Betrayal (8 page)

“Ahh,” I said. I couldn’t help it. The kittens were adorable with their huge eyes and little paws. “It’s all right, I won’t harm—”

“Is she there?” Masou nudged me from behind.

“No,” I said. “It’s kittens. I don’t know what we—”

“Shhh!” Masou whispered fiercely, staring over his shoulder.

There were voices outside the door. One of them was Captain Drake’s! I dived behind the sail with the cats in it, and Masou shrank into the space behind the door.

Captain Drake’s lively face appeared round the door as he peered into the dim room. “You’ve rousted the sails out well?” he demanded.

“Aye, Captain,” said a voice behind him. “We shook ’em out and checked ’em for holes yesterday, while you were at Court.”

No, you didn’t, I thought, while my heart went
boom-da-da-boom
. That family of cats looks far too cosy to have been disturbed for a week. I prayed none of the cats would move and attract Captain Drake’s attention. Where have you put Lady Sarah, you evil man? I thought, staring at him. She must be here somewhere.

“Very good,” said Drake. And then he pulled the door shut.

As Masou and I hid there in the shadows, we heard bolts slide home on the outside of the door! We stared at each other in horror as the footsteps moved away. Then Masou began muttering to himself in his own language and pushing at the door.

I felt my way over to him, my mouth totally dry. We tried everything to slide the bolts open from the wrong side. Masou jiggled with his knife, I worked on the hinges—but to no avail.

“If only it was locked, I could pick it,” Masou said, thumping his fist on the door in frustration.

“Shhh,” I warned. “Don’t do that, someone will hear and we’ll be in terrible trouble.”

“I hate it!” he panted. “I hate being locked in, I …” He slipped back into Arabic again.

I felt for his shoulder and patted it. “Masou,” I
said, “they’ll have to come and get sails sooner or later, and then they’ll let us out.”

“No, I have to get out now!” he insisted. He banged with his fists and shouted at the top of his voice—but he was drowned out by a sudden tramping of feet above us. A work song began: “Oo-ay and up she rises, oo-ay and up she rises …” The feet settled to a steady stamp and heave, and there was a creaking and clattering and a long squealing sound.

“What’s that, Masou?” I caught his hands to stop them drumming. “Listen, what is it?”

He was quiet for a long time. “I think it’s the capstan for the anchor,” he said eventually.

“Eh?” He was talking Sailorish.

“They’re pulling up the anchor,” Masou clarified.

“Oh,” I said. “Um … does that mean they’re getting ready to sail?”

Masou nodded, and then he started banging again. Except nobody heard because of all the noise from the anchor.

Masou was panting heavily by now, so I took hold of his hands again and patted them. It was very frightening being locked up in the dark, and knowing that the ship was getting ready to sail soon. But trying to
calm Masou helped me not to feel so frightened myself. I’d never known him be so scared before—I’d seen him juggle with fire while balancing on top of a little pole, and not so much as blink. I had been the one with my heart in my mouth then. And seeing him frightened now made me feel guilty for bringing him on such a mad escapade. We had found no trace of either Lady Sarah or Olwen anywhere.

There were thuds and bangs and shouts. The ship began to rock in a different way. There was more creaking, the sound of counting, and men shouting, “Heave!” And then two big splashes. More shouting. The ship was definitely moving—it seemed to find a new way to rock every minute.

I had thought it would be simple to rescue Lady Sarah, but now we needed rescuing ourselves! What if they didn’t need sails for days and days? What if they were going to the Azores or New Spain? What if the ship got caught in a storm and sank? What if it went into battle with the Spanish? I felt horribly sick with panic, but I forced myself to keep quiet for fear of making Masou any worse.

I don’t know how long I sat there in the dark, listening to the happy squeaks of the kittens with their mother, and worrying about what would happen to
us. Masou calmed down a bit after a while—I could hear him breathing more steadily. The ship was rolling from side to side, which was making me feel peculiar. I tried to take my mind off it by thinking about Lady Sarah—what if Drake’s regard for her had been nothing but an act and he wanted her only for her wealth? Or what if he had lost patience with her—which, heaven knows, is easy to do—and had put her in irons in the brig, with the rats? She’d be so frightened. She didn’t even like
mice
and she was so silly and timid. …

After what felt like a very long time, there was another kind of movement—like a horse makes when it canters. It was quite soothing, really. Although I was so frightened and worried (
what
would the Queen do when I got back—
if
I got back?), the motion was comforting and I curled up on one of the sails and dozed off.

The next thing I knew there was a bright light! A loud bang! A rough man’s voice calling, “Tom?” in the distance. Then the man’s voice shouted, “What the—! God’s teeth, what’s this? What the hell are you two boys doing here?”

I was thick-headed with sleep, trying to work
out how a man with a big gold earring and a pigtail had got into the bedchamber of the Maids of Honour. …

Masou scrambled to his feet, looking terrified.

The man called over his shoulder, “Mr. Price, we’m got stowaways again, bloody little rats.” Then he turned back to Masou and me. “Come on, you! Out of there—and you’d better not’ve damaged any of they sails, you hear?”

He not only had a pigtail, he was as wide as a barrel and one of his front teeth was missing. He grabbed hold of Masou by the arm and slung him out into the passage, where Masou rolled neatly and came to his feet. Then he strode towards me, grabbed my jerkin, and did the same to me. I landed in a heap.

“Why did you do that?” I shouted, climbing to my feet again, outraged at his unfairness. “It’s not our fault, we got locked in!”

The man swung his arm and hit me so hard round the head that I fell over again, my head ringing and my ear burning. I felt too dizzy to get up for a bit. Masou came and stood between me and the man.

“What were you doing in there at all? Looking for vittles to steal, I’ll be bound!” shouted the man.

“No, sir, we weren’t,” replied Masou. “We were lost.”

I was very impressed at how steady his voice was.

“Call me a liar, would ye?” roared the man, and he aimed a clip round Masou’s ear too—except Masou was clever enough to duck and roll so he didn’t get hit.

I struggled to my knees and then decided it might be sensible to stay on the floor. “It’s true,” I said. “We were
lost
.” But I could hardly tell him that we’d become lost while looking for the girl his Captain had kidnapped, now could I?

“A likely story!” He kicked at Masou and then at me. “Up! Get up and explain yourselves to the Mate.”

At least he wasn’t taking us to the Captain—yet. I rubbed the bruise on my bum where I’d landed on the floor, and my swollen ear, then scurried up the ladder after Masou.

As we got to the top, Masou muttered to me, “Shut up and let me talk. I don’t want you making him so angry he throws us overboard.”

“He wouldn’t dare—” I began.

“Who’d know?” Masou pointed out. “You’re not important now,
Gregory,
so be quiet!”

I realized with a chill that Masou was right! I was no longer Lady Grace Cavendish, with the protection of Her Majesty the Queen. I was Gregory, suspected stowaway! I could see that Masou was frightened—a different sort of frightened from when we were shut in—and it was making him fierce. I started to get frightened, too. This wasn’t at all what I’d planned. We were supposed to be back at Court with Lady Sarah, safe and sound, by now!

We went up another ladder and found ourselves in the middle of the deck, next to the biggest mast. There was a strong wind blowing, and big waves, and no land anywhere around. When I looked up I could see lots of sails billowing in the wind, and ropes everywhere, all crossing each other.

The wide man who’d found us gripped us both by the shoulder and shoved us forwards, until we were standing in front of another broad man in a woollen doublet and a ruff. His hands tightened and he shoved us again so we both fell on our knees.

“Stowaways, Mr. Newman, sir,” he said. “Found ’em in the sail locker.”

Mr. Newman looked down at us as if we were dead rats, and sighed. “Have either of you sailed before?” he asked.

“Yes, sir,” answered Masou quickly, “I have. A two-master out of Dunkirk when I was younger.” I remembered Masou telling me that he’d only been six years old at the time, but I didn’t think he’d want me to mention that. “I’m an acrobat now,” he added. “My name is Masou—and this is my mate, Gregory.”

Mr. Newman looked a bit more interested. “Acrobat, eh? Can you climb?” he asked Masou.

“Yes, and I can tumble, sir,” Masou told him proudly.

“Go on then,” said Mr. Newman, folding his arms.

Masou bowed, stood on tiptoe, then bounced—turned a neat somersault in the air—and came back down lightly on his feet.

“And you?” said Mr. Newman to me.

“Um, please, Mr. Newman, where’s the ship going?”

He scowled. “None of your business, boy. That’s up to the Captain. Now, have you sailed before?”

“Er … no, I haven’t sailed,” I said, then, as he frowned, remembered to add, “sir.”

“So what can you do?” Mr. Newman enquired.

“Um, I can … I …” I thought desperately for something. “I can embroider, sir … I was apprenticed
to the Queen’s Wardrobe, but I ran away because it was boring. And … I … can paint and draw, too,” I added, hoping that the patterns I’d designed for my embroideries would stand me in good stead.

“Soft as a girl, in other words,” said Mr. Newman disgustedly. “You, Masou, are you afraid of heights?”

“No, sir, not at all,” Masou replied.

“Good,” Mr. Newman said. “The banner’s snagged at the topsail yard. You and your mate go up there and free it.” He pointed up and up and up the mast that was nearest the front of the ship, to where there was a sort of lump tangled in the ropes.

Masou knuckled his forehead. “Yes, sir.” He went over to the rail and climbed on it.

I stared in horror at the enormous mast stretching upwards into the sky. “What if we fall?” I quavered.

“You’ll die,” said the man who had found us. “And that’d be an easy way out.”

“You can do as you’re told, boy,” added Mr. Newman, “or you can go in the brig. But you get no food if you don’t work. Up you go.”

Well, it was long past breakfast time and I was thirsty, too, so I gulped and nodded.

Mr. Newman frowned. “I don’t like your manners,
Gregory,” he said. “Mend ’em or you’ll be in worse trouble than you can imagine.”

“Y-yes, sir,” I replied, and went to follow Masou.

He hadn’t started climbing yet. “You go first,” he whispered to me. “Then if you slip, I can catch you. Just think of it as a tree,” he suggested.

“Hell’s teeth!” I exclaimed nervously. I don’t mind climbing trees, but this was a tree that was rocking back and forth with the waves.

“Wait for the ship to roll the other way,” instructed Masou. “Now, up …”

I climbed, holding on as tight as I could. My knees were knocking, but at least I could hear Masou behind me. We went up and up, past the huge yellow-white sheets of the sails and about a thousand ropes. But the ladder—what was it Captain Drake had called them? Ratlines? Anyway, the rungs got narrower and narrower and then stopped under the platform, halfway up the mast, that he’d called the fighting top.

“Now what?” I wailed. “There’s no more ladder!”

“See the ropes going out to the edge of the fighting top?” called Masou from below me.

I looked, and saw ratlines I hadn’t noticed, stretching from the mast out to the edge of the top—but
what good were they? I’d be hanging right out over the deck, which was really far below us now. “Yes,” I whispered, knowing what Masou was going to say.

He did. “We have to climb them.”

“What?” I squealed, sounding almost as squeaky as Lady Sarah when she’s seen a mouse. “I can’t!”

“Yes, you can,” Masou said firmly.

“But … it’s too high … I’ll be hanging by my hands. I can’t, Masou!” I pleaded.

“Yes, you can!” shouted Masou fiercely. “You
can
do it, because you
have
to!”

Masou had never spoken to me like that before. Nobody had. But I still could not move.

“Allah save us,” he muttered. “Grace, I cannot coax you, there’s no time. You’ve climbed harder things; I know you can do this, but the only way for you to know it too is to try. Now
climb
the
tree
! Or else you will have to go back down and confess that you’re a girl.”

Suddenly I felt furious with myself. Who was acting like Lady Sarah now? Masou was right. I would
not
give up and admit to being a girl just because I was scared of climbing the ratlines.