As we got closer to St. Beatrice, we spotted more and more pirate ships. On our ninth day at sea we were steaming due east when a Neo woman on deck for a stroll shouted that pirates were just off our starboard side. A couple hundred yards to the east, we could see the bright-purple solar sails of the biggest boat we’d seen yet.
“It’s Monty Brioux!” someone called out.
“The pirate?” Zander said. He, Joyce, Kemal, and M.K. had been swimming in the ship’s pool, and they’d found me on deck, standing at the railing and looking out at the sea.
“He’s the most famous pirate of all,” Kemal told us as he dried his hair with one of the fancy red towels from the ship, a little DP embroidered on the hem. “Apparently, he attacked a cargo ship last week near St. John’s. Got away with a couple hundred thousand dollars worth of ANDLC’s goods.”
“I’ve heard about him for years,” Joyce said. “They call Monty Brioux ‘the scorpion of the Atlantic.’ They say he was born in the deserts of Morocco and ran away to the sea when he was only five years old.”
A swift breeze blew across the deck, and the pirates passed us easily, tipping their hats as they went, their sails snapping loudly. The boat itself was huge, a big double-hulled vessel that Joyce said was called a catamaran, a popular ship in the Caribbean. It had three masts, each outfitted with purple synthetic sails covered with solar cells. M.K. pointed these out, speculating that they provided backup power to the ship’s compact engine. Thanks to the cells, M.K. said with admiration, the catamaran wasn’t dependent on the winds or fuel.
Standing on top of the deck railing at the bow was Monty Brioux, dressed in a purple cloak and plum-colored captain’s hat over his long red hair. He hung on to the rigging, his alligator-skin boots shining in the sun. As they overtook us, we heard Brioux laugh loudly and shout, “We won’t take you today, ladies and gentlemen, we won’t take you today!” He gave a smart salute and they were ahead of us, racing through the water toward St. Beatrice.
“That’s quite a boat,” Joyce said, following the purple sails as they disappeared into the distant blue. “I’d say there isn’t anywhere that boat can’t go.”
“What do you all think of this criminal Brioux?”
We turned around and saw that Leo and Lazlo Nackley were leaning against the railing next to us. They’d been watching the pirates too.
“I hope they don’t follow us all the way to St. Beatrice,” I said, giving them a fake smile. “This expedition’s going to be hard enough without pirates to fight off.”
“Is that right?” Leo Nackley said, looking down at me. He had started growing a small beard on the sea voyage, a pointy triangle at the bottom of his chin. “Don’t you have faith in Lazlo and his plan, Mr. West?”
I wanted to say that in fact it was my plan, stolen by Lazlo, and that it was full of half-truths and outright lies anyway, and so, no, I didn’t have much faith in him, and I certainly didn’t have much faith in the plan. But I swallowed hard and just said, “Oh, yes, I’m sure Lazlo will be very, very successful.” The other passengers had drifted back to whatever they’d been doing before the pirates had been sighted.
Leo Nackley grabbed my arm, squeezing it until I gasped with pain, and turned me around so I was looking up at him.
“You sarcastic little snot,” he growled. “You know something that you’re not telling us. I can feel it.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Mr. Nackley.” He squeezed harder. I could feel his fingers digging into my elbow.
Joyce and Zander stepped forward, but then they hesitated, waiting to see what he’d do next.
Nackley ignored them, still gazing down into my face with hatred. “You know that if you have any information you’re withholding, now would be the time to give it up. On board a ship like this, things are—well, things are looser. It would be possible to overlook a breach of BNDL laws. Once we’re on St. Beatrice, there will be agents everywhere.”
I met his eyes. “I said I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Lazlo stood next to his father, shifting his weight from one foot to the other and glancing over his shoulder. He looked as terrified of his father as we were.
“Your father gave you a map of the oil,” Mr. Nackley said to me, his face so close to mine I could smell the garlic on his breath. “That’s why he—” He nodded towards Zander “—wanted to go to St. Beatrice for the expedition. You know exactly where the oil is, and you’re going to tell us. Where is it? Where’s that map?” The veins stood out at his temples. He twisted my arm, and I felt burning pain shoot up my shoulder. He was enjoying my agony.
“Let him go,” Zander said. “He doesn’t have anything.”
“Leo?” Mr. Wooley had come out on deck. I didn’t know how long he’d been standing there. “The boy says he doesn’t know anything. I think you should let it rest.”
“Of all people,” Leo Nackley said, sneering at Mr. Wooley. “You, of all people, are telling me how to run an expedition?”
“It’s not your expedition; it’s your son’s,” Mr. Wooley said. “And people are watching you.”
We all followed Mr. Wooley’s gaze up to find the Antiguan businessmen and a number of other passengers who’d gathered to watch the pirates. Their attention was now turned toward our group. At that moment, Dolly Frost, sensing the commotion, walked up the stairs and took in the scene.
Leo Nackley let go of my arm. “I’ll get it from you,” he hissed before stalking off with Lazlo trailing behind. “You can be sure I’ll get it from you.”
I leaned against the railing, trying to catch my breath, cradling my arm. “Thank you, Mr. Wooley,” I gasped.
“Stay away from him,” he said in a quiet voice. “You don’t know what he can do. He thinks you’re hiding something, and he won’t let it go until he figures out what it is.”
“Why are you scared of him?” I asked, still breathing hard. “Why did they make you go on the expedition?”
He laughed bitterly. “I can’t tell you,” he said. “But listen to me. Stay away from Nackley.”
I tried again and again to doze off that night but finally gave up around 1 a.m. I put on a sweater and went out, carefully shutting the door behind me so as not to wake Zander, and walked up on deck, passing a loud and very drunk group of Lundlandian businessmen and women I’d seen earlier, including my Simalio partner. They’d been very serious during daylight hours, but now they were singing cheerfully in Lundlandian. One of the men was dancing wildly, jumping up onto the railing and teetering out over the water. I passed them and walked along the deck to the starboard bow, finding a bench to sit on. The sky was full of stars, and a half moon cast a yellow light over the water. I wondered where Sukey was at this moment. On a ship like this, heading north instead of south? Flying a glider over expanses of endless white, looking for Snow Deer? Was she looking at these same stars? I had thought about her every day since we’d been at sea.
I had closed my eyes, picturing Sukey standing at the edge of a field of ice and snow, when someone sat down on the bench next to me. A man’s voice said, “Stay quiet.”
I opened my eyes. He was wearing the robes of the Simerian businessmen, a fez sitting uncomfortably on his thick blond hair.
“I think we can talk here,” he said in a low, familiar voice. “But we have to be cautious. This disguise gets less convincing every time you see it.”