Belle and the Pirate

by Vivienne Savage

  “Careen?”

  “We unload everything we can then tip the Jolly Roger on her side on shore so we can clean the hull. It’s a lot of work, and dangerous if not done properly, but I’ve never lost anyone in an accident.”

  “That sounds hard.”

  “It is. The ship is so heavy it takes every man and woman to help tip her. The islanders usually loan a few barges to remove the heaviest cargo.”

  “Huh. Well, I can’t wait to learn about that. Maybe I can help.”

  “Maybe you can.” As much as she’d done on board, he had no doubt she’d be an asset when it came to scraping off the accumulated barnacles and seaweed, but he didn’t think she’d be able to do much in tipping the ship.

  “Hey, James?”

  “Yes?”

  “What’s that sound?”

  “What sound?” Hearing nothing but the usual clamor of men talking and working, he glanced down at Belle in curiosity.

  “I don’t know. A sort of faint... ticking?”

  Ticking? Sometimes even the perceived sound of a ticking clock was enough to pound the blood to James’s head and put him on edge. After dashing to the rail overlooking the main deck, he roared a command for silence down to the men below.

  A dozen startled faces turned toward him, but his crew fell silent as the grave. At first, James heard nothing but the wind and the lap of water against the hull, along with the creak of wood and the ripple of the sails. Then he caught it, the faintest whisper of sound carried on the breeze. A ticking clock. James had long ago sold or destroyed every ticking clock aboard the ship, save for a beautiful cuckoo clock Cook kept in her private quarters, far away, where it could do no harm.

  “Prepare for an attack. Man the cannons and arm yourselves. Croc is coming.”

  His crew didn’t hesitate, and they didn’t panic. Every man and woman knew their place and their duty, and they worked together to make the ship battle ready. While some disappeared below deck to ready the canons, others took up spears and pistols before they claimed their places on the rails.

  “James, what’s happening?” Belle cried.

  “We haven’t gotten to the story about the crocodile yet,” he grunted. “Needless to say, you’ll see the monster yourself in a few moments. Stay close, please.”

  Callum, Little Wolf, and Eliza joined him on the quarterdeck with little Tootles in tow, but James eyed the child. “What’s he doing here?”

  “An educational moment. Besides, we’ll need every bit of magical help we can get,” Callum replied before tousling the young mage’s hair.

  Worrying for the boy’s safety, James hesitated to agree with his battlemage. Tootles hung back beside Eliza, his face pale and his hands trembling. “He isn’t in any shape for an educational anything, Callum. Look at him.”

  “I’ll stay with him,” Belle volunteered. When she flitted down from James to the petrified boy, Tootles loosened his clenched fists. One kiss from the sprite to his ashen cheek restored the color to his face.

  Belle was magical. He’d always known her to be extraordinary, but, in that instant, James couldn’t respect and adore her more.

  “Tootles and I will work together. Right?” she asked.

  “Y-yes,” Tootles stammered. He drew himself tall. “I want to help.”

  James knelt to place himself eye level with their young volunteer. “You’re a brave young man to be helping us,” he said. “Stay up here with Callum and listen to him. He’s been in many magical fights and will help you, as will Belle.”

  As he rose to stride away, the ship rocked on the waves, bumped from below by their unseen foe. A dark shadow moved beneath the water off their port bow.

  “Hold your fire, men,” James yelled. “Wait until you see it clearly.”

  They didn’t have to wait long. The crocodile surged from the water, propelling itself up and forward with its powerful tail, massive jaws opened wide. The first bullets pinged off its thick hide, as harmless as bubbles.

  Wood cracked and splintered as the behemoth struck the side, but the spearmen forced him back before his claws could do more than gouge the rails. Then he disappeared beneath the water and left the crew searching the choppy waves for any sign of him.

  “There, I see him!” someone yelled, their voice carried from the cargo hatch.

  “Fire!”

  A cannon roared, and its heavy iron load sent a geyser into the air where it splashed in the water. Croc surfaced twenty feet beyond, untouched and angry.

  “Blasted beast, go back to your mistress,” James muttered. Positive it would be a wasted shot—and precisely what the beast wanted—he held his fire. Seconds later the ship lurched, bucked from beneath. A second bumped rocked them, throwing a few men down to their knees.

  James braced for a third hit, but it never came. He searched the water, but the sunlight glittering across the waves made it hard to make out anything. Still, he knew Croc was out there. The clever bastard would never give up until one or both of them were dead.

  “Steady, men,” Nigel cautioned.

  Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

  James’s nemesis shot from the water in an impressive vertical leap, the monster’s tail whipping side to side as it propelled itself from the salty water. Over two thousand pounds of vicious reptile landed on the portside rail. Reinforced wood splintered like twigs beneath it and the enchantments carved into them dulled.

  Bollocks.

  “Guns!” James roared, thrusting his hook-wielding arm into the air.

  Pistols fired. Each shot issued streaks of lightning and other magical effects, a cacophony of sorcery propelling the iron balls. Although they scorched and hurt the monster, they weren’t enough to penetrate its incredibly thick hide. As the first wave of gunmen scrambled back to reload and the second wave moved forward, a wall of water arose from behind Croc and funneled toward the crew. On top of his brute strength, keen intellect, and endless stamina, Croc also had a rudimentary skill with water magic.

  Eliza’s shield swept over the front line, although it was imprecise and failed to provide cover for the men in the rear. Water surged over the starboard deck and swept Patrick against the rail. He grunted, pinwheeled one arm, and went over. Before the words “man overboard” could pass James’s lips, Belle hurtled toward the surface, faster than a lightning bolt cast from the sky. Seconds later, the tiny fairy floated above the deck again with the man in tow, gripping him by the seat of the pants. Patrick’s head and shoulders sparkled with golden glitter.

  Somehow, Belle had done the impossible and saved a grown man. She deposited the soaking wet pirate on the deck as he coughed up water.

  But James couldn’t focus on them, not yet, at least. As Croc scrambled in a desperate bid to climb aboard, James aimed his pistol toward the scarred eye facing him and pulled the trigger to no effect. His weapon had failed him.

  Crimson flames snapped across Croc’s snout from the quarterdeck. When Callum cracked the fiery whip a second time, Croc fell back into the water, claws gouging furrows in the hull the entire way down.

  As the wind picked up into a fierce gale, the water off the ship’s portside bow swirled into an ominous sight that never failed to bring fear to a sailor’s heart and soul. Spotting the whirlpool at the same time as James, Nigel spun to the crew and issued orders to turn them away. Those who weren’t engaged with the crocodile hurried to the sails. Even Croc paused in its efforts, albeit briefly.

  Rather than sucking downward, a waterspout shot from the foamy, white-capped waves toward the sky, roaring and throwing salty spray at the Jolly Roger. The swirling vortex moved across the water directly toward the crocodilian behemoth. The ticking reptile tried to swim away, but it was swept into the funnel and tossed about.

  James stared, transfixed by the magical display. Around and around Croc went, unable to escape the furious winds. He rose higher and higher until the force flung his spinning body through the open air. Croc landed somewhere in the vast distance with a colossal spl
ash.

  The monster didn’t approach them again, although the vague silhouette of his enormous body hurtled through the water toward the horizon. Cheers went up from the crew, short lived once they began assessing the damage. They’d been lucky, with mere days until their arrival to Neverland’s shores.

  “Excellent work, Callum,” James called out. He turned and looked over the assembled mages. “I’ve never seen you use that wind trick before.”

  “It wasn’t me,” the older wizard said. He set his hand on Tootles’s shoulder and grinned. “You can thank our young friend.”

  “That was some impressive spellwork.” James crouched down and inspected the boy. “You’re all right?”

  After a vigorous nod, Tootles inched behind Callum’s leg. Hopefully, the boy came out of his shell one day, and as much as James wanted to hug the youngster for saving the day, he settled for ruffling his curly hair instead.

  “When we get to the island, there are people who can help you train your magic, but only if it’s what you want. However, I think you’d make a fine sorcerer and protector.”

  “You mean… I don’t have to hurt people?”

  His heart broke for the boy. “No, Tootles, you don’t. Your magic is your own, and I won’t tell you what to do with it. That choice is yours alone, whether you wish to learn the healing arts like Eliza, become a battlemage like Callum, something in between, or a completely different mage of your own choosing. Regardless of who you become, it will be your choice. In Neverland, no one will ever hurt you again.”

  * * *

  Tink delighted in observing Little Wolf at the forecastle with the wind behind him. He had a command for weather magic she’d only witnessed in fairykin like Anastasia. With his gift, the wind coasted the Jolly Roger eastward toward their next destination at a remarkable pace, despite the immense damage to the portside bow.

  James said they’d lose too much time by turning back for Ankirith, which meant all repairs had to be made with what material they carried in the hold, which was little, considering they traveled light and lacked the amount of lumber required.

  “Let me at it,” Tink declared before performing a marvel that left the entirety of the ship staring at her in awe.

  She swept up and down the ship’s portside sprinkling fairy dust wherever the wood had splintered and left jagged edges. While she couldn’t use her fairy dust to create new wood, she made what was there malleable to affix the broken shards that weren’t lost to the bottom of the sea.

  “Is it glue?” Patrick asked, bewildered. He’d done nothing but watch and hand her tools as she directed.

  “No, silly. It’s fairy dust, and it does whatever I want it to do.”

  An hour ago, she’d used it to make him light as a feather, and now she used it to mend the shattered pieces of their ship.

  “Nail, please.”

  “Oh, yes, of course.” Patrick hurried to place a nail against the soft wood. Using his hammer, she drove it in with one stroke.

  Once the surprise wore off, the others began to ask how they could pitch in and help her. They sawed wood and patched together the damaged deck until the sun touched the water, and everyone felt safe again. Or safer, at least. There had been no sign of the crocodile since the water spout had tossed it away.

  “Go on and eat, Belle. We’ve got the rest of this. Thanks to you, it’ll all hold firm until we reach Neverland,” Patrick said.

  Exhausted from all her work, Tink retreated to James’s cabin and flopped onto the table. Someone had delivered dinner, although it was all hidden beneath a silver dome. As she started to raise the lid for a peek, James stepped in and shut the door behind him. He groaned and rolled his shoulders before kicking off his boots.

  “What are we having?” he asked as he approached.

  “I don’t know yet, but it smells delicious.” She lifted the lid and set it aside, revealing bowls of steaming soup laden with chunks of chicken and vegetables. A round loaf of dark bread and a crock of butter accompanied the simple meal, but there wasn’t a slice of cheese in sight. Not even a crumb.

  “But… where’s the cheese?” she whined.

  James laughed. “If we have it with every meal, we’ll run out within a few days.”

  “I suppose…”

  For a time, they both ate in silence. Tink stuffed herself until she couldn’t manage another bite, and then she retired to the ship model near the chaise. She liked to spin the wheel and pretend she was at the helm of the Jolly Roger, navigating the wild and treacherous waters of the Viridian Sea as Captain Belle. And sometimes in those fantasies, James was beside her.

  “Do you think that crocodile will come back?” she asked.

  “Not anytime soon. We gave it a good bruising, and it won’t want to tangle with Tootles’s magic again. However, I’m sure it won’t leave us alone forever.”

  “Why does it hate you so much?”

  “Did you notice its missing eye?”

  Tink’s eyes widened. “You did that?”

  “Indeed I did.”

  “Why was it ticking?”

  The corner of his mouth quirked. “Because, prior to that damnable croc taking my hand, it burst through a load of expensive cargo we were bringing on board and swallowed several pricey trinkets. That cargo happened to be comprised of clockwork mechanisms from Ridaeron.”

  “But… it’s still ticking.”

  “Ridaeron gnomes make very good clocks. It’s why they fetch such a high price on the market.”

  “Gnomes?” Trailing sparkles, she darted toward the pirate’s face, close enough for his eyes to cross. Tink giggled and drifted back until his blue eyes regained focused. “Sorry. They have gnomes in Ridaeron?”

  “They do, though they’re few in number, from what I hear. Another reason their goods demand such high prices. You’ve heard of gnomes? Do they live in your kingdom, as well?”

  “Oh no, not in Cairn Ocland,” she said. “But Victoria told us a story about a gnomish city once. It was long ago abandoned and trolls had moved in! She and Ramsay had to run for their lives, and they ended up in a gnomish castle with ballista and oil pots.” Leaving out no detail, she continued her tale and went so far as to act certain parts out. By the time she finished, the light had returned to James’s eyes, a wondrous grin replacing his grim expression.

  “You spin a good tale, Belle. Have you ever considered becoming a storyteller?”

  “I tell stories all the time.”

  His soft, husky laugh made her stomach flutter. “And you do so well. I only meant, in my homeland, that we have people whose sole occupation is to concoct stories for the amusement of others. Then they produce them into plays on stage so all can enjoy them.”

  “You mean, you pay to hear a story?”

  “We do.”

  “But why? Anyone can share a story.”

  “But only the truly gifted possess the creative endowment to tell them with such enthusiasm and imagination.”

  James was a fan of big words, she’d noticed, and it endeared him to her even more. A lifetime of exposure to her countrymen in Cairn Ocland had made the rolling cadence of his speech different and intriguing.

  She would have listened to him read the ship’s travel logs or the meticulous cargo manifest Nigel kept.

  But her favorite activity that involved James and his voice was listening to him read poetry at night. He hadn’t done that since discovering she understood him. Blast. Had the poetry reading been too personal a thing to continue now that he considered her a woman—a miniature woman no larger than his thumb, but a woman, just the same?

  “Would you like another hot bath?” James asked suddenly, the offer intruding on her thoughts.

  “Yes, please.”

  His warm smile raised goose bumps over her skin again. Now that he knew her to be no different than any other woman, he’d taken to pouring a hot kettle of water into the bath of her dollhouse each night, an improvement over the room temperature washes she’d endu
red for weeks.

  Once James poured her bath, he retreated into the private loo where the pounding noise of water against metal and porcelain tile seeped into his personal cabin.

  And every night, she always imagined what it would be like to join him.

  Chapter

  AFTER CLOSE TO a week of travel from Ankirith, and an even greater voyage before that, Tink wanted nothing more than to inhale the aroma of green life and fertile soil.

  While helping Patrick with the furnace that supplied hot water to the communal shower, Eliza’s bath, and James’s private room, she heard the words, “Land ho!” belted from the crow’s nest. The announcement stirred up the crew and changed the somber atmosphere that had blanketed the ship ever since Croc’s attack.

  She’d learned since then that a few good pirates had died during the last great attack, James’s hand the least of the casualties.

  “Go on,” Patrick said.

  “Go on where?”

  The mechanic grinned at her, eyes bright. As bright as they could be with one still healing from an angry healer’s right hook. Shades of a blue and green bruise surrounded it. “You go and skive off, Madam Belle. I know you must want to see the green more than anyone, since you’re always talking about your pretty homeland.”

  Aside from the single time he’d fooled her into cleaning all the guns, she and Patrick had formed a tinker’s camaraderie, endeared to one another by a common love for inventions and laboring with their hands. He was what the Eislanders called a prodigy, gifted since a young age when it came to dreaming up designs for ships and all manner of devices.

  As Tink zipped away from the furnace and ascended from the belly of the ship, the joyous celebration of the pirates grew louder. She reached the main deck to find it bustling with action. James stood at the helm in his dazzling scarlet coat, his dark mane of lustrous hair moving with the wind. For a while, she stood hypnotized by the sight of him, the power he commanded, and the confidence he exuded behind the wheel.