by Ted Bell
CHAPTER XXXIV
Snake Eye and the Kingdom of Lost Children
· 4 October 1805 ·
H. M. S. MERLIN, AT SEA
Can’t run, boy! ! I’ll catchee! I’ll catchee!” Snake Eye was right on his heels, coming up the ratlines after him and screaming like an angry banshee. Nick, terrified of looking down, was streaking upward, fist over fist. The image of a howling one-eyed man, with a viciously curved dagger clenched in his teeth was driving him up the mizzenmast more rapidly than a fifth-year midshipman gunning for promotion to lieutenant.
Nick shot up the ratlines to the first yardarm and no one in His Majesty’s Navy had ever done so more smartly. He paused a moment to catch his breath and looked up to the masthead, wondering how high Snake Eye would follow him. Shocked, he saw a dead sharpshooter hanging in the rigging just above, blocking his path farther aloft!
He heard another inhuman wail from the mast below, and cast a nervous eye down between his feet. Snake Eye had stopped only a few feet below and he grinned up at Nick, taking the wicked dagger from his mouth.
Nick stared openmouthed as the fellow stuck out his long pink tongue, grasped it between two fingers, and then sliced off the tip of the organ with the serpentine dagger! Holding the little pink morsel of bloody flesh aloft, he threw his head back, opened his mouth, and dropped it down his gullet. Only then did he look at Nick with his one good eye and grin, blood trickling down his chin.
“Sharp, ain’t it?” he said, putting the dagger back in his mouth and climbing.
Nick could go no higher, could go no lower, and had seconds to decide what to do. He took a deep breath. There was nothing for it but to step out onto the slender crosstree, high above the deck. He’d seen the surefooted crew do it with ease but the idea of doing it himself sent his pulse racing. He kicked off his boots as he’d seen the riggers and trimmers do. Barefoot, he edged out gingerly onto the wooden yardarm, trying to avoid looking down as Stiles had taught him. If he looked down, he knew he was a dead man. He took three steps, breathing rapidly, and froze, unable to take another step.
And then Snake Eye, too, was up and after him, hauling himself onto the same first yardarm. Snake Eye clung to the mizzen spar, the curved dagger glinting in his mouth, and Nick could see him trying to decide whether or not slitting Nick’s throat was worth stepping out onto the narrow crosstree, thirty feet above the deck. If Snake Eye came for him, Nick tried to imagine jumping, but, even if he survived the fall, he’d be jumping into a mass of slashing swords.
So he edged toward the end of the yardarm, his toes clinging desperately to the narrow beam, one inch at a time, one foot in front of the other, one eye warily on Snake Eye. To his horror, he saw the man start to move out along the yardarm, and he had murder in his red-ringed eye.
Nick reached the outer end of the yardarm. Snake Eye was still moving cautiously along the crosstree, now less than fifteen feet away. Unless he thought of something quickly, Nick knew it was over. He looked down and was surprised to see the rolling sea below! He hadn’t realized the crosstrees extended this far beyond the ship’s gunwales below!
And there, too, was the majestic stern of Billy’s warship Mystère bobbing and rolling just off the end of his own yardarm, the sun reflecting back from a hundred panes of glass in her stern windows.
Nick saw a glint of hope, too, in those panes of glass. Because of the vast difference in size between the two warships, the many towering stern decks of Mystère rose so high above the sea that her stern quarters were just opposite the Merlin’s lower mizzen yardarm where Nick now stood!
When the two ships rolled toward each other, Nick realized, the tip of his yardarm and the windows of the enemy vessel would be only a few yards apart! He could almost reach over and touch the Mystère’s red hull! If only he could—
Then he saw it. The largest of the stern windows amid the rows and rows of lead-paned glass was open! Nick knew it was his only chance. If he could time his jump precisely, he just might be able to dive right through the window of the French frigate! Whatever awaited inside could scarcely be worse than the tattooed wretch edging ever closer to him now. And, besides, his dog was on that frigate, and hadn’t he come all this way to rescue him?
He didn’t have to worry about it long, because at that moment a howling Snake Eye was about to lunge for him, the vicious dagger raised above his head! All at once, the two boats rolled near each other and Nick saw his one desperate chance. Crossing himself, he leapt for the open window, away from Snake Eye’s flashing blade, waiting for the searing pain even as he jumped. But it was Snake Eye who screamed in pain, his arms pinwheeling, wavering unsteadily on the yardarm, looking down to the deck to see who could shoot a dagger out of a man’s hands at thirty feet, taking three of his fingers with it.
Down on the quarterdeck was Gunner, a broad grin on his face.
And a smoking blunderbuss in his hand. Snake Eye had just been introduced to Old Thunder. Now the two warships were beginning to roll apart, rapidly widening too far for Snake Eye to follow Nick through the open window. A shrill scream of anguish and rage was forming on his lips when the ship suddenly pitched and Snake Eye’s bare feet lost their precarious hold on the wooden yardarm.
The man tumbled into space, helplessly waving his bloody hand, screaming all the way down. Gunner, who had more pressing matters to attend to, never even saw where the one-eyed pirate landed. Nor did he care.
Nick must have closed his eyes because when he opened them he found himself inside the most splendid room he’d ever seen, a magnificent space. He’d happily landed on a soft, cushiony banquette of silk pillows of every size and color. The settee wrapped around beneath the great sweep of stern windows of what could only be Billy Blood’s great cabin itself! Even the roar of cannons overhead couldn’t drown out its splendor.
Twin statues of blackamoors flanked either side of the banquette, holding intricately filigreed oil lanterns, and the brilliant stern windows were hung with thick velvet draperies of deepest claret. All the cabin furniture seemed made of gold and covered in red silk. There was a huge white marble bust of Emperor Napoleon standing on a massive golden table studded with jewels.
“Well, and what kind of bird might this be?” a lovely voice asked, “who has flown through my window?”
When Nick looked up to see where the musical voice had come from, his heart caught in his throat. There, in the shadows of the cabin, stood the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen in his life. He climbed down off the banquette and approached her. She smiled at him with flashing emerald eyes, but didn’t move. She seemed to be resting her back against one of the four varnished columns that divided the cabin and supported the deck above.
“Who are you?” he asked, admiring the long deep red curls falling over the creamy white silk of her dress and bosom.
“You speak English!” she said. “Are you from the Merlin, I pray?”
“I am, indeed!” Nick said, pulling up his tattered bandage which kept drooping over one eye. “My name is Nicholas McIver.”
“Indeed!” The beautiful woman laughed. “Well, small world and no error! He’s come to save me, he has! Nicholas McIver, the Merlin’s skipper, as I live! One of my uncle Horatio’s most famous and courageous captains! I’d no idea you were so young, Captain McIver—upon my word, I did not!”
“Oh, no, not her captain, ma’am, but surely one of her crew,” Nick said proudly. “Her captain is my, my—”
“Your father?”
“Not my father, but my—” Nick stammered. What was the captain to him, after all? “He’s my, why, he’s my uncle! A rather distant uncle, in fact,” Nick said, smiling at his small joke in spite of himself. “Who, may I ask, are you, ma’am?”
“I am Lady Anne, but you may call me Anne, if I might call you Nick?”
“Then it’s you! You’re his niece, aren’t you! Lord Nelson’s niece! You’re the one we’ve come to rescue, you and all the kidnapped children!”
�
�And arrived in the nick of time, too, young Nick! I’m to be executed this very evening.”
“Executed? Surely, you can’t mean—”
“Listen! There is no time for talk! You must leave here at once!” she admonished. “Billy Blood could return at any second and he would surely kill Captain McIver’s nephew just as he plans to kill me!”
“But why on earth should he kill someone as—as cordial as you, ma’am?”
“Because I won’t betray my uncle or my country, no matter what he threatens.” She looked at Nick fiercely, with fire blazing in her green eyes, and said, “Nor will I obey him or submit to his lewd advances. I care only for the poor children he holds so cruelly below! So he threatens to kill me tonight. As soon as he’s sunk your poor uncle!”
“Well, then, we must run!” Nick said.
“No, you must run,” she replied. “I cannot move from this detested place! You see, Billy Blood has chained me here for the duration of the battle. He then intends either to shoot me or hang me, and, frankly, I prefer the rope!”
Nick looked behind the post and saw thick iron manacles on her thin white wrists. He could see instantly there was no hope of removing them. Not without a key.
“Don’t worry! My friend Lord Hawke and Captain McIver are leading a squadron of Royal Marines against this vessel,” Nick said. “Captain McIver’s somewhere up on deck now, ma’am. I’ll try to find him and bring him here. He’ll find a way to help you.”
“That is most kind of you, Nicholas McIver,” she said. “I should be eternally grateful to you, sir! But, first, you must free those poor children from their dreadful dungeon. If this ship should go down, there’d be no hope for them, trapped below.”
“I will do it, ma’am,” Nick said, “as soon as I can find them!”
“Run to my cabin, Nick,” Anne said. “As fast as you can! My companion, Sookie, is there. She and I have been helping the children as best we can, stealing food from the galley, nursing the sick. Sookie will lead you to the children. They call her Sookie la Douce. Sookie the sweet.”
“However might I find your cabin?” Nick asked hurriedly.
“It’s in the fo’c’sle, Nick, just below the main deck! But you must run across the main deck to reach the bow! From the sound of it, that is where the worst fighting is. You must run as fast as you can and keep low. The fire must be murderous! Down the steps in the fo’c’sle, at the bottom, first door on the right! Knock three times. Sookie will let you in! Hurry, Nick, hurry!”
Nick ran to the door, peeked through the crack, and saw that it was free of sentries or guards. “I’ll be back, your ladyship!” he shouted.
“Godspeed!” the beautiful Lady Anne replied as he dashed out the door and down the dimly lit corridor. He had a feeling about this beautiful woman in his heart that he couldn’t quite account for. He felt quite fluttery, like there was a thrumming of bees inside his head and chest. The strangest feeling! Warm and slightly dizzy in the knees. Not at all an unpleasant sensation, he noticed. Whatever could it be? But he had scant time to consider, and he dashed up the steps to the main deck.
Emerging on deck from the dark stairwell into the smoky light of day, the boy stepped into hell itself.
The air was choked with a roiling black cloud of burned gunpowder, and heavy clumps of rigging and tackle were raining down from above. The awful noise of falling rigging and roaring musketry and cannon made him clasp his hands over both ears.
He saw that the air was full of lethal flying splinters of wood caused by the terrible impact of incoming English fire. They were firing the carronades, the short-barreled “smashers” used for close-in exchanges. But the jagged pieces of timber were the cause of far more horrible injuries and deaths than the cannonballs themselves. It wasn’t so much the enemy’s lead, but small pieces of the boat itself, blown to bits inward, that usually killed or maimed. He shuddered at the dangerous route he now must take.
He had no choice but to proceed across the awful scene of devastation. Somehow he’d get forward to Anne’s cabin and find Sookie. The children must be freed or face a horrible death by drowning.
Calculating what might be the least dangerous route, he darted across the battle-engulfed main deck, hurrying forward toward the fo’c’sle at the bow, hands clamped to his ears. The noise of battle was deafening. If only he could cover his eyes as well, he thought, and shut out the horrible sights as well as the terrible commotion.
Nick raced across the main deck for the steps down to Anne’s cabin. He was forced to leap over many wounded men, lying on the deck and writhing in pain from horrible injuries, and the boy tightened his hands over his ears as he ran. It was a vain effort to shut out the dreadful screams of the wounded.
His eyes were shocked by more blood than he’d seen in his life, running pools of the stuff, sticky and darkening, and masses of heavy rigging and tackle were still crashing down on the decks every time an English cannonball found its mark. Glancing upward, Nick saw that the sails hung in tatters and that most of the French vessel’s fore topmast had been shot cleanly away.
The English seemed to be giving as good as they got, he realized, and was cheered by the thought. He sprinted the last fifty feet forward, dodging the falling debris and stepping quickly over the wounded. He could see his destination through the black smoke—only about twenty feet more to go!
Just then a French crewman who’d been crouching at the base of the foremast, drunk and plainly terrified, shot out his hand and grabbed at Nick’s trousers as he passed by. “Let go of me!” Nick cried, desperate to escape this awful scene, but the man only grinned, showing his ragged yellow teeth, and grabbed with one badly burned hand at Nick’s leggings. With the other, the poor sailor raised a half-empty rum bottle to his parched lips. Nick saw to his horror that half the man’s face was missing. Torn away by grapeshot, it was a miracle the poor fellow was still alive.
Nick ripped himself away and ran the rest of the way to the fo’c’sle. The men on deck were too preoccupied with their own blood and thunder to notice a small and terrified boy trying only to stay alive another thirty seconds.
Dashing down the darkened steps, he paused at the first cabin door.
And heard his own dog Jip barking on the other side!
“Hullo? Open up!” Nick cried, pounding three times with his fist on the door. “Sookie! I’ve come from Lady Anne. You’ve got my dog! Open the door!” The door swung open and then a great black shape was flying at him and knocking him to the deck, paws on his chest and barking and lathering his face with sloppy wet kisses.
Jipper!
“Good boy! Good boy!” Nick cried hugging his dog and staring wide-eyed at him, his eyes filling with tears. He could never remember such a feeling in his heart as he felt at that moment, staring up into the fine brown eyes of his noble companion. “Did you think I’d forgotten you, boy? Did you think Nick would ever forget about his old Jipper? Good boy, good boy!” And Jip barked right in his face, saying hello in his own moist way.
“So, his name’s Jip, is it?” said a tall, dark-skinned woman with smiling eyes, looking down at him. “We’ve been callin’ him Marmaduke after her ladyship’s father, the vicar. He’s your dog? We rescued him from the brig and been takin’ care of him ever since.”
“He sure is and I thank you most kindly, ma’am!” Nick said, laughing and turning his face this way and that to avoid Jip’s wet tongue. “Billy Blood stole him from me and I’ve come a long way to get him back!”
“Seems like Billy has a habit of stealing people’s dogs. And their children, too! Who are you?”
“My name’s McIver, ma’am,” Nick said simply. “Nick McIver.”
“Ha! I’m Sookie and don’t be callin’ me ma’am, Nick.”
“No, ma’am,” Nick said, rolling Jip off of his chest and getting to his feet. “I need to find the children. The stolen children aboard the vessel–can you take me to them?”
“I surely can, boy. Must be thirty or forty of �
��em down in that smelly hold. Billy’s holding most of them for ransom. Kidnaps ’em from all the lords and ladies of England, he does, been doin’ it for years. You listen to Sookie and stay away from that pirate, boy, or you’ll end up down there in the brig with the rest of ’em!”
“Down where?” Nick asked with a growing sense of excitement. “Where’s the brig?”
“You want to go there now? ’Cause if’n you do, you come to the right place.”
“Tell me, Sookie,” Nick said, “are there perhaps two children down in that brig with the surname Hawke? Annabel and Alexander Hawke?”
“Annabel and Alexander!” exclaimed the dark-skinned lady. “Why I nursed those two babies like they were my own! Sure, they’re down there all right, and crying every night for their poor father. I did what I could for them, but they were so afraid they’d never lay eyes on their father again because they’d been away from him so long. You know him, their father?”
“I do, Sookie! You must take me to the children at once, please!” Nick cried, his heart leaping with joy for Lord Hawke. Sookie stepped outside the cabin door and made a beckoning motion with her arm, heavily laden with golden bracelets.
“This way to the kingdom of lost children, Nick McIver!” she shouted, and raced off down the narrow corridor.
Nick and Jip followed Sookie deeper and deeper down into the damp and foul-smelling bowels of the ship, where the sound of the battle raging above was barely heard and lanterns were few and far between. Nick stumbled in the dark more than once over objects unseen, lying in his path.
Still, they passed no one, only a few scurrying rats and a few poor souls who’d been grievously wounded and were wandering about below, dazedly in search of someone to attend to them. No one seemed the least interested in a woman and a small boy with a big black dog. Deeper and deeper they descended, and the smell of the bilge below was as bad as that of blood above.
They came at length to a long dark passageway that ended with a heavy oak door. Two black lanterns hung on either side, sputtering candles glowing dimly inside. Atop each lantern stood the huge black metal figure of a crow or some kind of bird, it’s wings spread as if it were about to take flight. Curious, Nick stood on tiptoe to examine the bird figure atop the nearest lantern. It wasn’t a crow, he saw, it was a parrot. And it wasn’t black, either. It was dark shiny red. It was a replica of Bones, Blood’s parrot, the eyes and ears of his master, Nick thought, and a fitting pair of sentries for this terrible place.
