Voyage of the Owl (10 page)

Every day, Marnie, Willem, Queen Ashana and the courtiers were escorted up into the herb garden for some fresh air and sunshine. Every day Marnie gathered fresh herbs, flowers and rainwater to make her herbal tisane. Every day the prisoners drew hope and strength and happiness from this brief respite from the oppressive squalor of their dungeon.

After four days, there was a break in their new routine. There was a thudding on the locked gate of the walled garden. An order was barked, and the soldiers leapt to attention. Marnie looked up from
where she was kneeling on the paving, picking mint. Queen Ashana was walking up and down the paths with Willem beside her and her ladies trailing behind.

The gate swung open and in walked Governor Lazlac. His face was pale and gaunt, with black shadows under his eyes. Queen Ashana stiffened. She pulled herself up taller. Willem stopped momentarily, but Queen Ashana tugged gently on his arm, and they kept walking.

The queen’s silk dress was filthy and torn, and her hair was knotted and unkempt, but she still wore the unmistakable air of a royal. She had gained some colour from walking in the sunshine. Marnie’s herbal brew had helped her sleep deeply, and Cookie’s improved food had taken away the pinched, unhealthy pallor that she had suffered for weeks. Indignation at Lord Lazlac’s presence now gave her even more colour and a dangerous glint in her eye. She continued to talk to Willem, reminiscing about great royal hunts in the forest of Kenley, acting as if Lord Lazlac did not exist.

Lord Lazlac had been making his way over to where Lord Mortimer lolled on the garden bench, but he saw Queen Ashana and changed direction. He bowed slightly.

‘Madam,’ Lord Lazlac said with a twist of his mouth, which obviously was meant to pass for a smile. ‘Good day.’

Queen Ashana ignored the self-appointed governor. She held herself proudly, lifting her ragged skirts out of the dust, as though concerned they may get dirty.

Lord Lazlac flushed slightly. ‘Madam, I trust you are enjoying this beautiful spring morning,’ he growled.

Queen Ashana kept walking.

‘Willem, I fear there may be something nasty in this beautiful garden,’ the Queen remarked nonchalantly. ‘I can smell quite a dreadful stench here that not even Marnie’s beautiful lavender posies could dispel. I feel quite faint.’

Willem repressed a smile. ‘Marnie’s posies have amazing restorative power, your majesty,’ he replied.

Lord Lazlac ground his teeth in irritation. He swung around, hoping the guards could not hear. The seven guards all stared resolutely straight ahead as if they had heard nothing.

‘Madam, I trust you have enjoyed your brief moments of freedom in the fresh air,’ Lazlac snapped, a little louder this time. ‘I would not want
you to do or say anything that may jeopardise the small concessions you now enjoy. It would only take a word to the guards and the cooks and your life, and your friends’ lives, and your son’s life, would be very much the worse.’

Queen Ashana stiffened. Her face went white, then grey. She stopped walking. Then a mask descended over her face – a mask of polite Tiregian royalty. She smiled with great difficulty and little warmth.

‘Why, Lord Lazlac,’ Queen Ashana murmured softly. ‘What a surprise to find you here. I was just telling dear Willem here that this exquisite spring morning reminds me of hunting in the beautiful forests of Kenley. We have had many happy memories there.’

Queen Ashana’s eyes shone brightly, as if brimming with unshed tears. Even Lord Lazlac could not fail to remember that the last time Queen Ashana had been in the forests of Kenley she had lost her husband, her daughter, her son, her crown, her throne and her land. Now she was a prisoner, totally at the mercy of this man.

‘Ahem,’ Lord Lazlac spluttered. ‘Yes. Well, spring is a lovely time of year. Both here and in my own country of Sedah.’

‘I am surprised you are not distraught to be missing spring in your own, probably far more beautiful country,’ Queen Ashana continued in a voice of icy politeness.

‘Yes,’ Lord Lazlac choked. ‘Well – I am here on my most esteemed Emperor Raef’s orders. Once my duty is completed here, I may well be allowed to return to my home.’

Queen Ashana glowed with sudden hope.

‘Pray tell, when do you think that might be?’ she asked.

‘I do not presume to guess my fearful emperor’s intentions, but once Tiregian is completely subdued, the people converted to the ways of Krad and the wealth of Tiregian sent back to my lord’s coffers, then my work will be done. I hope to return home in five to ten years’ time.’

Lord Lazlac twisted his mouth once more. Queen Ashana swallowed painfully. Willem took her arm to offer her support, but Queen Ashana did not need it. She held herself more strongly than ever.

‘I see, my lord,’ Queen Ashana retorted quietly. ‘You seem very sure of yourself.’

‘I am, madam. I am,’ Governor Lazlac said complacently.

He bowed again slightly and turned away. ‘I must
have a quick word with Lord Mortma. Enjoy your promenade.’

Queen Ashana stared after him, her brain whirring. She dared not defy this man when her child’s life and her retainers’ lives were in his brutal hands. She must try to play his game. She suddenly had a pounding headache. Her shoulders felt like she had an iron sword skewered through them.

She watched Lord Lazlac and Lord Mortimer closely. Lord Mortimer had no doubt about who held the power at this moment. He leapt to his feet and swept a flourishing bow.

‘My dear Governor Lazlac,’ Lord Mortimer gushed. ‘How delightful to see you!’

‘Mortma,’ Lord Lazlac nodded. ‘I hear you have been hallucinating about this young princess you are besotted with. I hope the fresh air and sunshine has restored your faculties.’

‘I am not besotted with the princess, as you put it,’ Lord Mortimer said huffily. ‘I simply remembered the deal I made with your double-dealing master. I was to provide you with information on where to find the king unprotected. You were to kill the king, invade and take over Tiregian. I was to marry the snotty-nosed brat of a spoilt princess, Roana. Then I was to rule as king on behalf of your master.’

Lord Mortimer scowled. ‘Instead I find myself locked up for weeks in a dungeon, fed on pig slops and nibbled by rats. I have not even had a clean shirt for weeks. This was not the deal I made with Raef.’

‘You will refer to the emperor as his most fearful majesty Emperor Raef,’ Lord Lazlac retorted. ‘Well, things did not go exactly to plan. The princess was killed by a sea monster, and I have had to make other plans.’

Lord Lazlac glanced over at Queen Ashana, who was now walking around the garden perimeter with Marnie, discussing their favourite subject – their respective children.

‘In times of war, one must make contingency plans,’ Governor Lazlac smirked.

‘But the Princess Roana is not dead,’ exclaimed Lord Mortimer. ‘I saw her with my own eyes. She was disguised as a beggar child. She was with some other beggar children who swore they were on a quest to find the Sun Sword of Tiregian.’

Lord Lazlac sniggered.

‘Ridiculous, I know,’ Mortimer replied. ‘But the princess is alive, and I demand you find her and keep your side of the bargain.’

‘Demand?’ Lord Lazlac laughed. ‘I think you are forgetting who holds the keys to your dungeon. You
are in no position to demand anything, Mortma. I will overlook this outburst of yours. But do not try my patience. I hope you enjoy your time in the sunshine. It will not last long.’

Lord Lazlac nodded shortly, then swept out of the garden. Lord Mortimer sank back on his garden bench, chewing the corner of one nail. Perhaps he had miscalculated. Perhaps he had made a terrible mistake.

He shook himself. No. He had made a deal with Emperor Raef and surely it would be honoured. They just had to find that irritating brat of a princess. Then everything would be as he had dreamed. King of Tiregian. Aaah – life would be good then.

The beautiful weather and fair winds did not hold. The breeze disappeared for six whole days, leaving the
Owl
wallowing in an oily sea. The sun beat down mercilessly.

The ship’s bell still rang every four hours to mark the change in watch, but there was no wind and little to do. Someone was always on watch for Sedah ships, but the horizon stayed flat and bare.

Otto muttered and cursed, glaring at Lily as if at an evil snake. Lily avoided him as much as possible.

During the heat of the day, Fox set them to making a large store of customised fire arrows.
These arrows had a large tuft of flax, soaked in pitch, attached behind the arrow head.

Fox amused himself by teaching Saxon and Ethan navigation using the ship’s brass compass, which was housed in the binnacle by the ship’s steering wheel.

‘Look, the needle always swings back to the north, so we can find our way home again. Sedah and the Nine Isles are to the south, so the opposite direction,’ Fox explained. ‘And this is an astrolabe, which we use to take an angle between the horizon and a star or planet. The heaving log tells me how fast we are sailing – not that we are going anywhere right now.’

Roana’s fair skin burned and blistered under the hot sun and started to peel off in white sheets. The others turned brown. With all the salt water and sunshine, Roana’s hair started to bleach back to a dark blonde.

The only way to cool off was to dive off the back of the boat and swim in the ice-cold ocean.

Jack warned them constantly about sharks and Octomon and other sea monsters, so they never swam for long. They tried to pass the time by telling stories and jokes, while they did their chores.

‘What has three heads, two hands, eight legs, two tails and two wings?’ asked Saxon chirpily.

‘A dreadful sea monster?’ guessed Lily.

‘A weird kind of dragon?’ asked Roana.

‘A hunter, riding a horse with a falcon on his wrist!’ laughed Saxon.

Lily and Roana giggled helplessly.

‘Why did the hobgoblin cross the river?’

‘To get to the other side!’

Ethan groaned and threw his scrubbing brush at Saxon’s head. Saxon caught it deftly and, with a loud chuckle, threw it back.

‘Have any of you thought of an answer to Fox’s riddle yet?’ Saxon asked.

‘No,’ Roana grumbled. ‘It is too hot to solve riddles.’

Aisha flopped in the shade, her tongue panting, and refused to move.

Fox had already decided to ration the fresh water in case the
Owl
was becalmed for days. He wanted to ensure they had enough fresh water for the sail back to Tiregian.

Everyone quickly grew short-tempered and touchy. To avoid petty arguments and discord, Fox set them to work practising their fighting and climbing skills.

He organised a series of archery competitions, where everyone took shots at a small empty keg
that was bobbing behind the
Owl
on a long rope. After each round, Fox retrieved the keg and counted the different coloured arrows. Ethan usually won easily, although Lily and Roana also scored well.

‘A lucky shot,’ cried Jack, as Ethan’s tenth arrow in a row hit the bobbing keg, while Jack’s last shot was floating away towards Tiregian.

‘Yes,’ Fox replied, clapping Ethan on the back. ‘And I think you’ll find, young Jack, that the more Ethan practises, the luckier he’ll get!’

Fox, Otto, Carl and Jack practised sword fighting, their cutlasses whirring in the air with silver flashes. The deck rang with the blows of metal upon metal, and Lily was certain she would be stitching up bloodied wounds on all the combatants. They were all skilled at practice fighting, though, and no-one was seriously injured.

Otto alone seemed to fight as if he really wanted to kill someone, but Fox was obviously the stronger swordsman and fought him off easily.

None of the children had ever fought with a sword, so Fox taught them the rudimentary skills, using wooden swords that Ethan and Saxon nailed together from offcuts of timber. Soon the four children were enthusiastically feinting and thrusting.

‘Sword fighting is all about speed, timing and balance,’ instructed Fox. ‘Speed, timing and balance. You need to practise and practise. The swordfighter who wins is the one who practises the most.’

Fox demonstrated – darting forward in a lightning riposte, balancing deftly on the balls of his feet and stopping short, gently pressing the sword tip into Saxon’s chest.

He started the four children doing exercises, attacking a sail bag hanging from a spar. They had to lunge and retreat, lunge and retreat, responding to Fox’s shouts to aim low or high. Fox instructed them on their breathing, speed and choreography. Finally, after a few hours of fighting the sail bag, Fox paired them up – Saxon fighting Ethan, and Roana fighting Lily.

‘Breathe, Rowan,’ bellowed Fox. ‘You can’t fight well without breathing. No, breathe deeply, from your stomach. Attack on the exhale, it will give your thrust more power.’

‘I can’t fight and breathe at the same time,’ Roana laughed, dropping her sword.

‘Then Lily will beat you,’ Fox retorted. ‘You are learning to fight, not learning to bash swords together!’

He looked over to the other pair. ‘Stop thinking, Ethan,’ Fox instructed. ‘You don’t have time to think. You need to react instinctively, like you do when you are firing an arrow. Let your muscles fight while your mind just observes. Yes, that’s better.’

The boys continued, Saxon leaping forward to thrust wildly at Ethan.

‘No, no, no, Saxon!’ Fox roared. ‘Keep those big feet of yours on the ground. You need to slide and glide just above the ground, or your opponent will knock you off balance and have you flat on your back with the cutlass at your throat! Glide, like this!’ Fox danced across the deck, graceful as a ballerina, his cutlass flashing like lightning. ‘Again! Yes, that’s more like it.’

He turned back to the other pair. ‘Much better, Lily.’ Fox nodded approvingly. ‘You are light on your feet, but work on your timing. Read your opponent. See how Rowan shifts his weight and drops his shoulder? Anticipate that attack and block. Watch his eyes. They will tell you a lot, but don’t forget to observe his whole body movements.’

The four children worked hard, keen to please Fox with their improvement, and enjoyed the exercise after a few days of resting on board ship. They practised for hours, especially in the cool of
the morning and the early evening. The practice broke up the boredom of the long, windless days, and made them feel as if they were doing something useful.

At first they were all quite clumsy and slow, but they soon learnt to move quickly and defend themselves. Saxon, in particular, loved fighting with a sword and learnt swiftly, his athletic frame moving gracefully.

Aisha whined pitifully as they battled, circling the sword fights with her tail between her legs. She could not understand why her beloved family were fighting their best friends.

Once, Roana lashed out at Lily, and Lily lost her balance and slipped over, rolling deftly out of the way. Aisha leapt at Roana, growling warningly, her hackles raised and her teeth bared ferociously. Roana dropped her sword in shock.

‘Stop, Aisha,’ laughed Lily. ‘I’m all right. It’s just a game.’

Aisha was reassured by Lily’s tone and returned to the shade to watch, her head on her paws and her eyebrows wrinkled attentively.

‘Aisha really frightened me,’ Roana gasped. ‘For the first time ever, I thought she might hurt me.’

‘She was just warning you,’ Lily reassured Roana. ‘But you can understand how she can frighten off thugs, like the bandits who ambushed us on the way to Tira.’

Everyone grinned at the memory of their victory over the lawless highwaymen who had tried to steal their horses.

On the twelfth day, Roana, Saxon, Ethan and Lily were scrubbing the timber decks with buckets of seawater when Otto bustled past them. As usual, he made a grimace as he saw Lily working, and he made sure to walk as far as possible from where Charcoal was curled up in the shade on a coil of rope. His fingers automatically curled up into a ball, with the two outer fingers making horns, warding away Lily and Charcoal’s malevolent presence.

Saxon grimaced behind Otto’s back, imitating the bo’sun’s strutting swagger. He made the same warding sign at the tattooed dragon shimmering in the sun. The others giggled quietly, their shoulders shaking in their effort to keep their laughter silent. Saxon pulled out a pencil and a scrap of paper from his pocket. He scrawled a quick note in their secret backwards code and showed it to the others.

Niaga snomel no gnikcus neeb s‘yggard dneirf ruo

Roana, Ethan and Lily giggled loudly. Roana took the pencil and added:

Lrig reiracs a tem reve evah i kniht ton od i .Tirips
live na ro hctiw a si ylil skniht eh

All four laughed out loud, hunched around the paper. Ethan grabbed the pencil and scribbled:

? hguot yllaer kool mih sekam ti skniht
yggard kniht uoy od ? speerc eht uoy
evig oottat nogard taht t‘nseod !
gniyfirret si retsis ym

Lily took the pencil.

gnimmiws s‘eh nehw sretsnom aes eht ffo eracs ot
s’ti ebyam. pinrut a otni uoy nrut dna uoy esruc ll ‘i ro
nahte tuo hctaw retteb uoy

Everyone laughed again, their heads together over the paper, their scrubbing brushes and buckets lying forgotten beside them. They were so distracted with their coded messages that they
didn’t notice Otto creeping back, until he pounced.

‘Caught you – shirking duty again,’ Otto yelled. ‘I told you lazy landlubbers to
scrub
this deck, not scribble on it. Fox must have sea fever to have let you brats on board.’

The four children stared up at Otto, guilt etched on their faces, the incriminating paper between them.

‘And what have we here?’ Otto gloated, as he grabbed the paper from the deck. His self-satisfied smirk turned to a puzzled frown as he stared at the meaningless letters. The four children grinned conspiratorially.

‘Get back to work.’ Otto scowled menacingly, scrunching up the paper and throwing it overboard. The dragon on his back flexed its wings, shining with sweat, as he stomped aft to the steering wheel.

On the evening of the thirteenth day, Saxon and Jack climbed down into the rowing boat to fish. The lines bobbed uselessly. Without the movement of the
Owl
, the fish ignored them, but the boys had nothing else to do except enjoy the peace and glorious sunset.

Jack was playing softly on his harmonica, a beautiful song of longing and love.

‘I’m playing the fish to come to us,’ Jack whispered.

‘Watch out you don’t play that wicked monkey to come to us instead,’ Saxon grinned. ‘I don’t feel like having my hair pulled, or my nose tweaked! I’d rather relax.’

Saxon lay back in the boat, his eyes half closed, enjoying the soothing rocking of the boat as tiny waves lapped against the hull. He was nearly asleep when the line jerked suddenly, nearly pulling Jack into the sea. He dropped his harmonica into the bottom of the boat and stood up to pull the line in.

Saxon sat up, starting in horror. A huge face lifted from the sea, barely three metres from the boat. Water streamed from its scaly flat head, and cascaded back into the sea. Huge, milky grey eyes stared unblinkingly into the boat.

‘Barramon!’ Jack screamed.

Eight metres away the creature’s long tail broke the surface, lashing angrily. Its middle humped up out of the water like a long thin bridge, rippling back down its length.

Saxon and Jack scrambled back away from the creature, yelling loudly. The Barramon opened its
mouth wide, revealing a double row of needle-sharp teeth and a forked tongue. The tongue flickered, spraying the boys with slimy spit.

Saxon grabbed up an oar from the rowlock and threatened the monster, but he was just out of reach.

‘Get back,’ yelled Jack, desperately trying to drag Saxon away. ‘It breathes –’

The monster inhaled deeply then roared. Rank hot breath hit the boys in the face, scorching them with its smelly heat. Then a flame shot from its mouth, incinerating the fishing rods and lines. Jack’s clothes caught fire. His hair smouldered. His skin blistered.

Faster than an eye blink, Saxon grabbed Jack by the hands and threw him overboard. He threw him in on the side away from the monster, plunging him deep under water to extinguish the flames. Saxon hauled Jack up again, drenched and dripping, and dragged him back into the boat. Saxon turned to face the monster again. This time it was closer.

Jack cried and moaned, his body quaking with shock. Saxon stared straight into the milky eyes of the monster glaring relentlessly at him. Those eyes seemed mesmerising.

You could get lost staring into their cold, merciless
depths. The monster opened its mouth again. Saxon could almost count the teeth. He felt the hot breath gently ruffle his hair. He saw the start of the red hot flame spitting from the Barramon’s mouth.

‘Saxon! Get down!’ screamed a voice behind him. The shrill voice broke the spell and Saxon stumbled and collapsed into the bottom of the boat. The flame licked and flickered over him. His clothes singed and smoked.