The Icy Hand (6 page)

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Authors: Chris Mould

BOOK: The Icy Hand
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An Unfortunate Finding
Stanley's head was banging with all the worries that were upon him. He didn't need extra troubles, but as he stumbled through to the hallway he was confronted by Mrs. Carelli. She was holding several cans of paint and a stack of brand spanking new brushes.
“That lot should keep you busy, young
fellow,” she called to him. “Mr. Grouse has just called to take Daisy back home, so I thought you might need something to break the boredom.”
“Boredom!” Stanley gasped. He would give anything just to be bored.
Stanley was eager to tell Admiral Swift, if only he would appear, that he had come face to face with Bastabelle Partridge and Jackdaw McCormick.
Later, he sat near the warm fire with Mrs. Carelli. She had warmed him through on his return from the moor with a large hot meal, and he was too tired to be bothered by piracy or any other such nonsense.
Suddenly, there was Admiral Swift, sitting next to Mrs. Carelli. She was happily unaware, her eyes shut and her hands clasped across
her middle, taking in the warmth from the fire.
“Dear oh dear, Stanley,” began the Admiral. “I feel you may have had a close shave with our friends already. You have left me feeling slightly concerned—though, I must admit, you were on your toes.”
Stanley eyeballed Mrs. Carelli. She had dropped off. He watched her chest gently rising and falling.
“Was it really them?” he whispered.
“Well, yes. Absolutely,” the spirit confirmed, with one raised eyebrow.
“But he seemed friendly. He wasn't at all what I expected.”
“Of course he wasn't, Stanley. Of course he wasn't. That is his way of luring you into his trap.
Step into my parlor, said the spider to the fly
. Something tells me that when you met
me
I was not what you expected either?”
“Maybe,” Stanley answered, staring at his feet.
“Then you must learn your lesson, Stanley. You must not let your preconceptions fool you. Mr. Partridge is a slippery customer. He has a certain way of doing business, very different from that of Mr. Flynn and friends. Now, if you'll excuse me, I shall go and practice my fencing skills.”
“Wait!” said Stanley. He had wanted to quiz his Great-uncle further. But no, he was gone.
And then one eye opened and Mrs. Carelli's voice came. “Stanley, are you talking to yourself? I'm gonna get Dr. Peebles over to you, sharpish. I'm sure you got a fever, lad.”
“I'm fine!” he insisted. “I'm fine.”
Night drew in quickly. The snow and wind were relentless and the temperature dropped even lower.
The snow was piling up in a way that Stanley had never seen before. Thick drifts caused by the winds swept up the sides of buildings and into corners, bringing the roofs closer to the ground.
Stanley sat watching it come down from his bedroom window. The lights were off and it was late. Mrs. Carelli's snoring echoed down the corridor, confirming that she was soundly asleep.
Crampton Rock looked desolate in the darkness. No one had been in the lookout posts for some time.
Stanley sensed something was behind him and when he turned around Admiral
Swift sat on his bed.
“I wish you wouldn't do that!” squeaked Stanley. “You frightened me half to death. I thought it was
them
.”
Admiral Swift leaned forward and stood himself up.
“Listen, Stanley, and listen carefully. You may not see me after tonight.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Tonight I will enter into a battle to protect what belongs to you and to the family. Bastabelle Partridge is on his way here again right now and he wants only one thing. We mustn't let go of it, Stanley.
“In a short while I will refuse to hand over the Ibis, and I will then engage in combat with my greatest enemy. I killed him before, but I need to prepare you in case this time I meet my end. When a spirit is killed by
another spirit, he dies out for ever. That is the way it is. I cannot change it.”
“That's dreadful!” gasped Stanley. “Let's be rid of the Ibis, so we can all live in peace on Crampton Rock. You don't have to fight. We can solve the problem for ever. Just—give it to him.”
“NEVER,” the Admiral huffed. “No one shall ever put enough fear in me to force me into submission.”
And Stanley got a swift glimpse of the bold, brave pirate that dwelled inside his Great-uncle.
“Come, Stanley. As I said, in case anything happens to me I need you to be prepared. Follow me.”
Stanley followed his Great-uncle down the staircase and in a moment they were in front of the pike again.
“I do hope Admiral Swift isn't going to be foolish enough to take hold of the precious Ibis?” came the voice of the pike.
“Stanley, could you fetch me some tongs? They are in the kitchen drawer,” Admiral Swift asked.
Stanley did so and when he returned, the front of the glass case had already been removed and was resting on the floor. Admiral Swift placed the tongs carefully inside and curled them around the Ibis. Retrieving it, he held it up to where the moonlight shone in from the hallway window.
It was beautiful. Every color Stanley could think of seemed to show on its silvery surface.
“There is good reason for me showing you this again, young fellow. Something you haven't yet discovered.”
The Admiral turned it over, and at the back of it were two interlocking segments. He took out his sword and gently used its tip to flick the segments upward, so they stuck out like prongs.
“There you go,” he said. “It still works.”
“What do you mean, it still works?” quizzed Stanley.
“The Ibis is a key, Stanley. These prongs are made to push into two small holes. You see, the Ibis is only a part of something much more valuable: a casket crafted from silver. Needless to say, an ancient and valuable
casket. It houses three keys below its lid: two of them, the Bison and the Jackal, are in place. The third, of course, is the Ibis. No one knows where the casket is, but the pirate world knows that the Ibis is the missing link. I don't think giving the Ibis away would stop those scoundrels from darkening your door, Stanley. All eyes would be on this place, because they think that the casket is here also.”
Stanley felt a leap of excitement, contained by his concern that he was involved in something dark and dangerous. He could see no way out of it.
“I saw her once,” the Admiral continued. “Beautiful, she is. Pure silver, with the same cascade of colors as the Ibis when the light is on her, and wonderfully crafted. Only small, yet big enough to house what she conceals comfortably behind her closed lid. I do not
know exactly where she is, but many think that the Ibis and the casket are close to each other. I cannot say if that is true.”
“When was this? When you saw the casket, I mean?”
“Oh, many years ago, Stanley. That is another story. Perhaps when we have more time I will tell you it.”
“And what is the secret she holds behind her closed lid?” begged Stanley.
“Aah, now even I haven't got that far. And if you ever do, then you have my blessing and I wish you every ounce of luck.”
The Admiral placed the Ibis carefully down the throat of the pike and put the case back in position.
“Ah, such gentle hands,” said the pike. “I wish you had been as careful when you took the hook from my lip. Still it hurts, even now.”
Stanley's Great-uncle turned to look at him. “Some people become bitter as they grow older, Stanley,” he smiled. “Whatever you do in your life, don't grow old and bitter.”
“People?”
questioned the pike.
“People?
I am not a person. I am a pike.”
“Mrs. Carelli thinks you are a trout,” said Admiral Swift.
“There is only one old trout in this place,” the pike returned. “And I think she fits the description better than I do.”
And that was all he would say before he returned to sleep.
“He has never forgiven me,” said the Admiral, “and he would not have retrieved my head if he hadn't wanted to help you. You have a good friend in him, Stanley. He likes you.”
Stanley smiled. It felt strange to think of a
preserved fish in a glass case as a good friend, but he did not say that out loud. He would never do that.
They returned to Stanley's room and sat in wait. It was a long vigil, and every minute seemed like an hour. Stanley must have peered from the window a thousand times as his Great-uncle paced up and down the room. Every so often Admiral Swift would whip out his sword and take a slice at the empty space in front of him. Then he would put the sword back by his side and say in his best voice, “And that is why they call me Swift.”
At almost three in the morning, the black carriage finally rolled up under the window. The Admiral shook Stanley's hand.
“Wish me luck,” he sighed. “Don't come out. It's cold and there's nothing you can do.
This is a spiritual clash of swords, my friend, and the best man will win.”
Then he was gone. A tear welled up in Stanley's eye. What if he never saw his Great-uncle again?
Stanley was almost too scared to look from his window, yet somehow he
had
to look.
Admiral Swift was standing outside the carriage. Bastabelle Partridge opened the door and stepped out. He was huge, almost square, with a great black beard that cascaded down his front, and he seemed to be alone. To Stanley's surprise, when the pirate approached Admiral Swift he shook his hand and they spoke politely to each other.
Then he was just as surprised when Partridge whipped out his sword—and in a flash they were battling blades in the snow. Admiral Swift denied his old age and moved around nimbly, twisting and turning. What a professional. Partridge was quick, despite his monstrous frame, but Swift was moving too fast and took a sly slice at his opponent's middle, wounding him badly. But Partridge would not give up and he clutched his wound with his free hand.

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