The Moon Child

by Cate Cain

  Trevanion slumped against the wall. “It’s a short tale and I’ll tell it to you now. You will likely be the last people to hear my story. Perhaps, one day, you can use it to warn others, although I pray you never have to.” He passed a hand over his brow. “Madame de Chouette arrived in her gilded coach at the end of November. It was during a great storm and she took rooms at the inn.

  “For two months before she arrived the children of Swale had been afflicted by a curious malady – a sickness of spirit and body. Madame told us that in her country she was considered to be something of a physician and she offered to … help. Within a week all the port was in her thrall. First it was the butcher’s son – she cured him in a day. And then there were others too, the twins at the mill house, the baker’s daughter, the rector’s oldest boy. People called her the lady of miracles.” Trevanion clenched a fist.

  “And your daughter?” Tolly spoke gently.

  “Jane had, no – has the sickness. She cannot talk, she cannot move, she lies on her bed staring at the canopy above. My sister Judith and Tam, her little companion, try to comfort her and rouse her, but she is lost to us. Jane is everything to me. I would give my life for her.” The captain paused again and stared blankly ahead.

  “When I heard of the cures I went to the inn and asked Madame to visit us. I fell into her trap, for I think it was me she was looking for all along. She had come to Swale in the depths of winter in search of a mariner desperate enough to do her bidding. I was that man. She told me she was looking for an experienced sea captain – someone who could guide her own ship across the Atlantic Ocean at the most dangerous time of the year. It had to be someone respected, she said,” the word twisted from Trevanion’s lips, “someone men would trust with their lives.

  “She promised that if I took her commission Jane’s sickness would lift. She has sworn to me that the moment she and her nephew set foot in the new colonies my daughter will be well.”

  “And d-do you believe her?” Jem asked.

  “It doesn’t matter any more. I was a selfish wretch to risk so many lives. I love my child dearly, but I have made her the cause of so much harm. When we get to Port Melas I hope to have spared the lives of as many of my crew as possible – and that includes you two. I doubt that I will see my daughter again …” He hesitated for a moment, and then produced a letter from his coat and handed it to Jem. “If … no – when you get back to England, I would like you to take this to my daughter. I would consider it a great favour.”

  He straightened up and nodded at Mingan. “Come, we will be missed. We have been too long already. I’ll not have Grimscale reporting behind our backs. Remember, boys: listen for the sound of the anchor chain. It is your chance.”

  Trevanion turned and began to climb the rungs to the hatch.

  Before he reached up to open it, Jem had a terrible thought. “Sir, the crew who have gone missing – Spider’s not one of them, is he?”

  Trevanion stopped climbing, but he didn’t turn back.

  “No, Jem, it was not your young friend. The missing men are an old experienced hand from Swale who trusted me with his life … and Master Valentine. That is why I have entrusted my letter to you.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Just as Trevanion had said, they knew the sound instantly. A mighty clanking reverberated through the darkness as the anchor plunged to the ocean bed. The Fortuna juddered and bucked, every timber growling at the sudden restraint. Above them the boys could hear scores of feet thumping on the deck as crewmen raced to steady the ship and tend to the sails.

  They had made landfall. Jem imagined Madame somewhere above making ready to leave. They had to get to Ann before the woman left Port Melas with her. He was certain Madame de Chouette was Cazalon’s creature and that she was about to deliver Ann straight to him.

  He fumbled to light the lantern left behind by the captain. The flame flickered to life, revealing Tolly already on his feet and staring in the direction of the rungs leading up to the bilge-box hatch.

  “Now?”

  Jem nodded. “I’ll take the staff and you take Cleo. I’ll go first.”

  They were soon creeping into the dingy, lowceilinged crew quarters where a row of empty hammocks bumped listlessly against the walls. Jem crouched at the bottom of the ladder steps leading up to the deck, listening intently. When he was sure no one was standing directly overhead, he climbed up and pushed at the slatted wooden door so that it opened a crack.

  He watched a group of crewmen halfway down the ship pull on ropes to drag open the wide double doors to the hold. Above them the rigging was alive as other men swarmed up ropes and shinned out along mast spits to furl in the Fortuna’s flapping grey sails. Everyone was concentrating on a task. Jem took a deep breath and glanced down at Tolly. “Follow me. Keep low in the shadow and as soon as you come out on deck, squeeze behind the water barrels lashed to the rail on the right. There’s a space behind them. It’s where I hid from Madame with Mingan that time. We can watch for Ann from there.”

  Tolly nodded and folded his arms around Cleo. She chirruped softly.

  Within a few seconds the three of them were wedged together behind the barrels. Jem’s hands trembled as he laid Cazalon’s staff down, careful to shield it from view. He looked over his shoulder at the foaming water against the side of the boat.

  “Keep your head down, Cleo.” Tolly tried to push the little monkey’s black-and-white muzzle into the depths of his cloak with his good hand. It was no good; she was gulping down lungfuls of fresh clean air. After days in the darkness of the putrid hold, Jem couldn’t blame her.

  The sea-salted wind carried another odour now: earth and the sharp spice of fir trees. Jem was amazed at how good it felt to breathe in those familiar yet almost forgotten scents again.

  He squinted, trying to adjust to the brilliant sunlight. To the left, beyond the ship’s rail and through the cat’s cradle of ropes, he could see a distant band of deepest green – a forest, covering the side of a hill, or perhaps it was a mountain? Jagged peaks of snow-covered rock punctured the line where the trees met clear blue sky. After the endless glass-grey ocean stretching to infinity on every side, not to mention the gloom of the hold, the view was wonderful – full of colour and promise. A tingling sensation coursed through his body, and Jem realised that he longed with every fibre of his body to stand on solid ground again.

  He peered round the edge of the barrel. The long black deck swarmed with activity. The double doors of the hold stood wide open now and lines of crewmen tugged on ropes to haul swinging leather trunks from the Fortuna’s belly. The men worked in grim silence, the lusty shanties they had chorused together just a few days ago lost to them now. Like their friends, Jem thought sadly.

  But there were other sounds – shouts of excitement and snatches of conversation from colony people crowding onto the jetty beside the ship. Jem leaned carefully to one side to take in more of the scene through a gap in the rail. He couldn’t see the people jostling below, he was too high up for that, but further away, clustered around the end of a broad wooden jetty, scores of people pointed and chattered. Everyone seemed to be dressed in a shade of grey or brown.

  Port Melas fanned out along the rocky edge of a gently curved, sheltering bay. More people were streaming out now from rows of low timber houses to see the Fortuna. Women and children watched from narrow doorways. Cattle ambled along a single icy track leading through the centre of the settlement and out into the trees beyond. Jem watched a small boy chase a herd of geese from their path. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected of the new land, but he was surprised it was so ordinary and so familiar. Apart from the distant mountains, Port Melas looked like England.

  “Speak your business.” The deep voice belonged to a man somewhere down on the jetty. Jem recognised the West Country burr in his accent. The people here even spoke the same way as those at home.

  Trevanion leaned over the side of the ship. “The Fortuna seeks safe haven. We have brought passen
gers from the old world to their estates and we have brought goods for you, the people of Port Melas. Will you grant us leave to stay awhile in exchange for grain and seed?”

  The deep West Country voice came again. “A crossing, in January? Why ’tis impossible, sir. How do we know you’re not pirates or spies sent to report on our ways?”

  “I assure you that is not the case.” Trevanion’s breath misted on the frozen air. “We are men of Port Swale – you must know our reputation. We were commissioned to take this ship across the ocean so that our passenger can complete an urgent transaction. We have brought you supplies …” He broke off as a fat grain sack swung upward and out from the hold. It dangled tantalisingly over the side of the Fortuna. “We know that winter here is harsh and that your stores run low. In return for the safe berth of this vessel, our passenger offers the people of Port Melas these goods.” He gestured at the swinging sack.

  There was a long pause before the man on the quay spoke again. “I’ve not seen a ship like this before. Swale men, you say?”

  “That is correct, but the Fortuna is …” Trevanion paused, “not of Swale. She belongs to our passenger who is anxious to travel on to estates in the north. Will you grant us safe haven?”

  “I will confer.”

  Trevanion waited. Jem heard raised voices and snatches of muttered conversation.

  The voice came again. “How many sacks are you carrying?”

  “Fifty of grain and enough seed to sow thirty acres.”

  More muttering, then, “So be it. You are welcome here at Port Melas – in consideration of the supplies you have brought us. I will come aboard now.”

  Trevanion nodded to a knot of crewmen. They ran forward and released a wide plank from the rail, pushing it out over the side of the ship. It came to rest with a thump somewhere on the jetty below. Moments later, a bald, red-faced man clambered aboard. He was wearing a long brown coat and his boots were made from heavily stitched hide.

  He pursed his lips as he shielded his eyes from the sun and viewed the ship. “And you are?”

  “Captain Richard Trevanion, at your service, sir.” Trevanion bowed.

  The bald man nodded. “I am Goodman John Winterbourne. On behalf of the Council of Elders, I bid you welcome to Port Melas.”

  “You have made the right decision. I am grateful.” Madame de Chouette’s chilly voice rang out over the deck. Jem ducked down below the edge of the barrel. She was standing at the doorway to her chamber, just above their hiding place. He could just see the fluttering black edge of her gown. “My nephew and I will depart from this vessel today. Arrangements have already been made for us.”

  Jem felt Tolly go rigid beside him. He tried to catch sight of Ann, but she wasn’t in view.

  Goodman Winterbourne’s eyes widened in surprise. “You didn’t say your passenger was a woman, Captain – a one-eyed woman and foreign at that.”

  “Do not concern yourself with such inconsequential matters, Goodman Winterbourne. I am not of any nation, I have no allegiances, but I do have estates in this land. Within the hour, I intend that my nephew and I will be travelling to them. We will be … collected.”

  Goodman Winterbourne frowned. “I was not aware of any estates in these parts, ma’am. There’s Port Melas and five other settlements on the coast and the inlets to the south, but nothing else for many miles. Where are you heading?”

  “North of this place. Far, far north. To a place you will not be familiar with. Our escort will be with us soon.”

  “Escort?” Tolly hissed the word.

  “I will go now to prepare my nephew for the journey. Good day to you, Goodman Winterbourne. I must repeat myself: make no mistake, you have made the right decision today.”

  Above their hiding place, a door slammed.

  “What are we going to do now?” Tolly whispered. “Once she gets Ann off the ship and out of Port Melas, we’ll lose her for ever.”

  Grimscale marched to the edge of the open hold, planted his hands on his leather belt and leaned forward. It was obvious he was scouring the gaping black space below for a sign of Tolly and Jem.

  “Think yourselves safe down there, do you?” His voice was heavy with menace. “Enjoy the company of the rats while you can. Once we’ve emptied the hold, there’ll be no place to hide. We have an appointment to keep with the Justices of Port Melas. I’ve already arranged it with Goodman Winterbourne. He tells me they have very particular ways of dealing with thievery here.” He laughed and added, “Perhaps before that I’ll introduce you to my cats, after all.”

  Jem shuddered as he thought about Grimscale’s metal-tipped whips. He glanced at Tolly, who was struggling to keep Cleo hidden in the folds of his cloak. For the last half-hour they’d watched sacks, bundles, chests and trunks winched out from the hold and onto the jetty below, but Madame and “Fabien” hadn’t left yet.

  Tolly nudged Jem. “We should try to move somewhere else. They’ll be unloading these barrels soon.” He pushed Cleo’s head out of sight for the hundredth time. “I don’t think I can hold on to her much longer. I’m frightened she’ll give us away.”

  “It’s too busy at the moment.” Jem tried to get a better view of the deck between the barrels. “If Grimscale wasn’t out there overseeing everything, we’d stand a chance. I’m pretty sure the crew would let us go.” He spotted Spider bent double beneath a bulging sack. The boy was almost invisible beneath the burden as he made his way to the gangway. Jem only recognised his spindly legs.

  It gave him an idea. “Look! See that pile of sacks and bundles on deck over there? If you watch the crew carrying things off the ship you can’t see their faces at all. They’re bent double under the weight.”

  Tolly nodded.

  “We can get off like that. You’ll have to wrap your cloak tight around Cleo, almost tuck her in so she can’t escape. I think it’s our chance.”

  “Perhaps.” Tolly spoke the word slowly – he didn’t sound convinced. “But how can we get over there to the sacks without being seen? And what about Ann? She’s still on board.”

  “Not for much longer though, you heard what Madame said.” Jem gnawed at the skin around his thumbnail. What should they do? Spider appeared at the top of the gangway again. Despite the cold, the boy’s forehead was covered with beads of sweat. He paused, spat on his hands and rubbed them together.

  “That’s it!” Jem sucked his teeth and spat a mouthful of saliva, landing a globule smack in front of Spider. The boy stopped, looked down at it and frowned. “You try too, Tolly, we need to get him over here.”

  Tolly followed Jem’s lead. Soon Spider was being bombarded by sticky missiles.

  He scowled and turned towards the water barrels. Jem heard him mutter, “Fink it’s funny, do ya? Well, I’ll teach you some manners.” Spider rolled up his sleeves and marched towards them.

  When he was just a yard or so away, Jem whispered urgently. “It’s us – Jem and Tolly.”

  Spider’s eyebrows shot up. He stopped and glanced anxiously back along the deck to where Grimscale directed the emptying of the hold.

  “I thought you two were tied up down there somewhere. How did you get up here?” he spoke quietly.

  “No time to explain. Please, Spider, don’t give us away. We need your help to get off the ship.”

  Spider nodded and turned about nonchalantly so that he stood with his back to the barrels. He stretched his arms above his head and flexed his neck from side to side as if he was preparing his muscles for another heavy load. “What do you want me to do?” he whispered from the corner of his mouth.

  “Can you move some of those sacks over here – as if you are sorting them? If you pile them in front of the barrels – six or seven maybe – it will make a sort of screen. Then, when we get a chance, we’ll both hoist one over our shoulders and carry it off the boat. There’s so much going on, no one will notice us, I’m certain.”

  Spider bent forward to touch his toes. It looked as if he was stretching his aching
back, but actually it meant he could look Jem in the eye between a gap in the barrels.

  “All right then. Let’s give it a go, Jemmie.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Jem zigzagged across the last few feet of deck before reaching the top of the gangway. Smothered beneath the heavy hessian sack he couldn’t see what was happening around him, although he could hear the muffled thump of feet and the rumble of rolling barrels.

  Tolly had gone first with Cleo. From the hiding place, Jem had been relieved to watch his friend stagger through the gap in the Fortuna’s rail and then disappear from view.

  Now it was his turn. At every step he expected to feel Grimscale’s grip on his arm, hear his triumphant voice, and choke on the evil stench of his breath. If he was caught now, Jem knew Captain Trevanion wouldn’t be able to protect him.

  He cleared the edge of the deck and then felt the sloping gangway judder beneath him. Jem quickened his pace, but when his feet finally made contact with the solid wood of the jetty his head began to swim. Hunched beneath the sack, he thought he might be about to lose his balance and topple to his knees. He closed his eyes and paused for a moment.

  “You all right back there?” Spider’s voice came from somewhere ahead.

  “It’s … it’s moving. Everything’s moving,” Jem moaned.

  “That’s land sickness, Jemmie. You been on water so long your head’s got used to it. You’ve got to get the hang of terra firma again now. We all suffer first time out. Makes you feel sick, dunnit?”

  “Yes.” Jem opened his eyes again. He could see Spider’s bony ankles poking out of a pair of ancient, badly scuffed leather shoes. Shoes that seemed to be at least three sizes too big for him.

  “Tolly’s over there.” Spider indicated with his right foot. “He had it too, the land sickness, when he came off. I’d get over there sharp if I were you and keep low – the end of that stick is poking out from under the sack. I don’t know why you brung it with you. Nasty-looking thing.”