The Blackhope Enigma (17 page)

A
ngus drummed his hand against the railing of the
Mercury
, willing the oarsmen to catch up with Blaise’s galley.

“Too slow!” He threw his ruined overcoat onto the deck, glaring down at the master of the oarsmen, and turned to the pilot. “Make them go faster.”

“We must go slow in fog, Captain,” the pilot answered. “Until it is safe.”

“Well, when will that be?”

“I do not know.” The pilot pointed at his chart. “Cannot see the rocks here, Captain.”

Angus returned to the railing and swore at the mist. The echoing screeches of gulls drowned out the calls of the sailor in the crow’s nest. The mist thickened and clung to everything, making the sailors look like phantoms as they darted around.

Waves grew from light swells to rolling juggernauts that crashed over the sides and sent the sailors skidding along the decks. Angus clung to the railing, drenched and spitting seawater.

A sailor tried to pull him away. “Come below, Captain, or you’ll go overboard!”

“I give the orders,” snarled Angus, “and I’m not going anywhere.”

A towering wave drove over them and hit the ship with a thunderous slap. The sailor tumbled and was washed into the sea. Angus was spun across the deck and dashed against the opposite railing.

The
Mercury
righted itself long enough for the crew to get to their feet, then the stern suffered a massive blow. Horrendous screams came from above as the sailor in the crow’s nest plummeted to the deck. The surge rammed the ship forward into rocks, tearing its underside apart with a sickening grinding sound.

The air was a cacophony of sailors’ groans and splintering planks as the
Mercury
’s belly filled with water. The cloth canopy above the poop deck tumbled down, covering Angus, and the ship’s lantern crashed on top of it in a shower of sparks. He battled to throw off the heavy fabric as waves buffeted the ship.

Angus glanced behind him and saw a red glow. Flames were eating up the canopy, igniting the deck’s timbers. He clawed his way along on hands and knees until he found the edge of the cloth and flung it off.

He dived overboard and swam as far away from the broken ship as he could. Fog still hid everything, but he heard a sound nearby that he took to be waves smacking on stone. He paddled in its direction, his hands stretched before him, feeling for the shore.

The fog bank opened, revealing a pile of rocks. Angus floated forward and grabbed hold of the first rock he could. He hauled himself up, slipping over seaweed and barnacles to get to longer, flatter rocks. When he was high enough above the surf, he lay down on his back and closed his eyes, panting.

Suddenly he felt warmth on his face and his eyes snapped open. Sunlight was pushing the mists aside. But what he saw above him made him roll over and scramble away from where he had lain.

“Zut alors!”

Mercury’s wooden face stared down at him. The wrecked galley was wedged between boulders only meters away from him.

As the fog retreated, he saw flames engulfing the ship. The empty deck burned orange against the blue sky and sea, and soon all traces of mist vanished. Fire ran up the ship’s rigging, popping and cracking and sending ashes flying on the breeze. There was no sign of the crew.

Angus whirled around and scanned the empty horizon. “Shouldn’t a new ship be turning up for me about now, Raven? Or is it just one per customer?”

As if in answer, a rogue wave crashed over the
Mercury
and dragged it backward. The charred deck disappeared, followed by the flaming masts, until at last the prow was pulled down into the sea, the figurehead’s winged hat the last to be swallowed up.

“All right, you win this round.” Angus shook his fist at the sea. “But I’m not finished yet.”

Dean spat an olive pit onto the cabin floor and took a large mouthful of water offered by the ship’s boy.

“Those are too salty,” he said, grimacing. “Don’t you have anything else?”

The boy held out a basket of salted dried fish. “Oh, man, what is that? It stinks and looks like it’s a hundred years old.”

Marin did not look up from the chart he was studying at the table. “You are fortunate to have anything.”

“I don’t see you eating it.”

“If you do not eat, you will die and save me the trouble of keeping you alive.”

Dean glared at his captor’s back.

Marin called the ship’s boy over and said something to him. A few minutes later, he brought in a basket of hard biscuits.

Dean gnawed on one and banged it against the bunk he sat on. “It’s like a dog biscuit.”

Marin ignored him. Dean eyed the leather satchel at their captor’s feet. He would give anything to snatch his portrait from the bag and tear it up. But Marin kept it with him at all times.

“How come you know where everything is on this boat, Marin?” Sunni licked olive juice from her fingers. “You knew all about the predator maze and Hugo, too.”

“I have been in the maze many times and on countless ships in this ocean,” he answered without looking up. “I have met each sailor ten times before and eaten this food over and over again.”

“While you were spy hunting,” said Sunni.

“Yes.”

“So you just go round and round, chasing people who are probably completely innocent and even putting them inside drawings. What gives you the right to do that? What are you looking for, anyway?”

Marin slapped the chart with his palm. “My master is missing and with him some very important paintings. I must find him or at least protect the paintings from thieves. It is my duty.”

“Your master?”

“Yes,” said Marin. “Signor Fausto Corvo, artist of Venice.”

“Since when?” Sunni stopped chewing.

“Since I was ten.”

“So you’re his servant,” Dean said, grinding his biscuit against the hull.

“I am no servant. I am il Corvo’s apprentice! He was teaching me to be a painter.” Marin rose from the table. “He could not trust many people with the secrets of his work, but he trusted me.”

“Then why don’t you know where he is? Why didn’t he tell you?”

“I do not have to answer your questions.” Marin stalked out of the cabin.

“Yes, you do. My stepbrother and I were just trying to find our way home, and you kidnapped us,” Sunni said, scrambling to catch up with him. “Our parents must be out of their minds worrying about us, and we’re stuck here with you for no reason.”

“Yeah!” said Dean, limping behind them.

“Maybe you don’t mind being trapped here for four hundred years, but I do!” Sunni followed Marin onto the deck. “I want to go back to my time and carry on living my life.”

“I want to see my mom,” said Dean. “I want to see my stepdad. I want to see my friends. . . .”

“Me too.” Sunni threw her arms up. “There are so many things I want to do.”

“What can a girl do that matters?” The apprentice gazed out into the fog that surrounded the galley.

“Where do I even start?”

“For one thing, Sunni’s going to be an artist,” Dean piped up.

“Dean!” Sunni hissed as she felt him tugging the zipper on her backpack.

“Show him your sketchbook.”

“He’s already seen it. I saw you looking at it back in the cave,” she said to Marin. “Leave it, Dean.”

“Give me the sketchbook.” Marin held out his hand. “I want to see it again.”

“I’ll hold it while you look at it, if you don’t mind.” She tossed her head.

Marin shrugged and watched Sunni leaf through her drawings. He laid his finger on one page. “You drew that one without help?”

She nodded, and he raised one eyebrow. “It is not bad — for a girl.”

Sunni flushed and felt like snapping the sketchbook shut.

“Sunni’s the best artist in her class,” Dean said. Sunni was not sure whether she wanted to hug him or kick him.

“A girl who draws,” Marin said. “Is there anything females cannot do in your century?”

“No.”

“It would be amusing to see how you would fare in my master’s workshop, preparing canvas for his paintings, mixing his pigments from dawn to dusk,” Marin said with a superior air.

“Is that what you did?”

“Yes.” He tapped another sketch. “Who are these people?”

“Friends from school. My father and stepmother,” she answered.

“You are this boy’s stepsister.”

“My father married his mother, yes. My mother died five years ago.”

“My mother is also dead,” said Marin. “The plague took her and the rest of my family.”

“Plague . . .” murmured Sunni. “How old were you?”

“Nine.” The soft look of sadness that passed across Marin’s face took her by surprise.

“So was I, when my mom died,” Sunni said in a low voice.

“Captain!” the sailor in the crow’s nest called. “The mist breaks. Another ship comes!”

The
Mars
emerged into clear skies and was confronted by another galley sailing in the opposite direction. Its carved figurehead was a melancholy lady holding a crescent moon, with an owl on her shoulder.
Luna
— the Moon.

As the ship passed, they caught a glimpse of a figure on its deck staring at them. It was a girl in a billowing golden dress shaped like an upside-down wine goblet. A moment later, she had gone, swallowed up in the thickening mist behind them.

A lone raven flew over the
Mare Incantato
, riding in and out of the fog and watching the sea below with its beady eyes.

One galley made its way north through the empty sea. Belowdecks a boy lay asleep, curled up in a too-small wooden bunk, hugging his bag to his chest. In Blaise’s dreams, he and Sunni were in Mr. Bell’s class, laughing and painting a mural together on the wall.

As the raven dipped lower, another galley cut through the mist, emerging like a butterfly from a chrysalis and following Blaise’s ship. On the forecastle stood two boys and a girl, the wind in their hair. Sunni picked at a loose thread in her coat, staring at the speck on the horizon that was the
Venus
, carrying Blaise to an unknown destination.

Dean was nearby, daydreaming about sausages and mashed potatoes.

Marin stood with his back to them both, fuming at the sight of the girl on the other ship.

T
he
Luna
emerged from the mist and headed straight toward a rocky shoal. The pilot bellowed commands and the galley heaved itself sharply to starboard as Lady Ishbel Blackhope appeared, squeezing her golden skirt up the narrow steps to the poop deck. The pilot, helmsman, and various other crewmen hung their heads in shame.

“Went off course, mistress,” said the pilot, holding up a chart for her to see and dragging his finger to the place where they had found themselves.

“Who is responsible?” Lady Ishbel asked, her mouth set in a line. All eyes swiveled toward the wretched helmsman. “No food or water for you until eight bells tomorrow. You, take over.”

Another sailor took charge of the tiller, and Ishbel turned back to the pilot. “Change course to catch Marin’s ship.”

“We lost it in the mists, mistress.” The pilot looked worried.

Lady Ishbel flung her braid over her shoulder. “Find it again. Make the men row as hard as they can. Seven knots — nine, even!”

The lookout’s voice came from the crow’s nest. “Man on rocks!”

Lady Ishbel and the crew peered over the side. A bedraggled man in a dirty vest and dark trousers was swinging a blue shirt over his head and shouting at them.

“Yet another one,” she muttered, gesturing toward a small rowboat stored on the main deck. “Get in the skiff and bring him to me. And then we set off at once.”

Lady Ishbel made her way down into her quarters, arranged herself on her chair, and waited to interrogate the stranger.

When Angus ducked into the cabin, now wearing his torn shirt and his most charming smile, he saw a young woman of about sixteen, with sharp green eyes and a frowning mouth. She saw a man with telltale claw marks across his face.

“Angus Bellini at your service,” he said, bowing.

“You have been through my maze.”

“Your maze, my lady?”

“Yes,” she said archly. “Which of my beasts did this to you? The bear, by the looks of things, or perhaps the griffin?”