The Journey to Dragon Island

by Claire Fayers

  Boswell sprang at a tentacle. Brine expected to see the dragon swatted aside, and she opened her mouth to shout. But the tentacle stopped moving and, as Boswell took a bite out of the end, it began to shrink.

  “What?” said Brine in disbelief.

  All over the ship, tentacles slowly unfurled, including the one wrapped around the mainmast. The Onion slapped back into the water with a jolt that knocked Brine flat. Boswell trotted over to her and spat a long string of seaweed onto her head.

  “It’s a plant,” said Tom, picking the slimy green mass out of her hair. “I don’t believe it. The whole thing is one gigantic plant.”

  Brine scrambled up onto her knees, staring as a giant body rose out of the water, easily as big as the Onion. Boswell attacked another tentacle, then another. The waving arms looked far more like branches now, and the body was full of lumps and dips. Not just one plant, but loads of them all squashed together.

  Boswell flapped up onto the now-horizontal deck rail and blew out a stream of flame, then he lifted his head and made a noise that Brine had never heard before.

  Peter staggered to his feet. “He’s trying to roar.”

  It sounded more like the noise Zen might make after eating Trudi’s spider-leg curry, but Peter was right, Brine thought. She ran to Boswell and wrapped her arms around the dragon’s warm scaly neck. “Well done.”

  “All those in favor of letting the monster eat the ship, say aye!” shouted Cassie. A few plantlike tentacles swept back at her and she chopped them away. But the monster was shrinking back, retreating into the water. Within a minute all that was left was a patch of churning white waves where it had disappeared.

  Ewan dropped ropes to the crew who were still thrashing around in the water. Brine watched them climb, shivering, back on board. It was no wonder ships that sailed west from Auriga came back in pieces, Brine thought. First the Great Stillness, then the end of the world, and anyone who hadn’t abandoned ship by then would find themselves tangled up in vegetable tentacles.

  “Why did it stop attacking?” asked Trudi. She sounded disappointed, as if she’d forgotten how close they’d all come to drowning. Brine hadn’t forgotten, and she kept a tight hold of the deck rail, just in case the plant monster reappeared.

  “Did you see how the tentacle turned to seaweed when Boswell grabbed it?” asked Tom. “I think he might have taken all the magic out of it.”

  Peter flexed his fingers. “And … I think he might have been doing it all along but none of us noticed. The starshell piece in my hand hasn’t given me any trouble for ages.”

  “You’re constantly touching Boswell,” said Brine. That made sense—as much as anything else did today.

  Tom began collecting bits of seaweed from the deck. “I’ll add it to my list of things we don’t know. It’s a shame we didn’t get the chance to study the plant monster more closely.”

  Brine felt she’d studied it as much as she wanted to. She turned full circle, enjoying the lack of mirages or monsters. In every direction she saw the same thing: the calm, dark waters of the Western Ocean, rising and falling.

  Actually, that wasn’t quite true. Right ahead of them, where there was still a faint glow of golden light on the horizon, a black lump rose out of the sea. It was too big to be a ship and too still to be another monster. It could be a mirage, but the last mirage had disappeared as night had fallen.

  Brine’s breath caught in her throat.

  “Land ahoy!” shouted Tim Burre, quite unnecessarily.

  The Western Island—Dragon Island. At last, Brine was within sight of home. She stared at the shape in the ocean, looking for something, anything she recognized. She was so sure she’d remember the place when she saw it, but none of it looked familiar.

  “You should sleep,” said Cassie. “We’ll be there by morning.”

  Brine nodded and stumbled away, glad to get away on her own for once. Tomorrow, when she awoke, she’d be home. They’d go ashore and explore and she’d find her parents and a whole colony of dragons, and she’d be the Dragon Girl of the West. Yes, and maybe sharks would fly.

  Belowdecks, Brine climbed into a hammock and pulled the blanket up around her ears. The cloth was scratchy and smelled of fish, like everything else on the ship. In a minute, Peter and Tom would be down to check on her, she thought, and so she shut her eyes and pretended to sleep. She thought she heard someone laughing, but it must have been an echo from the deck above, because when she sat up to look, she couldn’t see anyone.

  CHAPTER 6

  Magical experiments. In the interests of science, I have taken a piece of starshell. I am carrying it in my pocket along with a variety of other materials to see how long they take to corrode.

  Early results:

  Paper: two hours

  Wood: seven hours

  Gold: never

  Wood from the Onion: never

  The experiment will continue as we explore Dragon Island.

  (from THOMAS GIRLING’S BOOK OF PIRATING ADVENTURE)

  Rob Grosse was supposed to be keeping watch, but he’d fallen asleep and was leaning propped against the helm. The night air was completely still, with not even the faintest breath of wind on Peter’s face, and the stars were shining like tiny daggers in the sky. The only constellation Peter recognized was Orion’s. The three stars that made up the mast of the mariner’s ship seemed brighter than ever, as if to compensate for everything else being out of place. Peter knew the constellations changed according to where you were in the world and it was perfectly normal, but he still didn’t like it.

  He padded to the opposite end of the deck from Rob and sat down behind the rowing boats, where there was the least chance of anyone seeing him. It was really too dark to read but Peter opened the book he carried and peered closely at the words. Dragons. Dragons nested in isolated places, Peter read. They built nests out of gold and jewels—Peter already knew that. There were many different kinds of dragons, just like there were different kinds of fish or rabbits, but they all had scales and wings and they were all deathly dangerous. When faced with a dragon, you should run away, the book suggested—at least that way you wouldn’t be looking when it killed you.

  A shadow detached itself from the mast. “You’re still alive,” said Marfak West. The starlight shone right through him. “Congratulations.”

  Peter glanced up at him. “Are you planning to stand there being sarcastic all night or do you have something useful to say?”

  Marfak West’s ghost appeared to consider the question. “I find that sarcasm suits most circumstances. Is there anything in particular you want me to say?”

  “Not really.” Peter hunched lower.

  The ghost’s foot tapped a soundless rhythm on the deck. “You’ll never belong, you know. You’re looking for a ready-made, Peter-shaped hole in the universe that you can just step into and everyone will thank you for merely existing. Trust me, it won’t happen. Not anywhere, and especially not here.”

  Peter shook his head. That wasn’t true. Just because he had a harder time fitting in anywhere than Brine or Tom—or any of the rest of the crew, come to think of it—it didn’t mean he was desperate to belong. Lots of people didn’t belong anywhere. Probably.

  “Do you have to keep doing that?” said Peter, irritably, kicking at the ghost’s foot.

  Marfak West stilled and gave him a knowing grin. “If you want my advice: Stay away from that island. It’s nothing but trouble.”

  “Why do I get the feeling you’re not going to tell me what kind of trouble?” said Peter.

  “Why should I?” asked the ghost. “Hopefully it will be the kind of trouble where Cassie O’Pia ends up dead. If you all die with her, it’ll be a bonus.”

  Peter glanced over to where Rob Grosse was still snoring. “Look at it this way,” he said. “If you’re really the spirit of Marfak West, I hope you enjoy it when we all die and you find yourself surrounded by a lot of very angry ghosts. Ghosts who didn’t like you much when they were a
live. Of course, if you stopped sulking and helped us, that might not happen.”

  The shadows around Marfak West flickered. “You think you’re so terribly clever, being alive, don’t you?”

  “It’s cleverer than being dead.” Peter grinned at him. “So, are you going to help us?”

  The ghost began to fade. “We’ll see. Your friend is right about dragons, by the way. You should look after them.” He vanished.

  Peter stared into the empty space where the magician’s ghost had been. Look after them, he’d said—them meant more than one. Would they really find more dragons here? Peter knew you shouldn’t hope for things, because hoping meant you ended up disappointed most of the time, but right now, with the island in front of him, he couldn’t help himself. He hoped for dragons.

  Boswell and Zen came tearing across the deck, chasing each other. Peter tried to imagine Boswell being deathly dangerous, and the thought made him smile. But, dangerous or not, Boswell was twice the size of the cat now. His wings kept getting in the way as he ran. A dragon didn’t belong on a ship, Peter thought, and an ache started up in his chest. Boswell needed room to grow and more dragons to play with.

  Zen crashed into Rob, waking him. Peter stood up quickly. “How far now?” He didn’t want the pirate to start wondering what he was doing out here. He’d already tried telling Brine and Tom about Marfak West and they hadn’t believed him. Peter didn’t expect he’d do any better with Rob.

  Rob studied him for a moment then shrugged. “We’ll be there by morning. You can help me keep a lookout if you like?”

  And so, as dawn raced across the sky some hours later, Peter was the first to see the flying castle.

  * * *

  It was only a small castle—one square tower with battlements and corner turrets—but it looked exceptionally solid and heavy as it floated, suspended over the highest mountain peak. Yellow smoke drifted around its base, making it look like it was sitting on a cloud.

  “That’s Orion’s Keep?” said Cassie, using the end of her telescope to scratch her head. “It really flies. I thought Tom’s books were exaggerating. Does science have an explanation for this?”

  Tom shook his head. “Science is baffled. You’d better ask magic.”

  “Magic is equally baffled,” said Peter. He’d been gazing at the castle while everyone else had gathered on deck, and he was still waiting for it to either dissolve like a mirage or crash to the ground. He could lift things into the air with magic, but not a whole castle, and not for very long. The person doing this must be the most powerful magician ever—more powerful even than Marfak West.

  He shivered at the thought and tore his gaze away. “Brine, don’t you remember it at all? You’d think you’d remember a flying castle.”

  Brine shook her head. “I don’t know,” she said.

  Tom combed his fingers through his hair. “It might be new?”

  Cassie passed her telescope to Ewan. He took one look and turned away, scowling as if the flying castle had offended his sense of reality. Bill Lightning snatched the telescope and gazed through it, one hand on his sword. Trudi chewed the ends of her hair worriedly. Boswell crept in between the two remaining rowing boats and refused to come out even when Zen pounced on his tail.

  “Well,” said Cassie, breaking the silence at last. “This is what we came to see. Ewan, let down the anchor.”

  * * *

  While the crew made preparations, Peter sat down at the back of the deck with Brine. Neither of them had much to prepare. Peter thought about taking a piece of starshell with him just in case, but decided against it. If he took starshell, he knew what would happen: The first time they got into trouble—and they would get into trouble, because Cassie attracted trouble like a lamp attracts flying mothfish—everyone would expect him to cast a spell, and he’d be Peter the magician all over again. He still hadn’t found out what he could do without magic, and this unexplored island, full of possibility, would give him that chance.

  Trudi came over, holding a plate in each hand. “I made this specially. You’ll need to keep your strength up today.”

  Peter looked at the square of bread with an egg sliding sideways off it. He picked a strand of crispy black off the yolk. “This isn’t spider leg, is it?”

  “I’m not sure what it is—it was in the pan already.”

  Peter tried the egg. It wasn’t too bad, although he really didn’t feel like eating anything. “Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” asked Brine. “And don’t say ‘nothing,’ because your face has ‘something is wrong’ written all over it.”

  If that was the case, Brine’s face had “everything is wrong” written on it. And “don’t you dare ask about it,” in even bigger letters. Peter lifted his legs to let Zen and Boswell run underneath. “Why should anything be wrong? You’re about to go home. It’s what you’ve always wanted. You’ll find your family and you’ll settle down while the rest of us sail on.”

  Brine flicked a globule of undercooked egg white at him. “Is that it? You think I’ll leave the Onion?”

  “Won’t you?” asked Peter, wiping egg off his shirt. “If you find your family here, of course you’ll stay with them. Don’t tell me you haven’t been thinking about it.”

  He’d never been close to his own family—his parents had sold him to Tallis Magus as soon as they discovered he could sense magic, and Peter had rarely seen them after that. If he ever found himself back in the Minutes Island cluster, he might call in to say hello, but he’d never travel across the world to find them like Brine had.

  Brine dropped her gaze to her plate. “Of course I’ve been thinking about it,” she said. “But I don’t know. I still can’t remember anything. I don’t know what I’ll find on the island, so it’s hard to make a plan right now.”

  And it was even harder for Brine not to make plans, Peter thought. Brine always had a plan.

  “We should try the castle first,” he said, scooping up the last of his egg. A trickle of warm yolk oozed down his chin. “We’re looking for dragons, too, remember, and a flying castle is a good place to start.”

  “No!” Brine banged her plate down so hard that bits of egg went flying.

  Peter brushed egg off his pants. “Um, Brine?”

  She sat back and scraped her hands through her hair, laughing unsteadily. “Sorry,” she said. “I slipped.”

  And sheep could fly and Marfak West was a nice person after all, Peter thought. “On second thought,” he said, “let’s explore the island first. The castle can wait.”

  “That sounds best,” agreed Brine, and the tense lines of her face relaxed a little.

  It wasn’t best at all, though. Someone who could keep a whole castle in the air without it falling apart must have noticed the Onion by now and could already be planning an attack. The best plan would be to get up there straight-away—assuming they could find a way. Getting into the castle itself was likely to require magic, and even if Peter hadn’t given up magic, he doubted he could do it. He’d levitated packing crates, but people were different: They had a habit of wriggling about, for a start, which made holding them more difficult, and if you dropped them …

  “There’s Tom,” said Brine.

  Peter dragged his thoughts away from dropped pirates.

  Tom came out from belowdecks, wearing a hat that flopped over his eyes and carrying his messenger gull, two water bottles, and a pack so full that it looked like it was about to explode all over the deck.

  “Are you sure we’re going to need all that?” asked Peter.

  “We don’t know what we’re going to need. That’s the whole point,” replied Tom.

  “Leave the gull,” said Cassie, walking up behind. “We might need to run away, and carrying a birdcage won’t help.”

  Peter turned to look at her and his mouth fell open. Cassie always dressed up when she went ashore, and today’s outfit was extravagant even by her own standards. Leather trousers, not one but two frilly shirts—one white and one red�
��and a pair of dark-purple boots that came up over her knees with black ribbon laces drifting in the breeze.

  “Shouldn’t we—um—try to draw less attention?” asked Peter. “We don’t know what we’re going to find here, after all.”

  “All the more reason to make a good first impression,” said Cassie. She scratched a hand under her hat. “When we’re done here, though, I’m going to invent pirate clothes for hot weather. I’m sweating already. I hope the islanders don’t mind.” She flashed him a smile, bright as a knife. “Are you taking any starshell?”

  Peter shook his head, his fists curled in his pockets. The starshell in his palm throbbed sharply. Cassie continued to look at him, as if she thought he’d change his mind if she stared long enough, and Peter felt his cheeks growing hot. But then Boswell wandered over and stuck his claws in Cassie’s knee. She yelped.

  “He didn’t mean it,” said Peter, scooping the dragon up.

  Cassie examined a hole in her trousers. “It could be worse. He’d better stay here while we explore the island. Tim Burre can look after him.”

  “How come they’re going and not me?” grumbled Tim Burre.

  “Because Brine used to live here,” said Cassie, “and we’ll need Tom to write down what we find. And Peter … well … Peter will be useful, too.”

  She could have tried to sound like she meant it, Peter thought. At least, though, she seemed to have forgotten about the starshell.

  But, as he climbed into the rowing boat, he in turn wondered what he was doing. A magician without starshell. What exactly could he do? He glanced back at the Onion and thought he saw a tall, almost transparent figure waving at him, and despite the heat, he shivered.

  * * *

  “Do you get the feeling this island doesn’t like us?” asked Ewan. They’d taken both the surviving boats—Cassie, Ewan, Peter, and Brine in one, and Tom, Bill, Rob, and Trudi in the other. Ewan rowed steadily. He’d dressed up for the island, too, which meant he’d put on a shirt that didn’t have holes, and his belt bristled with daggers.