The Knot Impossible

by Barbara Else

  It was just the central point of the direction circle showing North and South, East, and West.

  “It’s not nothing,” muttered Murgott. “What do they teach you? That’s the compass rose.”

  Littlewink’s green lips turned up in a smile. “A gem of design in any chart, as if a star rested there. Or a rose, of course.”

  “So what’s under the design?” asked Rufkin. “What’s actually there?”

  “Empty ocean in this case,” said Murgott. “That’s why the chartmaker drew it there. This boy left his brain in the crow’s nest.”

  No. Rufkin could almost feel thoughts unfolding. “I told you I saw Madam Butterly’s note. The one she sent with the pigeon to Mayor Jolliman. It said something about Rose Island.”

  “Never heard of any Rose Island.” Murgott squinted at the waves. “Get back up the mast.”

  “Wait a moment.” Lord Hodie had crowded in too. “Rufkin, what are you trying to say?”

  “I don’t know. I have to think.” He stared at the compass rose, then at the spot the Chalice was now, and for a third time traced the paths of the other ships. “Sir, how many hours would it take to reach the middle of the rose at the pace we’re going?”

  “We call it knots, boy,” said Murgott.

  “That’s nautical miles,” Nissy called from the cabin. “The calculation is to do with the number of actual knots tied on a line thrown from the stern—”

  “What’s the girl doing in here?” growled Murgott.

  “I’m actually down,” Nissy said. “On the inside ladder.”

  “Full marks for being partly correct,” said Murgott. “But thank you, shut up.”

  “Please!” shouted Rufkin. “Sir—Ma’am—I have to know. At this speed, how long would it take to reach where the lines cross?”

  Murgott’s eye, deep in the wrinkles of age and experience, twinkled a little. “It’s rare to find a boy who’ll stand up to me.”

  “None since Hodie,” muttered the Queen. Then she blushed. So did Hodie. Rufkin felt himself blushing too.

  Murgott bent over the chart with Hodie, the Queen, and Littlewink.

  “Thirty hours,” said Murgott at last.

  “Thirty-two,” said Littlewink.

  “Give or take,” added Hodie.

  “Precisely,” said Swan.

  The Queen nodded. “Why?”

  Again Rufkin described the way the ships seemed pulled by a magnet, converging somewhere at the same steady rate.

  “Your point is?” asked Murgott.

  “Let the boy explain,” said the Queen and Lord Hodie as one.

  Rufkin felt wobbly from first the praise and now the kindness. The wheelhouse walls seemed a brighter yellow. “It could be the start of another great tangle. But the Sea Honey didn’t expect to be caught in the first one. It annoyed Madam Butterly. I think it frightened her.”

  “He’s right,” called Nissy.

  “She was frantic,” said Hodie, “though her stiffened face and business experience didn’t let her give that away easily.”

  “But whatever is pulling the ships now,” said Rufkin, “I’m sure the Sea Honey’s not caught in it. She’s heading deliberately. Or, if she is caught up, this time she expects it. Sorry—I’m not making sense. The thing is, we’re not caught in it either because of the old engine. So we can sneak up. Sorry,” he said again. “Sneak has to do. I don’t know the nautical term.”

  Murgott’s mouth twitched. “I’m fine with sneaking.”

  The wheelhouse walls almost glowed yellow as marigolds. Below, the railing of the deck almost glowed cherry-red. The masts had a glint of green.

  The thing was—maybe the grown-ups had counted too, maybe they hadn’t—thirty hours would take them into the third day.

  Someone touched Rufkin’s shoulder. Lord Hodie. “Good job. Good thinking. I don’t want the Queen to be doing this. At the same time, we have to help Vosco.” He gave his startling grin. “Poor little beggar. He needs friends like you.”

  A complicated knot stuck in Rufkin’s throat. He slid down the inside stairs and huddled in the dining cabin, not glancing at Nissy. The words in Madam Butterly’s note. As well as mentioning Rose Island, she’d written the necessary child. He’d thought she meant him, praised him and liked him. He’d flushed with pride and astonishment. Now he felt sick. The knot tied tighter in his throat.

  From up in the wheelhouse came the bash of a fist on the chart table. “Time for some real planning,” said Queen Sibilla.

  Nissy sat behind the counter to listen. Rufkin couldn’t let her get away with that on her own. He hid there too. Cross mutters. Argument. Planning, they called it? He supposed it covered as much as it could, when they knew so little.

  The Chalice would travel under sail for a while to save on toad-oil. Lack of wind might become a problem. If the Queen rested now, she could help later if it was needed.

  Her voice came down the internal stairs. “I am flaming strong enough now.”

  It didn’t sound as if she especially believed it. Rufkin did. She’d managed the winds even while she’d been unconscious.

  “I’d prefer to stay close to the Summerland coast while we can,” Murgott shouted. “In case the Queen can’t control the wind and the engine fails. Not so far to swim if we have to.”

  “You can’t swim,” Lord Hodie said.

  “Boys,” warned the Queen.

  “Pessimism has sunk great nations as well as ships,” declared Littlewink.

  “This is no time for philosophy,” said Delilah O’Lilah. “Who’s tending the engine? Swan? Stars above, I must get below. Someone should have fixed the davits for that lifeboat.”

  An even bigger thump hit the chart table. Wood creaked in an ominous manner. Littlewink went on in a booming roar. “Too many leaders is a recipe for entanglement, failure, disaster. Who gives the orders? Who has the heart for being in charge?”

  The air hummed with tension, as well as the hum of the engine.

  “The Queen?” said Delilah after a moment.

  “No,” said Queen Sibilla. “We need someone skilled in military matters.”

  “Warfare is based on deception,” Littlewink rumbled. “I’ll take part but I cannot plan it.”

  “There’s no question. It has to be Murgott,” said Lord Hodie.

  “Good,” came Murgott’s voice. “If you hadn’t said that, I’d have thumped you.”

  ~

  The Chalice sailed with the Summerland coast just in sight. Rufkin had to climb the mast a third time, a fourth and fifth. The sails billowed and flapped. Ropes rang on the masts. It would have been nice to have helpful birds bring signs of comfort, such as a muffin. Better: to use the nest themselves and fly down with news.

  But keeping a lookout was something to do while he felt sorry for himself.

  He also felt cold. Cold was meant to be good for the brain. Could he think any better? He doubted it. But. Whatever was attracting the ships must be incredibly strong. It pulled barges and container ships; Rufkin saw three cruise ships and hundreds of small craft. Was the Lordly Sword somewhere among them? He shivered and forced his brain on. The shipping drawn into a tangle near Battle Island had been captured by the current, because each vessel had broken down. This time it looked like a sort of magnetic power at work as well. Was it the deep-dragon?

  He shivered again. After all, Nissy had said the dragon-eagles, creatures of the air, had feathers of real silver as light as thistledown. The deep-dragon could have magnetic power of a sort never known. Lord Hodie had said—well, Nissy had reminded Rufkin on the launch—magic could just be science we don’t understand yet.

  Oh, his head was only good for scratching because he hadn’t washed his hair when he had the chance at Adventurers’ Rest. He let the binoculars drop on their cord and stuffed his hands into his pockets for warmth. There was the hero figurine. In fact, the real Lord Hodie seemed an ordinary guy, though stronger than most. The Queen seemed completely normal too and really
stubborn.

  A seabird fluttered past with an onk-onk.

  Onk, said Rufkin. Well, he had let himself in for tagging along while they tried to save Vosco. He’d be useless in any action. But at least for a while he hadn’t had that dreadful hollow feeling of being alone.

  Rufkin awoke in a little cabin and lay for a moment. Though it was morning he couldn’t hear anyone. He hurried to the main cabin and found it empty. The tablecloth was dabbed with gloop, so somebody must have had breakfast.

  But somehow the dining room and galley looked brighter and fresher than yesterday. The bottoms of the fry-pans in the clamps sparkled and shone. Fretwork birds on a wooden beam seemed to be singing. A chirping of small seabirds, the call of gulls through the open door, the shimmer and pulse of the sea…he stretched his arms up, wishing he was the young King Jasper on his first adventure. Then he remembered. The third day.

  Rufkin darted up to the wheelhouse. It was silent but crammed. Even Nissy was here. There was no coast in sight. The sails had been taken down and lay in tidy folds at the foot of the masts. Ready for sneaking.

  “We’ve turned south-west. Look.” The Queen let him use the telescope.

  No wonder they were all silent. The ocean ahead had filled with ships, all heading for the meeting point.

  Gradually the Chalice, her engine muffled, closed on the rest. Now she was just a few ship-lengths behind the last of the flotilla.

  “All the other ships look more battered than the ones at the Mucclacks,” said Nissy.

  “If it’s a magnet at work,” whispered Rufkin, “there’ll be a last-minute rush.”

  “Shut up,” said Nissy.

  “No shouting. No wild gesturing,” said Murgott. “We’ll stay astern of everyone else till we have some bearing on the Sea Honey. Then we’ll sneak up on her. Boy, to the crows’ nest.”

  Rufkin turned to go. “But Captain,” he said. “Look.”

  The railing below glowed bright cherry-red. The masts gleamed green. The bird shapes in the brasswork outside the cabin seemed to move their wings to help the ship fly over the waves. The lifeboats, one each side, were as orange as fresh-picked oranges on bright orange davits.

  The Queen’s hair frizzed up like a halo. “Magic—magic is with us. But now people might know this is the Chalice.”

  “We stand out worse than a purple parrot in a bunch of bald ducks,” said Swan.

  Littlewink threw up his hands. “To put it bluntly, we’re puckerooed.”

  “Another word from your travels to obscure and faraway lands,” Delilah muttered. “Thwarted? Confounded?”

  The ogre nodded. “Up the creek without a paddle.”

  Delilah tugged her white ponytail. “Other ships could well notice us. They’ll also notice we’re using an engine.”

  Murgott let out a growl. “The problem will be if Madam Butterly and her thugs notice. I know thugs from a long way back. Notice, they will.”

  “Every problem has a solution,” said Swan. “Right now…”

  Silence fell again in the wheelhouse.

  “The solution is tablecloths,” Nissy said.

  Murgott’s usual expression grew darker.

  She bounced on her feet. “The one we’ve used is messed with wet oat-bars because I tried making porridge. It’s a good start.”

  “Could you explain a little more?” asked the Queen.

  “There are dozens in the dining room,” cried Nissy. “Striped, checked, edged in blue…”

  “The aim is not interior decoration,” Murgott began.

  “No, it’s disguise,” said Nissy, “with dirty rags.”

  And it didn’t take long. The Queen, Littlewink, Rufkin, and Nissy gathered the tablecloths and scuffed them over the engine-room floor. It made the floor cleaner and the tablecloths filthy.

  “Don’t rejoice too early,” growled Murgott. “Hodie, engine as low as possible. Swan, break out the hammers.”

  Rufkin and Nissy helped nail the tablecloth rags on the cherry-red railings, the stern and the bow. They wrapped each mast to Swan-height. Now the ship looked like a gypsy down on her luck.

  “Good job,” Rufkin told Nissy. She smiled thanks.

  It was good to see everyone look braver. Even he felt a bit better. They all wore the same glow of eagerness and determination…Oh.

  Rufkin hurried up and turned the wheelhouse telescope on the ships still a few lengths ahead. He checked on their crews.

  “What’s the matter?” the Queen asked at his shoulder. Hodie was right behind her.

  “Captain,” Rufkin said. “Ma’am. We’ve still got a problem.”

  Murgott’s knuckles whitened on the wheel. “What more do you want?”

  “We—maybe even me—look too heroic,” Rufkin explained.

  Murgott’s face would curdle oat-bars. “What? Pretend we’re helpless? You expect me to sniffle and cry?”

  “Rufkin means we need disguises,” said the Queen. “Murgott, keep your cap down over your eyes. Hodie—you don’t have a cap—not a soul will know you anyway with all those curls.”

  “You did,” Hodie said. “In the end.”

  The Queen pressed her lips together and looked annoyed.

  “The thing is, Ma’am and sirs,” Rufkin said, “it needs variety. When we start sneaking past other ships, we each need a role to play. Like the seven dwarfs in the Dwarfly Brothers.”

  “This isn’t one of your father’s productions,” boomed Murgott. “You’d be wise to keep your background in the background.”

  “Hush,” said the Queen. “Rufkin, go on.”

  His throat fluttered with nerves. “If we all look excited and daring, everyone will know we’re up to something. We have to look normal. Right now that means confused and afraid…”

  “I refuse to look confused,” Murgott said in a dangerous voice.

  But Rufkin couldn’t stop. “No, everyone reacts to disaster in their own way. They’re confused and afraid underneath, but some pretend they don’t care. Some go nuts. Some pretend to be coping but they’re actually not.”

  Swan smiled. “I’m getting the point. Variable secondary reactions to the same stimuli.”

  Rufkin stood straighter. “We each need an attitude to act when we’re on deck or visible in the wheelhouse. Captain Murgott, I admit you’d be brilliant at the Attitude-brave.” He could almost feel the heat of Murgott’s blush. “Your Majesty could do the Attitude-angry. With perhaps a pirate’s bandana around your hair.” The Queen’s eyes gleamed. “Lord Hodie—the Attitude-staunch.” Hodie looked slightly suspicious.

  Rufkin turned to Nissy. “Could you bear trying the Attitude-tantrum?”

  She rubbed her hands. “Just watch me.”

  “I’d like to be Desolate,” suggested Swan. “I can pretend someone has ruined my life’s research.”

  Rufkin grinned. “Do you need a rehearsal?”

  Swan’s teeth gleamed through his straggly beard.

  It was a challenge finding a way to tell Littlewink how excellent he’d be at Uptight and Panicked. Um…

  “Imagine no stars ever again,” Rufkin said. “Imagine you’d never again sit on a hilltop and think about the beauty of the night.”

  Tears filled the ogre’s eyes. Choking sounds emerged from his chest like a motor with hiccups.

  Rufkin reached up and clapped him on the back. “Perfect.”

  Delilah O’Lilah was much easier. She was happy with the Attitude-sweaty down in the engine room, she said. If she had to come on deck, she’d try her best to do Attitude-doddery.

  Rufkin gave himself the Attitude-feeble. It had the least acting to do.

  ~

  The Chalice sailed up into the last of the flotilla—with luck the wash and slosh of waves would smother the hum of her engine. Slumped at the rail, Rufkin was doing what he’d always wanted, acting on his vacation. He spluttered a laugh so like tears it was perfect for Feeble.

  Murgott called from the wheel. “Shipping’s come to a halt ahead. It’
s milling around. We’re a nautical mile from the middle of the rose.”

  Nissy darted from the cabin. Rufkin followed as Feebly as possible. She clambered up the short mast further than she usually dared.

  “The Sea Honey! I see her!” Her smile disappeared. She adopted her Attitude-tantrum. “I hate this, I want to go home!”

  Rufkin gave her a Feeble thumbs-up. Then he managed a Feeble scramble up the rat-lines to the crow’s nest. He’d left the binoculars in the cabin but that didn’t matter.

  Bows pointing in, too many ships to count were drawing into a wide circle from all directions, somehow tied together by the unknown force. Barges, freighters, warships, fishing boats—a scruffy red tug, a beaten-up police launch. He even saw the curved top of a naval barrel-boat, the conning tower open. The captain was lying half out as if he was seasick.

  Rufkin held the rim of the nest, expecting some sort of commotion from the magnetic power. When it happened, it wasn’t in the way he had thought. A warship jerked sideways. A barge next to it smashed in the opposite direction. All around the wide circle, metal crunched and screamed. Sailors used poles to try to fend other vessels away and avoid being crushed. Four ships ahead of the Chalice, a gangway leapt into the air by itself, twisted sideways, and crashed down, binding two vessels together.

  The middle of the circle, like a wave-covered lake, remained empty. If there was a magnetic force, it was an odd one. And magic—science—hadn’t affected the Chalice. Unless of course it was magic that helped keep the Chalice free.

  Rufkin looked again at the empty circle. The Sea Honey nosed into it a little but went no further.

  For a moment his spirits felt truly weak. The disguise of the Chalice, a flutter of rags, was so flimsy. Couldn’t they just wait here till it was over, whatever it was?

  Of course not. He slid down to the deck as fast as he could. “Sir,” he cried to Murgott. “We have to move up before we’re stuck. The channels are closing.”

  “I’m onto it, boy. And I’ll keep up my Attitude.”

  Murgott’s old skills, learned as a pirate, still lived in his hands. Waves curled away from the sides of the Chalice, foamed and glistened in light and in shadow.