Gum reluctantly placed the coin back in Tuesday’s palm. Then he ambled to the mast where, amid the many notches and scores from previous duels, he marked the timber with his knife, drawing a line across, and a line down. At the top of one column he carved the letter M, and at the top of the other column, the letter X. All Mothwood’s opponents were given the same letter, and so the mast was covered in many M’s and many X’s, but not once had the score in the X column exceeded the score in Mothwood’s.
‘Now chain them,’ Mothwood said, and Phlegm grabbed Baxterr and Vivienne.
‘No!’ said Tuesday.
‘I’ll have no distractions,’ Mothwood added coldly.
Tuesday watched helplessly as Vivienne and Baxterr were chained together beneath the scoreboard on the main mast.
‘Well, get on with it, girl,’ said Mothwood.
‘They’ll be free soon enough – if you win.’
‘Then first, the rules,’ said Tuesday, breathing deeply. ‘A pair of couplets makes a turn. No half rhymes. Agreed?’
‘Agreed,’ said Mothwood.
‘Right then,’ said Tuesday. ‘My first topic is … family.’
Her gaze meeting Mothwood’s, she said:
‘My mother is Sarah, my father is Denis,
They often play bridge, but they seldom play tennis,
From Monday to Sunday they work and they play,
But what they love best is a girl called Tuesday.’
Tuesday’s voice faltered at the thought of her parents, but the rhyme was good.
Mothwood’s men gave a sentimental ‘oooohhhh’ at this, and Mothwood sent them a withering glare. With his knife, Gum made a mark in the X column. Mothwood turned his one good eye to Tuesday, while the other eye swivelled about as if following a passing seagull.
‘Time,’ he announced. And then he began.
‘Through life you are gripped by time with her claws,
But at the moment of death, you’ll find when it’s
yours,
That time has let go, that at last you are free,
But there’s nowhere to go and nothing to see.’
Mothwood’s men applauded, and Gum swiftly notched up a point for the captain. Tuesday suspected that Mothwood had known this pair of rhyming couplets a long time, and that he hadn’t made it up on the spot at all. It seemed rather like cheating to Tuesday, but if that was his game, then two could play it. Tuesday took a breath, planning to hit Mothwood with one of her old favourites, but her mind drew a blank. Each and every one of her favourite couplets had suddenly abandoned her.
‘Well?’ Mothwood said. ‘Cat got your tongue?’
He poked out his own tongue and breathed at her. The stench was so shocking that Tuesday said the first thing that came into her head: ‘Food.’
‘Figs are delicious with soft cheese and ham,
Toast is quite scrumptious with butter and jam,
Eggs are improved by parsley and salt,
But milkshakes are best with strawberries and malt.’
‘Aaaaaah,’ said the pirates hungrily. A few of them whistled in approval. Gum put a second knife mark in Tuesday’s column. Everyone’s gaze turned again to Mothwood.
‘Girls,’ he said with a sneer.
‘I know several sharks who have eaten small girls,
From the tips of their toes to the ends of their curls,
Did you know they scream loudest when their
eyeballs are chewed?
Especially, I’m told, when those eyeballs are blue.’
‘Ha! Blue and chewed – they don’t rhyme! That’s a half-rhyme, at best,’ said Tuesday triumphantly. ‘You fail, Mothwood.’
Mothwood’s face reddened, which was quite a spectacular sight on top of the deathly white sheen of his cheeks.
‘It was good,’ he screeched. ‘It was good.’
He turned to his men. Gum deliberated with the men and then he said: ‘We say it was good, Captain.’
And all the men roared out their agreement: ‘It was good.’
It had become clear to Tuesday that the pirates would cheat and lie and do all that was necessary to ensure that their captain was victorious, but there was nothing she could do except take her next turn. She must not lose to Mothwood. She must beat him at all costs.
‘Well, what paltry efforts will your puny mind come up with next, and please don’t bore me with another simpering one about your family,’ he said in a jeering tone.
The spectre of him was growing more ghastly by the minute. Mothwood loomed in front of her. Sweat had broken out on his forehead and both his eyes were weeping and bloodshot.
Tuesday’s palms were sweating and she felt light-headed. She struggled to think of anything in reply. Vivienne gazed at her with a steady expression. Baxterr dropped his head onto his paws. Everything began to swirl in front of Tuesday. Vivienne, Baxterr, Phlegm, Gum, Stick, Liver, the sun blinding her eyes, the lift and fall of the ship as it sailed on. Then Tuesday focused on Mothwood.
‘Mothwood,’ she announced.
‘Your head is on crooked, your body’s decaying,
The legs you once walked on are twisted and swaying,
You can’t feel the sunshine for cold bite of frost,
You may have fled death, but your life is still lost.’
Mothwood slumped against the mast and chortled.
‘Really,’ he said. ‘I think I’m doing rather well.’
With this, he did a truly terrible thing. He swivelled his head all the way around until it was at last in its correct place. Both his eyes looked straight ahead. He smiled and took a small bow. This had an unsettling effect on everyone, especially Mothwood’s men. They shifted uncertainly and would not look at one another. A chill crept over the deck. Mothwood spoke, breaking the spell for a moment, and his voice was quiet and menacing.
‘Lost,’ he announced.
‘She will never again sleep gently at night,
She will dread when she must extinguish the light,
Every day, she will flinch at memories cruel,
Of a dog she once loved and lost in a duel.’
This was a nasty trick. Fear crept along Tuesday’s skin. A cold shudder of doubt ran through her whole body. She saw again that fragile beginning of a book by Tuesday McGillycuddy with the words on the cover changing from Finding to Losing. She couldn’t do it. She looked at Baxterr and realised that Mothwood was right. She would lose him. She looked at Vivienne and imagined she was clearly expecting Tuesday to lose at any moment. Mothwood would lash Vivienne to the bowsprit of The Silverfish to become its figurehead. And Vivienne would die there. Baxterr would become Mothwood’s dog. Tuesday would never escape. Mothwood would ensure that she died a grim and horrible death, the most horrible he could imagine.
At this last thought, Tuesday started out of her reverie. Imagine. Imagine! This was her only chance. If this didn’t work, she was lost. They were all lost. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. In a clear voice she said: ‘Warning.’
‘I should warn you my dog is about to take flight,
He will break through your chains and before you
can fight,
He’ll have rescued his friends, we’ll be laughing
and free,
You’ll never best Vivienne, my winged dog and me!’
As she uttered the last words, Tuesday threw her arms in the air dramatically, as if casting a spell. She heard something fall to the deck and, with a chill, watched as her ball of thread, dislodged from her pocket with the flourish of her arms, went rolling along the deck of The Silverfish towards Mothwood. Tuesday lunged after it. But Mothwood made one sweep with his long arm, and grasped the silver ball in his hand.
‘Hmmmmm,’ he said quietly. ‘Precious, is it?’
Tuesday’s shock ran across her face.
‘Yes!’ she said, before she could bite back the word and pretend the thread was of no worth at all.
Mothwood’s eyes gleamed.
&nb
sp; ‘Choices,’ he said, teasing out a loose end of thread with his long fingers. And then, his voice filled with scornful pleasure, he began:
‘You think you can win, but already it’s done,
The game is all over.You’ve lost and I’ve won.
A choice must be made, not with heart but with head,
So what will it be now? Your dog or your thread?’
Mothwood held the ball out towards Tuesday.
‘That’s mine,’ she said. ‘That wasn’t part of the game.’
‘Not part of the game? Ohhh, Mothwood doesn’t play fair,’ he said in a whiny tone. His men snickered.
Tuesday shrugged.
‘It’s just a ball of string,’ she said calmly. ‘It’s not important.’
She hoped Mothwood would believe her bluff. She knew there was no way she and Baxterr could get home without it.
‘Oh, well then,’ he said, ‘if it doesn’t matter I’ll just toss it overboard.’
He lurched towards the railing.
‘Are you sure it doesn’t matter?’ he asked, looking back at her.
‘Yes,’ said Tuesday, her jaw clenched.
And then she relaxed.
‘Yes,’ she said again, ‘I’m quite sure it doesn’t matter.’
And in that moment she suddenly and absolutely believed everything would be all right. If he threw the thread overboard, she might never get home. She might have to stay here in this strange land forever, but she would never abandon Baxterr and Vivienne. Not for anything in the world.
‘Let’s see if you truly mean that,’ Mothwood said.
Mustering all his strength, Mothwood heaved the silver ball out over the ocean. It flew in a high arc, but instead of falling, it continued to rise. It soared upwards, high above the ship, twinkling and glittering. It was going much further and higher than Mothwood’s ungainly throw could possibly have propelled it. Everyone on board was transfixed by this strange phenomenon. And then, as if the chains holding him and Vivienne were made of nothing more than papier-mâché, Baxterr broke free and took off after the ball of thread.
As she watched him go, Tuesday was reminded of Baxterr in City Park, leaping after a spinning frisbee thrown high in the air. But this time, Baxterr had no need to come down again. He spread his wings and flew up and up and up. Tuesday lost sight of the thread behind the looming shape of Baxterr. Though he was going further and further away from her, at the same time he seemed to be taking up more of the sky. This made no sense. Tuesday watched transfixed as Baxterr banked, and began to fly back towards the ship. But this wasn’t her dog; this was an enormous dog. Truly Baxterr’s wingspan was wide enough to match a glider’s, his body was as big as a truck, his enormous legs were tucked up underneath him, and he had a smile from ear to ear. Baxterr glided over the ship, barking once. The boat quivered with the sound and the men ducked for cover.
‘Now!’ Vivienne yelled.
She grasped Tuesday’s hand and pulled her towards the mast. The pirates, transfixed by the sight of Baxterr, were slow to react. Up and up the ladder Tuesday and Vivienne climbed. The men below did their best to pursue them, but the girls were faster. At the crow’s nest they scrambled onto the narrow railing. Phlegm and Liver were gaining on them.
‘Jump!’ Vivienne yelled, grabbing fast to Tuesday’s hand. And without being sure what was happening, only knowing she had to trust Vivienne, who always knew how to get herself out of any predicament, Tuesday jumped with Vivienne into nothingness. She saw the sea below her, the sun sparkling on the water, and then a great golden-brown dog appeared beneath them and whoosh, she landed in a soft warm pile of fur.
‘Grab on!’ Vivienne called.
Tuesday gripped the fur for all her might as Baxterr climbed up into the air and swooped away, holding Tuesday’s ball of thread gently in his mouth. He circled once more over The Silverfish. Tuesday had a last glimpse of the pirates standing awestruck on the deck, and Mothwood screeching something incomprehensible, before Baxterr swept them away over the vast, rippling ocean.
Chapter Twenty-two
‘Whoooo-hooooo,’ whooped Tuesday and Vivienne as Baxterr made a spectacular nose-dive towards the sparkling water beneath them, and then pulled out of the dive at the very last moment to skim along just above the surface. Beside him, on either side, silvery flying fish leapt clear of the water, before dipping back beneath the waves.
Baxterr flapped his great furry wings and once again rose high into the sky.
‘Doggo, you’re amazing!’ shouted Tuesday, who was holding tight to the shaggy fur at the back of Baxterr’s neck.
‘This is better than I ever imagined,’ said Vivienne behind her.
Tuesday breathed the clear, crisp air and marvelled at the view spread out beneath them. From up here, the jagged white tips of the Mountains of Margolov seemed almost harmless, and the River of Rythwyk looked little more than a trickling stream.
‘Look!’ Tuesday called to Vivienne. ‘See? By the Cliffs of Cartavia?’
‘Vivacious!’ cried Vivienne as she spotted her red boat drifting towards a beach.
‘Baxterr? Can you take us down?’ asked Tuesday, and Baxterr turned sharply and plunged seawards, making the girls scream with excitement and terror.
Changing the angle of his wings to slow his descent, he brought them in to land as effortlessly and gently as a bird lands on a tree branch.
Tuesday and Vivienne scrambled down from Baxterr’s neck, and flopped onto the sand, exhausted and exhilarated. Baxterr dropped the ball of silvery thread from his mouth and nosed it towards Tuesday as if he wanted to play.
‘I don’t think we’ll take any more chances with it!’ Tuesday told him, picking up the ball and pocketing it, even though it was a little slimy from Baxterr’s drool. ‘Go fetch a stick instead!’
Baxterr, full of playful energy, cavorted up and down the beach, even though – in his overgrown state – it only took him four or five bounds to cover its length. Folding his wings up tidily, he flipped onto his back and rolled, making the sand squeak under his weight.
‘You were very brave back there,’ said Vivienne to Tuesday. ‘Truly, you were wonderful.’
‘Thank you,’ said Tuesday. ‘But it was only watching you being so brave, and the fact that I love Baxterr so very much, that gave me the courage.’
‘What will you do now?’ Vivienne asked.
‘I will go home,’ said Tuesday, with a grin. ‘My dad is making blueberry pancakes for breakfast.’
‘Then I shall miss you, Tuesday McGillycuddy.’
‘Perhaps you could come … home with me. It can be done. I mean, Mum bought Baxterr home,’ Tuesday said. ‘And I know my mother and father would be very pleased to have you.’
‘Oh no, if it’s all the same to you, I have a new tree to find and a house to build. And besides, I don’t think I’d be very good at maths and all those other things you do at school.’
The two girls stood there for a moment in silence.
Then Vivienne smiled.
‘Goodbye, Tuesday. You are the bravest person I have ever met.’
‘Goodbye, Vivienne. It was the most wonderful thing to have an adventure with you. Thank you for everything.’
Then Tuesday watched with admiration as Vivienne sprinted towards the water and – just as she was about to get her feet wet – leapt up and spread her leathery blue wings, propelling herself over the water and onto the deck of Vivacious.
‘I’ll never forget you!’ called Tuesday, as her friend set the sails of Vivacious and steered the vessel out of the cove.
‘Ruff!’ called Baxterr, who was up on his feet, towering over Tuesday.
From the helm of her boat, Vivienne gave Tuesday and Baxterr a salute, before a gust of wind filled the sails of Vivacious and set her skipping away over the waves.
‘Well, doggo,’ said Tuesday, ruffling her hand through the fur of Baxterr’s leg. ‘Shall we do it? Shall we go home?’
‘Hurrrrrr,’ said Baxterr
.
Tuesday surveyed him where he stood, joyfully huffing above her.
In a gentle voice, she said, ‘I promise we’ll come back and you can grow big again and you can fly and fly and fly. But for now, we have to go home, and you need to get back in through the window and live in the house and sleep in your basket in my room.’
‘Ruff,’ agreed Baxterr.
‘So, I guess you know how to do that?’ Tuesday asked.
‘Ruff,’ said Baxterr.
Tuesday closed her eyes and when she opened them again, Baxterr was a smallish dog, with a whiskery face and shaggy hair in every conceivable shade of brown and he was doing what he always did: grinning up at her.
‘Isn’t it funny,’ Tuesday said, lifting him up and holding him tight to her chest, ‘to think that inside every small dog there might be a great big dog with shaggy wings, just waiting for a chance to fly.’
Tuesday reached into her pocket and brought out her thread. She found the end and wrapped it around her hand. Then, with the biggest heave she could muster, Tuesday threw the ball of string into the air. The silver ball went higher and higher, just as it had done on The Silverfish. But this time Tuesday and Baxterr were going with it, whizzing up and up and on and on through a morning sky. Tuesday glanced back, but already the sea and Vivacious and Vivienne Small had melted away into the whiteness of the surrounding clouds.
Chapter Twenty-three
In the writing room on the top floor of the tallest house in Brown Street, Denis McGillycuddy and Serendipity Smith were much too absorbed in their worrying to notice a strand of silver thread sneak in through the open window behind them and start coiling itself into a ball. It was not until they heard a resounding crash that they both spun around to see Tuesday flailing on the floor and Baxterr leaping from her arms, tail wagging.
Finding Serendipity Page 15
