Emily Rodda - Isle of the Dead

‘I see it!’ he heard Barda pant behind him. ‘Go! I am with you!’

Lief seized the ladder in both hands, found a rung with his feet and, gritting his chattering teeth, began hauling himself upward.

He had climbed only about halfway to the deck before he realised that there was something strange about the ship.

It was riding very low in the water, and instead of tossing from side to side in the swell, as he would have expected, it was gliding as smoothly as a fish. This made his climb easier, but a sense of foreboding was growing within him as he forced his aching body on.

As he neared the top of the ladder he paused, his scalp prickling. He could not rid himself of the feeling that he was being watched. Yet he could see no glimmer of light above him. He could hear no voices. The only sounds were the creaking of the timbers and, now and again, a faint, mouse-like squeaking.

He glanced quickly from side to side and noticed, very near to his right shoulder, the remains of some painted words.

The ship’s name, Lief thought. So we must be at the front of the ship—the bow. He peered at the name, trying to read it.

So much of the paint had flaked off that Lief could make no sense of the fragments that remained. Yet somehow he felt that he should have been able to. There was something about the pattern made by those last flakes of paint that was familiar. Something he had seen before…

‘No captain of a working ship would let its name wear away like that,’ Barda muttered from below him. ‘This is a hulk—abandoned. And some years ago, by the look of it.’

Lief was certain that Barda was right. The ship was drifting. The eerie squeaking he could hear was the sound of the wheel spinning from side to side on the deserted deck.

But someone—or something—was aboard. He knew it. Something had sensed them. Something was holding its breath, waiting…

‘Keep moving, Lief,’ Barda growled. ‘Whatever is up there, we must either face it or drown. And I would rather die fighting.’

So Barda senses danger too, Lief thought. At least we are prepared. But forcing himself to climb the last few rungs of the ladder was one of the hardest things he had ever done. His legs felt as if they were made of stone. His whole body was weighed down by dread.

He reached the top. He saw crawling mist, a tangle of ropes and sails, the wheel swinging slowly, with no hand to guide it. He saw the jagged stub that was all that remained of the ship’s main mast.

A moving picture leaped into his mind like a flash of vivid memory. He saw the ship tossing in a ferocious storm. He saw giant waves crashing over the deck. He heard the terrible, screeching sound of the mast snapping in two, and the terrified cries of drowning men.

Visions of the past…

He slid over the side of the ship, onto the deck. Shivering and panting he crawled aside to make room for Barda. As he did, something made him look up. His heart seemed to fly into his throat.

A woman in a long blue robe was standing motionless on the prow of the ship. She was staring out to sea, leaning forward slightly, her hands clasped over her heart. Mist billowed around her, but nothing on her stirred—not a fold of her robe or a curl of her long red hair.

Her face, with its stubborn chin, its steady grey eyes, was strangely familiar.

Lief’s mouth went dry as he realised who she was. And as Barda thudded onto the deck beside him, he suddenly realised, too, why the fragments of the ship’s name had rung warning bells in his mind.

This abandoned, drifting hulk was Laughing Jack’s ship, The Lady Luck.

And the woman standing so silent, so motionless, on the prow was Red Han’s daughter, Verity.

6 – Ghost Ship

Lief and Barda crawled to their feet, dripping and shivering. The deck creaked beneath them. Behind them, the wheel squeaked and spun. The figure of Verity did not stir.

‘It is not real, Lief,’ Barda muttered. ‘See how it leans over the water, as if to guide the ship? It is a figurehead, carved out of wood and painted. Many ships have them. You must have seen pictures—’

‘Yes,’ whispered Lief, through chattering teeth. ‘But I have never seen a figurehead which looks as real as this. And it is Verity to the life. I think—’

His voice faltered. It seemed to him that the rigid figure on the prow turned its head very slightly, as if it had heard him. Or had his eyes been deceived by the drifting mist? He clutched the Belt at his waist…

Suddenly, there was a flurry of movement, glaring light, and a roar of sound. Seabirds shrieked. Water splashed. Harsh voices cheered, shouted and guffawed.

Then they were no longer alone. A crowd of grinning men jostled all around them.

Cursing in shock, Barda reached for his sword.

Lief did not move. He knew that the men could not see them. This was the crew of The Lady Luck, as it had gathered on deck eighteen years ago to enjoy the sort of entertainment it liked best.

Two men were tying a girl to a short pole fixed to the prow. The girl was wearing a long blue cloak.

‘Verity,’ Barda breathed.

The men had placed Verity so that she was facing the lighthouse that gleamed white across the water.

‘Ah, what a fine figurehead she makes, to be sure!’ jeered a rat-faced man in a striped woollen cap.

‘Too scrawny for my taste!’ bawled a hulking brute with a black patch over one eye.

‘She will be scrawnier yet when the birds have finished with her, Beef,’ a third roared, baring teeth like crooked yellow pegs.

The whole crew laughed uproariously.

The girl made no sign that she had heard them. She did not struggle as loop after loop of rope wound about her, binding her to the pole.

Laughing Jack was standing beside her, peering through a telescope. He stood as still as a tall, thin statue, his bony shoulders rigid, the sharp line of his jaw intent. After a moment, he lowered the telescope and turned to Verity, the edges of his wide mouth curving into a smile.

And just for an instant, as he turned, he reminded Lief of someone else. Someone I know, Lief thought in confusion. Who…?

Then the smile broadened into the familiar death’s head grin, and the illusion vanished.

‘Your father is watching, girl,’ Laughing Jack sneered. ‘He is in the Light chamber.’

Verity made no answer.

Laughing Jack moved a little closer to her. ‘Sound carries well across water,’ he said. ‘Red Han will hear you if you scream. You would do well to begin now. The sooner he gives in, the sooner you will be free.’

‘My father will never give in, James Gant,’ Verity said. ‘And I will never call to him.’

Laughing Jack’s eyes narrowed. ‘Fine words,’ he hissed. ‘But they will not last. Soon you will be begging for food and water, beaten to rags by the wind and the waves. And then the hungry birds will come. You will scream loud enough when they begin to feast on you, girl, make no mistake.’

He turned on his heel and strode away from her, directly towards Lief and Barda. The crew stumbled out of his way, some falling over in their haste.

Lief and Barda stood their ground. Laughing Jack passed through them like a gust of icy breath. And in that moment, the vision vanished, and they stood blinking on the creaking deck, mist floating all around them and the silent figurehead their only companion.

‘If ever I have the chance to lay my hands on that grinning monster, he will know what fear is,’ Barda muttered at last.

His eyes were fixed on the figurehead. His fists were clenched.