“That’s what they want you to think,” he whispered. “Do you want to learn knots or not?”
It was a silly hope that Tim would be able to tell her anything about her home. Brine made a deliberate mess of a knot and tried to appear young, incompetent, and eager to learn. “You’ll have visited Morning a lot, then, I guess.”
Tim’s fingers fumbled on the rope. “You don’t want to hear about Morning. It’s the world’s most boring island. Do you know the story of how the Onion fought the Dreaded Great Sea Beast of the South?”
“Yes,” said Brine.
Tim sat back. “It started like this.…”
* * *
“Can I help with anything?” asked Peter.
The blond man on the rigging leaned down to shake hands. “Come on up if you like. My name’s Bill Lightning.”
Peter grinned. “What, because you never strike the same place twice?”
Bill gave him an odd look. “No, because it’s short for William.”
The whole crew was mad. Peter shook his head. “You’re making these names up.”
“Someone has to,” said Bill. “Why not us? Some people want a new start when they come on board, and a new name helps. Like you’re becoming a different person.”
Peter had never considered being anyone but himself. He hadn’t exactly enjoyed being Tallis Magus’s apprentice, but magic was all he knew—and it was important. He’d been doing something that most people found impossible. The idea that he could just forget all that and do something different was strange and a bit scary. He climbed up to join Bill on the rigging. “How long until we reach Morning?”
Bill shrugged. “We’ll be there soon enough. Do you want to hear how I fought ten wild bears armed with nothing but a lobster claw and a dishcloth?”
Peter didn’t, but he had a feeling Bill was going to tell him anyway.
He was right.
* * *
“Hello,” said Brine, approaching a group of pirates who were playing a game involving dice and a set of colored sticks.
“It’s no use asking us about Morning,” one of them said. “We’re not allowed to tell you anything.”
Brine tried to look as if she didn’t know what they were talking about, and kept walking.
* * *
Days passed. Peter couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so tired. Anytime he paused, someone would give him a job to do, generally involving scrubbing some part of the ship. The Onion had three levels—or layers, as the crew called them—all connected with a single ladder that ran top to bottom. First, the main deck; then the mid-deck, which held the galley, a work room, Cassie’s cabin, and the sleeping quarters; and finally the bottom deck, which was used for storage and was mostly empty save for the ominous shape of the brig. Trudi assured Peter it had been ages since anyone had occupied the iron cage, but he still kept well away from it.
Between jobs, he talked to the crew. There were around fifty people on board, and they were all very quick to launch into stories of past adventures, and even quicker to change the subject when he asked about Morning.
After four days, he and Brine between them had learned:
1. Cassie O’Pia was the greatest hero who’d ever lived.
2. Cassie O’Pia had run away from home at age fourteen, after her father had lost her in a game of cards. She’d swum for forty days until she found the Onion and emerged dripping with seawater and diamonds.
3. Cassie O’Pia was the daughter of the dreaded pirate captain Rasalhague the Second. She’d run away from him at age sixteen and swum for sixty days until she found the Onion and emerged dripping with seawater and gold coins.
4. Cassie O’Pia grew up in the magical south where people have fishes’ tails and live underwater. She’d seen the Onion sailing by and followed it. She’d swum for a hundred days until she emerged from the water dripping with seaweed and emeralds.
What they hadn’t learned was:
1. Anything about Morning.
That evening, they sat on deck beneath the stars and ate something that Trudi said was barbecued crab claws stuffed with peas and semolina.
“What’s Morning like?” asked Peter.
Most of the pirates avoided his gaze. Trudi tried to hide behind a plate. Rob sucked noisily on a crab claw.
“It’s fine,” Ewan Hughes mumbled. “Big. You’ll like it.”
“If they let us land,” Trudi added.
A shadow fell across her. “Whatever this lot are telling you,” Cassie said, “it’s not true.” She eased herself down into the middle of them. “We are going to Morning because they buy and sell anything. Which means we can restock and you two can get home. Is everybody all right with that?” She looked around the crew. Trudi reddened and stared at the deck, and Ewan Hughes scowled, but nobody said a word.
“Good,” said Cassie. “Now, why don’t we tell our guests how the Onion defeated the evilest magician the world has ever known? Marfak West.”
Peter shivered despite himself. Marfak West: the name of nightmares. According to the stories, he stood as tall as a mast and was as thin as a shovel, and his soul was as twisted and sour as an eel in vinegar. While everyone knew he had died at the hands of Cassie O’Pia, everyone secretly believed he had survived, and even thinking his name too loudly would bring his ghost rising from the sea, seeking vengeance.
The pirates all sighed happily. “There has never been another fight like it,” said Ewan. “The Antares—that’s Marfak West’s ship—and the Onion were evenly matched. Marfak West had his magic, but we had Cassie. We fought all day, and then as day gave way to night…”
“The Antares fell apart,” said Bill. “Just like that. It was as if the magic had been the only thing holding her together, and when the magic ran out, everything stopped working.”
“It didn’t hurt that we rammed her head-on, either,” added Rob Grosse with a grin. “Good riddance. I hate magicians. They give me the creeps.”
There was a general chorus of agreement and several suggestions as to what to do if you met a magician. Most of the suggestions involved cutlasses.
Peter shifted uncomfortably. “What happened to Marfak West? Was he really eaten by giant crabs like the stories say?”
Ewan Hughes shook his head. “If there’d been any giant crabs around, Trudi would have cooked them. No, we watched the Antares sink and picked up the survivors. Marfak West wasn’t among them. Either the sharks got him, or…” He cast a glance at the sea. Shadows crept closer, long and jagged. “No, definitely the sharks,” said Ewan after a while. “The sharks got him.”
* * *
Peter slept badly that night, his dreams alternating between lessons with Tallis Magus and visions of Marfak West chasing him with one of Trudi’s kebab skewers.
“Always remember,” said the dream Magus, “magic corrupts. Never hold starshell for long. Magic does not want to be held—it needs to be used.”
“Then why is it held in starshell?”
“Insolent boy! How dare you question your master?” Magus turned into a giant squid and began slapping Peter with tentacles.
Peter woke with a yell. Ewan Hughes was shaking him. In the hammock below him, Brine sat up, groaning.
“Morning, both,” said Ewan. “Which, coincidentally, is both the time and our location. We’re here.”
* * *
Scrambling up the wooden ladder and onto the deck, Peter forgot the aches in his back and the fact that he hadn’t washed in over a week. He’d known Morning was big, but he hadn’t realized quite how big. Golden sand swept in an impossibly long curve. Behind that, trees bristled, and beyond the trees, the yellow walls of tower after tower rose into the sky.
Peter put his hand down to his pocket without thinking and only just stopped himself from taking the starshell out. Calm down, he told himself. Not long now, and they’d be free on Morning. He could do whatever he wanted then. He slid his fingers into his pocket and bit back a gasp. Just for a second, he thought
he’d felt the tingle of magic on his fingertips. He had to try again to be sure—yes, it was faint, but it was there. Carefully, he removed his hand from his pocket. The tightness in his chest eased a little.
“Impressed?” asked Cassie, coming up behind him.
Peter turned around and lost his voice completely.
The pirate captain was glowing, and not just because of the wind on her cheeks. In place of her shapeless gray clothes, she wore tight black trousers, long boots, and a shirt that sagged under several pounds of red lace. A belt around her hips held a cutlass, two daggers, and a silver buckle in the shape of the Onion. The emerald crescent sparkled at her neck like a slice of frozen sea.
“Uhn…,” said Peter, fighting to dislodge his voice from his throat.
Cassie grinned at him. “Are you ready?”
Two rowing boats bobbed in the sea, waiting. Peter climbed down into one and squeezed onto the seat next to Brine. The starshell pieces dug into his leg, reminding him of their presence. Was knowledge money or was it power? Peter wondered. He’d forgotten. In any case, he was keeping this piece of knowledge to himself.
The boat rushed into land.
Straightaway, the shore rang with Cassie’s name, and a surge of people almost knocked Peter back into the sea. A lone man sat on a rock, writing furiously. A seagull waited beside him.
“That’s a news-scribe,” Brine whispered excitedly. “See his messenger gull? What do you think he’s writing?”
Peter turned to look. He’d never seen a real-life news-scribe before—the men and women who wrote down everything that happened on an island and sent their reports by seagull to the library island of Barnard’s Reach. Peter didn’t care what the scribe was writing. The important thing was that if he and Brine wanted to know anything about Morning, the scribe would be able to tell them. Peter started across the sand.
A hand came down on his shoulder, stopping him. “Where do you think you’re going?” asked Ewan Hughes.
“Nowhere. I was just—” Peter stopped. Everyone did. The crowd shuffled back, leaving the pirates in an expanding semicircle of empty sand.
Twenty men in identical black uniforms came marching across the beach. At their head strode a man who, for some reason, thought that leather armor and a heavy black cloak were appropriate clothing for the hot weather. As a result, his round face was pink and shiny with sweat, and he had a glassy-eyed look that made Peter think of Penn Turbill. Peter felt his mouth twitch and hurriedly looked down. Something told him that smiling would be a very bad thing to do.
“Baron Kaitos!” Cassie cried, dropping into a curtsy that threatened to split her trousers. “I never thought you’d still be here!”
A scowl darkened the baron’s face. “So I see.” He spoke the way you’d imagine a lizard might: dry lips and flicking tongue, and he matched it with a heavy-lidded gaze that seemed halfasleep, though he never quite blinked. “Didn’t you promise never to set foot on Morning again?”
“And didn’t you promise to slaughter me on sight if ever I came back? So we’re both promise breakers.”
“Not yet,” said Kaitos. He dropped a hand to his sword.
Peter tensed, ready to run, but Cassie spread her arms wide. “We’re here to trade, not to fight.” She grabbed Brine’s arm with one hand and Peter’s with the other. “As a starting point, to make up for any damage caused on our last visit, I’m pleased to offer you this pair of fine young servants free of charge. What do you say?”
CHAPTER 6
The world, as everyone knows, is made up of eight oceans. The Columba, the Agena, the Andromeda, the Dragon’s Head, the Gemini (which is actually a pair of identical seas), the Perilous, the Atlas, and the Western Ocean, of which little is known. The Columba is the most populated, with many large islands, including Morning. The twin Gemini Seas in the north are the greatest source of starshell. Beyond the Gemini Seas, there is nothing, only a barren plain of ice where monsters roam. Or so everyone believes.
(From ALDEBRAN BOSWELL’S BOOK OF THE WORLD)
Brine felt like a sword had gone through her. Cassie couldn’t be serious—but one look at Cassie told Brine that she was. This was exactly the reason people were afraid of pirates. From the moment Brine and Peter had set eyes on the Onion, it was inevitable that they’d end up at the bottom of the sea or as prisoners somewhere. They should have known.
“This isn’t fair,” said Brine. Her voice shook. “You said you’d let us go.”
Cassie kept her grip on Brine’s arm tight. “I might have lied a little. Sorry.” She didn’t sound sorry at all. “Baron, do we have a deal?”
Kaitos wiped a trickle of sweat from the side of his face. “You have a stay of execution, that is all. Come with me.” He swung round and strode away. Cassie eyed the waiting guards, then nodded to the rest of the crew, let go of Peter and Brine, and followed the baron across the sand.
No chance to run. Ewan Hughes nudged Brine and Peter along together. “Looks like none of us are going anywhere soon,” Ewan murmured in Brine’s ear. “Best do as he says.”
Something in his voice suggested he wasn’t entirely happy with the situation. Brine looked back and opened her mouth to speak, but Ewan shook his head and hurried her on, frowning.
After a few minutes, the sand leveled out into a path between trees. Brine shrugged her shoulders, trying to unstick her shirt from her back. Her mind tumbled with thoughts. She wondered if the baron had a library, because if he did, it might not be too bad living here. She wondered about running, but Ewan Hughes was right behind her and guards had moved in to march on either side. Most of all she wondered if she could get away with murdering Cassie.
The baron’s tower came into view above the treetops.
“Is it just me,” asked Peter, staring up at it, “or is that tower leaning?”
Kaitos stopped dead. The guards all put their hands on their swords.
“You’ve added another story since last time, haven’t you?” Cassie called cheerfully.
A faint look of pride passed over the baron’s features. “I might have made a modification or two. It’s all very well having a thousand servants, but they have to live somewhere.”
“Whatever you do, don’t say the L word again,” whispered Ewan as they walked on. “Yes, the tower leans—the baron built it too high—but you mustn’t talk about it. He beheaded the last person who pointed it out.”
Ewan could have told them that sooner, Brine thought, before Peter had opened his big mouth. She watched Baron Kaitos uneasily. Ewan was probably joking, but she couldn’t be sure, and she didn’t want to take the chance that he wasn’t.
Finally, the trees opened onto a grassy slope that ran down to the tower. A set of high gates led into a shaded courtyard. A servant ran up with a tray of drinks as they entered. The baron took one and drained it in a single long gulp. Brine watched jealously, her own mouth full of grit.
“This way,” ordered Kaitos, leading them into the tower. He ushered them into a room that was perfectly square and big enough for all of them to sit down and still be surrounded by guards. The only furniture was a table in the center.
The sudden relief from the sun made Brine dizzy. She sat on the floor.
Cassie walked to the table and leaned against it. “Well,” she said, “we’re here. What now?”
The baron’s mouth twitched, as if he was trying to smile without letting the rest of his face know about it. “Wait and see.”
He gave a mocking little bow, turned on his heel, and went out. The door swung shut behind him, trapping the edge of his cloak. The flap of black cloth wriggled, then disappeared with a force that Brine was sure must have torn it.
“Well,” said Cassie, “that could have been worse.”
Brine glared at her. She wanted a wash and a drink, and she wasn’t sure she was going to get either ever again. “You tricked us,” she said. “You said we could buy passage home from here.”
“You probably can,” agreed Cass
ie. She picked at the edge of the table. “Look, you’re nice kids, but the Onion is not a place for children. This way, we all win. I get back on the baron’s good side, and you two get to live here on a nice big island. The baron’s not a bad man underneath all the bluster. Work hard and stay out of trouble, and you’ll be fine.”
“What definition of fine are you using, exactly?” snapped Brine.
Cassie looked straight at her. “The one that means you’re still alive when you could be dead and drowned.”
Brine started up. Peter grabbed her wrist. “Brine, leave it.”
“Leave it?” She should have known Peter would give in without so much as a whimper. The pirates shuffled their feet and avoided her gaze. Trudi turned crimson.
Ewan Hughes cleared his throat. “Cassie’s right, Brine. You’re far better off here than with us. You’ve only seen what it’s like on the Onion when the wind is good and there’s plenty of food and little work to do. You wait until we sail into a storm or we’re becalmed for a week with nothing to eat. You’d soon change your mind. Stay here, and you’ll have a home.”
“A home?” Brine shoved Peter away from her. “Some home, stuck here with Seaweed-Brain.”
“You think I want to be stuck here with you?” Peter shot back.
“Kids—” murmured Cassie.
“Shut up,” they both shouted.
They broke off as the door opened and Baron Kaitos strode back in. Everybody stood up. The baron had taken off his cloak, but his face still glistened with sweat, though it was far cooler in here than outside. A muscle in his cheek jumped as if he was nervous. Brine stared so hard at him that she almost missed seeing the man who followed him.
He wasn’t hard to miss. He was not much taller and not much shorter than anyone else, his hair was the color of ordinary sand, his face was so utterly forgettable it was almost remarkable. Only his eyes held Brine’s attention, and it took a moment for her to work out why. They were an entirely unexceptional shade of mid-brown and rimmed with nothing. The man had no eyelashes.
The baron cleared his throat, and Brine’s gaze jumped back to him. “Allow me to introduce Bartimius Boswell,” he said. “Great-grandson of the scientist and explorer Aldebran Boswell.”
The Voyage to Magical North Page 4
