A Sprinkle of Sorcery

by Michelle Harrison

  At last they were near enough for Betty to make out the features of the two men who had appeared at the Poacher’s Pocket the previous night. Her hands curled into fists. Part of her had never wanted to see either of their lying faces again. The other part of her felt a rush of pure relief. Their one slip-up had been enough to track them.

  They came closer still, scoping the wreck at the side where the Rusty Scuttlers’ warning sign was displayed. If Betty jumped, she’d be almost on top of them.

  ‘Stop.’ The one who’d called himself Wild raised a hand and lifted his oar from the water to survey the wreck. His cold eyes showed no sign of fear, only anticipation – and greed. He shifted slightly for a better look and, behind him, Betty glimpsed a small figure sitting in the bottom of the boat under the watchful eye of Goose. Her heart twisted.

  Charlie. Tangle-haired and pale-faced, with a scowl fierce enough to sour milk. It was all Betty could do not to leap into the water right away.

  ‘There it is,’ Wild commented, his eyes raking over the ruined ship. ‘Time to say goodbye to your loot, Rusty.’ He raised his voice and it echoed over the wreck. ‘Do you hear me, you old seadog?’

  Betty saw Spit slowly lean out of the crow’s-nest, his eyes narrowing. His words drifted back to her, stirring up dread: Strange things . . . bad things . . . people have lost their minds in there. That’s if they come out at all . . .

  ‘I hate this place,’ said Goose, clutching his oar as though it were a spear. His skin looked clammy and flushed.

  ‘You won’t say that when we get our hands on that compass,’ Wild retorted. ‘And whatever else is down there.’ He threw his oar at Goose, his eyes fixed on the wreck. ‘If that old devil Rusty really is down there, we need to capture him and keep him out of the way.’

  His words sent a creeping fear over Betty. She’d seen what wisps could do with her own eyes. If Rusty Swindles’ soul were summoned, how could any of them hope to control it, when Charlie wasn’t even who they thought she was? With Willow gone, there was no one to lull Rusty. They were all in danger of succumbing to any wisps that these fools were about to disturb.

  ‘You can stop glaring at me like that,’ Wild remarked to Charlie, in a voice like chipped ice. ‘Do as you’re told and we’ll let you go.’

  Charlie continued to glower, frowning so hard that her eyebrows were almost resting on her cheeks. ‘I told you before,’ she said grumpily. ‘I ain’t no wisp catcher. And, when my sisters come to find me, you’re going to be in SO much trouble.’

  Wild leaned over until his nose was almost touching hers. ‘Your sisters aren’t coming. Your granny – ’ he mimicked cruelly – ‘isn’t coming. No one knows you’re here.’

  ‘My s-sisters will come.’ Charlie’s bottom lip stuck out in defiance, but even from where Betty was she could see that it was trembling, too. ‘You don’t know them. You don’t know any of us.’

  I’m here, Charlie! Betty wanted to shout. Her little sister’s fierce, unwavering loyalty was warmer than a hug.

  ‘We know enough,’ Wild said mockingly. ‘Now stop prattling and sing.’

  Charlie stared silently at the water, her shoulders slumping in defeat.

  ‘Sing!’ Wild growled, his temper fraying – along with Betty’s. How dare he treat Charlie this way?

  ‘Perhaps shouting isn’t going to, uh, help,’ Goose suggested timidly. ‘She’s just a child.’

  Wild rounded on his companion, eyes blazing. ‘A pain in the rear, that’s what she is! This was meant to have been over with last night, but it’s been one setback after another.’ He loomed over Charlie, spittle flying out of his mouth in temper. ‘First, you start leaving a trail, meaning we had to abandon our route and double back. Second, you jump overboard, moments after convincing us you couldn’t swim. In the middle of the worst pea-souper we’ve had for weeks.’ His voice dripped with contempt. ‘I almost drowned bringing you back to the boat, you little beast.’

  ‘Shame,’ Charlie muttered.

  ‘And third – ’ Wild’s eyes were bulging now – ‘you haven’t. Stopped. Eating!’

  ‘I’m tired,’ said Charlie. ‘And I’ve been freezing my cockles off in a boat all night. Being tired makes me hungry!’ She glared at him again and stuck the end of her pigtail in her mouth.

  ‘Sing,’ Wild growled.

  ‘All right.’ Charlie cleared her throat and sat up straight. ‘You asked for it, mister.’

  Wild nodded at Goose. ‘Get the jar ready.’

  Charlie began to sing.

  ‘Ohhhhh . . . There was an old man from Skinny Woods,

  With Crowstone’s hairiest knees.

  When cut it grew back

  So he put it in plaits,

  But he couldn’t keep still for the fleas!’

  There was a stunned silence. Then Wild hissed through his teeth. ‘You think you’re funny?’

  Charlie hung her head. ‘If you think that was bad, you should hear my sister’s singing.’

  ‘I’m talking about the song!’ Wild raged. ‘You could sound like a strangled cat for all I care – it’s the words that matter! That’s what lulls them!’

  ‘There are no wisps to sing to, though,’ Goose objected. He had been keeping watch over the water, his eyes skittering about nervously.

  Wild turned on him. ‘I can see that. I thought maybe they could be lulled before I dive down and disturb them, but this brat isn’t co-operating.’

  From the belly of the boat, he took a copper diving mask. ‘Well, you’ll wish you had. And then you’ll sing, believe me.’

  ‘I want to go h-home,’ said Charlie, all traces of mischief gone. She started to cry. ‘I don’t know the song you mean!’

  Betty leaned closer, heartsick at her sister’s tears. She had to get to Charlie – but how?

  ‘Perhaps . . .’ Goose said shakily, wiping sweat from his upper lip. ‘Perhaps she’s telling the truth?’

  ‘I am,’ Charlie sobbed. ‘I’m just Charlie Widdershins!’

  ‘If that’s true,’ Wild said quietly, ‘then you’re no good to us.’

  Charlie looked up through her tears. ‘So . . . I can go home?’

  ‘I’m afraid not.’ Wild nodded curtly at Goose. ‘Get rid of her. And make it look like an accident.’

  Chapter Nineteen

  A Scattering of Pearls

  GET RID? AN ACCIDENT? THE implication echoed in Betty’s head, turning her blood to ice. Surely Wild was bluffing, trying to bully Charlie into doing what he wanted?

  ‘Now hang on,’ Goose said shakily. ‘You said no one would get hurt!’

  Wild stood over him, eyes flashing. ‘You want to take her back? Go ahead! I’m sure the Crowstone authorities will be waiting to give you a warm welcome.’

  Goose hesitated, running a tongue over his lips. ‘What if we just leave her? She’ll be picked up by a passing boat and—’

  ‘All right!’ Charlie shouted. ‘I . . . I’ll do it. But it . . . it can’t be done unless the wisps are here.’ Her eyes darted over the wreck, and she hugged her arms round herself, shivering uncontrollably.

  She was stalling, Betty knew. Doing the only thing she could think of, and who could blame her? Charlie knew as well as Betty that Wild had no intention of letting her go home, whether she helped them or not.

  This was what would have become of Willow. Betty knew that now. They might have kept her alive longer to make more use of her, but, as soon as that usefulness ran out, she’d have been discarded. The difference was that Willow had no one to look out for her. But Charlie did.

  Wild smiled. ‘Good. I knew we’d get there in the end.’

  ‘H-how do we get the wisps to come to us?’ Goose stuttered. ‘You said we’d deal with them before looting the wreck?’

  ‘We will,’ Wild answered. ‘But clearly they need some riling up. We have to draw them out – and Rusty’s the most dangerous one of them all.’

  ‘But what if they attack while you’re down there?’ Goose said.
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  ‘I’ll be out in seconds.’ Wild’s mouth twisted in an arrogant sneer. ‘I’ve studied the blueprints of this ship for months – I’d know every inch of the wreck blindfolded. And, once I draw them out, she can deal with them while we clean the place out.’

  Betty watched, hardly able to breathe as Wild tugged on the diving mask and stepped off the little boat. He’s going to do it, she thought. He’s actually going to enter into the cursed part of the wreck, where even the Rusty Scuttlers don’t dare to go. Did he really think that one little girl who could catch wisps was enough? That he would be the one to get the better of Rusty Swindles and his cursed wreck when no one else had succeeded?

  Fingernails scrabbled over wood, and a grunt followed. The wood below her creaked, just as it had when Ronia had stepped on to the wreck. Now Wild was following in her footsteps. Slowly, Betty backed away, as far over to the edge of the bow as she could.

  His arm swung into view, narrowly missing her ankle. She bit back a gasp as he pulled himself up, his breath noisy inside the heavy mask. She watched as he located the porthole that was above the water, and slithered down into it. A faint scrape sounded as the copper mask clipped the wood, and then she heard him entering the dark water inside the ship with a faint splash.

  Goose began to pace the little boat, breathing hard. ‘You’d better do what you said, kid,’ he muttered, swiping a hand over his face. ‘Once those wisps are up, there’s no getting away from them.’

  Charlie sat, shivering, saying nothing.

  Betty edged forward to peer into the porthole. She caught the faint glisten of the water a short way below it, but nothing else. The round circle gaped like a mouth, giving the eerie impression that Wild had been swallowed whole.

  She had to act. With Wild out of the way, this was the best chance she had. Once the wisps were riled up, the danger would escalate – and fast. Between them, perhaps Betty and Spit could overpower Goose – at least long enough to get Charlie away. Betty stared up at the crow’s-nest, seeking out Spit. He was peeping out at Charlie and Goose, but as Betty watched he cast a questioning glance in her direction, clearly waiting for her signal.

  Betty rapped three times on the wood, the sound echoing over the water. She saw Charlie stiffen, and Goose stopped pacing immediately.

  A noise cut through the night. A long, thin wail, like someone in distress. Betty whipped round and saw Spit’s hand cupped to his mouth as he continued to make the disturbing sound. It was a desperate, eerie noise, which would chill anyone’s blood, and she could see Goose trembling as he searched for the source of the noise. Weakening.

  ‘That’s it!’ he cried, lunging for an oar. ‘I’m getting out of this cursed place!’

  Betty prepared to jump, but Charlie was faster.

  She leaped to her feet, seizing the other oar, and swung it, catching Goose on the cheek. He staggered in shock and teetered, about to regain his balance. But Charlie moved in a blur, jabbing the oar into Goose’s chest with all her might. It caught him off guard and he toppled into the water with a stunned gurgle.

  Charlie grabbed the other oar and quickly sat back down on the bench in the boat. Her face was screwed up in determination as she tried to drag the oars through the water – but they were clearly too heavy for her, and Goose was already recovering himself and lunging for the boat.

  ‘Charlie!’ Betty leaped off the side of The Sorcerer’s Compass. As she plummeted down, she saw both Charlie and Goose whip round at the sound of her voice. It didn’t matter now about staying quiet – all that mattered was getting to Charlie before Wild disturbed the soul of Rusty Swindles. She hit the water, shocked by its icy darkness . . . but as she swivelled below the surface Betty could see that the darkness was lightening. A row of windows stretching down into the seabed had begun to glow. Terror clawed at her: the wisps were coming.

  She heard Spit plunging into the water next to her and they broke the surface at the same moment. Goose reared back, his eyes trained on Spit, quickly realising he was a living, breathing person and not one of the cursed things of the wreck.

  ‘Who are you?’ he demanded.

  Spit didn’t answer. He glanced in Betty’s direction, where the water was churned up by her movements. Charlie hadn’t spotted it, for she, too, was staring at Spit – perhaps wondering if he had been the one to shout her name. At once, she was on her feet, brandishing an oar.

  ‘Who are you?’ she yelled. ‘Stay away!’

  ‘Charlie!’ shouted Betty, swimming for the little boat. ‘It’s me – let me up!’

  Charlie turned, her face a mask of astonishment. ‘Betty?’ she whispered in disbelief. ‘Is that really you . . . ?’

  Betty grabbed the edge of the boat, pulling herself up and rolling, drenched, inside. She landed heavily in a sopping mass of clothes, hearing a thunk as the dolls in her pocket hit the deck. Charlie, unable to see her, stared at the water pooling in the bottom of the boat as Betty dragged herself to her feet. She launched herself at Charlie, hugging her fiercely. Charlie returned it, and even though Betty was soaked to the skin it was the warmest hug ever. She had her little sister back.

  ‘It is you!’ Charlie sobbed. ‘But how did you—?’

  A shout from the water brought Betty to her feet. Goose was tussling with Spit, pulling him back from the boat.

  Betty broke away from her sister, leaning over the side of the boat. ‘Hey!’ she yelled, sweeping her hand downward to dash water in Goose’s eyes. The two figures leaped apart, with Goose spluttering from a face full of water. For the first time, he and Spit saw the glow beneath the waves spreading and rising.

  Spit’s eyes widened. ‘Need to get out of the water!’ he gasped.

  Quickly, Betty leaned over and grabbed his arm. ‘Come on!’ She pulled him into the boat and handed him an oar.

  ‘Who’s doing that?’ Goose howled, his eyes wild as he searched the boat for the unseen assassin. Then, panicking at the sight of the glowing water, he flung his arm out to the boat.

  Spit knocked his hand away, shaking water from his hair. ‘Row,’ he told Betty grimly. ‘We have to move.’

  ‘Where to?’ Betty asked, staring at the glowing water in horror.

  ‘Away from the wreck.’ Spit hauled at his oar breathlessly. ‘It’s not safe. They’re coming.’

  ‘Betty, what’s coming? And who is that?’ Charlie began, as Betty and Spit began to row.

  ‘No time to explain,’ Betty gasped. Her foot scuffed something in the bottom of the boat, sending it rolling away. ‘All you need to know is that he’s with us.’

  Light flickered in the blackness. A faint silvery glow was leaking out of the wreck . . . and the porthole which Wild had entered. Betty watched, wrenching her oar, heart hammering. How long had Wild been in there now? Was he still alive? Or had the wisps claimed him already?

  Just then a figure burst out and scrambled over the side of the wreck, and then Wild tore off his diving mask. Confusion and terror crossed his face as his eyes swept over the hijacked boat, and took in Goose treading water.

  He froze on the edge of the wreck, his eyes resting on Charlie. ‘SING!’ he bellowed.

  But Charlie didn’t even appear to have noticed him. ‘Betty!’ Her little voice rose, and she reached blindly for Betty. ‘Look!’

  A cluster of wisps emerged from the glowing water without so much as a ripple. The wisps hovered before them, large, and fierce, and ethereal. Somehow Betty sensed these were different from the playful thing that accompanied Willow. There was a definite sense of malevolence oozing from them. The wisps drifted closer, as though investigating them.

  Betty gulped, keeping as still as she could. Both she and Spit had stopped rowing, frozen with fear. She could now hear the faint whispering in her head, like before when she and Fliss and Willow had been surrounded. Only now the chanting voices seemed less desperate, more menacing. And this time there was no Willow to ward them off. Betty’s lips opened, trying to summon the song, but her mind had gone blan
k. There was no escaping it this time. The whispers grew louder.

  ‘Not yours . . . not yours . . . not yours . . .’

  They hung there a moment longer, then drifted back over the water, circling a whimpering Goose menacingly.

  ‘Swim!’ Wild yelled to him. The glow behind him had risen, casting ghostlike shadows on his face. ‘The boat, get to the boat!’

  Betty stared down through the water. The inside of The Sorcerer’s Compass was glowing even more brightly now. The glow spread round the wreck, glimmering and glittering. More wisps rose up through the water into the air, surrounding Goose, penning him in. He had nowhere to go.

  Several wisps trailed up the side of the wreck to where Wild was clinging on. Something dangled from his fist: a string of pearls that gleamed like teeth.

  ‘Not yours . . . not yours . . .’ the whispers sounded again.

  ‘You want this?’ Wild babbled, thrusting the pearls clumsily at the swarm of wisps. ‘Have them! Keep it all . . .’ The necklace broke apart in his fingers, and he scrambled back, horrified as the pearls each took on a luminescent glow, rising up and growing into wisps which swarmed round Wild like flies on a carcass. And then another, solitary wisp approached him, glowing fiercely. Betty could almost feel the waves of anger coming off it, so blindingly and terrifyingly did it burn – like a white-hot poker tip. She knew, with absolute certainty, that this was Rusty Swindles. Wild lifted his hand to shield his eyes, cowering beneath it. His face was a mask of terror.

  Betty watched, transfixed and horrified by the pale orbs. Fragments of whispers drifted across to the boat over the water. And a darker voice, that somehow cut across all the other whispers. ‘You’ll pay . . . you’ll pay . . .’

  The sound was rising like a tide, the glow like an icy sunrise.

  ‘Cover your ears, Charlie,’ Betty warned, but Spit shook his head slowly, squinting in the dazzling light.

  ‘It’s not here for us.’

  ‘What will happen to those two?’ Charlie asked, gazing at her captors and wringing her hands in her lap. Within the glow of the wisps, the impostor warders could barely be seen now, each of them just a smeary shadow against the light.