Hunt for the Pyxis

by Zoë Ferraris

  They heard a resounding crack! as the bow of the container ship hit whatever had stopped the Markab. An enormous piece of timber rose up into the water like a whale, broken in half against the hull of the great ship. It looked like the sunken remains of a fishing pier. It was covered in long spikes and kelp, and it flopped back into the water.

  They plowed ahead for half a mile before anyone felt safe. Then the relief seemed to come over all of them at once. Dad hauled the life raft back over the railing and sat down, running a hand over his face. Herbie slumped onto the bench, his shoulders trembling. Emma lowered her head to the wheel, still shaking with adrenaline.

  “We hit a piece of wood,” Herbie said numbly.

  “What was it even doing there?” she said.

  But Dad looked relieved. “That was good work,” he said. “You two handled it perfectly.”

  Despite her shaking hands, Emma felt a small burst of pride. They had saved the boat. They really did know what they were doing. Even Herbie’s face brightened.

  “Does this mean we’re able seamen now?” she asked.

  “Not yet,” Dad replied. “You still have a lot of work to do. Unfortunately, it does mean we’re going to have to cut this trip short.”

  “What? No!” Emma and Herbie protested at once.

  “Whatever we hit may have damaged the hull. Just to be safe, we’d better take her back in.”

  There was no disputing the sense of that, and with heavy hearts, Emma turned the wheel and Herbie went to the sails, and they steered the Markab back into the bay.

  Mom was delighted that they’d come back so soon. She offered to cook lunch, but by way of consolation to Emma and Herbie, Dad had insisted that they order a pizza.

  Heading upstairs to Emma’s room, Emma and Herbie couldn’t stop talking about what had happened on the boat.

  “I just can’t believe we hit something,” she said. “I’ve never heard of that happening.”

  “Yeah.” He gave a nervous laugh. “Quick thinking with the whole pivot thing.”

  She swung her door open and they went inside. “You’re not getting sick of sailing, are you?”

  He shook his head quickly. “No way.”

  She was happy to hear that. Herbie had talked about becoming a navy captain ever since he was in fourth grade.

  Herbie’s phone alarm beeped. He sighed.

  “I’d better start on the homework.” He reached for their backpacks and took out their folders. The deal was that he did all their homework one day, and Emma would do it the next. They’d made the deal in fifth grade, and although Emma sometimes had to work harder than Herbie to get an equally good grade, it was better than having to do homework every night.

  Herbie worked through their algebra problems, while Emma took out a book called Everything You Ever Wanted to Know About Knots and began reading.

  She had just come to a chapter about reef knots when she realized that Herbie was strangely quiet. Usually he did all the talking, even while doing algebra, and if she didn’t answer, he’d pester her with questions.

  “Did you see Cad at school yesterday?” she asked.

  “No,” Herbie said. Cad was a burly seventh grader whose real name was Cadogan. Everyone called him “Cardigan” and he hated the word so much that whenever Herbie wore a sweater to school, Cad beat him up.

  “Then what?” she asked.

  Herbie set down his pencil and took a deep breath. “Okay. I wasn’t going to tell you this, but…I think I should. I saw your dad on Tuesday.”

  “You couldn’t have,” she said. “He was in Phoenix until Thursday.”

  “I know he said that,” Herbie replied, getting flustered. “But I saw him. Here!”

  Emma stared at him witheringly, then rolled her eyes. “Is this what you didn’t want to tell me on the boat?”

  “Yeah. I swear I saw him at the marina,” Herbie said. “I mean technically, he was on Marina Boulevard. I was going to my tuba lesson and he was just down the block. I actually recognized his voice before I saw him. He was talking on his phone.”

  “He was in Arizona.”

  “I know that’s what he said.” Herbie got a bullish expression on his face. “But I’m sure it was him. I got a good look at him, and like I said, I recognized his voice.”

  “Did you talk to him?”

  “No.”

  “Then you don’t know for sure.” Emma resumed reading, but it was hard to concentrate when Herbie was staring at her so intently. “How far away were you?”

  “Half a block. I was just going over to say hi, but he went into the marina really fast.”

  “So you didn’t get a good look at him.”

  “No, I did. Then a few minutes later I saw him sail away on the Markab.”

  Emma felt her cheeks burn hot. Herbie had suspected Dad of many things. She always told herself that he had a hyperactive imagination, but this accusation was new and it brought a flush of anger. Dad never went on the boat without her. “Remember the time you thought you saw my dad on that TV show about the Mafia?”

  “This is totally different!”

  “I don’t think so,” she said. “You’ve mistaken him for someone else before. And now you’re mistaking the Markab for a different boat—”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “Anyway,” she cut in, “my dad was gone this week.”

  Herbie pressed his lips together. “I’m sure it was him.”

  “How can you be sure when he was half a block away and—and it was probably getting dark anyway?”

  “I think I’d recognize your dad,” Herbie said coldly. “And I’m sorry I had to tell you this, but I thought you should know.”

  “Know what?”

  Herbie’s cheeks were red now too.

  Emma closed her book and stood up. “I have an idea—why don’t we just go downstairs and ask him about it?”

  “No!” Herbie leapt up. “No, don’t do that.”

  “Why not? He’ll tell us the truth.”

  “Emma, that’s a really bad idea.”

  She was out the door before Herbie could reach her. “Wait, wait,” he whispered, struggling to get past her on the landing. “Don’t tell him I said this, just in case—”

  Aggravated, Emma shirked him and went downstairs.

  Dad was in his study, a long, narrow room decorated with thick Persian carpets and old tea lamps. Tall bookshelves lined every wall, each overflowing with books. A grand mahogany desk stood at the end of the room, and Dad was sitting there, writing in a ledger.

  “Hey, Dad,” Emma said, plunking herself down in one of the overstuffed chairs. Herbie stood awkwardly beside a lamp.

  “Hi, guys,” Dad said.

  “Where were you this week?” Emma asked.

  He looked up. “In Phoenix. Why?”

  “Just wondering how your week was.” She gave Herbie a subtle I-told-you-so look. “You were at that conference, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you were gone the whole week?”

  “Well, yes,” he said, looking at her oddly. “Why are you asking?”

  “It just seems like a long time,” she replied.

  “It sure felt like forever,” he said. “These things usually do.”

  As he pattered on with ridiculous details, like the way the hotel bar had served “southwestern peanuts” (whatever those were) and how Phoenix was as scorching hot as the bird it was named after, Emma felt a wave of satisfaction. Of course Herbie had seen someone else at the marina.

  “Pizza’s going to be here any minute!” Mom called from the kitchen. “Jack, do you have any cash?”

  Dad stood up, reached for his wallet, and left the room.

  The minute Dad was out of earshot, Herbie whispered, “He’s lying.”

  Emma blew air out of her cheeks and reminded herself that Herbie had once dared to suggest that Dad was an alien.

  “He went somewhere else this week,” Herbie said in a very arch tone.

 
“Whatever…”

  “No, listen. I think he went out on the boat.”

  “You can’t get to Phoenix on a boat,” she snapped, leaping out of the chair.

  “I know.” Herbie glared at her. “So I guess he didn’t go to Phoenix.”

  A cold silence passed between them.

  “I’ve been thinking about it,” Herbie whispered. “The mainsail was untied—he never leaves it untied. And the fuel tank was empty. But I’m one hundred percent certain we filled it up last week. Remember he spilled gasoline on his foot and he drove all the way home with one shoe in the trunk?”

  Emma felt a twinge of alarm. “I’m sure there’s an explanation,” she said flatly. “Why don’t you ask him this time?” It was a mean thing to do, knowing Herbie would never ask her dad anything.

  The doorbell rang.

  Herbie pressed his lips together. “I think your dad might—” Seeing Emma’s scowl, he hesitated and took a breath. “I think he might be smuggling things.”

  “Now you think my dad is a drug lord?” Emma blurted.

  “No!” Herbie said.

  “Listen, my dad is not a spy, not an alien, and not a drug lord,” she hissed. “And there is nothing weird going on.”

  CRACK!

  The sound of breaking glass startled them both. Then came a shriek from the front of the house.

  Emma and Herbie bolted for the door, but before they could reach it, Dad burst in, slamming the door behind him and lurching for a bookshelf.

  “What’s going on?” Emma cried.

  Dad yanked a book from the shelf—she couldn’t see which one—and with a loud pop, a lower section of the bookshelf snapped out of the wall, opening like a door.

  “Get in!” he hissed.

  “Wait, what’s going on?” Emma demanded.

  He pushed her head down and shoved her into the compartment. Herbie scrambled in behind her. “Stay in here no matter what. DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?”

  Emma had rarely heard this tone from him before, and it frightened her. “Yeah.”

  He shut the door with a final, disturbing thunk, cramming them into a hot, dark hidey-hole that, until two minutes ago, Emma hadn’t even known existed. It smelled like dust and leather and wood. There was not much space, and they were forced to curl their knees into their chests, their shoulders touching. A bit of light came in through a long, narrow peephole at eye level. They could just see past the row of books and into the study. Only then did Emma realize that Mom was shouting and that heavy footsteps were thundering through the house.

  Dad rushed to his desk, but he had barely reached it before the study door was blown open and a man barreled in, a gun in his hand.

  “Put your hands where I can see them!” he shouted.

  The peephole gave Emma a limited view. She couldn’t see the man’s face, but she saw his black shirt, strangely billowing and open at the chest. His forearms were covered in horrible burn marks. Scarred, lumpy red skin went from the tops of his elbows all the way down to his fingertips. The fingers were odd too. They looked as if they’d been chopped off, chewed up, and then sewn back on. They moved crookedly, backward even, as he pointed the gun at Dad and said, “Now, get up.”

  A woman entered the room behind him, dragging Mom in a vise grip. Emma gasped and clapped a hand to her mouth.

  “Oh no,” Herbie whispered.

  The woman was shorter, and Emma could see her face. Dressed in a pizza delivery uniform, she was a ragged woman with a mess of blond hair and a pair of narrow green eyes. Wiry and tough, her whole body seemed to give off an electrical impulse that might crackle at the slightest provocation. She threw Mom to the floor. Mom scrambled to her feet to find the woman pointing a gun at her.

  When Mom stood up, the man let out a deep, rich laugh. “Well, well, Halifax Brightstoke!”

  “He knows your mom?” Herbie whispered.

  “Caz Rastall…,” Mom replied in a dark voice.

  “And she knows him?” Emma squeaked.

  “And Laine Night,” Mom said coldly, staring at the woman. “I should have known.”

  To Emma’s amazement, Mom looked not at all frightened. She gave Rastall a challenging gaze. “I almost didn’t recognize you with all the burns.”

  “You thought you were clever hiding here, did you?” Rastall spat. “Well, there are others here too. You should never have left Draco, my girl.”

  “Draco?” Herbie whispered.

  “How did you find me?” Mom asked.

  “Why don’t you ask your husband?”

  They couldn’t see Dad’s face, but Mom’s expression showed a hint of dismay.

  “You’re nothing but a petty thief,” Mom said.

  “Oh ho!” Rastall cried. “And you’re not?” He gave a laugh.

  Emma gaped.

  Another man came into the room behind them. He was short and thuggish, and his arms were just as burned as Caz’s. He was carrying a gun.

  “Did you find the Pyxis?” Caz asked him.

  The man stepped forward and held out a necklace. “Was in a jewelry box upstairs,” he said, his voice rough. Emma recognized one of Mom’s necklaces, a rather large silver locket. It was circular, with gears and dials like an astrolabe.

  Caz seized it with amazement.

  “Unbelievable,” he said, laughing wickedly. “Your jewelry box?”

  “Give it back,” Mom commanded coldly.

  Rastall spun on her. “If you value your life, you’ll tell me what I need to do to activate it.” He held up the necklace. The amulet spun helplessly on its chain.

  “There’s something else,” the man said. “They’ve got a kid. A girl, I’m thinking. She’s got a bedroom upstairs.”

  Rastall looked alarmed. He pointed his gun at Dad. “Where is she?”

  “She’s out,” he said. “At soccer practice.”

  “You’re lying!” Rastall strode angrily toward the desk. “WHERE IS SHE?”

  “I told you. She’s at soccer pra—”

  CRACK! Rastall knocked the butt of his pistol against Dad’s head. Dad fell forward, unconscious. His body hit the carpet with a terrible thud.

  “If she’s gone for help,” Rastall said bitterly to Mom, “so help me, I’ll hunt her down and kill her too.”

  Mom didn’t seem the slightest bit fazed. She was staring at the amulet. “If you don’t give it back right now,” she said, “I’ll make sure you don’t leave this room alive.”

  Emma was flabbergasted.

  “You’ll make it easier on yourself if you tell me what I need to know,” Rastall said.

  “I’ll never tell you anything, you filth!” Mom said, lashing out with a kick. It sent Rastall sprawling backward and knocked the gun from his hand.

  Laine fell on Mom, but she was ready. Emma watched in complete amazement as Mom aimed a square punch at the woman’s face. Laine blocked it and struck back, but Mom caught her arm and twisted until something snapped. Laine howled in agony, and Mom punched her in the neck. She fell to the floor.

  Emma couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Her mother was fighting as if she did this every day! She spun just in time to fend off the second burned man, delivering a forceful kick that sent him sprawling onto a table and crashing to the floor. The gun flew out of his grip and slid across the carpet.

  Mom made a dash for the gun. She was nearly there, but Rastall was up on his feet. He lunged for her. Mom raised her fists and it looked as if she might strike him again, but suddenly a spurt of blood sprayed from her nose, and she stumbled. It only lasted a few seconds, but it was enough for Rastall to seize his gun. He pointed it at her chest as Laine delivered a vicious punch to Mom’s face. Mom fell backward, tumbling over the chair.

  Rastall gave a wicked laugh. “I’m afraid, dear Halifax, that you may need some persuasion.” He hauled her to her feet and nodded at Laine. “Tell me how to start the Pyxis or I’m going to shoot your husband.”

  Mom was shaking, but she stood there with a defiant gaze.<
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  Laine aimed her pistol at Dad and fired. The noise of the explosion seemed to rip through the hidey-hole. Mom screamed.

  Both of Emma’s hands were clapped to her mouth. She was whimpering, her whole body shaking violently. Herbie grabbed her arm. They couldn’t see enough of Dad to know where the bullet had struck, but they heard him groan. Laine raised her gun again.

  “STOP!” Mom shrieked. “Stop! I’ll tell you.” Her face was so full of anguish that Emma began to cry.

  Blood was pouring from Mom’s nose and she looked woozy. Emma had the awful feeling that she couldn’t tell them what they wanted to know. How did one “start” a necklace, anyway?

  After a moment, Mom said, “All you must do is hold it and wish it to start.”

  Laine’s eyes opened wide with something verging on horror and excitement. “Did ye hear that? Try it now! Go on! We’ve got to make sure she’s not lying.”

  Rastall was gazing skeptically at Mom. “I know you too well, Halifax, to believe that answer. Do you think I’m a fool?”

  Emma looked at her mother just in time to catch the wisp of a vicious smile. “Go ahead,” Mom spat. “Try it if you don’t believe me.”

  Rastall narrowed his eyes.

  “Go on!” Laine cried. “Yer wastin’ time!”

  “We can’t start it now!” he snapped.

  “Give it to me, then.” Laine lowered her gun. “I’ll try it!”

  “No!” he replied. His eyes never left Mom’s face. “If we start it now, it’ll send a signal, and the whole planet will know in an instant—”

  “I know, I know,” Laine said impatiently. “Like an invisible siren and everyone can hear ’cause they’re always listenin’ for it. But I don’t care about that, do I? They ain’t going to find us—we’ll be halfway to Draco—”

  “It will reveal its location,” Rastall cut in. “No matter where we go.”

  “But she could be lying!” Laine said.

  “Exactly right.” Rastall’s eyes gleamed. “And since we don’t want the whole universe to descend on this wretched little city, I think we’ll just have to take our dear Halifax along for the ride!”