The Voyage to Magical North Page 8

  “Hi,” said Peter, looking up at her.

  “Hi, yourself.” She slid down off the rigging to join him. “Did you want something?”

  “No, I…” He didn’t know what to say; he just knew that he needed to talk to someone—someone who wouldn’t look at him like he was some sort of exotic new species. He scuffed a foot back and forth. “Cassie’s determined to take us north, then.”

  “I guess so.” She flashed a grin at him. “It’s exciting, isn’t it? We’re seeing the world at last. And we’ll get to see the libraries at Barnard’s Reach.”

  “You’ll get to see the libraries,” said Peter. “They don’t allow men, remember, and I’m pretty sure boys count as men.”

  “Oh. Sorry, I keep forgetting.”

  She didn’t sound sorry. She sounded pleased, as if she was glad she’d found something she could do that he couldn’t. Peter turned away from her and looked up at Tim Burre, who was clinging to the top of the mainmast, mending the crow’s nest. “What do you think about Marfak West?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. You’re the magician—you tell me.”

  Peter didn’t know whether she was serious or not. He decided to pretend that she was. “I think he’s leading us into a trap. He’s supposed to be the world’s most powerful magician, and yet he wasted all his magic and let himself be captured. Why?”

  “Maybe he wants to stand on Magical North and look for starshell,” said Brine. “I don’t know. Why don’t you go and ask him?” She took her cap off and put it back on the wrong way round. “You worry too much. Cassie knows what she’s doing. Just practice your magic and leave the rest to her.”

  Practice magic. That was easy for Brine to say. The only practice Peter had ever done was copying spellshapes over and over, hoping he’d get enough of them right that Tallis Magus wouldn’t hit him.

  “Maybe if you helped…,” he began tentatively, but then Ewan Hughes shouted to Brine across the deck.

  “Got to go,” she said. She ran to join Ewan, leaving Peter standing alone. A few minutes later, Brine and Ewan were practicing sword-fighting together. Peter put on a face that was supposed to say fighting was far too dull for magicians to bother with and scratched at the black spot on his palm where the starshell had burned him. The skin seemed to be healing over, but it looked like he was going to have a permanent mark there.

  “… And then you twist like this,” said Ewan.

  Peter got up and slid away unnoticed by either of them, which felt unfair. People ought to notice him: He was a magician.

  He hadn’t entirely decided where he was going—just somewhere he could get away from everyone. He climbed down the ladder to the mid-deck, but he could hear Trudi banging about in the galley, and she was bound to come out and ask him to help. For a moment he stood, then he opened the hatch to the lower deck and climbed down.

  A faint rasping greeted his ears as he groped his way between the packing crates. It sounded like handfuls of shells being rubbed together. Then he saw the iron cage at the back of the hold, and he realized what the sound was. Marfak West was laughing.

  The magician was so tall that, sitting upright, his head wasn’t far from the top of the cage. His wrists were chained in front of him and his ankles were chained together, but he managed to look as if he’d chosen to sit like that and the cage and chains just happened to be around him.

  Peter edged closer. Marfak West stopped laughing and sniffed loudly.

  “Do you know you stink of fish?”

  Peter scowled. “Mock all you like. I’m not the one in a cage.”

  “Are you sure about that? There are more cages than ones made of bars.” Marfak West stretched, making his chains rattle. The black flecks in his eyes drifted in slow circles. Common sense told Peter to leave now. But if he left, it would look like he was afraid, and for some reason, he didn’t want Marfak West to think he was a coward.

  For at least a minute, they looked at each other. Eventually, Marfak West shifted position. “I presume you’re not here to inquire after my health.”

  “Why are you doing this?” asked Peter. The words blurted out, as if of their own accord. “Why do you want to go to Magical North at all, and why like this? Aren’t you embarrassed to be Cassie’s prisoner?”

  “Not really,” the magician said. “This ship is taking me where I want to go, and while the rest of you are running about on deck getting hot and annoyed, I can wait here and sleep. I’d say this was a far better arrangement. Apart from the catering.” He smiled. “As for what I want with Magical North, what do you think?”

  Peter scratched his hand. “Some of the crew are saying you want to look for starshell.”

  “That’s not a bad plan. Is that what you think?”

  Peter paused a moment. “No. I don’t think so. It might be a good plan for someone else, but it seems … it seems too small for you.”

  Marfak West dipped his head. “You know what they say about me—my soul is twisted. Magic has corrupted me, and I corrupt everything I touch.”

  The space around Peter seemed to grow darker, and colder. His feet carried him back a step. “They say a lot of things that aren’t true.”

  “So they do,” agreed the magician. “Stories are told by the victors, after all. The heroic crew of the Onion defeated the evil magician. That’s how it usually goes.” He sat back. “No one ever tells the story of how my pioneering work—work that would have benefited all humanity—was cut short by marauding pirates. And all because I had the misfortune to possess something that Cassie O’Pia can never have.”

  “What was that?” asked Peter, forgetting for a moment that he was supposed to be afraid.

  “Infamy. It’s like fame, but more so.” Marfak West wrapped his arms around his knees and gazed steadily ahead. “That’s the thing with stories: They don’t just need a hero, they need a villain. Cassie wanted to be a hero, and so she needed to find a villain to defeat. But the good thing about being a villain is that everybody thinks they know you. They put you in a little box marked ‘Evil,’ and they never expect you to do anything that isn’t bad. And that, believe it or not, gives you a great deal of power—the power to surprise.” The flecks in the magician’s eyes drifted inward, making his pupils appear huge. “The answer to your question is yes, by the way. I’ll teach you magic.”

  Peter’s throat turned to sandpaper. The thought had been there in his head all along; he just hadn’t dared give words to it. Words made it too real, too possible. He backed away so fast he bumped into a packing crate.

  “Why?” he asked. “I’m on Cassie’s crew. I’m one of the people who believe you’re evil. Why would you teach me anything?”

  Marfak West studied his fingernails. “Who knows? Maybe it’s because I really am evil and I’m locked in a cage with nothing to do but cause whatever harm I can.” He regarded Peter steadily. “Or maybe because knowledge—especially magical knowledge—should be passed on, and you’re the only one I’ve met who has any inclination to learn.” He eased his boot off and massaged his toeless foot. “You can’t perform magic without starshell,” he said. “Next time you come, bring a piece.”

  Shaking his head, Peter stumbled away through the maze of crates and climbed the ladder up the decks. Did Marfak West think he was that stupid? The moment Marfak West got his hands on starshell, he’d mind-control everyone and take over the Onion.

  But, said a voice in his head, if Marfak West wanted the Onion, he could have taken her back at Morning. For now it clearly suited him to be a prisoner.

  Marfak West was a murderer. The name of nightmares.

  But he was a magician, and Peter needed to learn magic, before Cassie found out how little he could actually do.

  He emerged onto the main deck and stood blinking in the sunlight. Cassie was at the helm, teaching Brine how to steer. If either of them had noticed Peter then, he might have joined them. He might have forgotten all about Marfak West. But neither of them did. He stood and watched. Cassie
looked like an ordinary fisherwoman, with her hair tied back and her skin burned from the sun. Nothing heroic about her. Peter shook his head. He’d seen her fight. She’d rescued them from the sea. She’d saved their lives.

  But she’d also lied to them, tricked them, and tried to sell them. What sort of a hero would do that? And now she was taking the whole ship on an impossible quest just because her worst enemy had challenged her to stop him if she could.

  Another thought struck him: If the stories about Cassie O’Pia weren’t true, maybe the stories about Marfak West weren’t, either.

  CHAPTER 12

  Marfak West is dead. Finally defeated by Cassie O’Pia and the valiant crew of the Onion, his ship sunk beneath the icy green waters of the Gemini Seas. And yet, even amid the celebrations, some are saying the magician must have escaped, that evil of his magnitude never dies.

  (From BARNARD’S REACH CHRONICLE OF THE EIGHT OCEANS)

  Two more days went by. Brine was surprised to find how much she was enjoying life on board the Onion. Compared with keeping house for Tallis Magus, it was as easy as a crab sandwich. She wondered where that saying had come from. Trudi had tried to make crab sandwiches one day, and by the time she’d cut them all into little crab shapes, the bread had disintegrated. She’d given up, pushed the whole lot into a pot, and called it seafood trifle. Tim Burre had eaten his portion, but mainly because Trudi had been sitting next to him. The rest of them had scraped their plates overboard when Trudi wasn’t looking.

  Still, life on board was easy. Or rather, Brine thought, pausing halfway through coiling a length of rope, she was probably working harder than ever, but it was different. Maybe because no one treated her like a servant anymore. She followed orders, but so did everyone else. The only thing she missed was Magus’s library, and then only sometimes. The Onion was, after all, on its way to the biggest library in the whole world.

  She tried not to think too much about Barnard’s Reach, because every time she did, her hands shook with excitement and she dropped things. Or if the libraries came into her dreams at night, she woke up and couldn’t get back to sleep again for impatience. Besides, she had plenty to learn right where she was. She’d already learned how to tie twenty-three kinds of knots, and she knew the signs that the weather was about to change. She was starting to recognize the constellations and understand how people could navigate by them. All the things she’d read about in books and dreamed of doing were now coming true.

  The only downside was Peter. He hung about the ship, looking as miserable as wet seaweed, and just being around him was enough to make Brine feel depressed. She wasn’t even sure how to talk to him. Back on Minutes, they’d spent most of their time fighting, but so much had changed since then that when she thought back, their arguments seemed petty and childish. She didn’t really want to argue with him anymore, but she wasn’t sure what to say instead.

  She was glad this morning that he wasn’t around. This morning the wind was behind them and the Onion raced on as if eager to get this journey over with. Brine didn’t want anything to spoil it.

  “You’re becoming a sailor,” Ewan Hughes told Brine as she sat on deck mending ropes. The approval in his voice brought a warm flush of color to her cheeks.

  “How long before we reach Barnard’s Reach?” she asked.

  Ewan gazed into the wind. “Two or three days, depending on the weather.” He didn’t seem to share Brine’s eagerness to get there, but of course he wouldn’t be allowed on the island, being a man.

  “Does it bother you that they don’t let men in the library?” she asked him.

  Ewan shrugged one massive shoulder. “Not really. Men shouldn’t be around books. It encourages them to think too much, and when men start thinking too much, they become dangerous. Reading is women’s work. Women and magicians.”

  Brine couldn’t imagine anyone not wanting to read. “What about Aldebran Boswell? He was the greatest explorer who ever lived.”

  Ewan considered. “You’re saying if I learn to read, I might sail off the top of the world and never be seen again?”

  “No, I’m saying that you can … I don’t know. Learn new things, use your imagination.” She ground to a halt. “Never mind,” she sighed.

  Ewan grinned at her and stood up. “That’s the spirit. Now, speaking of learning new things, how would you like to learn to break a man’s arm in two easy stages?”

  * * *

  For the past two days, Peter had been trying to work up the nerve to venture back down to the lowest deck. Boredom did it in the end—two days of nothing but sea to look at, and if one more person had said wasn’t it nice how Brine was fitting in, he’d have punched them.

  Marfak West was lying on his side in his cage, snoring softly. Peter shifted from foot to foot. The fragile weight of the magician’s starshell dragged at him. He took the piece out and looked at it, standing well back from the cage. He’d brought the smallest of the three pieces, and even that seemed a terrible risk.

  Marfak West’s eyes flickered open. Peter jerked his hands behind his back. “You’re not having it.”

  “Well, of course I’m not. The moment starshell touches my hand, I shall seize control of the Onion and murder everyone aboard.”

  Peter swallowed the lump in his throat. Marfak West grinned at him. “You really can’t take a joke, can you?” He sat up and stretched. “I’m glad you came back, by the way. I’ve met precious few people in my life with any talent for magic.”

  Peter sat down, trying to hide the fact that his legs were wobbling. Now that he was here, he found that he didn’t know what to say.

  “Magic,” continued Marfak West, “is the hardest thing in the world to master. Very few people can even sense it, let alone use it.” He rested his chin on his fingertips. “Tell me about yourself, Peter. When did you find out you had the talent? Are your parents magicians?”

  No one had ever shown the slightest interest in who Peter was. He sat up a little straighter. “No, they both work on fishing boats. Tallis Magus—my old master—came to the village looking for an apprentice. He had a piece of starshell with him, and I was the only one who could feel magic in it. My parents handed me over to him without a word. It was like they couldn’t wait to get rid of me.”

  “Ignorant people are always afraid of magic,” said Marfak West. “It’s not their fault they don’t know any better. I found my first piece of starshell when I was about your age. I didn’t have anyone to teach me, so I taught myself. I experimented, putting the magic into different shapes, finding out what worked and what didn’t. I was lucky.”

  “I suppose so,” said Peter doubtfully. Marfak West didn’t seem to be the sort of person who’d rely on luck.

  The magician’s eyes glinted. “Do me a favor, will you? When you disagree with me, say so. Luck had nothing to do with it. Do you think I just happened to spot a piece of starshell? Or did I spend every free minute searching the beaches for the stuff? And then, when people found out what I could do and tried to stop me, did I meekly give up all my dreams of being a magician, or did I fight back?”

  “I’m guessing you fought back,” said Peter, torn between fascination with the story and fear that this conversation was sailing into whole oceans that he really didn’t want to explore.

  Marfak West nodded. “If you want to be a magician, you have to fight. That’s the first rule. Everyone will want your power, but nobody will want you.”

  Peter’s heart sank. It all seemed like a lot of effort for nothing. “Why bother, then?”

  “Because of the second rule.” A smile crawled across the magician’s face. “Magic makes you better than them. Never forget that.”

  Peter felt himself smile back. He held the starshell piece in his cupped hands and watched the magic swirl across the surface. Better than Cassie? Better than Brine? That wasn’t true. Marfak West was only saying what he thought Peter wanted to hear. Peter didn’t know why, but if the magician was willing to teach him magic, why not
go along with it? Just as long as he remembered that he was dealing with a liar.

  “So,” he said, looking up, “are we just going to sit here and talk, or are you going to teach me some magic?”

  * * *

  Brine was already wishing she hadn’t offered to teach Tim Burre to write.

  “No, hold the pen like this,” she said, correcting his grip for the twentieth time. “Let the tip rest between your fingers, and move it slowly.”

  Tim copied out the first two letters of his name and paused. “I’m not sure I like all this drawing shapes. It’s a bit too much like magic.”

  “It’s nothing like magic,” Brine sighed. “You’re making letters, not spellshapes. Just think what you’ll be able to do when you can read, all the things you can learn. You know what they say—knowledge is power.”

  Tim’s brow wrinkled. “That definitely sounds like magic. You’re not a secret magician as well, are you?”

  “Me? No. I’m allergic to magic.” Anyway, the whole practice of magic was starting to feel a bit boring to her. All the rules you had to learn, and the endless memorizing of spellshapes. It was annoying that Peter got all the attention for it, but did she really want that sort of attention, anyway? She’d much rather spend time on the main deck, watching the world as she sped through it, than holed up in a corner studying spellshapes.

  Tim handed the pen back to her. “I better get back to work. You, too—I think Trudi wanted help in the galley.”

  Brine left him to it. She saw Cassie watching her as she crossed the deck and waved. She shouldn’t blame the pirates for not wanting to learn. They didn’t need to read and write—they needed to know how to tie knots and steer a ship by the stars and a hundred other things that letters on pages weren’t necessarily going to help with. It was just that when she finally felt she was starting to fit in somewhere, her ability to read and write made her different, and she didn’t want to be different anymore.

  She wondered where Peter was. He’d understand.

  Trudi put her head out of the galley as Brine came past.