The Voyage to Magical North (11 page)

But,
said a voice in his head,
if Marfak West wanted the
Onion,
he could have taken her back at Morning.
For now it clearly suited him to be a prisoner.

Marfak West was a murderer. The name of nightmares.

But he was a magician, and Peter needed to learn magic, before Cassie found out how little he could actually do.

He emerged onto the main deck and stood blinking in the sunlight. Cassie was at the helm, teaching Brine how to steer. If either of them had noticed Peter then, he might have joined them. He might have forgotten all about Marfak West. But neither of them did. He stood and watched. Cassie looked like an ordinary fisherwoman, with her hair tied back and her skin burned from the sun. Nothing heroic about her. Peter shook his head. He'd seen her fight. She'd rescued them from the sea. She'd saved their lives.

But she'd also lied to them, tricked them, and tried to sell them. What sort of a hero would do that? And now she was taking the whole ship on an impossible quest just because her worst enemy had challenged her to stop him if she could.

Another thought struck him: If the stories about Cassie O'Pia weren't true, maybe the stories about Marfak West weren't, either.

 

C
HAPTER
12

Marfak West is dead. Finally defeated by Cassie O'Pia and the valiant crew of the
Onion
, his ship sunk beneath the icy green waters of the Gemini Seas. And yet, even amid the celebrations, some are saying the magician must have escaped, that evil of his magnitude never dies.

(
From
BARNARD
'
S
REACH
CHRONICLE
OF
THE
EIGHT
OCEANS)

Two more days went by. Brine was surprised to find how much she was enjoying life on board the
Onion
. Compared with keeping house for Tallis Magus, it was as easy as a crab sandwich. She wondered where that saying had come from. Trudi had tried to make crab sandwiches one day, and by the time she'd cut them all into little crab shapes, the bread had disintegrated. She'd given up, pushed the whole lot into a pot, and called it seafood trifle. Tim Burre had eaten his portion, but mainly because Trudi had been sitting next to him. The rest of them had scraped their plates overboard when Trudi wasn't looking.

Still, life on board
was
easy. Or rather, Brine thought, pausing halfway through coiling a length of rope, she was probably working harder than ever, but it was different. Maybe because no one treated her like a servant anymore. She followed orders, but so did everyone else. The only thing she missed was Magus's library, and then only sometimes. The
Onion
was, after all, on its way to the biggest library in the whole world.

She tried not to think too much about Barnard's Reach, because every time she did, her hands shook with excitement and she dropped things. Or if the libraries came into her dreams at night, she woke up and couldn't get back to sleep again for impatience. Besides, she had plenty to learn right where she was. She'd already learned how to tie twenty-three kinds of knots, and she knew the signs that the weather was about to change. She was starting to recognize the constellations and understand how people could navigate by them. All the things she'd read about in books and dreamed of doing were now coming true.

The only downside was Peter. He hung about the ship, looking as miserable as wet seaweed, and just being around him was enough to make Brine feel depressed. She wasn't even sure how to talk to him. Back on Minutes, they'd spent most of their time fighting, but so much had changed since then that when she thought back, their arguments seemed petty and childish. She didn't really want to argue with him anymore, but she wasn't sure what to say instead.

She was glad this morning that he wasn't around. This morning the wind was behind them and the
Onion
raced on as if eager to get this journey over with. Brine didn't want anything to spoil it.

“You're becoming a sailor,” Ewan Hughes told Brine as she sat on deck mending ropes. The approval in his voice brought a warm flush of color to her cheeks.

“How long before we reach Barnard's Reach?” she asked.

Ewan gazed into the wind. “Two or three days, depending on the weather.” He didn't seem to share Brine's eagerness to get there, but of course he wouldn't be allowed on the island, being a man.

“Does it bother you that they don't let men in the library?” she asked him.

Ewan shrugged one massive shoulder. “Not really. Men shouldn't be around books. It encourages them to think too much, and when men start thinking too much, they become dangerous. Reading is women's work. Women and magicians.”

Brine couldn't imagine anyone not wanting to read. “What about Aldebran Boswell? He was the greatest explorer who ever lived.”

Ewan considered. “You're saying if I learn to read, I might sail off the top of the world and never be seen again?”

“No, I'm saying that you can … I don't know. Learn new things, use your imagination.” She ground to a halt. “Never mind,” she sighed.

Ewan grinned at her and stood up. “That's the spirit. Now, speaking of learning new things, how would you like to learn to break a man's arm in two easy stages?”

*   *   *

For the past two days, Peter had been trying to work up the nerve to venture back down to the lowest deck. Boredom did it in the end—two days of nothing but sea to look at, and if one more person had said wasn't it nice how Brine was fitting in, he'd have punched them.

Marfak West was lying on his side in his cage, snoring softly. Peter shifted from foot to foot. The fragile weight of the magician's starshell dragged at him. He took the piece out and looked at it, standing well back from the cage. He'd brought the smallest of the three pieces, and even that seemed a terrible risk.

Marfak West's eyes flickered open. Peter jerked his hands behind his back. “You're not having it.”

“Well, of course I'm not. The moment starshell touches my hand, I shall seize control of the
Onion
and murder everyone aboard.”

Peter swallowed the lump in his throat. Marfak West grinned at him. “You really can't take a joke, can you?” He sat up and stretched. “I'm glad you came back, by the way. I've met precious few people in my life with any talent for magic.”

Peter sat down, trying to hide the fact that his legs were wobbling. Now that he was here, he found that he didn't know what to say.

“Magic,” continued Marfak West, “is the hardest thing in the world to master. Very few people can even sense it, let alone use it.” He rested his chin on his fingertips. “Tell me about yourself, Peter. When did you find out you had the talent? Are your parents magicians?”

No one had ever shown the slightest interest in who Peter was. He sat up a little straighter. “No, they both work on fishing boats. Tallis Magus—my old master—came to the village looking for an apprentice. He had a piece of starshell with him, and I was the only one who could feel magic in it. My parents handed me over to him without a word. It was like they couldn't wait to get rid of me.”

“Ignorant people are always afraid of magic,” said Marfak West. “It's not their fault they don't know any better. I found my first piece of starshell when I was about your age. I didn't have anyone to teach me, so I taught myself. I experimented, putting the magic into different shapes, finding out what worked and what didn't. I was lucky.”

“I suppose so,” said Peter doubtfully. Marfak West didn't seem to be the sort of person who'd rely on luck.

The magician's eyes glinted. “Do me a favor, will you? When you disagree with me, say so. Luck had nothing to do with it. Do you think I just happened to spot a piece of starshell? Or did I spend every free minute searching the beaches for the stuff? And then, when people found out what I could do and tried to stop me, did I meekly give up all my dreams of being a magician, or did I fight back?”

“I'm guessing you fought back,” said Peter, torn between fascination with the story and fear that this conversation was sailing into whole oceans that he really didn't want to explore.

Marfak West nodded. “If you want to be a magician, you have to fight. That's the first rule. Everyone will want your power, but nobody will want you.”

Peter's heart sank. It all seemed like a lot of effort for nothing. “Why bother, then?”

“Because of the second rule.” A smile crawled across the magician's face. “Magic makes you better than them. Never forget that.”

Peter felt himself smile back. He held the starshell piece in his cupped hands and watched the magic swirl across the surface. Better than Cassie? Better than Brine? That wasn't true. Marfak West was only saying what he thought Peter wanted to hear. Peter didn't know why, but if the magician was willing to teach him magic, why not go along with it? Just as long as he remembered that he was dealing with a liar.

“So,” he said, looking up, “are we just going to sit here and talk, or are you going to teach me some magic?”

*   *   *

Brine was already wishing she hadn't offered to teach Tim Burre to write.

“No, hold the pen like this,” she said, correcting his grip for the twentieth time. “Let the tip rest between your fingers, and move it slowly.”

Tim copied out the first two letters of his name and paused. “I'm not sure I like all this drawing shapes. It's a bit too much like magic.”

“It's nothing like magic,” Brine sighed. “You're making letters, not spellshapes. Just think what you'll be able to do when you can read, all the things you can learn. You know what they say—knowledge is power.”

Tim's brow wrinkled. “That definitely sounds like magic. You're not a secret magician as well, are you?”

“Me? No. I'm allergic to magic.” Anyway, the whole practice of magic was starting to feel a bit boring to her. All the rules you had to learn, and the endless memorizing of spellshapes. It was annoying that Peter got all the attention for it, but did she really want that sort of attention, anyway? She'd much rather spend time on the main deck, watching the world as she sped through it, than holed up in a corner studying spellshapes.

Tim handed the pen back to her. “I better get back to work. You, too—I think Trudi wanted help in the galley.”

Brine left him to it. She saw Cassie watching her as she crossed the deck and waved. She shouldn't blame the pirates for not wanting to learn. They didn't need to read and write—they needed to know how to tie knots and steer a ship by the stars and a hundred other things that letters on pages weren't necessarily going to help with. It was just that when she finally felt she was starting to fit in somewhere, her ability to read and write made her different, and she didn't want to be different anymore.

She wondered where Peter was. He'd understand.

Trudi put her head out of the galley as Brine came past.

“Have you seen Peter?” asked Brine.

“No. Do you want to help make butter?” She held up a jar of off-white liquid, which Brine presumed had once been milk. “You have to keep shaking it until it goes solid.”

Brine took the jar and gave it a shake. “Trudi, can you read?”

Trudi beamed at her. “Of course I can. I can write, too. I keep a recipe book.”

She dumped a sheaf of papers on the table. Brine read the top couple. “They're … interesting. Can you really make jelly out of strawberry jam and eels?”

“You can, but no one will eat it.” Trudi looked at her closely. “Are you all right? You don't have to help if you don't want to.”

“No, it's fine. I wasn't doing anything else.” Brine kept shaking the jar and saw a few flecks of yellow appear. She grinned. “Look at that—it's working!”

*   *   *

Another day passed. Peter sat in front of Marfak West's cage, trying to persuade a piece of starshell to rise out of his hand. The shell was almost empty. Peter could feel the last scraps of magic fluttering, but they didn't want to come out.

“You're trying too hard,” said Marfak West. “You need to coax the power out, not force it. If you push too hard, you'll lose control of it altogether. Like that,” he added, as the shell shot off Peter's hand and landed inside the cage right at the magician's feet.

Peter gasped, and his heart almost stopped. Marfak West reached down, retrieved the shell, and handed it back through the bars with a mocking bow. “I told you,” he said, “if I'd wanted to take the
Onion,
I'd have done it already.”

Peter polished the shell on his shirt, trying to cover up the fact that his hands were shaking. His heart, making up for its moment of inactivity, pounded at twice the normal rate. The scar in the center of his right palm burned.

“The bigger the starshell, the faster it draws in magic and the more it holds,” said Marfak West, returning to the lesson as if nothing had happened. “Break that piece in half, and each half would hold less than half its original amount. Don't break it in half, by the way. That would be a really stupid thing to do.”

Peter put the shell down carefully. “I know all this. When are you going to teach me some new spellshapes?”

Marfak West shook his head. “Spellshapes don't matter. They're just the rules. Once you truly understand magic, how it moves, how it feels in your hands, you can make it do anything. You'll be able to create your own rules. Try again. Don't think of a shape, just think of the starshell lifting up out of your hand.”

Peter still felt shaky. He balanced the starshell on one hand and held his other hand over it.