The Moon Child Page 9

  Jem plucked at the rope as Spider lowered his voice to a confidential whisper. “You have to be careful with the grog. It’s strong stuff for all it warms you up. Ned says someone’s gone overboard already – slipped on the ice, I reckon. We’re a man down, but you’re not to say I told you that.”

  Another wave of ice-cold water slammed across the deck, but that wasn’t why Jem shivered.

  A man down? Was that the splashing sound he and Tolly had heard last night? He closed his eyes and ran the scene through his mind again – the eerie noises from the water, the way the woman had dragged something from beneath the sailcloth stack, the heavy splash …

  “Oi! Wake up.” Jem felt a sharp prod in the ribs. “If Grimface catches you napping on the job he’ll have his cat out of the bag quicker than you can empty your grog can.” Spider grinned. “You were nearly off there.”

  “I wasn’t. I was thinking.” Jem reached for another coil of rope as the other boy continued cheerfully.

  “I don’t hold with finking, me. Dangerous that is – slows the brain, clogs it up with all manner of rubbish. What was you finking about, anyway?”

  Jem grinned now. “If you must know, I was finking about ways to stop your snoring. If I did nearly fall asleep just then – and I’m not saying I did – it’s because I can barely sleep. At night you sound like a pig with its nose stuck in a bucket of swill.”

  Spider nodded amiably. “My brothers say that too. I daresay they’ll be happy to have the bed to themselves at home now I’m at away sea on a permanent footing, like. I’m the oldest, but they’ll be at sea themselves soon enough. It’s what Swale men have done for a thousand years.”

  “How many brothers do you have?” Jem asked, wondering what it must be like.

  “Six, and three sisters too.”

  “And you and your brothers all sleep in one bed?”

  “Course. But we top to tail so there’s plenty of room. Look sharp – grog’s up.” Spider leaped to his feet and scuttled to the prow end of the ship where Grimscale was prising the wooden top off a fat-bodied barrel. A queue of thirsty crewmates began to form along the deck, clanking their pewter mugs expectantly on the rail. Another crewman was handing out flat, stale biscuits from a second barrel. The porridge-coloured ovals were as hard as stone and tasted of dust, but Jem now knew that they were the best rations he could expect on board the ship.

  His stomach rumbled as he watched the men chewing, their jaws bulged as they worked on mouthfuls of dry stuff. They needed the grog to get the disgusting, worm-riddled things down. Jem’s mouth began to water. He was starving, but today he was going to have to go hungry.

  This was the moment he had been waiting for. From now until the change of watch, everyone on the Fortuna would be allowed to leave their duties. Sometimes groups of the older men sang shanties, others smoked or played cards or dice. Captain Trevanion was very clear that recreation should happen every day, despite Grimscale’s sour-faced mutterings.

  Jem wrapped his cloak about him. He nodded at Tolly, who winked before turning to say something to Pocket. Standing up, Tolly gave a low whistle. Instantly Cleo leaped from his shoulder to the deck. Pocket laughed as she executed a string of perfect somersaults across the boards. Soon a knot of shipmates had gathered to watch, some of them kneeling to offer her crumbs from their biscuits.

  Unnoticed, Jem stood up and crossed to the stern where the square hatch beneath the steps led down to the cramped crew quarters. He pulled on the metal ring to open it and slipped down.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Within a minute Jem was in the bowels of the Fortuna in the cramped and stinking space where he, Spider and Pocket slept above the hold. He felt for the little tinderbox and candle lantern stowed beside Pocket’s hammock and struck a light. He didn’t have time to feel his way around in the darkness down there. He had to find Cazalon’s staff and get back up on deck quickly.

  He paused for a second, straining his ears to check that no one had followed, then he raised the hatch in the planks beneath Spider’s hammock and clambered down, gripping the lantern tightly. The air was thick with the scent of tar and foul water. Wrinkling his nose, Jem jumped from the lowest of the metal rungs and landed in a crouching position. There was a sudden scrabbling noise beside him. He raised the lantern and glanced down. Next to his hand a fat black rat squirmed into a gap between a couple of wooden crates. He could see its tiny red eyes watching him from the shadows.

  Jem pushed his salt-matted fringe out of his eyes and straightened up. He didn’t have long. Where would Grimscale have put the staff?

  Jem thought hard. The master mate had been furious with the captain that night. He imagined the thwarted, red-faced man opening the hatch and roughly flinging the staff into the jumble of packages, boxes and barrels. It wouldn’t have gone far, surely?

  He held the lantern higher to scour the cluttered hold and blinked in surprise. There was another light down here too – a flickering golden glow like a candle flame halfway along the right-hand side. The light seemed to be coming from the large oblong package that rested against the wall – the one that had fascinated Cleo.

  As Jem took a step forward, the ship lurched. The moaning of the timbers was magnified tenfold down here, accompanied by a hollow rhythmic booming as waves pounded at the hull. He steadied himself and picked his way carefully between the piles of sacks, leather trunks and crates until he was level with the package propped against the side of the hold. There was a jagged rip in the fabric wrapped around it. Ragged shreds of grey oilcloth flapped loosely over the crimson cords that bound it and something glowed within.

  He placed the lantern and the tinderbox on a barrel and frowned. There was a mark on the wrapping cloth just above the rip – a small, reddish handprint. Jem reached out to touch the mark and scratched at the print. He brought his fingers to his nose and recoiled instantly from the familiar metallic tang.

  Blood!

  His heart began to hammer in his chest as he took a step back. A horrible thought seeped into his mind. Was this where Ann had been all the time? Was this why Cleo didn’t want to leave the hold?

  “Ann?” He whispered her name urgently and then repeated it more loudly. “Ann, are you down here?” He turned to scan the jumbled space and listened intently for the faintest answer. “It’s me, Jem. If you can hear me, try to let me know.” He fought to squash the awful thought that sprang suddenly into his mind. What if she was dead? What if Tolly was sensing her lifeless body hidden down here? He hadn’t been able to connect with her since they first got on the ship, had he? If she was dead, it would make hideous sense. His hand went to the red shawl still tucked around his belt. It was all they had of her.

  A crackling noise came from behind him and he spun round. The glow beneath the torn fabric was beginning to fade now. Jem grabbed the tattered shreds and ripped hard. The tear widened into a gash about a yard long and he yanked the cloth aside. He saw his own face reflected in a flat, glassy surface.

  A mirror – a very old one.

  The Fortuna dipped and Jem jerked forward, flattening his hand against the pitted glass. The surface was cold and dead. Any glimmer in its depths seemed to be a distorted, weirdly magnified reflection of the feeble lantern. He leaned closer, noticing more blood on the glass – not a handprint this time, but a series of delicate looping squiggles. He tried to make sense of what he saw, squinting to see if the shapes formed a word he recognised.

  Something black moved swiftly over the surface – something ragged and huge. At the same moment the glass beneath Jem’s fingers rippled. It was suddenly so cold that his hand burned with pain. He tried to pull away, but his bare flesh was frozen to the mirror as if stuck to a block of ice.

  He felt something undulating against his palm. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled. He stared wildly into the glass. There was nothing there now, not even his reflection, just blackness. He tried to pull away, but as he struggled to free his hand the mirror bulged beneath his skin


  He felt long, bony fingers slip between the gaps of his own splayed fingers. They curled over the back of his hand and sharp, claw-like nails dug into the skin below his knuckles, making him cry out. He tried to look but he couldn’t move any part of his body. Just out of his eyeline and to the right, something like liquid silver was moving over his hand, dragging it into the mirror.

  He felt a tremendous scorching sensation in his heel. The Eye of Ra – Ann’s ancient mark of protection – flared so painfully that, involuntarily, he raised his foot and kicked out. There was a splintering sound and a crack slowly jagged up the glass until it reached the base of his flattened palm. Instantly his hand came free and he fell back. His heel burned, but worse were the four stinging red strips running down the back of his hand. The palm of his hand was bubbled and raw too. He looked up. The cracked mirror was completely black.

  A tiny red point began to glow in the depths of the glass. The point pulsed and seemed to expand and unfurl until Jem realised he was looking at smouldering embers in a great hearth in a room beyond the mirror. The image sharpened and he saw a massive carved fireplace, the mantel supported by two grotesque horned figures.

  He knew that room in the glass. He had stood in front of that fireplace before – in Count Cazalon’s great chamber at Malfurneaux Place. He whipped his head round to look over his shoulder, but there was nothing behind him except for the muddle of shadowed, bulky objects in the hold. He looked back and the room was still there in the mirror.

  It was impossible. Jem backed away and caught his ankle on the edge of a sack. He lost his footing and crumpled to the boards. The fire in the glass suddenly flared with such an intense, cold brilliance that he was forced to shield his eyes. When he looked again, the room had gone.

  Now, in the cracked, pitted glass, Jem could just make out the dim, distorted reflection of his own terrified face as he knelt amid the sacks. There was a metallic tinkling sound and suddenly a thousand tiny vein-like crackles began to spread across the glass from the first fracture. A splinter of mirror the size of a hand fell out from the frame and shattered near Jem’s knees. The crackles zigzagged over the surface until Jem’s face blurred beneath a network of tiny lines. For a second it was as if an old, old man was staring back at him.

  Without thinking about the staff, he scrambled to his feet and blundered to the hatch. He had to get away.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Jem pushed the wooden hatch open a crack. The broad steps on the deck that led up to the grand cabin above shielded him from view, but they also meant he couldn’t see everything clearly. He listened for a moment and caught the merry sound of a shanty being sung by men up at the other end of the ship. Cautiously, he pushed the hatch open a little wider and peered through the narrow gap. As far as he could tell no one was nearby.

  He climbed up and out onto the deck, hunching his shoulders against a sudden blast of frozen air. He pulled his cloak tight, raised the collar of his jerkin, and buried his chin in the coarse-woven fabric. He winced as the movement pulled at the burned skin of his hand. He looked down at the red marks across his knuckles and shivered. He had to tell Tolly what he had seen in the mirror.

  Keeping his head low, Jem stepped forward. He paused at the edge of the steps to the cabins and glanced up at the carved wooden Medusa mask. It was so very like the one at Malfurneaux Place, the carved snakes of her hair twisting and coiling to form a sort of canopy over the studded door.

  “Now I’ve got you!”

  A hand clamped down hard on his shoulder. Jem didn’t even have to turn round to know that Master Grimscale was standing directly behind him. The man’s rank breath made him gag.

  “Been stealing from the crew quarters, have you? Sneaking around when you think no one’s looking? Well, let me tell you something lad: Grimscale’s always on the lookout.”

  Grimscale spun him about roughly and lowered his big, pitted face so that it was level with Jem’s. The man grinned, revealing a fat grey tongue glistening in his black-gummed mouth. It wriggled like one of the pale old carp in the moat at Goldings. Grimscale stared into Jem’s eyes. He was clearly delighted with his catch.

  “Empty your pockets.”

  “I haven’t taken anything.” Jem felt nausea rise in his throat as a fresh wave of Grimscale’s foul breath clogged his nostrils.

  “I haven’t taken anything.” Grimscale mimicked Jem’s voice, before tightening his grip and continuing more harshly. “Then what were you doing below deck at grog time when you knew no one would be watching, eh? Thief.”

  “I … I …” Jem clenched his fists as he tried to think of something to say. The sudden pain from the burned, scraped skin of his hand made him gasp, but it gave him an idea.

  “I hurt my hand on the rope earlier.” He held his right palm out to Grimscale, the skin blistered where it had been stuck to the mirror. “It got caught up – the rope, I mean. But when I pulled, it came free so fast that it tore across my palm. I just went below to find something to wrap around my hand, so that I could carry on working. But there was nothing to use.”

  Grimscale frowned, then he sniffed and licked the corner of his mouth, leaving a glob of yellowtinged saliva in his reddish stubble. He grinned even wider. “A likely story. Come here, lad. I’m going to introduce you to my pets.”

  He gripped Jem’s ear and dragged him out into the middle of the deck. Some of the sailors stopped singing and watched as Grimscale unhooked a baggy black leather sack from the main mast.

  “This is where I keep my cats.” He rummaged in the bag and drew out a short wooden baton with several leather cords attached to the end. Jem flinched as he saw that at least three of the cords ended with a metal weight, like a shiny musket ball. Grimscale held the whip up in his right hand and turned around slowly, speaking loudly and steadily so that everyone could hear. Jem sensed that he was enjoying this very much indeed.

  “My girls like to get out and have a good scratch every now and again. And it seems they’ve got just the chance they were looking for.”

  The deck fell completely silent. Jem saw a couple of the older men swap wary glances. Spider’s face was grey as the sailcloths.

  “He’s just a lad. Leave him be, master,” a gruff voice called out from the huddle of sailors gathered near the grog barrel and the biscuit rations. There was a mutter of agreement from all sides.

  “’Tis not the way of Swale. Take him down to the captain. Let him decide,” someone else called out.

  “And why would I bother Captain Trevanion with a petty crime? No – I think I’ll deal with this my way.” A blast of wind made the ship plunge forward and a wave crashed across the boards. Jem stumbled and gripped the rail of the steps to steady himself. He could taste salt on his frozen lips as he looked across at Grimscale. The man was standing with his feet planted wide apart. He was as broad as an ox and now he lowered his head ready to charge.

  At the far end of the deck, near the prow, someone very tall stood up. Mingan.

  His long grey hair flew up like a wild mane around his head as the wind caught at it. The bones plaited into the strands rattled and clicked as they flew about. Mingan took a step towards Grimscale. The tattoos on the strange man’s torso rippled as he flexed his muscles. The markings seemed to come together to form something that looked like …

  “Aaarghffff!”

  Grimscale let out a cry of pain. He dropped the whip and clapped a hand to his right ear. A thin trickle of blood oozed through the master mate’s fingers. Cleo squealed and raced from between Grimscale’s splayed feet to the rigging on the side of the boat, clambering to a point several feet just above Tolly’s head.

  She clung on tightly and waved something golden and round in front of her nose – Grimscale’s hooped earring.

  “Why, you little … Ripped it from my ear, it did!” The furious master mate lumbered over the deck, and jumped up and down, trying to snatch the object from her paw. But Cleo flicked her tail, climbed a little higher and con
tinued to dangle the earring tantalisingly out of reach, all the while chattering mockingly.

  With surprising agility for his size, Grimscale leaped onto the side of the ship and wound his big left hand into the rigging ropes. With the bloody right, he lunged at Cleo, but the little monkey was too fast for him, disappearing higher into the puzzle of ropes and sailcloths overhead. The burly man’s face turned the colour of a freshly broiled salmon as he swore and took one last swipe at her disappearing tail.

  On the deck below crewmen began to laugh. Some of them started to call out bets on how long it would take Grimscale to catch her. But at Captain Trevanion’s voice, everyone fell silent.

  “What the Devil is going on here?” Trevanion walked forward and paused when his boot caught against the whip Grimscale had dropped to the deck. He stared down, his face hardening into an expression of disgust. “What is the meaning of this?” He looked up at the master mate who was trying to extricate himself from the rigging. “Explain yourself, Grimscale. I thought I gave clear instructions that this … this thing,” he kicked the whip aside, “was never to be used on board.”

  “That’s as may be, sir. But when you find a thief you have to take a hard line.” Grimscale heaved himself back onto deck and gripped Jem’s shoulder – pushing him forward.

  “A thief?” Trevanion’s eyebrows shot up.

  “That’s not true, Captain. I’m not a thief. I went down into the ship to find something to bind this.” Jem held his hand forward so that the captain could see the marks. “I’ve been working on the ropes all day, haven’t I, Spider?”

  A look of confusion crossed the skinny boy’s face, but he glanced swiftly at Jem and nodded. “That’s right enough, Captain, sir. And it can be sore hard work on the hands.” He held up his own scratched fingers. “Red raw these are too.”