Mistress of the Storm (27 page)

‘You killed Abigail,’ he said. ‘You killed my sister. You didn’t save me. You took me because I was useful and killed her because she was not.’

The Mistress of the Storm was – for once – slightly taken aback. ‘I—’ she started.

‘You made it an Original Story: fated to happen over and over again. It was in the book,
your
book.’

The Mistress stood there staring at Abednego: the one man who had shown unswerving loyalty to her all these years was fighting back. ‘Where did you find it?’ she spat. ‘How did you get a copy?’

Abednego ignored her. ‘You must not take this child,’ he said. ‘No more stealing children. No more killing children.’ A single tear rolled down his noble face.

The Mistress’s temper was rising. She was not used to insubordination and it did not appeal to her now. ‘I asked where you found the book,’ she demanded. ‘Who told you?’

The dark giant watched her carefully but said nothing.

His Mistress snapped. Her fury at this act of defiance was incandescent.
‘Who – told – you?’
she hissed. A frozen wind threaded around him like a snake. ‘I am still your Mistress, boy,’ she added, leaning in a threatening manner towards the straight-backed and stony-faced Abednego.

‘I do not owe you any further allegiance,’ he said. ‘You lost that when I discovered the truth.’ As if to demonstrate this, he went over to a locker. Lifting the lid, he revealed the hiding place of an extremely surprised and rather sheepish-looking man in a neatly pressed navy blue uniform with very shiny polished buttons.

‘Mr Cutgrass,’ gasped Verity, and Henry gawped openly.

Jasper stepped out of his secret cubbyhole. He was carrying a custom-made square bag on his shoulder. He stared at the assembled crowd. Even he could see that this was going to cramp his plans for stowing away. That, he reflected, was the problem with mysterious visitors such as Abednego. You never knew what they were going to do next.

‘A customs man?’ roared the old lady.
‘A – customs – man?’

It was too much for her. She could no longer control her emotions, and no longer wished to. It was time to revert to her natural form.

With a deep breath and an exhalation that reeked of decay, she allowed her transformation to take place. The air was rent in two and she was replaced in one hot, dusty blast of fury by a scarcely human creature. Still shrouded in robes, the figure paused, head bent over. The assembled group stood watching silently, fearfully, as it looked up to reveal itself fully.

All the soft tissues of the face were gone; in their place was only blackened and papery skin from which all moisture had been removed: you could clearly see the skull beneath. The cuffs and edges of the clothing offered small glimpses of bones that were similarly mummified. The breath issuing from the monster was hoarse and ragged. A gritty wind swirled around it.

Verity gasped, instantly recognizing in the creature the angry features of her grandmother.

The crew stepped back a little, well aware that such a change did not bode well.

‘Enough of this defiance,’ said the cowled figure in a grating, hollow voice. ‘It is time …’

Verity shuddered.

Most people, when faced with the natural form of the Mistress, collapsed in terror. But not Jasper Cutgrass. To think that the Mistress of the Storm really existed, just as Abednego had explained … he reflected. It was astonishing.

Henry was stunned. So the book had been right. All the terrible things this woman … creature … had done – they’d killed her soul, piece by piece.

‘She’s damaged her soul so severely, she’s scarcely alive,’ whispered Verity.

The creature laughed – a scraping, jarring sound that set the teeth on edge. Verity stared at the atrophied figure. Even though it had scarcely any features left, she recognized that look of scorn.

‘So convenient,’ rasped the Mistress, glancing at the tiny bundle in Miranda’s arms. ‘I can both prevent Rafe’s Pledge to destroy me
and
restore my youthfulness.’

Verity stiffened. The hairs on her arms prickled. What was her macabre enemy planning? Her baby sister moved a swaddled limb and snuffled.

‘She is your mother’s third daughter,’ said the Mistress. ‘Surely, little bookworm, that must mean something to you …’

Verity looked at her in horror. ‘…
but this time she chose to tell a tale of terrifying cruelty
,’ she said, reciting the words from memory.

As she continued, the Mistress of the Storm began to say the words with her: ‘…
of how each would be sacrificed. That they would die, so she might have longer life. And from that day on it was a bitter blessing to bear a third daughter.’

‘You’re going to drink her blood to rejuvenate yourself,’ Verity realized, aghast.

The Mistress tilted her head in a self-satisfied smirk, unable to resist the opportunity to gloat. ‘Poor Rafe,’ she said. ‘So clever usually, but I don’t think he intended the story to end like this.’

Verity reeled. Somewhere amidst the fear it occurred to her that she should try to keep her enemy talking. ‘How could you know it would be a girl,’ she asked, ‘before she was born? Boys are no good to you.’

The Mistress stared triumphantly at her. ‘I could hear it,’ she announced. ‘I am the Keeper of the Wind.’

Verity’s mind started to race. ‘That’s why you couldn’t kill me until now,’ she realized. ‘Because if you did, she wouldn’t
be
the third daughter … but you must have wanted to.’

The Mistress glared at her. ‘Oh, I did,’ she snapped. ‘What an irritation you have been to me, with your books … and insolence. But it has been worth the wait. Now I can revive myself, and then kill you to make sure Rafe’s story never comes about.’

‘And you think we’re just going to stand around and let you get on with it?’ demanded Henry angrily.

The Mistress laughed. Extending a withered finger, she beckoned towards a cabin door. With a clatter it swung open to reveal Verity’s father. He looked as if he hadn’t slept for days. The man Verity had once known as the very essence of composure stood before her with bloodshot eyes and scarecrow hair. His head bobbed and jerked sporadically. He didn’t appear to recognize them at all.

Behind him he was dragging a large sack. As he untied it, Verity gasped in horror. In it was her sister Poppy, gagged and bound. Even from this distance Verity could see that she was bruised and trembling with fear. Her heart turned over.

‘What do you think you’re doing?’ shouted Henry, outraged.

Spinning back round, Verity glared at the merciless creature. ‘How could you hurt her like this?’ she demanded. ‘And what have you
done
to my father?’

‘Being tormented by the wind can drive even the
strongest of men to insanity,’ the Mistress said smugly.

Verity gasped: so Martha had been right. ‘You’ve been controlling him …’

‘A heady combination of desert and polar breezes.’ The Mistress chuckled at her own cruel ingenuity.

‘Well, no more,’ said Verity angrily. She knew exactly what to do. Scrabbling in her pocket, she found the eye of the
Storm
and opened it. Her father looked up from his stupor. He seemed confused. Verity ran towards him and closed his limp fingers over the wooden ball. It was as if a mist had cleared from his eyes. Focusing on his daughter for the first time in months, Tom Gallant gazed in shock at her, and then at his surroundings.

‘You won’t do this to him any longer,’ insisted Verity, tears running down her face.

The Mistress stared calmly at her. ‘That is your choice,’ she said. ‘It can only protect one of you. Not both.’

Verity swivelled round, brushing a tear from her cheek. ‘Do what you like,’ she snapped. But as she spoke the words, a peculiar sensation enveloped her. A baking hot wind was whipping around her. At the same time tiny cold darts of a freezing draught pricked her skin. Her vision blurred and then re-formed. She felt sick and disorientated, maddened and hideously uncomfortable. Was this what Father had endured these past few months? Verity couldn’t imagine how he had borne it.

‘
That which gave you life shall destroy you
– that’s what Rafe pledged,’ screeched the Mistress. ‘
My blood will turn
against yours
. How dare he? I gave him everything he sought and that was my repayment?’

‘You killed his daughter,’ said Verity, struggling to get the words out but determined to say them. ‘My aunt.’

‘She was an annoyance,’ said the Mistress dismissively. ‘You remind me of her a great deal. His blood …’ She sniffed. ‘Well, if there is none of his bloodline left at all, that will be the safest thing for me.’

Verity’s head throbbed. The torment was overwhelming, making every thought an effort; the tiny spikes of cold grew increasingly agonizing. But it was Abednego who responded by grabbing the bag from Jasper’s shoulder. In a second he had removed its contents.

‘He found the Storm Bringer,’ he said, holding aloft the glass globe.

Jasper was outraged. ‘What are you doing?’ he demanded. ‘That is the property of the Revenue.’

‘You broke many rules when you charmed this for Barbarous Usage,’ said Abednego angrily. ‘But now it will be your undoing.’

The crew of the
Storm
leaped away from their captain. Some were standing by the rail, as if preparing to throw themselves into the sea. They might not have seen it in a long time but they knew what the Storm Bringer was and what it could do.

‘You don’t have the nerve.’ The Mistress tilted her desiccated head in defiance. ‘Use it, and it will kill everyone.’

‘It will destroy only you,’ said Abednego, raising his hand to shake the mysterious glass globe. The crew took another step back. ‘It is part of you; you are part of it. If you collide, both will disappear.’

The Mistress fixed Abednego with her terrifying gaze. ‘You should be sure that it will work, boy. If I live, I shall not rest until I have punished you.’

Abednego hesitated. A trace of doubt flickered across his face. He knew the Mistress’s bent for cruelty better than most.

She smirked and leaned out to take the Storm Bringer from Abednego’s hand … Too late.

Focusing every ounce of will and determination, Verity had already steeled herself to take action. This was it: her chance to fulfil the Pledge. Forcing her hands to reach out, she grabbed the mysterious Storm Bringer from the captain.

Years later, she could still remember that moment as if she were experiencing it afresh. It was as if she were outside her body looking down on the deck of the
Storm
, watching herself in silent slow motion.

Around her she was aware of Jasper throwing out an arm – too slowly – in an effort to stop her. She saw Miranda Blake, with the baby in her arms, coolly weighing up the situation; Abednego turning, startled; Henry, running towards her, shouting something she couldn’t make out. She could see the raddled, desiccated creature that was the Mistress cringing.

And then she saw her own overwhelming confusion as the Storm Bringer was lifted gently but firmly out of her hand. The terrible dry pricking heat lifted.

‘That is not how the story ends, Verity,’ said a familiar voice.

‘Alice,’ exclaimed Verity, stunned, as she turned and recognized her friend. ‘What are you doing
here
?’

The old lady’s inquisitive pink face looked exhausted. For the first time in her life Verity noticed the deep lines and wrinkles. Alice turned to face the wasted cadaverous creature in front of her.

‘Oh, Aure,’ she said softly. ‘What have you let yourself become?’ Her voice was filled with love, disappointment and regret.

The Mistress hissed. ‘I don’t need your pity,
sister
,’ she said, managing to fill that one word with a world of contempt.

Verity and Henry gasped in shock.

‘How …?’ Verity asked incredulously. How could Alice be the sister of that … that thing?

Alice looked ashamed. ‘What must you think of the deception?’ she asked.

Verity didn’t know what to say.

‘All I can tell you is that my love for you was genuine – whatever it must look like now.’

Verity swallowed awkwardly. She knew that. Of course she knew it. Why would Alice think otherwise?

Alice walked towards the Mistress. ‘You will not take the baby,’ she said. ‘I won’t let you.’

The Mistress was furious. ‘How dare you interfere again? You see how she uses you all?’ she barked, staring around.

‘I know what you did, Aure,’ said Alice, briskly switching to the real reason for her presence. ‘I know what happened to our sisters.’

In a day of unprecedented shocks, this was the most startling revelation of all for the Mistress. She stared at her sister with undisguised horror.

‘You have to come with me now,’ Alice told her.

‘I shall do no such thing,’ snapped her sister, desperately trying to recover her composure.

Alice reached out with sympathy and love. ‘This is how it finishes, Aure,’ she said.

The Mistress gave a guttural screech of frustration and anger; suddenly arid sand-filled air blasted the onlookers’ faces. With a movement so swift it scarcely seemed possible, she snatched Verity’s baby sister from Miranda’s arms. Verity shrieked in horror. The creature that was the Mistress opened its terrifying maw, preparing to feast on the infant’s blood.

Each thing after that happened so fast that it was impossible to be sure what was taking place. But Verity saw Alice at the Mistress’s side with the Storm Bringer. She saw the two struggling. They made such a strange contrast: the terrifying creature whose skin was as black as its soul, and the frail-looking old lady with delicate pink cheeks who was evidently a great deal stronger than she appeared.

Then Verity found herself holding her new sister. The world froze. The tiny baby was so perfect. Her pink rosebud lips were slightly apart beneath her snub nose. Her blue eyes opened and they seemed to look at Verity with the wisdom of ages. Verity was overwhelmed with love. She had never expected to feel like this.

Then came an earth-shattering explosion. The deafening crack and boom of the blast ripped the air. A tremendous force shook the
Storm
, knocking her crew and all her unexpected guests off their feet. Verity thudded to the deck as Henry flew across to protect her and the baby.