The Pirates and the Nightmaker (8 page)

‘I believe,’ said Sophie, ‘that Mr Wicker desires a particular astrolabe, a very particular astrolabe.’

‘There must be something about this astrolabe, then, for him to travel across the world in pursuit of it.’

Sophie said, ‘I know not what it may be. My mother thinks that it might simply be because it could be precious. She says they were often intricate and beautiful objects so this one may have been made of some precious metal and perhaps encrusted with jewels. Who knows?’

I thought about that, but I was not convinced. Something was driving Mr Wicker but I could not believe it was gold or precious stones. It may have been; I hardly knew my new master. However, even given that love of money, as my mother had often told me, was the root of all evil, I felt that something even darker was driving this strange man.

‘I must leave now, Loblolly Boy, for I have delayed too long and must to my mother with this intelligence regarding the captain. What will you do?’

I did not know what I would do. I did not feel especially sleepy, and was not even sure whether sleep, like thirst and hunger, was now a thing of the past.

‘Perhaps to the crow’s nest,’ I said. ‘I will not be disturbed there.’

‘Good night, then,’ whispered Sophie. ‘We will talk again on the morrow?’

‘I trust so,’ I said, as she turned and hurried away.

With one last look about the deck, I leapt into the air and flew up to the crow’s nest on the main mast. I sat myself down on the small platform and leaned against the mast. It was not especially comfortable but I did now feel tired and closed my eyes. My mind was tumbling with questions: questions which either had no answer I could imagine, or questions with answers that were distinctly unpleasant.

It had been a tumultuous few hours beginning with Jacob Stone’s lunge towards me with his upraised dagger. Mr Wicker had saved me from certain death at Stone’s hand, but at what cost? I had experienced the unbelievable wonder of flight and seen the world spread beneath me like a beautiful map. At the same time, I was invisible. How long, then, would I be cut off from the world of people? What was this strange existence I had been thrust into? Who else inhabited it? Was there only to be Mr Wicker and Sophie in my future?

These questions had no answers. However, one question did have an answer: what purpose did Mr Wicker intend for me? It was becoming quite clear now that somehow I was to be used in his on-going quest for the astrolabe that obsessed him.

This was the reason I would not be given my humanity back. This was the reason I was bound to Mr Wicker by some invisible chain and could not escape him.

I was also bound to him by the undeniable fact that only
Mr Wicker could restore my humanity, that escape from Mr Wicker meant escaping into an endless existence of invisibility.

It was with these sour thoughts in my mind, that I opened my eyes and glanced around the horizon.

To my surprise, I saw in the far distance faint, phosphorescent lights that might or might not have been illuminating a strange, unearthly vessel.

Intrigued and wide-awake once more, I rose to my feet and stared in the direction of the strange lights. I leapt from the crow’s nest and climbed higher into the darkness, the hooked moon behind my wings with one star glittering beside it.

I soared even higher and there in the distance it was, flickering as if it were shaking tendrils of light upon the sea. I veered towards it, swooping ever lower and flying at the greatest speed I had yet managed. The closer I approached the more certain I became that it was indeed a vessel of some kind, but such a vessel I had never imagined in my weirdest dreams.

Dr Hatch’s frightening tales of ghost ships came unbidden as I made out the masts with their tattered filaments of sails billowing impossibly in a non-existent wind. The hair on the back of my neck rose as I veered even nearer until I was directly above the vessel. The strangest of many strange things was that although there was no appreciable breeze and despite its fragmentary sails, the ship seemed to be making way as if riding before a strong wind. It leaned to
one side and cut a white furrow as it ploughed ahead.

Then again there was the phosphorescent glow that lit up the vessel as if it were some will-o-the-wisp shining in a vaporous swamp.

The terror I was feeling so welled up inside me that my wings faltered and I feared I might drop from the sky like a wounded bird. Every inch of my being ached to wheel away and fly, fly from the sight, but a force even more powerful drove me onwards, as if I were a helpless green moth sucked towards the eerie light.

Closer and closer I was drawn, so close that I could make out even in the darkness the deserted decks, the awful emptiness. Finally I described the last circle of my descent and landed lightly on the quarterdeck amidst a twist of abandoned rigging. I looked around and everything was visible in the glow. Dr Hatch was now confirmed. There were such things as ghost ships. They were terrifying. And I was on one.

If there were ghost mariners, though, they weren’t readily apparent. The ship was noisy enough: it creaked and the ghost wind moaned in the spars and rigging, but there was no sound of human, or inhuman, voice.

Carefully, constantly checking behind me and to left and right, I made my way down to the top deck. There was nothing. There was no one. The ship rose and fell fore and aft and the cannon on either side pitched with the movement port and starboard as I stepped gingerly over the tangled snakes of rope. Satisfied the top deck was deserted, I made my way up the short companionway to the poop.

No sooner had I raised my head above the level of the deck though, a sonorous voice addressed me and I quailed with terror.

‘Good evening, little man, and what brings this unexpected visit?’

As much as I wanted to slither back down the ladder and take to the sky, I was compelled to continue up and onto the deck. There, standing at the wheel I saw a helmsman and he was staring at me fixedly with a glittering eye.

Unlike Sophie Blade he did not appear to be amazed, astonished or even surprised. It was as if my appearing before him was the most natural thing in the world. For me, too, there was no astonishment that this figure, this creature, could see me, could talk with me.

I say figure or creature for I could not be certain what he was. In truth he looked like a man, but a man much bigger than most, even taller than Mr Wicker and much broader. Beyond the dark glittering eyes, he had a full grey beard and he wore a tricorn hat with a strange cockade in the form of a white spiral on a black background more befitting an admiral than a helmsman. He was wearing a dark greatcoat and dark trousers and stockings, again a mode of dress that suggested no common sailor. Like the timbers, the masts and the rigging, he too seemed strangely illuminated.

There could be no doubt. If this was, as I feared, a ghost ship then this man at the helm could only be a ghost. I trembled and my mouth was dry, so dry I could say nothing in response.

‘So shy, little one,’ he said, looking me up and down.
‘Come closer …’

It was the last thing on this earth I wanted to do, and yet my legs moved me closer, closer, until I stood beside him. Now he towered over me.

‘Try to find your voice, little one, or we will learn nothing of each other,’ he said.

Despite the intensity of his stare and his threatening bulk, there was an amount of gentleness in his voice that gave me a smidgeon of confidence.

‘Are you …’ I trembled.

‘Am I what?’ he prompted.

‘A ghost?’ I said.

He stared at me gravely. ‘To be a ghost, I understand,’ he said, ‘you must first die, and as I have yet to die, I imagine I am no ghost.’

‘What are you then?’ I asked, somehow feeling a little bolder.

‘My name,’ he said, ‘is Captain Bass, and I am the master of this vessel, the
Astrolabe
.’

I looked at him in wonder. The name of the vessel was the
Astrolabe
. What did this mean? Mr Wicker was searching for an astrolabe, but he was convinced it was in Cartagena. Was this a mere coincidence? Was it this ship, and not an instrument, that Mr Wicker was searching for?

‘You can see me,’ I said.

‘That is because you are standing before me,’ said the creature called Captain Bass dryly.

‘But most people can’t,’ I said. ‘I am invisible to most people.’

‘But so am I,’ said Captain Bass. ‘There is nothing strange in that. This vessel, too, is invisible to most people. Most things are invisible to most people …’

He looked at me a little more sharply, and then breathed slowly out in realisation. ‘So, tell me, little one,’ he asked, ‘just how long have you been invisible?’

I thought about it. I had no idea of the hour, but it must be past midnight. It had probably been not long after noon when Mr Wicker transformed me.

‘About twelve hours,’ I said.

Captain Bass whistled. ‘I see … I see …’ he said. ‘This nether world is very new to you then, little one?’

‘It is,’ I said miserably.

‘I think, in that case,’ said Captain Bass, even more gently than he had yet spoken, ‘you should tell me all about it.’

While the captain kept a steady hand on the wheel I told him my tale, leaving little out. From time to time he asked a question, but for the most part he let me tell my story at my own pace and in my own way. As I related my tale, my fear and trembling disappeared until it seemed the most natural thing in the world to be leaning on the poop of a ghost ship in a supernatural storm pouring out my heart to a supernatural being, for there was no doubt that this Captain Bass was such a creature.

The two elements that interested him most were the role of Mr Wicker and the fact that Sophie could see and hear me. My miraculous transformation from a nondescript loblolly boy into an invisible flying creature with great green wings he merely grunted at, as if it were a minor detail.

‘He calls himself Mr Wicker, does he?’ he asked.

I looked up at him. ‘Do you know him?’

The captain sighed. ‘Oh, I believe I have known your Mr Wicker in many ways and many incarnations and over many, many years.’

I did not understand what he meant.

‘He is a great magician, some would say sorcerer. He would be of the world but he is not of the world.’

That I did not understand, either.

‘He is seeking an astrolabe,’ I said.

Captain Bass looked at me keenly once more, ‘Is he now?’ he said.

I nodded. ‘Would it be this ship he is seeking?’

Captain Bass laughed. It was an eerie sound. ‘I very much doubt it,’ he said. ‘And why does he seek this astrolabe?’

‘I don’t know why. Sophie thinks it may be because it’s made of gold or has precious jewels embedded in it.’

The captain laughed again. ‘Your Mr Wicker has no need of trinkets, nor gold or jewels. I’m guessing this astrolabe has something even more precious to commend it than stones.’

‘I thought so, too,’ I said.

‘Does he know where this astrolabe is?’

‘Oh, yes,’ I said. ‘He believes it to be in Cartagena. He was disappointed that Admiral Vernon had failed to take the town for he thought that if it were in British hands he would be able to get it more easily.’

‘Did he now?’ asked the captain. ‘My friend Daniel Flynn would be very interested to hear that.’

This didn’t mean much to me. I had never heard of Daniel Flynn.

‘Who …? Why …?’ I asked.

‘Well, my boy, probably because this astrolabe so coveted by your Mr Wicker belongs in fact to Daniel Flynn. Or perhaps I should clarify: not just belongs to Daniel Flynn but was in fact devised and created by Daniel Flynn. He is known far and wide for his amazing constructions.’

‘Oh,’ I said.

‘And since he lost his astrolabe in Portobelo, he has been beside himself.’

‘Portobelo?’

‘It is a fort on the Spanish Main just west of here. We felt it expedient to leave when we heard that Admiral Vernon was about to attack. I would rather not be part of humanity’s endless squabbles and Daniel rather dislikes the sight of blood.’

I remembered Portobelo now. It was where Admiral Vernon had won a great victory, such a victory that he was moved to attack Cartagena and suffer the defeat that had so upset Mr Wicker.

‘Daniel is a brilliant creature,’ explained Captain Bass, ‘but like so many others of his type, with his brilliance there is also a regrettable forgetfulness. We had no sooner regained the decks of the
Astrolabe
when he patted his pockets and declared his astrolabe was gone.’

‘Is it that small?’

The Captain laughed at me. ‘No, of course not! Daniel is always losing things, things of all sizes, and whenever he does he pats his pockets.’

I remembered that the captain had mentioned that he and Daniel had regained the decks of the
Astrolabe
. This suggested that the forgetful yet inventive Daniel Flynn might still be on board.

‘Where is he?’ I asked.

‘Daniel?’

‘Is he on board?’

‘He’ll be below decks somewhere pottering about. He may be already engaged in building a new astrolabe.’

I then recalled Sophie telling me that astrolabes were old-fashioned and no longer used. I mentioned this to the captain and asked, given that they were a thing of the past, why would this Daniel Flynn want to make them.

‘Ah,’ said Captain Bass, ‘now you’ve come to the nub of it. Daniel’s astrolabe is not your ordinary astrolabe. An ordinary astrolabe merely measures the angle of the sun and known stars, and so if measuring the angle of stars it needs darkness …’

I nodded. I thought I understood.

‘But Daniel’s astrolabe is special, marvellous. In the hands of certain people it is so marvellous it will provide its own darkness so that you can measure the angle of a star at any time.’

‘Like an eclipse?’ I asked wonderingly.

‘Like an eclipse,’ agreed the captain.

‘But why would you want to measure the angle of a star in the daylight anyway?’ I asked.

‘Oh, Loblolly Boy,’ smiled the captain. ‘You are an innocent. You would not use Daniel’s astrolabe to measure
the angle of a star, you would use it to bring about darkness! Imagine the power that would give you in the world of ordinary people.’

I thought about this, and of course, the captain was right. To have power over light and darkness! This indeed would be a marvellous and frightening machine.

‘You said certain people?’

‘I did.’

‘What sort of people?’ I asked cautiously.

‘Well,’ replied the captain. ‘People like us.’

‘Like Mr Wicker?’

‘Of course! People like Mr Wicker.’

At once I understood why Mr Wicker was so determined to obtain this astrolabe.

‘People crave light, plants crave light, animals crave light,’ explained the captain. ‘Without light the rivers freeze, the plants die and without the plants the animals die. The power to inflict this mischief is unlimited. It is not trinkets, gold or baubles Mr Wicker desires, little Loblolly Boy, but the power to do mischief, to do more mischief than can be imagined.’

I gazed at the captain aghast.

‘But why in heaven’s name did Mr Flynn devise such a machine?’ I asked.

‘I’m sure he did not devise it in heaven’s name,’ said the captain grimly, ‘or even in the name of the other place. Daniel is not interested in such considerations. He imagines a possibility and pursues it. He would argue that it is not the machine that is at fault, but the person using it.’

‘That’s just silly!’

‘I agree. And that is why I was not unhappy when Daniel mislaid his astrolabe. I knew it would not have fallen out of his pocket. I had hoped it had fallen into the sea, was now harmlessly out of reach and slowly being encrusted with barnacles.’

‘Mr Wicker thinks otherwise,’ I said. ‘He believes it to be in Cartagena.’

‘I do hope he is wrong,’ said the captain.

Given what I had now learnt, I suddenly hoped he was wrong as well.

‘How does he know it is there?’ asked Captain Bass.

‘I am not privy to that information,’ I said. ‘I only know that he joined the
Firefly
just before we left Portsmouth. I know too, when I heard Jenny Blade and Mr Griff talking, that Mr Wicker had wanted to charter the
Medusa
to visit Cartagena once it was in British hands. In fact, he had wanted to charter the
Medusa
even before Cartagena was in British hands, but at the time Jenny Blade thought that was too reckless and she would not even countenance it.’

‘A wise decision,’ said the captain dryly, leaning on the wheel.

‘I fear he still intends to make his way to Cartagena,’ I said.

‘Why do you fear that, little man?’ asked Captain Bass.

‘Because when I asked Mr Wicker if I could be restored to my true self, he refused, saying that he had further use of me, and I guessed it would be because of his quest for the astrolabe.’

‘Perhaps,’ murmured Captain Bass, ‘or perhaps he simply
refused because he knew that being restored to your true self was something you really wanted. Mr Wicker, alas, rarely does anything out of the goodness of his heart. How could he? There is no goodness in his heart at all.’