The Silver Swan

Author's Note

1.
Fairy tales

2.
The invasion

3.
Call to arms

4.
Stowaways

5.
The White Swan

6.
To the rescue — or not

7.
Into the labyrinth

8.
Underground movement

9.
One cage opens

10.
Death on deck

11.
The falling dark

12.
Stormy seas

13.
Hunted

14.
Fighting on the clifftop

15.
Strike the colours

16.
The star of the sea

Seafaring words of the Mediterranean

Acknowledgments

Copyright

‘Lily!'

My brother's voice was muffled and strange. No wonder. Only his grubby bare feet were visible, sticking out from under the gunwales of our up turned boat.

‘I'm right here, Lucas.'

‘Tell the story about the sea monsters in the Golden Grotto.'

‘It's not a story, Lucas,' I snorted. ‘It really happened.' It still gave me shivers to think of it — of the darkness and the creepy eels and El Capitán de Diablo firing his musket at my head.

Diablo. You know what they say? Never speak of the Devil or he may appear. But the memories never left me. Every morning I woke up chilled and trembling.

I should have known that Diablo would never stop chasing me, in dreams or in life. But here on our beach it was nearing twilight, and I could hear Lucas giggle and mumble something to himself. I pushed the horror out of my head, stood up, dusted the sand off my breeches, and rapped
very loudly on the wooden hull.

‘Hurry up under there. At this rate we won't get the boat finished before winter.'

‘I'm trying!' he squealed. ‘If you're such a famous sea captain, why don't you crawl under here and fix this stupid thwart yourself?'

‘Because I'm not the idiot who ran our poor old
Swallow
onto the rocks,' I said. ‘Mind you, there was a time, on the coast of Africa, when we nearly holed
Gisella
on a headland.'

Lucas wriggled backwards out from under the boat, like a tortoise squeezing out of his shell. ‘Really?'

I sat down on the sand beside him. ‘It was actually the first day I ever saw Papa.' His eyes opened wide. I lowered my voice to a whisper. ‘Except, of course, I didn't know it was Papa. I thought he was Hussein Reis.'

‘I love that bit. Tell me again.'

But the voice of Hussein Reis echoed down the beach.

‘Lily! Lucas! Your mother had supper ready half an hour ago. If you're not washed and sitting at the table by the time I count to twenty, there'll be hell to pay.'

I sighed. ‘We're coming,' I called.

‘You can tell me the rest later,' said Lucas. He scrambled to his feet and raced up the dune.

At the top, his red hair almost pink in the sunset, stood our father. He waved an arm. ‘Hurry up, Lil.'

I waved back, stood up slowly, and retrieved the chisels Lucas had dropped in the sand. When
I looked up, they were gone, walking out of sight behind the high dunes, along the gentle slope towards the new house. One of Papa's hands was probably on Lucas's shoulder, as he listened to stories of everything that had happened to us since lunchtime — how we'd planed and hammered and sanded the little boat, how a cormorant had dived so deep we thought he'd never pop up to the surface, how we'd laughed and wrestled and pushed each other down the dunes. Papa would smile and tousle Lucas's hair.

Then Lucas would accidentally mention that I'd told him a story about my pirate days — he wouldn't mean to, it would just spill out. Our father's face would darken, and by the time I got to the dining-table he'd be scowling at me, Mama would be looking anxiously at us, Lucas would be miserable because he'd got me into trouble, and I …

I could see it all now. It had happened so often since Papa and I came home. Most likely, it would happen all over again this evening.

I sighed once more and trudged to the top of the sand dune. Lucas and Papa were well ahead, further up the track. They leaped over the stream, hopping from rock to rock, laughing together. The sharp edge of the chisel dug into my arm, and twice I dropped the ball of twine and had to chase after it, scampering like a kitten after wool scraps.

That's all I was to Papa now — a pet, a child who didn't behave properly at the dinner table and would never grow up into a nice young lady. The moment our feet had touched dry land after months
at sea, Papa seemed to forget all the battles we'd fought, all the rough seas I'd sailed, the fight in the bell-tower, the great sword that still belonged to me, somewhere out on the ocean aboard the
Mermaid
.

I stood for a moment, turned, and stared across the sea. She was still out there somewhere, my ship, cutting jaunty and lithe through the waves. At this time of the evening, the boys would be taking in the big sails, reefing against the sou'wester that often whipped up out of nowhere just before dark. Jem would stalk the deck, checking that all the sheets were belayed and in order, squinting up at the canvas from time to time, tasting the breeze for hints of tomorrow's weather. Maybe later he'd sleep in my snug little cabin, with my charts and quadrant, my sword, my books. No use to him, of course — he couldn't read or navigate — but he knew these waters well enough now to sail without charts … if he was still in these waters.

Perhaps the
Mermaid
sailed in convoy with
Gisella
, under the wretched command of El Capitán de Diablo. Perhaps the two ships were leagues away, cruising the rich shipping channels of North Africa or Spain, striking terror into the crew of every vessel that blew into their path. Perhaps one day I'd hear news of them, hear tales of Diablo's terrible end on the gallows or by being blown to pieces by a British frigate. Maybe I'd never know.

I turned away from the ocean to walk home. The big white house was lit up, lanterns in every room glowing in the hastening twilight. It was like a beacon, perched on top of the hill, with its wide
windows staring this way down along the beach and, in the other direction, out over the town and Santa Lucia harbour. Our new house sat all by itself up here on the headland, so different from the small stone cottage in the crowded narrow lane that had been my home for as long as I could remember.

But everything was different now, not just the house. Now there were four of us, when for so many years there had only been three. Four was enough. My parents didn't need or want anyone else. There were no other families living outside the town walls, no other boys to run wild with Lucas, no women to chat to Mama. We kept to ourselves, never strayed far from our house, only went into town on market days. Mama taught our lessons in the kitchen, at the old pine table, just as she always had. In the evenings we sat in the parlour, in the lamplight, each of us with a book to read.

That was my favourite time of day.

But first we had to get through supper.

I called out from the veranda, as I brushed the sand off my feet, ‘I'll be there in a moment, Mama.'

Murmurs from the dining room told me they were waiting at the table. I quickly splashed my face with cold water from the well, and scrubbed my hands as best I could. It would have to do.

They all looked up as I raced through the doorway. This was how I'd always imagined it might be: my family sitting together, with steaming plates of vegetables and roast lamb, candles and fruit and wine glasses and smiles.

But life is never quite what you imagine.

‘Did you wash your hands?' asked Papa. I held them out to show him. He grunted.

I have to admit they weren't very clean but, after all, I am a pirate. Or at least I was. Once. Nobody ever checked to see if my hands were clean then. In fact nobody cared if I washed any part of me. Ever. Least of all my father. I was usually the cleanest person on board ship.

Papa motioned me to sit down, in spite of my filthy hands. ‘Supper will be cold if we wait any longer.'

I wriggled into my chair, with a quick glance at Lucas. He winked. All would be well this evening, then. He hadn't given the game away. Yet.

‘You'd think lamp oil was free, Frances, the way you burn it,' my father teased Mama.

‘I don't care,' she said. ‘At last I have a house of my own, with rooms and hallways and lanterns galore. I can't help but want to look at it all, even when it's dark.'

It was true: her eyes were constantly darting about, from polished floor to sideboard to fresh-painted walls. ‘How glorious! See how the lamplight gleams against the windows.'

‘Look at it this way, Papa,' I said. ‘Our house is like a lighthouse, all white and glowing. We may keep some poor sailor from steering into the rocks.'

‘On the other hand,' he said, smiling, ‘he may find the sight so attractive he drives his boat on our beach in order to be invited in for supper.'

Lucas giggled, delighted. ‘Then he can help us fix our boat.'

‘Perfect.' Mama passed me the platter of glistening carved meat.

‘Darling,' she said, turning to my father, ‘next time you stand at the window staring out to sea for hours, perhaps you could signal a passing ship to be wrecked on our beach so that Lucas can have some help with his dory.'

‘Maybe Papa could help with the boat,' I suggested. ‘Lucas is taking forever.'

‘He needs to learn how to fix it himself,' said Papa. ‘Besides, I have other things to do.'

‘Like what?' I asked without thinking.

Papa's face clouded over, a summer storm in a safe harbour.

‘None of your business.'

‘You could just help us varnish the mast, Papa,' said Lucas.

‘Perhaps,' Papa said quietly. ‘But I don't stare for hours, Frances.'

‘Of course you do,' Mama replied. ‘You both do, you and Lily, you're always watching. If there's a sail on the horizon, sure enough, there you'll both be, telescopes trained out to sea. Sometimes I think I married a harbour master.'

Papa didn't take his eyes from her face the whole time she was speaking. He stopped chewing, halfway through a mouthful, as if enchanted. She didn't notice or, if she did, pretended otherwise.

‘I don't know what you mean,' he said at last.

‘It's true, Papa,' Lucas piped up. ‘Every time we
see a ship, Lily hopes it's the
Mermaid
, and you —'

Without warning, Papa slammed his knife on the table. ‘That's enough out of you, young man.'

We all fell silent. Lucas stared down at his plate and tried really hard not to cry.

Mama took a deep breath. ‘He didn't mean anything by it, Rafe.'

Papa shook his head. ‘I know, but he must learn.' He glared around the table at us. ‘All of you must learn. There can be no talk of ships and pirates in this house.' His eyes narrowed at me and I blushed. ‘And no dramatic adventure stories, Lily. You fill the boy's head with all sorts of nonsense. I'm your father, and I won't have it — do you hear me?'

‘Aye, aye, sir.' I said it without thinking. Mama giggled, ever so slightly.

‘You're no help.' Papa turned his shrivelling stare on her.

She put her hand lightly on his. ‘I'm sorry, Rafe. I fear you can take the girl out of the
Mermaid
, but you'll never wash the
Mermaid
out of the girl.' She took a deep breath. ‘No matter how darkly you glare or how deeply you mutter.'

There was silence. Outside a gull cried in the dark and the endless wind stuttered in the scrub. I stared down at the linen tablecloth, wishing myself leagues away, borne on the breeze by creamy canvas sails, dolphins leaping in and out of the bow wave, my friends singing farewell to the day.

All the time I'd been away, I'd longed to come home. All those years my father was missing, I'd just wanted him to be here with us. Now here we
were. But this wasn't how it was supposed to be.

He was not the Papa I vaguely remembered. He wasn't even like the Hussein Reis I'd grown to know and respect. Instead, he stomped around the house, grumpy and secretive, and as argumentative as our old rooster Attila. He went for long walks with his telescope and notebook, disappeared for hours, and didn't even notice that he'd missed a meal or that Mama had been worried. His years alone had made him as solitary as a cormorant on a rock.

Papa did laugh sometimes, when he was playing with Lucas. He took Mama's hand as they walked on our beach, and touched her face gently, still surprised to see her every day after so long apart. But he never smiled at me. It's as if I reminded him of his lost years.

Or perhaps it was the other way around, and I didn't want to be reminded of his lost years — I'm not sure. I'd said such dreadful things to him when I had discovered the truth. There were moments when he looked at me and I could swear there was a faint echo of my own accusing voice screeching at him:
Tell me the truth, for once in your rotten, deceitful life!

Sometimes, on nights like this, I wished he never had.

‘Listen, all of you,' Papa said now, in a whisper that roared in my ears like a shout. ‘We are none of us safe if any —'

But his voice was drowned out by someone pounding like the Devil on the front door.