The Captain glanced at Doomsday, shaking his head. ‘But if you’re swimming back, of course, the bird will provide a tasty meal for a stranded sailor. Such a pity the poor maimed creature has no one to … protect him.’ The Captain licked his lips. ‘Ever tasted roast parrot? Delicious.’
The Captain waited, idly twirling his spear.
Even if I’m a useless blighter, Wicked decided in the silence, I’m better than no one.
‘I’ll come,’ he said finally. ‘But only if the bird comes with me.’
The Captain was in a hurry now.
Wicked didn’t have long to say goodbye to Turtle Island. After he’d filled up the bottle with water, collected some coconuts, and picked up his sack of treasure, he put Doomsday on his shoulder and stepped into the boat. It was the right thing to do, but Wicked felt a hopeless weight settle in his heart.
When Wicked was seated at the oars, the Captain pointed to the knife in Wicked’s belt. ‘I’ll take care of that,’ he said smoothly. ‘We don’t want you having an accident, do we.’
Wicked passed it over, wondering if he would always do the Captain’s bidding. The thought made his shoulders collapse.
‘Every cloud has a silver lining,’ Doomsday squawked.
Wicked gritted his teeth. I’ll do this one last thing, he thought. But I won’t take any more lessons, or listen to any deals. I’ve done my years at sea. We’ll get to Devil Island, then Doomsday and I will disappear. Maybe we’ll go to the Mainland, or even back to …
‘Weigh anchor!’ shouted the Captain.
‘I’ll look after you now,’ he whispered to Doomsday.
How he was going to do it, Wicked didn’t know. Or even if he could. But he was going to try.
Chapter 24
The Captain leaned back in the boat, watching Wicked row. It was mid-afternoon and the sea glinted like treasure.
‘Head west around the peninsula,’ the Captain said. ‘When we get to the red cliffs, you’ll turn south-west. Put your back into it and we’ll be there by dusk. That’ll be just right. We’ll need the cover of dark.’
Sunlight scattered gold coins on the water and the sky shone opal blue. It didn’t seem right, Wicked thought. The dread in his belly sat like lead while the world sparkled around him.
The Captain was unusually talkative. He laid his arm casually across the rim of the dinghy, sliding his back against the side to get more comfortable. He kicked off a boot. ‘You know, I wasn’t surprised to hear that you left Devil Island so soon. Seems you didn’t enjoy the company.’ He snorted. ‘Pack of pigeon-hearts, those men. Call themselves pirates? Bowing and scraping to that child, fawning in front of those ridiculous villagers. Pirates, my foot! Wet-nosed puppies not fit to haul anchor. Makes you want to puke.’ He shook his head in disgust. ‘But tell me, as you rowed off, what did you think you were going to do? Where were you headed?’
Wicked said nothing.
The Captain dusted something off his coat. The ruby on his finger glittered. ‘You never think very far ahead, do you, lad?’ He waited. ‘Well, am I right?’
‘Yes sir.’
‘That’s why you need me. Your Captain will do your thinking for you. I heard all about it, you know, your escape from those mewling do-gooders. “Share this, share that”, bleating lambs, bleeding hearts, the lot o’ them. Now if you’d gone a bit further and holed up at Snake Island or even the Mainland, I might have saved you a lot of time and trouble.’
Wicked shuddered. Doomsday pressed into his shoulder.
‘That’s where I headed, after Shipwreck Island. I had nothing on me, not even one bar of silver, but I made do. A pocket picked here, a sweet deal there. Of course I had to take another name for my business dealings, a nobody name – called myself Wicked, hope you don’t mind. I don’t mind telling you, my own reputation had been dragged through the mud by those pirate dogs.’ The Captain sighed, and fiddled with his ring. ‘But never say die! I’ve got a ship together and a new crew waiting for me on Snake Island. A burly bunch of sea dogs they are, just waiting till I give the signal.’
Wicked felt his guts loosen. ‘What are they waiting for?’
‘You.’
‘Why me?’
‘There’s something I need,’ the Captain said smoothly, ‘that only you can get for me.’
The sea slapped against the sides of the boat. The oars slid through the water.
‘Well?’ The Captain’s tone was still pleasant. ‘And here I was thinking you would be eager to help the man who saved your life.’
Wicked’s throat went dry.
‘Beware the devil’s creep, softly softly in your sleep,’ croaked Doomsday.
The Captain gave a grunt of rage and lunged at the bird. But Doomsday had slithered down inside Wicked’s shirt. Slowly, the Captain slipped the knife back into its sheath. A shallow nick, the length of a fingernail, welled red under Wicked’s ear.
‘That is an annoying creature,’ the Captain said mildly. ‘Drives me to distraction. If you can’t control its beak I will silence it for good myself.’
Wicked felt Doomsday huddled against his middle, trembling.
‘As I was saying before that drivelling gasbag piped up,’ the Captain went on, ‘you have an opportunity to help me, Wicked, as well as participate in an excellent deal for yourself.’
‘Thank you sir, but no, I have other plans,’ Wicked stuttered.
The Captain gazed at him. ‘Ah, Wicked. What am I going to do with you? It seems that like a cat, you have had many lives. Yet I am the one who keeps giving them back to you. One day that may have to stop. For now, I don’t ask anything in return, except your gratitude.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Gratitude comes in many forms. Let me tell you briefly about the developments in the real world these last months. While you’ve been stuck nowhere talking to birds, those Devil Islanders have been busy. You wouldn’t recognise the place. The tavern is doing a roaring trade and they’ve built an inn to sleep scores of happy customers. Money is being made! Tourists are coming from all over the Cannonball Seas … and the secret, they tell me, is the food.’
The Captain stroked his chin. Wicked could feel Doomsday still shuddering against his ribs. The bird was a constant itch of feathers. Wicked was dying to scratch but he didn’t dare stop rowing.
‘Nowhere in the world, so folk say, can you get a feast like that on Devil Island. People are spending a fortune holidaying there. Horrendo of course is in charge of the menu, but they say he has help … a small slice of magic that he adds to his pie.’
‘I always thought there was something unnatural about the lad,’ Wicked burst out, his sudden anger surprising him. ‘An unfair advantage, like. You know he was under a spell? But not anymore.’
‘They say a Wise Woman lives on the island, whose garden boasts a special herb. Add a sprig to any meal, and it will have the diner delirious with delight. I want you to steal that herb for me, Wicked. For us.’
Wicked slowed the oars. Under his shirt Doomsday pecked fluff from his navel.
‘Why would you want that? You don’t even like food.’
The Captain smiled grimly. ‘How astute of you, my lad. You’re right. But others want it badly. In this world you have to discover the thing people value most. First code of business: pay as little as possible for it. Second code of business: sell it for as much as possible. Pirate’s code – steal it, and you’ll maximise your prize.’
‘Check your centre, keep your eyes …’ whispered Doomsday.
Wicked shooshed him with his hand on the bird’s beak. Where had Doomsday heard that? An icy chill seeped into Wicked’s blood. ‘Can you tell me where you first met Doomsday?’
The Captain spat with irritation. ‘What’s that got to do with anything? I don’t remember. The bird’s a dimwitted fool, repeats anything he hears.’
‘Has he sailed with many pirate ships? I thought I saw … that time with the Bonny Lasses …’
‘One parrot is no diff
erent to any other. We were talking of things of value.’ The Captain’s face had darkened. Wicked watched him clench his jaw in the effort to remain calm. ‘Now, I’m offering you a deal that will make you forget you cared one jot for a mangy bird with limited conversation skills.’ The Captain’s voice turned to silk. ‘Prick up your ears, my lad, we can sell this herb for more gold than you ever dreamed of.’
‘But I already have my share of the treasure,’ Wicked said, picking up the oars again. ‘I earned it fair and square.’
‘See, right there is your limited thinking. Earned it, indeed. What kind of a pirate are you? I don’t know where you got that notion from. Are you referring to the piddly pile of coins you keep in your jacket? That’s not enough for a luxurious life. A life that is special. A cut above the rest. And you, my lad, can have one! Bigger and better than any of those other pirate dogs on board my ship. Because you are different. Look at you, the only one to leave that absurd child’s game on Devil Island. You went to look for a better life for yourself. And you’ll find one with me.’
As the Captain talked, he rubbed his hands together and smiled, gazing off at the horizon as if spellbound by the shimmering possibilities awaiting him there. Frequently, he glanced back to check Wicked was listening. He seemed to enjoy having an audience, stretching out his legs, waving a hand in the air as he described a palace he’d seen with a marble staircase and a hundred servants. Even his eyes looked more alive, reflecting the gold dazzle off the water.
Wicked was struck by the change. If he yawned or looked away, the Captain shrank a little and grew grumpy. This was definitely a new side to him, thought Wicked. He’d only ever seen the man giving orders or demanding favours. As far as he knew, the Captain had never put any effort into trying to, well … persuade a pirate to do his bidding. He was different away from his ship – that must be it. Wicked remembered how strangely stirring it had been, years ago, when the Captain of the Cannonball Seas had told him he was valuable. Now he just couldn’t wait to get away.
‘I’ve done things in my life you can’t imagine. And not just at sea. I’ve owned gambling houses and circuses, gold enough to fill a ship.’ The Captain frowned, the shadows in his cheeks deepening. ‘Lady Luck just deserted me for a while, that’s all. Don’t depend on her. Rely instead on your Captain.’
‘Circuses? Did you ever meet my …’
‘You see, you don’t have a choice, Wicked,’ the Captain rode smoothly over Wicked’s voice. ‘You have a debt to me. But your payment of service will be your reward, too. This is your time now. All the work and suffering was for this moment – it will be your crowning achievement. That herb will make you rich. It is your prize.’
Wicked didn’t believe in prizes anymore. And he was stuck on something the Captain had said … But right now, Doomsday was shivering against his ribs. Wicked wished he could tell him everything would be all right. A sudden memory of Bombastic talking to his frog flashed across his mind. For a brief moment Wicked understood something, and he felt a pang deep in his guts.
Then the Captain said, ‘Can you see the shoreline? We’ll be there soon.’ And the place in Wicked’s mind where the boy and his pet had appeared closed over, like high tide rolling into shore.
The sun was still blazing above the horizon when the boat neared the harbour of Devil Island. ‘We’ve made good time,’ the Captain said. ‘Maybe too good. We’ll drift here a while, cool our heels until sunset. Have a drink, relax, while I tell you how this plan will proceed.’
To the north-east of the harbour, the Captain said, lay a huddle of limestone caves. The biggest cave was miles deep, running back into a tunnel that stretched inland and opened up at the edge of a thick forest. Directly ahead, in a small clearing, Wicked would find the house of Gretel, the Wise Woman, and her prized garden.
‘The herb you will be looking for has a very particular leaf. Long and narrow but with a curious system of veins. Here, I’ve got a drawing of the plant to … remind you.’ The Captain passed Wicked a tightly folded square of paper, holding his gaze. ‘Keep it safe.’
Wicked took the drawing and shoved it deep into his pocket.
‘I want you to dig up every one of those plants by the roots and bring them back to me. Mind you speak to no one on the island. In four days from now I’ll be waiting in a longboat with a couple of my new crew.’
Wicked swallowed. ‘Four days? Surely it won’t take long to dig up a few plants!’
The Captain shook his head. ‘You’re not using your head, Wicked. You’re dealing with a Wise Woman here. She will have powers you’re not acquainted with. Survey the scene first. Pick your time. Trust your instincts. I don’t want any mistakes.’
Will’s stomach dropped. A Wise Woman. A memory was coming towards him from far away. Like a landscape emerging on the horizon, it was sheathed in mist and distance. His feet felt heavy.
‘Why don’t you do it?’ he burst out.
The Captain’s lips thinned into a snarl. ‘I’m not well-liked in these parts.’
‘Neither am I!’
‘You’ll use the tunnel and be careful not to show your face. Now, you’ll need this flint here to light the torch for your passage through the tunnel, and this hat to pull down over your eyes.’
‘But what about digging the plants up? I’ll need that knife, too.’
The Captain’s eyes narrowed. ‘No, you’ll use your hands,’ he said smoothly. ‘A tool won’t be necessary.’
Wicked held his gaze for as long as he could, but his lids lowered finally, as if they had a will of their own. ‘Well, am I gunna sleep on hard ground then?’ he muttered. ‘At least let me have the hammock.’
The Captain clicked his teeth. ‘You’re getting soft. What do you want with that? It’s mine, remember. I might need it where I’m going.’ The idea of giving up anything of his own seemed to hurt the man, even something of such little value. There was a groan of resignation, and reluctantly, the Captain passed it across. Then he glanced to the west, and nodded.
‘Time to go now,’ he said, his voice resuming its even tone. ‘Pick up the oars. We won’t row into harbour. Too visible. I’ll drop you off near the caves. Remember, you are to be back at dawn in four days. If you lose your way, never fear, I will come and find you – and your feathered friend.’
In the mauve twilight, Wicked waded ashore. Doomsday poked his head out to investigate.
‘Hop up now,’ Wicked told him. Clinging to a finger, the bird scrabbled up to his preferred place on Wicked’s shoulder. He was still trembling.
‘You’re safe,’ Wicked murmured. ‘He’s gone.’ But Doomsday continued to shake.
Wicked felt nervous, too. Strange, he thought, as he stared ahead at the sinking sun, he left this place months ago, at twilight. So much had happened in between. There’d been Turtle Island; he’d learnt to swim. But it was hard to think clearly now, just as it had been then. When the light faltered and outlines were smudged, how could you see the right path ahead? The past rose up like the cliff in front of him, and a decision taken just hours ago blurred into a question. Over his shoulder a faint moon shared the sky with the melting sun.
He came ashore on a rocky promontory, lacy with rock pools. Spikes of stone pierced his feet and he had to go slowly, picking his way over sharp little shells and ridges. Along the shore to the south-west, he made out the lemon light of fires blazing through windows. The village square beyond was lit by flaming torches and on the breeze came the opening bars of an accordion, the tinkle of laughter. His own path instead lay in darkening shadow.
When he made it to the beach, he stopped to light the torch. He held it high and there, straight ahead, beyond the sand, were the grass-covered boulders that housed the caves.
He came to an opening larger than the rest, and stepped in. The mouth of the cave yawned as wide as the doorway to an abandoned palace. As he passed through, he imagined the bones of dead kings and queens weaving around him. He stood still, the breath frozen in his throa
t.
The limestone walls were a dazzling white, studded with crystals. Light bounced off columns of stone that flowed down from the ceiling like candles upended, dripping wax to the ground. Mist pearled his skin. It was a ghostly place. His breath was white and thick in front of him.
As he crept further into the cave, he saw no end, only a tapering into a tunnel that veered into pitch darkness. He shuddered so hard that Doomsday nearly fell from his perch.
‘When you venture into the black, you don’t come back,’ said Doomsday.
‘Aye,’ said Wicked. ‘Thanks for that. And we can always die tomorrow but for now, help me find somewhere to hang this hammock. I’m not going nowhere till daylight.’
Chapter 25
The tunnel was the only route to the headland above. To enter, Wicked had to stoop. Narrow and dark, the path wound around corners, the ground rising and falling beneath his feet. The morning light made no difference, he realised, when you walked under the earth. He held up his torch to see the way ahead, praying the flame would last the distance. Sometimes he had to squat down and lurch along like a crab. He tried not to think how cramped it was or about the creatures scuttling in the crevices; and always there came the steady drip, drip, from the water gleaming down the walls.
Only once he saw a breakaway road to the right. He stood for a moment, looking this way and that.
‘What do you think?’ he whispered to Doomsday. ‘Which path should we take?’
The bird inched up his shoulder. ‘There are two sides to every question.’
Wicked sucked his cheek. The bird was as helpful as a hat in a hurricane. But he turned and took the road to the right. He’d only gone a few paces when the ground fell into a steep descent. He held the bamboo torch high, a cold sweat breaking out on his forehead. Now, as he stopped to listen, there came a roar of cascading water. When he peered down he saw the dark close over an inky pool, swallowing the way.
He turned back to the original path. ‘See, now I know the way to go.’ The sound of his own voice, loud with relief, gave him courage. ‘You gotta keep your eyes peeled,’ he told the bird, tapping his nose with his finger, ‘as well as trust your instincts.’
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