Moby Clique (18 page)

“This way,” Heathcliff interrupts, leading us down a short flight of stairs on deck, toward the flickering light below. Beneath our feet, the deck creaks and moans a little. It’s moored in the relatively shallow waters of the cove, but it’s still afloat. There’s the slightest suggestion of swaying back and forth. Every so often I hear the wooden mast groan under the weight of the sails.

“Creepy,” I say.

“Yeah,” Blade says, sounding a little too happy about it.

We fall silent as the passageway in front of us narrows and grows darker. Up ahead, there’s a door. Heathcliff tries it once, but finds it locked.

“Hang on, this is my department,” Blade says, inching forward. She drops to her knees and grabs a black bobby pin from her hair. Blade got in trouble back home for breaking into her neighbor’s garage and stealing his lawn gnomes. Lock picking is her forte. After a few minutes of struggling, she has the lock open. “I would’ve been faster, but I’m not an antiques expert,” she explains.

The door creaks open and inside I see Ryan and Parker, both tied up, seated back to back in chairs. They’re both gagged. Seeing us, their eyes grow wide and they try to tell us something, but it all just comes out as muffled murmurs. I grab Ryan’s gag and pull it down.

“Thank God,” he says. “These people are crazy. They’re taking the Peg Leg story way too seriously.”

Parker is squirming and fighting her ropes. Is it bad that I don’t want to remove her gag just yet? Once freed, though, she actually looks grateful.

“Thank God,” she sighs, real relief in her eyes. “I thought I was going to be cut up with a rusty saw or something. You know, it’s always the pretty girls who get the gruesome deaths in horror movies. And I have to say, I am
so
sorry I even mentioned Peg Leg.”

“He says he’s Ahab, technically,” Ryan corrects, giving me a sheepish glance.

“Ahab—you’re sure?” I ask him. So Hana was right. Peg leg
is
Ahab. But then, who else would be at the helm of the
Pequod
? I look at Ryan. “Does that mean you’re starting to believe me?”

“There still could be a rational explanation,” he mutters, not meeting my eyes.

Unbelievable. Even after coming face-to-face with Ahab and the
Pequod,
Ryan is still skeptical. What will it take to make him believe?

Out of the corner of my eye I see Heathcliff frown. He’s not happy that we found Ryan or that I’m talking to him.

“I’d love to hear the explanation of this ship, then,” Blade says as she and Samir work to loosen their ropes.

“But where’s Lindsay?” Heathcliff asks, eyes narrow. “She was with you, wasn’t she?”

“No,” Ryan says, shaking his head. “We haven’t seen her.” He sends me a sympathetic glance. “I’m sorry, Miranda. I don’t know where she is. Or if…” He deliberately trails off.

“Or if what?”

“If Ahab may have hurt her. He was talking about giving us thirty lashes for insubordination. He thinks we’re members of his crew,” Ryan finishes.

Thirty lashes? Like with a whip? I swallow, hard. Lindsay may be a pain in the butt, but she doesn’t deserve that. God, I hope she’s okay.

Blade finishes loosening Ryan’s ropes when we hear clumping sounds against the wooden boards above our heads, like someone is walking on the deck above us. Several someones. And then an odd knocking sound against the deck, like someone banging a broom handle against the wooden boards.

“Ahab,” Ryan whispers to us.

The boards above our heads creak, with a thump and a knock—
thump, knock, thump, knock—
as Ahab makes his way over the deck. By now, he’s probably discovered some of his captives have escaped.

We’re all silent, even as Heathcliff scans the room for exits. There’s only one, the narrow passageway that will take us to the stairs, straight up to the deck. We all look at one another and then draw the same conclusion—it’s better to risk the stairs than be caught in close quarters. Samir and Blade head out first, followed by Parker and Ryan. I’m behind them and Heathcliff trails last. We creep together out the narrow hall, lighted only by the flicker of oil lanterns. Beneath our feet, the boat sways a little in the water, and I have to put my hand to the wall to steady myself. Ahead, I can see Blade and Samir tentatively climbing the stairs, with Ryan and Parker waiting their turn.

“Hurry
up,
” Parker hisses at Samir, who is taking longer than usual to get up the ladder. I don’t blame him. I wouldn’t want to dash up the stairs, either, in case Ahab is waiting above.

Blade and Samir reach the deck without incident, it seems, and Ryan and Parker follow them. It’s my turn next and I follow them, creeping slowly up the ladder. There’s no sign of Ahab yet, or his men, as we make our way back to the rope ladder on the side of the ship. But when we get there, there’s no rope ladder. Someone’s reeled it in.

I turn around just in time to realize it’s a trap. Ahab, with his peg leg, steps out on the deck, and he’s soon joined by several members of his crew, who materialize from various hiding places on the ship.

“You’re just in time,” Ahab says, a slow smile creeping across his face. “We set sail shortly. In the meantime, men,
restrain our guests
.”

Twenty-three

Parker doesn’t wait to hear
what else Ahab has to say, she simply bolts away from him toward the back of the ship. Ryan stays with us. He and Heathcliff square off against some of Ahab’s men.

One of them jumps on Heathcliff and another threatens to take me, but Ryan leaps in front and takes on the sailor before he can. Blade tackles yet another sailor and starts pounding on his back, while Samir grabs a nearby harpoon strapped against the ship’s mast and throws one to me. I use mine to knock off the crew member hanging on Heathcliff’s back. Now free, Heathcliff grabs the harpoon and then shoves me roughly behind him, protecting me from the other four advancing crew members. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Parker get grabbed from behind by a sailor just before she makes it to the railing. She struggles and shouts Ryan’s name. Instantly, Ryan turns and runs to help her. I don’t have time to dwell on the Ryan-Parker connection because I’m busy ducking another sailor, who’s wearing an eye patch and comes at me with his arms swinging. Heathcliff, however, makes short work of him.

I hear a scream and I look up just in time to see Parker flung to the ground. Ryan tries to help her, but he, too, is taken, and the two of them struggle as the sailors tie them to the main mast on deck with thick, wide ropes. Blade and Samir aren’t faring much better as they try to fend off two more sailors and, even worse, there are more crew members pouring out from doors and hatches on the ship. Pretty soon, we’ll be completely swamped.

Heathcliff, seeing that we’ll soon be surrounded, grabs my hand and pulls me toward the mast. He’s already got one foot on a peg sticking out of the wood. He plans to climb.

“Wait, what about them?” I ask, pointing to Samir and Blade. “We have to help them.”

“We’re no good to them captured,” Heathcliff tells me. “We have to climb,” he adds, shoving me up ahead of him. There are foot and hand holds that I grab on to and, before I can think about it, I’m climbing frantically upward.

“What are we doing?” I ask as the people below us become smaller and smaller. Below me, Heathcliff kicks at a sailor who tries to follow us. He falls back down about ten feet, landing on the deck.

“Just go!” he tells me.

I glance down in time to see that Samir has been captured and so has Blade. Both are struggling fiercely against their captors, but they’ve been overwhelmed. I watch as sailors take them belowdecks. Parker and Ryan are now completely tied up against the main mast.

Heathcliff has one hand around the harpoon he’s used as a weapon and the other grasping the hand-holds on the mast.

Soon I run out of places to climb, finding myself at the top of the mast, where I pull myself into a small lookout station—a round half barrel only big enough for one person. I scoot to the edge, but there’s no room for Heathcliff. He holds on to the rail and looks down, seeing that we’re being pursued by three more crew members.

“What now?”

Heathcliff says nothing, just whips around quickly, looking for ideas.

“Um, I think we ought to figure something out, and fast,” I say. The crew members are gaining on us and more have joined the chase upward. I don’t know if Heathcliff can take them all. The deck looms far below us, and if we fell, we’d both be dead, no question.

Heathcliff grabs the end of a rope, which is lying on the lookout post. The other end is attached to the huge sail, about ten feet from us. He stands me up.

“Hold on to me,” he commands, and I loop my arms around his neck so that I’m hanging on his back.

I don’t have time to even speak. Heathcliff swings us out onto the rope, away from the mast where the crewmembers are climbing, and we fly straight into the open sail. Before I can figure out what’s happening, we’re zooming downward. The rope we’re clinging to is bringing up the sail in front of us like a window shade. We zip down, straight past the crew members, and land with a
thump
on the wooden deck.

But before we can make it to the side of the ship, three of Ahab’s men jump us. Heathcliff easily throws one overboard, but finds himself tangled up with the second. I’m struggling with the third. Before I know it, he’s somehow gotten ahold of my locket,
Heathcliff’s
locket, and ripped it straight from my neck.

“What’s this, eh?” says the crew member, holding me apart with one hand while he examines the gold locket. With a flick of his finger, he’s opened it, and the tiny piece of paper within it—the single thing holding Heathcliff to this world—flitters out.

“No!” I shout, wrenching loose from the sailor’s grasp and diving for the piece of paper as it flutters to the ground. But it escapes me, born up by the wind, and flies just out of my grasp. I lunge for it again, only to have it stepped on by a wooden peg.

I look up and see that the peg leg belongs, of course, to Ahab.

He reaches down and peels the piece of paper from under the wooden peg.

“No, wait, I need that…”

“You do, do you?” he says, giving me a smile. An evil smile.

“I’ll take that,” comes a woman’s voice from somewhere behind the throng of sailors. It sounds familiar. I crane to see.

Then, before my eyes, Ms. P steps forward through the group. I can’t believe it. It’s Ms. P, Sylvia Plath’s ghost, from campus.

“Give it to me,” she commands Ahab. He does what she says.

“Ms. P! You have to help us. Ahab and…” I sputter.

“I know,” she says, nodding slowly.

“You have to stop him,” I say, but she doesn’t look like she intends to stop Ahab or anyone else. In fact, she looks bemused.

“You’re not here to rescue us, are you?”

“I’m afraid not, my dear,” Ms. P says, shaking her head slowly. She shows me a book. It’s the original copy of
Moby-Dick.
The magic copy from the vault. The one she used to conjure up Ahab, his crew, and this ship.

I glance over to my right. Parker and Ryan are watching, confused.

“But why?” I ask Ms. P.

“Why?” Her hand slips into her pocket and pulls out the small framed picture of her children. “Do you even know what it’s like to be without your children for eternity? It’s torture. I
have
to see them again.”

I can feel Ryan’s eyes on me and Ms. P. He’s taking it in. Maybe
now
he’ll believe me.

“Maybe we can find another way,” I tell her, feeling a little sad for her. She’s clearly desperate to see them again. “A safer way. Maybe with Ms. W’s help we could—”

“Forget it,” Ms. P says. “I’ve found a way.”

She slips the photo back into her pocket. As she does, her glance slips away from mine and I see my chance. It’s now or never. I leap for Ms. P, trying to aim for the book in her hand and the slip of paper from
Wuthering Heights.

Of course, no sooner than I jump, I find myself frozen in midleap. What the…?

“You didn’t
really
think I’d let you take this book?” Ms. P says, holding her arm outstretched to me. She’s holding me somehow, making sure I can’t move. I struggle, but it’s no use. I kick my legs, but I’m struggling against air.

“Let her go,” Heathcliff growls, taking three steps toward Ms. P.

“I don’t think I will,” Ms. P says, examining the torn piece of paper in her hand. The last remaining bit of
Wuthering Heights.
“I think, Heathcliff, that you’ve far outworn your welcome here.”

With that, she takes a nearby oil lantern, picks it up, and feeds the piece of paper into the top of it.

“No!” I scream as Heathcliff struggles against his captors. We both watch helplessly as the tiny piece of paper turns black in the small flame.

“Throw him overboard,” Ms. P commands.

“Heathcliff—no! Wait!” I shout, struggling against the man who holds me.

Heathcliff meets my eyes. He looks resigned to his fate. He mouths three words to me.

“I love you.”

The tears start to roll down my face and a sob escapes my throat. I strain against Ms. P’s invisible grip, but I can’t move. I’m held fast.

As I watch, helpless, strong hands shove Heathcliff backward and he falls headfirst over the side of the boat. I strain to hear a splash, anything that might signal that he made it to the cove waters below, but I hear nothing.

I can’t help but think it’s because he disappeared before he made it to the water. He’s been sent back to
Wuthering Heights.

And just like that, he’s gone.

I’m sobbing now, even as Ms. P releases her grip and I hit the deck, hard.

“How could you do that?” I shout at Ms. P.

“How could I
not
do that? I have plans, Miranda, and Heathcliff isn’t in them. Besides, he’s a terrible brute, don’t you know? Or didn’t you read
Wuthering Heights
?”

My chest feels like it’s been torn in two. Parker and Ryan are still watching, but I don’t care anymore. I don’t care if Ryan believes me. I don’t care about anything.