by Lian Tanner
Smudge waved his sword wildly. Cord fired a shot, but the slaughterbird was already gone.
“Cord!” cried Smudge. “We gotta turn back. I’m gunna drown. The ghosties said so!”
“It’s not ghosties; it’s the snotties,” hissed Cord through gritted teeth. “Where are they? They gotta be ’ere somewhere.”
“I’m gunna drown!”
“When I catch ’em,” said Cord, “you can stick that stupid sword through ’em. Then you’ll see they’re not ghosties.”
Goldie crept up behind the big man. “Pooor Smuuuuudge,” she crooned. “Stabbed himself with a swooooord.”
Smudge spun around. He raised the sword, then stared at it uncertainly. His hand shook. On the other side of him, Toadspit whispered, “With a swoooord.”
“Swoooooooord,” wailed the cat, its tail thrashing from side to side.
A black feather drifted down and landed on the deck in front of Smudge. “Swo-o-o-o-o-o-o-rd,” cried Morg from inside the clouds.
“Sweeerd, sweeerd,” squeaked the mice, jumping up and down in the rigging.
“No!” cried Smudge, and he flung the sword away with all his strength.
As it hit the deck, someone screamed. Goldie swung around. While she and Toadspit had been tormenting Smudge, Cord must have crept past them and grabbed Mouse. Now the little boy teetered on the ship’s rail with his legs dangling over the side and his face as white as chalk. Cord held him by one arm.
Beneath him the sea boiled with heavy gray bodies.
“I know yez’re here somewhere,” shouted Cord. “Now git yerselves out into the open quick smart, or I’ll let go of ’im.”
Goldie stood frozen to the spot. Whatever she did next, Mouse would die. If she and Toadspit stayed hidden, he would die in the next few seconds. If they showed themselves, he would still die. They would all die—it would just happen a bit later.
In the back of her mind, Frisia whispered, As long as you are alive, the battle is not lost.
Goldie nodded. The princess was right. They must save the little boy now. As long as he was still alive—as long as they were all still alive—there was a skerrick of hope.
She took a deep breath and let the Nothingness slide away. A moment later Toadspit flickered into view close by.
Cord hissed with satisfaction. His pistol swung up to cover them. “Ya see?” he growled at Smudge. “No ghosties. Now git that sword.”
Smudge didn’t move. “Let’s take ’em back to the city, Cord, and let ’em go. You can tell Harrow they got away.”
“Shut up,” said Cord. “I’ve ’ad enough of you. In fact”—he shook Mouse until the little boy whimpered—“I’ve ’ad enough of everyone on this ship. I reckon it’s time to do the business. And we’ll start with this one.”
He shifted his grip on Mouse’s arm, as if he was about to push the boy overboard. Goldie took a quick step forward. “Wait!” she said. “There’s something you should know.”
She had no idea what she was going to say. Toadspit was standing a little way behind her, as helpless as she was. Neither of them could get closer, not without endangering Mouse. She did not know how they could save the little boy, or themselves.
“What?” growled Cord.
Goldie racked her brain. For some reason, she kept thinking about Frisia’s sword. But that was lying on the other side of the deck. If one of them tried to grab it, Cord would just shoot them.
There was Bonnie, of course. But what could Bonnie do? She was as helpless as Goldie and Toadspit.
Or was she?
Like a flash of light, Goldie saw herself standing on the docks at Merne, when she was still a princess and Bonnie was Uschi, a girl who longed to go to war with her brother. A girl who was almost as good an archer as Frisia.
“Here, put these in my cabin.”
The sword had come out of the Lie into the real world. What if Frisia’s bow and quiver had done the same?
Goldie had no way of knowing. Just as she had no way of knowing whether Bonnie and the person hiding in the dinghy would understand what she was about to say. And whether they could act quickly enough.
All she could do was hope. She took another step forward.
“None of yer tricks,” snapped Cord, raising his pistol. The ship rolled from side to side. Mouse clutched the rail with desperate hands.
“I haven’t got any tricks left,” said Goldie. Toadspit shifted his feet, and she knew that he had heard the lie in her voice. Behind her back, her hands twitched in fingertalk. Be ready!
“But if Princess Frisia were here,” she said loudly, “she’d have some tricks. She was a famous archer.”
“What?” sneered Cord. “You think that old Lie’s gunna save ya? It won’t help you a second time, will it, boy?”
He gave Mouse a push, so that the little boy almost fell off the rail. Mouse cried out. His legs scrabbled in midair.
Cord laughed.
“If Princess Frisia were here,” Goldie cried quickly, “she’d shoot that pistol out of your hand!”
She and Toadspit dived for the deck just in time. An arrow whistled over their heads. It hit Cord’s pistol full square, knocking it out of his hand. He yelped with surprise—and let go of Mouse.
The little boy clung to the rail, screaming. His legs flailed. The ship rolled. His hands began to slip.…
Goldie leaped to her feet and flew across the deck faster than she had ever run before. As Mouse slid over the side of the ship, she grabbed his arm and clung to him with all her strength.
Cord was already diving for his pistol. Out of the corner of her eye Goldie saw Toadspit try to beat him to it and knew that he would not make it in time.
Then she heard a shout of rage, and someone burst out of the dinghy and jumped onto Cord’s back.
It was Pounce.
Cord fell to the deck under the sudden weight, his hand still grasping for the pistol. He missed, and it slid across the boards toward Goldie. She kicked it into the scuppers.
But the force of that kick loosened her grip on Mouse’s arm. He began to slide away from her. “Toadspit!” she screamed.
Toadspit raced across the deck and grabbed the little boy’s other arm. Together, they pulled him up the side of the ship and over the rail to safety. Then they fell onto the wet boards in a heap.
But they could not rest for long. Nearby, Pounce was fighting for his life. He kicked and punched and bit with a ferocious cunning, but Goldie could see that he was no match for Cord. The sharp-faced man was gradually forcing him to the deck.
She saw the sword, still lying where Smudge had thrown it. A part of her yearned to grab it and wield it. A greater part of her felt sick at the thought.
But she had to do something. She stood up and edged toward the sword.
“Hey!” shouted Smudge, and he let go of the tiller. But before he could reach Goldie, Morg dropped from the clouds. Smudge screamed with fright and fell flat on his face, covering his head with his hands. The slaughterbird stalked around him, jabbing at him with her beak.
Goldie heard a cry from Mouse. Cord was kneeling over Pounce with his arm wrapped around the boy’s neck. Pounce wriggled and kicked, but he could not get away, and his face was slowly turning blue.
Toadspit took an uncertain step toward him. Goldie gritted her teeth and reached for the sword.
But as she did so, she felt a rush of wings, and Morg flew up into the rigging. Goldie hesitated, her fingers an inch from the sword’s hilt. Above her head, the slaughterbird began to raise and lower her great wings.
Flap. Flap-flap. Flap.
There was a sudden stillness on the deck. The wind and the waves dropped away to nothing. The clouds were so low that they touched the top of the mast. The only sound, apart from the throb of the engine, was Morg’s wings, beating out the rhythm of an ancient song.
Flap. Flap-flap. Flap.
Flap. Flap-flap. Flap.
The air around the Piglet flickered. Cord grunted. Then he let
go of Pounce and staggered to his feet. The movement seemed to make him dizzy. He leaned against the rail, holding his fists out in front of him.
“I’m gunna kill yez all,” he growled.
Smudge sat up, keeping a careful eye on Morg. Pounce rubbed his neck. Goldie heard a whisper of sound, and the cat brushed past her, its gaze as cold as the winter moon. The mice followed it, and formed a semicircle around Cord. Despite their small size, there was something pitiless about them, as if they had made a judgment and were there to see it carried out.
The air fizzed and swirled around them.
It’s a Big Lie, thought Goldie. Morg has summoned a Big Lie!
Above her head the slaughterbird’s wings kept up a steady rhythm. The clouds drifted lower, until they nearly touched the deck.
Cord drew in a sharp breath. “Oho, so it’s you, is it, Bungle?” he muttered. He jabbed at the clouds with his fists. “Come on, then. Come and get yer face rearranged.”
Bonnie’s voice breathed in Goldie’s ear. “Who’s he talking to?”
“I don’t know,” whispered Goldie. The air flickered again, and the clouds took on the outline of a man.
“You was always a weakling, Bungle,” said Cord. “Weak and slow.” He laughed. “Not like me.”
Smudge dragged himself to his feet, keeping well away from the cat and mice. “Cord? Whatcha doin’? Bungle’s dead. Ya slit ’is throat five years ago.”
Cord didn’t hear him. “Ya can’t fool me, Bungle,” he cried. “I see ya!” And he lashed out again with his fists.
Goldie stared at the cat and the mice. One of them must have asked a question. What was it? she wondered.
Frisia’s whisper came as sharp as salt spray in the back of her mind. When will this man pay for his crimes?
Goldie shivered. And the answer?
Now …
Suddenly Cord’s dizziness seemed to leave him. With all his old sureness, he jumped up onto the Piglet’s rail. He wrapped one arm around the rigging and threw his head back. “Ya think ya can git away from me?” he bellowed. “No one gits away from Cord. I’m comin’ after ya, Bungle!”
Smudge stared at him in alarm. “Whatcha doin’, Cord? Don’t forget the sharks! Cord? The sharks!”
But Cord did not hear him. He didn’t seem to hear anything, except perhaps the voice of a vengeful ghost in his head. With a fierce shout, he leaped overboard.
For a moment Goldie almost thought he might survive. He swam across the very tops of the waves, barely touching the water. There was no sign of the sharks.
But then he stopped, as if he had hit an invisible wall. The water around him boiled. He gave one single desperate cry.
And was gone.
No one moved for a long time. The Piglet drifted. The clouds frayed and blew away. Goldie thought she might cry, and then she thought she might laugh, and then she clamped her lips together and did her best to think nothing at all.
Toadspit’s face was blank; his arm was tight around Bonnie’s shoulders. Mouse crouched on the deck behind them, shivering, while his little pets cleaned his face and groomed his hair, trying to comfort him. Smudge stared at the horizon, his eyes wide with horror.
It was Pounce who jolted them out of their shock. He strolled to the rail and spat loudly into the water. “Good riddance to bad rubbish, that’s what I say. Hey, Smudge, any of them pastries left? I didn’t get no breakfast this mornin’.”
Smudge blinked at him. “Ya—ya can’t ’ave ’em. They’re Cord’s. He don’t like no one takin’ his stuff.”
“Don’t reckon he’ll be needin’ ’em,” said Pounce. He grinned at the cat, which was sitting beside the rail with a satisfied look on its face. “Don’t reckon he’ll be needin’ this boat, neither. I could sail up and down the Southern Archipelago and make me fortune. Cap’n Pounce. How does that sound?”
He tilted his head in a challenge and stared around the circle of faces. Slowly Goldie’s mind started working again. “It sounds fine,” she said, “as long as you take us home first.”
Pounce’s eyes narrowed. “It’ll cost ya.”
“We’ve already paid,” said Goldie. She nodded toward Mouse. The white-haired boy was still shivering, but now he crooned to his mice as they trotted up and down his arms.
Pounce flushed. “Yeah, I s’pose ya have.”
Toadspit shook himself as if he had only just noticed what was going on. “You’re not going to trust him, are you?” he muttered to Goldie.
“No,” said Goldie, not bothering to lower her voice. “He’d still sell us to Harrow if it suited him, wouldn’t you, Pounce?”
Pounce shrugged. “Maybe. But I pays me debts too. Ya saved Mousie from the sharks. So I’ll give yez a ride ’ome in me ship.”
Toadspit bristled. “Who says it’s your ship?”
“I says.”
“I bet you can’t even sail it.”
“Can you?” said Pounce.
Bonnie had been listening to all this with Frisia’s bow held loosely by her side. Now she rolled her eyes at Pounce. “Of course he can. My brother can do anything.”
“Shut up, Bonnie,” mumbled Toadspit.
“Listen,” said Goldie, losing patience with all of them. “None of us know how to sail this ship except for Smudge. So it doesn’t matter who calls themselves captain. It’s going to be Smudge telling us what to do.”
The big man shook his head. “Not me. I’m not gunna help yez. Harrow wouldn’t like it.” Behind him, the cat stretched and showed its claws.
“Harrow won’t know,” said Goldie.
Smudge glanced nervously over his shoulder at the cat. He lowered his voice. “Harrow knows everything.”
“You can be captain,” said Goldie.
Smudge hesitated, and Goldie could see the temptation working away inside him. But his fear of Harrow was too great. He shook his head again.
Goldie sighed loudly. “In that case we’ll just have to make you help us.”
“Make me?” Smudge laughed uncertainly. “How ya gunna do that? Yez are only little. An’ I’m big.”
Goldie turned her back on him and winked at Bonnie. “How many arrows have you got?”
“Lots. Do you want me to shoot him?” said Bonnie. She was only wearing one shoe, and now she kicked it off and stood eagerly in her stockinged feet.
“Hey!” said Smudge.
“Not all at once,” said Goldie. “Just a bit here and there. Start with his kidneys.”
Bonnie took an arrow from her quiver and fitted it to the bow.
“Hang on a minute,” said Smudge.
Bonnie raised the bow and began to circle the big man. “Where are his kidneys?”
“I’m not sure,” said Goldie. “There, I think.” She poked Smudge in the back. “It doesn’t really matter. Just keep trying until you hit them.”
“All right, all right!” said Smudge. “I’ll help yez.”
Bonnie made a disappointed face. “Can I shoot him anyway?”
“Only if he doesn’t get the ship on course for Jewel right now,” said Goldie.
Smudge ran to the tiller, and the Piglet was soon heading steadily westward. Goldie sank to the deck and closed her eyes, trying very hard not to think about Cord.
Instead, for the first time in days, she let her thoughts turn to Ma and Pa. How she longed to see them! She wished she could make the ship move more quickly—
“Goldie.”
Reluctantly she opened her eyes. Bonnie and Toadspit were squatting in front of her, with Frisia’s bow and sword in their hands. Bonnie must have retrieved her own bow from the dinghy, because she held that as well. Morg sat on Toadspit’s shoulder, her black feathers rustling in the wind.
“Ffffowl,” muttered the cat in a halfhearted fashion, from its spot near the rail.
Without a word, Bonnie laid the two bows on the deck. They were the same length, but apart from that they looked nothing at all alike. Frisia’s bow was almost new. It had a leather grip, with a
small carving of a wolf cub just above it, and it was painted in intricate patterns of red and black. The tips were inlaid with silver rings.
In contrast, Bonnie’s bow was so old that it had surely forgotten it had ever been part of a living tree. The original grip was missing, and there were scrapes and scratches all over the wood. If it had ever been painted, there was no sign of it now.
But then Bonnie pointed to the tip, where the bowstring looped around it, and said, “Look. You can see where the silver rings used to be. And here, just above the grip. It’s the wolf cub.”
Goldie peered at the old bow without touching it. Certainly there had once been something carved there. But it had been hacked away with a knife long ago, and she could not tell what it was.
“Toadspit reckons I’m imagining things,” said Bonnie.
“I didn’t say that.” Toadspit grinned. “I said you were mad.”
“Well, I’m not. The two bows feel the same, Goldie. They really do.”
“I suppose it’s possible,” said Goldie slowly. “Frisia’s bow could have ended up in the museum somehow.”
“And Olga Ciavolga kept it safe and gave it to me!”
“Which makes Olga Ciavolga the mad one,” said Toadspit. Then he added quickly, “But don’t tell her I said so.”
Bonnie picked up the beautiful new bow. Her fingers caressed the leather grip. “Were we really there, in ancient Merne?”
“I don’t know,” said Goldie. “It felt as if we were.”
Over by the rail, the cat inspected a paw that had once been adorned with velvet and rat-skins. “Gggggown,” it murmured.
Bonnie sighed. “It was fun being the young margravine. And Goldie, you were a good Frisia. Much better than I would’ve been.”
She stroked the bow one last time, then held it out. “This is really yours.”
Toadspit cleared his throat. “This is yours too.” His hand lingered on the hilt of Frisia’s sword, as if he didn’t want to let it go.
“Yo-o-o-o-urs,” croaked Morg.
Goldie sat up. The silver rings on the bow winked at her. The sword lay still and waiting. Her fingers clenched. “Um—I’ve forgotten how to use them.”
