The Pirates and the Nightmaker (10 page)

‘That may well be true,’ said Captain Bass, ‘but then again it may not.’

I suppose his words should have given me hope, but the way he said them was so bleak they denied all hope.

‘Another thing occurs to me, little Loblolly Boy,’ he continued. ‘If Daniel somehow manages to sever this connexion to Mr Wicker you must hide the fact that he has done so. Mr Wicker’s trust and confidence in you must be complete. If he suspects you have the means of escaping his hold over you, then all may be for nought: for our hopes and, I need hardly add, for yours. Do you understand me?’

I did. And his words frightened me. I was not sure I could hide anything from Mr Wicker. It would only take one time for him to fail to pull me back and all would be revealed.

‘How can I possibly do that?’ I asked nervously.

The captain sighed again. ‘I do not know,’ he replied. ‘You must be brave, you must be clever, and you must learn to anticipate Mr Wicker’s expectations.’

I nodded miserably. I wasn’t brave and I wasn’t clever and, so far, Mr Wicker had proved utterly unpredictable.

‘It will not be easy,’ I said.

‘Nothing is easy,’ said the captain, ‘but it may be easier if you keep as close as possible to Mr Wicker as you can. The fewer opportunities he has to summon you the better.’

‘I suppose so,’ I said.

This would not be easy either. I had hoped to spend time, while we were on the
Medusa
, with Sophie Blade. To stay close to Mr Wicker would make that difficult, especially if we wanted to hide from him the fact that Sophie could see me and talk to me.

Some moments later, Mr Flynn returned carrying an oblong box as if he were carrying a baby in his arms.

I suppose after his talk of scissors I was expecting a large set of shears of some sort. Instead he laid the box on the deck and unstrapped the leather belt securing it. Carefully, he withdrew a long white wand and then another. I thought they may have been made of ivory or whalebone.

With a wand in each hand, he approached me and passed the wands around my body, although they touched me at no point. I thought at first that this was an exercise in pointless play-acting until I became aware that the wands themselves had not only attracted the phosphorescence that seemed to light up everything else on board the
Astrolabe
, but were indeed glowing with a faint violet light. Moreover, they began to emit a scratchy sound and I noticed with alarm that as the sound increased the wands began to discharge tiny bolts of what looked to be lightning until the very darkness about me was dancing with flashes and sparks of light.

And then there were none and the darkness returned.

‘I think that should work,’ murmured Mr Flynn. ‘It did work for your master.’

I had no way of knowing whether it had worked or not. I did not really want to find out, for if it did work and
my master could no longer summon me, he would discover that fact before me, as Captain Bass had understood. I was grateful enough that the sparks and flashes had not somehow ignited my wings.

Captain Bass watched as Mr Flynn returned the wands to their case and strapped it once more. Then he looked at me.

‘I think, little Loblolly Boy, that you should return to the
Medusa
forthwith. It is not likely that Mr Wicker should have need of you at this hour, but we should not tempt fate. Do not be tempted to return to the
Astrolabe
. We will follow your progress from a discreet distance, the better not to alert Mr Wicker that we have had this visit.’

I did not know how this could be achieved but I was beginning to live with so much that was beyond my understanding that I simply added this new strangeness to the list. I thanked Mr Flynn for his help and turned to the captain for a final time.

‘I will try to be careful,’ I promised.

‘You must,’ he said. ‘You are a two-edged sword. Now fly away.’

He turned his attention once more to the prow and his hands to the helm. His dismissal had been so curt it was as if he had been clapping at a fly. I leapt to the air and wheeled away from the ghost ship and as I flew higher it grew smaller, but somehow its masts and spars which had earlier seemed dripping with horror now seemed to sparkle with something like hope.

The strange driving winds that billowed the tattered sails of the
Astrolabe
disappeared as the ship itself disappeared. Thereafter, I flew the relatively short distance to the
Medusa
in the same stillness that had been abroad when I’d left it.

My mind was churning, though, with all I’d learnt and experienced with the mysterious Captain Bass and his odd little companion, Daniel Flynn.

I now knew more about the origin and purpose of the astrolabe Mr Wicker sought and why Mr Wicker would seek it. That knowledge alone was frightening, but now I was charged with the even more frightening prospect of having to deceive Mr Wicker and frustrate his purpose. I hoped I could find the strength to do this and the luck to assist me.

Even as I alighted on the platform of the crow’s nest there was a suggestion of the brown bottle light that foretold the dawn. I had wondered whether, along with food and drink, sleep would be denied me in my new strange
nether-existence
. It seemed it wouldn’t, for not long after I lay myself
down on the platform, I felt a friendly, familiar drowsiness overcome me and I soon succumbed to a dreamless sleep.

Why would I dream anyway? Everything that had happened to me in the last day and night had been stranger than any dream, veering from nightmare to exhilaration; the nightmare of the crew members reaching for their knives and the exhilaration of swooping and wheeling in a vast blue emptiness.

Two things woke me.

The first was music. Somewhere from afar, I was aware of music, the furious music of a wild jig. Somebody was playing a fiddle, and I became aware too of a thumping rhythm and becoming more conscious, I guessed it was dancing, the bang and slap of feet on the faraway deck. It was only then that I groped towards alertness, and rubbed my eyes. It was morning and filled with light. I was momentarily bemused by the filmy green garments covering my arms and legs until the weird events of the previous day returned to me and I remembered that I had been transformed, and all that had happened to me was no nightmare, no dream.

The second thing to wake me was a cheeky face grinning over the rim of the crow’s nest.

Rubbing my eyes again, I saw the face of Sophie Blade.

‘Good morning to you, Loblolly Boy,’ she said.

I yawned and smiled at the same time and my expression must have looked so ridiculous she laughed.

‘Don’t do that,’ she remonstrated, ‘or I’ll not be able to hold on and I’ll fall to the deck!’

To forestall the likelihood of that awful possibility, she
then leapt with great agility over the rim and onto the platform.

‘What is that noise?’ I asked. ‘It is music, isn’t it?’

She leaned over, pointing. ‘It’s Irish Peter,’ she said. ‘Look!’

I looked over the edge and down to the main deck. Standing there, tapping one foot and swaying energetically, was a slight-looking man sawing at a fiddle. Three crew members, dressed only in trousers and boots, pranced about the deck in a mad dance.

‘Why, they’re dancing,’ I said.

‘You’re very observant,’ said Sophie, mischievously.

‘There was never any dancing on the
Firefly
,’ I said.

‘I’m not surprised with that curmudgeon of a captain in charge,’ said Sophie.

‘Somehow I cannot imagine Captain Lightower dancing,’ I said.

‘Or laughing, either, I’ll warrant,’ said Sophie. ‘Irish Peter is a terrible seaman but my mother was happy to engage him for his fiddle and the good spirits he brings to the ship.’

‘Did you tell your mother what we overheard last night?’ I asked Sophie, remembering how we had listened in on Captain Lightower’s conversation with Dr Hatch.

Sophie’s face clouded. ‘I did. It was exactly as I predicted. She did not seem especially worried. She trusts her men and doubts any would betray her for the king’s shilling. She said that even if there were any, there’d be ten others to report the matter.’

‘You are not so sure?’

‘Oh,’ said Sophie, ‘I trust the men and I trust my mother’s
judgement. She has nothing to worry about. It’s just that I do not like your Captain Lightower and I do not trust him and I wish he were not on the
Medusa
.’

‘I think he has a secret,’ I said, recalling how Mr Wicker had mocked him.

‘He has a grudge, I’ll wager,’ said Sophie. ‘But I wish he were not here. He’s like a rat in the pantry.’

This was a bitter expression and I was surprised at the vehemence in Sophie’s tone. ‘Nor do I like your Mr Wicker!’ she added.

I wanted to protest that he wasn’t my Mr Wicker, but I realised in a sudden black moment that he
was
my Mr Wicker just as I was his loblolly boy. The black moment became grey though, as I recalled that things had possibly changed a little. If Mr Flynn’s crazy wands had worked, my connexions to Mr Wicker had been severed and I had promised myself to a new master.

I wondered whether I should tell Sophie of Captain Bass and the ghost ship sailing in its own tempest in the night.

I decided against it. The story was too fantastical and to tell it would involve telling Sophie of the true meaning of the astrolabe. That was knowledge, I reckoned, that was too dangerous to share.

‘Where are you?’ Sophie asked.

I looked at her. ‘Eh? I’m on the crow’s nest,’ I said.

‘But you were far away.’

‘I’m sorry. I was thinking about Mr Wicker.’

‘Well, I don’t like him.’

‘He won’t change me back,’ I told her.

‘Oh,’ said Sophie. ‘Did you ask him?’

‘I did,’ I said, ‘last evening, before you and I met.’

‘Well?’ said Sophie.

‘First of all,’ I said, ‘he told me he wasn’t sure he could change me back, but then he said that even if he could do so, he wouldn’t as he had further use for me. It looks like I’m going to be his slave, his invisible, green, flying slave.’

‘But, that’s terrible,’ said Sophie. ‘What further use, did he say?’

‘That accursed astrolabe,’ I said bitterly. ‘He is determined to acquire it.’

‘And then? If he does, will he free you then?’

I looked at her despondently. ‘I fear he will not,’ I said. ‘He does not like to do good deeds. He only likes to do mischief. I sense that he would see more mischief than good in leaving me the way I am.’

‘I wish I could help you,’ said Sophie, ‘but I’m afraid …’

‘I’m afraid too,’ I said, with what I hoped was a brave grin, ‘but only one person can help and that person is the one least likely to.’

She returned with a small smile of sympathy, but no further words.

My own words, however, remained in my mind and then, with a small start, a sudden picture came to my mind of Captain Bass leaning over the helm in the dark wind and strangely lit up with that glitter of phosphorescence that illuminated the
Astrolabe
and everything on board. He looked so large, so powerful, controlling the impossible ship as it bucked in an impossible storm. Was Mr Wicker the
only one who could help me? Captain Bass had promised me nothing, but was that because he was incapable? I could not help but wonder, hardly allowing myself to hope.

I must have closed my eyes at the vision, for when I opened them once more Sophie Blade was standing up, grinning.

‘What is it?’ I asked.

‘This!’ she said.

She licked a finger and held it up in the air, turning it back and forth until she located the spot.

‘It’s the beginning of a breeze,’ she said. ‘The tide has carried us from the doldrums!’

‘Are you sure?’

‘We could set sail if it builds up,’ she laughed. ‘Fly up and find out for certain, for I must to my mother with this news!’

With a half wave she swung herself over the rim of the crow’s nest and hand-over-hand scrambled lightly down the swaying ladder.

In turn, I leapt to the air and sought the draughts. Sophie had a good finger for the wind. The breeze was barely perceptible, too faint yet to lift the pennants hanging from the mast tops, but it was there, albeit just a breath. As I rose it grew stronger and ever so slightly stronger. I glanced down at the
Medusa
now several mast-lengths below me and still becalmed. I saw that, already, Sophie was between the topsail and course sail and would be at the quarterdeck within minutes. I could imagine then the hive of activity as the men below would rush to set sail. I could imagine, too, the joy of the breeze after the energy-sapping
heat and torpor of the last few days of doldrums.

I climbed a few yards higher and then veered around in a wheeling descent. I lifted my wings to land on the quarterdeck, just as Sophie herself jumped from the last rung of the ladder.

‘Well?’ she puffed.

‘It’s not very strong up there yet, but definitely a breeze,’ I grinned.

‘I’ll to my mother at once!’ she said, and ran from me.

The sounds of music had stopped now. I wandered from the quarterdeck to where I had seen the men flinging themselves about on the main deck. I imagined that it was already too hot for jigs, and so I wasn’t surprised to see two or three of the crew leaning on the rail, and a couple including Irish Pete lying back on a great coil of rope.

I carried on aft and then up onto the poop.

I paused when I saw standing by the stern rail two familiar figures: my once master Dr Hatch and Captain Lightower. Once again they were deep in conversation.

It took me a moment to register that I was both invisible and imperceptible, that I had no reason to pause. It made me smile when I remembered that at my very first encounter with Captain Lightower he had told my master to get me out of his sight, and that he did not want to see me again. Well, he now had his wish. I was sure that Captain Lightower hadn’t really wished me invisible
and
able to eavesdrop upon his most private conversations.

Dr Hatch looked ill; no doubt because of his so regularly toasting the health of the king and all and sundry in the
wardroom the previous night. Captain Lightower looked grim and bitter, if possible even more so than usual.

I had missed the first part of their conversation, but heard enough to suggest that so far their men’s overtures to Jenny Blade’s men had not met with any success.

‘What should we do, Captain?’ asked Dr Hatch.

‘There is nought we can do, dammit,’ said the captain. ‘We have found ourselves and our fate dependent on the pleasure of this she-pirate, and I fear her whim.’

‘That’s true enough,’ said Dr Hatch.

‘She knows as well as I know that our presence on board is a complication she would have rather avoided.’

‘A pretty pickle,’ said Dr Hatch.

‘But one easily resolved,’ said Captain Lightower grimly. ‘She could let us loose again on the jolly-boat or she could maroon us on an island if and when the wind picks up. However, these, unpalatable as they are, might be our best options.’

Sensing his captain’s meaning, the doctor looked at him with alarm.

‘Yes, Doctor, if, as I suspect, this Jenny Blade has earned herself a hanging if ever apprehended, it could well be in her best interests to hang us, keelhaul us or throw us to the sharks … if not all three together.’

‘You cannot mean this! She is a woman!’

‘So?’ said the captain. ‘History and the Good Book are littered with bloodthirsty women from Salome to Boudicca. What has she named her ship for goodness sake?’

‘The
Medusa
?’

‘I need hardly remind you that Medusa the gorgon was not filled with the milk of human kindness!’

‘I see your point, sir …’

‘We must be on our guard.’

‘We must!’

‘Somehow, there must be a means of persuading this woman.’

‘Should we enlist Wicker’s help?’

‘Wicker? I do not have the words to tell you how poisonous that man is. Anyway, he is already in league with the woman. In fact, I suspect that were it not for Wicker we would have been left to rot in the jolly-boat.’

Dr Hatch stared unhappily into the blue waters lapping against the stern. ‘But she is an Englishwoman …’ he said.

‘Treachery is not confined to the Spaniards,’ said the captain pointedly. ‘Have you forgotten Henry Morgan? How many English ships did he send to the bottom before he was hanged?’

‘Henry Morgan was Welsh,’ said the doctor, as if that observation had won him the argument.

‘And you are a fool,’ said Captain Lightower.

‘Yet, she is a mother,’ said the doctor.

There was a long silence as the doctor continued his examination of the rippling waters. Captain Lightower had straightened a little at the doctor’s words and looked lost in thought for a brief time.

Then he said, ‘I may have misjudged you, Dr Hatch. You may not be such a fool as I’d thought.’

Their conversation was interrupted at this point by a flurry
of activity, the sounds of shouted orders and responses and running footsteps. I glanced over my shoulder and saw that some of the men were already climbing the foremasts and clambering out along the spars. I had been so intent on the conversation I’d been overhearing, that I’d not noticed how the wind had picked up.

Seconds later a team of sailors hurried up to the poop deck and began scaling the mizzen-mast.

The
Medusa
was setting sail.