The Voyage of Lucy P. Simmons (9 page)

Grady didn't flinch. “Drop it,” he growled, exerting pressure on the blade. Drops of the culprit's blood beaded along the edge of the dagger. Slash reluctantly released the gun. It thunked onto the deck and Grady kicked it out of reach.

“We checked this ship top to bottom,” Pru said. “How did you slip aboard?”

Slash licked his lips, giving him a snakelike look. “I don't need t' tell ye nothin'!”

Grady drew the knife closer to his throat, as if to give the dirty cur a close shave. “Ye might wanna reconsider that answer.”

Slash grimaced. “Stole away t' the hold while ye were still anchored. When ye checked below I slipped into the bilge, like a water rat.”

Miss Oonagh looked triumphant. “Didn't I tell ye's I seen a big rat?”

“What else?” Grady said, lowering the knife a little.

“Cold and foul that water was. I stunk like a latrine by the time I got outta there.”

“Ye still do!”

We turned toward Old Peader, who'd finally opened his eyes and unplugged his ears. He stepped toward Slash, a fist raised above his head. “'Twas you and yer mates who ransacked me cottage, shoved me in the grave, left me fer dead! Then ye's burnt me home to the ground! It's not yer clothes that reek of the bilge—it's yer miserable soul!” Rosie, sensing her master's wrath, sprang at the scar-faced man, knocking Grady off balance. Pandemonium erupted. The knife clattered to the ground, and as the pirate sprang forward Rosie sunk her teeth into his calf. He cried out and kicked her squarely in the ribs. Rosie howled in pain, Old Peader dropped to his knees to comfort her, tears running down his cheeks.

“That's enough!” Without thinking I rushed up to Slash. Stood my ground. “You and Quaide—nothing but a couple of bullies! Cowards! You pick on people who are weaker than you! Help yourself to what isn't yours! You . . . you . . . make me sick! A sorry excuse for a man!”

Slash's eyes narrowed. The next thing I saw was the back of his hand.
Crack!
He struck the side of my face so hard I was knocked to the ground. The world went hazy for a moment—I saw only darkness. Then a jumble of scuffling feet, a din of angry voices, the pop and crack of blows. Walter and Grady, in duplicate, pounding on Slash. Seamus straddling him. Aunt Pru, swinging the oar like a bat, connecting with the pirate's shins. Something small and dark hurtling across the deck. The gun?

Boom!
Another shot.

Old Peader, hands shaking, pointed the smoking pistol.

“Jump!” he commanded, waving the weapon. Slash scrambled to his feet, mouth agape.

Boom!
We ducked as another bullet shot over Slash's right shoulder, ricocheting off one of the masts. Old Peader inched forward, trembling hands still brandishing the gun. “Now JUMP!” he commanded. “Over the side!” His eyes popped and his lips curled back, giving him the look of a crazed skeleton. He cocked the pistol again.

Slash's gaze shifted past Old Peader toward the horizon.

“Ye ain't seen the last of us!” Slash muttered. To me he added, “Got what I came 'ere fer—what I seen—I seen!” He hoisted himself on his wiry arms, swung one leg over, then the other. He hung that way, only the top of his head visible, peering at us over the rail. “And you,” he growled—to exactly who, I couldn't be certain—“far as Quaide's concerned, a deal's a deal.”

Before anyone could ask what he meant, Slash slipped from view, and
splash!

He was gone.

13

O
ld Peader slapped the tears that continued to leak from his reddened eyes. “What, in the name o' God, came over me's what I wanna know?” he wailed, face averted. He gently beat his fist against his chest in supplication, sniffled, and wiped his nose, all the earlier bravado drained away. “Forgive me, Lord, fer takin' the life of another—even though he's a worthless sinner!”

“Not too sure you need to beg forgiveness,” Marni said, turning from the rail where she'd been watching Slash tread water. She nodded toward the horizon. “Look . . .”

The black ship inched into view around the far side of Clare Island. Slash swam in that direction, stopping every few strokes to thrash his arms in the air, signaling his mates.

Grady spit overboard. “Soon as we seen that scalliwag we shoulda known 'is ship'd be close behind. If he's lucky they'll spot 'im and strain 'im outta the sea.”

“Oh, thank the good Lord,” Old Peader said, blessing himself.

“Never in me life 'ave I seen such a whimperin' bleedin' heart!” Grady replied, glowering at Peader. “Right now we gotta check 'er again, bow to stern. Pump the bilge. Search the cabins. Make sure he was alone.”

“Aye,” Walter replied. He headed for the companionway, Seamus at his heels.

Grady nodded. “Jest a precaution. Then we gotta make time! Full sails! We can outrun 'em. Be done with the black ship and her rotten crew fer a while.”

“Ah, but yer wrong, sonny,” Miss Oonagh said, a faraway look in her eyes. “They's got somewhere t' lead us, they do. Ain't that right, Miss Marni?”

Marni looked at the old cailleach. “Where would that be?”

Oonagh snorted, as though the answer was obvious. “To yer boy,” she replied. “Where else? To yer missin' lad. He stowed aboard hopin' we'd give 'im the clues t' lead 'em to the treasure. Instead they'll be leadin' us to the lad! A whole diff'rent kind of treasure. Ain't that funny?”

The color drained from Marni's face. Her fingers flew to the locket at her throat—the locket that contained the weave of golden hair from the son she'd lost. She looked at Oonagh. “Please . . .” She took a deep breath. “Finding my boy—this is something you foresee?”

Miss Oonagh turned her attention back to sea. Marni persisted, “Miss Oonagh? What do you mean? Where will they lead us?”

The old cailleach leaned on the rail, her hawklike eyes scanning the waves. “He'll have a good thrashin' about fer a while, he will. Tee, hee, hee . . .”

“All clear,” Walter called. “Checked her top to bottom.”

I felt an arm slip around me, and turned. Pru tenderly ran her hand along my cheek. “You're swelling up a little,” she said. “I'll get you a nice cool compress.”

“Found him in my cabin,” I whispered, “pawing through our clues! We have to see if he took anything, figure out what he knows!” A parade of emotions ran across Pru's face. Surely she was wondering the same thing—could he have pieced together something that would lead them to the treasure ahead of us?

“They planted him on board to find out what we knew,” she said. “Probably intended to jump ship to report back to Quaide before we launched, or hunker down until we anchored.” She narrowed her eyes. “Let's go,” she said, leading me back to my cabin. In minutes I was lying on my bunk, a cold, wet, salty cloth folded neatly across my cheek. Once I was settled Pru combed through the evidence strewn on the floor. “Everything's here, I think. More a question of what he saw that he didn't already know . . .” She held up the torn page we'd pilfered from the harbormaster. “Puzzle pieces we haven't put together yet. Problem is we don't know what pieces they might have that we don't.”

The door opened quietly. “How's our girl?” Marni asked, studying me closely.

“No worse for wear,” I mumbled from beneath the soothing cloth. I wondered suddenly about Miss Oonagh's prophecy. About Slash and his cohorts leading us to Marni's son. But if Slash should drown out there, what did that mean? That Marni's son was already a part of the sea, that the curse would eventually claim the rest of us as well? Reuniting us on the other side? I shuddered at the notion. Marni continued to watch me closely as I rested. Whatever she might have been feeling was closed off and locked away.

I began to feel restless, or maybe it was just a sense of urgency to get to Ballyvaughan well ahead of the black ship. “I think I need a little air to clear my head,” I said. “I'm ready to go up top. Help sail this ship.”

Pru nodded. “Will likely do you good,” Marni added.

The air above deck whipped about, restoring my vigor and determination. In the course of a morning I'd pilfered the
Buccaneer
's manifest, discovered a stowaway, surprised him before he was able to make off with valuable documents, dodged a bullet or two, confronted Slash, and witnessed Old Peader's shocking show of bravado. An amazing day thus far, if I thought about it in the right light.

Walter caught sight of us and hurried over. “Did he hurt you, Lucy?” he asked, gently reaching toward my cheek. Seamus ambled up behind him. Two pairs of eyes full of concern, one dark as night, the other blue as the sea.

“I'm fine now.” I took my spyglass and squinted through the lens. Scanned from east to west and back again. No sign of Slash or the black ship. A smile teased the edges of my lips. As if reading my mind, Marni followed my gaze out to sea. “I might not count them out just yet,” she said quietly. “Things have a way of not being what they seem.”

Pru nodded, remembering, I'm sure, how many times we'd given Quaide the slip, only to have him resurface. “Perhaps this time is different. . . .”

“Yes,” I said hopefully, enjoying the feeling of the wind in my face. “Right now I believe we can conquer just about anything.”

“What d'ye have t' say about it, Miss Oonagh?” Seamus teased. We all turned toward her, waiting.

She was seated atop a huge coil of rope, looking like an ancient mariner queen, holding court from her nautical throne. What better place to channel prophesies from the deep? The old woman closed her eyes. Her mouth dropped open, head tilted back so that the sun shone on her face.

We all froze in anticipation. The old cailleach's lips began to twitch. We leaned forward so as not to miss a single word. I held my breath.

“K . . . k . . . k . . . k . . . k . . . puh . . . puh . . . puh . . . K . . . k . . . k . . . k . . . k . . .”

Was she speaking in Gaelic or some magical tongue?

No. She was snoring—long rasping inhales punctuated by short bursts of exhalation. “K . . . k . . . k . . . k . . . k . . . puh . . . puh . . . puh . . . K . . . k . . . k . . . k . . . k . . .”

I caught the twinkle in Seamus's eye, glanced between him and Pru. She threw back her head and let out a hoot, and the group of us laughed until we cried, the sound mingling with Miss Oonagh's snuffles. The ruckus drew the two dogs, who joined in, yapping and howling. Old Peader flapped his hands to try, unsuccessfully, to shush them.

As our laughter finally subsided, the tension and exhilaration of the last hours drained from me, leaving me a little weak in the knees. I caught Marni, not a trace of levity on her face, staring at Miss Oonagh, probably weighing her earlier prophecy. How much she must have desired for it to be true.

I leaned back against the mast, watching our small crew work together—all of us driven by one desire or another, searching for whatever it was we believed would make us whole. Maybe that was what made sailing so fulfilling—the sense of striving together to get to a destination that would, once and for all, satisfy our hearts. I laid my hands to the sails and joined them, losing myself in the task, enjoying the familiar feeling of coursing over the waves.

Seamus called out. “Look!”

“Land ho!” Grady hollered. “Land ho!”

There was the mainland, just visible off portside. Before Grady could grab hold of the ringer to sound the sighting, the ship's bell began to clang. Old Peader blessed himself. Miss Oonagh snorted to attention, snapping her mouth shut and eyes open.

“Ballyvaughan.” The word sighed from Oonagh's lips like a wispy incantation.

“Ready about!” Grady commanded. “We're bringin' 'er in!”

14

T
hey must have spotted the
Lucy P. Simmons
as she entered the harbor at Ballyvaughan. By the time we'd anchored, Capt'n Adams and Georgie were piloting toward us in a small boat. The capt'n welcomed us with an energetic salute and Georgie waved wildly, creating such a commotion that their vessel bobbed, threating to dump them both into the sea.

When they were within a hundred yards, Walter stripped off his shirt, let out a whoop, and plunged over the side. Georgie jumped in as well, and splashed the rest of the way to his brother. You'd have thought we'd been gone for months rather than mere days. A chilly, watery reunion, but one that couldn't have been warmer.

“Drop a line,” commanded the capt'n as the skiff pulled alongside us.

“We've a few extra passengers,” Pru called. Seamus, Old Peader, and Miss Oonagh leaned elbow to elbow along the rail.

The capt'n quickly replaced his look of surprise with a smile. “A couple of trips'll do it. Send them first.”

It took quite a lot of coaxing to get Old Peader into the harness and lower him into the boat. He hung like a fly in a spider's silk trap, eyes closed, body rigid, arms by his sides. Miss Oonagh went down with a wide-eyed “Woo hoo!” Seamus followed with Rosie in tow. The rest of us made it on the second run.

Annie and Addie waited on the stone jetty that pointed into the harbor like a long, curved finger. In one hand Addie held a basket and she shielded her eyes with the other. With the aid of Father's spyglass I watched her extend a hand to Old Peader and then Miss Oonagh, while Annie
ooh
ed and
ahh
ed over Rosie. Then they turned their attention to Seamus, who bowed deeply, and ceremoniously kissed each one's hand. I could see they were charmed. Who wouldn't be?

Anticipation made the wait feel interminable, but soon I was in Addie's embrace. “Oh lass, it's grand t' see ye, it is! Feels like it's been ferever!” After a good long squeeze she stepped back, holding me at arm's length. “Yer hair is a bit of a fright, and—oh—good heavens, is that a bruise formin' about yer eye?”

“Quaide . . . ,” I began.

“Quaide?!” Her soft brown eyes flashed as she peered over my shoulder toward the ship.

“Not Quaide exactly,” I said. “He planted one of his cohorts aboard the
Lucy P
. But we outsmarted him. It's fine, Addie, really.” I sounded more confident than I felt.

“Ye can tell me all I need t' know over tea 'n' scones. And I'll prepare a poultice to take down the swellin' 'neath yer eye.” She nodded toward Seamus. “We don't want t' mar yer complexion fer yer new admirer.” My face flushed, surely accentuating the bruise.

Walter approached, Annie clinging to him like a little monkey. “We missed you, Addie,” Walter said. “Could have used your able hands to help guide the
Lucy P
.” He pointed, thumb over shoulder, at Seamus. “Difficult with landlubbers pretending to be sailors.”

“Say what ye will, Wally,” Seamus countered, “but when Old Peader started shootin', I did me part, ain't that right, Miss Lucy?”

“Don't call me Wally. . . .”

“Shootin'? Did 'e say shootin'?” Addie asked, mouth agape.

I sighed. “We'll tell you about it over tea.”

After piling our trunks on a small donkey cart, the capt'n led us along a main road lined with white thatched buildings, and down a narrow dirt lane that wound away from the sea through a meadow of gorse and wildflowers. Rosie and Pugsley dashed off across the lea, startling the lazily grazing sheep, nipping at their heels. The pastureland gave way to fields striped with neat rows of crops. Georgie pointed. “Our potatoes are over there. See the cabbages and carrots?”

We finally reached Capt'n Adams's homestead—a fine, white-washed, two-story structure topped with a snug woven carpet of golden thatch. A number of uppity chickens strutted around the yard until Pugsley and Rosie sent them scuttling off in a huff.

“Just as lovely as I'd expect,” Marni said to the capt'n. “One who runs a tight ship always maintains the same high standards on land. The same could be said of your father, Lucy, don't you agree?”

Pru and I nodded in tandem.

“Nothin' like a place with a view of the sea,” Grady said. Sure enough, beyond the fields and pastureland was an expanse of bright blue trimming the patchwork of green. Old Peader dabbed his eyes.

“There goes the human waterin' can,” Miss Oonagh barked. “Always leakin' at the eyeballs!”

“You'd be mournful as well,” Peader retorted, “if ye'd lost what I 'ave. 'Course it'd be unlikely ye'd even remember afterward.”

Miss Oonagh ignored him and poked the capt'n with a bony finger. “So, when's the weddin' is what I'd like t'know? Don't 'ave a thing t' wear!”

Capt'n Adams cleared his throat and cast his eyes away. Addie blushed deeply. “Scones . . . tea and scones it 'tis,” Addie sputtered. “I'll be layin' out the table, I will, so 'scuse me, all. . . .” Like one of the flustered hens with feathers ruffled, Addie retreated inside, wiping her hands on her apron.

“Time for tea then,” the capt'n agreed, quickly ushering us inside.

Annie tugged at my shirt and whispered behind her hand. “They're in
love.
. . .”

“Does seem love is in the air,” Seamus suggested. “Grand, it 'tis!”

Miss Oonagh grinned. “Sure—ye oughta know!” she cackled. “With yer goo-goo eyes fer Miss Lucy, there.” She spun toward Walter. “Ye better watch out! Tee hee hee!” Her shoulders shook with laughter.

I glared at the old woman as I retreated into the cottage, my face on fire. I joined Addie, laying out cups and saucers, fine lace napkins, spoons, and knives. Neither of us spoke, each sneaking sideways glances at the other, questions hovering in the space between us. The rest wandered in to the smell of warm scones scenting the kitchen.

We whiled away the afternoon, relaying all that had happened on Clare Island and then at sea, avoiding much mention of Quaide or the pirate in front of Georgie, who could be too easily impressed by tales of his former hero's swashbuckling. In the midst of my musing, day gave way to evening. Addie and Annie listened to our saga while preparing shepherd's pie with brown bread. The cheerful peat fire in the hearth lent light and took the dampness out of the air. How much I'd missed the feeling of home that Addie brought, how she made me feel grounded and safe. My mind wandered to the days when she'd cared for our family back in Maine. In fact, I couldn't recall a time when those strong, capable hands hadn't provided a sense of security for me. She'd been in my life even longer than Mother and Father, and I'd spent more time with her than with Aunt Pru and Marni combined. Oh, how I longed for the impossible—a real family to call my own.

I stared into my bowl so the others wouldn't notice my eyes welling.

But Addie somehow knew. She reached across the table and gave my hand a squeeze. “Glad t' see me hardy fare warmin' yer heart agin,” she said. “Just as it should be!”

Our appetites sated, we gathered around the fire, pulling up chairs and benches, Annie and Georgie sprawling on the thick woven rug. Miss Oonagh pushed back in a creaky oak rocker, slipped her clay pipe and bag of tobacco from her pocket, and began tapping the pipe and blowing out any leftover ash, pinching a bit of tobacco, sprinkling it into the bowl of the pipe. She tamped it gently with her index finger, took a test draw, and repeated the process. Finally, she expertly lit the pipe, sucking air and aromatic smoke into puffed cheeks. I watched this ritual with great satisfaction, realizing it signaled a special kind of settling in together. By the time Miss Oonagh exhaled, Old Peader was snoring softly, his face slack with relief.

Capt'n Obediah sank into the comfortably worn wing chair. The fire crackled and snapped, calling us to order as we turned our attention to Capt'n Adams. Our shadows danced in the flickering light, casting elongated silhouettes across the walls.

Suddenly Pugsley scrambled to his feet, curly tail wagging, ears perked. Bolting across the room, he skidded to a stop in front of a large cupboard.

Annie flew to her feet. “Pugsley, no!” He pawed the ground at the base of the cabinet, whining. Annie took hold of his collar and hauled him back.

“Dog mistakin' himself fer a cat,” Seamus said. “Chasin' a mouse, is he?”

“It's not a mouse, silly!” Annie exclaimed. She dropped her voice to a whisper. “It's a fairy!”

Walter chuckled.

Annie confronted her brother, eyes narrowed. She shook her head emphatically. “
Never
make light of fairies,” she warned. “You'll offend them! Tell him, Capt'n O!”

I expected the capt'n to humor her with a pat on the head. But there was no trace of a smile on his lips, no twinkle of laughter in his eyes.

“Annie's right,” he said softly. “This house was built near a fairy rath—that cleft on the hill to the west. Discovered when my great-grandfather's cow turned an ankle in a deep burrow, actually an entranceway to their underground fort.”

A chunk of turf in the hearth popped with a percussive
crack
, producing a sudden burst of sparks. Old Peader flinched and sat up with a snort, eyes wide. “'Twas a shot I heard?”

“Course not,” Addie assured him. “We're talkin' of the wee folk.”

“Wee folk here?” Old Peader asked nervously. “They cause all manner of trouble, they can. . . .”

Miss Oonagh exhaled a burst of gray smoke. “Ye've domesticated one of them, eh? Or so ye think?”

“Exactly,” said the capt'n. “We exercise a healthy respect for one another.”

Walter shook his head. “You expect us to believe that some little sprite with gossamer wings is living under the cupboard?”

Addie, the capt'n, Annie, and Georgie cut him short with a collective “Shhhh!”

“Really, Walter, after everything we've witnessed, is it so hard to believe?” Marni asked. “I'd say we've glimpsed enough of the realm beyond to have earned a healthy respect for all manner of magic. Wouldn't you agree?”

Walter smirked. “Now it's fairies? What will it be next—leprechauns? Merrows?”

Marni's face hardened. “You shouldn't be so glib. . . .”

“Ow! Owww!” Suddenly Walter jumped to his feet, frantically shaking his hand. “Something bit me . . . or . . . or . . . stung me!” He splayed his fingers. The tip of his pointer finger began to swell. In a moment it inflated to twice its size and turned a nasty shade of red, then plum. It looked as though it might explode.

“Hit ye with a fairy dart,” Miss Oonagh asserted. “'Tis the worst mortal offense to disbelieve in fairies. Punished ye fer yer arrogance, they did.” Lifting her chin, she dispersed a smoke ring. It wafted up and shifted into the shape of a fairy, wings fluttering. Pleased with herself, she grinned.

“Oh, good Lord,” Addie exclaimed, taking Walter's hand. “A fairy dart can cause a wicked infection. You'd best apologize. Make amends. Waste not a second!”

Annie was already collecting several small potatoes from the basket, and Georgie poured a petite stoneware mug of milk, another of wine. Together, they lined their peace offerings at the foot of the cupboard. “Say you're sorry!” Georgie ordered. “Unless you want your finger to shrivel and fall off!”

Walter scowled. “I will not!”

“Don't be a donkey's behind,” Grady said. “Next time they might not hit ye in the finger.”

Seamus laughed. “If I were you—”

“Well, you're not me!” Walter growled.

“I'm not the one with the digit resemblin' a sausage,” Seamus said. “Doesn't do much t' improve yer looks!”

“Oww!” Walter moaned, blowing on his bloated finger.

“What'ye think the Grey Man is?” Grady fired the question at Walter. “Ye believe in him, don't ye? Jest another type o' fairy he is, after all. If ye believe in the Grey Man, why not the wee folk?”

“True,” the capt'n said. “And the wee folk are not to be underestimated. They're capable of stirring the wind, raising the waves, drawing a fog. Blighting crops. Can make a sheep lame, dry the cow's milk. It's been said they can turn a man into an insect. Or a horse. Have you ever sneezed? Hiccuped? Tripped over your own two feet?”

We all nodded.

“Fairy mischief . . .”

Walter's face was screwed into a mask of pain. His finger looked like a violet cucumber.

“Stop being so stubborn!” I said. “Whether you believe it or not, just apologize!”

“Oh, but ye have to believe it!” Miss Oonagh asserted. “The fairy folk smell insincerity, they do! Sixth sense, they 'ave.”

Sweat beaded along Walter's brow. “I believe it,” he gasped, “and I'm sorry for not believing sooner. I was wrong.”

Grady grunted his approval. Stood. “Ye must 'ave a vial of holy water about?”

“Well, o' course,” Addie replied. She spirited a small bottle of water from the cupboard and presented it to Grady.

He unstopped the cork and poured a little into his palm. “Gimme yer hand,” he said. Walter thrust his unsightly paw into Grady's and the old sailor sprinkled the swollen finger.

“From a stream on Croagh Patrick,” Addie boasted, “the mountain o' the saint himself!”

“Now, bless yerselves and pray,” Grady directed.

Old Peader took the lead. “May God bless ye,” he said, eyes lifted. Addie, as though struck by a sudden insight, turned to the table and returned with a plate of shepherd's pie, some berries, and a leftover scone. These she set at the base of the cupboard. “Delicacies! A peace offerin'.”

“We've done what we can for now,” the capt'n said. Annie and Georgie exchanged looks of concern. Walter stared at what used to be his index finger. The large clock on the wall ticked loudly.