The Moon Child Page 10

Trevanion nodded. “Do you see that, Grimscale? No wonder the boy needed a bandage. This will end now.”

  Grimscale muttered something that sounded like a curse, but the captain didn’t hear him, or chose not to. He looked back to the entrance to his own quarters beneath the passenger’s cabin. There stood Master Valentine, frowning at the sky. His black wig was askew and there were spots of ink on the white linen cuffs of the shirt that showed beneath his long coat. He fiddled with a golden instrument in his hands. It was just like the device that Jem had seen on the charts in Trevanion’s cabin and now he knew it was a quadrant used to plot their progress. The young man didn’t come out on deck often – Spider said he was happiest at a desk, examining sea charts and star maps.

  The captain drew a deep breath. “Now I want you all to go back to your duties. There’s at least an hour of daylight left. Mr Valentine, will you come back in with me, please? I want you to check something again. Bring the quadrant with you. We’ll try another of the charts. There must be an error.”

  The young man nodded and dipped through the doorway. The captain turned sharply on his heels to follow when a voice called out, “We’re riding a witch wind, ain’t we? We shouldn’t be here yet. Not by rights.”

  Jem saw Trevanion’s back stiffen, but he carried on without turning round or saying another word. When he was gone, groups of anxious crewmen formed around the deck. Jem heard them muttering together.

  Grimscale jumped heavily down from the rail and pushed Jem aside. He walked over to the doorway to the captain’s quarters and listened for a moment. The veins in the sides of his thick red neck bulged and his hands clenched and unclenched. After a moment he turned about slowly and looked at the crewmen who were watching him. He spat on the boards and stumped over to the grog barrel, helping himself to a large mugful.

  Spider tugged at Jem’s sleeve. “How did you really do that then?” He nodded down at Jem’s hand.

  There were footsteps on the deck behind them. “Did you get it?” Tolly tapped Jem’s shoulder. Jem turned and flashed a warning with his eyes, indicating Spider, who was hidden from Tolly’s view.

  “No, I couldn’t find anything …” he said, holding out his blistered palm and adding with heavy significance, “for my hand.”

  Tolly nodded. “Right. I’m sorry about that. I mean, I’m sorry about that … rope burn?” He looked questioningly at Jem, who was aware that their stilted conversation must seem very strange.

  To cover the awkwardness Jem spoke quickly. “Thank goodness for Cleo back then, Tolly. She saved me from Grimscale and his whip, that’s for certain.”

  Spider pulled a face. “He’s famous for his cat. Ned says he takes it with him everywhere he goes. First time I’ve seen it out of the bag though.” He shuddered. “I wouldn’t want to see it again.”

  There was a thumping sound on the deck behind them as Grimscale himself appeared.

  “You – monkey boy – I’m going to make life very unpleasant for you and your pilfering pet.” He spat the words and winced as he rubbed his torn ear. “For a start, you’re going to go up the rigging to find it. But when you do, you’re not going to bring it down …”

  Grimscale took a swig from his mug and wiped his wet lips with the back of his tattooed hand. He seemed to be very pleased with himself now. “No, you’re going to spend the night in the cradle with it. All night, mind, from dusk to dawn – maybe longer. I haven’t decided yet. Anyway it will be just you and your little furry demon, a hundred feet up with only the stars for company.”

  Grimscale grinned and Jem winced as he caught another whiff of the man’s sour breath. “Not that you’ll see many stars tonight. By my reckoning there’s a storm brewing. Within the hour this ship will be bucking like an unbroken stallion. We’ll have to take sails in too. But not before you’re aloft. Go to it.”

  Jem stared up at the lookout high above them. The ship was rocking and lurching in the heavy seas and the rickety little basket swayed wildly from side to side. He tried to drag his eyes away, but he couldn’t. For some reason he was mesmerised by the sight of the soaring masts and flapping sails. His head began to spin, the backs of his legs tingled and he thought he might be sick.

  “It’s fine. I can do this.” Tolly’s voice sounded faintly in his mind. Jem tore his eyes from the masttops and looked across at his friend. Tolly’s voice came again, but it was oddly muffled. Jem strained to hear the words and caught the end of a message “… not scared. Remember … Cleo with me.”

  Confused, he tried to shoot back an answer, but Grimscale had already taken Tolly firmly by the scruff of his neck and marched him over to the central mast. He pulled Tolly’s cloak away and threw it to the side of the deck. “Can’t have this flapping round your legs as you climb. See how thoughtful I am? Mind you, it’ll be a cold night up there with just a candle lantern to warm your bones.”

  He grinned. “Up you go, then. I’ll tell you when you can come down again. Remember this – if you aren’t still up there at first light tomorrow, I’ll roast that monkey of yours on a spit and suck out the marrow of its haunches. I’m missing the taste of fresh meat.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  It was no good. He couldn’t sleep. Every time he closed his eyes the mirror in the hold beneath glinted in his mind. Jem shifted and swung his legs over the side of the hammock. Pocket snuffled and mumbled something about pottage. It sounded as if he was talking to his mother. He’d told Jem, in confidence, that he missed her very much – and the rich, meaty stews she made back in Swale. The ship lurched and Spider’s hammock bumped against the wall, but the boys didn’t stir.

  Jem slipped to the timber floor and climbed the rickety ladder out of their shared coffin. All along the mess deck, crewmen snored in rows of lumpy hammocks. He moved softly to the steps leading up to the deck hatch, careful to avoid bumping into a swinging net and disturbing its occupant.

  He needed to know that Tolly and Cleo were safe up in the cradle.

  The deck was deserted – the only light came from a weak lantern bobbing at the prow and there was a glow overhead from the oval window set into the door leading to the passenger’s cabin. Jem clung to the rail as the Fortuna rolled. Grimscale had been wrong about a storm coming. It was another clear night, but the bitter east wind driving the ship relentlessly forward tried to tear the hair from his head.

  He wrapped his arms around himself, drew a deep breath and glanced up. The ropes whistled and vibrated with a low-pitched hum as the wind cut through the rigging. There was another sound too – Jem caught occasional snatches of song from somewhere high above. He strained his ears to listen as the sound came again.

  There! A clear, melodious voice singing a song Jem didn’t recognise, though it sounded like a lullaby. Tolly was singing to Cleo.

  As the boat swayed, Jem caught sight of a tiny light, high overhead. He moved forward, gripping the rail tightly as he imagined himself to be up there with them. At least they were alive.

  He craned his neck to track the flickering light of the lookout cradle through the tangle of ropes and sails. Long, thin icicles hung from the rigging, glittering in the moonlight like a score of crystal chandeliers. Spider had warned him to be wary of them. “Kill a man, they can. Spear you to the deck just like that.” He’d clicked his fingers under Jem’s nose, before adding, “That’s what Ned says, anyhow.”

  Jem stared doubtfully at the vicious point of one of the longer icicles. Tolly would know if that was possible. He wondered if Tolly could sense his presence below. He closed his eyes and concentrated. “I’m down here. Are you two all right?”

  Nothing. He tried again and again, but Tolly didn’t answer.

  Jem stayed there for a long time watching the light and catching soft snatches of song. The sound reassured him, a little.

  It was gnawingly cold out on deck and he thrust his hands under the armpits of his jerkin for warmth. The rough material made the scars across his knuckles burn and that made him think about the mirror in t
he hold again. The Eye of Ra tingled on his heel. He tried to force the memory of that room in the glass out of his head.

  He badly needed to communicate with Tolly. He needed to ask him about Ann. Was it possible that she might be … He bit his chapped lip and smothered the thought. Why couldn’t his friend “hear” him?

  Eventually, numbed to the core, Jem decided to go back to the bilge box. He could spend the rest of the night out here watching, but what good would it do? Tolly was right – he wasn’t scared, and at least he and Cleo were together up there.

  Jem bent his head against the wind and battled towards the hatch leading down to the crew quarters. When he was level with the steps, he glanced warily up at the Medusa canopy guarding the entrance. Was that where Ann was? If she was alive there was nowhere else she could be on this black monster. He was certain that Spider spoke the truth when he said he’d never seen a ship quite like it. There was something very wrong about the Fortuna. Even Jem could feel it.

  He ducked low under the wide steps, and paused before pulling open the creaky hatch. He didn’t want to draw attention to himself by making a noise. He listened for a moment, but there were no sounds from the deck. In fact, he realised that no one was standing guard to the passenger cabin. It was the chance he’d been waiting for. If he could sneak inside now while everyone was asleep he could search for Ann. He moved cautiously to the foot of the steps and looked up at the window, trying to see any shadow beyond the frosted panes.

  A great slap of water crashed against the side of the ship. Jem stooped and closed his eyes to avoid the stingy, salty spray, but when he opened them again, someone barred his way. Someone with long, bare feet.

  Jem’s head shot up.

  Mingan raised a finger to his lips and nodded his shaggy head up toward the Medusa doorway. He gripped Jem’s shoulder roughly and propelled him into the darkness beneath the steps until the two of them were hidden from the deck.

  Seconds later Jem heard a door slam, followed by the familiar scraping, scratching, ticking noise of the woman he and Tolly had watched the previous evening. The sound was lost on the wind as she moved down the steps towards the prow end of the ship, her cloak billowing around her once more.

  Jem couldn’t see her properly now; she was too far away. He strained forward, but Mingan pulled him further back into the gloom until the two of them were screened by the steps. Jem glanced up. The man shook his head and the tiny skulls plaited into his hair rattled. He raised his face and stared towards the prow. His odd, pale eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared.

  Jem looked too. He couldn’t see the woman at all now, but he was aware of a dense silence. The wind had died and the Fortuna was oddly still. He tried to catch the sound of Tolly’s song, but there was nothing … at first.

  Then the unearthly melancholy wailing began again. Just as before, the noise came from the sea. Jem’s skin crawled as he felt the eerie sound twisting around him, brushing against his face like cobwebs. Mingan’s grip tightened on his shoulder as the wailing rose and fell. Then the noise stopped abruptly.

  The air began to vibrate with a weird energy. Blood pulsed in Jem’s veins and made his temples ache. As the painful throbbing intensified, he felt that his head might burst open. He bent to cover his ears with his hands, but it didn’t do any good.

  Splash! The noise came from somewhere up ahead.

  Instantly the peculiar atmosphere vanished. Jem straightened up and listened – nothing. He took a cautious step forward to get a glimpse of the woman at the prow. Immediately Mingan pulled him back, drawing him deep into the shadows once more.

  At the same moment the Fortuna rolled and reared up, throwing them both violently back against her side rail. Jem was winded as he lost his footing and crashed his spine against two wooden struts. He clung tight and watched in terror as the black deck of the ship began to rise in front of him. The timbers groaned and tremendous cracking, tearing sounds rang out as the prow rose higher and higher from the sea.

  A stray bottle rolled back towards Jem, bouncing twice on the edge before disappearing over the side and into the water. Icicles cracked from the rigging and rained onto the deck like a shower of glass. A coil of ropes slid past and caught up in the rail struts by Jem’s foot, the loose ends flailing over the side. The barrels next to him rumbled and juddered under their straps, and Jem knew that if they came free, he would be crushed.

  His heart cannoned in his chest as he struggled to hang on. He thought about Tolly and Cleo, high above. Surely they would be hurled into the sea?

  Beside him, through the gaps in the rail, he could see frothing white waves rising to meet the back of the ship. At any moment he and Mingan would be swept overboard. Jem wound his arms around two of the carved rail struts, squeezed his eyes shut and scrabbled madly to brace his feet against the rising deck planks. Just when he felt that he might lose his grip and slip into the foaming water, he felt Mingan’s hand tighten over his right shoulder, keeping him safe.

  Then, just as quickly as it had risen, the Fortuna slammed down into the waves and began to plough forward as if the Devil himself was filling her sails. The wind roared and Jem’s ears popped as the ship powered ahead. He had to swallow hard to clear the muffling feeling.

  “Wh-what just happened?” He gasped out the words and tried to struggle to his feet, but Mingan placed a hand firmly across his mouth.

  The woman came back into view and Mingan withdrew his hand. He shrank deeper into the shadows behind the barrels, urgently motioning Jem to follow his lead. Jem obeyed. Neither of them moved or made a sound as she came closer. She didn’t seem to be troubled by the wild motion of the ship. Despite the plunging and rolling, she moved in a direct line to the steps to her cabin, her black cloak swirling around her.

  She almost seemed to be flying rather than walking, Jem thought, but as she neared the door he caught the familiar scratching, ticking sound. He pictured the talons beneath her cloak and knotted himself into a ball, praying that she wouldn’t see him.

  “Madame, I must ask you to return to your quarters. I am amazed to find you out here.” Captain Trevanion had to shout to make his words carry over the wind. “It is not safe on deck. This gale is buffeting my ship about like a cork in a drain. Grimscale tells me that another man has gone missing today. I have lost two crewmen now. I’ll not lose another soul.”

  The woman began to laugh. Jem tilted his head and saw the edge of the captain’s shoulder, at the door to his cabin, strands of the man’s grey wig flying about in the gale. A line of golden buttons glinted on Trevanion’s sleeve as he held his hand behind his back and out of her view. As the weird, jagged sound of the woman’s mirth carried on the air, Jem recognised the oval shape the man made with his thumb and index finger.

  It was the old sign to ward off the evil eye.

  The laughter stopped abruptly and the woman spoke. “I must thank you, Captain, for your concern for my … soul.” She lingered on that last word, making it sound like the hiss of snake, before continuing. “Please do not worry yourself on my account. Nothing of earth can threaten me. I am not afraid of the air and I am not afraid of the water.” She spoke in heavily accented English, her voice a soft purr, but the words seemed to be magnified, rather than swallowed by the storm. She gestured elegantly at the sky with a gloved hand and the dark cloak flew up around her, exposing flashes of emerald green lining. “Remember our bargain. I am impatient to reach my estates. We must make haste.”

  “I think you will find that we are making excellent time, Madame de Chouette.” The captain’s voice was clipped and strained.

  She smiled more broadly and inclined her head. Jem thought again how beautiful she was, even with one eye, but it was the sort of beauty you might find in a wild creature. There was something cruel and dangerous about her. She moved out of view and then her voice came again, this time mocking. “And I think you will find, Captain, that this ship belongs to me. Come, we will look at the sea charts together in your quarters. I
know how fascinated you are by our progress. I promised you, did I not, that this would be a voyage like no other?”

  Trevanion stepped back to allow the woman to go through the door first. He didn’t follow immediately, but stepped forward, braced his feet against the rolling of the ship and turned slowly in a circle, staring intently up at the creaking masts and blackened timbers. Jem supposed that he was reassuring himself that after being hurled about on that huge wave the Fortuna was still seaworthy. The captain shook his head and turned back to the doorway. As light spilled onto the deck, Jem saw the man’s face clearly. He seemed to have aged by a decade. The door slammed shut. Jem waited for a moment and then turned to Mingan.

  He had gone.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  “It looks worse than it is.” The thumb and first two fingers of Tolly’s right hand were a peculiar mottled grey. “It was the cold last night. I thought my hand was on the mend, but it’s made it worse again.” He waggled his fingers and made a fist. “Look, I can still move them – I just can’t feel anything at the moment. It will come back, won’t it?”

  Jem didn’t answer. Years ago, one of the younger footmen at Ludlow House had foolishly gone out to a tavern during a snowstorm. When he didn’t come back, they’d scoured the gardens and then the streets for him. It was two days before his frozen body was found crouching behind a yard wall. He’d been as stiff as a side of pork in the ice store. Jem couldn’t help thinking that there was something about Tolly’s frost-deadened fingers that reminded him of the sight of that footman when they’d brought him home.

  Tolly frowned, wrapped the bandage back around his damaged hand and pulled his jerkin sleeve to cover it. “Luckily someone had left a blanket up there, but I don’t think we would have survived another night, eh girl?” He huddled Cleo closer and she gripped the fabric of his cloak, nestling into the crook of his arm. “I think Grimscale hoped we both might die. I’m glad to have this back.” Tolly shivered and pulled the woollen fabric around him.