by Paul Stewart
Fergus hugged his friend and turned to see Spike and Horace hurrying towards them from opposite sides of the cavern.
‘Fergus, what are you doing here?’ said Horace, his face and clothes black with soot.
‘It's a long story, Fergus said. ‘I'll tell you later. He paused. ‘Where's Sylvie?’ he said.
‘She was with me a moment ago,’ said Spike, looking round. ‘She's in a bit of a state. The Corkscrew really took it out of her.’
‘She's in a state!’ said Fergus. ‘What about you, Spike?’
There was a nasty gash on Spike's forehead, his knees were grazed and bloody, and he was clutching his right arm tightly to his chest.
‘Oh, it's nothing,’ he said bravely. ‘Just a little fall back there in The Devil's Pot.’
Just then, there came a piercing scream. ‘Help! Help!’
‘Sylvie?’ Spike shouted. ‘Sylvie, where are you?’
‘Here,’ she called back. ‘Hurry! Please!’
‘It came from over there,’ said Fergus, peering through the bright, shimmering light. ‘Quick, follow me!’
They made their way as quickly as they could along the narrow ledge, fire diamonds clinking and dropping to the ground as they brushed past. All at once, Fergus came to an abrupt halt.
He could go no further. The ledge in front of him had fallen away. Far below, a great lake of molten lava seethed, belching out clouds of acrid smoke.
‘Fergus? Fergus, is that you?’ came Sylvie's tearful voice. ‘I'm stuck. I'm stuck, Fergus.’
On either side of her, the ledge had given way and Sylvie was marooned on the one narrow section that remained. Below her, the molten lava bubbled and plopped; beside her, a crack was slowly zigzagging across the centre of the jutting ledge, threatening to break it off at any moment and send the whole lot hurtling down into the infernal cauldron.
‘Stand back,’ said Fergus in a whisper to Horace, Mouse and Spike. ‘I'll try to calm her down.’
Spike for one looked as if he wanted to launch himself across the gap to rescue Sylvie there and then, despite his injured arm. But Mouse put a hand on his shoulder.
‘Don't do anything silly, Spike, that ledge could give way at any moment,’ she said. ‘Let Fergus handle this.’
Spike turned away and kicked the cavern wall with frustration. A shower of glittering fire diamonds cascaded down into the lava below.
‘I … I can't move,’ Sylvie wailed, tears streaming down her face. ‘My legs won't work.’
‘Listen to me, Sylvie,’ Fergus called, trying to sound calm and reassuring. ‘You have to jump across to us. Horace and I will catch you. You must be very brave, Sylvie, and trust us.’
‘I can't,’ wailed Sylvie, the tears coming thick and fast. ‘Oh, I'm so stupid and useless …’
‘You can, Sylvie,’ Fergus insisted. ‘You're not stupid, you're not useless. You're the best in gym class, everyone knows that. Why, you can jump further than any of us. You know you can …’
‘You can certainly jump further than me, you long-legged giraffe!’ urged Horace, trying to smile. ‘But I'm better at catching any day. Come on, Sylvie.’ He spread his arms wide. ‘You can do it!’
‘Close your eyes and imagine you're back in gym class,’ said Fergus.
The crack on Sylvie's ledge inched towards her. Sylvie closed her eyes.
‘Then take a deep breath.’
Sylvie took a deep breath.
‘Now … Jump!’
Sylvie let out a little squeal and jumped. The next moment, the ledge gave way and hurtled down into the molten lake of lava below.
‘Gotcha!’ cried Horace and Fergus together as Sylvie landed in a heap on top of them. For a moment they remained frozen in a big hug, Mouse and Spike included.
‘I knew you could do it!’ came Fergus's voice from the midst of the huddle.
‘You saved me again, Fergus,’ Sylvie replied.
‘I'm the Spare,’ said Fergus. ‘That's my job!’
Just then, there came an ominous creak, and the ledge beneath their feet gave a sickening lurch. Behind them, in the direction from which they'd come, another section of ledge collapsed in a glittering shower of fire diamonds. The molten lava boiled and spat with renewed fury, and the little group was enveloped in great billowing clouds of sulphurous smoke.
‘That's torn it!’ exclaimed Spike.
‘We're trapped!’ gasped Mouse.
‘What are we going to do?’ Horace croaked.
‘Fergus?’ wailed Sylvie.
‘I … I …’ stuttered Fergus. ‘I … don't … know.’
Whenever Fergus thought back to that awful moment – the sulphurous smoke, the bubbling lava, the blinding light and suffocating heat – he could never quite remember exactly what happened next. And when they talked of it later, none of the children could agree.
‘One moment you were there, Mouse,’ Sylvie remembered. ‘The next, you'd gone.’
‘No, I was there and you disappeared,’ Mouse interrupted.
‘I thought it was you taking my hand and leading me towards the tunnel,’ said Horace.
‘I thought it was you,’ Spike replied.
‘I remember being lifted up,’ said Fergus. ‘And the next thing, I was climbing up a tunnel – and I remember thinking, this isn't The Devil's Pot.’
‘Or The Corkscrew,’ said Sylvie.
‘Or The Glory Hole,’ laughed Horace.
‘And certainly not The Big Dipper,’ added Mouse.
But there was one thing they could all agree on – the incredible feeling of joy and elation that washed over each and every one of them as, one by one, they reached the end of the tunnel and stumbled outside.
Night had fallen, and a huge full moon shone down brightly on the clearing where they had emerged. Fergus collapsed to the ground and gulped in huge lungfuls of air. Beside him, the others did the same. Spike was the first to climb to his feet.
‘We did it!’ he exclaimed. ‘We escaped!’ And the five boys and girls cheered so loudly that the parakeets roosting in the nearby trees flapped their wings and screeched indignantly.
It was only when they stopped cheering and sat down once more, that Fergus realized they were not alone. Looking up, he found himself staring into the amused eyes of a weather-beaten figure, his wild hair, huge beard and ragged clothes silhouetted against the moon, making him look like a neglected scarecrow.
‘Lucky for you that I found you when I did,’ the man said.
Fergus stood up unsteadily. ‘Who are you?’ he asked gently.
‘Yes,’ said the others, gathering round. ‘Who are you?’
‘A poor shipwrecked sailor,’ the man replied. ‘I must have been shipwrecked many years ago, but I'm afraid I've no memory of that at all. I woke up on the beach back there after a terrible eruption, and I've been here ever since. Know every inch of Old Smoky up there, including the fire caverns, and if there's one thing I've learned, it's that fire caverns are no place for children. Can't imagine what you thought you were doing in there.’
‘Fire diamonds,’ said Fergus. ‘They're the cause of all this. And I wish I'd never heard of them!’
The other children all nodded their agreement, and Sylvie blew her nose loudly.
‘Fire diamonds?’ said the man. ‘You mean these?’ He emptied his ragged pockets and held out his hands. They gleamed with fiery, glowing stones. ‘Oh, they're pretty enough,’ he said, ‘but absolutely useless. You can't eat them for a start.’ He grinned. ‘Now the macadacchio nut, that's a different story. Worth its weight in gold, it is. Absolutely delicious. And the strangest thing is, every time I taste one I get the most peculiar feeling – though I can't quite put my finger on it …’
‘You'd better come with us,’ said Fergus, taking the man's hand gently.
‘Why?’ said the man.
‘Because,’ said Fergus, ‘you're a shipwrecked sailor, and we've got a ship to sail.’
The stranger smiled. ‘Then I'm your man!’ h
e laughed.
ack aboard the Betty-Jeanne, the stranger soon made himself at home. Taking his place at the wheel, he bellowed out for the sails to be unfurled and the anchor to be raised. And as the ship leaped forward, he brought it round until the volcanic island was behind them and the sparkling, moonlit Emerald Sea in front.
‘Full sail ahead!’ he cried. ‘And steady as she goes!’
At the stern of the ship, Fergus raised a telescope to his eye and looked back at Fire Isle. The top of the volcano glowed in the darkness like a huge lamp, gently illuminating everything about it; the tall mountain, the dense forest and the strip of sandy beach, with its orange and grey speckled boulders.
He felt a twinge as he thought of the pirates. If only their greed hadn't stopped them from letting go of the bucket … Then again, he remembered, they'd been only too willing to sacrifice all his classmates for the fire diamonds. Fergus snapped the telescope shut. Bolivia fluttered down and landed on his shoulder.
‘Hot chocolate! Hot chocolate!’ she squawked.
The scuttle-bug buzzed and clicked as it scuttled up to join them. Fergus had had the presence of mind to send it into the volcano before they left, and now, as well as the last of the hot chocolate, the bug was crammed full of fire diamonds.
He joined the stranger up at the helm, and watched the waves parting as the Betty-Jeanne ploughed through them. Bolivia was still perched on his shoulder, her head tucked under her wing; the winged horse was down below deck, safely stowed in the gym – while the other girls and boys had each snuggled down in one of the pirates’ hammocks, and were fast asleep.
‘It's funny,’ said the stranger. ‘It's almost as though I know this ship.’
Fergus smiled. ‘I was just thinking that,’ he said.
A week later, the wind rose and the sea grew choppier as they approached the Stormy Straits, but the Betty-Jeanne was equal to the changing conditions. With its sails full, it hurtled down the straits and out into the great ocean beyond.
The rest of the voyage was uneventful. Horace fell overboard a few times, and they all took it in turns to ride the winged horse. The stranger – whom they all just called ‘Captain’ – shaved off his beard, got Mouse to cut his hair, and ended up looking quite presentable. At least, Fergus thought so. But then he was biased.
A fortnight later, they spotted the tall buildings of the city.
‘There it is!’ shouted Horace excitedly. ‘We're back!’
‘Home!’ cried Sylvie, and burst into tears.
The Betty-Jeanne entered the harbour and, with pinpoint accuracy, the captain brought her round into the empty mooring bay. Horace jumped across to the jetty and tied the rope tightly round the steel bollard. The gangplank was lowered, and the others streamed ashore. Horace tore the notice from the school sign.
‘“School trip” indeed!’ he said. ‘Wait till my dad hears about this! Mind you, it's true,’ he added, ‘we have been away for six weeks exactly.’
‘There you are, Sylvie!’ came a loud voice. ‘Did you have a nice time, love? Ooh, you do look well! Doesn't she look well, Cyril?’
Mr and Mrs Smith bustled up to the quayside, followed closely by Mrs Maas, Mr and Mrs Tucker, laughing loudly and clapping Horace on the back, and old man Thompson, who gave Spike a gruff hug.
‘Don't forget,’ called Fergus, waving. ‘See you all tomorrow, bright and early.’
‘What about me?’ said the captain.
‘Secure the ship,’ said Fergus. ‘Then you're coming home with me. Both of you!’ he added, as Bolivia landed on his shoulder.
t the tall, pointing statue of General Montmorency, Fergus and the captain turned left and headed up into the labyrinth of narrow alleys. They hurried through square after familiar square, past fountains and sculptures, flower-stalls and candy-booths, and small, candle-lit shops selling intricately carved wooden figures.
Turning right at old Mother Bleeny's bagel-stand, Fergus and the captain emerged onto the bustling Boulevard Archduke Ferdinand with its tall, slightly shabby buildings. Wall-eyed Ned was in his usual spot in front of the Archduke Ferdinand Theatre. Head down, he was marching back and forth, the sandwich-board strapped to his body advertising the new show in town. This month it was a family melodrama entitled Lady Lilian's Dilemma.
‘Afternoon, Ned,’ Fergus called.
‘Afternoo … Fergus! You're back!’ cried Ned, seizing his hand and pumping it up and down.
Further along the road, the air swirled with mournful music, which suddenly stopped as old Antonio rushed up, Pepe on his shoulder, and embraced Fergus.
‘Welcome back, Fergus!’ he cried.
They continued past familiar shops. Madame Aimee's Wedding Gowns. H.H. Luscombe's Umbrellas. Le Café Rondel. Joshua Berwick: Bespoke Tailor. Karpff, the jeweller's. Outside every one, Fergus's hand was shaken, his back slapped, and his hair ruffled; sometimes all three at once.
‘It must be nice to be missed like this,’ said the captain thoughtfully. ‘And to know there's a place where you're known and loved.’
‘Come on,’ said Fergus. ‘We're nearly there.’
They arrived at Beiderbecker's Bakery. Fergus pressed his nose against the window and peered through the displays of walnut eclairs and almond meringues at the counter. His mother turned from serving an old woman with a fat dachshund and, seeing him, gave a little cry of joy.
Fergus waved. His mother waved back, then gave a scream – high and piercing. She had spotted the captain.
Fergus turned to his father. ‘You wanted to know what it's like to be missed, and to know a place where you're known and loved, didn't you?’
The captain nodded, a strange expression on his face.
‘Well, come inside,’ said Fergus, ‘and you'll find out!’
From the Montmorency Gazette, 21 August:
From an interview in Starlight with Miss Eugenie Beecham:
From The Fateful Voyage Trading Co.:
From The Scowling Mermaid, school magazine of the school ship Betty-Jeanne:
From the Archduke Ferdinand Museum catalogue:
From the Harbour High Society magazine (torn out and put in Jackson's scrapbook):
And from a flying box which arrived at midnight last night:
PAUL STEWART is a highly regarded author of books for young readers – everything from picture books to football stories, fantasy and horror. Several of his books are published by Random House Children's Books, including The Wakening, which was selected as a Pick of the Year by the Federation of Children's Book Groups. Together with Chris Riddell, he is co-creator of the bestselling Edge Chronicles series, which is now available in over twenty languages.
CHRIS RIDDELL is an accomplished graphic artist who has illustrated many acclaimed books for children, including Pirate Diary by Richard Platt, for which he won the 2001 Kate Greenaway Medal, Something Else by Kathryn Cave, which was shortlisted for the Kate Greenaway Medal and the Smarties Prize and won the Unesco Award, and Castle Diary by Richard Platt, which was Highly Commended both for the l999 Kate Greenaway Medal and for the V&A Illustrations Award. Together with Paul Stewart, he is co-creator of the bestselling Edge Chronicles series, which is now available in over twenty languages.
EDWARD T. TRELLIS is a widely acclaimed pot-holer and dramatist who has explored many caves, canyons and crevices, as well as writing some of the most popular musical farces of recent years. These include Lady Lilian's Dilemma, shortlisted for the Harbour Heights Cyclops Prize, and The Cycling Fish, winner of the coveted Golden Goat.
A DAVID FICKLING BOOK
Published by David Fickling Books
an imprint of Random House Children's Books
a division of Random House, Inc.
New York
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
T
ext and illustrations copyright © 2004 by Paul Stewart and Chris Riddell
All rights reserved.
Originally published in Great Britain by Doubleday, an imprint
of Random House Children's Books, in 2004.
DAVID FICKLING BOOKS and colophon are trademarks of David Fickling.
www.randomhouse.com/kids
Educators and librarians, for a variety of teaching tools, visit us at www.randomhouse.com/teachers
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Stewart, Paul.
Fergus Crane / Paul Stewart & Chris Riddell.
1st American ed.
p. cm. — (Far-flung adventures)
SUMMARY: Nine-year-old Fergus Crane's life is filled with classes on the school ship Betty Jeanne, interesting neighbors, and helping with his mother's work until a mysterious box flies into his window and leads him toward adventure.
eISBN: 978-0-307-49543-3
[1. Adventure and adventurers—Fiction. 2. Inventions—Fiction. 3. Pirates—Fiction.
4. Ships—Fiction.] I. Riddell, Chris. II. Title. III. Series.
PZ7.S84975Fer 2006
[Fic]—dc22
2005018478
v3.0
