The Brightest Star in the North

by Meredith Rusu

  Copyright © 2017 Disney Enterprises, Inc.

  All rights reserved. Published by Disney Press, an imprint of Disney Book Group. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher. For information address Disney Press, 1101 Flower Street, Glendale, California 91201.

  ISBN 978-1-368-00174-8

  Designed by Gegham Vardanyan

  disneybooks.com

  disney.com/pirates

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Part One: The Orphan’s Token

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Part Two: Hanover Hall

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Part Three: Minding the Heavens

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Part Four: The Caribbean

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  For Gabe, Matthew, and Luke,

  my own swashbuckling heroes

  —M.R.

  THE MOON GLOWED WHITE IN the night sky, dipping in and out of sight among long clouds. The ground was eerily dark below. As each cloud passed, a shaft of moonlight illuminated shadowy forms outside the house. Swaying palm branches. A worn, frayed rope drooped low between two poles. And a post marking the entrance to the children’s home.

  There was no sign on the post. No welcome or even an indication that the home was special. People who needed it knew what it was, though most arrivals remained anonymous. It was better that way.

  Far on the horizon, the clouds thickened. A storm was brewing. It wouldn’t reach the home for quite a while yet, but it would find its way. That was how it was on the islands—hints of frightening weather always lingering at the edges of the sea, bringing strong gales and torrents of rain that ripped across the land only to be replaced a short while later by calm skies. The half-hidden moon, the distant rumble of thunder, and the quickening breeze were all a matter of course. Even the shadows dancing around the orphanage were ordinary.

  Only one shadow was out of place.

  A man in a heavy coat—far too heavy for the island heat—hobbled toward the door. His arms were strong, but his weight was thrown off-balance by the basket in his hands. He clearly wanted to remain unseen. A beam of moonlight broke through the clouds and shone on the distinguished feather adorning his hat.

  The man raised his coat collar a little higher and hobbled more quickly.

  Good, he thought once he reached the steps of the children’s home. No one in sight.

  He gently placed the basket on the stairs and then lifted the blanket to peek inside. The child—an infant girl—was still asleep. I wonder, he thought. Do all children sleep so soundly?

  He watched the infant for a long moment. Then the breeze picked up, and he replaced the blanket safely over her. He pulled a large book from his satchel and tucked it alongside the baby with a note. Short and to the point:

  Her mother died. Her name is Carina Smyth.

  An unusually large jewel crested the cover of the book. It caught the moon’s light and reflected it—bloodred. A ruby.

  It wasn’t much. But it was all he could give the child.

  “May the stars guide you,” the man whispered. “Better than I could. Stay safe. And remember your namesake, the star that will always lead you home.”

  The man looked up. Through a break in the clouds, he could just make it out.

  “Carina. The brightest star in the north.”

  “JUST STAY CLOSE, AND NO one will see us.”

  The girl and her companion crept up to the house through the tall grass. It was a small building, only one level with windows peeking into several tiny rooms. The wood on the outside was weathered and worn.

  “We shouldn’t be doing this,” the young boy with her whispered nervously.

  They helped each other up onto a crate so they could peer over a windowsill. Through the cracked glass, they spotted their target—the treasure—resting on a wooden table.

  “We really shouldn’t be doing this,” the boy repeated.

  “You said you didn’t deserve to have it taken away.” Eight-year-old Carina Smyth shot him a look with her piercing blue eyes. “Were you telling the truth?”

  “Of course,” the boy, James, replied.

  “Then you deserve to get it back,” Carina said matter-of-factly. “If it was taken unjustly, you must have justice.”

  “But what if we get caught?” James whined. “I don’t want to get whipped again.”

  “We won’t get caught.” Carina turned her attention to the treasure and smiled. Not as long as you’re with me, she thought.

  Quietly, the children raised the window. Carina jammed a stick into place to keep it from shutting. Then they slipped inside.

  The room was dark but only slightly cooler than outside. It was an unusually hot day for that part of the country. Carina liked that.

  She’d been at many children’s homes in her young life and had seen all sorts of weather: rain, sleet, drought, and snow. Her curious nature and sharp tongue always landed her in trouble: the kind that prompted benefactors to pack her bags and send her to be someone else’s problem. She’d been at her current home the longest, and the owner was a kindly old man named Lord Willoughby. Carina had never met him. But all the keepers said he was extremely benevolent, and it was because of his charity that they put up with “ill-mannered orphans” like her.

  Deep in the English countryside, the weather usually consisted of rain, rain, and more rain. Yet there were those rare occasions, like that day, when it reached that perfect combination of sun that was just hot enough to warm your hair and dampen your hands and a passing breeze that cooled you off before either became too bothersome. In Carina’s opinion, that was how every day should be.

  Now she focused all her attention on the treasure: a small bag of marbles on the table corner.

  The floorboards creaked under her and James’s feet as they moved. James hesitated.

  “It’s okay,” Carina whispered. “Come on.”

  Swiftly, she led James across the room. They didn’t have long, but Carina was certain her plan would work. From her shift pocket, she pulled out a small bag identical to the one on the table. It was lumpy and the contents tumbled in her palm. Unlike the treasure bag of marbles, her bag was filled with small stones.

  Quickly, Carina scooped up the marbles and replaced them with the dummy bag of stones. She handed the treasure to James. “Justice,” she said with a wink.

  That was when they heard it: footsteps outside the door.

  “Go!” Carina whispered urgently.

  She and James stole across the floor. Without hesitating, she gave him a lift using her hands as an impromptu step so he could hop up and over the windowsill. She was just abo
ut to jump through the window herself when—

  “Who’s in there? What’s going on?”

  The door to the room opened. There was no time!

  In one swift motion, Carina yanked the stick from the sill, and the window slammed.

  “Carina!” She could hear James’s muffled cry through the glass. But she stayed calm as the adults entered the room.

  “Miss Smyth? What in heaven’s name do you think you are doing?” a man with a crooked nose and angry eyes demanded. He and a woman in plain attire entered the room.

  “It is very hot today, Mr. Conway,” Carina replied innocently. “I wanted to cool off.”

  “In the keepers’ quarters?” he said accusingly. The home’s secretary, Mr. Conway liked to be involved with more than matters of finance. He often patrolled the halls, making sure things were running to his liking. “You are not permitted to be in this room.” A knowing look flashed across his face. He barrelled over to the table and grabbed the bag of stones.

  Carina held her breath.

  Mr. Conway bounced the bag in his hand. The weight of the stones was enough to fool him. He mistook it for the bag of marbles. With a huff, he tossed it back to the table.

  Carina couldn’t help smiling a little.

  “Do you think this is a game, girl?” the man asked crossly.

  “No, sir,” Carina replied. “The keepers don’t allow us to play games in the heat, for risk of exhaustion.”

  “I was not speaking of the keepers,” Mr. Conway said.

  “But you spoke of games,” Carina replied.

  “The game you appear to think this is,” he said.

  “But I am not playing a game,” Carina said. “The keepers don’t allow it.”

  “Impertinent girl!” Mr. Conway snapped. “The whip will wipe that smile from your face.”

  “Mr. Conway,” the woman in plain clothing spoke gently. Her name was Mrs. Altwood; she was one of the main guardians—or keepers—at the orphanage. “You cannot blame the child for trying to escape the heat. Even the livestock will not leave the barn today.”

  “Discomfort is no excuse,” he said. “She must learn discipline.”

  “I’m sure Carina won’t do it again.” Mrs. Altwood looked at Carina meaningfully. “And that she will mind the quarters which are off limits more carefully. Isn’t that right, child?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Carina nodded.

  Mrs. Altwood walked to the table and gently touched the bag of stones. Her face grew serious. “If you are uncomfortable, perhaps it would be cooler by the creek, where the women are washing clothes. I will lead you there to assist them.”

  Carina resisted pulling a face. She hated washing clothes. The smell of lye stuck to her hands for days. And the water used to wash the clothes was boiling. It was definitely not cooler by the creek. But Carina had a feeling Mrs. Altwood knew about that, as well as about the marbles.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Carina said through tight lips. “Thank you, ma’am.”

  Mrs. Altwood smiled. “Come, child. There are clothes to be washed.”

  * * *

  “He was not at fault,” Carina insisted as Mrs. Altwood pulled her along over the field toward the creek. “The other boys stole his marbles and teased him at breakfast. James did not deserve to have them taken away.”

  “And I will speak to the other boys,” said Mrs. Altwood. “But you must not keep getting into mischief. And above all you must learn to hold your tongue. There are far more powerful men in the world than Mr. Conway. Cross them and you could end up in prison. A young lady must learn her place.”

  Carina yanked her arm away from Mrs. Altwood. “I am not a young lady,” she huffed. “I’m an orphan.”

  Mrs. Altwood sighed. “Even orphans can turn into the most well-mannered young ladies. But if you do not learn to curb that tongue, then the only way to knock some sense into you will be with the whip.”

  They had reached the creek. Village women and some of the older girls from the children’s home were already hard at work, scrubbing and beating dirty laundry clean.

  “I was just standing up for James,” Carina insisted. “The boys mocked him, stole his token, and then the keepers took it away. He was wronged by everyone. Where is the justice in that?”

  “Everyone will face justice in their own time.” Mrs. Altwood placed her hands firmly on Carina’s shoulders. “But that is not your responsibility. Your responsibility is to stay out of trouble and grow into the young lady your father wanted you to become. Do you understand?”

  Hearing mention of her father gave Carina pause. Mrs. Altwood was the only keeper who knew how much the man who had left Carina on the steps of a distant orphanage years before meant to her. Carina pouted, but she nodded.

  “Good,” said Mrs. Altwood. “Now take hold of a washboard and start scrubbing.”

  Carina stomped off, grabbing a washboard along the way.

  “Quite the devil’s tongue in that girl.” A lady holding linens walked up to Mrs. Altwood. “She could do with a good lashing.”

  Mrs. Altwood nodded. “Perhaps. But her heart is in the right place. I believe it’s better to direct a fire than snuff it out.” She nodded at the flames burning under a pot of boiling clothes. “So that one day, it will grow to be useful.”

  “Unless it burns you first,” the woman noted.

  Mrs. Altwood chuckled. “Of that I am certain. If there’s one thing I know about Carina Smyth, it’s that her personality burns as brightly as a star.”

  “DID YOU GET IN A LOT of trouble?” James whispered that night.

  He, Carina, and their friend Sarah all sat in their favorite meeting spot: under a large tree at the edge of the fields surrounding the children’s home. Naturally, the children weren’t allowed out of the house after hours. But the three friends had figured out ways to slip out unseen.

  “Not too much trouble.” Carina leaned back. “Mr. Conway wanted to whip me, but Mrs. Altwood made me wash laundry instead.” She stuck out her tongue. “I think I would have preferred whipping.”

  Sarah snickered. “Of course Miss Carina Smyth would prefer the punishment of a hero to that of a servant.”

  Sarah was older than Carina and James by three years and had been at that children’s home her whole life. Being older meant she tended to put Carina in her place.

  “It’s not that,” said Carina. “But I hate the smell of lye, and Mrs. Altwood knows it.”

  “I’m sorry you got caught because of me,” James moaned. “I told you we would get in trouble.”

  Carina shrugged. “It wasn’t that bad. And you needed your token back. It’s important.”

  James spilled the marbles out from the pouch into his palm. Ten smooth spheres, carved from different shades of wood.

  James and Carina were two of the lucky orphans to have been left with tokens, or special objects that identified them if their parents ever decided to return. There weren’t many children at that home—about twenty in all. Carina had heard stories of larger homes closer to London, but those were workhouses. Out in the country, it was easy to feel like the world had forgotten about them. Like time was passing on while they stayed, waiting for someone—anyone—to come and collect them.

  “Maybe my father is a carpenter,” James said thoughtfully. “He’d need to be skilled to make these.”

  “He probably didn’t make them,” Sarah pointed out.

  Carina gave Sarah a look. “That’s not fair. You don’t know that. You should be nicer.”

  “Easy to say when you have a token,” Sarah said, a bit bitterly. “My parents didn’t leave me anything.”

  “Maybe they died,” said Carina. “That’s what’s happened to me. My mother died, so my father left me on the steps of a children’s home.”

  “But at least he left you a token.” Sarah pointed to the book in Carina’s hands.

  The three friends gazed down at the cover. The ruby cresting the front twinkled in the starlight.

  “You r
eally don’t remember where he left you?” James asked.

  “Should I remember being born?” Carina giggled. “No. I’ve been in lots of homes. But no one ever knew where I came from.”

  “What do you remember?” asked Sarah.

  A faraway look crossed Carina’s face. “Bits and pieces. Other children in other homes. Traveling on ships. And a song. Something about guiding or light.” Carina looked down at the book in her hands. “Every now and then I have a dream of being told to hold on to this. That my father meant for me to have it. That it is my birthright.”

  “Can you read it?” asked James.

  Carina shook her head. “Mrs. Altwood says it’s in Italian. I think it talks about the stars.” She flipped the book open to several pages in the center filled with astronomical diagrams. To the children, the charts looked like intricate spiderwebs dotted with little bursts of penned light.

  “I just need to find someone to teach me Italian,” Carina said, determined. “Or learn it myself.”

  “You could sell the book,” Sarah commented. “That ruby must be worth a fortune. Any family in the village would be happy to take you in if it meant they’d get that.”

  Carina shook her head vehemently. “No, I’m never giving it up. My father meant for me to have it. There must be something important in it that he wanted me to know.”

  Suddenly, a branch snapped in the darkness. The friends looked up, alert.

  “If one of the keepers finds us, we’ll all be whipped,” whispered James.

  “It’s probably just a rabbit,” said Sarah. She stared into the shadows of the surrounding fields. “I don’t see anyone.”

  “Then let’s head back,” said James. “I’ve had enough close calls for one day.”

  The friends quietly slipped away from the tree and went back to the room where all the children slept.

  None of them noticed the curious eyes watching them from the shadows.

  “TUTTE LE VERITÀ SARANNO COMPRESE quando le stesse si saranno derectus.”

  Carina mouthed the words slowly to herself. She was lying in her bed, studying the book her father had left her. All the children were in the common quarters on their sleeping cots.