7
Into the Darkness
The personal history between Fish and the pirate known as Scab was relatively brief and horribly unpleasant. Fish had first met the man back in Ireland, when Scab and Nate had stolen a purse he’d been ordered to deliver. He’d followed the pair onto the Scurvy Mistress, and for the next six weeks, as the ship had crossed the ocean in search of the Chain of Chuacar, Scab had done everything in his power to make Fish’s journey as miserable as possible. He’d kicked him, taunted him, forced him to smell the crevices between his toes, launched absolutely vile gobs of mucus at the back of his head, and attempted to end his life on numerous occasions. Each time, Fish had refused to fight back, which had only made the pirate angrier. To Scab, a kid who would not carry a weapon was an insult to every pirate who’d ever sailed the seas. And yet it was Fish who had eventually triumphed over the mutinous rogue. When Scab had tried to take control of the Scurvy Mistress, Fish had stopped him without fighting back.
Now Scab had returned to torture him.
Fish didn’t have time to climb over the railing and onto the deck before Scab charged forward and kicked him in the chest. Instantly Fish lost his grip, his balance, his breath. He fell backward and landed in the water with a painful smack. Strong hands grabbed him again.
“Sorry, lad!” Scab yelled. “An honest accident!”
The lying rogue could barely squeeze the words out through his laughter.
“You’re insufferable,” the pirate beside him replied.
This time Fish climbed slowly, hand over hand, but Scab did not strike him when he reached the top of the ladder. Nor did he hit him when Fish set his bare feet on the grimy wood of the deck. Fish spotted the Scurvy Mistress—the two ships were still lashed together—but the fighting had stopped. No shouts or clashing blades rang out. Either they’d agreed to a truce or the crew of the Scurvy Mistress, including Moravius, had been swiftly and completely routed. He hoped Daniel and Nora were safe. Yet it was difficult to continue thinking of his friends; Scab was massaging his gnarled hands in front of his chin as if he were warming up his fists to pummel Fish into a paste.
Quickly Fish studied his surroundings. There were few places to hide, few obstacles to use in his defense. And the water was no longer a possible escape, as the swimmer would probably fish him right back out of the harbor. The deck of the brigantine was both longer and wider than that of the Scurvy Mistress. A launch was rigged to the larboard side, ready to be lowered into the water at a moment’s notice, and he guessed the ship could house a hundred pirates at least. Yet only a few were gathered before him—Scab and the swimmer, who’d just climbed up, plus the sword-bearing woman and an utterly unremarkable rogue. A long line of rats crossed over from the Mistress, but none of the pirates seemed particularly bothered.
Fish leaned to his left for a clear view of the deck of the Mistress. He didn’t see Daniel, Nora, or Carlo. Yet Noah, Foot, Knot, Bat, Reginald Swift, Sammy the Stomach, and all the rest were kneeling weaponless in the center of the deck, surrounded by six other pirates. Two more rogues guarded a kneeling, bound Moravius. The raiders were waving their cutlasses menacingly.
Fish looked over his left shoulder, then his right.
A spray of spit blanketed the side of his face. Leaning in closer, Scab laughed gleefully as Fish wiped his cheek with the back of his hand. The rogue’s ringed lips were blistered, and Fish could feel the heat of his breath as Scab gripped his shirt and growled, “You’ve nowhere to run, guppy. You should’ve ended me when you had the chance.”
There in the dark, with the brutal buccaneer in his face, and his friends surrounded, Fish understood the logic of his words. Any other pirate would have killed Scab. But to Fish, even considering such violence was wrong. He’d saved Scab’s life and he’d do it again. And yet it wasn’t as if he’d left the rogue resting in a comfortable bed. When Fish had last seen him, Scab had been drifting away in a launch without oars with only his ally Thimble and the treasure hunter Lady Swift for company.
“I don’t understand,” Fish said. “How did you—”
“Survive?” Scab asked. “After Thimble, the sea hag, and I were picked up by this crew, we happened across a man-of-war, which might have been the end of all of us if that vile old treasure hunter hadn’t done such a wonderful impersonation of a society lady. She convinced the admiral on board that we’d saved her life. She saved our lives, I suppose.”
Fish felt a chill as he thought of the merciless treasure hunter. The reappearance of Lady Swift was the only thing that could make this evening worse. He guessed her son, Reginald, wouldn’t be thrilled to see her, either.
“Are they here with you?” Fish asked.
“No, no. She and Thimble decided to sail back to civilization with the navy. Once they’re finished hauling up all that gold you discovered and giving it to the queen, of course.”
Now Fish was suddenly weak.
His heart sank like a stone.
His chance at riches was gone. His opportunity to prove to his parents and his family that they’d been right to trust in him? Vanished. Of course he’d known the risk when they had left. Yet a small part of him had hoped they might be able to return and reclaim the treasure. Now that hope had been squashed. And what of Cobb and Melinda? Did Scab know what had happened to Nate? Fish gulped. He was too afraid to inquire.
The rogue’s hot breath pulsed against his cheek. “What do you want from me?” Fish asked at last.
The question was meant for Scab, but the sword-bearing woman answered instead. “It’s not you I want. You’re merely a little gift for my first mate.”
Scab growled, “What I want—”
“Scab!” the woman roared. “You interrupted me!”
The pirate’s shoulders sank. He held up his hands as he faced the woman. “I’m sorry, I—”
Her eyes were digging hard into Scab. The enormous sword she’d been wielding earlier was now sheathed at her back. Fish could see the hilt sticking up at an angle just above her left shoulder. “What was that? Speak clearly, please.”
Eyes cast down at the grimy deck, Scab repeated, “I’m sorry.”
He was what? Fish never thought he’d hear the rogue utter such words.
“You’re sorry . . .”
Fish chilled—the countess! This was the woman Captain Risden had mentioned. And it was this ship’s captain that Carlo had said he feared. Now Fish knew they were one and the same.
“Ah, much better. Now, Fish, Scab tells me you’re a fine swimmer. Is that right?”
He was still backed against the side of the ship. Was she going to kick him into the water again? While her tone was friendly, almost soothing, there was a frightening edge that suggested it would be a very, very bad idea to disobey one of her orders or ignore one of her questions. Then there was the matter of how her small band of pirates—for this was clearly her operation—had subdued Moravius and the men of the Scurvy Mistress with apparent ease. They might not have been large in number, but they were undoubtedly formidable foes.
“Is that right?” she repeated.
Fish shrugged. “Yes, I suppose so.”
“Wonderful, wonderful. I need strong swimmers. Divers especially. I had six. Now I only have one! And Egbert”—she pointed her thumb at the man from the water—“is aging rapidly.”
The swimmer in question was standing behind her. “I’m right here,” Egbert interrupted, “and I’m not that old.”
The countess ignored him. “You can hold your breath?”
Fish hesitated. “Underwater? Yes. For a while.”
The countess placed her hands on his shoulders. “Not very muscular, are you? That will come. What do you say?”
Fish wasn’t certain how to respond—he didn’t actually know what she was asking him. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand. Who are you? And what am I doing here?”
“Of course! I haven’t even introduced myself. I am Countess Marie de Bornholdt. This beautiful brigantine is the Rat Queen, and you, my aquatic friend, are going to help us track down a treasure, the retrieval of which requires diving.”
“Countess!”
The woman spun to her left. “Yes, Pockets?”
This pirate’s name required no explanation. Numerous cloth compartments had been sewn onto his shirt and pants, and each was stuffed with various items. Fish noticed the handles of a few tools poking out of one, papers in another, and what looked like overripe bananas emerging from a third. That was all on his right leg. The left was similarly laden. He was thickly built, too, and perfectly bald. “We found him!” Pockets announced proudly. Behind the pirate, three sailors dragged Daniel, Nora, and Carlo across the deck. “He was with these children up on the quarterdeck. There was another sailor and a big fellow protecting them, too—”
“Moravius,” Scab grumbled.
“Aye,” Pockets replied. “That’s what they called him. His heart is as big as his head, though. Scab told us all we had to do was threaten to harm one of these little children, and he gave up without a fight.”
“We’re not children,” Nora insisted.
Pockets pushed the ponytailed sailor forward. Carlo stumbled, then righted himself. His voice was soft as he addressed the captain. “Good evening, Countess.”
Fish glanced at Nora and Daniel—neither had any fresh bruises or cuts. If anything, Nora looked poised to inflict a wound or two on their captors.
“Carlo, my dear!” the countess declared. “I’m so very happy to see that you are alive and well.”
The sailor looked genuinely surprised. “You are?”
She grasped him by the shoulders, smiling, then released him. “I am! Would you like to know why?”
Holding up his hands, Carlo backed away as if she were going to strike him. “I told you everything I know.”
“Yes, yes, and I believe you! I am so very sorry for leaving you on that island for so many weeks.”
“Weeks? I was there for years!”
“Really? Fascinating. Time certainly does fly when one is hunting treasure. But don’t worry your little head, Carlo; I haven’t tracked you down to ask the same old questions. I know how to find the shores of Utopia.”
The small group of pirates fell silent. Fish glanced at Nora and Daniel. He wished he’d had the chance to tell them what he’d learned from Risden.
“You know how to find utopia?” Carlo asked.
“Indeed,” the countess replied. “And I need your help. Didn’t you say that your father was always trying to get you to study in the family library back in Venice?”
The question seemed to infuse Carlo with bitterness. “Yes! Always! And I can tell you, it was infuriating. The man had no respect for dancing or my need for sleep. All he wanted me to do was read, read, read.”
“Precisely!” the countess replied with a laugh. Then, lowering her voice, she added, “And if you had listened, you might have stumbled across the book Utopia by Sir Thomas More.”
“It’s a book?”
Fish glanced at Moravius; the pirate appeared to be listening.
“Yes, it’s a book. We raided a lovely frigate a few months back and the captain had a voluminous library. I’m rather omnivorous intellectually, and of course I do love to steal, so I scoured the shelves for interesting titles, and what did I find but Utopia! You can imagine my excitement. I read it cover to cover before concluding that it’s not the contents of the book which matter so much as your father’s copy. The one in his library. If we are to think of the book itself as an island, then the shores would be alongside the volume, on the shelf. We might find the map there.”
“That was my idea,” Pockets noted proudly.
The formerly marooned sailor looked suddenly sick. “All I had to do was read?”
“Or just check the shelves!” the countess noted. “Did you even peruse the library?”
“I danced past it on occasion.”
“Well, now you are going to lead us there, Carlo, and then we are going to find the Ship with Emerald Eyes together!”
Carlo gulped. “Together?”
The countess turned to Pockets. “Now, why have you brought along these children?”
“We need more hands,” the pirate explained, “and children take up less space.”
Fish watched Nora clench her jaw.
The countess upended her sword and jabbed the tip of the blade into the deck, then leaned on the handle. She looked back and forth between Daniel and Nora, studying each with intensity. “Toss them overboard,” she decided.
“No!” Fish blurted out. “You could send them back to the Scurvy Mistress.”
The countess considered this quietly. Her pirates were picking up the iron hooks they’d used to attach the two boats. One of the men aboard the Scurvy Mistress started to douse the sails with liquid from a brown bottle. Fish guessed they planned to set the canvas on fire.
Scab angrily brandished his blade. “Leave her alone,” he roared at the pirate. “That’s my old ship.”
“Your sad little sloop will be just fine,” the countess replied. “We’re merely burning her sails.”
Growling, Scab lowered his weapon.
“He said you need crew,” Nora noted, motioning to Pockets.
“Nora and I are as good as four tired old pirates,” Daniel added.
“Five,” Nora boasted.
What were they doing? Fish was trying to get them off this ship. He was trying to save them—even a battered Scurvy Mistress would be better. Yet his friends were arguing their way aboard. And it was working, too. A slight smile suggested the countess admired Nora’s confidence.
“I already have Fish. I’m not running a school for treasure hunters. This is serious business.”
“We are serious young people,” Nora replied.
The countess pointed to Nora. “You’re far too pretty.”
Nora grimaced at the insult and, in one rapid motion, she removed a small blade from its hiding place at her hip and flung it underhand across the deck. The knife spun through the night air and pierced the top of an unsuspecting pirate’s hat. The rogue stood there for a moment, wide-eyed and frozen, before turning to see his tricorn pinned to the mast.
“Delightful! And you?” the countess asked Daniel.
“I’m more of a jack-of-all-trades. Sailor, navigator, reader, writer—”
“A writer? Interesting. You could write about me. My story desperately needs to be told.”
Nodding along, Daniel cleverly replied, “I hope to write about all the great pirates and treasure hunters.”
He’d never said as much to Fish, but if it was a lie, it was a brilliant one. The countess was smitten.
“You must include me.”
“We are running perilously short of crew, Countess,” Pockets added. “We’ll need at least a dozen to safely sail this ship across the ocean, and more if you think you might throw someone else overboard en route.”
“Of course I’ll throw someone overboard! I always do.”
Another pirate addressed Fish as if he were confiding in him. “It’s true.”
“You’ve seen that I can fight,” Nora added, “and I can cook, too.”
“Everyone on the Rat Queen can cook. Tonight I believe it’s Pockets’s turn.”
“I’m making my famous beetle stew,” he noted with pride.
The countess winced. Nora responded quickly, “I can make a delicious stew without beetles.”
“The beetles make the stew!” Pockets protested. “They add a nice crunch.”
“Daniel can sail,” Scab growled, as if it pained him to admit the boy had talent. “He has sharp eyes. I don’t trust these three, Countess, but if I had to pick one, I’d choose this boy. Daniel will be valuable if we’re to whisk this brigantine across the sea.”
The countess nodded. “Very well. And we can always throw one or two of them overboard once we reach our destination. Speaking of which, when was the last time we tossed someone over the side?”
“It has been weeks, Countess,” Pockets replied. Squinting, she scanned her crew. Then she pointed her sword at the pirate who’d lost his hat to Nora’s knife. “Shall we throw Chip?”
The victim pointed his thumb in the direction of a tall, thin pirate. “How about Tim?”
“Not me! I just sharpened your sword, Countess,” Tim replied, “and you said the other day that no one polishes a pair of boots like good ol’ Tim.”
The countess slid one boot out in front of her and studied it briefly. The boot, Fish noticed, had iron heels. “You have a point, Tim. Goodbye, Chip,” she said. “Fair winds to you.”
Scab and Pockets rushed the buccaneer. A justifiably panicked Chip dashed away across the deck and up onto the railing. “What about my sea chest?” he asked.
A very relieved Tim rushed into the cabin at the stern and returned with a sizable wooden chest. After a nod from the countess, he hurled it over the side. “There you go,” she replied.
“Might I have the launch, too?” Chip pressed.
“You’re lucky you have your life!” the countess roared.
And with that, Chip ran nimbly down the length of the narrow wooden rail and leaped off the boat. Fish started toward the water. He could hear splashing. Although he hadn’t even met the pirate formally, he couldn’t let Chip drown.
The flat of a blade on his right shoulder stopped him. “Where might you be going?” the countess asked.
“To save Chip,” Fish replied.
“He’s a donkey.”
This was not an effective insult, since Fish liked donkeys very much. A neighboring family had two of the animals on their farm, and he’d always been fond of feeding them carrots. He could still hear Chip flailing. Never mind that the pirate was a total stranger; Fish had to help him. “I’ll swim him to safety,” Fish suggested. “That’s all.”
The splashing stopped. The countess peered over the side into the water. “He’s fine. Right, Egbert?”
The swimming pirate peered over the edge. “He’ll live. His sea chest is floating nicely, and he’s got a good grip. They’re very reliable flotation devices. He can kick his way to shore.”
The last of the raiders were leaping back onboard now, the Rat Queen drifting away from the Scurvy Mistress. One of the pirates struck a match and held it to the sails. Flames spread quickly up and across the canvas as the remains of the crew of the Mistress struggled against their bindings, helpless. Or so it seemed, anyway. Fish remembered that Knot had rejoined them, and it appeared the pirate had already freed his wrists and was working to do the same for Noah. Fortunately, the crew of the Rat Queen was too preoccupied with their departure to notice. The oars of the brigantine were in the water already, and the ship was moving steadily toward the mouth of the harbor.
Yet the countess remained fixated on Fish’s attempt to save Chip. “Why would you risk helping him?” she asked. “He’s a miserable wretch who would trade your life for as little as a warm bowl of stew.”
“Beetle stew!” added Tim.
Fish shrugged. “He still doesn’t deserve to drown.”
“Fish saved Scab, too,” added Daniel.
“Twice,” Nora noted.
The former first mate of the Mistress growled.
“How commendable, Fish!” the countess declared. “Let’s award you a medal, shall we? I have one around here somewhere. Ah, yes,” she said, reaching into one of the pockets of her coat. “Here it is.” She held up an imaginary medal and pretended to place it around Fish’s neck. He played along with the game, pitching his head forward slightly, keeping his eyes focused on the countess. This proved to be a good choice, as the pirate suddenly grabbed him by the ears, pulled down, and tried to slam her knee into his nose. He twisted. Her knee skimmed off the side of his forehead.
Although Fish didn’t like to fight, he didn’t appreciate being pummeled, either. With Daniel’s help, he’d mastered the art of not-fighting, or dodging punches and kicks as a means of wearing out his opponent. This time, however, he’d reacted too late. Even that glancing blow from her knee was painful. Lights flashed before him. He stumbled back. The countess burst into laughter. He was still gathering himself when she grabbed him again by his hair. He tried to pull free, but she was far too strong.
“Now, Fish,” the countess continued, “while I would love to introduce you to the particulars of our ship and her delightful but admittedly unusual crew, I made a promise to Scab here. When I picked this soaked and sunburned sailor out of the sea a few weeks back, I told him that if he would be my first mate and help me sail across the ocean, I’d give him what he wanted. Would you like to know what he asked for in return?”
Fish froze as Scab’s stare landed on him. Then the pirate smiled, showing his brown and broken teeth, before answering, “Revenge.”
Grabbing him by the forearms, Scab dragged Fish along the deck as if he were a rag doll. He slammed and skinned his knees; one began bleeding. All the energy drained from his limp body. The tops of his feet brushed against the grimy planks. A few steps short of the bow, there was a square grate set into the deck. Pockets crouched down and lifted the hatch. Scab stood behind Fish, holding him by the shoulders. His hot, rancid breath pushed through the hair on the back of Fish’s head. The pirate’s thick fingers pressed into his thin muscles; he was certain Scab could crush his bones to powder. Finally, Scab picked him up, held him over the opening, and dropped Fish into the darkness of the hold.