Emily Rodda - Isle of the Dead

Lief nodded, then frowned. Suddenly he was imagining what practical Jasmine would say to that.

‘But why?’ Jasmine would exclaim. ‘If Verity could not use her magic to save herself, why did she not spend it on some useful purpose?’

Some useful purpose…

Lief looked again at the painting. And this time he saw something that he had not noticed before.

‘Barda,’ he said slowly. ‘Did you know that the name “Verity” means “truth”?’

‘Yes,’ Barda said. ‘What of it?’ Unwilling to abandon his hope that the painting concealed a hidden door, he was running his fingers around the gold frame, vainly searching for a spring or catch.

‘There are things in this painting that are not true,’ Lief murmured. ‘Do you see?’

Barda paused, glancing at the image. Then he frowned and stepped back a little, to see more clearly.

‘For one thing, the viewing platform is missing from the lighthouse,’ Lief said.

He stretched out his hand and touched the place where the viewing platform should have been. Instantly his fingertip tingled and beneath it something glowed.

Barda gasped, and Lief snatched his hand away. He rubbed his hot fingertip, staring at the painting in amazement.

Where his finger had been, the viewing platform now glowed brightly, its red railings vivid against the whiteness of the tower. And—was it his imagination, or was the Light above a little stronger?

I will shine like truth through the darkness…

‘The little bay, where I saw Verity first, is missing also,’ Barda said slowly. ‘It should be there, on the left—the north side—of the Point. But the painting shows only rocks.’

Lief nodded. Again he put out his hand and touched the place. And again, instantly, the painting changed. The Light brightened further, and beneath his fingertip, where only rocks had been before, the little bay glowed, complete with seaweed, shells and smashed red boat.

‘But the boat was surely not broken in those days!’ Barda exclaimed. ‘Verity used it for fishing!’

‘No doubt Laughing Jack wrecked it before he took Verity back to the ship,’ Lief said. ‘To prevent Red Han from rowing after them when finally he escaped from the locked room.’

As he spoke, he noticed that the sounds below their feet had grown louder, and the movement of the ship less smooth. It was as if the dead rowers were becoming restless.

‘The water,’ Barda said huskily. ‘It is too still. The waves are not foaming on the rocks. And look! The birds are carrying stems of water berries. People on the coast use them for food and drink. But sea birds do not. They are—flesh-eaters.’

He hunched his shoulders and rubbed the back of his hand over his mouth, as if he wished his last words had remained unspoken.

Lief stretched out both hands. He touched the water at the end of the point, and the berries carried by one of the birds.

He felt a jolt, and jumped back with a sharp cry. This time, with the touch of his fingers, the whole painting had changed.

An entirely different scene was now within the frame. It was the deck of The Lady Luck —and it was not a painting. It was real.

Lief felt Barda’s hand close on his wrist. Perhaps Barda was speaking, but he could not hear him. His ears were filled with other voices, the calls of birds, and the creaking of ship’s timbers.

Figures were moving beneath the smooth surface of the glass—the rat-faced man in the knitted cap, the man with the black eye-patch, and all the rest of the ship’s motley crew.

A loop of rope drooped from the rat-faced man’s hand. The brute with the black eye-patch was holding a sword. Both were sweating, wild-eyed and spattered with blood. The rest of the crew were sullen, shuffling, their eyes fixed on the silent figure tied to the pole at the ship’s prow.

Verity had plainly been suffering for many days. Her hair hung over her shoulders in a limp, tangled mat. Her cloak and nightgown were stiff with salt. Birds were flying about her head in a swirling cloud.

… the hungry birds will come. You will scream loud enough when they begin to feast on you, girl…

Lief wanted to turn away, but he could not. The moving image held him fast. And a voice, whispering in his mind.

Look! See! This is the truth of it! The truth…

Beyond the cloud of birds, far over the smooth blue water, the Bone Point Light burned defiantly Red Han had not given in.

The flock of birds parted slightly. Lief’s heart thudded as he saw Verity’s face clearly for the first time. To his astonishment, it was smooth and unmarked. And as he watched, a bird carrying a tiny branch of water berries moved very close to the girl’s mouth and hovered.

Verity opened her lips. The bird pressed the berries into her mouth and held the branch steady as she ate.

They are feeding her! Lief thought dazedly. Instead of attacking her they are—

His heart gave a lurch as a harsh voice cried out angrily. He watched, transfixed, as the crew stumbled aside and Laughing Jack strode onto the deck, his teeth bared in fury.

‘Did I not tell you to drive the birds away from her, Scrawn?’ Laughing Jack snarled to the rat-faced man with the rope.

The man called Scrawn cowered. ‘I have been trying, Captain, on my honour,’ he whined. ‘My arms fair ache with trying.’

He jerked his head at the man in the eye-patch. ‘Beef tried too, with me, and a dozen others in turn. But those birds are crafty, Captain. While we fight off one lot, more are sneaking in to her beneath their wings.’

‘It’s not natural,’ grunted Beef. ‘The creatures are bewitched.’

‘And the sea is cursed,’ called someone from the back of the crowd. ‘There’s been not a wave or a breath of wind since the girl came on board.’

‘It is true!’ The man with the crooked yellow teeth was gnawing his thumb nervously. ‘Seven long days, and still the witch lives, watered and fed by her creatures. Still the Light burns. And here we rot, with the sails hanging limp as rags, and no slaves below to row us—’

‘Silence!’ thundered Laughing Jack. His hollow eyes blazed as he stared at Verity, the fluttering birds, and, beyond them, the Bone Point Light.

9 – Mutiny

Abruptly the moving picture vanished and Lief and Barda found themselves staring once more at Verity’s painting. The pastel image drifted slowly below the surface of the glass, mysterious and full of secrets.

But it will give up its secrets to those seeking the truth, Lief thought. That is why it is here. We must correct the lies. Reveal what is hidden…

Slowly he became aware of a rising chorus of groans and mutterings mingling with the creaking of the oars beneath his feet. He glanced around him and saw that the light in the great room had dimmed. The candles were burning low.

‘How much time has passed since we entered this room?’ he whispered. ‘It does not seem so long…’

Barda moved uneasily beside him. ‘Come away, Lief,’ he said. ‘Whatever this painting is, or how it was created, we should delve into it no further. Through it, the past lives again. The wretched beings below feel it. And they do not like it.’

‘If that is so, it is because the truth will set us free,’ Lief murmured.

‘No!’ hissed Barda. ‘What is past cannot be undone and is best forgotten. We would be fools to rouse the rowers further, Lief. Soon the candles will go out, and who knows what will happen then?’

Impatiently he shook Lief’s arm. ‘Come away and help me search for the way out,’ he said. ‘We have paid our debt, and according to the rhyme at the entrance, we are free to leave. We have only to find the door.’