The Voyage to Magical North

by Claire Fayers

  Brine suppressed another shiver. Marfak West was playing with them. Anyone with any sense—which excluded most of the people sitting around her—could see it. If he wanted to sail off after Magical North, there were plenty of ships that would be far easier for him to take control of. He was up to something, but what?

  Marfak West knows who you are, a voice said in her mind. Brine tried to ignore it.

  Cassie traced a finger across the top of the map. “Once a year on Orion’s Day,” she said. “That’s less than two months away.”

  “If you’re saying you can’t do it…,” taunted Marfak West.

  Everyone swiveled in Cassie’s direction. She sat, head bowed, lost in thought over Boswell’s map. When she looked up, she was smiling—a bright sword blade of a smile. The same smile Brine had seen when Cassie decided to take them to Morning. It was a smile that said she’d made up her mind and no one was going to change it. Putting the map aside, she got up and crossed the deck to Brine and Peter.

  Brine held her breath. Here it came—the harsh telling-off for hiding the fact that Peter was a magician. Brine didn’t know what the punishment would be, but she guessed it would involve a lot of deck-scrubbing.

  But Cassie just stood for a moment, saying nothing, then she dropped the starshell chain into Peter’s hands.

  “As of now,” she said, “you’re the ship’s magician.”

  Brine’s mouth fell open. Those three pieces of shell were worth more than the Onion, and Cassie had handed them over as if they were nothing.

  Peter nodded as if he’d been expecting this. He didn’t look entirely happy as he folded the chain around the starshell pieces. Something inside Brine sank a little bit, too. If Peter was the ship’s magician, where did that leave her?

  Cassie turned away from them. “As for him,” she said, pointing at Marfak West, “untie him. Then lock him in the brig.”

  CHAPTER 10

  BARBECUED OCTOPUS

  Collect up as many giant octopus tentacles as you can find—one per person is usually enough. Rub them well with salt and pepper and leave them to dry in the sun for an hour. Rinse thoroughly. Barbecue over a hot fire until black on the outside and just done and still pink inside.

  (From COOKING UP A STORME—THE RECIPES OF A GOURMET PIRATE)

  Night fell. The Onion sailed on at a steady pace. Not toward anywhere in particular yet, but away. Away from Morning and Baron Kaitos, and if that direction happened to take them a little bit north, everyone agreed it was entirely coincidence.

  Brine lay in her hammock, wondering how anybody could sleep. Everything felt far too normal, and it was completely wrong. They had Marfak West in the brig. Marfak West. Thief and murderer and magician, Cassie’s deadliest enemy, and he was chained up in the lower hold. Just a few layers of wood between Brine and him. Marfak West, who seemed to know where she’d come from. Yet here she lay, listening to people snore as if none of the past day had even happened.

  Peter’s voice drifted out of the darkness just above her. “Brine, are you awake?”

  She shook her head. “I’m not talking to you.”

  “That’s a surprise. What have I done this time?”

  Brine didn’t answer. It would sound too petty to admit she was annoyed because he was the ship’s magician and she was still the ship’s nothing. She’d been nothing all her life. Wasn’t it time she got a turn at being somebody?

  Peter’s hammock wobbled as he rolled over to look down at her. “Brine, come on, you’ve got to help me. You heard what they all said about magicians before, and now everyone’s expecting me to do magic. I can’t. Not the sort Cassie will be wanting.”

  “You don’t even know what sort that is,” said Brine, but she, too, had the feeling that Cassie wouldn’t be content with Peter pushing and pulling things. She sat up. “I don’t see what I can do about it. No one listens to me.”

  “They should. You’re the one who’s always coming up with plans.”

  “Am I?” She forgot she was supposed to be annoyed for a moment. She slid out of the hammock. Her head was thumping. “I can’t sleep. I’m going for a walk.”

  “Don’t go too far. You’ll fall in the sea.”

  “Very funny.”

  Brine climbed the ladder to the deck. The night sky loomed over her, deep blue and huge with stars. Wood, wind, and sail hummed together. She turned her face northward, easily picking out the bright light of Orion amid the constellations. What if Marfak West was right and she could stand at Magical North and see the whole world? It wouldn’t matter what he knew about her then; she could find out for herself. She imagined the whole world spread like a map before her, with her home clearly marked. Wouldn’t that be worth the journey?

  Turning, she saw Cassie standing at the helm. She was back in her old clothes, and with her hair cloaking her face, she almost merged into the night. Even the emerald around her neck looked more gray than green in the moonlight.

  For half a minute, the two of them watched each other across the deck, neither saying a word. Cassie had saved Brine’s life twice and tried to sell her once—and Brine had no idea what the pirate was going to do next.

  Cassie lifted a hand in greeting. Brine hesitated, then walked over to join her.

  “Look,” said Cassie, pointing. “The constellation of Orion. The first set of stars to be born, they say, though I don’t know how they can tell. You see the three stars that make up the ship’s mast? Did you know the top one is also called the Onion? It’s not a single star at all, some people say, but hundreds of them, layer after layer, all nestling one within another.”

  Brine said nothing. Cassie pointed again. “If you look to the left a bit, you can see my constellation. Cassiopeia—the keeper of secrets.”

  There were so many stars Brine wasn’t sure which ones Cassie meant, but she nodded anyway.

  “Did your father really lose you in a game of cards?” she asked. She thought about all the stories she’d heard about Cassie. They couldn’t all be true—there were too many of them.

  “It wasn’t cards.” Cassie’s hand dropped down to the emerald around her neck. “It wasn’t my father, either. My brother challenged a man twice his size to a duel. He lost, unsurprisingly, and he offered me to the man in exchange for his life. I wasn’t supposed to have any choice in the matter. That’s the kind of island I lived on.” Her gaze drifted back to the stars. “I pretended to go along with it and then, on the evening of the wedding when everyone was drinking, I picked up everything I could carry, stole a boat, and rowed away. There were no fights with giant octopuses, no mutant sea monsters—well, not many. All the rest is exaggeration.”

  Brine shook her head. “No it’s not. All the rest is story.”

  Their gazes met, and for a moment, they both smiled.

  Cassie O’Pia, the keeper of secrets. It suited her, Brine thought. Stories were just secrets in reverse, really. You hid something important inside a load of words where no one could ever find it. She wondered whether the story Cassie had just told her was any more true than all the other ones. It didn’t seem to matter. The story wasn’t even about Cassie O’Pia; it was about every boy or girl who’d ever wanted to run away from home and look for adventure. People needed stories, and stories needed people like Cassie. What was it Aldebran Boswell called it? Symbiosis. Two things making each other stronger.

  Brine looked down and concentrated on drawing a pattern with her finger on the deck rail. “I have no idea where I come from,” she said. “I was found at sea with a piece of starshell around my neck, and I’ve never been able to remember how I got there. I became a magician’s servant, but I’m allergic to magic—the stuff makes me sneeze. When I tried to change things, Peter and I ended up stranded. If you hadn’t come along, we might have died. Even when I thought I’d met a descendant of Boswell, he turned out to be Marfak West. I’m unlucky: That’s all I am. If I stay on board the Onion, I’ll probably end up sinking her.”

  She paused, waiting for
Cassie to laugh. Either that or believe her and throw her overboard.

  Cassie did neither. “Luck’s a funny thing,” she agreed seriously. “It changes more often than the sea and never does what you expect. Take the Onion’s last captain. He survived a fight with a mutant octopus only to die of food poisoning after eating barbecued tentacle. What sort of luck is that?”

  Brine rested her chin on her hand.

  “I wouldn’t worry about it too much,” said Cassie. “Let the future take care of itself. Anything may happen yet.”

  It dawned on Brine then, quick as the blink of a star, why Cassie was out here on her own. “You don’t know what to do,” she said.

  Cassie laughed. “Brine, I never know what to do. That’s what floating about on an ocean does to you—you can’t plan ahead. The weather changes, and your carefully timetabled fortnight of marauding is put on hold while you make emergency repairs.” Her voice fell away, and a small frown creased the skin between her eyes. “I’ve got my worst enemy locked in the hold. If our positions were reversed, Marfak West would have killed me without a thought, and I wouldn’t have blamed him. We sank his ship. The Antares was the only thing he loved in the world. He won’t rest until the Onion is at the bottom of the ocean.” Her frown deepened.

  “But despite all that, you think he’s telling the truth,” said Brine.

  Cassie turned her emerald round and round on its chain. “Actually, I know he’s telling the truth. That’s what makes it so complicated. When I thought he was just some scientist’s great-grandson, I didn’t believe a word of it. But Marfak West doesn’t lie—not about the things that matter—and he doesn’t make mistakes, either. If he says Magical North exists and only he knows where it is, then I believe him. I don’t trust him, of course. He’s not telling us everything, and he’ll turn on us the first chance he gets.” She paused and smiled. “But imagine the stories if we succeed.”

  Brine looked up at the stars. The topmost star of Orion shone with a steady white light. Today was the eighteenth day of the month of Tench. Orion’s Day was only six weeks away, when the sun would set over Magical North and their chance would be gone for a whole year.

  Cassie’s grin flashed in the darkness. “Not many people get to have stories like ours, Brine. We’re lucky. Very lucky indeed.” She yawned loudly. “Now, get some sleep. We’ve got a long voyage ahead.”

  Brine felt herself smiling back. She liked the way Cassie said we, the unspoken assumption that Brine was part of the crew now. There weren’t many people in the world who could kidnap you, try to sell you, then carry on as if nothing had happened—more than that, to sweep you along with them so you were almost glad everything had happened that way.

  “One other thing,” said Cassie as Brine turned to go back across the deck. “I need you to do something for me.”

  Brine nodded eagerly. This was it: her chance to be useful after all.

  “Keep an eye on Peter,” said Cassie. “We’re going to need him, and I don’t want anything happening to him.”

  It felt to Brine as if the deck had just dropped from underneath her. Of course, it was bound to be Peter who really mattered, not her. He was the one with all the talent. All she had was her stupid allergy to magic.

  Cassie either didn’t notice her change of expression or didn’t care. She gave Brine a clap on the shoulder and pushed her in the direction of the hatch.

  Brine waited awhile longer, then went back to bed. Peter was asleep, which was annoying because she’d have enjoyed ignoring him if he were awake. She squirmed into the hammock under his and lay there. She wasn’t going to worry about it. Magic was boring, anyway, and Peter could look after himself. No way was she going to keep an eye on him.

  The Onion sailed on, watched by a million, million uncaring stars.

  * * *

  Dawn flooded the sky in a turmoil of pink and blue. Far away, other sails skimmed the horizon while, closer, dolphins played around the ship, their slender bodies glistening like silver. The crew crowded together on deck to eat breakfast, talking quietly. Ewan Hughes never quite let go of his sword, Brine noticed, and several of the others kept staring at the deck as if they could see through the planks to their unwelcome guest in the brig below.

  Trudi sucked the last piece of shrimp from a skewer. “What do you want to see when we get to Magical North?” she asked. “What does it mean, anyway, seeing the whole world? Is it like a map? Do we get to fly over the world and see everything, or what?”

  She looked at Peter as if she expected him to know the answer.

  “It’s no use asking him,” said Brine. “He’s only an apprentice magician, really. He doesn’t know a lot.”

  Peter’s cheeks reddened angrily, but Trudi’s thoughts had already moved on, and she didn’t notice. Her face took on a dreamy, faraway look. “I wouldn’t mind seeing my ex-husbands again. They’ve probably all married other people by now, but you never know.”

  “Ex-husbands?” asked Brine. “How many have you got?”

  Trudi blushed. “Three or four. They only loved me for my cooking.”

  “When I get to Magical North,” said Bill Lightning, “I’m going to look for my kids. The youngest one will be twelve by now.”

  Tim Burre sighed. “I knew a girl once, back in the west. I always wondered what became of her.”

  Ewan laughed. “And while you all are standing around looking at the world, I’m going to be picking up gold. Even if I have to fill my boots to the brim and walk back barefoot.” He turned as Cassie came out on deck. “What about you, Captain? What do you want to see when we stand on Magical North?”

  Cassie smiled, but something in her eyes looked strained. “I haven’t said we’re going there yet.”

  “The Onion’s been sailing north since yesterday,” said Ewan. “Northish, anyway. And I can’t help noticing that a certain magician is still alive in the brig. If we’re bound for Magical North, you might as well tell us.”

  Cassie looked down at the deck. Her expression changed: a sudden release of frown lines as if she’d just gotten rid of something that had been troubling her. She clapped her hands. “Gather round, everyone. We are going to make a plan.”

  Ewan blinked. “A plan? Since when do we have plans?”

  “Since we needed them,” said Cassie crisply. “Marfak West will turn on us, but we beat him once before, and we can do it again. As long as we keep his starshell out of his hands, he can’t use magic, and that makes him almost helpless. That’s the first part of the plan.” She paused, as if waiting for someone to disagree. No one did. “Right,” she continued, “our trading in Morning didn’t go quite as well as we’d hoped.”

  “You’re telling me,” muttered Ewan.

  Cassie ignored him. “So,” she continued, “we still need supplies. We’ll stop off at a few islands and see what we can do. And then I want to know exactly what we’re getting into, and there’s only one place, short of the inside of Marfak West’s head, where we might be able to find out.”

  The crew groaned. Zen let out a little mew.

  “Barnard’s Reach,” said Ewan. “I knew it.”

  CHAPTER 11

  They say there are three kinds of people in the world: those who listen to stories, those who tell them, and those who make them. Barnard’s Reach is home to a fourth kind: those who keep them. The library island is little more than a jut of land at the southern mouth of the Gemini Seas. It is accessed only by appointment, and never at all if you are a man—the libraries are for women only. There, the Book Sisters collect and record everything that happens in the world. Nobody knows what drives them to spend their lives in the company of books, but when a story begins with “they say,” you can bet your boots “they” came from Barnard’s Reach.

  (From ALDEBRAN BOSWELL’S BOOK OF THE WORLD)

  For the next week, the Onion zigzagged her way north between islands. At each one it was the same: They stopped, Cassie did a lot of talking, and they sailed on, taking with the
m an extra barrel or crate of dried goods while the islanders scratched their heads and wondered why they’d just traded a whole load of valuable supplies for a bucket of slightly old chopped octopus.

  Gradually, the days grew longer and colder. Peter was used to Minutes, where the seasons followed the same pattern every year and you always knew what time of day it was by the position of the sun in the sky. Everything changed so much faster at sea that he wasn’t even sure what the time was anymore, never mind the date. He knew he ought to be practicing magic, but everywhere he went on board, at least two members of the crew seemed to end up watching him, sometimes with grinning anticipation as if they expected him to do something spectacular any minute, but more often with stares as sharp as a cutlass point. Not so long ago, Peter had believed that getting a spell wrong in front of an audience was the worst thing that could possibly happen. Now he’d found something worse: getting it right and being stabbed by superstitious pirates.

  The three pieces of starshell caused their own problems. They were too big to carry around all the time. Marfak West may have done it, but he must have had pockets lined with gold or something. Peter was afraid of breaking them if he kept them in his pocket, but he had nowhere safe to leave them. He’d tried taking them off their chain, and just carrying one piece, but that still meant he had to find somewhere for the other two. In the end, he kept all three wrapped in a bundle of rags hung up by his hammock, and he checked on them several times a day to make sure they weren’t eating their way through the cloth. It wasn’t ideal, but it was the best he could do.

  Meanwhile, to his annoyance, Brine was looking more and more like a member of the crew. Coming back on deck one day after checking on the starshell, Peter saw her halfway up the rigging. She was wearing borrowed trousers, the legs rolled up to fit her, and her wiry hair was tucked inside a yellow cap.