by Cate Cain
One thought kept them both going through the day – Ann.
“Think you’re above the rest of us, do you? Well, I’ve got something here to take you down a peg.” Grimscale plunged Tolly’s head into the bucket with a vicious shove to the back of his neck. Tolly’s bandaged right hand scrabbled desperately on the deck boards as he struggled in the water.
Grimscale grinned. Just when Jem began to panic that Tolly wouldn’t be able to hold his breath for so long, Grimscale pulled him free. The boy choked, arched his back and gasped for air as beads of water streaked down his cheeks and dripped from his chin. Cleo tried to wriggle free from Jem’s arms to comfort her master.
Six bells sounded from the stern. Grimscale’s smile dropped. He forced Tolly’s head back into the bucket again with a tattooed hand and freed him several seconds later.
Tolly took great rasping breaths again as he came up for air, but Grimscale wasn’t finished. “One more for luck, eh?”
Thump!
Jem spun round and was surprised to see Mingan crouching on all fours on the deck. After what had happened to Pocket, Trevanion had ordered that only the most experienced crewmen should man the lookout, and Mingan was supposed to be up there now scanning the waters for floating islands.
The man straightened up and took a step towards Grimscale. His mass of bone-threaded hair caught on the wind and clattered around his head. As Mingan towered over the mate, Jem saw a muscle twitch beneath Grimscale’s left eye. He puckered out his thick lower lip so that it covered the gingery bristles that were beginning to thicken into an ugly moustache. For a moment Jem thought he was going to say something, but he merely grunted.
“Another time, my friend.” Jem wasn’t sure if he was talking to Mingan or to Tolly.
“Off you go then, gentlemen.” Grimscale managed to make the word sound like an insult as he dragged Tolly to his feet and pushed him towards Jem and Cleo.
As the boys made their way to the steps, Jem glanced gratefully up at Mingan’s long face. The man frowned at Jem, clamped his hand over his own mouth and shook his head.
The door beneath the Medusa mask swung slowly shut behind them. It took a moment for Jem’s eyes to become accustomed to the dim light. The passage was all wrong – surely it couldn’t be that long and that high? He rubbed his eyes – had the saltwater distorted his vision?
But when he looked again the passage was the same. It seemed to continue ahead for an impossible distance, the curved walls meeting in shadow high above. The air was warm and musty with a cloying, sour-sweet fragrance.
He took an uncertain step forward. The red walls were lined with the brilliant tapestries he had glimpsed earlier. Glinting with threads of silver and gold, they depicted hunting scenes. The first one showed animals in a forest – shimmering white deer, russet foxes and long-bodied hares. He felt sharp a stab of longing for the woods around Goldings. Unexpectedly, his mother’s face swam into his mind. What must she be thinking now? He tried to imagine the scene when all three of them – and Cleo too – rode into the courtyard at Goldings and it gave him courage. They were moments from finding Ann.
“It’s not like a ship here at all.” Tolly peered at the next tapestry and Jem saw his friend’s eyes narrow. He held Cleo tight to his chest. “It’s … it’s like Malfurneaux Place. Look!” He gestured at the wall. “This is horrible.”
Jem drew level with Tolly and looked at the tapestry. Instantly he wished he hadn’t. It was a scene of carnage – all the animals shown in the first tapestry were now lying dead in the forest, their entrails spilling out across the fabric in looping trails of embroidered crimson and gold. Who would commission such a thing? He didn’t want to look at it any more. He tore his eyes from the walls. “Come on.”
They kept walking along the candlelit passageway. There were no doors.
“Where do we go?” Tolly whispered.
Jem shook his damp head. “Further along, I suppose. There must be a doorway somewhere leading to the cabin? Do you sense Ann at all, Tolly?”
As soon as he said the words the floor beneath their feet shifted, knocking both boys to their knees.
It wasn’t the movement of the ship. The curved walls closed and billowed around them – one second the passage was incredibly cramped and tiny, the next it swelled to a cavernous space. A kaleidoscope of lights, colour and distorted images whirled about – faces, buildings, rooms, flames, creatures – and the air began to vibrate with a whumping sound, like the beating of a giant heart. The noise grew louder and louder.
Tolly curled forward and tried to shield Cleo with his chest. Jem closed his eyes and covered his ears with his hands. He had the most horrendous feeling that he was soaring above a bottomless pit and that at any moment he would plummet. His stomach somersaulted at the thought. The thumping noise was so loud now that every sinew of his body pulsed, as if the sound would tear him apart.
Then it all stopped.
He heard the sound of a door opening and the captain’s voice. “Come on, Valentine – at last we’ll get to meet the lad. That’s something at least?”
Jem opened his eyes. Trevanion was staring down at him. “What the Devil are you two doing on the floor?”
Jem looked around in amazement. He and Tolly were crouching in a simple wood-panelled passageway. A single candle lantern swung from the low ceiling. Three arched wooden doorways – one to each side of the passage, the third surrounded by an elaborate carving of gilded vines – stood at the far end. The endless passage and the tapestries had vanished, replaced by exactly the sort of cramped, timber-lined space you would expect to find on a ship.
He scrambled to his feet. His head was still spinning and he had to lean against the wall to steady himself. Cleo wailed as Tolly tried to stand upright.
“Have you two been at the grog ration already?” Trevanion looked down at their drained faces. Even Tolly looked grey.
Jem shook his head. “N-no, sir, we …”
“It’s Grimscale, Captain. Before the boys were sent in he forced their heads into a bucket of water. I didn’t catch it early enough to put a stop to it, but one of the men just told me.” Valentine’s voice was sharp with anger. “It was to clean them up, he said, although of course it was just for his own vicious pleasure. He’s a brute. They’re likely light-headed for want of air. Is that right, lads?”
Jem nodded, though he couldn’t begin to make sense of what had just happened. Perhaps Valentine was right – maybe it had been a hallucination caused by lack of air?
Trevanion shook his now wigless close-cropped head. “The man is a monster.” He shot a wary glance at the door at the end of the little passage. “Come then, we must dine with Madame. And remember, lads, what I said …”
He stared meaningfully at Jem and Tolly in turn. They both nodded.
“Manners, is that it?” Valentine grinned and winked at Jem. “You’ve had a lecture?” The young master mariner had a round, kind face and twinkling eyes. Jem wondered why he had agreed to come on this voyage, but the question was answered as Valentine continued. “He’s always been a stickler for manners, has the captain here, but I’ll tell you what, boys, there’s no one finer to teach you the ropes. You’re learning with the best. There’s no man I’d rather put to sea with. When I am captain of my own vessel it will be thanks to him.”
Jem saw a shadow cross Captain Trevanion’s face as Valentine clapped him on the back.
A sound from the end of the short passage made them all turn. The narrow door clicked open and swung into the room beyond.
Madame’s cold voice came from the darkness. “You may enter, gentlemen.” She began to laugh girlishly, although to Jem’s ears there was a jarring, tense quality to the sound.
Her voice came again.
“I come from an old family with many customs. I like to keep up the old ways, most especially in matters of hospitality. As you cross through the doorway into my room, I would like you all to say your name aloud and thank me for your invitati
on this night. Is that quite understood?”
Valentine snorted and spoke under his breath. “That’s a new one. Must be an odd family.”
Trevanion didn’t answer. He squared his shoulders and stepped past Jem and Tolly. Jem heard him mutter, “If it will get us through this voyage, so be it …”
He paused at the door and stepped through.
“Captain Richard Trevanion. I thank you, Madame, for your invitation this night.”
Valentine followed. “Ralph Valentine, Master Mariner. I, too, thank you, Madame, for your invitation.”
Tolly pulled hard at Jem’s arm. “I don’t think we should …”
“And the boys – the young gentlemen? Are they also beyond my door? Come, I am hungry.”
Jem looked back at Tolly and spoke in a whisper. “We have to go in – for Ann. This is our chance!”
Tolly nodded grimly. “I know, but it feels … wrong. Really wrong.”
“I am waiting.” Jem felt the Eye of Ra flare on his heel at Madame’s voice, but almost immediately the sensation dwindled to an itch.
Tolly was right, this felt bad – it smacked of Cazalon’s sorcery, but what option did they have? Ann was in there!
He wriggled his foot in his shoe and took a deep breath. “Jeremy Green, deckhand. I thank you for your invitation this night.” He stepped through the doorway into the room.
Tolly paused for a moment, then sighed as he followed on behind.
“Ptolemy, and this is Cleopatra, a monkey. We … thank you for our invitation this night.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Madame de Chouette’s chamber was grand. It ran across the whole width of the Fortuna’s stern and a wall of windows reflected the light from three candelabra on the wide oak table. On top of the embroidered black tablecloth, pewter bowls and platters were laden with meat, fruit, pastries, pies and bread. A set of large silver carving knives was laid out in the centre.
Jem’s mouth began to water.
“I was not aware we had fare of this quality on board.” Captain Trevanion scanned the table in evident surprise.
“I am very creative.” Madame de Chouette smiled and reached forward to pluck a glistening grape from the bowl in front of her. She rolled the fleshy purple ball between her gloved fingers and then crushed it so that the juice ran down the fine green leather.
“How careless of me,” she murmured. “Please be seated – all of you. I have been looking forward to this evening so very much.”
Jem took an uncertain step forward. He glanced back. Tolly was frozen in the doorway, gawping up at the low-beamed ceiling of the chamber. Then he looked down at the floor, frowned and kicked at something on the rug just beyond the door. Jem couldn’t make out what it was.
“Come in, Ptolemy, you are welcome at my table.” It was an order, not an invitation. Madame de Chouette’s mouth set into a line of something like disgust as Tolly and Cleo walked slowly forward and came to stand next to Jem. The atmosphere in the room seemed odd – it didn’t feel like a meal, more like a ritual, like the time in the catacombs beneath St Paul’s.
“Never drop your guard.” Jem repeated Jalbert’s words silently to himself like a mantra.
“And so, all my guests are here and everything is ready.” She smiled, took up a pewter goblet and leaned back in her chair. It was larger than the others round the table, like a throne, Jem thought. He was aware of the odd ticking noise again.
Trevanion cleared his throat. “And … er, the boy? Your nephew, Madame? I trust he will be joining us?”
She raised the goblet and grinned more broadly, her little yellow teeth glinting in the candlelight.
“He is here, as you requested. He has been resting. Step forward, child, let our guests see you.”
There was a rustling sound from the left of the chamber.
Jem couldn’t help but hold his breath as a figure stepped from behind a heavy curtain. His temples began to throb as he stared across the room.
A tall red-headed boy appeared.
Disappointment cut through Jem like a butcher’s knife. This was not Ann.
“Come, sit at the head of the table, mon cher. I hope you have an appetite.” Madame gestured to a cushioned chair. “And all of you, be seated, please. We shall dine.”
Jem watched the boy walk towards the table. His stringy limbs were too long for his body and he appeared to have difficulty coordinating his steps. As he shambled towards the chair, his arms flailed at his sides and his head lolled forward so that his large chin rested on his breastbone. He looked a couple of years older than Jem and Tolly. There was a line of angry red spots across the back of his neck and faint red, downy hairs on his pallid cheeks.
Madame’s nephew slumped formlessly into the chair. His heavy-lidded eyes were almost sealed. The woman was staring intently at Jem now, and she raised one eyebrow just a fraction. “Why don’t you come and sit here next to me.” She patted the chair by her side. “And your friend with the little monkey can sit opposite you. Captain, opposite me, and Monsieur Valentine to the right at the end there. Parfait! Alors – we can begin. Mange bien!”
Jem shuddered as she spoke the familiar words. He sat down, staring at the boy’s large, freckled white hands laid flat on the table. He took a swift side glance at the boy’s face with its broad flat nose and heavy lips. He breathed oddly through his mouth and there was a speck of drool at the corner of his lips. Madame had been telling the truth all along. Her poor nephew was an invalid. He looked across at Tolly, but his friend’s eyes were locked on the slouching form of the red-haired boy, no doubt feeling as dejected as Jem.
He saw Tolly tighten his grip on Cleo as she wriggled in his arms and stared at the boy.
As the captain took his seat he cleared his throat and steepled his hands together. “Perhaps, before we begin, it would be appropriate for me to say grace …”
“No!” Madame de Chouette almost screamed the word. She lunged across the table and ripped his hands apart. The room fell completely silent. Jem saw the captain make his hand into fist, but he didn’t say anything.
After a long pause she began to laugh in the odd girlish fashion again. “How foolish of me. I hope you will forgive my impetuous nature. In my family it was not our custom to say grace before a meal. And as I explained, I wish to keep the old ways alive – especially this evening … for Fabien’s sake.” She patted her nephew’s hand and he made a small sound like a kitten’s mew. Jem pitied the boy, but all he wanted to do now was leave.
Trevanion frowned. “F-Fabien? It is good to meet you at last.”
The boy didn’t answer or even register the fact that the captain had addressed him.
“Such a pity.” Madame de Chouette’s voice had a simpering quality. “My dear nephew has been stricken for a very long time now.”
“Indeed?” The captain’s voice was sharp with interest. “Do you know the cause of his malady? My own daughter Jane is —’
“— also afflicted. It is why you agreed to make this journey, isn’t that right, Captain?”
Trevanion nodded grimly and reached to fill his pewter tankard. He took a great gulp and spoke again. “And your promise, Madame. You will make good? I have your word?”
She smiled again. “Of course! I always ensure those loyal to me get exactly what they deserve. And you have been very loyal, dear Captain … so far.”
Trevanion shot a guilty look at Jem and took another swig from the goblet. He wiped his mouth and continued. “Forgive me, but one thing I would like to know is why you are making such a perilous journey at this time of year, especially with such a frail lad.”
Madame de Chouette smoothed the green leather of her gloves and stroked the layers of lace that frothed around the crook of her elbow where the cuffs met the black velvet of her dress. Jem realised that, apart from her pointed, painted face, she did not choose to reveal a single inch of flesh in the way that women of fashion usually did.
She sighed. “Fabien is the last of hi
s line. He is about to come into his inheritance. There are preparations to be made, bonds to seal … and transfers to complete. It is most important that he is there in person when the time comes. That is why we must make this journey, no matter the cost. Now, enough of us. Let me hear about your young friends.” She turned slowly and fixed her penetrating eye on Jem again. “Jeremy, tell me something about yourself. Let us start with the medal about your neck – how did you come by such a thing?”
The Eye of Ra burned on Jem’s heel and he gasped in pain. His mind was suddenly flooded with images of his mother, of Goldings, of his father the King, of Ludlow House, of the Great Fire, of Tolly, Ann and Cleo, of Gabriel and the players, of Malfurneaux Place, of Count Cazalon …
He was overwhelmed by the need to tell Madame about them all, to speak about everyone and everything he knew. He twisted in the chair, desperately trying to stop his tongue. He hunched forward, covered his mouth with a hand and started to make a choking noise.
Madame de Chouette smiled. “Take your time, boy.” She ran a hand down the line of his spine. Even through the thick woven material of his jerkin he could feel the sharp, probing points of her fingertips. “There, it is passed. Perhaps some water?” She reached to a goblet set in front of him. He filled his mouth with a huge gulp only to splutter it across the table as a torrent of words began to stream from his lips.
“It … it was given to me. It belonged to my uncle once, but he’s dead now so my mother passed it on to me. Her name is Sarah. We live at a house called Goldings near London. We haven’t been there long. I only found out last year that my father is —’
A hollow clanging sound broke Jem’s words. Cleo had knocked one of the three candelabras sideways on the table. Small flames licked at the embroidered cloth and a pool of hot wax began to spread.
“Clumsy girl!” Tolly spoke loudly as he doused the flames with water from a large pewter jug. “I’m sorry. I was trying to hold on to her, but it … it must have been the sight of the food. Come back here, Cleo. Fabien, your hand – the hot wax! That must burn terribly.”
