by Chris Mould
In the distance, the ships of the Black Swarm veered to the north side of the island. Somehow they could sense the Ibis, resting in the ballast of the Rusty Blade.
The deadliest villains of the pirate world were about to collide.
“Are you all right, Daisy?” asked Stanley.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” she replied. “Just fine. But tell me something. Did that go according to plan, or do I just not understand what’s going on?”
“Don’t worry. Like I said, it will work. The Ibis is on board the ship, and though she draws the pirates near, she is protected.”
“By what?”
“Well, by the illness. Those villains are suffering, Daisy. They smelled awful, and they are on the brink of death. The power of the Ibis will speed up the sickness. All will be drawn to the ship, and all will die,” explained Stanley. It was a plan made in heaven. “When they are all gone, we can return and retrieve the Ibis.
Back on board the Rusty Blade, it was mayhem. Doyle and Seafood were fighting. Their knives were drawn and they danced around each other warily, stabbing the air.
“Stop this nonsense!” shouted Flanaghan. “What’s goin’ on?”
“It’s’im,” cried Doyle. “I lost me arm and he’s laughin’ at me!”
“How on earth did you manage that, Doyle? I only asked you two to see what the bloomin’ noise was.”
And then something distracted Flanaghan. He turned and looked around, holding the lamp up inside the cabin.
“Something’s different,” he began. “I can feel it.”
“Feel what, sir?” asked Doyle.
“The Ibis. It’s near. Somehow, closer than it was.” Flanaghan wanted to search, but the illness was making all of them sicker. Their skin grew more yellow and their fever boiled harder by the minute. It was only a matter of time before it had them firmly in its grip. They would take the Ibis first if they could, but they were all struggling.
“Tomorrow we will search hard,” Flanaghan claimed. “But tonight I need rest.” He checked his reflection in a broken bottle and groaned at his weary expression. Then he took to his quarters and fell flat on his bed.
10
Scarecrow Point
Stanley and Daisy were struggling in the little wooden boat, blown around on the surf. Up ahead a small island loomed, and they were sent crashing onto the rocks that spilled around it.
“We’ll have to stop here, Daisy. It’s too dangerous to go on.”
“No, not here,” insisted Daisy. “That’s Scarecrow Point.”
“What’s wrong with it?” asked Stanley, frustrated.
“Stanley, Scarecrow Point is haunted.”
“By what?” Stanley grimaced doubtfully as Daisy pulled frantically on the oars, gasping and wheezing.
“By a scarecrow. What else?” she puffed. “Once these hills were farmed, but then, the story goes, a scarecrow came to life and frightened the workers away. First the scarecrow disappeared, then he was seen waving his arms and screaming at passersby. No one comes here now.”
“Personally I have no faith in the supernatural,” piped up a voice. It was the pike, who had been listening all along.
“Daisy, I’m sorry. We have little choice,” cried Stanley, who did not care much for the tale of the scarecrow but did care more for his own life. “And besides, you need the rest,” he insisted. They edged nearer to the rocky shore.
Finally they washed up on to the rocks and clambered out. Daisy held on tight to the pike, and Stanley pulled the boat in to safety so it wouldn’t carry itself out to sea. They struggled upward and found solace at the top of the Point, where the trees grew densely and there was good cover.
Stanley and Daisy watched the pirate ships come nearer. It grew dark and cold but they were against the idea of lighting a campfire because it would only draw attention. They sat in fear and panic as the daylight faded fast. Despite Stanley’s excellent plan, he felt he had no real way of knowing exactly what would happen.
Suddenly, Daisy saw a skinny, muddy face with wild, staring eyes appear behind Stanley. The little figure was dressed in rags and had untamed hair and a matching beard.
Daisy screamed. Stanley would have done the same, but he was unable to catch his breath and wheezed pathetically instead.
“Children. At last. Where did you spring from? I have not seen anyone in years,” came the voice from the figure. It sounded surprisingly gentle, but that didn’t stop Stanley and Daisy from jumping to their feet and attempting to escape from the horrifying sight of this scarecrow come to life.
“Calm down, children. Calm down. I am a marooned islander from the Rock, abandoned here by pirates who attacked my boat. I do not intend to harm anyone. I only seek to leave this place.”
He was so frail and kind that they immediately believed him, and felt obliged to explain their own intentions.
“We are fleeing from the fleet of ships heading this way,” stammered Stanley.
The straggly man got to his feet and stood staring out to sea at the pirate ships. “In all my days I’ve never seen nothing like it,” he gasped. “You really are in trouble. You need to keep moving. But don’t go back to the Rock, not in the darkness. The curse of the wolf awaits you there.”
“You have been away a while, sir,” said Stanley. “There is no longer any threat from the wolf.” He stared at the man they had thought was a scarecrow. “But … who are you? How do you know about the wolf?”
“Never mind me, son,” said the man. “You can cross the island and continue from there. The water is safer on that side, and you’re only a short journey from the Rock. I will help you move your boat and perhaps, on your return, you could get me help?”
They did as the strange man suggested. When Stanley and Daisy had climbed into the vessel, Stanley thanked him. “Maybe it is better if you come with us,” suggested Stanley. “Back to the island.”
The man looked at the boat. It was tiny. “I think you have a full load already. I wouldn’t wish to compromise your circumstances.”
“I do not wish to be rude,” began Stanley, “but you are neither big nor heavy. I don’t think you will make much difference.”
And as he spoke, Daisy pushed up and patted the space beside her.
The man held his hands together. “Thank you, children,” he said. “I grow too old and weak to look after myself out here. It is cold and unwelcoming, and at night it is as black as can be. Someday, I shall repay you”
“Make yourself comfortable,” said Stanley. “But you must tell us who you are.”
As the four of them set sail under the gathering moonlight, the pike fell gently to sleep and the man began his tale.
“I was a simple tradesman. But once while I was out fishing, I was set upon by pirates who wrecked my boat and left me stranded on that island, with only plowed fields and an old scarecrow. I dismantled the scarecrow and put on his clothes, and then I learned to fend for myself. Often I would try to escape or catch the attention of passing ships, but all to no avail.”
As Stanley looked at him in the moonlight he saw how his straggly long-haired figure could resemble the shape of some mad scarecrow spirit, dancing around with desperate, flailing arms.
“And what name do you go by?”asked Stanley.
“My name is Victor. Victor Carelli. And I hope that somewhere, my wife still waits for me.”
Stanley and Daisy stared at each other in wild surprise. But they did not say anything.
Not yet.
11
The Missing Link
The boat bobbed along on the water and soon they were close to the island. They hit land and began to walk across the moor.
Victor felt good being back on the Rock. He could see the twinkle of candlelight down in the houses, and a flutter of excitement leaped around inside him.
They came to the gypsy camp, and Bartley appeared through the darkness.
“Come to the tents!” he shouted.
The travelers greeted Victor w
ith open arms. He had many old friends here. They had known of his disappearance and now they rejoiced at his return. Someone wrapped a blanket around him and sat him by the fire. Someone else brought him hot broth, and everyone gathered around, staring at his wild appearance in astonishment touched with amusement.
But inside the main tent, Greta was waiting for the children, ready to warn and ready them for a surprise.
“Prepare yourself, Stanley.” Greta said. “They draw near, but we are right behind you. In the meantime there is something else. I know you keep secrets well, but do you have room in your heart for another?”
“I suppose so,” Stanley said, with uncertainty.
“And you, Daisy. Can you be faithful to your friend here and protect a lamb from the prying eyes of wolves?” Greta asked.
“Of course,” said Daisy, equally perplexed.
“Then pull back the velvet fringe that runs around the bottom of the table, my dear, and tell me what you see,” she requested.
Daisy did as she was asked, and before their eyes lay the beautifully crafted shape of a silver casket. Lost for thousands of years, and seen by only a few.
It took Stanley’s breath away and he felt a rush of blood to the head. He was looking at something he thought he would not see in his lifetime. Something that had been described to him by his Great Uncle, Admiral Swift and that he felt privileged just to look upon.
“Now you know why the gypsies came, Stanley,” murmured Greta. “We came to thank you for what you gave to us. The freedom to return to Crampton Rock. What you see before you is yours,” explained Greta gently. She urged them to look more closely at it.
The casket looked perfect, forged so beautifully and intricately in shining silver that seemed to echo every other color when the light was on it, just like the Ibis.
Its shape was rectangular and the lid rounded like an old pirate’s chest. It had little short legs and they too were intricately formed but every bit of it was unique. It was smaller than Stanley had expected.
But when they examined it in detail, they could see that something was missing.
Stanley looked at the sections of the lock. It was just as Admiral Swift had described it last summer: a Jackal and a Bison, and then a space where the missing Ibis fitted.
At first he did not dare touch the casket, but then he could not resist. It was heavy. Perhaps something inside was making it so? He wouldn’t know what it was until he placed the Ibis in the lock and opened the lid.
“The silver casket has carried many secrets over the years, Stanley. What it hides now, I cannot say. Something important, I am sure,” said Greta. “Take it home, and when the time is right you can open it there.”
“You must examine its contents in secrecy,” said Bartley, who was standing next to Stanley. “It is yours now, and a private matter between you and the casket.”
Bartley escorted Stanley, Daisy, and Victor as far as the long path that led to the house, and waited until they were safely inside.
In a flash, before they did anything else, they hid the casket in Stanley’s room. It would have to wait there until, he hoped, he would again get his hands on the Ibis and have a chance to open the casket with it. They put the pike away again in his cupboard.
Once they were done, they sat Victor in the kitchen, preparing him to meet the housekeeper of Candlestick Hall.
“Listen, Victor,” began Daisy. “There is a lady who works here, and she will be interested to see you. She will arrive shortly, and will probably be looking for us, and will be angry, I’m sure–but I feel you may change her mood.”
And with that, Mrs. Carelli came bursting through the door. She had been out, desperately searching for Stanley and Daisy.
“Stanley Buggles, where have you b—? Who is thi—?”
Victor stood up. He looked wearily at the woman he had married, and who he’d thought he would never see again. “Violet … it’s me,” he said, and his eyes filled up uncontrollably. “I’m back.” His voice wobbled and tears left clean streaks across his muddy face.
“Oh Victor, my goodness.” Mrs. Carelli held her hands up to her mouth, and for a second she looked as if she was about to drop to the floor. But then she ran forward and grabbed him close in her arms. His tiny figure bent like a rag doll as she held on to him tight.
“Is this the moment where we disappear?” suggested Daisy.
“Ahh … yes,” agreed Stanley, and they slipped out of the room.
They headed upstairs to stare at the casket again, and went to the window to look at the boats.
It looked as if Stanley’s plan was working. The endless fleet was heading north, to the small bay where the Rusty Blade drew them near.
Stanley turned to Daisy. They shook hands and grinned happily.
A few hours later, Victor was sitting on a tall stool in the kitchen, and Daisy was making use of her hairdressing skills to tidy him up. Mrs. Carelli looked on in admiration as Daisy trimmed off clumps of hair, which fell to the floor, and she saw the face of the man she knew reappear before her.
His face was drawn and thin, and he had what Stanley’s mother called a weather tan, the look of someone who worked outside.
When the beard began to come off, Victor felt at his smooth face. It had been years since he had run his hands across his chin. Mrs. Carelli began to cry when she saw his face revealed.
“Oh Violet, please!” said Victor. “Don’t start me off again!”
“I still can’t believe it,” she wept. “I had this awful feeling that when we shaved your hair off we’d find out it was somebody else under there. But it’s really you,” she blubbered.
They all laughed. Stanley momentarily forgot his troubles as he and Daisy helped to comfort Mrs. Carelli.
But he knew there was work to do and that they should really be readying themselves for … well, for anything. The best place for them to be was out on the moor and the best company for them to be in was with the travelers. Stanley signaled to Daisy, and the two of them left Mr. and Mrs. Carelli at the house and headed for the hills.
12
The Coming of the Angel
There was to be no sleep that night on board the Rusty Blade. Nor would there be sleep on any other pirate vessel. The ships were now heading frantically toward the north side of the island where the Rusty Blade was lying, its Yellow Jack now missing that young Buggles had removed it to put his plan into place. Of course, no one who rushed toward it could have predicted that on board a deadly disease awaited. As the Ibis lay sleepily in its hiding place, its presence made the fever boil.
Stanley and Daisy were now making toward the gypsy camp. The campfire glowed in the darkness and they scrambled across the moor toward the orange light.
Greta sat waiting for them. She had seen them coming through the crystal ball.
Bartley greeted them first. “It is good to see you both. You are most welcome,” he said. “We are readying ourselves in case we are needed.”
Stanley saw that the travelers were making weapons, practicing the art of swordsmanship and close combat. He felt heartened by the fact that he wasn’t the only one preparing.
“Quickly, now. Come and see what is happening,” beckoned Greta.
She ran her hands over her crystal ball and looked hard through the whirling white mist.
“Look how they fight among themselves,” she grinned. Stanley and Daisy could see nothing in the glass ball, and so they were forced to hang on Greta’s every word.
“All the ships are closing in on the Rusty Blade. The Ibis draws them near. As they close in, the pirates are growing desperate to reach the Ibis. Not only are the ships attacking those around them, the shipmates are also turning on one another.
“This is indeed a plan made in heaven, children, and I watched you put it into place. Well done. You are braver than most,” Greta said warmly.
“I couldn’t have done it if you hadn’t explained the purpose of the Yellow Jack,” said Stanley, smiling.
/> Drinks arrived, and they sat in comfort for a while. Finally, Stanley and Daisy decided that they must return to the Hall to get some sleep.
The seabed changed beneath the feet of Angel Cuzco. It went from fine white sand to rocks here and there, and then suddenly it was nothing but pebbles and fine shale. Up ahead the water grew shallow, and eventually the golden-white mane of hair that hung from his skull showed itself on the surface. His emerald green eyes stared out from the shallow surf, and he kept on marching at the same pace until his soaking-wet skeletal form had emerged fully from the ocean waves.
After Stanley and Daisy had left, Greta saw something in the glass ball that would have forced her to keep the children in the camp.
She saw the deathly figure of Angel Cuzco. He was walking across the harbor of Crampton Rock, heading for the moor. His emerald eyes grew greener, for he felt the Ibis so strongly he would have sworn it beat like a heart inside him.
His passion for the Ibis turned into anger as he drew closer. If anything had stood in his way, he would have torn it to pieces.
Greta called for Bartley and Phinn to run and guard the children.
Stanley and Daisy were still making their way across the moor, unaware of this. Up ahead, two small green lights were approaching across the plain. Stanley thought of all sorts of things it could be. A werewolf. The pirates. It could be anything … but as they drew nearer they saw a scarlet-coated, white-haired shape descending on them.
Bartley was running up behind. “Stop!” he cried.
It was too late. Angel Cuzco was right before them.
But the children were nothing to him. He simply walked right through them. As he did so, a force knocked them to the ground, leaving them breathless.
Bartley and Phinn showed their battleworn hands and prepared for the scarlet phantom. The Angel swiped at Bartley with his sword, and using the elbow of the same arm he forced a blow under Phinn’s chin. Phinn dropped to the floor but stood straight back up again. Bartley placed a hard right hand into Cuzco’s ribs and the bones smashed into pieces. But the spirit had a distinct advantage: he felt no pain.
