It's not about money!” cried Barkbelly. “It's about freedom.” He ripped a hole in the crate at his feet, pulled out an egg, clambered up on the crate and held the egg high in the air for every pirate to see. “This is a life. And what you decide, here and now, will determine how that life is lived. You can sell it into slavery. You can set it free. It's your choice. And you have that choice because you are free men. You are not slaves. You can turn your ship into the wind and sail wherever you want. You can sleep when you want. You can eat when you want. And if you tire of the sea, you can find a house and a wife, and you can have children and you can send them to school. And they will not have to work all day, every day, to make a rich man richer. They will not have to live alone, in a strange land, with no real family—no memory of family.