A Sprinkle of Sorcery

by Michelle Harrison

  Spit’s chest puffed out like a pigeon’s. ‘H-handsome?’

  ‘Very,’ Fliss purred.

  A bead of sweat ran down the side of Spit’s face. He brushed it away, glancing at the Rusty Scuttlers’ boat. ‘All right then!’ he growled. ‘I’ll do what you want. But, if you’re found out, I’m taking no blame for it! I’ll say you fooled me as well.’

  ‘Fine,’ Betty growled back, thankful for her sister’s charm.

  ‘Betty,’ Fliss breathed, rigid with fright as the Rusty Scuttlers drew ever closer. ‘They’re nearly here. What’ll we do about our boat? Even if we stay on it, invisible, the pirates will steal it! We’ll lose our chance to find Charlie!’

  ‘We won’t lose it,’ Betty said in a low voice. Her mouth was dry with salt and fear, and she could hardly believe what she was about to say. ‘Because we’re going to split up.’

  ‘Are you out of your mind?’ Fliss hissed. ‘We’ve already lost Charlie! I’m not losing you, too! No way. I absolutely refuse!’

  ‘Fliss, we have to,’ Betty insisted. ‘It’s the only way. You and Willow stay invisible on the boat and find a hiding place. First chance you get, when the Rusty Scuttlers lower their guard, you cut loose and come back for me.’

  ‘And where will you be, Betty?’ Fliss demanded. ‘You can’t possibly think this will work!’

  ‘We don’t have a choice,’ said Betty. ‘If Charlie comes – ’ she corrected herself – ‘when Charlie comes, one of us has to be here. We can’t miss our chance. I’m staying with Spit on The Sorcerer’s Compass.’

  ‘This might be the worst plan you’ve had yet, Betty Widdershins,’ Fliss muttered, trembling now.

  ‘Well, it’s the only one we’ve got,’ said Betty. ‘If we’re going to find Charlie, then we have to do it.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘No buts,’ Betty whispered fiercely. ‘There’s no time. They’re here.’

  Chapter Sixteen

  Dead or Alive

  THE SHIP CUT THROUGH THE water and surged towards them, details growing clearer with every billow of its deep red sails.

  Red, thought Betty grimly. The colour of danger. The colour of blood.

  On the largest red sail there was an emblem of a huge crow’s skeleton, a key wedged into the dead bird’s beak. We’ll find your treasure, the key seemed to threaten. And your secrets. We can unlock anything and take it for ourselves.

  Once again, Granny’s warning floated back to Betty, as clear in her mind as it had been the day it was spoken. When Granny had given Betty the magical nesting dolls for the first time.

  ‘You must never use these objects without care, especially in a place like Crowstone. Most people here are connected to the prisoners in that prison. Dangerous people, who’d go to any lengths to get their hands on these things . . .’

  They’d learned the hard way that Granny’s fear was justified, when Charlie had been kidnapped so that her magic might be used for a prisoner to escape. Back then, the thought of the inmates in Crowstone Prison had been threatening, but, as Betty was starting to realise, there were things – and people – even scarier out in the world. The prisoners at least were behind bars. But out here on the open sea there was no one to keep the Rusty Scuttlers in check. They made their own rules, and answered to no one.

  ‘Quickly, hide,’ Betty instructed Fliss and Willow, terror clutching at her. ‘Our boat will be swarming with pirates any minute! Remember you can still be heard – and felt. If they find you, they’ll kill you!’

  For an awful moment, it seemed Fliss was too frozen with fear to act. Desperate, Betty shoved her. ‘Move!’ Finally, Fliss jerked into life, urging Willow underneath one of the benches before tucking her own slim frame under the other.

  Betty crept past Spit, feeling him stiffen as her clothes brushed against him. She slid her legs into the water, taking care not to make a ripple that would give her away. Immediately, her skirt and stockings became waterlogged, pulling at her heavily. She took a breath and lowered herself down into the water. Above her, she heard Spit pacing the deck of The Travelling Bag nervously as his crew got near, and he spat three times into the water, phlat phlat phlat, one after the other.

  She began to swim to the other side of the ship, behind the vast bulk vanishing into the water. Approaching the Rusty Scuttlers’ warning sign, she hooked her fingers into a strip of torn rigging and began to climb up on to the side of the wreck. If she could get high enough, she’d be able to see across the other side to where Fliss and Willow were. Somehow, even though she knew the pirates wouldn’t see them, she needed to reassure herself of this. By now, she could hear the rumble of voices from the other side of The Sorcerer’s Compass.

  What she hadn’t thought of was the rush of water draining from her drenched clothes back into the sea. To Betty it sounded horribly loud, loud enough to give her away. She froze, waiting as the water slowed to a trickle. Carefully, she pulled her skirt up and began squeezing out the rest of the water. It ran down the sloping wooden sides of the wreck, thankfully without a sound.

  She crawled up further. The ebony wood was hot and dry in the sun, warming her chilled body. She passed Spit’s shirt, which had stopped steaming now, and paused at the edge where the mast and the crow’s-nest were visible. The pirates’ ship was close now, virtually alongside The Travelling Bag, though it kept a safe distance from the rocks that had brought disaster to The Sorcerer’s Compass. Like the wrecked ship, the Rusty Scuttlers’ ship was huge, dwarfing the Widdershins’ little boat in comparison.

  Betty’s heart skittered as she took in the figures on deck, swarming below the red sails. There had to be twenty or so of them – and there would be more below decks. Already she saw a rowing boat being lowered into the water, with three people aboard. The two who were rowing were young men, with strong but lean limbs. The third passenger was a woman who stood at the bow, looking through a spyglass. Straight away, every nerve of Betty’s jangled.

  She wore a tan leather waistcoat that was the same colour as her skin. Her black hair had been shorn very short, but lengths of ribbon and rags had been tied into the roots and flowed behind her like a rainbow. A curved sword was sheathed at her waist, and a dagger was strapped to one of her boots, which were laced to her thigh. Jewels dripped from her wrists and throat. And Betty knew you’d have to be brave, stupid or invincible to flaunt such riches.

  One thing was certain: she didn’t look stupid. This woman was not someone to be taken lightly. This was someone used to giving orders . . . and being obeyed. Strangest of all was the cat standing on her shoulder, looking perfectly at ease. It was white, except for its two front paws, which were as black as ink, and a black slash across its eyes like a robber’s mask. It stiffened as the rowing boat glided through the water, its eyes fixed on the shipwreck. For a heart-stopping moment, it seemed to stare right at Betty, but then it blinked lazily and looked into the water, as if searching for fish.

  Before Spit even opened his mouth, Betty knew how he would address this woman. He drew himself up straight, saluting obediently.

  ‘Cap’n.’

  ‘Spit.’ Though she spoke quietly, her deep, velvety voice carried easily across the stretch of water. Here was someone used to being listened to. She nodded at The Travelling Bag, her full lips curving into a smile. ‘What have we here?’

  Spit hoicked into the water, still standing to attention. ‘A prize bit of booty. Occupants went down to check out the wreck, and must’ve met with trouble – ain’t come back up yet.’ He slapped his hand on the side of the jewel-green boat. The boat Betty’s father had painted in secret as a surprise for them all last year.

  She felt herself bristling with indignation – but, more than that, hoping with all her might that Spit would stick to the story they’d agreed. If he gave them up to this woman, they were as good as dead.

  ‘Mmm.’ The captain cast her eyes over the little boat dismissively, as if it were nothing more than a paper toy. ‘Might be all right as a d
ecoy. Looks sturdy enough, but it’s of no real worth.’ She reached up to tickle the cat’s chin.

  To Betty’s dismay, the captain stepped neatly aboard The Travelling Bag, as sure-footed as the cat on her shoulder. Betty held her breath as the captain walked past Fliss, who was cowering under a bench, and paused by Willow’s hiding place under another to stare into the water. The dagger in her boot was directly level with Willow’s nose.

  ‘Which part did they go into?’ Her voice was still quiet, but emotionless. Businesslike.

  ‘The deep part, Cap’n,’ Spit answered dutifully. ‘Rusty’s domain.’

  ‘Any sign of the bodies?’

  Spit shook his head, and Betty felt weak with relief that he hadn’t given them away. It seemed the captain believed him – for now.

  ‘Everything else untouched?’ she asked, tapping her spyglass. Spit nodded.

  ‘Well, there we have it,’ she said. ‘This is what happens when greed gets the better of people.’ She gave Spit a scathing look. ‘What did you see from up there?’

  Spit fidgeted. ‘Not a lot,’ he answered. ‘There were three of them. Big burly looters.’

  ‘You’d better not be lying.’ The pirate woman’s clear green eyes were as flinty as her voice.

  ‘No,’ Spit spluttered. ‘Course not, Cap’n.’

  She regarded him for a long moment.

  ‘Ronia.’

  Betty had been focusing on the smaller boat, but now she looked up. The voice had come from the pirate ship. Flanked by pirates on either side, a stout man sat in a wheeled chair. With a shock, Betty realised that he had no legs. He had only one eye and, even from Betty’s vantage point, she could make out a thick scar that ran from his hairline to his chin.

  His arms were as meaty as hams, but with not a trace of fat. He had a small knife in one hand, which he was using to pick the nails of the other. The sun flashed on its blade dangerously.

  The pirate woman – Ronia – looked up, too. ‘Father?’

  ‘Search the rest of the boat – and the wreck. If there are bodies, I want ’em found. Dead or alive.’ He grinned widely, displaying a dazzling set of white teeth. He lifted his beefy arm, pointing with the knife at a thin length of wood jutting out from the front of the pirate ship like a needle. ‘I’m sure they’d make a lovely addition to the gang.’

  Laughter rippled through the rest of the crew.

  Betty blinked in horror . . . and almost fell from where she was perched. For there, hanging from the spike, was a jumbled collection of bones. An arm, two legs and a skull, dangling like baubles on a gruesome yule tree.

  ‘Buckles! Bilge!’ Ronia commanded, calling up to her crew on the ship. ‘You two search the wreck underwater. Check the booty.’

  Two mean-faced pirates, one with huge gold hoops through his ears and the other with a ring through his nose, glanced at each other before diving reluctantly into the water. Betty tensed. She crouched down, hoping they wouldn’t climb on to the wreck itself, for there were few places to go. Moments later, she heard an eruption of water from the second porthole as one of the pirates came up for breath.

  ‘Clear!’ he called, then vanished back inside the wreck. Betty waited for the other one to emerge, half expecting him to leap on to the raised part of the ruined ship at any moment and trip over her . . . but, when he came up, it was in the exact spot he’d first entered the water.

  ‘No sign of Rusty’s domain being disturbed,’ Nose-ring confirmed, hoisting himself on to a rope ladder on the side of the pirate ship. He was clutching at something strung round his neck in such a worried way that Betty guessed it was a lucky charm, worn for protection.

  ‘There was this, though.’ The other pirate had resurfaced, holding a dripping scrap of fabric that Betty recognised immediately as from her vest. ‘Caught in Old Squid’s clutches, rest his seaworthy soul.’

  ‘He always did have sticky fingers,’ Ronia remarked.

  Squid? Betty thought. Those bony fingers had belonged to one of the Rusty Scuttlers’ crew?

  The rest of the pirates bowed their heads, and those wearing hats removed them as they murmured: ‘Rest his seaworthy soul.’

  The pirate hauled himself on to the rope ladder and threw the wet rag from Betty’s vest to the pirate captain. She held it up.

  ‘Looks like one of them ran into problems down there,’ Ronia said, smirking.

  Betty went very still, imagining how worried her sister would be at this. Had Fliss noticed her vest had already been torn from her first dive to the wreck? Probably not. Everything had happened so fast, but Fliss was sure to be panicking now – wondering if Betty had made it safely out of the water this time.

  Betty’s thoughts were snatched away as Ronia addressed the two pirates who’d brought her over in the rowing boat.

  ‘Take me round the other side.’

  A breath caught in Betty’s throat. Ronia was coming!

  ‘Nothing there, Cap’n!’ said Spit, a little too quickly. ‘Been all over the upper wreck meself.’

  Ronia silenced him with a steely look. ‘I like to be sure.’ She jumped nimbly into the rowing boat.

  Betty felt sick with fear as the oars lifted, then began slicing the water. The smaller boat turned and vanished from sight. She flattened herself against the warm black wood, trying to work out what to do. Just stay calm, she told herself. Breathe. She can’t see you. She kept very still, listening for the shush-shush-shush of the oars as they drew nearer.

  And then stopped.

  Hardly daring to breathe, Betty turned to face the water. She could just see the top of Ronia’s head, a scarlet ribbon flying in the breeze.

  Why wasn’t she moving?

  ‘There’s something up there.’ The pirate captain’s voice cut through the air. ‘Something’s come out of the water.’

  Betty looked down, trembling. She’d wrung out her clothes and hair as best she could, but they were still soaked. And, as she’d been cowering and watching, she hadn’t realised that all the while water was running off her to collect in the wooden grooves of the ship and run down its sloping sides.

  Her eyes followed the watery trail. Invisible or not, this was enough to lead the pirates straight to her.

  Fear took hold of her. Of all the idiotic ways to get caught!

  No! she thought. It wasn’t over yet. They hadn’t caught her and, no matter how much they were outnumbered, she, Betty, was invisible. They might have bones dangling from their masts and more daggers than Fliss had had kisses, but they didn’t have a pinch of magic like the Widdershins did. And they didn’t have a motto, which made her feel a smidge braver.

  She who tries, triumphs, Betty thought, just as Ronia raised her voice for the first time.

  ‘Rusty Scuttlers: ruin and rule!’ she yelled.

  Oh. So they did have a motto, after all.

  Betty froze, eyes darting around for somewhere to hide. Could she make it to the crow’s-nest without detection? Her heart was pounding, and she could hardly think straight. She wished now that, when Ronia had decided to bring the rowing boat round, Betty had taken the chance to get back into the water and swim away from the wreck. At least then she could have trodden water and observed at a safe distance until the pirates were gone. But it was too late now. If Betty entered the water, they’d see the ripples. They’d know something was there.

  But wait . . .

  Fliss’s words came back to her. Pirates are a superstitious lot . . .

  Perhaps them seeing something, something they couldn’t explain, would be enough to rattle them. Even in broad daylight, there was something deeply creepy about The Sorcerer’s Compass. A little haunting would feel entirely believable . . . and, not only that, it would give her a way to signal to Fliss that she was still alive.

  A loud thunk caught Betty unawares. She lost her grip and slid on the wet wood a little way from where she’d been sitting. Below her the deck creaked and Betty knew instantly that Ronia had leaped on to the tilted side of the ship. S
he spied Spit’s shirt, now almost dry, and an idea came to her. With only seconds to spare, she grabbed it and pulled it on, then silently stood up, balancing on the uneven deck.

  Water dripped from her hair, running down her body. From her position, she couldn’t see any reflection of herself. Would Spit’s shirt vanish along with the rest of Betty and everything she was wearing? Or would it stay visible, as it belonged to someone else? She was about to find out.

  But it was not Ronia who found her first. Instead, the white cat that had been perched on the pirate captain’s shoulders appeared on the angled hull of the ship. It prowled towards Betty, slow and sure-footed. Then it stopped dead – staring right at her – and hissed.

  ‘Bandit?’ Ronia stepped into view, balancing as easily as her cat. ‘Whoa!’ She reeled back, almost losing her footing, and stared in Betty’s direction.

  It had worked. Spit’s shirt must be visible, for Ronia’s eyes were wide with shock. Quicker than Betty expected, she whipped out the cutlass from its scabbard and held it before her. Betty stood motionless, unsure what to do next. She was not as steady on her feet as the pirate captain, and if she stumbled it would ruin the ghostly illusion. So she waited, dripping water that soaked slowly into Spit’s shirt.

  The pirate captain regained her composure. She crossed herself in some sort of protective gesture and, to Betty’s relief, began to back away.

  ‘There’s something up here!’ she yelled. ‘Rusty’s been disturbed!’

  She’s going to leave, Betty thought, amazed.

  But Bandit was not so easily put off. The white cat continued to hiss in Betty’s direction, and began to stalk closer. The hiss became a low, rumbling growl.

  It knows, Betty thought. Just like Oi knows with Hoppit . . . It can’t see, but it can sense me, and smell me.

  Ronia turned, calling to the pirates in the rowing boat below. As she edged out of sight, the cat pounced. It leaped straight at Betty, ears flat, teeth bared. Landing on her shoulder, it sank its claws deep into her flesh. Betty couldn’t help it – she screamed, a bone-chilling sound that echoed over the water. And the louder she screamed, the more the cat clung to her.