The Pirate Fairy (22 page)

* * * *

The longer Denny was at sea, and the more time he had to think about the past, the more s
ome things started to make sense. One day, while out on deck looking across the ocean with a spyglass, Ebba came to him. She seemed happy now that she’d recovered from motion sickness and was back in the kitchen, cooking.

“Is everything all right?” she asked him.

Denny watched a whale breaching in the distance, the joyful moment spoiled when distaste flooded his mouth at the sound of her words.

“Yes, and you can tell the witch if she has a question to come and ask me herself.”

Ebba looked at him. “But she’s a princess. You must be nicer to her.”

“Really?” He shook his head. “Has it worked for you?”

“Of course.” She looked wary then. “Why? What’s going on?”

“She’s put the warts back on your nose.”

Ebba’s hands flew to her face and her mouth fell open in a strangled cry. They were all over her cheeks and nose. “Fortunata!” she screamed, running for the ladder.

Good. That’ll put the cat among the pigeons
. Denny wasn’t afraid of Fortunata’s wrath. He was sick of her. If Christoph’s messages were correct, then change was afoot. Change that everybody except Fortunata would like.

He raised the spyglass back to his eye, but the whale was gone.

In the distance, he spotted two boats. Fishing boats, likely. He flew up to the crow’s nest and kept an eye on them. An hour later, young Bertie joined him, climbing with ease up the flagpole.

“There are two Spanish fishing boats out there,” the child informed him. “Can I fire the cannons, sir?”

“No, you cannot.”

“Aw. What kind of pirate are you anyway?” Bertie asked, his hopeful glance falling into dismay.

“The regular kind. Who suggested firing the cannons, anyway?”

“Fortunata. She promised me lollies if I blew up those boats.”

“Go to the kitchen and ask Ebba to boil you some lollies. Tell her I said to do it and that it’s a most urgent matter.”

Bertie’s face brightened. “Really? I can do that?”

“You have my permission. Do you like treacle toffee?”

Bertie looked moon-faced. “I’ve never tried it.”

“She makes the best treacle toffee in the world. Mention that to her when you ask her nicely to make her some.”

“You’re the best dread pirate I’ve ever met!” Bertie hurled his arms around Denny, who laughed.

“I’m the only pirate you’ve met, aren’t I?”

“A bit.”

“A bit?”

“I met Pirate Captain Rigby.”

“He’s not a captain. He’s a second mate!”

“Huh. He says he’s a captain. He took my father on his ship and left me on the island. ‘Tis a stinky island, isn’t it?”

Denny nodded. “I thought so. Now climb down and get yourself some toffee.”

“Aye, aye, Captain! Sir!” Bertie managed a salute as he shimmied back down the pole. Suddenly the two fishing boats in the distance vanished. Now that was strange.

Denny didn’t have much time to worry about it. Barthelmass appeared on the deck.

“We have a fire in the boiler room,” he shouted up to Denny.

“No, we don’t. Go down to Fortunata and tell her to quit clowning around. Tell her no more fires, no more fishing boats, or I’ll make her scrub every inch of this tub!”

Barthelmass looked at him, bug-eyed. “You really want me to say all that to her?”

“Yes, I really want you to say all that to her,” Denny mimicked. “
Now
.”

His dark tone sent Barthelmass scurrying below deck. Denny was in a bad mood now. He flew back down to the deck, pacing. He emptied his mind of all thoughts. It was no good letting her rub him up the wrong way and delve into his mind. He knew just the thing to stop her antics and went below deck. The pleasing smell of treacle streamed from the galley. Little Bertie was laughing, and when Denny poked his head into the galley, he saw that the lad was eating a piece of fried bread as he sat atop the table.

The boy’s cheeks flamed and he scuttled down to the floor. “Sorry, sir.”

“Don’t apologize.” Denny was exhausted. The truth was, all the secrecy and thought-guarding was taking its toll on Denny.

He sat on the long bench at the table, Bertie moving beside him. The child seemed cold. Denny didn’t say anything. Maybe it was because he forced himself to sleep in increments at night, circling the ship at odd hours to keep an eye on Fortunata. He started to doze when he received an unexpected visit in his mind. This time it was the twin seers from the jury.

They spoke in unison, but with perfect clarity. He held his breath as they gave him instructions. They suddenly vanished. When he blinked and opened his eyes again, Fortunata was standing in front of him, hands on hips.

“Sleeping on the job, Captain?” she sneered.

He looked up at her. “Something like that.” He smiled at her, knowing his secrecy rattled her. Her uncertain gaze shifted from side to side.

“And you, cabin boy. Go make my bed.” She pointed to Bertie, who stopped eating.

Denny watched him a moment. The kid was frightened but there was something about the child…a defiance Denny admired.

Fortunata in turn stared at Denny, who blocked his thoughts from her.

“Be kind, Fortunata. He’s a mere boy.”

She flared her nostrils but stopped short of a response. Every chance she got, Fortunata bossed Bertie around, especially when she thought Denny wasn’t near them. Ebba pulled Denny aside to report Fortunata’s behavior, but he shrugged it off.

“This isn’t like you.” Ebba seemed stunned. “You are the one who always protects women and children.”

“I know,” he said. “Say, do we have any toffee left?” Denny didn’t want to hear about any shipboard dramas.

Over the coming days, he took to giving Bertie errands away from Fortunata and making sure they were never left alone together. In their final week before they arrived at Algeciras, Denny stepped up his nighttime patrols of the ship. Twice he caught Fortunata attempting to enter Bertie’s cabin and so he moved the boy into a cabin with the rigger and gunner, instructing them to shoot Fortunata if she tried entering their quarters.

Denny was so tense by the time they arrived at the port, he could hardly see straight. When they docked, he asked Fortunata to accompany him ashore. He made sure visions of coins, lots and lots of lovely Carpathian coins danced in his head. She saw them of course and her eyes gleamed with predatory joy. Denny instantly guarded his thoughts again and mentally rubbed his hands. He invited Bertie and Anisse ashore with them. As the crew members drifted off in different directions, Denny’s small party accompanied him through the main plaza a few feet away from the ocean.

Denny thought Algeciras was one of the ugliest ports he’d visited over the years, but he could have hugged the place, so grateful was he to be on dry land. Bertie ran over to Los Arcos, the public fountain, and ran his hands through the water.

“Fresh water,” the boy kept saying and suddenly jumped into it.

Denny and the others hauled him out, but Bertie was good natured about his brief romp.

The square had been improved since Denny had last been here, marked off with chains attached to stone posts. Poplars and a plethora of palm trees bordered the square. The sudden burst of orange blossom tickled Denny’s nose. Young Bertie snagged an orange from one of the many trees planted in wooden boxes in the square and held it to his face.

“Oh. A fresh orange,” he murmured over and over again.

Denny almost felt sorry for him. He led his group toward the entrance to the
Rastro de Sabado
—Saturday Market—where they found busty, colorfully dressed women selling everything from embroidered shirts and dresses to thick slices of
pan de la casa
—house bread—topped with tomato, ham, and baked and drizzled with olive oil. Denny treated them to some as they toured the tables where Moroccan sailors sold antique furniture and trinkets that looked they’d been stolen. There were also some questionable fellows selling dirty clothes and rusty tools.

People stared at Denny, pointing at his wings, but he ignored them.

“This place is amazing,” Anisse said, her face alight at the rich colors of yarns and fabrics on display.

He encouraged her to buy, slipping coins into her hand. When he was certain the others weren’t looking, he walked away, past the old man selling ugly stones with odd images painted on them with gouache. Everything he painted, whether it was a tree or a house, had a human face somewhere in it. And the human face had demonic eyes. The old man made money because his work was weird, but Denny slipped him some gold, declining to take one of the stones.

The old man’s fingers closed around Denny’s as he took the coins. “You’re back,” he said.

Denny resisted the urge to say, “No, I am not.” He smiled at the old man who had no sense of humor but kept an eye on Denny’s treasure. He moved along a cobbled street and, checking over his shoulder to ensure he wasn’t being followed, Denny turned into a tiny alleyway. For a moment, he stopped. Time had stood still since his last visit. The little corner was still filled with tall, whitewashed buildings that had seen better days. They’d each been separated into little apartments with their windows open and the inhabitants milling about inside. Denny paused to inhale the smell of oranges, freshly washed clothes hanging on lines strung between the buildings, coffee and something else.
Hope
. He glanced around. Somebody was playing Spanish guitar.
Guitarra Latina
they called it. The guitar of the common people.

He darted into the narrow passageway between two of the buildings and tried to focus on his quest.
She’s here.
He felt her presence, took a deep breath and plunged down another narrow pathway. He stopped at the place with the red door. Many places painted their doors red to ward off evil. Too bad it hadn’t worked this time. He opened the door, walked inside and ran straight through the house. In the back room, he opened another door and stepped into a tiny storage room and waited a fraction of a second before pushing open a space that looked like a thin line between two bricks. It worked. He went inside and found the same claustrophobic, dank room he’d encountered before. The priest hole. He felt along the bricks and was stunned that his gold was still there. And, boy, it had really multiplied.

And to think I contemplated banking it with goldsmiths! He stuffed his leather pouch and three satin ones Anisse had sewn for him near the start of their voyage. Weighed down with gold, he turned to find Fortunata right behind him.

“What are you doing here?” He feigned surprise, but wasn’t sure if she believed him. The room was still dark and he made his way out, even as she grabbed him.

“You can’t hide from me!” she screamed.

“I’m not trying to hide.”

“You can’t run, either.”

He left the room, shutting the door. Fortunata shouted in frustration, beating her fists against it. She couldn’t make it open. He ran then, but Fortunata was soon close on his heels, Bertie behind him. Where had he come from? Had he released her? In the alleyway, Anisse stood with a bolt of purple silk over her shoulder.

“Get back to the ship,” he yelled. “I’ll explain.”

She didn’t skip a beat. She turned and moved as fast as she could under the weight of the fabric. Denny ran straight ahead, Fortunata literally breathing down his neck. Her claw-like talons emerged and grabbed him. He knew he had to get her to the good witch before Fortunata destroyed him.

He barreled into the door he’d seen in the dream sent by the twin seers from Fortunata’s island. The door had been marked with a pentagram in oil. He jumped through the entrance, Fortunata and Bertie right behind him.

Two men grabbed Fortunata, who shrieked and writhed. A ghostly figure emerged from the dark recesses of the room.

“Gremma!” Fortunata spat out the word. “What are
you
doing here?”

Denny couldn’t help staring. This Gremma person was the spitting image of the twin seers. She must have been the third sister. Triplets. She looked exactly like them save for a couple of hideous warts on her face.

“I can’t believe she’s here.” Gremma kept staring at Fortunata. “Change me back, and all this will go away.”

One of the men released her right arm, and Fortunata pointed a withered finger at her. The warts vanished.

“Arrest her,” Gremma told the man who grabbed her again. “She cast spells on me, her own brother and everyone else in our kingdom.”

“You said you’d make it go away,” Fortunata hollered.

“And I am, though probably not the way you expected.” She turned to Denny. “What do you want me to do with her?”

“Keep her here. Under heavy guard. I bring you Carpathian gold.”

Gremma seemed surprised. “I’ve never seen this before. And it really multiplies?”

Denny nodded. “Oh, yes.”

Gremma sat down, as though exhausted. “You just want me to hold her?”