The Voyage to Magical North (22 page)

Tim Burre lay facedown just below in a pool of seawater. He'd been lucky, Ewan thought: The mast had made a hole in the deck and he'd fallen straight through.

Not that lucky, though—he wasn't breathing.

Trudi came to join him. “I think we're supposed to kiss him or something,” she said. She didn't look very eager to try it.

Ewan pushed her aside, clamped his lips over Tim's, and blew into his mouth. After a few seconds, Tim coughed, rolled over, and spat out water.

“I could have done that,” said Trudi, clearly relieved that she hadn't had to. But she did hug Tim when he sat up.

Ewan looked at the crew gathered round him, silently counting up the damage. They'd lost eight people altogether. All but one of the rowing boats were smashed, as were three of the four masts, and the last one was leaning at an alarming angle. The deck had holes everywhere, and seawater came through as fast as they could bail.

A muffled squawk came from under a pile of timber. Ewan pulled it aside and found the cage with Tom's remaining messenger gull buried underneath. Miraculously, the gull was still alive. It huddled in the bottom of the cage, a bundle of damp feathers with accusing eyes. A moment later, Zen clambered out from under a neighboring heap of timber and shook himself.

“We should write a message,” said Trudi, lifting the cat away from the birdcage. “At least people will know what happened to us.”

They'd know, but they'd never believe it, Ewan thought. For a moment, he considered it. It was the humane thing to do. One of the gulls had already died. Why keep the last one locked up here to die, too, when the
Onion
sank? He picked up the cage. The others seemed to know what he was thinking; they nodded. Trudi turned her face away.

Ewan stepped over the fallen mast and wedged the cage securely into a flap of sail. “We're not going to send any messages,” he said, “because we're not going to die here. We'll make it back, and we'll tell stories so fabulous that all the islands will think we've gone mad. All right?” He turned, fixing a grin on his face.

No one met his gaze. Trudi tried to smile but didn't quite manage it. “Cassie will come back,” she said, drawing a pattern in a puddle with her toe. “Cassie always comes back.”

Ewan clapped her on the shoulder. “Of course Cassie will come back.” He laughed aloud. The sound fell on silence. Ewan didn't care. He gazed around with narrowed eyes. Nothing had changed. If anything, they were sitting slightly lower in the water than before. They were alone and sinking in the frozen ocean. And yet …

He slapped his hands together. “Right, you lot, we've got work to do. Repair and salvage. Dry clothes, food, whatever might be useful, bring it all on deck. We can use some of these broken planks to build rafts. Whatever you do, keep out of the water. And don't let Zen eat the messenger gull—we might still want her later.”

The pirates stirred into reluctant action. Ewan made his way to what used to be the prow. A broken square of wood bore part of the letter
O.
He held it in his hands for a long time before hurling it into the sea. Several fish-birds ducked out of the way and reconvened in a circle. Ewan wondered why they weren't attacking, but of course they didn't need to. All the birds had to do was wait, and the cold would soon do their job for them.

Ewan clamped his teeth together, determined not to shiver. Whatever else happened, he was not going to let everyone sit here, waiting to die. They'd escaped from worse catastrophes than this. Cassie would be back soon, and she'd know what to do. Cassie O'Pia always knew what to do.

*   *   *

“Cassie, what do we do?” shouted Bill Lightning.

“I don't know!” Cassie yelled back.

Brine felt the magic give way around her, and she fell forward just as a stalactite crashed down. Another one landed as she ran to the lake.

“Peter!” She would have jumped into the water after him, but Rob Grosse grabbed her round the waist.

“It's too late,” he shouted in her ear. His voice was almost lost in the roar of falling ice. “He's gone.”

“Let me go!” Brine kicked him in the shins. He let go of her in surprise but grabbed her again straightaway.

Cassie seized a shield in one hand and Tom in the other. “Brine, he's right. There's nothing we can do. We have to get out of here, or we'll all die.”

Brine didn't care if they all died. She shook with cold and fury. She'd let Peter go. She should have known what he was going to do and she should have stopped him. Instead she'd just stood there and watched, completely useless.

Cassie deflected another stalactite with her shield. It bounced away and smashed straight through a pile of treasure, leaving a gaping hole.

Tom gave a shout. “A tunnel! Boswell said there was a tunnel leading up. What if he came the other way?”

Then the tunnel would lead down. Brine stopped fighting Rob. Bill staggered across to join them, his face and clothes white with ice. Brine wiped her hair out of her eyes. Her hands came away damp with tears. Cassie was right: They had to get out of here.

A whole section of ceiling fell in with an angry roar and a snow-bear picked itself up, shook its head, and fixed its eyes on Cassie as if she were the source of all its problems. Cassie threw a goblet at it. “All those in favor of staying here and getting eaten by the snow-bear, say ‘aye.'”

No one said a word.

“And all those in favor of seeing where this tunnel leads?”

They piled through the gap just as the snow-bear charged.

Brine's hand struck solid rock. She tried to back out, thinking the tunnel—if it was a tunnel—was blocked, but the others were pushing in behind her, and then, as she groped down, she found a gap she could squeeze through. Sounds of shouts and roaring and more ice falling followed her. After a while, everything became quiet. Only Cassie's voice drifted out of the darkness, saying the words that Brine had been bracing herself to hear.

“Well,” said Cassie, “that could have been worse.”

 

C
HAPTER
26

I am writing this, not in any hope that someone will one day read my words, but because I wish to complete the record of my journey before I die. I set out to find Magical North, and I succeeded. Nothing else matters.

(
From
ALDEBRAN
BOSWELL
'
S
JOURNAL
OF
STRANGE
ADVENTURES
IN
THE
YEAR
OF
DISCOVERY)

Something inside Brine snapped. “How?” she demanded. Her voice cracked. “How could this possibly be worse? Marfak West won. We practically handed him a giant piece of starshell. Peter's gone. We're trapped in a hole with snow-bears waiting to eat us. And even if we get back to the boats, there's no point, because Marfak West has sunk the
Onion
. With that much starshell, he can turn the ship to sawdust.” Tears filled her throat.

“Also, my glasses are still broken,” added Tom in a small voice.

“Let's not be so quick to give up,” said Cassie. “We're all still here. Except for Peter, and we'll rescue him next. Marfak West may be a problem, but we'll think of something. The
Onion
has survived far worse than him. I bet they're all sitting about snacking on toasted fish-birds and wondering where we are. And”—she wriggled past Brine—“I do believe this tunnel keeps going down. Shall we take a look?”

Brine didn't have the energy to be angry anymore.
Why not?
she thought. Given that they were all going to die, why not see where one small tunnel led?

It led down, of course. They half slid, half crawled along it, bracing themselves against the sides with arms and legs. Gradually, the air became warmer—and lighter. A silver glow crept up to meet them. Brine could see her hands in front of her face again. She edged back. “What is it?”

“I don't know,” said Cassie, “but as long as it's not more tunnel, I'm happy.” She crawled on faster and then, without warning, she disappeared. A moment later, they heard her voice. “Everyone, you have
got
to come down and see this.”

*   *   *

It was a sight that was worth more than all the gold in the world: a river. It rushed away from them along the middle of a wide underground channel. Great ribbons of Stella Borealis lit up the rocky ceiling, and a gap in the roof let in a bright burst of sunlight. But even the relief of seeing the sun again was nothing compared to the wonder of seeing a ship.

She sat wreathed in silver mist, rising and falling with the movement of the water, changing as she moved. In one blink, Brine saw a vessel made of wood, so scorched and scarred it looked like it had been in a fight with a dragon. With the next breath, she was looking at a ship out of a legend. A great, golden hull rose in a proud curve, four times the size of the
Onion
. Sails of pure copper stood stiffly on silver masts, the whole thing blazing like the setting sun. But whichever ship Brine saw, the same word curled around the hull. They all knew what it said—even Rob and Bill who couldn't read. The pirates had seen almost the same word every day for years. Only one letter was different.

ORION.

The back of Brine's throat ached, and she didn't think it had anything to do with her allergy to magic. This was Boswell's ship and Orion's, both at the same time. A century of magic had fused the real ship with the story until you couldn't tell them apart. She turned to see what Peter thought of it and remembered he wasn't there.

Cassie climbed the mooring rope and landed on the deck. “Come on up.”

Bill and Rob followed, Bill limping from where he'd stabbed his foot back in the cavern. Brine stayed on the bank. All she could think about was how Peter was missing this, and it was all her fault. She'd yelled at Peter to do something, and he had.

“Peter will be all right,” said Tom, seeming to guess what she was thinking. “Marfak West wouldn't have jumped into the lake without a plan. If Peter's with him, he'll be alive.”

Brine shook her head. “Cassie told me to look out for him. If I'd been nicer—”

“Then things might be different, or they might not be,” said Tom. “Does it change them now to stand here feeling guilty?”

Brine turned to look at him. He was so eager to explore the ship he couldn't keep his feet still. She sighed. “After you, then.”

*   *   *

Everything on board had the same dual quality they'd seen from the shore, as if the ship were still trying to decide whether to be ancient or merely old. The ropes thrummed when Brine touched them. A small rowing boat tied up under a tarpaulin was called the
Celestial Shallot.

Bill opened the hatch that led belowdecks, and they climbed down into darkness. Brine put her hands out and felt wooden panels on either side. A corridor, she guessed, then her eyes started to adjust and she guessed again. They were in the ship's hold, and she was standing between two rows of crates. Rob climbed up and pried the lid off one. “Empty,” he announced.

“So's this one,” said Bill. “These people must have sailed from the other side of the world to use up this many supplies.”

“Or the crates were empty to start with,” said Brine. “They were expecting to find treasure, remember.”

Fire flared behind her and Cassie appeared holding a lantern. “I think I've found the captain's cabin.”

A narrow door stood half-open. The room, like the rest of the ship, kept changing. In one view, it was cramped and dark, with cracked floorboards and a table and chairs made out of old crates. In the other, Brine saw an airy chamber with furs on the floor, tall windows, and delicate furniture made of white wood. But in both views, the table held a book with an old ink pot and quill next to it, and a pair of glasses.

Brine's heart thumped. She felt like she was tramping through somebody's grave. Cassie, who didn't care where she tramped, picked up the glasses and gave them to Tom. They all watched as he slid them onto his nose and blinked uncertainly. A broad grin spread across his face.

“I can see!” He adjusted the lenses with trembling fingers. “They're almost perfect—no, they
are
perfect.” He turned full circle, then his newly perfect gaze fell on the book and he let out a shriek like a seagull.

Cassie yelled, too, and whipped out her sword. Bill attacked the nearest object, which happened to be the table.

“Stop!” bellowed Tom. The shout rattled the inkpot.

Bill gave a low chuckle. “Who'd have thought it? The librarian's got a voice inside him after all.”

Tom glared at him over the top of his spectacles. It seemed to be a special, librarian sort of glare, because Bill shut up at once.

Brine picked up the book and blew the dust off the cover.
“Aldebran Boswell's Journal of Strange Adventures in the Year of Discovery,”
she read. “Tom, is this…”

Reverently, as if he was handling something infinitely more precious than mere paper, Tom took his copy of Boswell's journal out of his pocket and laid the two books side by side. He didn't even look at Brine as he began turning pages. He seemed to have forgotten anyone else was there.

He came to a place where his copy of the journal was blank. The original continued.

The twenty-seventh of Balistes. The first mate is dead, killed by a bear. Only ten members of the crew remain. They wish to leave, but the sun has not yet set.

The twenty-eighth of Balistes. Another man dead.

The thirtieth of Balistes. I am the only one left.

The thirty-first of Balistes. Orion's Day. Today, at last, the sun set. The stories are true. I stood at Magical North and I saw the world. Was it worth it? Who can say? All my supplies are gone, and I cannot sail this ship alone. Tomorrow I will leave this ship and walk into the snow. Maybe I will rise into the stars like Orion.