by Chris Mould
He was making good progress and began to sing to himself again. But this time, Stanley was joined by a nearby voice. Who could it be? He stopped and looked around. It was much lighter now, but he could see no one.
Stanley kept singing and the voice joined him again. He stopped and looked down. Admiral Swift was singing with him, keeping his eyes shut while he adjusted to the light. The pike could not open his mouth, for he would drop the head, but he began to hum along.
Stanley felt obliged to carry on and the three of them made a wonderful sound through the chilly morning air.
But as they crossed the lawn the singing was brought to an abrupt end by a puzzled Mrs.
Carelli. She stood scratching her head as she opened the door to Stanley. “For goodness sake, Stanley, when I said we ought to drop him in the drink I didn’t mean it! Where have you been with him? And what on earth are you doing out of your bed at this time of the morning, you skinny little lummox? You’ll catch your death of cold. Anyway, I thought you wanted to keep him?”
She was rambling away to herself by this time and Stanley wasn’t listening. He was too busy concealing the head of Admiral Swift beneath his coat in a panic. He knew that Mrs. Carelli had seen plenty of things in her lifetime, but if she saw the head of Great-uncle Bart she would keel over.
“ … And why did you take him all the way out to sea and bring him back again? And why did you go out through the back gate?”
On she went, but Stanley was quite relieved that she hadn’t noticed the head.
“Erm, Mrs. Carelli? I’m sorry, but could I just get back inside?” he asked. “It’s extremely cold.”
“Come on,” she said. “Let’s put your favorite old trout back on the wall and say no more about it, eh? No need for nonsense now, is there, Stanley? You put him back in his box and I’ll fix you some breakfast. How about that?”
“OK,” said Stanley. As soon as it was safe, he slipped upstairs to his room and placed the Admiral’s noggin under his bed.
Back downstairs, he found himself being eyed carefully by Mrs. Carelli, almost as if she thought he was ill. He put the pike back in his case and thanked him, then went to devour his breakfast.
As Stanley sat over a bowl of steaming porridge, doing his best to convince Mrs. Carelli that he was still quite normal, Admiral Swift wandered into the kitchen. He stood just behind Mrs. Carelli, trying to attach his head to his dumpy little frame. Just as in the painting, his Great-uncle’s head sunk into his shoulders and it appeared that he had no neck. Stanley stared in horror, his spoon held halfway up to his mouth. This was the first time he had seen his Great-uncle in one piece.
Admiral Swift squeezed and pulled, twisted and turned. Stanley winced.
“Now what’s the matter, Stanley? What are you staring at?” despaired Mrs. Carelli.
But when she turned around, Admiral Swift had paced off quietly down the hallway, out of sight.
“Oh, err … my porridge is too hot. I’m sorry … I … err,” Stanley muttered.
“I’m getting worried about you, lad,” Mrs. Carelli continued. “I think this weather has given you some sort of bug or something.”
Just then, Stanley’s Great-uncle appeared again. He gazed into the small mirror inside the doorway, adjusting his necktie. He looked pleased with himself, as if he was happy that he had got his head to fit like it should.
“Maybe I should get the doctor out to you. I don’t think your mother would be too happy if she thought I wasn’t looking after you properly!” said Mrs. Carelli.
Mrs. Carelli was busying herself around the table as she spoke. She was not a woman who could keep still very well.
“I’m fine,” Stanley insisted. “I just need to settle back in. Life is very different on Crampton Rock.” He ate the rest of his porridge in silence, as Admiral Swift slowly faded from view.
Later, Stanley dried the pike and gave him a good brush and polish. Then, with the greatest of care, he replaced the Ibis without touching it.
“You know something, Stanley,” said the pike as the tongs were inserted into his throat, “I have enjoyed myself thoroughly today. I had quite forgotten how it feels to dart through the reeds and feel the rush of the water against my scales. That’s what life is about. We could do that again some time perhaps, could we not?”
And with that, the pike closed his eyes and fell into a deep sleep.
8
A Word to the Wise
“Now listen carefully, Daisy, this is important. A lot has happened since I saw you yesterday.”
That afternoon, Stanley and Daisy were sitting in the front room, looking over the harbor. Stanley was desperate to explain the whole scenario with the pike and Admiral Swift that morning. The fire was roaring away as they sat by the window and small drifts of white had gathered at the corners of the windowpanes.
But Daisy was distracted. Her wide eyes steered past him and over his shoulder, back toward the fire. She pointed wordlessly.
Stanley turned around and there in front of the crackling, spitting flames stood Admiral Swift.
The spirit walked over to the window, gave a huge grin, and shook Stanley’s hand. Then for the first time, he spoke.
“Thank you, Stanley. I owe you a great deal for what you have done for me. It is good to meet you at long last, and I am sorry you are landed in this terrible mess. You have already shown more bravery than I have seen in any seafaring man.”
The Admiral’s voice was deep, and what Stanley’s mother would have called posh. Not at all what I expected from a pirate, Stanley thought. His Great-uncle’s face was different now and had much more color in it … although Stanley wasn’t sure that the color was particularly attractive.
Admiral Swift turned to Daisy.
“Daisy, it is good to see you again. I know you have a good heart. Stanley may need your help, and you will need to summon up more bravery than you ever thought you had.”
Daisy smiled and though she trembled slightly, she did not fear the spirit that stood before her.
The Admiral wandered around the room a little. Daisy and Stanley stared at each other, not knowing quite what to say.
“You know this is no ordinary storm, Stanley, don’t you?” the spirit said, walking back to the window.
“Well, actually, no I don’t. Well, I mean, I know it’s going to be a bad one but, well … I don’t know any more than that, I suppose,” Stanley admitted.
“Well, let us say that there is more than snow in the blizzard gathering out there on the ocean.”
The Admiral drew closer. “That storm, Stanley, is a sign. It signals the approach of the deadliest spirit known to the pirate world. If there was ever any good that came from you meeting Flynn and the old buccaneers this past summer it is that it prepared you for Bastabelle Partridge. And you can be sure that he will be accompanied by Jackdaw McCormick.”
Stanley shivered. The names had a sinister edge to them. He waited for his Great-uncle Bart to continue.
“You see, Stanley, the Ibis has caused many problems for many years. In some ways I would have been better off without it. But I was foolish.
“Bastabelle Partridge is the man I took it from. But that was one fight in a long line of disputes over many years. Everybody thinks it belongs to them, Stanley. But the point is that originally it really did belong to the family. My family. Your family. At one time I really was a naval officer, but an attack from pirates left me wounded and the navy refused to help me. I turned against them and everyone else, and became one of the rogues that I had despised. It is not a good story to tell young children.
“Partridge and McCormick are the Stormbringers. Once they were great tradesmen on the ocean, ferrying goods back and forth from South America. Successful, too. Partridge and McCormick was big business. But then they stumbled upon the Ibis, and their desire to keep it cost them dearly. They became a deadly and fearsome duo, but eventually I claimed it back.”
“How?” Daisy cut in quickly.
/> “Well, let us just say that though they were great swordsmen, I was better. I caught up with them in Norway, where they had fled from the gathering onslaught of villains desperate to get hold of the Ibis. And there I slew them both, out on the ice, took what was mine, and left them to their frozen graves. There they stayed, until you awoke them, Stanley.”
“Me. Oh yes, of course, I know, I’m very sorry. I understand now that when I touched the Ibis something happened, awaking the dead.”
“That’s right. We must be careful, young fellow. The Ibis is best left where it is, out of reach and untouched. We would not want to start the quickening. Our task right now, Stanley, and you too Daisy, is to prepare ourselves for the Stormbringers. We have a fight on our hands!” he announced, tapping his hand against the handle of the long, slim blade tucked neatly at his side.
Then, and not for the first time, he slowly faded away into the dark.
Stanley no longer had to convince Daisy of Admiral Swift’s existence. They walked to the door, chatting quietly, and she ran off down to the lighthouse before it got dark.
That night, Stanley climbed down from his bed and walked to the window. He stared out to sea. The snow was falling heavily and there was something very strange about the white snowflake sky.
A glowing, twisting whirlwind was just becoming visible on the horizon.
9
Partridge and McCormick
The next morning snow lay thick upon the ground. The fishing boats were stranded and Stanley wished that just for once he could enjoy the beautiful peace of a picturesque Crampton Rock without having to worry about what was around the corner.
Despite his worries, Stanley could not resist a dash around in the snow. He ran over the hill to where the town gibbet stood, with the dangling skeleton in his iron cage. The poor soul’s skull was crowned with what looked like a peak of white meringue and looked so cheerful that Stanley laughed out loud.
Daisy appeared from the Lighthouse. She was bundled up to her eyes and she threw snow in the air as she ran toward him. The two reeled with laughter as they pounded each other with snowballs.
Finally exhausted, they walked down to the harbor and perched inside the cabin of a fishing boat, where it was dry. They blew on their hands to warm themselves and when Stanley had caught his breath a little, he recalled Admiral Swift’s tale about the coming of the Stormbringers.
“It is only a matter of time before they’re here,” he said. “Great-uncle Bart is right, I will need your help. I hope you’re prepared, Daisy!”
“I guess so,” she conceded. “But I don’t like the sound of Partridge and McCormick.”
“Neither do I,” shuddered Stanley. “Come on,” he said, desperate to forget his troubles. “I’ll race you onto the moor.”
They discovered some old wooden panels that lay discarded around the abandoned water mill. On them they sledged downhill until the light was almost setting again and they were sore with so much belly laughter. They were ready to head back when Daisy slid headlong into the undergrowth. Something dug deep into her shin bone and she winced in pain. She sat up and, taking the sharp thing in her hand, she inspected it closely.
Stanley came nearer, eyes wide open.
“That’s a tooth,” he exclaimed.
“Sheep’s?” asked Daisy.
“No,” he insisted. “It’s canine, and it’s way too big for a sheep, anyway.”
She handed it to him. He held it between his index finger and thumb and stared at it. “Do you know what, Daisy, I think you’ve found something very significant,” he announced. “This is so big, it must be from the mouth of our dear friend the wolf. Well done,” he smiled.
The tooth was long and sharp and pearly white. “Finders keepers,” he said. “Here, don’t lose it.” And he carefully handed it back to her. She wrapped an oak leaf around it and placed it in her pocket as Stanley pulled her to her feet.
The storm was whipping up more wind and they decided that if they didn’t make their way back soon they would encounter real trouble. The moor was a deadly place in the wrong kind of weather, and they had ventured too far out. They set their sights for home.
As they struggled through the freezing gale, a creaking, rattling sound came up behind them. When they turned to look, a black carriage had pulled up beside them. Its door was already open.
“Step inside, my dears, or you’ll be buried under that blizzard within the hour,” came a voice.
Stanley and Daisy were eager to be out of the cold, but they hesitated. It was dark inside the carriage, too dark to see clearly, and a musty smell hit them from within.
“Ahh, you are lucky this time, children. It is unfortunate to be caught out in such a storm. A good thing my friend and I were passing your way.”
The moor was certainly a strange place for a carriage to be. Stanley felt he must refuse the offer. He could only just make out the face of the man who sat inside, large and wide and bearded. Something was strapped to his back and he appeared to be uncomfortable in his seat, squashing his friend into the corner. His voice was deep and low, yet somehow gentle.
“Come, come, my dears, you would be foolish to try and make it home alone, would you not?’” the man said, as the carriage rocked in the blowing gale and snow pushed in through the windows.
Stanley detected a hint of frustration in the stranger’s voice, which made him even more adamant that it would be unwise to join him.
“Thank you ever so much, sir, but we are almost home now. We will manage.”
“It’s a good walk to the Hall, even from here,” the man pressured. “Come on, jump in.”
“How do you know we’re heading for the Hall?”
“My dear boy, an old sea dog like me doesn’t miss much,” said the man. “You’re young Buggles, aren’t you? Isn’t it you that inherited the old place from your Great-uncle? Excellent navy man, your Great-uncle was, Stanley. Impeccable record. A great swordsman. And who is this pretty little thing then?”
“Daisy,” she replied shyly. “Daisy Grouse. I’m staying with my uncle at the lighthouse.”
“Ah, of course, dear old Mr. Grouse. Well, well, well. We are in distinguished company, are we not?”
But still the man at his side made no sound.
“And … I’m sorry, what was your name, sir?” inquired Stanley politely.
“Oh, you’ll know me only too well before long, young Buggles. I won’t say my name until the next time we meet—in case you tire of hearing it,” he replied, laughing a deep laugh. He opened the door for them both and held out his hand to help them in.
Stanley didn’t like it. He was too pushy.
“Err … well thank you, sir. It’s most kind of you, but …” He pushed the handle back to fasten it again. As he did so a covering of snow shook itself from the carriage door revealing a coat of arms. It was an intricately decorated piece, but that did not disguise the fact that it bore a skull and crossbones. And on it were the following words:
Partridge and McCormick.
Stanley reeled in horror. He grabbed Daisy awkwardly by the arm and pulled her along as he bolted out into the safety of the whirling white wind. He was sure that the men would open the carriage door and try to follow them but for all the life in him, he could not bring himself to turn and look back.
When they finally reached the house, panting in exhaustion, the black carriage was standing in wait by the stone pillars at the end of the drive.
“It’s them!” cried Daisy.
It was Partridge and McCormick, Stanley was sure of that. One was shouting at the other in anger and frustration and soon they could be heard arguing and fighting among themselves about what was the best way to deal with the children.
Now it was Daisy’s turn to lead the way. She took hold of Stanley’s hand as they ventured back onto the moor, and around to the back of the house, sneaking in through the garden gate and heading across the lawn. The back door was locked.
“Quick,” said Da
isy, “in here.” She lifted a small trapdoor next to the house and pulled him down into it. They sailed down a short chute into a pile of logs and coal.
“Where is this?” asked Stanley, bemused.
“It’s the old fuel store,” explained Daisy as she brushed herself down. “It’s not used any more, not since Admiral Swift blocked off the access to the back of the house. Quite handy, though—it comes out into the kitchen. Lucky it was open! You’d better put that bolt on, though,” she told him.
Stanley stared at her, taken aback. She really did know the house, even better than he did. He was reminded of just how big the old place really was and how much more there was to get to know. If only he could find the time!
They sneaked into the house, leaving a trail of sooty wet prints, and slunk up to the front window in time to see the carriage slowly moving out of sight.
It looked like, for now, they were safe.
10
An Unfortunate Finding
Stanley’s head was banging with all the worries that were upon him. He didn’t need extra troubles, but as he stumbled through to the hallway he was confronted by Mrs. Carelli. She was holding several cans of paint and a stack of brand spanking new brushes.
“That lot should keep you busy, young fellow,” she called to him. “Mr. Grouse has just called to take Daisy back home, so I thought you might need something to break the boredom.”
“Boredom!” Stanley gasped. He would give anything just to be bored.
Stanley was eager to tell Admiral Swift, if only he would appear, that he had come face to face with Bastabelle Partridge and Jackdaw McCormick.
