by Jon Mayhew
Dakkar turned the Makara round just in time to see the fragmented rudder sinking into the darkness below him. He shook his fist and grinned. It was better than he’d hoped. Part of the hull had been ripped out with the rudder. The pirate ship listed as she took on water through the hole. Suddenly, the whole stern of the ship slipped below the surface. Glass windows shattered as furniture slid out. Cannon smashed through gun ports and plummeted to the invisible seabed.
More of the starboard side of the ship sank below the surface. Nets and coils of rope, barrels and sacks spilt into the water. Dakkar stared at the wreckage.
The cabin suddenly darkened and he realised how close he had come to the foundering ship. A thick shadow fell across his portholes and Dakkar’s ears popped with the roaring as, seemingly from nowhere, a huge piece of mast smashed down on to the Makara, punching its way into the small cabin where Dakkar sat.
Water filled the cabin and knocked Dakkar out of his seat. He gasped at the cold water as it pummelled him down through the hole into the lower cabin. He slapped at the sides of the hatch but the wall of water thumped him in the stomach, sending him to the floor. Water forced its way up his nose, into his mouth, making him gag.
The sea swirled around the lower cabin, causing a confusion of furniture, papers and boxes. Pain lanced through Dakkar’s temple as something struck him. He tried to stand but was plunged into the water.
Gasping for breath, Dakkar threw himself towards the front of the cabin and fumbled with the forward hatch. Bubbles rushed by the large portholes as the Makara sank. The hatch unlocked and Dakkar lunged forward, wriggling and kicking his way out.
Above him the mottling of light on the sea surface seemed an eternity away. A bizarre rain of chains, rivets, boxes and barrels surrounded him, making him dodge back and forth as he struggled for the surface.
Dakkar’s lungs ached with the effort. He’d barely had the chance to take a breath before kicking his way up and now he was paying for it. His head spun and his arms felt like sponge. A pulley block hurtled towards him, flailing rope in its wake like some deadly jellyfish. Dakkar twisted his body to one side, kicking frantically as the rope from the pulley snapped at his feet and ankles.
Every muscle in Dakkar’s body burned with agony as he kicked his feet and heaved himself upward through the boiling water. His head felt as if it would burst. Small bubbles of air began to pop from his lips. He could taste the salt water in his mouth. The surface hovered somewhere out of reach above his head. He screamed silently as he pummelled the sea with cupped hands.
Suddenly the cold air hit him as his head broke the water. Dakkar’s throat stung as he gulped at the fresh air. The world was a confusion of shouting and smoke. Flotsam littered the surface as Dakkar floundered, splashing his arms about to stay afloat. He grabbed at a plank that drifted past, dragged himself over it and lay panting.
The Makara was gone.
The smoke swirled around him, making shadowy ghosts of the wreckage that floated with him. He coughed and choked, sea water burning his throat as he spewed it up. Other voices cried out now. Desperate, pleading voices. Every now and then one would weaken and fall silent. The cold water began to gnaw at Dakkar’s core, making his teeth chatter and loosening his grip on the plank. He kicked his legs as best he could but the sea had numbed them. His vision began to whiten, light filling his sight, blotting out the details until he couldn’t see. He felt the grain of the wood slide from out of his grasp. The sting of water on his face brought him to and he splashed feebly.
‘There’s one here!’ a voice cried. ‘A boy. We can’t leave him.’
Dakkar felt strong hands grip under his arms and he became weightless. The water vanished and instead he felt the press of planks at the bottom of a rowing boat.
‘Take him and these others to Blizzard,’ said a gruff voice. ‘Find out what they know. The rest of you, save anything valuable that’s floating.’
The voices faded and darkness finally filled Dakkar’s vision as exhaustion took him.
The market square buzzed with life. Bordering the square, stalls were piled high with spices and fruit. The sweet smell of spiced chicken roasting on hot coals taunted Dakkar’s nostrils as he looked down at the throng from his balcony. Traders in colourful robes jostled with travel-weary merchants. Women with heavy baskets chided ragged children who chased in and out between the grumbling adults. In the centre of the square stood a wooden platform.
‘Look at them, my son,’ his father said, placing a hand on Dakkar’s shoulder. ‘They are the herd. Farmers, shepherds, cooks and merchants. They need a leader. They need someone to fear.’
‘Yes, Father,’ Dakkar said, puzzled, as the rajah raised a hand.
The crowd parted and three royal guards dragged a struggling man through the dust to the platform. Two guards slammed the ragged man to his knees on the platform while the other one read a proclamation.
‘He spied on me for the English,’ Dakkar’s father sneered. ‘For the British East India Company.’
‘But doesn’t the Peshwa tell us that they are our friends?’ Dakkar wondered aloud.
His father’s face darkened. ‘The Peshwa is a fool!’ he spat. ‘He is meant to govern us all but he is a mere puppet, controlled by the company.’
Dakkar stared at the hatred on his father’s face. Then a scream snapped his head back to the square. Blood pooled on the platform and the guard tossed something into the crowd. Dakkar turned away.
‘Watch, my son,’ his father whispered, close to his ear. ‘That is how a true leader deals with enemies.’
Freezing water smacked Dakkar in the face, stopping his breath and making him sit upright. His hands gripped dirty straw strewn on a damp wooden floor. The smell of tar and stale bodies filled his nostrils and drove the roast-chicken scent of his dreams far away.
In the semi-light, Dakkar saw rough walls, a small door with a barred window. Two seamen blocked the door. One tall and bony, with protruding cheekbones and ears like trophy handles. The other filled more of the doorway, with his round belly and broad shoulders. His goatee beard made him seem as though he had a constant smirk on his face.
‘The boy, Mr Slater,’ said the fat man. ‘He wants the boy.’
‘Aye, Mr Finch,’ said the bony Mr Slater, with a long sad smile. ‘None of you others now. Stand back!’
Dakkar turned round and saw a gaggle of eight evil-looking men. He suppressed a whimper as he took in eyepatches and hooks, scars and sneers.
The nearest pirate leered at Dakkar with one good eye, his grin displaying crooked brown teeth. ‘Put a good word in fer us, eh, lad?’ he cackled, and poked Dakkar in the shoulder. The other pirates all joined in, shoving and laughing at him.
Finch grabbed Dakkar’s shoulder with pudgy hands and dragged him out of the room. Slater slammed the door shut and turned the key in the lock.
‘You’re in with a bad lot there, lad,’ Slater muttered, shaking his head.
Dakkar stumbled through the darkened lower decks of the ship. Men scurried around, hammering wood, heaving broken barrels and sweeping the floor. They only paused to glare at him. Where is Oginski? He must be on the ship somewhere, surely?
Blizzard’s ship looked to be in bad shape. Blood stained the steps to the upper deck and Dakkar grimaced as he tried to step over it.
‘That was spilt by a good friend of mine,’ Finch growled. ‘I ’ope they hang you from the highest yardarm, me laddo.’
The daylight dazzled Dakkar as he staggered up on deck. The crew were hurrying up and down rigging, and the sound of shouting, hammering and sawing rang across the ship.
‘We didn’t fare too badly,’ a voice called out from above him. Dakkar turned and recognised the scar-faced commander standing on the quarterdeck at the stern of the ship. Blizzard leaned on the rails and stared down at Dakkar. ‘We’ll soon be back to full sail and on our mission again. So, boy, welcome aboard the Palaemon.’
‘Where’s Oginski?’ Dakkar hissed.
‘Oginski?’ Blizzard frowned, peering closer at Dakkar. Then his eyes widened. ‘Good Lord! It’s you, Oginski’s prince! But how is that possible? And why are you consorting with pirates?’
‘You broke into our castle,’ Dakkar said angrily. ‘You killed Mrs Evans and took Oginski away.’
‘I took him away?’ Blizzard repeated, and he started to laugh. ‘You think I’m holding Oginski on this ship?’
‘Your monsters kidnapped him,’ Dakkar said through clenched teeth.
Blizzard’s mirth evaporated. His face hardened. ‘I did intend to send some men to search the premises – I suspect Oginski might be withholding some secrets from us – but I didn’t have him taken.’
‘You’re lying!’ Dakkar snarled, taking a step forward.
Slater and Finch reached for him. Dakkar ducked under their grasp. He rushed at the commander but found himself with the point of Blizzard’s sword at his throat.
Blizzard fixed Dakkar with an icy glare. ‘If you were a grown man,’ he said in a low voice, ‘I’d kill you for calling me a liar. As it is, I’ll put your poor manners down to a bad upbringing and youthful folly. Keep a civil tongue in your head or I’ll cut it out.’
Dakkar stood stock-still. ‘I don’t understand,’ he said. ‘I was certain Oginski was on this ship. You said you were coming back for him!’
‘That was a bit of a bluff, if I’m honest,’ Blizzard said, sheathing his sword. ‘And Oginski would have known that.’
Dakkar shook his head, still unwilling to believe the truth. He felt hollow and empty. Chasing after Blizzard had been for nothing and now he was trapped on this ship miles from home, with the Makara lying smashed at the bottom of the ocean. Tears stung his eyes and he stared down at the deck, fighting them back.
‘But if Oginski isn’t here, who has taken him?’ he murmured.
‘That,’ Blizzard said, ‘is a good question. But a better one is why shouldn’t I have you hanged like a common pirate? Take hold of him – now!’
Slater advanced on Dakkar, while Finch coiled a rope.
Chapter Eight
No Answers
Finch and Slater grabbed Dakkar and pinned his arms to his sides with the rope.
‘I should warn you that my men are in no mood to trifle,’ Blizzard said. ‘They lost some good friends today and are thirsty for revenge.’
‘Aye,’ Slater snarled. ‘Let’s string him up, sir, and those other dogs in the hold!’
‘Steady, Slater,’ Blizzard said, raising a calming hand. ‘Now, your highness, suppose you tell me how it’s possible for me to see you but a couple of days ago at your home in England and then meet you again here on a pirate vessel that has doubtless come from the other side of the ocean?’
‘I flew,’ Dakkar sneered, which earned him a chubby backhand over the head from Finch.
‘I’m not an idiot, Prince Dakkar,’ Blizzard said. ‘Oh yes, I know precisely who you are. I keep my ear to the ground, so to speak. My spies are everywhere.’
Dakkar pursed his lips and ignored Blizzard’s game.
‘Let’s have a think,’ Blizzard said, pacing the deck. ‘You live in a castle where the locals tell stories of strange sea monsters, of peculiar noises in the night. And Oginski is a brilliant inventor – did you know he tried to sell the navy plans for a manned balloon before the Montgolfier brothers flew? His was far better but my short-sighted superiors couldn’t think of a use for it.’
‘I was being sarcastic when I said I flew,’ Dakkar sneered.
‘You can laugh but I’d almost believe you. Oginski is a genius,’ Blizzard replied. ‘And then, just as we leave Britain, we see a strange sight approaching us. My lookout said we were nearly rammed by some kind of whale.’
‘I wish it had rammed you,’ Dakkar muttered.
‘Oginski was working with Fulton on an underwater boat, wasn’t he?’ Blizzard said suddenly. ‘You took it thinking Oginski was on board my ship.’
‘No,’ Dakkar said, his cheeks reddening.
‘Fulton developed a fully functional submersible over ten years ago,’ Blizzard said. ‘He tried to sell the design to the French and to us, but again people were short-sighted. I think he continued working on it, refining it, with Oginski’s help.’
‘I don’t know anything about this!’ Dakkar yelled, tears streaming down his face. ‘Someone has taken Oginski. I just want to find him!’
‘So you had nothing to do with the sudden and mysterious destruction of the pirate ship’s rudder?’ Blizzard said in a low voice. ‘Take him back down below.’
Dakkar remained silent as Slater and Finch led him back to the hold and the pirates. They opened the door and threw him in.
The pirates all stared at him as he stumbled through the door. He squatted on the ground, his head bowed. If they knew I’d sunk their ship, they’d kill me! he thought.
‘So he threw you back, did he?’ the one-eyed pirate cackled. His long beak-like nose made Dakkar think of an old crow. ‘You were pulled out of the water, weren’t you?’
‘What of it?’ Dakkar said, shrugging and eyeing the pirate.
‘So where’d you come from then? Stowaway? Fall from the sky?’ His one good eye glittered in the gloom.
‘Stowaway,’ Dakkar muttered. ‘I fell in when they lowered the lifeboats.’
‘Really?’ The pirate grinned. Dakkar shuddered. ‘When you was out for the count before, you was doin’ a lot o’ talkin’ an’ mutterin’ in your sleep, like.’
‘I have bad dreams.’ Dakkar blushed.
‘I’ll bet you do, if they involve Oginski,’ the pirate said, and sniggered as Dakkar’s head snapped up.
‘What d’you mean?’ Dakkar asked, glaring at the man.
‘That’s a cursed name,’ said a pirate close by. His golden earrings sparkled against his ebony skin. ‘Oginski is a name to fear.’
‘He don’t know the story,’ One-eye said. ‘Albie, you tell it well.’
An old man, with a straggly, grey beard and a scar across his neck, shuffled forward and took a deep breath.
‘Once, a long time ago – not in your lifetime, but in mine – there lived a count and a countess, and they were very happy. God had blessed them with a castle, rich vineyards and a land of such beauty that it could barely be imagined.
‘But their crowning glory, their true blessing, was their seven sons. Each was handsome, each was clever and each had a particular skill. One was a great soldier, another could coax animals from the trees, while another built inventions that would baffle dukes and ladies across the land with their ingenuity and craft. These boys were always competing with each other to see who could ride the fastest, jump the highest, drink the most, sing the loudest. They were so full of life.
‘Sad to say, nothing lasts for ever, be it good or bad, and such was the case for the count and countess. All seven sons fell in love. With the same woman. Her name was Celina, a wondrous beauty; her hair was like spun gold and her lips like roses. When she sang, it put the nightingale to shame.
‘As beauteous as Celina was, she could never marry one of the count’s sons. Her father was a simple woodcutter, a peasant. But the boys would bring her gifts every day, sing her songs every day, write poems in honour of her great beauty every day. She didn’t know what to do.
‘ “Set each boy a task,” her father said. “Make them travel. The experience will do them good and when they have seen more of the world they will no longer think of you.”
‘Celina wasn’t so sure about this – she quite liked the attentions of the handsome young men – but if the count found out that his sons were courting a commoner he would be furious, and who knew what he would do?
‘So Celina sent them abroad, and such adventures they had and such sights they saw. But they never forgot her. Each carried a miniature portrait of her in his breast pocket, next to his heart, and after twelve long months the boys returned.
‘To horror.
‘Their castle lay in ru
ins, the vineyards burned to the scorched earth, their mother and father cruelly slain. And of Celina there was no trace.
‘For, while they had been travelling, the tsar’s troops had swept across the land in the name of Holy Russia. Any who stood in their path felt the edge of their sword, the rough hemp rope or the heat of flame.
‘Grief does strange things to a man, and as the seven brothers stood there they made a vow to avenge their father, their mother and the lovely Celina.
‘They became bitter, hard and as cold as steel. As the years flew by, they drowned their grief in an orgy of bloodshed and violence. People learned to fear the name of the Brothers Oginski.’
For a moment, silence hung over the dingy hold as each listener took from the story what they could.
‘A fairytale,’ Dakkar said, snorting. ‘The Oginski I know is a man of science, and a gentleman.’
‘Who knows what past wickedness men hide,’ One-eye sniggered. ‘At least we’re honest rogues.’ He leaned back against the wall of the hold. ‘What you see is what you get.’
The days rolled into weeks and the pirates were set to work on the Palaemon under the watchful eye of Blizzard’s marines. Dakkar found himself scrubbing decks and helping Finch prepare food in the galley.
Every day left Dakkar with a gnawing anxiety. Questions built up in his mind. Who were the strange men at the castle that day? What did they want with Oginski? Every mile they sailed was taking him further away from any chance of rescuing Oginski. Blizzard questioned him further but Dakkar kept silent and refused to answer.
‘So what did you call this undersea ship that Oginski and Fulton created?’ Blizzard asked matter-of-factly, as if he were asking Dakkar what he’d had for dinner.
