Across The Sea (3 page)

The door to the tavern opened
and the noise inside thundered: deep voices, glasses clinking,
someone singing. Francis ducked behind a stack. A few men walked
out, and Francis took a peek. The men were all villagers whom his
father knew. Francis did not want to be seen by them. The door to
the tavern closed, and Francis waited for the men to walk down the
street a short distance before he hurried off in the opposite
direction. He decided he should head back home before his parents
noticed he was missing. There would be no time to sit on the docks
tonight; he had been away far too long already.

The door to the tavern opened a
second time. Francis scampered into an alley. The tavern rumbled,
until the door shut and the din was somewhat muted once more.
Francis peered out of the alley to see if the men who had just
exited were heading his way. He saw the back of only one man,
crossing the street and then walking away along the waterfront. The
man had shoulder-length hair. Broad shoulders.

Goosebumps rose on Francis’
arms.
Could it be? The man from the lighthouse!
Francis had
to get a better look.

He stole down the street, from
one stack of crates to another, from one alley to the next. The man
walked through a forested area, toward the far side of the harbour.
He turned toward an entrance onto the docks, and Francis got a good
view of his profile, his wide face. It
was
the man from the
lighthouse. Francis’ heartbeat thumped his eardrums. The man
boarded a small sailboat, his hefty frame making the boat rock from
side to side. Francis stopped behind a stack of crates near the
entrance to the docks and crouched down. The man entered the boat’s
cabin, and Francis waited.
What should I do? Should I run and
warn Father and Mother? But what if he takes off again? Just like
he did at the lighthouse.

The
man exited the cabin and jumped back down onto the dock. He walked
back up toward the village, stepping past the crates behind which
Francis hid. Francis looked up at where the man was heading. The
beast walked past another stack and was gone from view. Francis
stayed put.
I should board his boat... just to grab a few things
to prove to Father that this man is real. Proof for the mayor.
Maybe they can stop him. Or maybe I should just shout out that he’s
here. No, I’m too far from the village right now. I had to follow
him through the woods. Ugh! I should have been smarter before. I
should have yelled out when I first saw him leaving the tavern. But
I wasn’t sure if it was him then.

Francis hurried onto the dock,
toward the creature man’s sailboat. He would take something back
with him. He needed an object that could help identify who this man
was. This stranger would disappear again; Francis was certain of
it.

He climbed aboard and glanced
about. The cabin door was open. He stepped in and proceeded down
five steps into the one-room cabin. There was no light inside and
Francis had to feel around with his hands. He pulled open drawers,
cupboards. He searched everything with his palms and fingers. To
his dismay, all he felt was dusty wood. Everything was empty.

A bed stood on the starboard
side. Francis got down on his hands and knees and swept under it
with his left arm. Nothing.
I have to leave
, he fretted.
I have to get out of here before he comes back.

Francis rushed up the five
steps and out the entrance door. A commanding, open crate sat at
the back of the cockpit. Francis had not paid it any attention
before.

There’s got to be something in
there. I can’t leave here empty-handed. Especially if this man
knows what happened to Michael.

The crate was taller than
Francis so he reached toward the top with both hands and, using his
feet, clambered up. He sat on the top edge and looked down. Inside,
reflecting the light from the moon and the stars, were mechanical
pieces for some sort of machine. Three of the larger pieces were
almost half the size of Francis.

Maybe I can take one of the
smaller pieces back home with me.

Francis jumped in. He snatched
one piece off the floor which was shaped like a tiny arrow and had
a small wheel at the end. It fit into his back pocket. He reached
up with both hands to climb out.

The boat rocked, from side to
side.

Oh no
, Francis thought,
bringing his arms back down.

Someone was boarding. Francis
peeked through a space in between two of the crate’s slats. The
beastly man had returned.

Swish
…

The man unsheathed his
broadsword.

He knows I’m here
,
Francis thought, his heartbeat soaring.

The man walked off, searching,
his heavy footsteps fading as he moved away. They sounded again as
he returned toward the crate. Francis moved behind one of the
larger pieces of machinery, crouching down to hide. He heard the
footsteps cease as the man stood before the crate. Francis
swallowed in fear. He knew the man must be looking straight down
into the crate then. Francis could feel him standing over him.

There was a long silence. If
Francis made the smallest movement or the slightest sound, the man
would know he was there.

The man moved about again.

Swish
… The sword was
sheathed. Francis figured the man was now satisfied that no one had
boarded his craft while he was gone.

He heard something drag along
the deck, then silence, and then something rubbing itself against
the top of the crate. Francis stayed hidden, not looking up. He
felt unnerved as he realized what was taking place: a lid was being
placed overhead. He soon found himself in almost complete darkness
as the lid covered the opening.

Silence again.

How am I supposed to get off
this boat without being noticed now?

Thock
!
Thock
!
Thock
!

Francis jumped at that sound.
It was a hammer.

The man was nailing the lid
onto the crate.

I could scream for help
,
Francis thought, panicked.
But if someone heard me, would they
get here on time? Could they get here before this huge pirate put
his broadsword through me? Or maybe he’d be the only one who’d hear
me, and then I’d be finished for sure. And no one would ever know
what happened to me.

Francis turned to one of the
spaces in between the slats as a rope from outside covered over it.
He assumed that the man was now tying rope around his crate.

He felt the beast jump off the
boat, and then hop back on. He realized the creature had just
untied the vessel. They were moving out onto the water, in the
middle of the night.

Where are we going?

Francis felt a pang of
hopelessness in his chest. He was going away with this strange man,
leaving his family behind. Francis longed for them then.
Will I
ever come back?

He was disappearing… just like
his brother.

The morning sun shone through
the tiny spaces between the slats. Francis looked through one of
them. They were out at sea. He turned to another. Off to the far
right, he thought he could make out the brown edges of a
shoreline.

Francis had been thinking all
night that perhaps there was a chance this man was not bad after
all. Perhaps that red cloak he had seen in the lighthouse was not
the same as the one Francis’ father had seen. Maybe if he just told
this man that he was stuck here in his crate, the man would return
him home safely.

The boat turned, and Francis’
view of the water changed. He saw a tall ship on the horizon.
Beyond her, existed nothing but the sea.

Francis had to make a decision.
Should he tell the man he was hidden here and ask for his help? He
swallowed.
I should tell him now.

They closed in on the ship and
Francis could now see men moving on her deck. Francis turned to
another space and saw the beastly man’s brown robes as the man
stood beside the crate, steering the boat’s long, wooden tiller.
The man lifted his robes up over his head.

Francis was horrified by what
the hulking man was wearing then.

Under the robes was the
blinding red cloak. The man cast the brown robes aside and spread
his arms out.

Francis turned to the ship. Now
even closer, he could hear the men cheer and hoot. A flag was
raised on the ship’s main mast. Francis froze. The flag was
brilliant red with the image of a man’s face in the middle, his
mouth wide open, screaming.

The ship’s sails went up. All
were red.

What did I get myself
into
?

The boat sailed in next to the
ship, much dwarfed by it.

Bang
!

Francis was startled by
something striking the top of the crate. The beastly man moved
close and grabbed a metal hook tied to the end of a thick rope. He
clasped this hook onto the rope already tied around the crate.

The crate was lifted, swinging
from side to side.

Francis peered through one of
the spaces in the floor. He was now above the men’s heads on the
deck of the ship. The dozen or so were brutishly muscled, with
unkempt long hair, short, scruffy beards, and dressed in breeches
and shirts. Some sported hats, some vests, and all wore swords in
leather scabbards. The men dispersed to make room for the crate as
it was lowered. Francis saw that the beastly man was already on
deck, towering over everyone.

Four men held crowbars, as they
eyed the arriving crate.

Francis, breathing hard,
scurried behind the largest piece of machinery. The lid cracked.
Sunlight shot in, and then was blocked by the heads of everyone
looking in.

Francis stayed crouched down.
Please don’t see me
, he pleaded inside his head. He could
smell the invasive, musky odour of sweating men. It was
suffocating.

“Remove everything,” a man’s
voice commanded.

Hands reached in, grabbing onto
the mechanical pieces.

“Ho!” one man announced. “Dat’s
someone’s leg, dat is.”

Francis lobbed a piece of metal
at the men’s faces – as he jumped, grabbed onto the top edge of the
crate and pulled himself up. Hands reached for him as his feet
touched the top edge. He jumped off, but someone had his left ankle
clutched in their grip.

Francis fell face first toward
the deck. He put his hands out. His open palms slapped against wood
as he landed. The men exploded in laughter. The grip on his ankle
let go, and Francis sped-crawled through the many legs and feet
surrounding him.

The men laughed even more at
his gusto.

“Do not let him get away!” he
heard someone yell.

But where could he go? He was
trapped on a ship out at sea. Francis got to his feet and ran.
Ahead of him, other crew members were washing the deck.

The group from the crate chased
after him. “Catch that boy!” they yelled, between guffaws.

Francis looked up and saw a
shoreline.
It’s not that far. I can swim there…

He sprinted past one crew
member rolling a barrel. The crew member launched the barrel at
him. Francis halted for a split second as it careened across in
front of him. A man behind him reached out. Francis swivelled,
changing direction, and jumped over the gunwale, and off the ship,
falling feet first toward the water below.

His body felt suspended in
midair, and then splashed into the ocean. Panicked, he swam out as
fast as he could.

As men splattered into the
water behind Francis, one man remained dry, stepping to the edge of
the ship with a dogged look in his green eyes. He wore a
wide-brimmed, brown hat, and his long hair, which was rusty in
colour, was tied in a tail at the back. His face was shaved, and
smooth, but for a deep scar beginning halfway on his forehead,
curving down to his right cheek.

Captain Gustavo Leonard.

“That boy is not to get away,”
he warned his crew.

* * *

Three boys and a girl were
sailing makeshift boats around the corner of a rocky shoreline,
their vessels made from the wood of old barrels and their sails
from worn linen. They lived in the nearby village of Pond Vale
Isle. The three boys were brothers, all with red hair, their ages
ranging from ten to fourteen. Their cousin, Lily, was eleven, with
long, sun-bleached, stringy hair and big, round, brown eyes, and
wearing a frayed smock of a dress with a few rips in it. She lived
with her cousins and had taught them all how to build their own
boats and sail them. Mallon, who was fourteen, stocky, and her
eldest cousin, had once told her that girls have no business doing
what boys do. This school of thought, however, was meaningless to
Lily.

As they sailed around the
corner, they all came into view of a ship with red sails. Mallon’s
eyes widened.

The Red Mist.

The mere mention of her name in
Pond Vale Isle made grown men forget how to breathe.

All three boys and Lily stared
at her, spellbound.

“Help me!”

It was the voice of a child.
The children scanned the water’s surface, and spotted a boy
swimming ahead of a group of men.

“Turn around!” Mallon yelled to
his brothers. “Turn your boats around!”

All three brothers shifted
their sails, making their boats turn in the opposite direction,
back around the rocky corner.

Lily, however, kept sailing
ahead.

“Lily!” Mallon yelled. “Turn
your boat around! Are you mad? They’re pirates!”

* * *

In the water, Francis swam for
his life. He glanced toward the children he had just seen on tiny
sailboats. All were sailing away. Francis felt abandoned. He heard
splashing. He turned, and felt an oversized hand clench his
shoulder.

Pirates crowded him, reaching
out with their hands. Francis breathed with difficulty then,
feeling like all the men around him were sucking up the air and
leaving none for him.