To their right, boats of different sizes were docked on the wharf and a few people could be seen out on the water fishing. In front of them, children ran out of a shop called IMELDA’S IMPRESSIVE ICE CREAM with tall cones of glittery ice cream that were six scoops high. Next door to the ice-cream shop was a store with the words FIRE FLOSS written across it in red. Customers leaving it had tall sticks of brightly coloured fairyfloss in the shape of dragons, princesses and trolls. Woe’s stomach grumbled at the sight of them. Whimsy heard it. They realised that neither of them had eaten since leaving Elanora Blackwood’s house.
‘We can’t last forever on the Blackwoods’ pancakes,’ Woe said.
Whimsy knew her brother was right. The pancakes were filling but not that filling. Apoline took what little pocket money they had saved the minute they moved into the Idle Slug. She had said it was to help with food but the next day, a fresh batch of poisonous plants were delivered. ‘We don’t have any money, Woe.’
‘I know,’ Woe said, irritated. He looked down at himself and wondered how long he could go without food. Woe remembered when his father went for days without eating for his role as the man who was allergic to everything in The Man Who Was Allergic to Everything. But Woe didn’t think that either of them could go days without food. As they went further down the walkway, he saw a man ahead of them at a soup stand selling ice-cold fruit soup. The cups were lined up on the very edge of his stand and he was busy talking to the customers huddled around it. Woe thought that it would be easy to simply grab one off the stand and keep walking. Could he do it? He had seen Bertie Potts do it many times when he was undercover.
Whimsy watched her brother eye the fruit soup stand curiously, his eyes glinting with excitement the way they did when he thought about doing something dangerous. She saw the ice-cold cups of fruit soup sitting precariously on the edge of the stand. She heard her brother’s stomach grumble.
‘Woe,’ she said warningly.
‘He won’t even notice,’ her brother replied. They were almost at the stand. It was now or never.
‘Maybe,’ Whimsy said calmly. She was hungry too but if Woe continued to think with his stomach, the two of them could get into much more trouble than they were already in. There had to be another way. So she helped her brother remember. ‘But Mum will notice.’
Woe stopped. He thought of his mother and the disappointment she would feel. Then he remembered Mrs Solt at the Idle Slug. What she had said about the two of them stealing. What she had said about their mother. His sister was right. He couldn’t do it. Not to her. Roughly, Woe shook his head free of thoughts of fruit soup and together they walked past the stand, Woe a little taller than before and Whimsy a little prouder.
Soon they found themselves outside a darkly lit shop called BILL’S & WILL’S ANTIQUES. The sign out the front said: Got something old? We’ll buy it from you!
Could this be it? thought Whimsy. A way to solve our problem? She looked down at the suitcases they carried and hesitated. She didn’t want to part with their treasures.
‘What if we have an antique or collectible?’ Woe asked, noticing his sister hesitate. ‘Even if it’s just one.’
Whimsy thought it over. If they could sell perhaps just one thing, they might be able to buy some food. She pursed her lips with determination and led the way into the dim shop.
28
In which they prepare to part with something precious
A small bell attached to the door clinked lazily as they entered Bill’s and Will’s. Unlike the walkway outside, the shop was still and quiet. Instead of being cluttered with people, the shop was cluttered with things. Towers of items and rows of objects were piled high all around Whimsy and Woe. They filled every space, decorated all the walls, the ceiling and even the floor. And each and every one of them, the siblings quickly noticed, was damaged in some way. There were intricate and round but rusted lanterns that dangled stiffly from above. There were mounds of large leather-bound books, some torn and others stained. Colourful fabrics ran from one end of the store to the other, mottled terribly with holes. There were stacks of wooden furniture that looked to have been mended and then mended again and again, and artwork with frayed edges and broken frames lay scattered on the floor.
The children watched where they stepped as they made their way carefully through the store. Adorning every item was also a thick layer of dust. Has the store ever had any customers? Whimsy wondered. She couldn’t help but think that the Idle Slug looked like a well-maintained and pristine establishment in comparison to Bill’s and Will’s.
‘Aaa-CHOO!’ Woe sneezed, unsettling the dust around them and blowing it up into the air.
‘Aaa-CHOO!’ Whimsy sneezed. ‘Aaa-CHOO!’ she sneezed again.
‘Sorry,’ Woe said.
Trying to hold back any more sneezes, the youngest Mordaunt made his way through the store. He walked past a shield, pots and pans, and a large statue of a lion. Amongst all of the objects, one in particular caught his eye. He stepped over a handful of vases and silver plates as he moved towards it. Sitting atop a pile of papers at the far end of the store, was a large brass and copper helmet. There were bolts along the bottom and top, and in its centre was a round glass window to see out of. Woe lifted up the helmet and almost dropped it. It was incredibly heavy. How could anybody wear this?
Whimsy walked by a large hammock and an unusual metal fish tank before stopping at a small circular display cabinet. She used a hand to wipe away the grime that covered the glass. Inside was a collection of silver trinket boxes, each a different shape and size. One of them stood out to Whimsy amongst the rest. On the bottom shelf, a small, neat rose was engraved on the lid of one of the trinket boxes. Whimsy paused. Their mother had one that looked just like it.
With a small groan of effort, Woe put the helmet over his head. Immediately, he was encased in silence. Through the round helmet window, he looked out at the store. Everything seemed so much bigger and closer. Woe felt like the villainous astronaut in Farewell Earth. He moved his arms about in front of him. Then he felt the distinct feeling that somebody in the store was watching him. Quickly, Woe removed the helmet. He went to put it back on the pile of papers it had been sitting upon. The paper that lay on the top looked like a map of the sea. On it someone had drawn circles and lines in pen. Some of the lines intersected to form an ‘X’.
Before she knew what she was doing, Whimsy bent and opened the cabinet. Slowly, she extended her hand out towards the trinket box and ran a finger over the rose. She remembered her mother putting earrings inside. What would she find? Before she could stop herself, Whimsy picked up the box and lifted the lid. Sitting inside the rose trinket box weren’t earrings but . . . crackers.
‘Crackers?’ Whimsy said out loud.
‘Where?’ called Woe, tearing his eyes from the map at the sound of food. He moved back through the store to his sister’s side. She was bent down near a display cabinet, a look of confusion and sadness on her face.
‘Welcome to Bill’s and Will’s,’ came a low dry voice.
29
In which a small simple trade turns sour
Quickly, Whimsy closed the lid of the trinket box, put it back in its place and stepped away from the cabinet.
‘See something you like?’ came the voice again.
Woe spun around, not sure where the voice was coming from. It seemed to bounce off all of the objects in the crowded store, as though it was coming from many places at once.
‘Hello?’ Whimsy called out, not sure where to look. ‘We, uh . . . wanted to see if you’d be interested in our . . . ah . . . treasures.’ It was the first word that came to her mind. She wasn’t sure if it was the right word to describe their collection from the Idle Slug but it was what she had always called them.
From around a tall pile of fishing equipment, a man hobbled into view. He had big broad shoulders, a pointed chin and greying hair that hung limply at both sides of his face. Most noticeably, Whimsy and Woe saw that cove
ring one of his eyes was a black eye patch.
‘Treasures, ye say?’ The man’s uncovered eye widened interestedly before dropping to their suitcases. Whimsy had seen the look that now gleamed in the strange man’s eye before. It was one she had seen in Mr Solt’s eyes and one that they saw frequently in the eyes of their aunt: greed. Whimsy gripped her suitcase a little tighter as the man continued to stare.
‘I am Bill,’ he said, ‘the co-owner of this fine establishment.’ He motioned around him. ‘Follow me.’
In the dim light, Woe caught a glimpse of some kind of marking on the back of the man’s hand, but then the store’s co-owner moved away, disappearing back behind the fishing equipment. Whimsy looked at Woe, uncertain. He felt his sister’s unease but could only shrug his shoulders helplessly. They were hungry and they needed some money for their journey. Who knew how long it would be until they stumbled upon another family in a small town who offered them pancakes and a bed to sleep in? Who knew how long it would be until they found their parents?
They followed Bill. He hobbled swiftly, leading them to the back of the store before coming to a stop near a table covered with old wind-up clocks. Forcefully, Bill swiped an arm across the table. One by one, the clocks clattered and clanged noisily to the floor. He pulled out a lamp from under the table and lit it before turning to a pile of chipped chinaware next to him and pulling from it a silver teaspoon.
The light from the lamp gave the man’s face an eerie amber glow. They could now clearly see the marks that lined the store’s co-owner’s face. They were scars. Lots of them. The angry slashes, darkened with age, were carved so deeply that the man’s face looked as though it had simply cracked. Whimsy felt herself take a small step back at the sight of it and place a hand protectively over her dress pocket where Eloise lay hidden.
‘Well, let’s ’ave a look then,’ Bill said impatiently. From out of his pocket the store co-owner pulled a small magnifying glass. The white handle was curved into the shape of a horn. With a flick of his hand, he motioned for the children to come closer. Woe saw that the marking on the man’s hand was in fact a tattoo.
Hesitantly, Whimsy and Woe stepped up to the table with their suitcases. Woe pulled out the broken hair clip, the scuffed bowler hat, the bronze waistcoat button and the partially full bottle of Dr Bondig’s Bilious Balm from his suitcase. Carefully he placed them in a row on the now clock-less table. Following her brother’s lead, Whimsy pulled out the empty hat-pin box, the worn cookbook — Reliable Recipes for the Culinarily Challenged by Aster Wertog — the single lace glove, what was left of the handful of matchsticks and the mother-of-pearl nail file.
The store co-owner gazed at the items the siblings had placed on the table with his one eye. He picked up the waistcoat button and held it close to his eye before putting it down again. Then he picked up the bowler hat, turned it over a few times and put it back down too. His eye landed on the mother-of-pearl nail file. Picking it up, he peered at it through his magnifying glass. Then he tapped it with his silver teaspoon. It clinked softly. He put the teaspoon back into the pile of chipped chinaware and his magnifying glass back into his pocket.
‘These are worthless,’ he said.
‘What?’ replied Whimsy, shocked. Worthless? Whimsy knew that they were most certainly not worthless. The matches and nail file had helped them escape the Idle Slug and the broken hair clip and bowler hat had helped them act their way out of trouble.
‘I’ll do ye a favour and take ’em off yer hands for free,’ Bill said.
‘For free?’ repeated Woe. How could they be more worthless than what was in the shop? The mother-of-pearl nail file should be worth something, shouldn’t it? He looked at the one-eyed, and now smirking, store co-owner who stood before him and realised that although they might be worth something, Bill had no intention of paying them for their items. He was . . . bluffing. Then Woe remembered. Captain Bluff. He felt his heart tighten at the memory. When they were younger, sometimes before bed, their mother would tell them stories. Stories about princesses and witches, stories about feuding families and talking animals. And stories about pirates. Woe’s favourite story was the one about Captain Bluff, a despicable pirate who roamed the seas looking for his lost leg. Other than his leg, Captain Bluff loved three things: maps, ships and . . . something else Woe couldn’t remember. He looked at the man in front of him, his stomach sinking in fear. Bill’s tattoo glowed in the light. His eye patch covered his left eye. The map Woe had found earlier with the ‘X’ on it. Captain Bluff.
Whimsy started to feel uncomfortable under Bill’s gaze. It was time to leave. ‘Thank you for your time . . . ah . . . sir,’ she said nervously, ‘but we really must be going.’ Quickly, Whimsy started putting their things back into their suitcases. She didn’t want to stay in the store a moment longer.
Suddenly, reaching over the table, Bill grabbed Whimsy’s arm in a firm grip. Frightened, she looked up and a beady blue eye gleaming with greed looked back. The eye then darted down towards the gold chain around her neck. Whimsy gasped as Bill roughly grabbed the chain, pulling it out into the light. Her locket.
‘What about this?’ he asked with a lick of his lips.
Woe remembered the third thing Captain Bluff loved. Gold.
30
In which Whimsy and Woe parley with a pirate
Whimsy tried to pull her arm free from Bill’s grasp but he was too strong. He held her locket in his other hand and ran a gnarled thumb over the Mordaunt ‘M’ monogram hungrily. Whimsy was close enough to smell the stench of fish as it leaked from his mouth.
‘Let go of her,’ said Woe urgently. He thought quickly. He saw that the sharply pointed mother-of-pearl nail file was still within Bill’s reach. He thought back. He needed to remember everything their mother told them about pirates.
The store co-owner looked at Woe calculatingly. ‘I’m sure we can come to some sort of agreement,’ he said, smiling and revealing three gold teeth.
That was it, Woe thought. An agreement. A truce. ‘Let her go and we’ll . . . parley,’ he said. He held his breath. He could only hope that what he was doing would help them and not make things worse.
Whimsy turned sharply away from the man gripping her arm and looked at her brother. Parley? Woe gave her a small nod. Sometimes their mother would act out her stories about pirates. With a hat on her head, a wooden spoon in hand and her face fixed into a mean scowl, she would end every story with an onslaught of deadly tickles. If they didn’t want to be tickled to death by their pirate mother, Whimsy and Woe had to yell out the word ‘parley’. A truce. Their mother always said her stories were made-up. But Whimsy had always thought that maybe they weren’t. They were too good. And their father always did say that the best stories were often those that were rooted in truth . . . then Whimsy realised what her brother already had. The gold teeth, the fish smell, the eye patch. Bill was a pirate. And they had walked right into his lair!
Bill tilted his head, contemplating Woe’s offer.
Whimsy paled. What had she gotten them into? Whimsy thought about their father’s pocket watch and was thankful that it remained hidden in Woe’s pocket. She was not going to let the gifts from their parents be turned into one of Bill’s teeth! An image of a pirate with a ticking tooth briefly entered her mind.
Woe tried to think back to what his mother had said about negotiating with pirates. She had told them three rules to follow if Whimsy and Woe ever found themselves in the presence of pirates. The only thing he could seem to remember was rule number one: never negotiate with pirates.
Then one gnarled finger at a time, the pirate let go of Whimsy’s arm and her locket. Whimsy pulled her arm back and stepped away from the table.
‘Name your price,’ Bill said with a smile. ‘Money? Food? A map?’
Woe was tempted. He couldn’t help but think that each of the things the pirate listed would be extremely helpful to him and his sister as they searched for their parents. But they would never part with the
ir gifts. Since their parents’ disappearance, they had become more precious to them than anything else. No. There was only one way out of their situation. And it was rule number two: blend in. Woe was going to have to do what pirates did best. Bluff.
‘Actually,’ he said, straightening his shoulders, ‘there are a few things in here that we would like.’
Bill’s smile widened.
Whimsy wasn’t sure what her brother was doing. Was he really considering trading her locket for something in the store? She looked at him, trying to convey her confusion but her brother’s confident gaze remained on the pirate.
‘May we look around?’ Woe asked politely.
Bill nodded.
Before she could do anything, her brother moved through the shop and for a few uncomfortable minutes, Whimsy was left alone with the pirate.
‘The shield,’ Woe said, pointing to a shield that hung on the wall a few feet away.
Her locket for a shield!? Whimsy thought, outraged.
Immediately, the pirate moved away from the table. He found a ladder nearby and manoeuvred his way through the crowded store to where Woe stood. He then climbed it and took the shield from the wall.
‘And the painting of an artichoke,’ Woe said, moving away from the wall. The pirate followed her brother obediently and they both disappeared from sight further into the store. Had her brother lost his mind? A shield? A painting of an artichoke? They had no need for a shield and neither of them even liked artichokes let alone an artistic portrayal of one. And then it occurred to her. What Woe was doing was familiar. He was . . . bluffing. Just like Captain Bluff did in their mother’s stories. Then Whimsy had a thought. She looked around. Amongst the crowded store, she couldn’t see her brother or the pirate, which meant that they couldn’t see her. She looked at their treasures scattered on the table. Quietly, she put them back into their suitcases.
Whimsy and Woe Page 9
