CHAPTER 5
The Colloquy of Pickled Pate
Marrill couldn’t help herself. She pulled Fin in for another hug. “I missed you so much, Fin.” Her throat tightened with happy tears. She wanted to pinch herself to make sure this was all real. She couldn’t believe she was back on the Pirate Stream. That she was back with her best friend.
Closing her eyes, Marrill took it all in: the salty, slightly effervescent smell of the Stream, the rocking of the waves, the snap and squeal of the Kraken’s rigging.
“I never would have pegged you to turn pirate,” a mellow voice teased. Marrill looked up to find a tall, narrow boy leaning against the nearby mast, his arms crossed loosely in front of him. A wide smile broke across his face.
“Coll!” Marrill cried, launching herself at him.
If the usually taciturn captain of the Kraken was surprised, he didn’t show it. Instead he wrapped his arms around her. “Welcome aboard. We could use a good first mate. Been shorthanded for a while.” Beside her, Fin cleared his throat. Coll glanced at him. “Brought a friend, huh?” he added. “Hope he knows how to sail.”
Even Fin’s frustrated sigh made Marrill smile. A smile that grew even wider to see a damp purple robe, a sagging, pointy-tipped hat, and the bony old man wedged into them. “Well, these pirates really aren’t the most efficient, are they?” Ardent mused. “The legendary corsair Glasskin Jill would’ve had the ship boarded and half the crew tied to the rafters at this point.”
He tugged his bushy white beard and leaned out dangerously over the railing. “Any day now!” he shouted to the other ship. “Some of us have plans, you know!”
“We ain’t here to board ya, old man,” Stavik growled up from the deck of the Purple Serpent. “But keep talking like that and the plan may change.”
Just then, Remy shoved him aside. A chorus of gasps sounded from the pirate crew; several even cringed. “Marrill Aesterwest, get back here this minute!” she shouted, fists against her hips in fury. “You do not run off like that! Magic stream or no, I. Am. Your. Babysitter!”
At the sound of Marrill’s name, Ardent’s shoulders straightened. He spun around to face her, flipping the tip of his purple cap out of his eyes to get a better look.
“Marrill?” he whispered. She waved. He stared at her for a shocked moment. Then his face split into a grin. “It is you!” He held his arms wide for a hug.
Marrill bounded into him. The wizard let out a muffled “Oomf” as she threw her arms around his waist. “Well, this is certainly a delightfully unexpected…” He trailed off and pushed her back a step.
“You’re here,” he said. “On the Stream,” he added.
She nodded, her smile growing wider. Her heart nearly burst with happiness. She was back with her crew. Back where she belonged.
Ardent’s lips tightened with concern. “But you shouldn’t be. I mean, you shouldn’t be able to be,” he said softly. “Not that I’m not glad to see you. Of course I am, but…”
Marrill took a deep breath. “It’s not good, I know. But I was needed here, right?” She looked from Fin to Coll to Ardent. They each nodded, especially Fin.
But at the same time, they all seemed genuinely surprised to see her. Genuinely confused that she was there. She saw no hint that they had actually sent for her or told her to come back. Which meant they hadn’t been the ones to write the message on the stop sign. But then, who had?
Beneath her, the deck of the ship lurched, sending her off balance. She remembered to bend her knees slightly, as Coll had once taught her. “The Stream is touching my world again,” she began. “Which you probably figured out, since I’m here and all. But there’s more.” Quickly, she recapped everything, from the cloud-catching net to the stop sign to the weird voice in the tunnel and the Map’s awakening.
Ardent stroked his beard. “The Iron Tide,” he muttered to himself.
Just then, a slick bald head covered in stringy hair shoved straight into the middle of their group. Seconds later, the stout purplish-blue body followed. “One side, scoot, clear out, ain’t ya got better places to be?” the Naysayer grumbled. He jostled past Coll and bumped Ardent with a thick shoulder. A watering can dangled from one of his four hands.
Marrill couldn’t help grinning. “Good to see you, too, Naysayer,” she chirped.
He paused, looking her up and down. “Oh,” he said. “Huh. Where’ve you been?”
Marrill laughed. “Well, I was—”
“Not interested.” He swatted her out of his path with one heavy hand and shambled over to the railing. Then he snorted. “And what a great job you all did getting rid of those pirates we were so worried about. I bet they’re just swinging them boarding hooks to come over and give us a big hug good-bye. But you guys keep jawing—it’s fine.”
As if to emphasize the point, several sharp multi-hooked metal grapples sailed through the air toward the Kraken’s railing. Marrill looked to the Purple Serpent. She should have known better than to trust pirates!
“You should have known better than to trust pirates,” Fin said as they all raced to the railing.
the rumor vines echoed from their garden.
Marrill rolled her eyes as she struggled to unhook a barbed grapple. “I know!”
“Thassit, lads,” Stavik snarled from the other side of the water. The Purple Serpent weaved like a water-skier across the ribbon of Stream, tied to the Kraken by several lines. With one arm, the Pirate King held a furiously struggling—and furious—Remy. “Pull them ropes tight! Don’t let the whale escape! And you, stop biting me!”
“Nice fella,” the Naysayer grunted. “Anyone needs me, I’ll be in the hold, practicing my surrenderin’ speech.”
Behind Marrill, Ardent seemed distracted. “Was there anything else about the Iron Tide?” he asked. “Anything at all?”
Marrill tugged harder at the grappling hook. “No, it was just this voice out of nowhere warning that it’s coming and we have to stop it.” She stumbled as the grapple popped free in her hands. She did her best to lob it back at the Serpent, but the shot went wide. It splashed into the Stream, erupting into an explosion of bright autumn leaves. Marrill was sure she smelled eggnog. Her mouth watered. “Have you heard of it before?” she asked.
Ardent shrugged. “The voice? Unlikely, though I do tend to hear them often.” He hesitated, ear cocked to the side, shook his head, and continued. “More relevant, I have heard of the Iron Tide. It’s mentioned rather prominently in the first verse of the Meressian Prophecy.”
Marrill’s heart skipped a beat. “The Meressian Prophecy?” she squeaked. Behind her, a tangle of rumor vines caught up the phrase:
She forced herself to be calm. The Meressian Prophecy had ended when the mad oracle Serth had fallen into the Pirate Stream, taking the Key to the Map to Everywhere with him. The Key that could transform the Map into a gateway to the Stream-destroying Lost Sun of Dzannin. With Serth and the Key gone, the Lost Sun was locked away for good. There was no need to fear the Meressian Prophecy anymore.
Another boarding hook flew past them and slapped onto the deck, trailing a long line with it. Ardent frowned. “Bad weather out. Let’s continue this discussion in my cabin. There are a few things I’ve discovered that I believe you’ll find most illuminating!”
“Um, Ardent?” Coll growled, jabbing his head sharply toward the growing web of lines. Already, a zealous pirate was crawling hand over hand toward the Kraken. “More pressing concerns?”
The wizard almost looked surprised. “Oh, yes. I’m sorry to say it, but I fear we’ve no time for a pirate battle today.” At the flick of his fingers, the grappling hooks turned soft and wobbly like gummy worms. The pirates yelped as the lines they were tugging suddenly came free. Marrill stuck her head over the rail just in time to see the overenthusiastic boarder scrabbling up the side of the Serpent as her mates struggled to haul her in.
“Could have done that all along,” Coll muttered.
Ardent shrugged. “Yes, but where would the fun have been in that? Alas, now this Iron Tide situation requires our attention instead.” He whirled on one heel and headed toward his cabin. “To the Learnatorium!”
Fin caught Marrill’s eye. “Let’s go see what he’s on about,” he said, motioning.
But Marrill still had some loose ends to tie up. “Um, my babysitter and cat are on the Purple Serpent,” she said to Coll. “Could we maybe get those back?”
“I’ll take care of it,” Coll sighed. He ambled across the deck as though he were any normal sixteen- or seventeen-year-old boy strutting down the hall of his high school. With a little “Hup!” he hopped over the railing, just as a rope slung in from above to grab him and carry him across the water to the Serpent. Seconds later, the clang of metal on metal and the grunt of a struggle echoed through the air.
“See?” Fin said, grabbing Marrill’s hand and tugging her aft. “Under control. Now let’s go!”
Marrill’s concerns fell by the wayside as Fin pushed open the door to the wizard’s living quarters, which occupied most of the back of the ship. Ardent’s cabin was a hopeless mess. And still, it was an incredible one. Overstuffed bookcases lined the walls, shelves filled with baskets of oddities. There was an entire army, no bigger than Marrill’s palm: tiny bagpipers, Lilliputian warriors, even a few miniature ponies thrown in. There were jars of various flavors, some enticing, like “sunset eve,” others revolting, like “swampstrainer’s morning breath” or the mysterious but ominously labeled “toeskunk.” Boxes wrapped with rope and stenciled with warnings were piled in one corner, and books covered almost every available surface.
In the middle of it all, Ardent tossed his way through a big chest. Marrill tried to pretend the fangs lining its lid were fake. She slipped off her backpack and collapsed into a chair that scooted itself into place at the central table. Fin stood awkwardly a moment, then rolled his eyes and dragged a stool noisily across the floor next to hers. He sat with an audible huff.
Ardent didn’t seem to notice. “I confess,” the wizard continued, “that your message about the Iron Tide is of particular interest to me. You see, my old companion Annalessa was hunting for Serth when she disappeared. And in order to find him, well, she may have been trying to decipher parts of his Prophecy.”
At the mention of the wizard Annalessa, guilt tugged at Marrill’s insides. She remembered Ardent’s portrait of Annalessa, her sharp-but-pretty features emblazoned on one of the cards he always carried with him. Annalessa’s disappearance was the reason Ardent had been chasing the Map to Everywhere to begin with… and apparently he was still looking for her. Marrill had been so focused on her own problems, she’d totally forgotten about Ardent’s. Her heart broke a little to think about it.
“So you tried to figure out the Prophecy, too? To try and find her?” Marrill offered.
Ardent nodded. “Which brings us to the Iron Tide.” He leaned so far into the trunk he nearly disappeared. Marrill could swear she saw the lid salivating.
But then the wizard stood straight, holding up a sheaf of metal plates bound together by string. “Found it!”
“Um, before we get too far into that,” Marrill said, “I was hoping you could maybe help me with something?” She pulled open her backpack and tugged out the guinea pig cage. The grass inside was a bit crumpled and the frog appeared rather disgruntled, but otherwise he seemed to have made the journey intact.
She let out a relieved breath and set the cage on the desk. “So Karnelius has this thing about amphibians,” she started.
“Who doesn’t?” Ardent said under his breath.
“Right?” Fin agreed.
The wizard shot him a confused glance. “Usually. Who are you again?”
Marrill cleared her throat. “He’s a friend. Anyway. There was an accident at home and the frog was injured and I was hoping…” She bit her lip, remembering the way he’d once healed scratches on her hand. The way she hoped he could heal her mother someday. “Can you fix him?”
Ardent bent and peered into the cage. “You didn’t mention it was a speakfrog!”
“A speak… frog?” Marrill asked.
“Quite so,” the wizard said, pulling the little guy out and holding him up into the light. “They’re rather good little messengers. You simply tell the frog what you want him to say, and he goes and says it.”
“It’s a frog,” Marrill repeated. “That talks.”
“Well, technically, it’s a salamander that only looks like a frog,” Ardent said. He cupped his other hand over the creature. For a moment the air warmed. Marrill tasted honey and thunder.
The moment Ardent set the frog back on the desk, it began to screech. “The Iron Tide is coming. You must stop it! Stop the Iron Tide before it spreads beyond the docks and oof. Hey, watch where you’re—oh wait my frog get back here you little—” The voice stopped and the room was silent.
Marrill stared at the frog. It crawled back into the cage, fluffed up a patch of grass, and settled in.
“So yeah,” Marrill said. “That was the voice I heard. And that was pretty much the message.”
“That dovetails nicely into what I wanted to show you,” Ardent said, grabbing the metal plates he’d pulled from the chest and slapping them down on the table next to the cage.
Marrill leaned over them. The Colloquy of Pickled Pate, the first one read. Chiseled underneath the words was a portrait of a squat man with a jutting lower jaw and enormous nose. The metal gleamed like oil in the candlelight.
“Spiff,” Fin said beside her. “What is it?”
Ardent puffed himself up. “This, my young let’s-just-assume friend, is one of the most ancient stories I’ve seen on the Stream. It’s at least seven thousand years old, judging from the style of the engraving and the scent of the magic residue still lingering in the crevices.”
Marrill squinted at a number scratched in the corner. “Also it’s got the date written on it,” she pointed out.
Ardent snorted. “Notoriously unreliable. But yes, that is also a clue.” He waved his hands over the plates, and they dutifully spread themselves out in a neat row across the table. Marrill leaned over them and read the words aloud:
The Colloquy of Pickled Pate
Oh, Pickled Pate, ware hay ye been?
I been ta tha place war tha water bend
Oh, Pickled Pate, ware did ye goe?
I went me to tha shattered archey-pelly-goe
Oh, Pickled Pate, what hay ye seen?
I seen tha city ware tha wall does stand
War thay sing o’ tha king o’ salt an sand
An I seen tha comin’ at creepin’ stride
O’ tha doom whut fears me,
O’ tha IRON TIDE
Oh, Pickled Pate, yer good and sauced
Ye’s pickled too much, yer brain be lost
“Huh,” Fin said.
“Huh,” Marrill agreed. It mentioned the Iron Tide, all right. But it just seemed like nonsense.
Ardent folded his arms and nodded knowingly. “Indeed. Quite amazing. I’m sure you see the significance?”
Marrill thought hard. “Ancient people didn’t know how to spell?” she offered.
Ardent waved his hands dismissively, and the plates reassembled themselves into a neat pile. “Yes, well, you have to think about the bigger picture, obviously,” he said. “You see, our friend Pickled Pate may have been the first, but I’ve collected hundreds of stories just like this one, spread out across history, from all sorts of different places and people. And all essentially the same.”
Fin nodded. “Used to hear that type of thing all the time at the Khaznot Quay. Some sailor gets lost on the Stream, vanishes, comes back all addled and babbling about crazy places and such.”
“Indeed,” Ardent said. “That’s exactly why this escaped my notice until recently. ‘A bunch of swoggle sold by drunkards and madmen,’ as Coll would say. But all of these stories have a few important things in common.”
“The Iron Tide?” Marrill volunteered.
Ardent nodded. “Just so. Stories centuries, even millennia apart, and every single one has the same three things: the city on the wall, the King of Salt and Sand, and escape from the Iron Tide. Often as though the Tide had been right on their heels! And every single person refused to return to the place where they’d seen it, for fear that the Iron Tide would destroy them.”
“Now, I’m as excited about boring old legends as no one, obviously,” Fin said. “But how do we know this is real? I mean, no one’s ever seen this Iron Tide thing, right?”
Ardent shook his head. “No, indeed not. And yet all the missing sailors seem quite insistent that the Iron Tide is coming, sometime in the future.” He tented his fingers together and looked very seriously down his nose at Marrill as if she, and not Fin, had spoken. “That leads me to conclude that the Iron Tide was a bit of the Prophecy yet to be fulfilled. And if the Stream is touching your world again, and the Map has warned you of it, well, that seems to confirm the idea.”
“And I’m guessing there’s no way the Iron Tide could be something really cool and great like a flotilla of marshmallows sailing a river of whipped cream?” Marrill asked.
“To be fair, no one quite knows exactly what it is,” Ardent offered. “But doom is a word often associated with it.”
Marrill gulped. She stared down at the image of Pickled Pate. The big nose sagged over his puffed lower jaw, etched onto the shining surface of the story-plates. As if he were locked eternally in metal. In small script, she noticed something written along the bottom that she’d missed the first time:
Bewayr yer folks and bewayr yer kin
For tha TIDE be comin’
tho I know not when
Marrill shuddered. It gave her the willies.
“Yes,” Ardent continued gravely. “Whatever the Iron Tide may be, it will almost certainly bring great destruction to the Pirate Stream… and anything in its path.” He stared off into the distance for a long moment. “So,” he said with a clap, “who wants to go looking for it?”