The Silver Swan (10 page)

‘You're a hell of a sailor, Mama,' I said, just as Jem had once said to me.

She smiled, a flash of brightness in the storm, and got down on her knees to bail out the water rising around our feet.

Lucas curled up on the seat beside me and somehow managed to go straight to sleep, in spite of the screeching and harrowing gale, in spite of the waves that crashed over the bow every few minutes, in spite of the
Swallow
pounding up and down each wave — in spite of
Gisella
sailing in our wake.

Night fell. It was hard to tell at first because it was already so dark, with black clouds thundering overhead. But gradually even the little circle of shadowy sky above us started to fade, and all that was left was the creamy canvas, the brave bow plunging through the waves, and the swirling white water that crashed all around us.

Mama took over the helm at last. I felt like a bow that had released its arrow, after so long holding tight and straining against the tiller. I was sure my ribs were bruised from leaning against it, pushing hard as every wave tried to snatch the rudder away and spin the boat into oblivion. It was better to be bailing, even though it wore me out and my back and knees ached, because the movement kept me warm against the freezing rain and the constant flood of sea water over the gunwales.

Mama shook Lucas awake. ‘I'm sorry, darling, but I need you to help Lily reef the mainsail. We can't keep going like this — the sail's going to fly off into shreds any moment.'

‘Even better,' said Lucas, instantly alert, ‘we've got the storm jib, and I always wanted to be in a storm so I could use it.'

‘I'm glad your dreams have come true,' said Mama, ‘but do you really think you can rig it in this wind?'

‘Of course we can,' he said bravely — or perhaps he didn't even consider that we might not be able to. I had my doubts. It was hard enough trimming the sails in this gale, in the dark. Rigging a new sail and stowing the mainsail was going to take all the strength we had.

But Lucas wasn't at all worried. ‘Come on, Lil, it's in the locker.' He plunged forward as the boat rocketed down a wave. ‘I'll get it.'

‘You'd better hang onto him,' said Mama.

I lurched after him. He already had the lid of the locker open.

‘Maybe we should take down the mainsail first,' I suggested.

‘Mama won't be able to hold her on course with just the mizzen,' he said. ‘We'll have to get this ready to go up and the main ready to come down at the same moment.'

‘Are you joking?' I said. ‘It's going to be hard enough doing one thing at a time.'

‘Trust me,' said Lucas. So I did. There wasn't much else to do.

He tied a spare halyard onto the sail with two knots just to be sure, and then we dragged it out of the locker very slowly, wrapping our arms tight around it so it didn't flap away and end up somewhere in Italy. It took forever to get it out and close enough to the mast to feel secure. By then, I was lying on top of it to keep it under control, as the wind tore and plucked at the canvas and threatened to dash it from our grip. Lucas was panting like a tired dog, but he didn't stop for a moment.

‘I'll secure the sheets,' he shouted in my ear. I nodded, and he crawled right over the top of me, all elbows and knees, to tie the knots onto the corners of the sail and pass the lines back to Mama. If I wasn't bruised before, I thought, I certainly am now. I pictured my back with little Lucas knee-prints across it.

‘All hands on deck,' he cried. Mama laughed out loud. It was a lovely sound.

‘Ready, Lil?' he asked.

‘Aye, aye, sir,' I called back.

‘Wait till we're in a trough,' shouted Mama.

The boat was lifted up like balsa wood, crested the wave and slowly began to slide downwards.

‘Let go and haul!' hollered Lucas.

I scrambled to my feet as best I could, using my whole body to keep the sail in a bundle while Lucas hauled on the halyard to yank the sail up the mast. Mama left the sheets loose until we could bring down the mainsail.

Lucas grabbed at me, puffing too hard to speak, and I let the jib flap while we jumped together onto the main. I loosened the halyard, Lucas lowered the gaff, and we dragged the canvas, stiff with salt, down towards us in great flapping armfuls. The
Swallow
staggered, but somehow Mama kept the bow pointing into the inevitable next wave. While we wrestled the mainsail to the boards and tied it down, she hauled on the jib sheets, and we felt the boat shudder and surge. I risked a glance up. The storm jib stretched taut and fine above our heads.

‘We did it!' I yelled.

‘But of course,' said Lucas. He'd been spending far too much time with Carlo, I decided. They were starting to sound the same.

‘Hoorah!' Mama was beaming at us. She might have clapped her hands, except they were both clenched around the tiller.

The
Swallow
loved her new sail. She soared over the waves instead of ploughing through them, and it felt like we were sailing as fast as the wind.

‘That's our lesson for the day,' Mama said. ‘Sometimes you need less canvas to go faster.'

Lucas grinned. ‘What's for dinner? I'm starving.'

I handed it over. He took one look at the congealed muck inside the box and changed his mind. ‘That looks like dried vomit. I'll wait.'

‘Dinner?' said Mama. ‘It's time for breakfast.' She nodded her head at the horizon. A grey smudge was spreading across the sky.

I was so relieved that the sun was coming up where it was supposed to be, I wrapped my arms around Lucas's neck. ‘We're still on course.'

‘But how close to land?' asked Mama.

I had no idea. We still couldn't see very far ahead — just the face of each wave marching towards us relentlessly.

‘We'll find out soon enough,' I said.

Mama signalled her agreement, but silently, so that Lucas couldn't see what I already knew: she was worried that we'd come upon land, perhaps even right onto the Dingli cliffs, with no warning, nowhere to land, and Diablo hunting close behind us.

‘Shall I take a turn at the tiller, Mama?'

‘You rest awhile.'

I surveyed the dawn sky. It was getting lighter, but not much. Lucas was curled up like a mouse, asleep in the corner. Above us, the clouds were as heavy and dark as ever, but perhaps the wind was dying off slightly; maybe the waves weren't quite as huge as they had been all night.

‘Can you bring the boat off the wind just a little?' I asked.

‘I'll try,' said Mama. ‘Why?'

‘I'm not sure,' I admitted. ‘It's just a feeling. If we really are anywhere near Malta, we need the sun to be over your left shoulder.'

‘So you navigate by feelings, as much as mathematics, do you?' She smiled. ‘Just like your grandfather.'

‘There's not much else to go on at the moment — best to be cautious, if we're not going to get caught in the currents and dragged into the cliffs.'

She leaned on the tiller, just enough to bring the bow around without losing headway against the
waves, and we struggled along, thrashing through the swell. Lucas woke again, sat up and rubbed his eyes.

‘Where are we?'

‘At sea,' I said. ‘That's all we can be sure of.'

‘What's that funny noise?' he asked.

I hadn't noticed it. The sound must have increased so gradually that Mama and I weren't even aware of it: a roar, a crashing, a distant thunder of water against rock. I craned my neck to see, but there was still nothing but towering waves all around us.

Mama crossed herself and said a quick prayer. ‘Listen to me,' she said with a sudden urgency in her voice. ‘If the boat goes over, just start swimming — don't wait for anyone else, just swim with the current, catch the waves, and pray to God there's a nice soft beach at the other end.'

Lucas nodded, his eyes bright with fear.

‘Take your coat off,' I suggested. ‘It'll get too heavy in the water if you have to swim.'

He nodded again and started wriggling out of all his clothes.

‘Leave your breeches on, darling,' said Mama. ‘We might yet land in someone's vegetable patch.'

Lucas just looked confused.

‘Tell you what,' I said, ‘how about I hoist you up to have a look around? If we're going to capsize anyway, we may as well take the risk.'

‘Come on then. I'll stand on your head.'

‘My shoulders will be quite high enough, thank you.' I cupped my hands so he could step into them.
‘Hold on to the mast, or we'll both fall out.'

He clambered half up the thin mast and half up me, adding footprint-shaped bruises to the knee-shaped bruises.

‘What can you see?' said Mama.

‘Cliffs.'

‘Where away?' I asked.

‘Straight ahead.'

Hell.

‘Wait!' he shouted. ‘I think there's a bay. Just off the starboard bow. Yes! I can see trees. I think there's a beach.'

‘How far?'

He fell on top of me like a side of beef.

‘Just a couple of points to starboard, Mama.'

‘I'll try.' She steered the
Swallow
very tentatively over, still fearful that any one of these waves could grab us and push us over.

‘It's a miracle,' said Mama. ‘This storm might have killed us, but instead it has brought us home safely.'

‘It wasn't a miracle, Mama, it was bloody good sailing.'

‘I do wish you wouldn't swear so much, Lily.'

‘Are we home?' asked Lucas.

‘Not exactly,' I said, ‘but at least we're somewhere.'

‘We're not there yet,' Mama warned me, as if I needed reminding. ‘Perhaps we've landed near your Aunt Lily's house.'

‘It might not be Dingli,' I said. ‘We could be anywhere along the coast.'

‘It's probably better if it's not Aunt Lily's beach,' said Lucas.

‘Why?' asked Mama. ‘I thought you needed some breakfast.'

‘Because
Gisella
is right behind us.'

Mama didn't say anything, but from the sudden tightening of her jaw I knew she was cursing Diablo to hell and back. She was just too polite to say it aloud. I reached under the seat and pulled out the sword Papa had put into my hands as I left the ship. As I strapped it around my waist, Mama tried to stop me.

‘Please don't, Lily. If you have to swim, it will weigh you down.'

‘I'm not facing Diablo unarmed,' I said, and I could tell my jaw was clenched just as defiantly as hers. She swivelled around to try to catch sight of the ship's sails, but they were still hidden from view by the waves.

‘I suppose they've been able to watch us the whole time from their crow's nest,' she said wearily. ‘It's just that we couldn't see them.'

‘It'd be just like Diablo to force some poor soul to stay aloft on lookout in this weather.'

‘I was so certain they had sailed right past us in the night.' Mama sighed. ‘Do you think we'll ever be rid of him?'

‘One way or the other, by the end of the day, I have a feeling we will.' I felt it, too, somewhere low in my belly.

The rain came again, in great hammering sheets, as the roar of the waves grew louder in our ears. We
sat and waited. There was nothing else to do. After a while, I lifted Lucas up again, and he dropped down again fast.

‘Get ready!' he said. ‘We're heading straight onto the beach. Hold her steady, Mama, and let's hope we can just cruise in.'

At his words we felt it: a change in the motion beneath us. The relentless up and down changed into a drawing forward, as the current dragged our little boat and our three exhausted bodies into its embrace and towards the coast. Suddenly the wall of water in front of us collapsed, and at last we could see the cliffs soaring high on both sides, the rocky headlands, and a pebbled beach where waves crashed and thrashed upon the shore.

‘Hold tight!' Mama shouted, but we already were. Lucas pulled up the centreboard, and it clattered into the water at our feet. The sails and rudder were no use to us now. The ocean had us in its power. The boat rocked and swayed, and all sorts of thumping noises thudded under the hull as the swirling water collided with the planks. It was so hard to hold on, to keep gripping the wood, as we lurched from side to side. Lucas banged his head hard on the mast and yelled in pain.

‘Keep hold!' Mama's voice seemed thin above the roar, but I knew she was screaming with all her might. White water churned over the stern as the waves broke over us, but still it kept propelling us forward, faster than I'd ever gone in my whole life.

We were all screaming now, although nobody could hear — I could hardly even hear myself.

Then came a huge thump, and all three of us catapulted forward and landed in a tumbled lump in the bow. The boat settled and seemed to let out a groan. So did I.

Mama disentangled herself from Lucas's legs, which were sticking straight up in the air and waving about like tentacles.

‘Quick,' she said, ‘jump out of this boat and run for your lives.'

I didn't need to hear any more. I scrambled over the side and dropped into the shallow water. It swirled around my legs and threatened to pull me back out to sea.

‘Hurry, everyone!' I shouted. ‘The tow will take the boat off the beach.'

Lucas jumped out next to me, and Mama came running around from the other side.

‘We've got to drag the
Swallow
clear of the water,' he said.

‘There's no time,' said Mama.

‘But she'll get wrecked.'

Mama took one look at his face and grabbed the painter from the bow. ‘All together, now, heave!' We shoved the poor old
Swallow
very roughly up onto the pebbles, and sprinted.

‘Up there!' I caught a glimpse of a trail leading up a gully towards the clifftop. We raced across the beach, the pebbles torturing our bare feet, and clambered over fallen rocks. Lucas started climbing the path. It wasn't much of a track, but it would have to do. We'd bash our way through the scrub if we had to. Mama followed Lucas, hopping over
a fallen tree and scrambling up a slippery mud slope.

I swept the rain off my face and quickly scanned the sea.
Gisella
was cruising to a stop in the bay, rocking back and forth on those waves that had dwarfed our tiny boat. I heard the hurried clinking of the anchor chain, and shouts from the deck.

‘Here they come,' I called.

‘Run!' cried Lucas, his voice nearly hysterical.

‘Hunt for somewhere to hide,' Mama shouted up to him. ‘See if there's a cave or a crevice we can hide in.'

I started the climb. From behind me, in the bay, came the familiar splash of a boat being launched.

They would catch up to us within half an hour. I knew it now, but I kept climbing, scrabbling sometimes on hands and knees over tree roots in the path, and squeezing past mossy boulders.

‘Which way?' Lucas called.

I caught up with them. They both stood by the track, panting; Lucas was bent double trying to catch his breath. The rain seemed even heavier up here, the sky still so dark it felt like night already. Perhaps it was. I'd lost all sense of time.

The track forked into two — one path wound up towards the top of the cliff, and the other one headed across the slope and out of sight.

We heard the crunching of the ship's boat on the beach below.

‘If you were them,' I said, ‘which way would you chase us?'

Lucas and Mama both pointed to the lower track.

‘That's what I think, too. Wait here.' I ran a little way along the path, stopped, and looked around.

This would do. I untied the sash from my waist and hooked it onto a bush beside the track.

‘How does that look?' I called to the others.

‘Perfect,' said Mama. ‘Now hurry.'

I ran back to join them, threw a last look at the sash to make sure it looked convincingly as if it had been caught on the twig as someone rushed past, and we raced up the other track, towards the cliffs that sheered off, hundreds of feet down, into the sea below.

My legs could not run fast enough, time would not slow down enough, for me to feel any safer. We just kept climbing and running and sometimes slipping over in the rain and the mud. My knees seemed to be dissolving underneath me. But we kept going, not speaking, just moving.

At last Mama called a halt. ‘There.' Ahead of us in the gloom was the outline of a squat stone building. Lucas sprinted ahead. When Mama and I caught up, he was sitting on the stone steps, wheezing.

‘It's some kind of church.'

Mama took his hand. ‘What safer place could there be? We can hide here and wait until nightfall.'

I pushed against the heavy door. ‘What's this place doing up here all by itself?' There were no villages or houses for miles, just open ground and old stone walls.

‘Perhaps it's a sanctuary especially for people fleeing pirates,' Mama said, with a tired smile. ‘I can't run any further. We have to rest.'

I wasn't too sure that Diablo had ever heard of the idea of sanctuary, and if he had, he wouldn't care in the least. No ancient law would stop him from attacking us here. But the chapel was as good a place to hide as any other.

Inside it was dark and bare, except for an altar, a huge cupboard behind the door, and a couple of rough benches. A crucifix hung from the ceiling.

‘Here,' said Mama, holding open the cupboard door. ‘This is perfect.'

Lucas squeezed in first. ‘It's big enough,' he said. ‘We can all fit in so long as nobody moves.'

Mama went next, then I folded myself in behind her, sword drawn. We kept the door open a crack so we could hear if anyone approached. I hadn't been to Mass for years, but now I prayed that the men from the ship had taken the lower path and were still chasing through the downpour after phantoms.

We stayed like that, squeezed into the cupboard, all afternoon. Lucas, of course, fell fast asleep slumped in the corner, but Mama and I stayed awake and listened. It seemed like weeks since I'd last been to sleep. I could feel her breath on my cheek. We never spoke. We didn't dare.

At last the dim light of the afternoon gave way to twilight and finally darkness. There was no moon, just the same clouds and pouring rain that never seemed to end. I didn't mind it too much, since it would neatly wash away our tracks. But I was sick of being soaking wet. I tried to twist my neck to whisper into Mama's ear.

‘Do you think it's safe to keep going?'

‘Safer by night than by day,' she murmured. ‘Anyway, I have to move soon; I've lost all feeling in my legs.'

‘Stay here a moment longer,' I said. ‘I'll go and see if
Gisella
's still out there.'

‘Be careful.'

I kissed her cheek, slowly edged my way out of the cupboard, and tiptoed to the chapel door. No sign of life outside. It took a while for my legs to work, so I sat on the steps and listened to the sounds of the night. Nothing unusual. A few frogs, an owl, and nothing else but the wind slashing at the grass and the rain thrumming against the wet ground.

I stood up, looked around, and stepped out onto the path. There was no view of the cove from here, so I climbed down the track about a hundred yards, until I came to a clearing close to the cliff edge. From here I could spy out the whole bay. The ship was still there, sitting smugly at anchor.

The slithering sound behind me seemed so familiar, it was almost inevitable. I put my hand to my sword and turned around very slowly. In the middle of the clearing, alone, cutlass in hand, stood El Capitán de Diablo.