When they had wrestled Manic into the stables and bolted the door—twice—Sophie went back to the house, keeping her distance from the shore, where the creatures gurgled and grumbled. She followed the sound of conversation to a dining room at the back of the house, where there was a table set for twenty, each place bordered by enough knives, forks, and spoons for a ten-course meal. She slid into the room and stood in a corner. She wanted to get a better look at the new arrival.
Cartwright was sharpening his butter knife with his back to the door, sitting opposite the twins, who were staring at him with barely disguised hatred. The Battleship was at the head of the table, ensconced on a wooden throne decorated with unusually vicious-looking mermaids.
The room was cavernous. On the ceiling, plaster cherubim were surrounded by fields of real, gravity-defying mushrooms, and bronze oysters tangled with living ivy on the walls. Streamers of brown who-knows-what hung from the ceiling among ropes of mussels. On the wall beside her was a damp, framed advertisement for Laurel’s Golden Oysters. She looked at the painting of dancing shells and the dubious claim that they were “The Happiest Shellfish from the Freshest Sea,” then back at the table. She’d always suspected that advertisments were a load of rubbish.
“What are we having?” Ralf asked loudly.
“I hope it’s roast beef,” said Gail. “I like it black and crunchy.”
“With peas like bullets.”
“And bloody gravy.”
“Fish,” said the Battleship abruptly. They all looked at her. “Just like last night, and the night before. We’re drowning in fish. How do you even know about roast beef?”
“We read about it,” Ralf said. “People eat it in London.”
“The girl would know,” said Gail. “She’s from London, isn’t she?”
The twins fixed their eyes on Sophie. She’d thought she was invisible.
“The new girl should sit with us,” Ralf said. “Wouldn’t that be nice, Gail?”
“Definitely,” said Gail.
The Battleship shifted her body in the great throne, which creaked like a tree in high wind.
“I don’t trust her,” she announced. “Have you seen the way she looks at things? Like she’s working out how to steal them. I don’t like it one bit.”
“I’m not trying to steal anything,” Sophie said coldly.
“That’s what a thief would say,” said the Battleship.
“Shut up, Mother,” Ralf said, and they instantly forgot about Sophie. “It’s too early to start with all that. Cartwright’s only been here a minute.”
“Be quiet,” said the Battleship. “I can’t stand your whining.”
“Here we go,” said Gail smugly. “‘I wish you’d died when your father did,’ blah blah blah.”
“Except we didn’t,” Ralf said. “And we’re your sons.”
“You should look after us. You should love us.”
“Instead you float around weeping and moaning about Father.”
“You never liked him when he was alive.”
“You weren’t very nice to him. Maybe he drowned out of spite.”
“Enough!” the Battleship roared, slamming her fork on the table so hard it bent in two. The twins looked pleased with themselves.
In the flat silence that followed, Cartwright cleared his throat.
“I love fish,” he said. “Particularly the special way Scree makes it, all dry and crusty in a way nobody else can. It’s the most unforgettable part of my childhood.”
“Your childhood,” snorted Ralf. “Listen to you, all grown up. Just because you’re fourteen. Just because you’re in the army. How did you get in, anyway?”
“They made an exception to the age limit as soon as they saw me,” said Cartwright.
“Were they taking in stray cats, too?” said Ralf.
Cartwright’s hand tightened around his butter knife.
“We’re practicing a play we wrote,” interrupted Gail. “I’m ever so good at acting.”
“I’m brilliant at acting, too,” said Ralf.
“I can see,” said Cartwright. “The talent is just pouring off you. What is your play about?”
“A mad queen and her mad son and her dead husband,” said Gail promptly. “And another mad girl, can’t remember who she is, but she drowns herself in a river. Or a bathtub, I don’t know. There’s a skull in it and everything. It’s ever so funny.”
“What a fantastic story,” said Cartwright.
“When we take it to London it’s sure to be a hit. We’ll have money pouring out of our noses.”
“Undoubtedly.”
“It’s extremely moving. We’ll show it to you after dinner.”
“I’d enjoy that very much.”
There was a pause. The twins looked at Cartwright suspiciously.
“Really?”
“No,” said Cartwright. “I’d rather die.”
“We used to like you,” snarled Ralf. “You were so stupid. We could stick your head in the toilet and all you’d do was blubber.”
“And now,” said Cartwright, “I’d tear your silly little heads off. You see, while you’ve been here skulking in the dark, I’ve been clubbing people over the head with bayonets. I no longer find you intimidating, although I do have the urge to hang you out the window by your ankles. Luckily,” he added pleasantly, “I have also learned the art of tolerance, and may be able to restrain myself.”
The twins gaped at him. Ralf turned an alarming shade of red.
“Do we have any presents from overseas?” Gail asked hopefully.
“No. I was fighting.”
“Didn’t you have holidays?” asked Ralf.
“This,” said Cartwright, “is my holiday, wretched as it is.”
Sophie was beginning to like Cartwright, despite the fact that he insisted on acting so much older than them all. She’d almost forgotten that she was eavesdropping until the twins turned their gazes toward her again.
“Thing!” called Ralf, making Sophie jump. “Come and sit down.”
“Learn my name first,” she snapped.
“You’re rude. We should hold your head under the faucet,” said Ralf, picking up his cutlery.
“Ooh, nasty,” said Gail.
“Would you like that fork in your head?” she said. And there it was—the thing that kept getting her into trouble. She couldn’t help it. If anyone prodded her she had to attack, even if she knew she’d regret it later. She forced herself to uncurl her hand, which had formed a fist.
“She looks so strange, doesn’t she?” said Ralf to Gail. “Sort of like one of those things that lives in the bathtub.”
“A slither-fish,” said Gail.
“Silverfish,” Sophie corrected automatically. The twins hooted with laughter.
“Silverfish! Silverfish! Stamp on the silverfish!”
Sophie was halfway across the room, ready to leap across the table and hit them, when Scree burst in with their food. With the twins’ attention distracted, Cartwright grabbed Sophie’s shoulder and pushed her into a chair.
She was so surprised that she sat down immediately. Cartwright smiled mildly.
“Don’t you just love a hot meal?” he said. “I was so hungry today I almost had to eat my boots.”
Scree slammed down a huge silver platter holding a fat, curled-up fish with a foot-long fork sticking from its head, a bowl of floury potatoes, and some damp lumps of vegetable. He scuttled out and came back with more. A bucket of gray sauce. A dessert made almost entirely of pale custard. As soon as he swung the dishes down onto the table, the twins grabbed things with their long fingers, piling their plates high and licking their hands. They poured glasses of gravy, strained the sauce between their teeth, and packed the vegetables into tight balls and flicked them away from their plates.
“Fish?” Cartwright asked Sophie pleasantly. Before she could answer, Cartwright picked up the serving tongs and reached for it. Ralf whipped the fish away and tipped most of it onto his own plate.
“I wasn’t hungry anyway,” said Sophie as her stomach moaned.
Scree hobbled off and came back with juice. As soon as it was on the table the twins poured it into their mouths, dribbling it down their fronts and staining their chins purple. It was doubtful that much of it had reached their stomachs, but the effort involved was mesmerizing. It was like watching pigs at the zoo.
“Why do you have the misfortune of being here?” Cartwright asked Sophie without looking at her.
“Stop talking,” snapped Gail, kicking Sophie under the table so hard she yelped. “Ralf, they’re talking about us.”
Ralf lobbed a spoon at Cartwright’s head. Cartwright dodged casually, and it sailed over his shoulder.
When the fish had been consumed the twins started throwing potatoes at each other, while the Battleship silently vacuumed fish flesh from the bone. Sophie looked just in time to see Ralf and Gail wink at each other. She ducked and a potato sailed over her head. Scree, who was miserably standing by the wall, raised a dish to his face and narrowly missed being blinded by a sprout.
“Ten points!” screamed Ralf.
“Twelve!” screeched Gail.
“Shut up!” The Battleship, having finished her food, rose and threw a plate at her sons, who ducked and laughed as it shattered behind them. Decorative shellfish fell from the wall in clouds of dust. Sophie bowed her head and grabbed her fork, and the fight began.
Food traveled like cannon fire between the twins and their mother, tight clumps of potato and gravy thickening the air and turning the surface of the table into a slurry. Cartwright caught a flying chunk of gray bread and started eating it quickly, bowing his head to let a cup sail past. Sophie turned her plate over and held it in front of her face seconds before something hit it. Insults flew between the twins and their mother as fast as the airborne food, the twins punctuating their tirade with horrible, theatrical laughter.
Cartwright concentrated on his bread with a practiced ferocity.
“Grab what you can before the twins snatch it, or you’ll starve,” he said.
“I’m pretty sure that bread is made from fish gristle,” Sophie said, but she was so hungry she ducked from her chair and grabbed some from the floor anyway. She stuffed it into her mouth and swallowed nearly without chewing, her stomach singing with relief.
When she’d finished she weighed her options: She could try to make friends with Cartwright, or avoid suspicion by making herself as inconspicuous as possible. In the end, her curiosity won out.
“Have the twins always been like this?” she said, knowing they couldn’t hear her over their own screaming.
“Always. Don’t be fooled, though. They act like idiots but they’re really rather clever. They once made a jack-in-the-box that looked exactly like me, then wound it up and left it outside my door. I jumped so hard I gave myself a black eye.”
“I’ll look out for mysterious boxes, then.”
For some reason this made Cartwright grin.
“What’s your name?” he asked, putting his bread down. She hesitated. But maybe it didn’t matter if he knew.
“Sophie.”
“I’m Master Most Violent Cartwright. Really. My parents thought it was funny.”
“STOP HAVING FUN!” Ralf screamed at them, going purple in the face. He grabbed one of the gravy boats and flung its contents at his cousin.
Without looking up, Cartwright drew a pistol from the inside of his jacket and shot a hole through the gravy boat, which was still in Ralf’s hand. The room fell into dripping silence. Only the curtains moved, driven by a breeze from the sea.
“Whoops,” said Cartwright. “Silly me. I’m afraid I lost my manners in the army.”
“That was my favorite gravy boat!” the Battleship snapped, breaking the spell. “You nasty little idiots!” She slammed her cutlery onto the table and swooped out, leaving a trail of broken crockery.
“Having fun, Silverfish?” Ralf asked as Gail wheezed with laughter. “It’s only just beginning.”
She looked right back at him and said, “So am I.”
Cartwright neatly dabbed his chin with a napkin and strolled out without a word. The twins grinned at each other, wiped their fingers under the table, and followed him.
“Nighty-night, Silverfish,” leered Ralf.
“Nighty-night, Silverfish,” sang Gail.
When they had all gone Sophie got up and started to scrape mush out of her hair. Scree appeared beside her, fish sauce running down the side of his head.
“That went well,” he said. “I didn’t give ’em real knives this time. See how much you can scrape off the walls, and I’ll fetch the mop.”
She limped around the room, staring at the lumps of food smeared everywhere. She hadn’t asked Cartwright about his horse or worked out where he kept the key for the stable. Her eyes flicked to the door. Scree would probably be gone for a while anyway.
She abandoned the dining room and ran up the corridor in Cartwright’s direction. She swerved into the entrance hall and cursed. Everyone had left.
“You’re wondering what just happened, aren’t you,” Cartwright’s voice said in her ear. “Don’t worry. You’ll get used to it.”
Sophie turned and stamped on his toe, hard. She didn’t even think about it. Cartwright gave a squeak of pain.
“What was that for?” he asked.
“You made me jump,” she said, breathing again.
“Most people would scream.”
“Most people are idiots. You shouldn’t sneak up on anyone.”
“I wasn’t sneaking. The carpet muffled the sound of my footsteps.”
She looked down at his black boots and thought that it was very unlikely. There was something about Cartwright that she couldn’t quite put her finger on, but it wasn’t pleasant.
“You were waiting for me,” she said. “What do you want?”
“You were following me. What do you want?”
“I asked first.”
Cartwright shrugged, wearing an infuriating smile. He withdrew a fork from his pocket and started playing with it, twisting the prongs out of shape.
Don’t give in, Sophie told herself.
He yawned.
“What do you want?” she exploded.
“Nothing. How long have you been here?” he asked.
“A day.”
“Do you like adventures?”
“I like telling stories. I’m a storyteller,” she said, then realized she’d told him too much. “Why are you here?”
“A holiday. And a task. Do you want to get off this island?” he said.
She looked at him sharply.
“I can get you out of here,” he said. “And more. I can get you a ticket to the New Continent.”
She snorted. He sounded like one of those dodgy traveling salesmen that offer genuine antelope-skin jackets for the price of a fish.
“Why is that funny?” he asked, looking annoyed.
“Because there’s no way you have a ticket. Anyway, why would you help me?”
“I feel sorry for anyone who’s stuck in this madhouse,” he said, putting on a decent impression of being hurt. “I had to live here for the most miserable years of my life. Nobody deserves that.”
“I want to know what the catch is,” she said.
“Well . . . you might be able to do me a small favor. I need you to find something for me.”
Find something. How wonderfully vague.
“I won’t do it,” she said.
“You don’t even know what it is. It’s very exciting.”
“And what makes you think you can trust me?”
“Nothing yet,” he said. “But you said that you’re a storyteller. So let me get to know you. Spin me a tale.”
Sophie looked around. The entrance hall was empty but for the slow drip of water, and Scree was nowhere to be seen. Stories were something she could do. And that would show him, wouldn’t it? He’d see how clever she really was.
“All right,” she said. “I’ll tell you a story.”
“What’s it about?”
“It’s about a girl and a fish.”
He nodded. She picked up a fish skeleton from the floor, letting it swing gently by the tail, and looking into its snowy rib cage she began.