There was no weapon inside the bags that the bandmaster had sent on board. Nor was there a message. There didn’t seem to be anything in them except pastries. Goldie watched as Cord ate his way through them, his jaw working with a mad and violent purpose.
‘Um— Cord?’ said Smudge, eyeing the children uneasily. ‘Are we really gunna – you know?’
‘Yep,’ said Cord, through a mouthful of pastry.
Bonnie
‘All three of ’em? Do we ’ave to?’
‘’Oo’s the boss ’ere, Smudge? You or me?’
‘You, Cord!’
‘And don’t you forget it.’
As the Piglet surged towards the edge of the bay, the wind began to pick up and the clouds lowered. Above the children’s heads the rigging cracked against the mast.
Goldie stared at the clouds, hoping to catch some sign of Morg. Had the slaughterbird been driven away by Cord’s gun? Or was she still up there somewhere?
Whichever it was, she could not help them. The children were at the mercy of a man who was about to throw them to the sharks.
Right up until that minute, Goldie had been able to hold her growing fear at bay. But now it sidled up to her and showed its pointed teeth. Her lip trembled. She closed her eyes, unable to bear the thought of what was coming.
Deep inside her, Frisia’s voice whispered, A warrior learns to see past her fear.
Goldie swallowed. Herro Dan had once said something similar. Something about treating your fear politely, and doing what you had to do in spite of it.
She took a deep breath. ‘Mouse,’ she whispered. ‘Could your pets chew through my ropes?’
The small boy nodded.
‘Mine too,’ murmured Toadspit.
Mouse whistled softly, and the front of his jacket rippled. Tiny feet ran down Goldie’s arm. The ropes around her chest twitched.
Goldie leaned back against the mast, breathing hard. So. It looked as if they could get free of their ropes. But what then? They were still trapped. Cord had his pistol; Smudge had Frisia’s sword. They were both grown men and very strong, and there was no way that the children could beat them in a direct fight.
In the back of her mind Frisia whispered, Know your enemy . . .
Cord brushed the last of the crumbs from his lips. Then he stood up and stretched until his joints cracked. ‘Better let them sharks know we’re comin’,’ he said.
He lurched towards the children. Mouse hummed under his breath, and his pets ran down the mast and disappeared. Goldie stood as straight as she could, hoping desperately that Cord wouldn’t notice the half-chewed ropes.
But Cord didn’t even glance at the two older children. Instead, he untied Mouse, scruffed him by the neck of his jacket and began to drag him towards the ship’s rail.
For one terrible moment, Goldie thought that Cord was going to throw the little boy overboard, right there and then. She cried out in protest at the same time as Toadspit shouted, ‘No!’
The rigging above their heads rattled. The covered dinghy squawked in its cradle. The cat peered out from behind it and hissed.
Cord picked up a bucket and thrust it into Mouse’s hand. When the boy flinched away from the smell, Cord whacked him across the ears. ‘Toss that muck over the side,’ he said. ‘A bit at a time.’
Mouse didn’t move. Cord took out his pistol and tapped it against the little boy’s cheek. ‘Or if you’d rather,’ he said, ‘I could toss you over.’
Slowly Mouse dipped his fingers into the bucket, pulled out a handful of fish guts, and flung them over the ship’s rail. Cord’s jaw did a furious little dance, as if he was disappointed not to have an excuse to kill someone. The cat slunk out from behind the dinghy and crouched at Goldie’s feet. The mice renewed their assault on the ropes.
Goldie felt a spot of rain on her face, and looked up. The clouds were drawing in and the morning was growing darker. In the back of her mind, Frisia’s voice whispered, Sometimes the best place to hide is in the midst of the enemy’s camp.
‘What?’
Sometimes the best place to hide . . .
Goldie looked at the clouds again, at the way they shadowed the deck. Oh, she thought. Of course!
She leaned towards Toadspit. ‘Imitation of Nothingness,’ she breathed.
Toadspit stared at her. ‘But what’s the—’ Then he, too, understood.
At first, Goldie found it almost impossible to settle her mind. Fear needled at her. The ship surged up the face of a wave and plunged down the other side. Her ropes twitched under the onslaught of half a dozen tiny sets of teeth.
Then, just as her mind was at last becoming still, something scraped against the side of the ship. Mouse yelped and leaped back from the rail.
A red spot showed on each of Cord’s cheeks. He laughed viciously. ‘Looks like the nice sharkies are keen to make yer acquaintance, boy. Why don’t ya say ’ullo to ’em? Go on. Lean over the rail and send ’em yer best regards.’
Mouse cowered away from him.
‘I said, lean over the rail!’
The little boy shot a look of sheer terror at Goldie. She looked back helplessly. Beside her, Toadspit shifted his weight as if he was bracing for a fight. ‘Go on, Mouse,’ he called. ‘Tell them we’re going to have shark stew for dinner tonight.’
‘Brave words, Toadboy,’ sneered Cord. ‘I betcha don’t sound so clever when you’re slidin’ down a shark’s gullet.’
Mouse took a shaky step towards the rail and leaned over the side. ‘Now,’ whispered Toadspit. ‘While Cord’s watching him.’
Goldie closed her eyes and did her best to block out everything – the ship, the sharks, Mouse’s fear, her own dread of what was coming. She drew in a deep breath and let it out again.
I am nothing. I am the wind in the rigging . . .
Her mind began to drift outwards. She could feel the quick heartbeats of the mice, like sparks encircling her body. And the cat, glowing like a hot coal on the deck beside her.
I am the smell of the sea. I am the taste of salt water . . .
She could feel Bonnie, crouched in a corner of the hold, her mind fierce and bright. And Toadspit, and Mouse, and Cord and Smudge—
And— And someone else! There was someone else on the Piglet! Someone hiding in the dinghy. But who was it? And why . . .
Another shark scraped against the hull. Goldie could feel its hunger, as pitiless as a sword’s edge. She shuddered. And opened her eyes.
Toadspit was no longer there beside her.
Or at least, he was there, but not one person in ten thousand could have seen him.
Smudge’s shocked cry came sooner than she expected. ‘Hey, Cord, they’re— They’re gone!’
Goldie felt Toadspit quiver beside her. She forced herself to breathe so slowly that the air itself hardly knew she was there. As Cord’s boots pounded across the deck, she stood as still as death.
I am nothing. I am the memory of nothing. I am the smell and taste of nothing . . .
Cord skidded to a halt some distance away. His pistol was in his hand and his teeth were bared. ‘They musta had another knife. You idjit, Smudge! I told ya to search ’em.’
‘I did, Cord. I promise I did.’
Cord’s sharp face swung from side to side, searching the deck. Goldie felt his eyes pass over her. Once. Twice.
I am nothing . . . nothing . . . nothing . . .
‘They gotta be ’ere somewhere,’ muttered Cord. ‘Shouldn’t be too hard to find ’em. And when I do—’
He strode up the deck, kicking at the folded sails with his foot. When he came to the bow he turned around and glared at everyone and everything. Mouse shrank back against the rail.
‘Wherever yez are, ya little snots,’ Cord shouted, ‘I’m gunna find yez. Yez’re gunna be sorry that yez tried to mess with me.’
Suddenly the ropes around Goldie loosened. Tiny paws scampered down the mast and disappeared. The cat began to clean itself with a calm tongue.
Goldie drew in a silent breath. Toadspit was free too. She felt him slip away from the mast.
‘Cord?’ said Smudge, shaking his big head uneasily. ‘I did search ’em. I don’t think they did ’ave another knife.’
Cord ignored him. He was working his way down the other side of the deck now, poking into every corner. Goldie saw Mouse glance at the dinghy, his face a mask of terror.
‘I dunno how they got outta them ropes.’ Smudge rolled his eyes. ‘D’ya think it’s some sorta magic? Some sorta demon magic? Do ya?’
Know your enemy.
Very carefully, Goldie squatted down until her mouth was right next to the cat’s ear. ‘Cat,’ she breathed. ‘We need something that looks like magic. Now.’
For a moment the cat didn’t move. Then it stood up, yawned hugely and began to stalk towards the deckhouse with its ragged tail held high.
Cord kicked over a barrel with his foot. Nothing. With a grimace of fury he strode towards the dinghy. But just as his hand gripped the tarpaulin, there was a horrified yelp from the deckhouse. ‘Cord! It’s lookin’ at me!’
Cord stopped. ‘What are ya talkin’ about?’
‘The demon cat! It’s lookin’ at me!’
The cat was indeed looking at Smudge. It stalked towards him, its fierce eyes fixed on his face. He let go of the tiller and backed away, sword in hand. Goldie braced herself against the mast. The ship lurched, and Smudge fell over.
Immediately a dozen white mice swarmed out of the hatch behind him, each one with a scrap of old gazette in its teeth. They dropped the bits of paper beside his head and scuttled away again.
‘Cord,’ groaned Smudge. ‘It’s magic. I told ya.’
‘Don’t be stupid,’ snapped Cord. ‘You’ve seen them mice before. They belong to the snotty, the little ’un.’
Smudge shook his head. ‘The cat made ’em do it. It’s magic.’ He picked up one of the scraps of paper and his mouth fell open. ‘Look what it says. Death. And this one. Died. And this one. Dead man. It’s me fortune, Cord. They’ve told me fortune. I’m gunna die. Just like Flense.’
Cord snarled, ‘It’s not you who’s gunna die, idjit. It’s the snotties. Pull yerself together.’
Goldie drifted closer to Smudge. As she passed him, she whispered in his ear, ‘Poor Smudge, dead and gone.’
Smudge flinched and leaped to his feet. ‘Who said that?’
‘Who said what?’ growled Cord.
A shadow drifted past Smudge on the other side. Goldie heard Toadspit whisper, ‘Deeeaaad and goooone.’
Smudge jabbed at the air with his sword. ‘Don’t you come near me,’ he said in a quavering voice. ‘I don’t want no ghostie magic near me.’
Cord strode down the deck and grabbed the big man by the arm. ‘What’s the matter with ya, talkin’ to thin air? You smarten yerself up, Smudge. We got a job to do ’ere, and we’re gunna do it. Now git that tiller and bring us back on course or I’ll chuck you overboard.’
Smudge gulped. His eyes rolled in his head, and he gripped the sword with white fingers. But Cord’s words had had their desired effect. He took the tiller again, one-handed, and brought the Piglet back on course.
Cord watched him for a minute or two, then disappeared around the back of the deckhouse, muttering to himself and poking his pistol into every corner.
As soon as he had gone, Goldie drifted closer to the tiller. ‘Hooow did Smuuuudge diiiieee?’ she whispered. ‘Hooooow did he diiiieeee?’
‘Shut up,’ mumbled Smudge. ‘I’m not listenin’ to ghosties. Cord says you’re not real.’
‘Hooow did he diiiiieeee?’ crooned Toadspit.
The cat flicked its tail and flattened its ears against its skull. ‘Drooooowned,’ it wailed.
‘No!’ cried Smudge.
‘Yer testin’ me patience, Smudge,’ roared Cord from behind the deckhouse.
There was a squeal from the rigging. Goldie looked up. The mice were strung along the lines like little white signal flags. ‘Dreeewn, dreeewn, dreewn,’ they squeaked in chorus.
At the same time there was a clap of wings overhead and Morg dropped out of the clouds. ‘Dro-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-wned,’ she cawed, and her great claws slashed at the air near Smudge’s head.
Smudge waved his sword wildly. Cord fired a shot, but the slaughterbird was already gone.
‘Cord!’ cried Smudge. ‘We gotta turn back. I’m gunna drown. The ghosties said so!’
‘It’s not ghosties; it’s the snotties,’ hissed Cord through gritted teeth. ‘Where are they? They gotta be ’ere somewhere.’
‘I’m gunna drown!’
‘When I catch ’em,’ said Cord, ‘you can stick that stupid sword through ’em. Then you’ll see they’re not ghosties.’
Goldie crept up behind the big man. ‘Pooor Smuuuuudge,’ she crooned. ‘Stabbed himself with a swooooord.’
Smudge spun around. He raised the sword, then stared at it uncertainly. His hand shook. On the other side of him, Toadspit whispered, ‘With a swoooord.’
‘Swoooooooord,’ wailed the cat, its tail thrashing from side to side.
A black feather drifted down and landed on the deck in front of Smudge. ‘Swo-o-o-o-o-o-o-rd,’ cried Morg from inside the clouds.
‘Sweeerd, sweeerd,’ squeaked the mice, jumping up and down in the rigging.
‘No!’ cried Smudge, and he flung the sword away with all his strength.
As it hit the deck, someone screamed. Goldie swung around. While she and Toadspit had been tormenting Smudge, Cord must have crept past them and grabbed Mouse. Now the little boy teetered on the ship’s rail with his legs dangling over the side and his face as white as chalk. Cord held him by one arm.
Beneath him the sea boiled with heavy grey bodies.
‘I know yez’re here somewhere,’ shouted Cord. ‘Now git yerselves out into the open quick smart, or I’ll let go of ’im.’
Goldie stood frozen to the spot. Whatever she did next, Mouse would die. If she and Toadspit stayed hidden, he would die in the next few seconds. If they showed themselves, he would still die. They would all die – it would just happen a bit later.
In the back of her mind, Frisia whispered, As long as you are alive, the battle is not lost.
Goldie nodded. The princess was right. They must save the little boy now. As long as he was still alive – as long as they were all still alive – there was a skerrick of hope.
She took a deep breath and let the Nothingness slide away. A moment later Toadspit flickered into view close by.
Cord hissed with satisfaction. His pistol swung up to cover them. ‘Ya see?’ he growled at Smudge. ‘No ghosties. Now git that sword.’
Smudge didn’t move. ‘Let’s take ’em back to the city, Cord, and let ’em go. You can tell Harrow they got away.’
‘Shut up,’ said Cord. ‘I’ve ’ad enough of you. In fact—’ he shook Mouse until the little boy whimpered, ‘—I’ve ’ad enough of everyone on this ship. I reckon it’s time to do the business. And we’ll start with this one.’
He shifted his grip on Mouse’s arm, as if he was about to push the boy overboard. Goldie took a quick step forward. ‘Wait!’ she said. ‘There’s something you should know.’
She had no idea what she was going to say. Toadspit was standing a little way behind her, as helpless as she was. Neither of them could get closer, not without endangering Mouse. She did not know how they could save the little boy, or themselves.
‘What?’ growled Cord.
Goldie racked her brain. For some reason, she kept thinking about Frisia’s sword. But that was lying on the other side of the deck. If one of them tried to grab it, Cord would just shoot them.
There was Bonnie, of course. But what could Bonnie do? She was as helpless as Goldie and Toadspit.
Or was she?
Like a flash of light, Goldie saw herself standing on the docks at Merne, when she was still a princess and Bonnie was Uschi, a girl who longed to go to war with her brother. A girl who was almost as good an archer as Frisia.
‘Here, put these in my cabin.’
The sword had come out of the Lie into the real world. What if Frisia’s bow and quiver had done the same?
Goldie had no way of knowing. Just as she had no way of knowing whether Bonnie and the person hiding in the dinghy would understand what she was about to say. And whether they could act quickly enough.
All she could do was hope. She took another step forward.
‘None of yer tricks,’ snapped Cord, raising his pistol. The ship rolled from side to side. Mouse clutched the rail with desperate hands.
‘I haven’t got any tricks left,’ said Goldie. Toadspit shifted his feet, and she knew that he had heard the lie in her voice. Behind her back, her hands twitched in fingertalk. ‘Be ready!’
‘But if Princess Frisia were here,’ she said loudly, ‘she’d have some tricks. She was a famous archer.’
‘What?’ sneered Cord. ‘You think that old Lie’s gunna save ya? It won’t help you a second time, will it, boy?’
He gave Mouse a push, so that the little boy almost fell off the rail. Mouse cried out. His legs scrabbled in mid-air.
Cord laughed.
‘If Princess Frisia were here,’ Goldie cried quickly, ‘she’d shoot that pistol out of your hand!’
She and Toadspit dived for the deck just in time. An arrow whistled over their heads. It hit Cord’s pistol full square, knocking it out of his hand. He yelped with surprise – and let go of Mouse.
The little boy clung to the rail, screaming. His legs flailed. The ship rolled. His hands began to slip . . .
Goldie leaped to her feet and flew across the deck faster than she had ever run before. As Mouse slid over the side of the ship, she grabbed his arm and clung to him with all her strength.
Cord was already diving for his pistol. Out of the corner of her eye Goldie saw Toadspit try to beat him to it and knew that he would not make it in time.
Then she heard a shout of rage, and someone burst out of the dinghy and jumped onto Cord’s back.
It was Pounce.
Cord fell to the deck under the sudden weight, his hand still grasping for the pistol. He missed, and it slid across the boards towards Goldie. She kicked it into the scuppers.
But the force of that kick loosened her grip on Mouse’s arm. He began to slide away from her. ‘Toadspit!’ she screamed.
Toadspit raced across the deck and grabbed the little boy’s other arm. Together, they pulled him up the side of the ship and over the rail to safety. Then they fell onto the wet boards in a heap.
But they could not rest for long. Nearby, Pounce was fighting for his life. He kicked and punched and bit with a ferocious cunning, but Goldie could see that he was no match for Cord. The sharp-faced man was gradually forcing him to the deck.
She saw the sword, still lying where Smudge had thrown it. A part of her yearned to grab it and wield it. A greater part of her felt sick at the thought.
But she had to do something. She stood up and edged towards the sword.
‘Hey!’ shouted Smudge, and he let go of the tiller. But before he could reach Goldie, Morg dropped from the clouds. Smudge screamed with fright and fell flat on his face, covering his head with his hands. The slaughterbird stalked around him, jabbing at him with her beak.
Goldie heard a cry from Mouse. Cord was kneeling over Pounce with his arm wrapped around the boy’s neck. Pounce wriggled and kicked, but he could not get away, and his face was slowly turning blue.
Toadspit took an uncertain step towards him. Goldie gritted her teeth and reached for the sword.
But as she did so, she felt a rush of wings, and Morg flew up into the rigging. Goldie hesitated, her fingers an inch from the sword’s hilt. Above her head, the slaughterbird began to raise and lower her great wings.
Flap. Flap-flap. Flap.
There was a sudden stillness on the deck. The wind and the waves dropped away to nothing. The clouds were so low that they touched the top of the mast. The only sound, apart from the throb of the engine, was Morg’s wings, beating out the rhythm of an ancient song.
Flap. Flap-flap. Flap.
Flap. Flap-flap. Flap.
The air around the Piglet flickered. Cord grunted. Then he let go of Pounce and staggered to his feet. The movement seemed to make him dizzy. He leaned against the rail, holding his fists out in front of him.
‘I’m gunna kill yez all,’ he growled.
Smudge sat up, keeping a careful eye on Morg. Pounce rubbed his neck. Goldie heard a whisper of sound, and the cat brushed past her, its gaze as cold as the winter moon. The mice followed it, and formed a semicircle around Cord. Despite their small size, there was something pitiless about them, as if they had made a judgement and were there to see it carried out.
The air fizzed and swirled around them.
It’s a Big Lie, thought Goldie. Morg has summoned a Big Lie!
Above her head the slaughterbird’s wings kept up a steady rhythm. The clouds drifted lower, until they nearly touched the deck.
Cord drew in a sharp breath. ‘Oho, so it’s you, is it, Bungle?’ he muttered. He jabbed at the clouds with his fists. ‘Come on then. Come and get yer face rearranged.’
Bonnie’s voice breathed in Goldie’s ear. ‘Who’s he talking to?’
‘I don’t know,’ whispered Goldie. The air flickered again, and the clouds took on the outline of a man.
‘You was always a weakling, Bungle,’ said Cord. ‘Weak and slow.’ He laughed. ‘Not like me.’
Smudge dragged himself to his feet, keeping well away from the cat and mice. ‘Cord? Whatcha doin’? Bungle’s dead. Ya slit ’is throat five years ago.’
Cord didn’t hear him. ‘Ya can’t fool me, Bungle,’ he cried. ‘I see ya!’ And he lashed out again with his fists.
Goldie stared at the cat and the mice. One of them must have asked a question. What was it? she wondered.
Frisia’s whisper came as sharp as salt spray in the back of her mind. When will this man pay for his crimes?
Goldie shivered. And the answer?
Now . . .
Suddenly Cord’s dizziness seemed to leave him. With all his old sureness, he jumped up onto the Piglet’s rail. He wrapped one arm around the rigging and threw his head back. ‘Ya think ya can git away from me?’ he bellowed. ‘No one gits away from Cord. I’m comin’ after ya, Bungle!’
Smudge stared at him in alarm. ‘Watcha doin’, Cord? Don’t forget the sharks! Cord? The sharks!’
But Cord did not hear him. He didn’t seem to hear anything, except perhaps the voice of a vengeful ghost in his head. With a fierce shout, he leaped overboard.
For a moment Goldie almost thought he might survive. He swam across the very tops of the waves, barely touching the water. There was no sign of the sharks.
But then he stopped, as if he had hit an invisible wall. The water around him boiled. He gave one single desperate cry.
And was gone.