The Silver Swan (5 page)

Moggia folded the paper. ‘That's all.'

‘That's all?' said Jem, in dismay. ‘Attack a heavily guarded armoury on a fortified peninsula, blow it up, and then open the gates so they can waltz in and shoot off a few musket balls?'

‘That sounds like a good plan,' said Ricardo.

‘You must be joking,' said Miller.

‘We have the map,' Moggia reminded him.

‘We have a handful of men —'

‘And one girl,' I interjected.

‘And fifteen muskets between us.' As Jem finished, his voice rose almost to a squeak.

‘If you put it that way, oh voice of doom, it sounds impossible, but remember the map,' said Papa. ‘The tunnels are all marked quite clearly. We'll be in and out before the French even know we've been there.'

‘It's not much to go on,' said Miller. ‘I'd be happier if we knew what the Maltese were really planning.'

‘That's true enough,' said Papa. ‘We don't want to run into them in the dark and start shooting each other. I'll hunt around in the morning and see if I can find out.'

‘Since Carlo's in contact with the rebels, he might know what's going on,' I suggested.

‘Perhaps he does,' Miller agreed.

Papa waved away the suggestion. ‘He's a boy. The Maltese sent him to Cookie to pass on the message because they knew he'd be trusted.'

‘He's all we've got to go on,' said Jem.

Papa hesitated. I sensed he wanted to argue, that he needed to find out for himself from his usual secret sources what was going on and didn't want all of us tagging along. But he gave in.

‘Very well, then. Tomorrow, we'll go to the Old City and find Carlo de Santiago.'

Early the next morning I sat by the roadside, waiting for the boys to catch up. It was a crisp autumn morning, the kind that makes your nose run but then heats up suddenly into a scorcher — such a lovely day, in fact, that I'd raced ahead of the others to breathe in the morning breeze.

Papa appeared around the hill, still riding that rotten horse, kicking up pebbles and a great cloud of pale dust. He drew up in front of me and patted the horse on the shoulder as if it had done something particularly intelligent.

‘I'm not going on that thing again,' I said. ‘My backside still hurts from riding last night.'

‘We don't have time to walk,' said Papa.

‘Then I'll run,' I said.

‘I've got a saddle this time — it's much easier.' Papa slid off and brought the horse closer to me. ‘Come on, Lily, it's about time you learned to ride.'

‘I prefer boats.'

‘It doesn't hurt so much if you know how to do it properly,' he said. ‘I'll teach you, just the way I was taught in Ireland.'

He led the beast in a circle and ended up close to an old stump. ‘Climb up here, and put your foot into the stirrup.' He held out a metal thing attached to a strap.

‘I'll try.' I clambered up onto the stump while Papa held the horse still.

‘Don't let go,' I warned.

‘I won't.'

I slipped my foot into the stirrup. The horse shuffled in the dirt.

‘Now just swing your other leg over the saddle,' said Papa.

I did. I swear I did. But while I was doing it the horse lumbered forward, and instead of swinging into the saddle I found myself landing with a dusty thump on the ground.

Papa tried hard to hide his laughter. He ducked his head behind the horse's mane so I couldn't see, but his shoulders shuddered.

‘This is stupid,' I said. ‘I'll never learn to ride.'

‘I never thought you'd give up on something so easily,' said Papa.

‘Riding's not good for you,' I retorted, dusting off my breeches. ‘I already had a sore bum, and now I'm bruised all over.'

More hoof beats sounded along the pathway.

‘Hello!' someone called.

A decrepit old cart pulled into view, hauled along by an even more decrepit old workhorse. Lucas, Francesco and Ricardo waved from the seat — some of the other boys were in the back.

‘You haven't got very far yet,' said Francesco.

‘We will race you to the Old City,' Ricardo called.

They drew up alongside us.

‘Where did you steal that contraption?' I asked.

‘We borrowed it, but unlike you notorious horse thieves, we asked permission first,' said Miller, whose legs were dangling from the rear of the cart.

‘My uncle is a farmer,' Francesco explained. ‘We promised to deliver this for him.'

I peered into the cart. In between all the pirates was a load of marrows. Jem was sitting on the floor with his long legs folded in front of him. It looked a little undignified, but a lot more comfortable than riding.

‘You won't make it to the city before dusk with that load,' Papa teased.

I jumped up into the cart to sit beside Miller on the tailgate.

‘I'd rather take all day than sit astride that creature ever again,' I said. ‘We'll meet you there.'

Lucas jumped up and down, shaking the whole cart.

‘I'll go on the creature,' he said. ‘Please, Papa, can I ride with you?'

Papa leaped onto the horse in one effortless movement, clicked his tongue, and walked the horse towards us slowly. As he got close, Papa stuck out an arm and swung Lucas onto the saddle behind him, just as I'd ridden with him the night before. But Lucas was a lot more enthusiastic than I had been.

‘Let's go, Papa. We'll beat Lily.'

‘It's not a race, Lucas,' said Papa, but there was a look in his eye that meant he would be riding as fast as he could, just to make sure they got there before us.

I waved. ‘Off you go then — see if I care.' I bet there was a look in my eye to match my father's, but the meaning would have been different:
Maybe I do care. I wish things were easy between us.

‘Meet you at the city gates,' said Jem, ‘if our wheels don't fall off first.'

Papa dug his heels into the horse's flanks. They rocketed off along the track, and as they rode Lucas shouted with glee.

‘Ride like the
sirocco
, Papa.'

I kept waving until they raced out of sight, and then my arm fell to my side. I looked about, at Jem with his long legs folded up around his chin, at Miller with his feet dangling, at Ricardo in a mangled straw hat, at Francesco with the reins in his hands.

Moggia started laughing first. ‘What are we?' he asked. ‘Pirates or grocers?'

Miller joined in. ‘We are fearless and brave marrow delivery boys.'

‘We're the scourge of the vegetable business,' said Moggia. ‘Bakers and milkmaids tremble at our approach.'

‘Anyone who tries to stop us will be pounded with potatoes,' said Miller.

‘As if this isn't embarrassing enough already,' Jem grumbled, but there was laughter in his eyes.

‘Wait until that French general hears that we are
riding towards him in our marrow wagon,' said Moggia. ‘He will flee the islands forever.'

They had me giggling then, too, in spite of the feelings smouldering inside me. Papa and Lucas might be riding like a storm, together, but I was with my friends. It was like having lots of silly uncles. None of them told me I was wrong all the time — unless I was, but then I didn't mind so much.

‘These marrows are the finest in Malta,' said Francesco huffily, but that made Miller snort so hard that he fell off the back of the cart and was left laughing in the dust.

‘Hey, you gang of farm hands — wait for me.'

What with the laughing and the tumble-down cart and the clapped-out horse and Francesco's erratic steering, it was noon by the time we reached the Old City. Papa was waiting impatiently in the shade near the city gate.

We all waved crazily.

‘Hello!' I called, trying to forgive him for racing off with Lucas and leaving me behind. ‘Where's Lucas?'

My brother appeared, limping, from behind the tree. I jumped from the cart and ran to him.

‘Lucas, what's wrong?'

He looked up at me, sheepishly. ‘I don't really like horse-riding after all.'

I grinned at him. ‘Your backside?'

‘It feels worse than the time Mama whacked me for stealing the blackberry pie.'

It was hard to stay mad at him. ‘You'll live,' I said.

‘We saw the man on the black horse again,' said Lucas. ‘He was watching us from the hilltop.'

I glanced at Papa, but he shrugged. ‘It was too far away to see who he was, but so long as he keeps his distance for another day, we'll be safe enough.'

He seemed more concerned than he was letting on, but his frown warned me not to say anything more just now.

‘Come on,' I told Lucas, ‘I can't wait for you to meet Carlo.'

He held my hand as we walked along the bridge towards the monumental gate. It towered over our heads, and Lucas gasped in wonder as I had done on my first visit to the Old City, so many months ago. Papa led the way. The boys were waiting for us near the dreaded dungeons, and they were still chuckling and joking as we walked along the marvellous stone streets.

Sometimes, when you've had a fright or a nasty skirmish, like our midnight escape from Diablo, you laugh more than you really need to — afterwards, when it's all over. It's as if danger releases doves into the sky, or you're running along a beach and you feel so happy to be safe that you can't help but smile. Even though you know, somewhere deep inside, that danger may still be lying in wait — that Diablo and his nasty crew might be lurking just around the corner — you feel as if nothing can ever harm you again.

We should have known, by then, not to laugh quite so loudly.

Carlo's mother, Duchessa de Santiago, greeted
us in the grand library that had once been her husband's. Ricardo whipped off his hat, and the boys ducked in a muddled bow before her. I suppose I should have curtseyed, but I didn't really know how, and anyway, this room seemed so familiar to me now. Books and papers were spread out across the desk, and in spite of the heat of the day a small fire burned in the grate.

The Duchessa seemed smaller and more vulnerable than the last time I'd seen her. Her dress was of the finest black silk, and she wore no jewellery apart from a thin gold cross at her throat. She was almost too young to be a mother, yet she was already a widow. But it wasn't grief for her husband that had carved those lines of sorrow in her face. It was something else.

‘You are here,' she said, rising from her chair and holding out a hand to Papa. He bowed low and kissed her pale fingers.

‘Please forgive our intrusion, Your Grace.'

Her dark eyes shone brittle as obsidian. ‘El Capitán de Diablo said you would come.'

‘Diablo?' said Papa, startled. He looked around as if a posse of pirates might burst out from behind a curtain.

‘Has he been here?' I asked.

‘Two days ago,' she said, her voice dropping so low it was almost a sob. ‘He has taken Carlo.'

‘Again?' said Jem. ‘My oath. That boy does nothing but get kidnapped.'

‘Then we can ransom him,' said Moggia, remembering to bow again to the Duchessa.
‘Forgive me, your madamness. But I think Diablo was cheated of the gold last time, so perhaps now he wants a higher price.'

The Duchessa shook her head sadly. ‘It is too late. Diablo has handed him over to the French in Valletta.'

‘What?' We all exploded at once.

‘How dare he?' howled Francesco. ‘The demon!'

‘Why would he do that?' Papa's tone was more measured.

‘Because he knows Carlo is your friend.' Her answer sent frosty ripples of fear across my skin.

‘For revenge?' asked Jem. ‘What's the point of that?'

‘No,' said Papa, talking fast and thinking even faster. ‘It's all part of his plan, just as Cookie warned — he's drawing us into a trap, trying to get us to do something rash so he can attack us out in the open.'

‘So Carlo is bait, just like Cookie?' said Miller.

‘That's the way it seems to me,' said Papa.

‘I think you are right,
signore
,' said the Duchessa. ‘My Carlo is merely a pawn that Diablo will sacrifice to win the game.'

‘Wherever we go, Diablo has been there just before us,' said Moggia. ‘It's as if he is following us from in front.'

‘Maybe he's not so stupid, after all,' said Jem. ‘Who'd have thought it?'

‘Don't go getting all alarmed, now,' said Miller, calm as ever. ‘I can almost understand Diablo's crazy thinking, but what do the French want with Carlo? He's just a boy.'

‘He is the son of his father,' said the Duchessa. ‘My husband, of blessed memory, is remembered as a great patriot, a martyr. The French will wish to make an example of his son.'

‘But surely they realise that Carlo's more of a messenger boy than a freedom fighter?' said Jem. ‘It's not as if he's the leader of a militia.'

‘It matters not,' she replied. ‘They plan to shoot him, and many other brave souls, at dawn tomorrow.'

‘Tomorrow?' It didn't seem possible; it didn't seem real. It couldn't be real.

‘Your Grace, forgive me, but you're not safe here.' Papa's face was furrowed with worry. ‘Diablo may return at any time. Come with us, I beg you. You will be quite safe — my wife is on board the
Mermaid
and will be only too happy to keep you company.'

She shook her head. ‘I must stay here, in case Carlo comes home.'

‘I'm afraid the French will not set him free so readily,' said Papa.

The Duchessa gazed up at him. ‘I will pay anything, no matter how high the ransom.'

‘The French are not pirates, Your Grace, and I doubt very much that they can be bribed.' Papa's voice was kind, and reasonable, and everything he said was absolutely right. But deep inside me something was screaming that it couldn't possibly be true, that there must be some way to find Carlo and bring him home.

At Papa's words, the Duchessa sagged back into her chair as if all her spirit had evaporated into the
air. ‘Then what hope do I have?' she said, her eyes shining even brighter as tears welled up.

‘You have us,' I said, firmly.

Papa put a restraining hand on my shoulder. ‘Lily, we have other fish to fry. You know that as well as I.'

‘Fry all the fish you like,' I retorted, ‘but I have to rescue Carlo.'

‘You will do no such thing,' Papa warned, ‘especially not on your own. Do you hear me?'

‘Ricardo and Francesco will come with me.'

‘We will!' They both shouted it together, just as I knew they would. I flashed them a grateful glance. Good lads.

Papa's grip tightened, and he turned me around so he could stare into my eyes.

‘Don't you do that staring thing,' I said. ‘It doesn't scare me any more.'

‘I'm not trying to scare you, I'm trying to talk some sense into you,' he said. ‘You need to understand the difference between tactics and strategy. Our strategy is to rid the island of the French altogether. If we can do that tonight, then Carlo will no longer be in danger.'

‘But if we fail, they'll shoot him for certain,' I argued.

‘That's a risk we have to take. We can't change our plans now, or we place many other lives in danger.'

‘Perhaps not, but —'

‘The freedom of Malta is more important than one person, no matter how precious that person might be,' said Papa.

‘Not to me, it isn't,' I said.

‘I know,' Papa went on. ‘But Carlo would understand that, and so would his father, rest his soul. We have a very important task to carry out — nothing must prevent us from attacking the armoury. That's why we are here.'