Call of the Wraith

by Kevin Sands

  Yes, Master Benedict said. He gave them something far more valuable than baubles.

  The children, I said.

  Even more than that. Why did the pirates offer the deal at all? Barbary pirates have been raiding the coast for decades. Why not this time?

  He said they were hiding from the Royal Navy.

  So what’s wrong with that story?

  I frowned. I couldn’t see anything wrong with that story. The navy would certainly chase the pirates; the pirates would certainly want to hide; and it would certainly be less risk to steal children secretly than to raid.

  Unless? my master asked.

  Unless the navy wasn’t chasing them. But why would the navy stop—

  “The storm,” I said suddenly.

  “What storm?” Tom said.

  “The one that wrecked us. The one that started this whole thing. It was almost three weeks ago. Just before Sir Edmund claims the pirates came to him.”

  “They did come to me,” Sir Edmund protested.

  Tom ignored him. “The storm was three weeks ago. So what?”

  “So why are the pirates still here?”

  I looked at Sir Edmund. He looked back, puzzled.

  But you saw it, Master Benedict said, and I had. For a moment, Sir Edmund had looked scared.

  I knelt in close again. “Well?”

  He shied away from me, no longer hiding his fear. “Well what?”

  “Why are the pirates still here?”

  “I . . . I told you. They demanded twelve children. We’ve only given them five—”

  “No,” I said. “You said the pirates were hiding from the navy, and it was less risky for them to steal the children in secret. But if the navy wasn’t out there, it would have been far less risky for them to just raid Seaton, take whomever they pleased, then flee for the Barbary Coast.”

  “But the navy is out there—”

  “No. It isn’t.” I turned to Tom and Sally. “You remember what Captain Haddock said? No one would sail in that storm. The navy would have put into dock.”

  I turned back to Sir Edmund. “The pirates are sailors; they’d know this as well as Captain Haddock. So when the first clear morning came, they could have raided Seaton, taken what they wanted, and set off long before the navy could relaunch. Certainly long enough to round the coast of France, and leave England behind for good. But the pirates are still here. Why are they still here?”

  Sir Edmund stared back, but he didn’t say anything.

  I believed I already knew the answer. “Julian? How many pirates have you seen?”

  “I told you,” Sir Edmund began, “it’s a hundred—”

  “Tom,” I said. “If Sir Edmund opens his mouth again, cut off his head.”

  Slowly, deliberately, Tom drew Eternity and placed the blade under Sir Edmund’s chin. I knew he wouldn’t do it, but, like me, he was angry enough to pretend. And he pretended very well.

  Julian looked confused. “Father?”

  “Just tell me, Julian,” I said. “How many pirates have you seen?”

  “I don’t know. A lot.”

  “How many? A number.”

  “Well . . . there were the fifty who showed up here.”

  “That’s what your father said. Did you see them come here yourself?”

  “No. But—”

  “What about their cave?” I said. “You must have seen them then, when you brought them the children. You saw the Andalus.”

  “Yes.”

  “So how many pirates were there?”

  “I . . . don’t know. A dozen? Maybe more?”

  “And each time you went back to their ship. Did you always see the same pirates? Or were they different?”

  Julian frowned.

  “They were the same ones, weren’t they?”

  Now Julian looked even more confused. “I don’t understand.”

  “But your father does. Don’t you, Sir Edward?”

  The baronet looked terrified now, and not because of the blade at his throat. I pushed Tom’s sword away.

  “I didn’t know,” Sir Edmund said, panicked. “I didn’t know. He tricked me.”

  “How?”

  “When Álvaro showed me the men at the gates, I only saw a few. But he said a hundred more were waiting at the coast. I believed him. Why wouldn’t I? How was I to know?”

  “Know what? What did you find out?”

  “He told me one night, how he’d tricked me. How it was just a small band of them after all. They’d set sail with a hundred, yes, but they got caught near Antwerp by the Dutch. They won the battle, and took the Dutch ship as a prize, but the fight had cost them dearly. Their own ship had been holed by cannon, and was sinking. Worse, they’d lost nearly their entire crew.

  “Their captain meant to cut his losses, to flee back to the Barbary Coast with the stolen ship. But all they were able to salvage from their own hold were a few children they’d captured in the Netherlands. Their pasha had ordered this expedition; if they returned empty-handed, they’d be finished.

  “So Álvaro came up with a plan. He knew Devonshire; he’d raided here before. The coast had coves where they could hide. Even with such a small crew, using the legend of the White Lady, he could steal children without ever being suspected. That was their plan all along. He told me, like it was some grand joke. But I didn’t know until then! I swear it!”

  Julian was stunned. “They . . . tricked us?”

  “Why didn’t you tell somebody?” I said. “When you found out how small the pirates’ crew was, why didn’t you tell the people of Seaton? They could have done something to stop it.”

  “How could I tell anyone?” Sir Edmund said. “Álvaro was always here, by my side.”

  His words had the ring of truth. And yet . . .

  You still don’t believe him, my master said.

  No.

  Why not?

  Because if it was true, why did he lie to me about the number of men at the start? He was trying to manipulate me. He still is.

  Yes. The question is: Why?

  And I realized why—for there could only be one reason.

  “It was your plan,” I said.

  “No,” Sir Edmund said. But the fear in his eyes spoke differently.

  “Father?” Julian said. “What’s he talking about?”

  “That’s why you lied to me about seeing fifty men,” I said. “You knew if you told me there were only a handful, we might confront them. And you couldn’t risk that. Because then they might tell us the truth.”

  Sir Edmund floundered for an answer. “Th-that’s absurd. I was just ashamed. I didn’t want you to know how foolish I’d been. How badly I’d been duped.”

  “No. You wanted us to fail. You wanted us to never get the children back. You knew that, if we did, we’d learn the truth. It was never Álvaro’s plan to use the legend of the White Lady. It was yours.”

  “Father?” Julian’s voice trembled. “Is this true?”

  “Of course not,” Sir Edmund said, his own voice shaking. “He’s just trying to divide us—”

  “But it is true.” I turned to Julian. “Maybe Álvaro already knew the legend of the White Lady. But he couldn’t have known your father had the only person who could allow his plan to succeed: you.”

  Julian’s voice was a whisper. “Me?”

  “Yes,” I said. “For the White Lady to be blamed, someone had to lead the children away without causing a stir. Álvaro’s men couldn’t do it; the children would run the moment they saw a corsair. Only you, Julian. Only you could make the plan work. Because only you—who knew the children, who could call to them as a friend, who could be tricked into believing he was saving the people of Devonshire—only you could make the plan succeed. Your father told you that you were saving innocent lives. In reality, you were only saving your fortune. That was the deal your father made with Álvaro. Let him keep his wealth, and he’d give them something better. The children, to sell as slaves.”

 
; “Lies,” Sir Edmund said. But Julian was staring at him, shaking.

  “You . . .,” Julian said, in barely a whisper. “You turned me into a monster.”

  Tom came closer, stood beside me, looming over Sir Edmund. I could feel his rage. It came off him in waves.

  “You sold children into slavery,” Tom said. “For money.”

  I stood. Tom gripped his sword so tightly his knuckles turned white.

  “For money,” he said.

  He looked ready to thrash the man—or worse. I knew he was thinking of Moppet, and all the children like her that the pirates had taken, that Sir Edmund had helped them take. Even now, they must be so scared, so lost, so alone. Huddled somewhere in a dark, dank pirate hold, beaten, starving, freezing. A hairsbreadth away from a lifetime of torment, of endless abuse.

  And though she couldn’t understand us, I think Moppet saw it, too. She let go of Tom’s leg and slipped her tiny hand into his.

  Tom looked down at her. He drew a great, shuddering breath. Then he turned away.

  Sir Edmund slumped, reprieved—at least for the moment. Julian, sitting next to him, rocked back and forth, seeing nothing. “A monster. I’m a monster,” he said, over and over.

  Sally stood. “What do we do now?” she asked quietly.

  Tom wiped his eyes. “We go for the children.”

  “Shouldn’t we stop at Seaton first? I know the village isn’t in danger anymore, but maybe we could recruit some men to help us free the captives.”

  I wasn’t sure. On the one hand, I’d love to have more men to face the pirates. On the other hand, I didn’t want to face the pirates at all. If we were successful, they wouldn’t even know we’d come until they discovered the children were missing.

  The others had looked to me for answers ever since they found me—even when I couldn’t remember. This wasn’t a decision I could make for anyone else.

  “We can get help if you want,” I said. “But one way or another, we’re going to have to sneak into the cove. The more people we bring, the more likely it is we’ll be spotted. And once the pirates are alerted, all they’ll have to do is get into their boat and sail away.

  “That’s the choice,” I said. “More men makes it safer for us, but less likely we’ll save the children. So: Do we go for Seaton, or straight to the cove?”

  Tom spoke without thinking. “The cove.”

  Sally hesitated, but in the end she said the same. “The cove.”

  That was settled, then. Though it still left us one problem. Sally motioned to the Darcys. “What are we going to do with them?”

  That wasn’t clear, either. Though both were culpable for terrible crimes, Julian, at least, had been duped. I wasn’t sure I could trust him, but I knew I couldn’t trust Sir Edmund.

  I pointed at the baronet. “Gag him,” I said to Tom, “and take him to the top of the tower.”

  Sir Edmund pleaded for clemency, until Tom silenced him with a strip of linen torn from the man’s own shirt. Even then, he mumbled desperately through the gag until Tom carried him out of earshot. As for Julian, I knelt beside him. He was still rocking back and forth.

  I feared his mind had snapped. “Julian?”

  The boy was crying, tears tracking silently down his cheeks. “I’m a monster, Christopher.”

  “You haven’t killed anyone yet,” I said.

  “I tried to kill you. And the children . . . the children are gone.”

  “No, they’re still here. And we’re going to get them back.”

  “We are?”

  “We are. Tom, and Sally, and me. I need you to do something else.”

  He looked at me, hopeful.

  “Your father is going to betray us to the pirates,” I said. “One of them is coming here tonight, and your father will tell him we’re going to free the children. I need you to not let that happen. Whatever you do, don’t let the two of them speak. Do you understand?”

  Julian sniffled. “Yes.”

  “Good. Do this, and you’ll be redeemed.”

  He shook his head sadly. “No, Christopher,” he said. “I’ll never be redeemed.”

  • • •

  We waited for Tom to come back downstairs. In the meantime, I made Julian give me every detail he could think of regarding the pirates: their ship, the cave, how to get there. He was giving me directions when Tom returned.

  “Is Sir Edmund secured?” I said.

  Tom nodded. “Very tightly.”

  “So what’s the plan?” Sally said.

  I shook my head, motioning toward Julian. Not here.

  I cut the boy loose, then went upstairs to the armory. I took the firearms: the musket for Tom, the pistols for me and Sally. I took a sword for myself as well, buckling it around my waist. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do with it—I had no training—but I felt better with it hanging at my side.

  Outside, the sun had already set. I could see the tracks Sir Edmund’s servants had left in the snow. Apparently fleeing into the dark was safer than facing an Ashcombe’s wrath.

  Now that we were alone, I could speak. “All right. Here’s what we’re going to do—”

  Tom grabbed my arm. “Christopher!”

  He pointed. I turned to see a single flame, a lantern bobbing among the trees. Someone was coming.

  My heart sank, even as my blood began to race. The pirate messenger already? I’d hoped for at least a few more hours.

  I ducked, the other three crouching beside me. Sally peered into the distance.

  “Can we sneak around him?” Tom whispered. “Or do we have to fight?”

  “Wait,” Sally said, and she stood.

  “What are you doing?”

  “It’s not a pirate.” She waved at him. “Wise!”

  In the dim glow of the lantern, I saw Wise’s lanky form emerge from the trees, longbow slung across his back. He stopped at Sally’s call and raised his hand.

  We went to him. “You came,” I said, grateful.

  He bowed his head. He cupped his hand against his heart, then held it palm up.

  “Don’t be sorry,” I said. “You have no idea how glad we are you’re here. We could really use your help. Do you know the coves east of Seaton?”

  He nodded. I gave him Julian’s directions, and he tapped his chest confidently. I can take you there.

  “All right, then. Let’s go,” I said, “and I’ll tell you how we’re going to save the children.”

  CHAPTER

  45

  WISE LED US THROUGH THE forest like it was his home—which, I supposed, in a way, it was. He knew the land so well, we didn’t even have to hug the riverbank. That saved us, because an hour after we left the Darcy estate, he suddenly blew out our lantern.

  The forest turned pitch black. “Wh—mmph!”

  Wise clamped his hand over my mouth. I fell silent. He let me go and turned my head.

  There. In the distance, flickering beside the river, I saw a pinpoint of light: A torch. The pirate, on his way to meet Álvaro.

  “What do we do?” Tom whispered.

  “Let him go,” I whispered back. We’d have to leave him to Julian—and trust the boy wouldn’t betray us.

  Wise kept us still. We watched the light until it passed. Then we went forward, even more worried than before.

  • • •

  Wise guided us all the way there. Shuttering our lantern, he navigated our party around the lights that dotted Axmouth and Seaton and led us to the coast. High atop a cliff, he pointed.

  Though the clouds let through no moonlight, by now my eyes had adjusted well enough to the darkness that I could see the beach. A crescent of sand curved outward, a hundred feet from the foot of the cliffs. At high tide, the sand would lie hidden below the surface and snare ships that sailed it unawares.

  I whispered to Wise. “Julian said the cove was about half a mile east.”

  Wise nodded, and we moved on. Carefully, carefully he stepped, as the cliffs rose and fell; one wrong foot, and we�
�d tumble over the edge. It had taken us hours to travel miles; these last few steps seemed to stretch for days. I shuddered, and not from the cold.

  Suddenly Wise stopped. He held up a hand, head cocked to the side.

  I listened with him. All I could hear was the waves, lapping against the sand.

  Or . . . was that a voice?

  And . . . there. Faint, mingled with the salt scent of the ocean. I smelled smoke. A campfire.

  Wise motioned for us to stay. Then he got on his knees and crawled through the snow to a ridge, twenty feet away. I blinked. In the darkness, I hadn’t even seen it. If it hadn’t been for Wise, I’d have stepped into space.

  Wise peeked his head over the edge. He watched for a moment, then beckoned us forward. Crawling, we joined him and looked down.

  And there, as Julian had said we would, we found the pirates.

  The cove cut deeply into the shoreline, the cliffs curving around it, as if a giant had gouged an opening in the coast. The water formed a pool in the center. In it, the captured Dutch yacht—renamed by the pirates as the Andalus—bobbed gently in the shallows, sails furled. The boat was anchored; a rope ladder at the stern dangled from the rail, just touching the water. The timbers creaked with the ebb and flow of the waves that lapped against the hull.

  A single torch at the prow lit the deck. One of the pirates, draped in a cloak of fur, leaned on the rail and huddled next to the flame, warming his hands.

  Faint light spilled from a hollow at the far end of the cove. I could just make out the base of a campfire. Here, too, a man waited, pacing in front of the flames, stamping his feet to keep warm. Beyond him slept the rest of the crew, shapeless lumps buried under their blankets.

  The shadows cast by the flames made it hard to number them. Still, the count left me deflated. With the man on the Andalus, I made it at least fifteen pirates, possibly more hidden farther inside the cave.

  I pushed back from the edge. The pirates had picked the perfect spot: Sheltered from land and sea, their fire barely brightened the sky. They could have stayed here, safe, forever.

  That would work to our advantage. Their feeling of security meant they’d only left a pair of sentries, one guarding the cave, the other on the boat; and both seemed far less concerned with keeping watch than keeping warm. My stomach fluttered. We might just pull this off.