Celestial Land and Sea (18 page)

"What does he want?" Donal sighed.

"Princess, I'm talking to you!" The man directed a long, high-pitched wolf-whistle at Grace.

"You wait here, I'll sort him out." Donal put his arm in front of Grace as he moved forward. "He must have heard about Tibbott."

The man reached them and came to a halt, the two others standing behind him at either side to form a stumpy triangle. Standing in front of Donal, their clothes appeared neater, and less worn than his. Their hair was shorter too, tidier, and their beards had been trimmed so that they didn't look as unkempt. With the exception of a single gold band around one of Joyce's fingers, they were free of decoration or any sign of great wealth, but they were otherwise well groomed.

"What do you want, Joyce?"

"Absolutely nothing, Donal, my good man," Joyce claimed, patting a hand on Donal's shoulder and forcing him out of the way. "I'm just here to see the lovely Gráinne."

There was a sinister look flickering in Joyce's eyes as Grace came face to face with him. She was shocked to find that she didn't feel uncomfortable around this man as she had expected, but instead she had become annoyed, agitated even. There was something about him that suggested to Grace that he was nothing but trouble, and she didn't particularly wish to engage him if she could help it.

"What do you want?" she growled.

"As I told Donal, little princess, nothing at all; but news of your little plan has travelled downwind to Galway, and I just thought I should let you know that I think you're wasting your time. The quicker you realise that your precious son will be stuck over there forever, the sooner you can give up with this stupid plan and stop with the silly games. They'll probably have killed him before you arrive anyway!"

Grace wanted to hurl herself at Joyce, but Donal, having anticipated her actions, held her back to prevent her from worsening the situation. The two men standing at either side of Joyce broke their silence, chuckling. A snarl crept across Joyce's mouth.

"Where would the little princess be without her big brother to help her out? How sweet it is of him to stop you from doing anything you'd regret."

"Leave off, Joyce!" Donal snapped, taking another step forward and jabbing a finger into Joyce's chest. He towered above all three of them.

"Don't worry, Donal." Joyce took hold of his finger with his whole hand and eased it away. "We'll soon be leaving. I wouldn't want to be stuck on this island anyway. I mean what I say though," he said as he started walking backward. "Why don't you just leave the men to do the men's work, and you can get back to your safe little domestic life and look after the children? Goodbye, Princess!" He waved as he turned and headed off in the direction he'd come from, his mute friends following obediently. His howls of laughter could still be heard as they clambered out of sight.

"I swear, if he called me 'Princess' one more time, I was going to punch him." She tried to slow her breathing as she calmed herself. What right did he have to go around projecting his vile misogyny at her?

"Don't listen to him, Gráinne. You're the best captain I've ever known. The things you've seen and done over the years—I bet Joyce wouldn't have a clue! He's just jealous of you because he can barely steer a ship in the right direction. And we
will
rescue Tibbott, you know we will."

"Yes, Donal. I know." Grace wasn't sure she meant that, but it was all she could say as her eyes were locked in the direction where Joyce and his merry men had disappeared, his words racing through her mind. He had spoken with bitterness and hatred, but at the end of the day, what if Joyce was right?

 

Everybody was in place. The men had scattered across the ship, checking this and sorting that as they prepared to set sail. Grace made her way around the deck. She hoped that they thought she was just ensuring that their roles were being fulfilled and that everything was in working order, but in reality she was trying to organise the different areas of her ship in her mind before they left. If nothing else, moving around helped to steady her nerves.

"Nearly ready, Captain!" Michael announced as he hastily removed a knot from the mainsail.

"Thank you, I am glad that everything is in order."

Grace continued to walk the deck until she approached the stern of the ship. Cathleen came bursting out of the doors to the crew's cabin. Unfortunately, she hadn't been lucky enough to escape the evils of Joyce, as she'd come bounding down the hill toward the ship shortly after Joyce had left, swinging what looked to Grace like a picnic hamper from her arm. "Who's that man?" she'd asked after she'd walked by him, but Donal decided it wasn't worth a proper response.

"Nobody with whom you need to concern yourself, Cathleen," he replied, hoping the young girl would never have to be on the receiving end of Joyce's bitterness.

A grin spread across Cathleen's face from ear to ear. "Miss Gráinne!" she beamed as she took in the breadth of the ship.

"Cathleen, would you be kind enough to inform the men that we are ready to leave?"

"Oh, yes! Absolutely!" Accepting her responsibility, Cathleen bounced back through the doors of the cabin and out of sight.

Grace turned to face the ladders that led to the captain's cabin. She knew it was there that she belonged. She'd had no difficulty in racing back up the ladders when she'd rushed to return home on her first visit to the island, but now she had a duty to fulfil, and the thought of taking that next step was daunting.

She placed a hand on a rung just above her head and pulled herself up. She ascended slowly, taking each step one at a time with caution. The ladder was longer than she had recalled. Eventually she reached the top. She straightened herself and looked around.

There it was, right in front of the door to her cabin: the steering wheel.

She inched toward it until she was standing right behind it. Her eyes moved forward so she could take in the entire ship. It looked larger than before, as she watched the crew return to their positions on deck. The two smaller masts were ready. It was just the mainsail that they were waiting for now.

Michael stood beneath it. Grace caught his eye and he signalled to confirm that all was ready. As she nodded toward him in response, he began pulling a rope. Grace watched in awe as the sail moved higher up the mast. It began to unfurl, ready to play with the wind.

Once it was finally in position Grace noticed that this sail was not plain like the other two. Instead, there was a crest spread across its background. It took Grace a second to notice that this was the same crest that had appeared in the wax on the back of the letter she had addressed to Elizabeth I. As it flapped gently in the wind though, Grace noticed something different about this version. Beneath the crest were three words:
Terra Marique Potens
.

The phrase seemed familiar. Grace was sure she'd seen it somewhere before. She sifted through her mind as she tried to retrieve its meaning. After a few moments of staring at the crest, she remembered it.

"The clan motto!" she gasped to herself. She'd read it somewhere online during one of her research sessions. It took her a moment to remember the translation, her knowledge of Latin being little to none. She whispered to herself when it came back to her: "
Mighty by land and sea
."

She thought about the phrase. There could be no motto more significant for Gráinne O'Malley than that.  From what she'd read -
and from what she felt in the boots of
Gráinne
—there was no doubt that it was a perfect motto.

And she knew this sentiment was one she was bound to follow. On this day the motto was not only for Gráinne, it was now time for Grace Byrne to rise to the challenge and live up to Gráinne's O'Malley's name.

Donal gave her a wave from the deck, a signal that it was time. Grace inhaled, then shouted with as much gusto as she could summon, "Up with the anchor!"

From somewhere down below she heard the anchor being hoisted as several men obeyed the command. This was it. The moment had finally arrived. There was nothing left for Grace to do except steer the ship out of port. She moved her hands over the wheel, trying to steady the tremors in her fingers. From the crafted wooden wheel stretched six handles, each one reaching out from the centre of the circle, and Grace stretched out her arms at either side to measure it. Her arms barely exceeded its width, her own frame standing tiny in comparison. Her left hand reached for ten o'clock, and her right hand for two, and her fingers grasped the wooden handles.

"Off we go, boys! London's calling!" Her shouts were greeted with a chorus of cheers from below as she turned the wheel. She laughed joyously as the
Pirate Queen
slipped away from the shore. Grace no longer felt as if she were playing a part; she had become Gráinne O'Malley.

 

 

 

 

 

 

L
ord Bingham scurried along the corridor, clutching the letter tightly in his fist. How proud Her Majesty would be of him when he delivered it to her. Once she found out who it was from he was bound to be rewarded. Even Her Majesty could not deny that he had assisted in bringing her to him.

He stopped outside the room. The door was closed, but he knew she was in inside. Voices drifted from within. He pressed his ear against the door to listen.

"Your Majesty, there is not much time left. Something must be done with the boy to prevent questions being asked, and—"

"Do you not trust my judgement, my Lord?"

"Yes, Your Majesty, of course I do, but—"

"Then we shall leave it at that. I shall ensure that young Tibbott will come to no harm until we are ready to proceed with a full execution. And I can assure you, Lord Burghley, that it will be most satisfying. As long as we are able to bring the mother here, I see no flaw in my plan. She must not feel that she is in a position of power. Now, will that be everything for today?" she asked.

"Yes, Your Majesty."

He bowed and started for the door. Bingham shuffled out of the way just in time to save him from being sent flying into the room. Lord Burghley had left and the door was closed again, but instead of knocking he decided to remain hidden behind it for a moment. If he'd just heard the muffled sounds correctly, then Her Majesty was not going to receive this letter well at all. If it looked like Gráinne O'Malley was the one coordinating their correspondence, then she would not be happy. Perhaps it would be best if he just quietly walked away and carefully disposed of the letter. If she never knew it had existed...

The door opened.

"Lord Bingham?" Elizabeth stood in the doorway. "Whatever are you doing lurking out here?"

"Your Majesty..." he quivered. Straightening his back from the hunch he'd fallen into, he tried to compose himself. The letter was still in his hand. "There has been a note for you, Your Majesty."

"Then let me see it." She had to snatch the letter away from him as he firmed his grip on it.

She tore at the seal in one swift motion and unfolded the parchment. Her eyes flicked over the letter as she read it. After she finished reading she remained still. This had not been part of her plan.

"Your Majesty?"

"Silence!"

Bingham took a step backward at the outcry.

"This will never do! She must not interfere like this. I specifically ordered you to capture her and bring her to me. I do not recall having requested for her to come to me willingly." She thought for a moment. "Unless... Yes! Let her arrive; and I shall speak with her. She will regret the day she ever stepped foot in my palace. There is not much time until she arrives. I must prepare! Get out!"

Bingham raised a hand to speak.

"I said, GET OUT!"

He scampered back down the corridor and out of sight. Elizabeth would welcome this female pirate into the palace and there she could gain complete leverage. It seemed like the perfect plan. She didn't know why she hadn't thought it until now. With both mother and son in her grasp nothing could stop her. She turned and hurried through the door to start the preparations. There was not a second to spare. She could almost taste the satisfaction as she commenced plotting for the meeting. Revenge was sweet and it would soon be hers.

 

 

 

 

 

 

T
he voyage so far had been fairly pleasant. It had taken Grace much less time than she had imagined to learn to control the wheel, becoming used to its weight and the speed at which it turned almost instantly once they'd set sail. From her perch Grace could see that everything seemed to be going smoothly on deck too.

"Cathleen!" she called to the girl, who was standing just beneath Grace at the entrance to the crew's cabin. "Please come up here!"

Cathleen raced up the ladder and a second later was standing beside her.

"Cathleen, I want you to do something for me. I want to go down to the deck to see how everybody's getting along, but I don't want to leave the wheel unattended. Would you take the wheel for a while and keep an eye on the horizon for me?"

"Miss Gráinne, I'd feel honoured. I wish to have a ship of my own one day, something as wonderful as yours, I do hope. How I love it up here!"

Grace moved to the ladder and began the descent. 'The sea is calm at the moment so you shouldn't need to correct our heading. Just shout down to me if you need anything."

As Cathleen bounced in front of the wheel, Grace reached the bottom rung of the ladder and jumped off, landing with both boots on deck.

"Captain!" Michael called from mid-ship. He was standing tall as he adjusted ropes near the mainsail.

"All is well. Everything is working according to plan. Thank you for all your help." Grace tried her best to sound authoritative but only succeeded in maintaining a friendly tone. She liked her crew, and she thought it was important that they shouldn't think they were working
for
her, but rather that they were working
with
her. The last thing she wanted was to end up sounding like Mr Barrie.