Fire over Swallowhaven (7 page)

“I think we probably arrived just
after
the nick of time,” Esmeralda remarked under her breath.

“Well, now,” croaked Ishmael, “one good turn deserves another. Show me to yer galley, and I’ll fix ye up a meal fit for a king!”

“We don’t exactly have a galley, old chap,” said Jack. “We’ve been pretty much living on sandwiches.”

“That’s not fit fare for fighting folk!” declared Ishmael, rummaging through the barrels and boxes and bags of food they had picked up in Swallowhaven. “Blackpowder and treacle,” he muttered shrilly to himself. “With just a dash of brimstone! That’ll wake him up! That’ll blow sparks out o’ his parson’s nose!”

Trundle gazed for a few moments at the wriggling, skinny back end of the hare as he dug through their provisions. Then he looked from Esmeralda to Jack and back again.

“I suppose a cook would come in handy,” he said hopefully. “Warm food would be nice—especially as we get farther and farther from the sun.”

Ishmael’s head popped up, his ears whirling. “Where be we a-going to, me brave hearties?” he asked.

“We’re looking for the nest of the legendary glorious phoenix bird,” Jack told him.

“The legendary glorious phoenix bird, is it?” mused Ishmael, licking his lips. “Sounds delicious! I could easily rustle you up a nice juicy slice of roast phoenix breast! Or phoenix drumsticks on a bed of lavender flowers and lettuce! Or phoenix nuggets in a blueberry sauce! That’ll go down a treat, that will!”

“We’re not going to
eat
him!” yelped Trundle. “We’re hoping he’ll lead us to the Crown of Fire.”

“Is that so, now?” said Ishmael, tapping his lips thoughtfully. “Well, have it your own way—but you might change your minds when I tell you a few of my top wild bird recipes! How does this strike a hungry ear, for instance? Imagine the phoenix bird spit roasted over hot coals, basted with its own juices and
served with a sauce of garlic, rosemary needles, sage leaves, and juniper berries.”

“We are
not
eating him!” Esmeralda said decisively. “Whatever next?” She rolled her eyes. “But I suppose you’re welcome to come along with us and do a bit of cooking if you like.” She looked meaningfully at Trundle and Jack. “Now you’re on board, you might as well make yourself useful.”

“You won’t regret having old Ishmael as a crewmate,” chortled the hare. “Just one bite of old Ishmael’s cooking and your taste buds will love you forever, you’ll see!” He hunkered down and carried on rummaging through their provender. “You won’t regret it. Oh, no—you won’t regret it for an instant!”

Trundle wasn’t so sure.

“’T
is of the glorious phoenix bird, this story I shall tell.

In a nest of gold at the end of the world, this wise old bird does dwell.

The phoenix comes from fire and flame and never saw a shell—

Oh, the phoenix bright is a lovely sight, and keeps his secret well!

Most marvelous and courteous bird, with feathers red as flame.

From Mithering to Jumper’s Beat, afar has spread his fame.

Bring his lost feather to his nest with good and noble aim—

Oh, the phoenix bold in his nest of gold, his secret will proclaim!”

Trundle laughed and clapped as Jack stood at the prow of the
Thief in the Night
, singing lustily and sawing away at his rebec while Ishmael performed a wild and frantic dance amidships, his eyes popping and his ears revolving like windmill sails as he kicked up his heels with many a whoop and holler.

Esmeralda sat at the tiller, rubbing at her emptied plate with a final chunk of bread. “Dinner and cabaret!” She sighed contentedly. “Could any mortal animal ask for more?”

It was evening, and the sky was turning a rich, velvety blue, sewn with twinkling stars. Despite Trundle’s reservations, Ishmael had proved himself a gifted and inventive chef. Rooting through the pile of provisions, he had unearthed a little stove on which to cook and a bag of coal for fuel and even a few saucepans and cooking utensils. Then, as they had sailed on, the most delicious and mouthwatering smells had begun to waft past the noses of the three adventurers.

As the daylight faded, they had come to a great dark mass of close-packed boulders and rocks. Checking the skycharts, they had learned that this immense reach of floating debris was known as Slatterkin’s Reef. According to notes scribbled on the chart, the reef was an impassable labyrinth. But the eager phoenix feather thought differently, so it seemed—because it pointed stiff and sure right into the middle of the tumbled mass of the reef.

It was at that point that Esmeralda suggested they moor for the night, have a good meal, get some much-needed sleep, and then take a proper look at the reef first thing in the morning. No one had disagreed with this splendid plan, and so dinner had been organized, with musical entertainment to follow.

Trundle looked furtively around, then lifted his plate to his snout and gave it a long, luxuriant licking. Bad manners, to be sure, but he blamed it on Ishmael’s scrumptious cooking. It was irresistible!

A loud burp from Esmeralda proved that he was not the only one lacking proper decorum.

“Give us another tune, Jack,” Esmeralda shouted. “And three cheers as well for Ishmael March, long may his saucepan steam!”

“Thank ’ee kindly, your majesticossity,” cackled the hare. “Old Ishmael, he knows a thing or two about herbs and spices and soups and sauces, oh, yes, he does.” And he began to strut and cavort
again, swinging himself around and around the mast and slapping his long feet together.

Laughing, Jack struck up a lively new tune, and Esmeralda and Trundle clapped joyfully along. Had there been any creatures living this far from civilization, they would have probably been surprised to hear laughter and singing and merry music sounding far into the starry night. And then, with the cooking fires doused and the little skyboat bobbing gently in the breeze, they would have heard the satisfied snoring of three sleeping beasts, along with the endless drowsy mutterings of a gusty, high-pitched voice.

“Blackpowder and treacle! Elbow grease and a long weight! Dance the hornpipe, Horatio! Blow it out his parson’s nose! Kipper on the starboard cow! Trim the mizzen, matey! Fifteen voles on a dead frog’s chest. Avast behind! She’s got a vast behind!”

“Ishmael?”

“Yes, your majestyness?”

“Shut
up
!”

“Well, I don’t know,” Jack said, peering off into the dark expanse of Slatterkin’s Reef. “I can’t see any obvious way through.”

They had not woken up quite as early as Esmeralda had suggested and were feeling a little blurry and drowsy from the late-night revels—all except Ishmael, it seemed, who leaped straight to his frying pan and began to prepare breakfast.

Slatterkin’s Reef looked no less of an obstacle in the bright morning than it had the previous evening.

“Maybe we could go around it?” Trundle suggested. “Or over it? Or even under it? I mean, it can’t go on forever, can it?”

“No, not
forever,
I don’t suppose,” Esmeralda replied, staring at the skychart, which showed almost
nothing but the black reef, across which were written the words D
EVOID OF SCIENTIFIC INTEREST
. “But it could take us weeks to go all the way around, and that darned feather seems to want us to go straight through.”

She was right about that. The long red phoenix feather was aiming straight into the heart of the reef. Every now and then, a shiver would run through it, as though it was impatient to be off.

“We are most definitely in the Devoids now.” Jack sighed. “The only plan I can come up with is to follow the feather and hope for the best. There are plenty of channels and passages through the rocks, so far as I can make out—but whether they’ll bring us safely out the other side, I wouldn’t like to guess.”

“Breakfast up,” trilled Ishmael. “Roamany toast for all, me hearties! It’ll warm the cockles of yer
hearts. Buckle up and sit ye down and get some of Ishmael’s grub down yer necks! Things will look better in the morning.”

“We already
are
in the morning, Ishmael,” muttered Trundle as the cook handed him a plate. His face brightened as he sniffed the toasted cheese that Ishmael had provided.

Soon they were all sitting around, eating heartily and swigging buttermilk.

“You’ve got to give me the recipe for this, Ishmael, my friend!” exclaimed Jack, licking his lips.

“Treacle and blackpowder!” cackled the hare. “With just a dash of brimstone. That’ll wake him up—that’ll blow sparks out o’ his parson’s nose!”

“That’s not really what we’re eating, is it?” Trundle asked.

The scraggy old hare just threw back his head and screeched with laughter.

After breakfast, they took the
Thief in the Night
into the reef, following the largest and straightest of the channels. The fact that there were no winds inside the maze of rocks only made things more difficult. Furling the sails, they took turns working the treadles in the rear of the skyboat to drive it along with its little stern-mounted propeller.

The weather had gradually been getting more chilly as they traveled away from the sun, but now that they were inside the shadowy reef, they finally began to feel properly cold. Warmer underwear was dug out of their hoard, and this was topped off with the odd scarf and muffler and extra pair of woolen socks.

It was hard going with the treadles, made no easier by the fact that Ishmael was quite unable to help them. Within moments of his sitting on the treadle seat and starting to pump away with his legs, his long, ungainly feet got tangled and he ended up flat on his face in the bottom of the boat. Finally they
just sat him at the prow and let him shout useless instructions: “Left hand down a bit—right hand up a bit—steady as she goes—there’s a big rock—oooh, look, a boulder!” as they plowed onward.

Despite this, things seemed to be going reasonably well until, without any warning, the passageway corkscrewed, twisted, turned head over heels, and tied itself into a knot, leaving them with no option but to head back and start all over again.

The next channel they followed widened and straightened, leading them deeper into the middle of the reef. Esmeralda was pedaling while Trundle and Jack stood at either bow, fending off the bigger chunks of rock.

“I think we’re on to something here!” she puffed, her knees going up and down as the propeller whirred. “At this rate we’ll be through and out the other side before we know it!”

And then, as if to drive them all as mad as Ishmael,
they came out into a small open area and saw at least twenty different channels opening up ahead of them.

“This is hopeless!” gasped Trundle. “We’ll never find our way through.”

“Look, we’ve been at it all morning.” Esmeralda rubbed her aching legs. “Let’s stop here for a spot of lunch and then consider our options.”

“A tip-top notion!” cackled Ishmael. “And what say young Jack Nimble here lightens the load with a jolly tune or two to warm us all up and to get our toes a-tapping?”