Ship of Spies Page 14

  "The trouble with a boy like you is that you have more bravery than sense," Madam Pomfrey said. She nodded at the oars. "You may as well row. It will keep you warm."

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Alexander took up the oars and began to row. He wasn't very happy about it, or the fact that he was bringing them closer to the Napoleonist ship, but he had no choice. Mrs. Pomfrey kept the pistol aimed directly at him. With each pull of the oars, he could see the Resolution getting farther away.

  "You tried to stop me, and now for all your efforts you will become a prisoner of your enemy," Mrs. Pomfrey said. "Your Captain Bellingham does not appear to be in any hurry to rescue you. I suppose an ensign is not worth much, after all."

  It was true that the Resolution had not yet set all her sails. Like most captains in the Royal Navy, Bellingham preferred to attack with what was called "the weather gauge" —in other words, he liked to have the wind at his back under a press of sail to give the ship speed and momentum.

  "He is trying to determine the intentions of the Napoleonist ship."

  "Their intentions? Ha! Your captain is a fool if he does not know. Their intentions are to sink every English vessel they meet."

  Alexander couldn't help but smirk. "Good luck with that."

  "You are an impertinent boy." Mrs. Pomfrey waggled the pistol at him. "Row a little faster! You must remember that you are a prisoner now, so it may be wise to guard your words. The French sailors may not be as kind as I am."

  Over his shoulder, Alexander sensed the Napoleonist ship looming closer.

  "I may be a prisoner," Alexander agreed, bending to the oars. "But you, Mrs. Pomfrey, are a spy."

  "I do not consider myself a spy, young man. I am a patriot. I was born in France, you see. My loyalties lie with the Napoleonists." She patted the leather satchel in the bottom of the boat. "I know that the emperor will welcome the information I have. Call me what you will, but that is all that matters to me."

  "This is about the sale of the Louisiana territory, isn't it!" he blurted out. "Colonel Beauchamp made an agreement with the British government that the Americans won't interfere in the war with the Napoleonists as long as the English don't interfere with the purchase of the Louisiana territory."

  "Not Colonel Beauchamp." Mrs. Pomfrey shook her head fiercely. "The negotiations took place at a much higher level. The colonel is only a puffed up courier. Fortunately, we knew he would be carrying the documents. I was able to secure a position as Miss Scarlett's governess, which put me in an ideal position to pass along information. When the attack came on the ship, I took the opportunity to seize the documents themselves."

  "You almost got an innocent man hanged in the process," Alexander said, thinking of Old Cullins. "Not to mention the fact that you tried to kill me in the hold."

  A puzzled look crossed Mrs. Pomfrey's face. "Tried to kill you? You are an annoying and impudent boy who deserves to have his ears boxed, but as long as you keep rowing I have no wish to kill you at the moment. What are you talking about?"

  "You sent me a message to meet you at midnight, and when I went there, you tried to push me down the hold."

  "I did no such thing," she said. "Have you considered that you have enemies on board your old ship?"

  "What enemies would I have?"

  "I have heard the rumors that you are more than just a boy parading in an officer's coat," she said softly, after first taking a look around as if they might be overhead, even out here all alone on the ocean. "I have heard that you are an elemental. I have ears. As you say, I am a spy. And now, not only will I be delivering proof of the English and American treachery to the emperor, but I will be bringing him a greater treasure—an elemental. Now row faster, Mr. Hope. We are almost there and your new life as a Napoleonist prisoner awaits. Maybe the will put you in chains. How do you English say it? Clap you in irons, I do believe."

  • • •

  Alexander had no possibility of escape. He thought about trying to use the wristling against Mrs. Pomfrey, but she kept the pistol aimed at him. She had shown herself to be a crack shot—she had very nearly shot a gryphon out of the sky, after all. As soon as the launch bumped against Le Triomphant, Napoleonist sailors jumped in and grabbed hold of him roughly, jabbering at him in French. Mrs. Pomfrey babbled back at them, clutching the leather satchel protectively.

  They clambered up the side, and Alexander soon found himself face to face with the Napoleonist capitán. To Alexander's surprise he was a rather young man. He bowed politely to Mrs. Pomfrey and exchanged greetings with her. Although Alexander couldn't understand a word, he gathered that whatever the captain said to her put Mrs. Pomfrey at ease because she gripped the satchel a bit less tightly.

  The capitán’s expression was much less welcoming when he turned his gaze on Alexander. However, it was not the youthful capitán’s disdain he noticed so much as the fact that his sea cloak was secured at the shoulder with a magnificent silver clasp in the shape of a sea horse. He blinked in surprise—Alexander was sure that he himself had once owned that very clasp.

  "You are now our prisoner, monsieur," the captain said in English. "I will ask you to conduct yourself in a gentlemanly manner and not interfere with the conduct of the ship."

  "Of course," Alexander replied. “You have my word.”

  "We are about to go into battle with your ship, so unfortunately I must ask you to remain confined until we have defeated your friends aboard the Resolution. We have been waiting for a chance to seize the ship and the proof of English treachery it carried, but it seems that our spy has done the hard part for us. Now all that’s left is to sink the Resolution."

  Alexander barely heard the words. He had nearly been unable to take his eyes off the sea horse clasp. It looked like the clasp he had given the French girl Celeste for helping him in Normandy. Alexander had flown there with Professor Hobhouse and Rigley on a rescue mission when Lemondrop, carrying Lord Parkington, had been wounded and feared lost. Celeste and her family had sheltered Lemondrop and Lord Parkington, as well as the rescuers, until Lemondrop was well enough to take to the air. Even as it was, they had barely escaped.

  How could it possibly be the same clasp? The captain noticed him looking.

  "You English are very strange," he said. "I have just explained to you that you are a prisoner, and yet you seem more preoccupied with the clasp of my sea cloak."

  "It is very unique," Alexander said. "I once had one much like it."

  "Did you?" The captain stiffened and studied Alexander even more intently. "What became of your cloak clasp, monsieur?"

  "I gave it to someone as a token of thanks," he said. "She saved my life and the life of my companions."

  "Was this a French girl?"

  "Yes!" Alexander said eagerly. "Her name was Celeste!"

  The capitán could not have looked more surprised if Alexander had produced a hammer and struck him between the eyes. "Mon Dieu! You were the English boy she helped! Celeste is mon cousin." The captain's look of surprise was quickly turning to anger; his face clouded over. "She and her family were arrested and imprisoned for helping you and the other English flyers. You caused her a great deal of trouble. It took every ounce of influence I had to finally get them freed. They are back now at their farm in Normandy, but they are living in great poverty because no one will take flour to be ground at Pierre's mill. They are closely watched by the cuirassiers. But Celeste gave me this pin as her own token of thanks for helping her family."

  "I am sorry to hear that she and her family got in trouble for helping us."

  "Well, you shall be even sorrier. I was going to have you confined to my own cabin as a courtesy to an English officer, even a boy ensign, but I have changed my mind. I am thinking that the brig is better for you. Devries!" He turned to a big sailor nearby and gave him orders in French. "I have told him to take you below and lock you up. I will deal with you later, after I have sent your friends to the depths of the sea!"

  The Napoleonist sailor was ve
ry large, with an eye patch and a shaved head. He looked more like a pirate than a Napoleonist. The sailors were ready for battle with the Resolution, and this sailor had two pistols tucked into the wide sash he wore around his waist, and a cutlass hung from a scabbard. He put one beefy hand on the cutlass and glared at Alexander, as if daring him to try to escape.

  The captain turned away, busy with preparations for the coming battle. Alexander found himself being half dragged, half pulled toward the hold. He took one last look over his shoulder and saw in the distance that the Resolution had raised her sails. The effect was like a gryphon spreading its wings. He could see the water foaming around Resolution's bow as the frigate bore down on the Napoleonist vessel. Overhead, Captain Amelia's squadron circled in attack formation. The battle was about to begin. With a grunt that needed no translation, the big enemy sailor shoved him below.

  It was a strange feeling to find himself below decks on a Napoleonist ship. As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he was surprised to see that it was not so very different from the interior of the Resolution. There were the same smells of old lantern smoke and bodies too long without a bath, mixed with the sharp bite of freshly burned gunpowder. The sailor gave him another shove, and Alexander lurched forward.

  The brig was like a small jail within the ship, complete with iron bars across the tiny window in the thick oak door. The sailor inserted a key in an enormous lock to open the door, then dropped the key back into a pocket of his grimy shirt. The cell was cramped and damp, with a bucket that didn't smell very good in one corner. Slumped in another corner was a prisoner in rags with chains around his ankles. He barely looked up as Alexander arrived. The big sailor shoved him again, barked out a laugh as Alexander stumbled, then slammed the door shut and locked it. The sailor gave him one last look through the barred window and seemed satisfied by the sight of Alexander standing helpless in the middle of the cell. He nodded, gave another of his grunts, and disappeared.

  Reality sank in as the big sailor's footsteps faded.

  Not in his wildest imagination had Alexander thought this would happen to him. He could picture himself being shipwrecked or even shot, but it had never occurred to him that he would be captured. He wished now that he had not been so rash and flown out on the gryphon to singlehandedly go after Mrs. Pomfrey. What had he been thinking?

  What made it worse was that they were about to go into battle. He could imagine Roger and Liam at their guns, Captain Bellingham barking orders from the quarterdeck as Old Cullins turned the wheel. Yet here he was, trapped inside the very ship they were about to attack.

  A prisoner.

  CHAPTER 17

  Lord Parkington scanned the sea in vain for any sign of Alexander. The last time he had seen him, he had been winging off somewhere on a gryphon. Never mind the fact that he wasn’t supposed to be on a gryphon—that was Alexander for you.

  Since then, Toby had seen the gryphon returning to the Resolution without Alexander. That fact was troubling. But where in the world had Alexander gone? Gimcrack was not the sturdiest or most reliable gryphon, and Alexander was not part of the Royal Flyer Corps. He was a sailor, after all. It was not a promising combination.

  He didn't have time to wonder about Alexander for long. Something flashed in the sky beyond. Looking more closely, he saw that it was the polished armor and drawn swords of the enemy flyers. The Napoleonist gryphons had finally formed up and were coming at them.

  He and Lemondrop flew as part of a loose formation with Rigley on Biscuit to the left and Captain Amelia on Ember to the right. Both groups of gryphons shot toward each other like arrows from a bow. Toby bent low over Lemondrop's back for greater speed and also to offer less of a target. He hated to admit it, but the Napoleonists were actually fine shots.

  At the last instant before they collided with an oncoming enemy gryphon, Toby nudged Lemondrop with his knees, just as he would with a horse. Lemondrop veered to port as Toby drew his sword and stood up straight in the stirrups to slash at the enemy flyer. Startled, the Napoleonist pilot threw up his own blade to parry the blow and the air rang with the sound of clashing steel. An instant later they hurtled past each other and began turning, turning—circling around for another go.

  He glanced around him. In the air, paying attention to one’s surroundings mattered because at any time an enemy gryphon could pounce out of nowhere. He saw that Rigley had plainly scared off his adversary—Biscuit was so big, nearly the size of a draft horse, that the sight of him coming on at full speed had that effect on enemy flyers. It helped that Rigley was armed with a heavy cutlass—most flyers preferred a lighter weapon, but Rigley was incredibly strong for his size.

  Biscuit bellowed a triumphant war cry and raced after the fleeing enemy gryphon, who was in for a surprise. For such a big beast, Biscuit was remarkably swift.

  Off to Lord Parkington’s starboard side, Captain Amelia was mixing it up with her opponent. Ember was a natural fighter and raked her claws along the enemy gryphon's flank. The other beast convulsed with pain and only the fact that he was strapped into his flying saddle kept the enemy flyer from being thrown.

  But it didn't save him. Captain Amelia carried a thin-bladed rapier that seemed to hiss as it cut the air and thrust into the enemy flyer’s side just under the armpit, where the protection of his steel cuirass stopped. He slumped in the saddle and the gryphon, bleeding, winged back toward Le Triomphant.

  With his two companions bested, the enemy flyer seemed to think better of taking on Lemondrop and Toby again. The beast and rider peeled away and climbed upward until they were lost in the sun. But instead of feeling a sense of triumph, Toby felt uneasy. At any moment the enemy flyer might swoop down out of the sun and ambush them. Not for the first time, he wished he had a stern rider—it always helped to have another pair of eyes scanning the sky.

  But he had thought that Lemondrop wasn’t up to carrying a stern rider, even though Alexander had offered. What the devil had happened to him? His eyes went to the sea again, hoping for some glimpse of his friend. Given Alexander's powers, he was sure he wouldn't drown—but what if he had been wounded or hurt? The cold Atlantic was unforgiving and cruel.

  Again, he had little time to worry about Alexander's fate. Captain Amelia waved her sword to get the attention of her squadron, then pointed the sword directly at the Napoleonist ship. There was no doubting her command. She may as well have shouted, "Attack!"

  Toby bent low again over Lemondrop's neck, giving him a reassuring pat as he did so. "Come on, Lemondrop old boy, show them how it's done!"

  Lemondrop was a swift flyer, one of the swiftest in the Royal Navy. Incredibly, Captain Amelia seemed to be pulling ahead on Ember. No surprise there, considering that the two gryphons came from the same bloodlines. Within the two gryphons had come together the fast thoroughbred gryphons along with the last of the truly wild Welsh gryphons to give them ferocity. It was an effective combination.

  But what were they racing toward now but possible death?

  The enemy gunners had seen them and began filling the air with bursting shrapnel shells—cannonballs the size of a grapefruit that exploded to shred the air with scraps of hot lead from their shattered orbs.

  Ka-boom!

  A shell burst just beyond Lemondrop's shoulder and he gave a panicked cry and veered away. The change in the rhythm of his wings cost them speed and Amelia took the lead on Ember. Lemondrop refused to be left behind and without any urging from Toby beat his wings all the faster in an effort to catch up.

  Now chain shot sliced the air, and if possible Toby dreaded this even more than the shrapnel. This deadly combination consisted of loading a cannon with two iron balls between which a length of iron chain had been welded. When fired, the balls and chain whistled nastily as they spun through the air to take out sails, rigging—and gryphons.

  "Easy now, Lemondrop."

  Toby tried to ignore the cannon fire and prepared to drop his load of bomblets. He touched the sack strapped to Lemondrop's sad
dle that held the bomblets. The pouch had a flap in the bottom so that all he had to do was tug the cord and it would release the razor-edged bomblets to fall upon the deck of the Napoleonist ship below.

  Closer, closer. Now they had come within range of the sharpshooters in the enemy's rigging. Toby could see puffs of smoke as the snipers took aim. A bullet sang past his ear, making his spine tingle.

  Then they were over the deck of the ship. Somehow, they had run the gauntlet unscathed. Toby gave the cord a tug and the bomblets fell away.

  "Take that, you damned Napoleonists!" he shouted, then crouched low over Lemondrop once more and flew as swiftly as they could from the shot and shell buzzing through the air like angry bees.

  They had only flown a little ways when he wheeled and hovered; to his left and right he saw Rigley and Captain Amelia on their own gryphons. Somehow, they too had come through unscathed.

  Amelia nodded, and Toby dug his heels into Lemondrop's side once more. "Fly, Lemondrop, fly!"

  It took nerves of steel, but they would swoop over Le Triomphant again to drop another load of bomblets.

  • • •

  Alexander shoved the thick oak door, but it did not so much as rattle the hinges.

  "It's no use," muttered the miserable figure huddled in the corner. "I've banged against that door with my shoulder until my teeth rattled. No, we shall be on this ship until it reaches Marseilles, and then it's a prison hulk for us." The ragged man sighed. "To think that I have traveled the world, only to end like this."

  Alexander took a step back, quite surprised that the man who could easily be mistaken for a bundle of rags, had spoken. Apparently Alexander was not the ship's first prisoner. And from the looks of him, this other prisoner had been here for some time. That was not encouraging.