eleven

Sylva and Poppy had wanted to have a sleepover that night, but Clara insisted that they needed a good night’s sleep, and they could meet up again in the morning. But Sylva was restless after dinner. “I’m going for a flyabout,” she told Rosy. “I’m on the lookout for feathers. We need some for the dollhouse garden.”

“Would you like me to go with you?” asked Rosy. “Goldie can look after Squeak for a bit.”

“Not for long, though,” said Goldie.

“No, I’m fine,” said Sylva. “I’ll go down to the osprey nest on the point to see what I find there.”

The biggest, messiest osprey nest on Sheepskerry Island was out near Pirates’ Cove. Sylva collected fourteen feathers from underneath the nest, enough to build a feather fence all the way around the fairy dollhouse. She turned to go home.

It was a lovely mild spring evening, and Sylva was enjoying her flight. Just before she flew out of the cove, she caught a sweet gust of wind that took her up into the sky.

“Wheeeeeee!” she said. Sometimes it was fun to act like a little fairy and just play on the wind. Now she was high over the ground. She looked out to sea.

The water was still and calm. The air was clear. Way out in the water, far, far away from Sheepskerry, a ship loomed into view. Sylva stared at it for a minute. There was something unusual about the ship. Something that didn’t seem quite right. Then she realized what it was.

I’ve never seen a ship with such dirty old sails before, she thought. They’re almost black.

Then she caught another gust of wind. “Wheeeeeeeee!” she cried, and she floated away.

I don’t suppose you know what kind of a ship has filthy black sails, do you?

Or what kind of sailors would be aboard such a ship?

I’ll give you a hint.

Sometimes, they say, “Aaaargh.”