The Voyage to Magical North (5 page)

Peter tried not to recoil from the blast of Rob's fishy breath. “She's nice.”

“No she's not. She's glorious. Greatest ship on the oceans, never defeated in battle.”

“Not even at Morning?” asked Peter.

Rob's smile snapped off. “You don't want to hear about Morning. Have you heard how we defeated an army of swamp beasts on the Isle of Bats?”

“No,” said Peter, “and I—”

“It's called the Isle of Bats because it's full of bats.” Rob sat down on a bucket. “What they don't tell you, though, is that the island is basically one great swamp. The insects get eaten by birds, the birds get eaten by the bats, and the bats are massive. Big enough to lift a man off the ground.” He spat on the deck. “But Cassie had heard there was treasure in the swamp, and so there we were, digging about in the sludge.”

“I'm sure it was very interesting,” said Peter, “but what about—”

“Night fell, and so did the bats. It was as dark as the inside of a whale, and we were covered head to foot in swamp until you couldn't tell us one from another. The bats screamed round our heads like demons. We kept killing them, and more kept coming. Then, just as Cassie was saying not to worry, because it could be worse, monsters came rising out of the swamp.”

“Nothing like Morning, then,” said Peter.

“No, not a bit like Morning. Haven't you been listening? Swamp monsters, as big as horses and with teeth like sharks. You don't get them on Morning.”

He stopped as Ewan Hughes appeared.

“Bored already?” asked Ewan. He handed Peter a mop and bucket. “If you've got time to talk, you've got time to work. You can clean the deck.”

*   *   *

“Hello,” said Brine. “You're Tim Burre, aren't you? Do you need any help?”

Tim looked up from the pile of ropes he was mending. He seemed a little surprised to find her talking to him. He handed her a rope. “I can teach you to tie knots, if you like.”

“Great,” said Brine, sitting down next to him with fake enthusiasm. “Cassie said you were from the west. How far west have you traveled?”

“I haven't,” he said. “If you go west of Auriga, you'll fall off the edge of the world. Everyone knows that.”

Brine laughed, then realized he was serious. “The world's round. You can't fall off.”

“That's what they want you to think,” he whispered. “Do you want to learn knots or not?”

It was a silly hope that Tim would be able to tell her anything about her home. Brine made a deliberate mess of a knot and tried to appear young, incompetent, and eager to learn. “You'll have visited Morning a lot, then, I guess.”

Tim's fingers fumbled on the rope. “You don't want to hear about Morning. It's the world's most boring island. Do you know the story of how the
Onion
fought the Dreaded Great Sea Beast of the South?”

“Yes,” said Brine.

Tim sat back. “It started like this.…”

*   *   *

“Can I help with anything?” asked Peter.

The blond man on the rigging leaned down to shake hands. “Come on up if you like. My name's Bill Lightning.”

Peter grinned. “What, because you never strike the same place twice?”

Bill gave him an odd look. “No, because it's short for William.”

The whole crew was mad. Peter shook his head. “You're making these names up.”

“Someone has to,” said Bill. “Why not us? Some people want a new start when they come on board, and a new name helps. Like you're becoming a different person.”

Peter had never considered being anyone but himself. He hadn't exactly enjoyed being Tallis Magus's apprentice, but magic was all he knew—and it was important. He'd been doing something that most people found impossible. The idea that he could just forget all that and do something different was strange and a bit scary. He climbed up to join Bill on the rigging. “How long until we reach Morning?”

Bill shrugged. “We'll be there soon enough. Do you want to hear how I fought ten wild bears armed with nothing but a lobster claw and a dishcloth?”

Peter didn't, but he had a feeling Bill was going to tell him anyway.

He was right.

*   *   *

“Hello,” said Brine, approaching a group of pirates who were playing a game involving dice and a set of colored sticks.

“It's no use asking us about Morning,” one of them said. “We're not allowed to tell you anything.”

Brine tried to look as if she didn't know what they were talking about, and kept walking.

*   *   *

Days passed. Peter couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so tired. Anytime he paused, someone would give him a job to do, generally involving scrubbing some part of the ship. The
Onion
had three levels—or layers, as the crew called them—all connected with a single ladder that ran top to bottom. First, the main deck; then the mid-deck, which held the galley, a work room, Cassie's cabin, and the sleeping quarters; and finally the bottom deck, which was used for storage and was mostly empty save for the ominous shape of the brig. Trudi assured Peter it had been ages since anyone had occupied the iron cage, but he still kept well away from it.

Between jobs, he talked to the crew. There were around fifty people on board, and they were all very quick to launch into stories of past adventures, and even quicker to change the subject when he asked about Morning.

After four days, he and Brine between them had learned:

1. Cassie O'Pia was the greatest hero who'd ever lived.

2. Cassie O'Pia had run away from home at age fourteen, after her father had lost her in a game of cards. She'd swum for forty days until she found the
Onion
and emerged dripping with seawater and diamonds.

3. Cassie O'Pia was the daughter of the dreaded pirate captain Rasalhague the Second. She'd run away from him at age sixteen and swum for sixty days until she found the
Onion
and emerged dripping with seawater and gold coins.

4. Cassie O'Pia grew up in the magical south where people have fishes' tails and live underwater. She'd seen the
Onion
sailing by and followed it. She'd swum for a hundred days until she emerged from the water dripping with seaweed and emeralds.

What they hadn't learned was:

1. Anything about Morning.

That evening, they sat on deck beneath the stars and ate something that Trudi said was barbecued crab claws stuffed with peas and semolina.

“What's Morning like?” asked Peter.

Most of the pirates avoided his gaze. Trudi tried to hide behind a plate. Rob sucked noisily on a crab claw.

“It's fine,” Ewan Hughes mumbled. “Big. You'll like it.”

“If they let us land,” Trudi added.

A shadow fell across her. “Whatever this lot are telling you,” Cassie said, “it's not true.” She eased herself down into the middle of them. “We are going to Morning because they buy and sell anything. Which means we can restock and you two can get home. Is everybody all right with that?” She looked around the crew. Trudi reddened and stared at the deck, and Ewan Hughes scowled, but nobody said a word.

“Good,” said Cassie. “Now, why don't we tell our guests how the
Onion
defeated the evilest magician the world has ever known? Marfak West.”

Peter shivered despite himself. Marfak West: the name of nightmares. According to the stories, he stood as tall as a mast and was as thin as a shovel, and his soul was as twisted and sour as an eel in vinegar. While everyone knew he had died at the hands of Cassie O'Pia, everyone secretly believed he had survived, and even thinking his name too loudly would bring his ghost rising from the sea, seeking vengeance.

The pirates all sighed happily. “There has never been another fight like it,” said Ewan. “The
Antares
—that's Marfak West's ship—and the
Onion
were evenly matched. Marfak West had his magic, but we had Cassie. We fought all day, and then as day gave way to night…”

“The
Antares
fell apart,” said Bill. “Just like that. It was as if the magic had been the only thing holding her together, and when the magic ran out, everything stopped working.”

“It didn't hurt that we rammed her head-on, either,” added Rob Grosse with a grin. “Good riddance. I hate magicians. They give me the creeps.”

There was a general chorus of agreement and several suggestions as to what to do if you met a magician. Most of the suggestions involved cutlasses.

Peter shifted uncomfortably. “What happened to Marfak West? Was he really eaten by giant crabs like the stories say?”

Ewan Hughes shook his head. “If there'd been any giant crabs around, Trudi would have cooked them. No, we watched the
Antares
sink and picked up the survivors. Marfak West wasn't among them. Either the sharks got him, or…” He cast a glance at the sea. Shadows crept closer, long and jagged. “No, definitely the sharks,” said Ewan after a while. “The sharks got him.”

*   *   *

Peter slept badly that night, his dreams alternating between lessons with Tallis Magus and visions of Marfak West chasing him with one of Trudi's kebab skewers.

“Always remember,” said the dream Magus, “magic corrupts. Never hold starshell for long. Magic does not want to be held—it needs to be used.”

“Then why is it held in starshell?”

“Insolent boy! How dare you question your master?” Magus turned into a giant squid and began slapping Peter with tentacles.

Peter woke with a yell. Ewan Hughes was shaking him. In the hammock below him, Brine sat up, groaning.

“Morning, both,” said Ewan. “Which, coincidentally, is both the time and our location. We're here.”

*   *   *

Scrambling up the wooden ladder and onto the deck, Peter forgot the aches in his back and the fact that he hadn't washed in over a week. He'd known Morning was big, but he hadn't realized quite how big. Golden sand swept in an impossibly long curve. Behind that, trees bristled, and beyond the trees, the yellow walls of tower after tower rose into the sky.

Peter put his hand down to his pocket without thinking and only just stopped himself from taking the starshell out.
Calm down
, he told himself. Not long now, and they'd be free on Morning. He could do whatever he wanted then. He slid his fingers into his pocket and bit back a gasp. Just for a second, he thought he'd felt the tingle of magic on his fingertips. He had to try again to be sure—yes, it was faint, but it was there. Carefully, he removed his hand from his pocket. The tightness in his chest eased a little.

“Impressed?” asked Cassie, coming up behind him.

Peter turned around and lost his voice completely.

The pirate captain was glowing, and not just because of the wind on her cheeks. In place of her shapeless gray clothes, she wore tight black trousers, long boots, and a shirt that sagged under several pounds of red lace. A belt around her hips held a cutlass, two daggers, and a silver buckle in the shape of the
Onion
. The emerald crescent sparkled at her neck like a slice of frozen sea.

“Uhn…,” said Peter, fighting to dislodge his voice from his throat.

Cassie grinned at him. “Are you ready?”

Two rowing boats bobbed in the sea, waiting. Peter climbed down into one and squeezed onto the seat next to Brine. The starshell pieces dug into his leg, reminding him of their presence. Was knowledge money or was it power? Peter wondered. He'd forgotten. In any case, he was keeping this piece of knowledge to himself.

The boat rushed into land.

Straightaway, the shore rang with Cassie's name, and a surge of people almost knocked Peter back into the sea. A lone man sat on a rock, writing furiously. A seagull waited beside him.

“That's a news-scribe,” Brine whispered excitedly. “See his messenger gull? What do you think he's writing?”

Peter turned to look. He'd never seen a real-life news-scribe before—the men and women who wrote down everything that happened on an island and sent their reports by seagull to the library island of Barnard's Reach. Peter didn't care what the scribe was writing. The important thing was that if he and Brine wanted to know anything about Morning, the scribe would be able to tell them. Peter started across the sand.

A hand came down on his shoulder, stopping him. “Where do you think you're going?” asked Ewan Hughes.

“Nowhere. I was just—” Peter stopped. Everyone did. The crowd shuffled back, leaving the pirates in an expanding semicircle of empty sand.

Twenty men in identical black uniforms came marching across the beach. At their head strode a man who, for some reason, thought that leather armor and a heavy black cloak were appropriate clothing for the hot weather. As a result, his round face was pink and shiny with sweat, and he had a glassy-eyed look that made Peter think of Penn Turbill. Peter felt his mouth twitch and hurriedly looked down. Something told him that smiling would be a very bad thing to do.

“Baron Kaitos!” Cassie cried, dropping into a curtsy that threatened to split her trousers. “I never thought you'd still be here!”

A scowl darkened the baron's face. “So I see.” He spoke the way you'd imagine a lizard might: dry lips and flicking tongue, and he matched it with a heavy-lidded gaze that seemed halfasleep, though he never quite blinked. “Didn't you promise never to set foot on Morning again?”

“And didn't you promise to slaughter me on sight if ever I came back? So we're both promise breakers.”

“Not yet,” said Kaitos. He dropped a hand to his sword.

Peter tensed, ready to run, but Cassie spread her arms wide. “We're here to trade, not to fight.” She grabbed Brine's arm with one hand and Peter's with the other. “As a starting point, to make up for any damage caused on our last visit, I'm pleased to offer you this pair of fine young servants free of charge. What do you say?”