First Voyage Page 17

  "What are you going to do, Mr. Hopeless, blind me with the light sparkling on it?" Fowler laughed. Sweeney and Lloyd already had Roger locked in a strangle hold. Red-faced, he was gasping for breath. Fowler took a step toward Alexander, twirling the large knife so that it flashed in the lantern light. “Now, let’s get back to business, shall we?”

  Feeling trapped and defenseless, Alexander backed up against the wall, nearly tripping over the water bucket as he did so. Then a curious thing happened. The cold silver of the wristling grew warm on Alexander's wrist. The wrought wire seemed to shift before his eyes, binding itself to his wrist and expanding until it covered his entire right forearm in a woven silver gauntlet.

  A hush had fallen over the room. Then Fowler said, "What in the world?"

  Alexander somehow knew just what to do. He dipped his hand into the wooden pail of water on the floor. Instantly, the water changed at his touch, thickening until it wasn't water at all but more like cold, flowing metal. The others stepped back, but Alexander wasn't afraid. He withdrew his hand and found himself holding onto a blue, shimmering whip of liquid ice.

  Sweeney and Lloyd stared at him, their eyes round as saucers. They let Roger go.

  Fowler snorted. "Snotty, your parlor tricks aren't impressing—"

  Alexander didn't let him finish. He flicked the whip at Fowler and wrapped it around the wrist that still held the knife. Alexander yanked and the knife flew out of Fowler's hand. Thrown off balance, the older ensign fell to the floor. Alexander let the whip uncoil, but when Fowler started to get up, he struck him with the whip with such force that Fowler was thrown into the wall behind him. Shaking his head to clear it, he got to his hands and knees.Then Alexander worked the whip slowly, looping the blue coils around Fowler's throat. He tugged, and Fowler gasped for air like a chained dog, his fingers desperately working to loosen the coils around his neck.

  Roger came up next to Alexander and said in a frightened voice, "Let him go, Alexander. You'll kill him. Please."

  Reluctantly, Alexander gave the whip a twitch—it was strange, but his hands seemed to know how to work it perfectly—and one by one the coils unwrapped themselves from Fowler's neck. Fowler collapsed onto the floor, panting for breath. Lloyd made a run for the door and Alexander whipped him so hard that he was hurled against Sweeney. Both boys went down in a heap.

  Alexander stared at the whip in his hand. The way it glowed seemed to give it a life all its own, like some deep-sea creature. He was suddenly astonished and frightened by what he had done. He dropped the whip. Instantly, it turned back into water and splashed harmlessly to the floor. He started out the door.

  "Where are you going?" Roger called.

  "I've got to the see the captain!" he replied, running for the ladder.

  • • •

  Alexander needed to clear his head. On deck, he stood at the rail and sucked in great lungfuls of sea air. He imagined the oxygen coursing through his body, reaching his fingers, even his toes. His heart pounded less and his head cleared.

  The truth was that he had frightened himself.

  If Roger hadn't intervened, he realized he may very well have strangled Fowler to death. He had forgotten himself and who he was. The wristling's power had intoxicated him like the strongest wine. He glanced at the wristling. It had shrunk to its old size, but it remained very snug around his wrist. He tugged at it with his left hand, ready to pull the thing off and hurl it into the sea. But it would not budge.

  He turned away from the ship's rail and nearly ran into Lieutenant Swann.

  "Skylarking on deck, Mr. Hope?"

  "Yes, sir. Uh, I mean no, sir."

  "Which is it, Mr. Hope?" Ever since the sword-fighting incident, Lieutenant Swann had not been kindly toward him. The lieutenant sighed. "Oh, never mind. Just see that you don't get in the way of anyone who is actually working. You can do that, Mr. Hope, can't you?"

  "Yes, sir."

  Lieutenant Swann started to walk away, then stopped. "What is that on your wrist? I don't recall having seen it before."

  "Nothing, sir." Alexander tugged his sleeve down. "Just a bauble."

  "We don't put much stock in baubles in the Royal Navy. Sailors might wear earrings like a proper pirate, but certainly not an officer." Lieutenant Swann made a sound like harrumph, and then finally moved away.

  Alexander felt he had nowhere to go and no one to turn to. Running out of the ensigns’ mess, he had planned to see the captain. Now he wasn’t so sure that was a good idea. Bellingham might not be pleased that he had nearly killed Fowler—again. He certainly couldn't return yet to the ensigns' berth. The Resolution sometimes seemed like such a big ship, but at times like this, it felt like the smallest place in the world—nothing more than a crowded, wooden island.

  "Alexander?" asked a quiet voice.

  He doubled back to see who had spoken, and found Professor Hobhouse looking down at him from the rigging. Alexander had not seen him right away because the professor had climbed several feet into the rigging and was studying the sky through a telescope. He asked the same question as Lieutenant Swann, but in an amused tone: "Skylarking on deck, are you?"

  "Yes, I suppose I am."

  "I was just about to make coffee," Professor Hobhouse said. "Would you fancy some?"

  "I believe I would, sir. Thank you."

  Hobhouse climbed down. He was always so surprisingly agile for such a tall, long-limbed man. Alexander followed him below. The professor's room was very small, but Alexander was glad to have a refuge. No one on board but the captain had much space, and only a few like Hobhouse had anything like a room to call his own. The room contained a bunk, a chair that was mostly a bench, and a table. The sloped walls were completely lined with bookshelves. Consequently, the room felt so cramped that when one of them moved, the other person was almost forced to move as well to make room for him. The professor sat on the edge of the bunk and pointed out the chair to Alexander, as if the room held a confusing number of seating options. A samovar was keeping a pot of coffee warm. He poured them both a cup.

  "Forgive me for saying so, Alexander, but you seem out of sorts." Hobhouse was technically a civilian and navy habits hadn't completely taken hold, so he still called people by their first names.

  "Do I, sir?" Alexander looked away. He wasn't sure how much to tell the professor, but he felt he had to tell someone who might understand. He held up his wrist and blurted, "It's this. It seems to be a bit, uh, unusual."

  "The wristling that Captain Bellingham gave you."

  "You know about it?"

  "The captain and I are old friends." Hobhouse peered at the wristling over his eyeglasses. He did look a bit like an owl, as some of the ensigns he taught pointed out behind his back. "Well, it looks ordinary enough, as far as wristlings are concerned. It is very nicely wrought, I might add."

  "I just now almost killed Thomas Fowler with it!"

  "That seems improbable. In case you haven't noticed, Mr. Hope, it is a piece of jewelry."

  "Here, I'll show you." Alexander got up from the chair, which forced Professor Hobhouse to shift his own seat slightly, and then went to a jug of water and bowl intended for washing. He poured water into the bowl and put in his hand. He was afraid at first that it would not work again and that he would look like a fool. But as he pulled out his hand, he found that he was holding a blue, shimmering whip.

  "Remarkable," said Hobhouse, staring in wonder at the pulsating whip in Alexander's hand. "I always wondered if the stories were true."

  Alexander let go of the whip and let it splash as water back into the basin.

  "What stories?" he asked. Magical items were not unheard of, but they had mostly all been destroyed, lost or locked away by order of the king.

  "Captain Bellingham told me about the wristling. He even showed it to me to get my opinion of it. Of course, the wristling belonged to your father."

  "I know that," Alexander said impatiently. He was a little worried that Professor Hobhouse was buil
ding himself up to a lecture.

  "The question is, where did your father get it? I suspect that it is a family heirloom of some kind."

  "Why is that?"

  "In a word, the armada."

  "I don't know what you're talking about. First of all, I was too young to really know my father. Second of all, the Spanish Armada was a long time ago."

  "Indeed it was. And yet here we are, still talking about it. You see, some events are not soon forgotten. It's true that Sir Francis Drake was a favorite of Queen Elizabeth, so he received the public praise for the armada's defeat. And Drake was famous for having explored the New World. But it was your ancestor who wielded the real power. With an elemental on the side of the English, the King of Spain never would have dared to attempt an invasion by sea. Unfortunately for him, he only discovered your ancestor's real power once it was too late. Algernon Hope sent dozens of Spanish ships to their doom. They say he set out to meet the fleet alone, rowing his own skiff. It is a remarkable story."

  "That's why he was a hero," Alexander said. "Everybody knows how he smashed the enemy fleet. He was murdered soon after that by Spanish assassins out of revenge."

  "Mmmm," said Hobhouse in that way of his that indicated there was more to the answer you had just given.

  "What don't I know?"

  The professor was silent for a long time as he gazed intently at the wristling. "Power is a curious thing," he finally said. "It comes in many shapes and forms. There is political power, economic power, military power. Poets and musicians have their own power, the ability to move people with words or music. Think about the power Queen Elizabeth had. Her father was Henry the Eighth, that most ruthless of kings. She wielded political power as the rightful queen. However, the power of a king or queen can be tenuous in a nation wracked by war and under threat of invasion. A hero such as Sir Francis Drake was no threat to her position. He was a lucky sea captain and explorer. Ultimately, his power came from the queen, who lent him ships and gave him command. Now consider Algernon Hope. He rows out in a skiff and single-handedly destroys an entire Spanish fleet by driving it onto the rocky Irish coast. Where does he get his power?"

  Alexander thought about that. "Why, from himself. He didn't need the queen's help to destroy the Spanish fleet."

  "You think about what that answer means, Alexander. Think about it, and tell me later who sent those assassins. Now, do you think you can wield that thing at will?"

  "You try first." Alexander moved to slide the wristling off, but it seemed bonded to his skin.

  The professor held up a hand to stop him. "No, never mind trying to take it off. It's not meant for me. Can you do it again?"

  This time, Alexander only reached toward the basin. The whip seemed to leap out and meet his hand.

  "Remarkable," Hobhouse said, staring at the pulsating blue coil. "I would suggest you keep this ... weapon to yourself as much as possible. There may come a time when you need something up your sleeve, so to speak."

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  An uneasy truce settled over the ensigns' berth after the incident involving the wristling. Nobody came out and said it, but it was clear to all that both Fowler and Alexander had gone too far—Fowler's actions had been ungentlemanly and Alexander's retaliation had been violent in the extreme.

  It was an ugly affair on both sides, but what was done, was done. Apologies were out of the question. The boys kept their feud to themselves and let an air of unfinished business thicken.

  Now that Alexander had the wristling, Fowler was reluctant to challenge him openly. But he was still a bully, and Alexander worried about what might happen if Fowler and his thugs caught Roger alone. Liam might also be in danger once he returned to the Resolution. Alexander sighed. It seemed bad enough that they had to worry about the Napoleonists without having to deal with the likes of Fowler.

  Fowler, Sweeney and Lloyd kept to themselves at one end of the room. Alexander and Roger claimed the corner where they hung their hammocks. The dining room table was neutral territory, and by unspoken agreement the two factions took turns eating there.

  Fortunately, all the boys had the ship's routine to keep them busy and away from each other's throats. They had their watches to serve, lessons with Professor Hobhouse, and gunnery practice once or twice. Since the capture of the little sloop that Liam had sailed away, they had not seen another sail. Alexander kept hoping that Liam would rejoin them soon. He missed his company—and truth be told, he was a good ally against Fowler.

  The weather grew steadily warmer as they sailed south toward Gibraltar. The boys seldom needed their cloaks anymore, even on the night watches. The cold and damp of the English channel seeped out of their bones, replaced by the sunshine and warmth of the Spanish coast.

  Then came a perfect, sun-kissed day. The wind fell so that the sails hung limp and the ship only glided along with the tide. Captain Bellingham announced that they would all be going swimming. The men cheered.

  "It's not so much the swimming that they're excited about," said Lord Parkington, who had come up on deck with Lemondrop to enjoy the sunshine. "It's the fact that swimming means no working. Captain Bellingham has given them a holiday."

  "Maybe the captain should have announced that we're all going sinking, considering that most of the men can't swim," Roger pointed out.

  Alexander himself was a strong swimmer. Growing up, he had often spent summer days swimming in one of the ponds or lakes around Kingston Hall. Many sailors had never learned to swim. They pointed out that the idea was to stay out of the water.

  He soon saw Bellingham's solution. A sail was sunk in the water with one side attached to the ship and the other to floating barrels some distance away. The submerged sail formed a pool so that even those who couldn't swim could venture into the water and not find themselves in over their heads.

  Whooping with pleasure, the sailors shed their dirty uniforms and were soon splashing in the sea. The braver ones who were strong swimmers even swam some distance from the sail.

  The ensigns looked on enviously. It was beneath the dignity of the officers to splash about with the men, but they ranked somewhere in between.

  "May we, sir?" Roger finally asked the captain.

  "Of course!" Bellingham replied. "What are you waiting for?"

  Alexander and Roger tugged off their uniforms and left them in heaps on the deck. The sun felt wonderful on their bare skin.

  "Come on, Toby!" Alexander cried. "Let's jump in!"

  "You go ahead."

  "Can't you swim?"

  "Of course I can swim," his lordship snapped in reply. "But I choose not to."

  "Suit yourself." Alexander ran and leaped into the water alongside Roger. The water caught in the sail was pleasantly warmed by the sun. Alexander raced Roger across the pool and then they swam together far into the open ocean. Roger was not a graceful swimmer. When they stopped to tread water, he seemed to flail all around him as if fending off a swarm of bees. Somehow, he managed to stay afloat.

  "Why didn't Toby come in?" Roger asked, panting and spluttering.

  "Too shy, I reckon."

  "Must be a lordship thing," Roger said.

  A thought came to Alexander. “I’ll bet he doesn’t know how to swim!”

  They noticed Professor Hobhouse at the ship's rail, nervously waving them back in.

  "What's he going on about?" Roger asked, squinting in the professor's direction.

  "Maybe he's worried on account of the sharks."

  Roger looked frantically around at the open ocean. "Nobody told me there were sharks."

  Alexander laughed. "Maybe you'll swim faster now. Race you back!"

  They swam back to the crowded waters of the sail. Some sailors floated on their backs, others engaged in splashing battles. Jameson had made a game of seeing how far he could throw his shipmates. He ducked under, then someone stood on his shoulders, and finally he sprang up, launching the other person into the air.

  "Want to try, young sir?" he as
ked Alexander.

  "Yes! Let’s see how far you can toss me, Jameson!" Alexander soon found himself whooping as he flew through the air to land with an enormous splash.

  When he came up for air, sputtering and laughing, the first thing he heard was a cry of, "Messenger coming!"

  He looked up to see a single gryphon winging across the empty blue sky toward Resolution. As the rider and gryphon flew closer, he recognized a silhouette he would have known anywhere. It was Captain Amelia and Desdemona, along with a stern rider. Could it be Liam?

  As Desdemona circled the ship, she made one of the shrill gryphon calls that set Alexander's teeth on edge. Lemondrop shrieked in answer. Alexander climbed up and hurried across the deck, trying not to drip water on the clothes that lay strewn everywhere, as if a laundry barge had exploded.

  No sooner had Desdemona settled gracefully to the deck, then he saw that the other rider was indeed Liam. Flyer crews hurried to help them unbuckle their flying harnesses. Captain Amelia scissored her long legs gracefully and jumped down without any help from the crew. Liam climbed down awkwardly, looking shaken and pale.

  "Liam! First time on a gryphon?" Alexander asked.

  "Yes, and I'm not in any hurry to get back on one anytime soon."

  Captain Amelia sniffed. "Just like a sailor to be ungrateful. Next time, you can try swimming back to your ship." She looked Alexander up and down. "Is it often your habit to parade naked about the deck, Mr. Hope?"

  Horribly embarrassed, Alexander grabbed at a corner of sail and wrapped it around his waist. "My apologies, Captain," he managed to mumble, feeling himself turn red.

  "Oh, belay that, Mr. Hope. I'm a flyer, not a nun. One doesn't serve in the Flyer Corps without seeing a willy or two. It's not like there's much to look at in your case. I daresay the last time I saw such a skinny arse was on a jackrabbit. Bellingham really must feed you more. Speaking of which, where is the old salt? I've been in the air since dawn to deliver messages and return this sea-lubber while you lot have been splashing about and tanning your nobs. Hmmph. Sure as Nelson's hat, but Bellingham owes me dinner."