St Freerest glittered in the night like stolen treasure.
Cordelia hugged the lion-disguised figurehead, leaning towards the lights of the town that had appeared like a miracle out of the dark. After the clean salt of sea air, the atmosphere swarmed with pungent smells as Little Bear sailed into the bay. Soon the anchor clanked down, hitting the seabed with a thunk.
They lowered a skiff over the side and Cordelia, Sam, Goose and Prospero made for shore, leaving Davey and Melchior guarding Little Bear. They wove between clinking fishing boats and vast oceangoers, heading for the jigsaw of jetties reaching out across the shallows.
Music and wild laughter spilled from taverns along the waterfront. Lanterns studded the dark like carbuncle rubies. Cordelia could see them shining in her friends’ eyes as they grinned excitedly at each other.
They tied their boat to a jetty and the world swam as their legs struck solid ground.
‘Whoa!’ Goose yelped, putting his arms out to steady himself. Meanwhile, Cordelia clutched Sam, and they fell in a heap on the dusty planks.
‘You’ll get your land legs back soon!’ said Prospero, laughing as he swayed a little himself. ‘Just keep your knees bent.’
‘Wee!’ Goose answered loudly.
‘You all right, Goose?’ Cordelia asked, tipping sideways as she tried to stand up.
‘I’m being French,’ Goose told her covertly. ‘Wee means yes.’
Sam thrust her hands into her pockets, pulling out sticky blobs of Nougat Gaulois. ‘We can use these!’ she said, passing them round and cramming a particularly large chunk into her own mouth.
‘We need to find the Kingless tavern,’ Prospero announced, chewing. ‘Et faire profil bas.’
‘Je parle français, mais je ne comprends pas!’ Sam said, spreading her hands wide and shrugging.
Cordelia giggled, feeling giddy as she staggered down the jetty. After days of wide skies and distant horizons, the world was suddenly very close and loud. She stepped on to a new land. Her feet had never walked on earth that wasn’t England before.
With an explosion of noise, fighting sailors spilled out of a waterfront tavern.
Prospero seized an ancient mariner reeling past and asked, ‘Où est le Kingless?’
The man pointed along the waterfront.
‘Par ici!’ Prospero told Cordelia, Sam and Goose, then beckoned them to follow, because they didn’t understand French.
They hurried along the harbour, through rowdy singalongs and wrestling matches. Fish sizzled on open fires. They had to skip over a game of pavement dice that turned violent in seconds, as a player accused of cheating was seized by his opponent and, with a roar, hurled into the sea.
Staggering onwards through a street party, they were temporarily deafened by a racket blasting from a battered hornpipe and Cordelia was swung into a dance by a one-eyed sailor. Thumping tankards and the clash of swords created a wild tympanic rattle that shook her bones and made her teeth clack as she spun.
Prospero waded in to pull her out of the dance, towing her through a rowdy night market where sellers jostled, shaking fistfuls of peculiar fruits in their faces and yelling the prices of spices.
‘World’s strongest peg legs!’ a marketeer bellowed, waving ornately carved wooden legs. ‘Can’t be splintered, chopped or stabbed! I’ve got peg legs for dancing, climbing, running, jumping and hopping. Made of Limber Timber!’
Cordelia noted that if she ever needed a wooden leg, this was the place to come.
‘Read yer fortune, missy?’ A figure lurched from the shadows. ‘Price is one of yer front teeth!’
Cordelia shook her head. ‘Non merci!’
There were musical instruments for sale that played enchanting songs, spools of moon-bright ribbon and cloud-woven carpets, currant-studded honey cakes and piles of fruit she didn’t recognize. Cordelia caught the sunshiny scent of pure joy and realized a woman was selling perfumes that smelled like feelings. Immediately after that, she passed beneath banners of silk kites, watching them change colour as they rippled in the wind.
She wanted to stop and look at everything, but her father pulled her onwards. Sam and Goose followed, hands clamped defensively over their mouths.
They emerged from the chaos of the night market to find the strangest building Cordelia had ever seen rearing above them. It was a teetering wooden tower, curved on one side like an old man hunched over the harbour.
‘Eh?’ Goose peered up at the building.
It had a familiar shape, but something about it was wrong. Cordelia tilted her head and realized that the entire building was half an enormous ship, turned on its end as though it was sinking straight into the rocks it was perched on. Ropes and lanterns hung off it. Windows and a door had been carved into the curved hull and a sign swinging above the door declared this establishment to be:
THE KINGLESS
‘Allons-y!’ said Prospero, pushing the door open. ‘Keep your wits about you.’
Inside was an uproar. Some kind of brawl was going on, which Cordelia quickly realized was simply business as usual in this inn. A horde of sailors sang, banging tankards, while a woman in red trousers and a billowy shirt, hair piled high on her head like a silver crown, served grog sloshingly from behind a bar.
‘Drink a gizzardful, you old sea snake!’ she hurled at one customer. And at another: ‘Get that down you, you barnacle-bottomed bilge-rat!’
Insults apparently came free with each drink.
Prospero shouldered his way towards the bar, through arm-wrestles and arguments and spiralling sea shanties with rude lyrics. Cordelia, Sam and Goose scampered in his wake, staring around. Above their heads, a chaos of pulleys and ropes was lost in the haze of drifting smoke.
‘Captain Hatmaker!’ the woman roared from behind the bar, throwing her arms up in delight and drenching a nearby sailor in ale. ‘I heard you were at the bottom of the sea. I’m glad to see how very untrue the rumours were!’
‘And I heard there was a duchess on St Freerest!’ Prospero grinned. ‘I’m glad to find this rumour is true!’
A duchess? thought Cordelia. She had certainly never come across any duchess quite like this one before.
‘Give me news from London!’ the Duchess demanded, filling several tankards at once and firing them across the bar to her customers. ‘Tell me, is there still demand for chocolate beans or have the Sensible Party finally got their way and banned everything fun?’
‘Not as far as I know,’ Prospero said carefully.
The Duchess jerked her head to some crates piled behind the bar. ‘I ask because I’ve got a shipment leaving for London tomorrow. All the great chocolate houses clamour for my beans: the Sargasso, the Celestial, the Mariana,’ she reeled off proudly. ‘Ah! Here comes the last of the cargo!’
A boy with curly hair and a crooked smile descended on a rope from the ceiling, carrying a sack. He unhooked his foot from the rope as he landed behind the bar.
‘You’re late! I was expecting you this morning,’ the Duchess barked, banging bottles of grog on to the counter for some clamouring customers.
‘Wind just changed.’ The boy grinned, swinging the sack from his shoulder and staring curiously at the newcomers as he began to prise the lid from one of the crates.
The Duchess turned back to Prospero. ‘So, what brings you to this lawless island?’ she asked.
Prospero’s eyes flicked to Cordelia.
‘It’s complicated,’ he muttered, checking over his shoulder before drawing Cordelia forward. ‘This is my daughter, Cordelia. She’s wanted for treason.’
‘Treason? Impressive!’ said the Duchess.
The boy packing the crate whipped round to stare at Cordelia, and she tried her best to look like someone capable of daring acts of righteous rebellion.
‘What do you know about the Troublemakers?’ Prospero asked.
‘The Troublemakers?’ the Duchess repeated. ‘We leave them well alone. What d’you want with them?’
‘I need to find the Island of Lost Souls,’ Prospero told her. He had to shout louder as a fight broke out in the crowd. Accordion music squeezed and strained as one bellowing mass of sailors pushed against another. ‘I think that’s where they’re hiding.’
‘The Island of Lost Souls doesn’t exist,’ the Duchess answered. ‘It’s nothing but dark rumours and shipwrecks swirling round the sea!’
Cordelia burst out: ‘It’s real! I’ve seen it on the map!’
The Duchess’s eyes flashed curiously at her. ‘Have you?’ she asked. ‘And how can that be?’
The horde of customers pummelling each other was causing the very walls of the inn to groan. As one side gained the upper hand, the whole room slewed sideways. Bottles of grog slid down the counter and the crowd staggered as the floor tilted like a see-saw.
‘Don’t worry!’ the Duchess reassured Sam and Goose cheerfully, as they clung to the bar, tankards tumbling past them. ‘It’s quiet tonight. On rowdy nights, the boat rocks several times a minute!’
The crates behind the bar slipped, and Cordelia nipped round the counter to help the boy, who was squished against the wall as the floor landed at a drunken angle.
‘Thanks!’ the boy panted, edging out from behind the crates as Cordelia hauled them aside. ‘I was almost a pancake there!’
There was something unusual about the boy. He spoke with perfect round vowels; his words were like plum cakes on a duke’s tea table, but his clothes were scruffy and his hair quite wild.
Cordelia picked up the sack that had tumbled loose and her fingertips suddenly tingled. The boy snatched it back from her.
‘Thanks again!’ he said, stuffing it into the crate. ‘Here – hold this.’
He shoved the wooden lid down and Cordelia saw the words ARTIFICE CHOCOLATE HOUSE, LONDON stamped upon it. She knelt on the lid to hold it in place as he hammered nails into the crate.
Behind them, Prospero leaned closer to the Duchess. ‘I’ve got to get a crew together to hunt the Troublemakers,’ he told her. ‘Rescuing Prudence Oglethorne is the only way we can think of to win Cordelia a royal pardon. Cordelia made a Meddling hat and put it on the king’s head. That’s high treason!’
‘Brilliant!’ came a whisper.
Cordelia looked up to see the boy staring admiringly at her, a wonky smile on his thin face.
‘Did you really do that?’ he asked.
Cordelia tried to look modest but failed. Her mouth twitched into a shy grin.
‘Yes, I did,’ she admitted, before adding, ‘It was quite easy, really.’
She watched the boy’s eyes widen. ‘Jolly good show!’ he gushed, shaking her hand fervently. ‘That might be the most piratical thing I’ve ever heard of, including the time the Duchess traded her de Sneer family silver for a shark’s-tooth earring!’
‘What?’ Cordelia frowned. ‘She’s a de Sneer?’
She looked round. The Duchess was deep in conversation with Prospero. At the end of the bar, Sam and Goose were taking swigs from a bottle of grog and saying ‘ARGH!’ in an apparent effort to blend in.
‘But de Sneers are baddies, aren’t they?’ Cordelia hissed, turning back to the boy. ‘One of them’s in the Sensible Party!’
‘They’re not all baddies,’ he said. ‘The Duchess and Master Ambrosius are good eggs.’
Cordelia felt her head spin. The swaying room didn’t help.
‘Master Ambrosius is a de Sneer too?’ she spluttered.
Before the boy could reply, the Duchess swooped down on him. ‘That’s enough chinwagging from you!’ she barked. ‘Bedtime!’
She slipped a heavy hook under the boy’s belt, unlooped a rope from the wall and let go, sending him flying upwards with a yell. Goose and Sam howled with laughter, pointing at the boy’s flailing legs as he disappeared up into the rafters. But Cordelia gawked after him, unasked questions still burning on her tongue.
She turned to the Duchess, who was staring at her, her gaze as sharp as the shark’s tooth that dangled from her ear.
Is she really a de Sneer?
‘You saw the island on a map, did you?’ the Duchess asked quietly.
Cordelia nodded. In a whirl of silk shirtsleeves, the Duchess turned to Prospero.
‘The children can’t go off with you to fight pirates!’ she declared. ‘Far too dangerous! They must stay safe with me. And we’ll need to find you a crew of brave, strong heroes!’
She swept her bar clear of tankards and jumped up on to it, crocodile-skin boots suddenly level with Cordelia’s eyes. She banged two tankards together and the clamour of the inn died down.
‘WHO’S BRAVE ENOUGH TO JOIN CAPTAIN HATMAKER AND FIGHT SOME PIRATES?’ the Duchess roared.
A bloodthirsty cheer rose from the crowd. Cutlasses were thrust skywards, turning the room into a field of sharp silver wheat, ready to be reaped. Prospero seemed pleased: with the Duchess’s help, he would easily gather a crew capable of defeating the Troublemakers. Cordelia tried to look glad, but she felt somewhat resentful. It seemed that her father wouldn’t need her help after all.
‘Aaah, yes!’ The Duchess nodded approvingly at the fierce faces gurning up at her. ‘We have only the bravest souls on St Freerest, don’t we, lasses and lads?’
‘YAAAR!’
‘You lot aren’t afraid of the terrible wave that swallows ships whole, are ya?’ The Duchess grinned. ‘Or that fearsome sea beast, longer than a warship, with a flaming tail – it doesn’t frighten you!’
The bravery on several faces seemed to shrink, like sea anemones recoiling.
‘You’re not scared of the golloping seaweed or the treacherous rocks! Or the enchanted storms that twist ships up and break them into splinters!’ the Duchess went on, striding up and down the bar.
Another roar rose, slightly paler than before.
‘Or the man-eating flowers or the fire-eating birds! Or … the Troublemakers!’
At the Duchess’s last word, the drinkers’ wide grins disappeared.
‘WHO’LL JOIN CAPTAIN HATMAKER?’ the Duchess yelled.
This time the invitation was met with silence. Nobody seemed to have any roar left in them. Cordelia was amazed: had the Duchess deliberately frightened everyone off?
Prospero’s face was a wry twist of frustration. ‘Will anybody join me?’ he asked the room.
Cutlasses wilted and were quietly sheathed. Nobody would meet his eye, let alone his request. Then –
‘I will!’ came a cry.
But it turned out to be Goose, getting unsteadily to his feet and waving his empty grog bottle. Behind him, Sam fell sideways trying to stand up.
The Duchess hopped down from the bar.
‘Never mind,’ she said consolingly, clapping Prospero on the back.
He raised an eyebrow as the Duchess busied herself at the bar.
‘I’ll try some other taverns,’ he said resolutely.
‘You might have more luck at the Urchin or the Comeuppance – they’re full of mad-headed vagabonds,’ offered the Duchess. ‘But I think this lot need to sleep off the grog.’ She indicated Sam and Goose, who were clutching each other’s shoulders and slurring like they were wearing Sluggard Yarn hats.
‘I’ll come with you, Father!’ Cordelia said, making her way to him. But the Duchess pulled a huge basket down from the ceiling, cutting her off.
‘I think your friends will need help climbing into their hammocks!’ she said, laughing. ‘Besides, I don’t think the Comeuppance is any place for a little girl!’
‘But I want to –’
Prospero shook his head. ‘The Duchess is right, Dilly. It’s not safe for you to come with me,’ he said, kissing her on top of her head. ‘I promise I’ll be back to say goodbye before we leave to fight the pirates.’
Cordelia barely had time to take an indignant in-breath before she was thrust into the basket by the Duchess, who tipped Goose and Sam in after her.
‘Fourth door up!’ the Duchess instructed. ‘You’ll find hammocks in there – sleep well!’
Before Cordelia could protest, the Duchess let go, sending the basket shooting up through the smoky air.
‘THASS MAZING!’ Sam marvelled glassily.
‘WHEEEEEEEE!’ Goose squealed, and was promptly sick.