by Amy McLean
He was quite short, only slightly taller than Grace, and had hair almost as long. His heavy black curls cascaded neatly down the sides of his face, his dark beard thick and tidy. His moustache was slightly curled at the sides, twitching as he snarled, his lip curving up toward his pointed nose. A broad hat rested on top of his mass of curls, its crimson colour complimenting the healthy tints in his cheeks.
His coat was ruffled red velvet, reaching down to his knees and fastened with shiny gold buttons. His cotton breaches were a clean white, tucked inside his smooth and untarnished black boots. The single gold earring in his left ear reflected the weak light.
"Well, well. What do we have here?" he said as he took a step closer to the crew.
He spoke with an affected English accent.
"Who are you?" Donal demanded, his teeth gritted as he brandished his own sword in the direction of the pirate.
"Who am I? Dear boy, surely you must know who I am! I am the great Captain Bellingham!"
Captain Bellingham's bellow was met with silence.
"Sorry, Bellingham," Grace said, stepping to Donal's side at the front of the huddle, "I'm afraid we've never heard of you. Now if you'd be so kind as to get off my ship—"
"Your ship?" Bellingham roared. "How amusing! Surely the most entertaining thing I've heard in a long time."
"Captain Gráinne O'Malley is the finest pirate I've ever known, and you'll be sorry you ever stepped foot on her ship!" Michael shouted, not entirely sure whether or not it was something he would soon regret.
"Is that so?"
Cheers came from the crew standing behind Grace.
"Well then, perhaps you would allow me the opportunity to prove you wrong. Men!" He barked the last word, and on cue a rush of pirates came tumbling over the Devil's Orifice and onto the Pirate Queen. The crew, only slightly smaller in number than Grace's, appeared to be of a lesser wealth than Captain Bellingham, which was made clear by the quality of their attire, but they were still clothed in finer garments than Grace's men. As they assembled they looked like the traditional pirates in the children's stories Grace had become familiar with in her youth. If she started to hear the sound of a ticking clock, she knew they'd all have to flee.
Captain Bellingham lunged at Michael, his sword drawn. Michael and Cearney took up the battle with Bellingham as Grace came face to face with a filthy looking pirate. His eyebrows were dark and bushy, his hair long and ragged. He grinned at Grace, showing off several blackened teeth.
Grace flashed her sword, the metal of the blade clanking against that of her foe. All around the ship the battle was waged. Suddenly, a high-pitched scream sliced through the air. All heads turned toward the upper deck. Grace gasped as her eyes locked upon the rogue who was tugging at Cathleen. She was gripping firmly onto the wooden barrier in front of the wheel, but she could feel her hand slipping. She wasn't going to be able to resist much longer. The sharp point of the pirate's sword edged closer, threatening her throat.
And then her hand slipped.
Before anybody was able to move, the pirate holding onto Cathleen leapt, swinging his arm around her waist at the same time, and jumped from the upper deck directly onto the Devil's Orifice. Had the vessel been another inch away from the other he wouldn't have made the jump, and he and Cathleen would have fallen into the ocean. Instead, they stood alone on the deck of the ship, Cathleen locked in his grip with his sword millimetres away from her throat. The pirate gritted his teeth and forced a breathy laugh as everybody stared at him.
"Walsh!" cried Bellingham. It was clear by the look on his face that this was not what they'd intended. They had wanted gold, jewels maybe. But not this...
His beady eyes locked on Cathleen. He found himself licking his lips as he studied her. Perhaps Walsh had done well after all. Without warning he charged back onto his own ship, hungry for his reward.
His crew followed him back onto the Devil's Orifice. Everyone on Grace's ship was too stunned to move. They had to do something. Cathleen's screams grew louder as the ship was being set for departure.
They couldn't leave without her. But if they all crossed onto the enemy ship it would leave them exposed and vulnerable, and possibly without a vessel if they didn't think of something quickly. They could all be seriously injured, or even killed, and there would be no hope left for Tibbott.
Donal couldn't stand it any longer. He knew he should have waited for his captain's order, but there a pain shot through his heart with every cry that Cathleen uttered. He refused to let them hurt her.
"Go!" Grace shouted to all her men a split second after Donal had moved. They obeyed and leapt across to the other ship, which was met with great uproar as they landed in several huddles. Grace, the last one on the Pirate Queen, inhaled to steady herself as she took a few steps back.
One wrong move and Cathleen could be killed. They were all now in more serious danger than they ever had imagined. Regardless of whether or not instructing everybody to invade the Devil's Orifice was the best response to the situation, Grace knew that it had to be done. She was also aware that the fight about to commence was going to be telling.
She ran toward the edge of the ship and jumped.
19
The battle broke out immediately once they'd landed on the deck of the Devil's Orifice. Lashing out with their weapons against their adversaries, Gráinne and her crew hoped to strike whomever they could, and the only sound to be heard was the metallic colliding of swords.
Donal had charged with such haste and such force that he'd caught Bellingham's leg with his sword, slightly south of where he'd intended to strike him, but the pain was enough to cause Bellingham to fall backward from the wheel. He maintained his grip on Cathleen however, as he clutched tightly onto her arm.
"Leave her alone!" Donal shouted.
"Or you'll do what?" Bellingham mocked.
"Or you'll answer to me!"
"Miss Gráinne!" Cathleen called.
Grace arrived with her sword brandished in one hand, her other hand poised to steady herself. She knew Bellingham was not going to back down. Grace lunged at her foe. Bellingham forgot that he was holding onto Cathleen and brought his own sword forward as they began their volley. Donal wasted no time in pulling his sister away. As Grace and Bellingham began to battle, he moved her to a safer place.
Then he shifted his attention back to what was happening on the deck. Donal knew where he was heading. He had no time to waste.
Thunder rumbled in the distance as he sliced his sword through the rain, aiming for Bellingham's side. But he misjudged the distance, missing Bellingham entirely. However, he did hit Bellingham's sword, the weapon flying out of his hand and across the deck. Without it, he was unarmed and unable to fight.
This was Grace's chance. Her heart raced as she stared into Bellingham's eyes.
"Why don't you just step aside?" Bellingham offered Grace, as if it were kind of him to call an end to the fight. There was an obvious panic in his voice that he was unable to hide.
"Not a chance, Captain." She wasn't prepared to let him go.
"Then perhaps you will at least allow me to get down on my hands and knees to say one last prayer..." He moved slowly toward the deck, his eyes fixed on his sword.
Donal leaned forward and grabbed his collar, pulling him back to his feet as Cathleen grabbed Bellingham's sword and pointed it at him.
Grace knew that this was her chance. The sword felt weightless and natural in her hand. She lunged forward, as if a force previously unknown to her was directing her every movement.
And then she stopped.
Bellingham was panting now, his eyes full of the unknown. With their captain kneeling on the ground, his crew stared in disbelief. Grace held firmly onto her sword, then lowered it and turned away from the fallen pirate. She made her way to the edge, ready to cross back over to the Pirate Queen. "We shall not be defeated!" she shouted, and a cheer was raised by her crew.
Once all were accounted for and back on
board the Pirate Queen, Grace made for the helm. A few of her own men were bleeding, and one had taken a nasty gash to the face, which he was currently trying to clean with rain water. Most important though, was that they were all still able to continue with the journey.
Donal joined her on the bridge as the sound of Cearney's flageolet eased the tension of the bygone battle. The melody this time was not gay but mournful, and there was no chatter or merry singing; everyone was weakened and weary. After a time, Cathleen joined the captain and her brother in the wheelhouse. "Miss Gráinne ," she asked, "why did you spare Captain Bellingham? Certainly, he did not deserve your mercy!" Grace stared out to sea, both hands resting on the wheel. "Courage does not reside in the sword, Cathleen, but in the knowledge of knowing when to use it."
They had triumphed over the Devil's Orifice, but there was a force much more powerful that they still had to reach before they would be able to save Tibbott.
They still had to face Queen Elizabeth.
20
To everybody's relief, the rest of the journey went much more smoothly. The rain continued to splatter down onto the ship but by the time they were approaching their destination the wind had calmed and the sun had eventually started to peek out from between the clouds. The crew took this as a positive omen, but Grace wasn't so sure. She had guided the ship toward the estuary of the River Thames, and now there was no going back. This was it. They had arrived in England.
The river appeared much narrower now than she had remembered. Admiring it from the pier next to the London Eye as she had done many times during the summer months with university friends, it looked vast, enormous. But trying to steer a ship up it and navigating through its twists and turns made it feel uncomfortably small.
As they moved slowly upriver, the crew all turned to gaze around them as they took in the view. None of the younger ones had ever seen London before so the sights were interesting, if not what they had expected. To Grace, however, it was all bizarre.
This was not the London she knew. It wasn't anything like the London in which she had spent the last nine years of her life.
"It's so big!" exclaimed Cathleen, who had taken to standing by Grace's side at the wheel. "Look at all the buildings!"
Grace didn't respond. She couldn't. The frequent complaints about living conditions back home in the twenty-first century were often justifiable, Grace had often thought, but looking around her now, she realised things could be much worse.
She hadn't really thought about what London would look like four hundred years in the past. She had been so focused on her pending encounter with Queen Elizabeth I that her mind was filled with all sorts of imaginary conversations. Now that her attention was on her surroundings, however, she fought with her emotions as she struggled to comprehend the fact that she was so much closer to her current home than she had been in a long time, and yet she couldn't be any further away.
As they continued along, the soot that filled the air around them was undeniable. The buildings were much smaller than Grace would have expected, most of them crumbling or falling apart, their window panes hanging loose, their doors cracked and broken. The further they moved up the river, more and more people seemed to line the streets; even from a distance Grace could tell that it was unlikely that any of them had much money. Their clothes were frayed, filthy and worn.
She tried to divert her attention as they approached their final destination. She wished she had been more prepared for the arrival, but she hadn't been able to concentrate on anything other than what it was she was going to say to the Queen.
She'd taken advantage of the calmer weather conditions once they were making their way to Land's End to work out what she was going to say. She wasn't sure if any of it would work, and she couldn't be certain she'd even be able to remember anything once she was standing in front of the Queen. She had to keep reminding herself that there wasn't any guarantee that she would see the Queen. There had been no way of knowing whether or not the letter had been received.
"If only I could have sent an email," Grace mumbled to herself.
"What did you say, Miss Gráinne?"
"Nothing, Cathleen. I was just going over my plea."
The ship passed a large building that stood with much more grandeur than the others. Grace was too busy looking directly ahead to notice it, having forced herself to stay focused on guiding them safely along the final stretch of the journey. For this reason she did not see the woman staring down at them from a window high up in the building.
Elizabeth grinned as she watched the Pirate Queen sail past her. Soon she would be able to complete the set—mother and son—and at last she could quell this threat to her empire. The orders had been sent out already. Now it was only a matter of awaiting the arrival of this female pirate at her palace. She smirked, pleased that everything was working according to plan, and stepped away from the window as the ship moved out of sight.
"You're going to be fantastic, Miss Gráinne. And you're so brave!" Cathleen declared.
Grace didn't respond as she steered the ship toward the wharf near London Bridge. The bridge looked nothing like it did in Grace's time, built from stone instead of the concrete and steel she was accustomed to seeing.
The ship finally docked as the crew stared out at the land, awaiting their orders. Donal climbed the ladder to the upper deck and put an arm around Grace. "We've made it, Gráinne. I knew you could do it!"
And Donal was right. The year was 1593, and the Pirate Queen had arrived in London.
They walked up the uneven road toward Thames Street, with Cathleen a step behind Donal and Grace as she eagerly took in her surroundings. Grace had ordered the crew to stay on the ship, preferably in their cabins out of sight, so it was just the three of them dealing with the situation at hand.
"But what if we become bored?" Michael had protested.
"Well, I can see there's plenty of ale around," Grace responded, gesturing toward the back of the cabin.
"Now that's more like it!" cheered Breandan.
"And I know some of you are brilliant at storytelling. I expect you'll be able to have quite a fine time while we're away."
"But—"
"Michael, I am sure you will understand that it is much safer for you to stay here. You must remember that there is no guarantee that the Queen will have even received our letter. Whether or not she is willing to accept my request is not yet something we are able to know. It would cause great alarm if we all took off and marched through the streets of London. I'm sure that that would not go down well."
"Right you are, Captain," Michael finally admitted.
"And if anything should happen to us while we are away—"
"You mustn't speak like that!" A few of the men mumbled something about how they were going to be just fine and assured them that they didn't need to worry. Grace hoped that they were right, and could tell by the pained look on Cathleen's face that she'd frightened the girl, but it was something that had to be said. Precautions needed to be taken, just in case.
"If anything should happen to us, then I'd like you, Michael, to take charge and captain the ship back to Clare Island."
"Yes, Captain." He stood up and saluted her, before sitting back down. "It would be an honour."
"Right then, gentlemen," she continued, "let us be off. When we return, we will have Tibbott with us!"
They left the cabin to the sound of cheers, knowing too well that it was the last positive thing they were likely to hear for a while. Grace tried not to concentrate on the fact that it might be the last positive thing she'd ever hear.
"Is anybody else hungry?" asked Cathleen as they continued up the road.
"I'm sure there will be time for us to eat something soon, Cathleen." Donal realised that perhaps Cathleen, whose mind seemed to easily wander, hadn't quite realised the severity of the situation into which they were about to enter. But how could she? He had to remind himself that she'd never been away from the Clare Island before.
>
Grace didn't respond to either of them. The mention of food had started to make her feel queasy, the atmosphere around her turning her stomach.
It would have been normal to see ships docked next to the bridge, Grace realised, and it was likely that most arrivals came with some sort of wealth. It made sense that beggars occupied these streets. Up close she could see that their faces were lined with dirt, the germs spread thick across their faces and hands and feet—feet, she noticed, which were often bare or poorly supported.
A woman was sitting in a doorway, her brown hair loose and scruffy around her face, with an old blanket wrapped round her shoulders. She hugged a grubby bundle. The soft cries of a starving baby could be heard drifting out of the old cloth. A man reached out his hand as he pleaded to the three new arrivals for some food. Grace shook her head at him. It broke her heart, but there was nothing she could do. She'd seen homeless people many times before in her own century, but these conditions she found hard to fathom.
Donal drew her closer to him to move her out of the way of the beggars. "I don't understand why it's so disgraceful here. They're taking everything from us, Gráinne, but it doesn't seem to be doing anything positive for anybody."
Grace couldn't help feeling guilty as she took a step further from them. She was about to utter an apology to the man whose begging she'd had to reject when they heard a voice from the top of the road.
"You three! Come here!"
The man had been watching them, standing up ahead at the point where the short road met what Grace would have referred to as Tooley Street. He made no signal to them but continued to stare as they approached.
Grace assessed his appearance as they drew nearer. He was tall and thin, and well dressed in a rich burgundy cloak. His face looked wooden, his nose narrow and long and pointed.
