The Floating Island

  “By my mother’s ale-soaked drawers, what are you doing, boy?” the cook demanded.

  “No time to explain—help me roll these back to the galley,” Ven gasped, breathless from exertion. He grabbed hold of the barrel of quicklime, and, with Krebs’ reluctant help, turned it on its side, followed by the barrel of magnesium.

  Keep your lessons in mind.

  In his mind Ven pictured the ship as the model his family had built. He knew every corridor, every hatch. He led the cook back to the galley through the port-side hallway, knowing it was wide enough for the barrels. The water had spilled over from the galley. They waded through the overflow until at last they set the heavy containers down next to the fire pump, which had flooded the galley almost up to Ven’s hips.

  “Help me stand the barrels up and pry off the tops,” Ven said.

  Once Krebs was working on getting the lids off the barrels, Ven found the end of the hose beneath the seawater that now filled the ship’s kitchen and pulled it up to the surface. He looked around for a knife, but the block in which the ship’s cutlery had been kept was now submerged.

  He felt around in his shirt pocket. The jack-rule was still there.

  Ven transferred the hose to beneath his arm, pulled out the jack-rule, and unhinged the small knife it contained.

  “Hold the hose,” he said to Krebs as he sawed away at the fittings that held it in place. Once the fittings were severed, he gave the hose a tremendous tug.

  “Help me pull it from the sea!” he shouted to the cook.

  Perplexed, the old cook hauled on the canvas tube with Ven until the end that had fed water from the sea came into sight.

  “Now what?” Krebs demanded.

  In response, Ven stuck the end of the hose into the barrel of quicklime. He looked quickly out the porthole into the porthole of the pirate ship alongside them. The shadows of dozens of pirates were passing overhead, landing with thumps on the deck above.

  “Point the nozzle out the porthole!” he shouted to the cook.

  Krebs’ face changed as understanding took hold. He shoved the hose out the galley porthole, aiming through the open hole in the pirate ship.

  Ven grabbed the pump handle and worked it with all his might. He could see Krebs struggling to hold the hose as the silvery-white powder sprayed forth, some of it splashing back into the galley itself.

  “Spray it around their decks as well!” Ven gasped, working the pump.

  Krebs only nodded, struggling to maintain control of the wildly flapping hose.

  The sounds of fighting had now reached the hold outside the galley hatch.

  “The quicklime’s almost gone,” Ven said. “I’m going to switch to the magnesium. Be careful not to get any on yourself.”

  “Too late for that, lad,” said the cook. “The wind blows the stuff back like snow.”

  Ven looked up and saw that Krebs was right. The old cook was frosted with a dusting of quicklime.

  He jammed the hose end into the barrel of magnesium and went back to manning the pump, struggling to ignore the terrible sounds from above and outside the hold.

  With a great thundering crack, the hatch of the hold split open.

  “All right, we’ve got to light it,” Ven shouted, pushing Krebs away from the porthole. “Try and stay back—you don’t want to go up in flames yourself.”

  He took one of the pitch-tipped bolts and reached out the porthole with it, waving the tip around in the attempt to catch a spark from the burning ashes of the sails that were falling like black autumn leaves into the sea. It took a very long moment, but finally the tip began to smoke, then spark.

  “Get down!” Ven screamed to Krebs, then shakily brought the crossbow to rest in the porthole. He closed his eyes and pulled the trigger.

  Nothing happened.

  “You have to span it,” Krebs shouted over the din beyond the galley door.

  “I don’t know how to do that,” Ven stammered.

  “Pull the string back against the nut, then load it and fire,” said the cook.

  Quickly Ven did as he was told, reloaded, steadied the crossbow, and pulled the trigger again.

  This time the bolt fired, wobbling forth from the unsteady weapon, but the porthole of the pirate ship was near enough by to be almost impossible to miss.

  A bright white flash exploded from within the pirate ship’s hold, followed a moment later by a black plume of smoke.

  Ven and Krebs watched as a rolling wave of black and orange fire poured out of the porthole and up over the deck of the pirate ship, burning with intense heat.

  Suddenly the pirate ship, from the hold to the top of the mast, erupted in flame. Its skeleton glowed orange amid the black clouds of smoke.

  “Get to the hold and direct the sailors to the port side!” Ven called, grabbing the meat axe and running for the back galley hatch. “I’m going to go chop the porthole to make a bigger escape route—we can abandon ship and swim for the lifeboats!”

  Whatever Krebs answered was lost in the noise of the flames and the yelling from the pirate ship.

  As he ran to the port side of the ship through the back hallways, Ven kept his mind focused on the memory of the ship’s model. Two turns here—there should be a porthole right across from me—

  * * *

  Then the world exploded.

  * * *

  4

  The Merrow

  THE HARSH CRY OF A SEABIRD WOKE VEN.

  Woozily he tried to sit up, but when he did, the world dipped crazily around him. He was aware enough to know that he was still on the sea, so he continued to lie on his back, feeling the sun on his eyelids.

  When he finally could open his eyes, he saw nothing but blue sky. The sea beneath him was calm, rocking him in a slow, unhurried motion. A misty white barracuda formed of clouds floated overhead, its eyeball round and puffy in the middle of wispy scales and a long, jutting jaw with spiky cloud teeth. Before his eyes the wind blew on the barracuda, making it stretch into the face of a jester.

  His throat was dry, and his lips cracked from the salt and heat. Ven tried to lick them but found he had no spit.

  He tried to sit up again, but whatever he was lying on rocked violently the moment he moved.

  “Lie still, or you’ll fall in again.”

  The light voice to Ven’s left startled him so much that he twitched, causing another loss of balance. He turned his head slightly in the direction it had come from, but all he could see was the green waves of the sea and, in the distance, something that was floating on it, still burning.

  The voice seemed to come from the sea itself.

  He tried to form a word, but no sound came out of his dry mouth. He swallowed, pain in his throat, and tried again.

  “Thirsty,” he croaked.

  Ven heard an annoyed sigh come from his left.

  “Oh, that’s right. You can’t drink seawater. A pity. Hold on.”

  For a long time Ven heard nothing more than the gentle splash of the waves. He continued to stare at the sky, watching as the jester cloud stretched into nothing but soft white sky-foam. He was just about to lose consciousness when something hard and cold was slapped into his hand.

  “Here. Drink.”

  Ven brought his hand up before his eyes. In it was a metal flask.

  Still lying flat, he struggled to remove the stopper, then gratefully lifted the flask to his lips, spilling a good deal of the contents over his neck. He swallowed.

  The liquid burned down his parched throat inside and out like fire, causing him to sputter.

  “Ack!” Ven choked. “This is rum!”

  “You don’t like rum?” the voice asked. It sounded amazed.

  “Too young to drink it,” Ven whispered, his throat still burning.

  He heard another sound of annoyance. “Picky, picky, picky. Hold on again.”

  A moment later another flask landed next to his hand.

  “Here. Try that.”

  Ven uncorked it and drank
more carefully. It was half full of fresh water. He quenched his thirst and pressed the opening of the flask to his lips to moisten them.

  “Thank you,” he said gratefully, though he could still see no one.

  “You’re welcome. Goodbye.”

  “Wait!” Ven said quickly. “Please don’t leave.” He turned to his left and saw a pair of sea-green eyes staring back at him from just above the water. He leaned closer to get a better look, but once again whatever he was floating on tilted, and he almost slid off it headfirst into the sea.

  A strong hand grabbed him by the back of the shirt and hoisted him back onto his perch. Ven could see he was in the grasp of a girl, his age or perhaps slightly younger, with dark, wet hair that floated around her on the waves. She tossed him onto the middle of the wreckage on which he had been floating, a piece of the hull from the ship his father had built.

  “That wasn’t very bright,” the girl said. “You really should learn to hold still. You are heavy, and hauling you out of the water is getting tiresome.”

  “Sorry,” Ven said. “Thank you for saving me.”

  “You’re welcome,” said the girl. “Goodbye.”

  “Please wait!” Ven said again, this time not moving.

  “Sorry—have to be going,” said the girl. “My mother won’t let me talk to humans. We can rescue you if you’re drowning—which you certainly were, by the way—but we’re not supposed to talk to you. Goodbye.”

  “But I’m not a human,” Ven said, fighting dizziness. “I’m Nain.” He tried to remember what had happened after the explosion. There was a vague memory of falling, of sinking beneath the green waves, and all the world growing quiet. He thought he also remembered being grasped by a strong hand and hauled out of the depths, but it seemed more a dream than a memory.

  The green-eyed girl moved closer. “Nain? What does Nain mean?”

  “Not human,” Ven said quickly.

  “Hmmm,” said the girl. She did not look like she believed him.

  “What are you doing here in the middle of the sea?” Ven asked, trying to change the subject. “Were you on the pirate ship?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” the girl said disdainfully. “Do I look like a pirate to you?”

  Ven exhaled, trying to keep still. “I can’t see you very well. I have no idea what you look like.”

  “Not like a pirate,” the girl said. She swam a little closer to give Ven a better look. He could see that she was wearing a gown that seemed to be made of bubbles, or sea foam, beneath which he thought he could make out multicolored scales that went all the way up to under her armpits. From her shoulders a dark cape draped behind her, and on her head was a red cap woven in pearls. Her face, while plain, was pleasantly angled, and her green eyes held a gleam of curiosity, the same gleam Ven had seen in the looking glass in his own eyes.

  “Are you a mermaid?” he asked in wonder.

  The girl’s eyes narrowed. “Are you sure you’re not a human? Because ‘mermaid’ is a very human word.”

  “Completely sure,” said Ven quickly. “But I might have heard the word from humans. Nain don’t know much about the sea.”

  “The word you are probably looking for is ‘merrow,’” the girl said, leaning back and floating away a bit. “And if you were to actually use that word, you would be half right. My father is a merrow.” Ven watched, fascinated, as a fishlike tail of rainbow-colored scales flipped out of the water where her feet would have been. “And if you aren’t going to drink it, toss me that flask of rum. He will appreciate it, even if you didn’t.”

  “I appreciate that you gave it to me,” Ven said, moving the flask carefully toward the edge of the wreckage.

  “Hmmm,” the merrow said. She reached out of the water and snagged the flask.

  “What is the other half? Your mother, I mean.”

  “My mother is a selkie,” the girl replied. “Similar to a merrow, but with a gentler nature. I got my cape from her—selkies can look like seals sometimes because of their capes.” She rotated her arms in the water, making small ripples in the sea. “But I consider myself a merrow, because my nature is more like that of my father.”

  “Does that mean you like rum?” Ven asked.

  “Goodbye,” said the merrow.

  “Wait! I’m sorry,” Ven said quickly again. “I don’t know how to talk to a merrow. I didn’t mean to be rude.”

  “Maybe that’s just your nature,” the merrow suggested.

  For the first time Ven smiled slightly. “Actually, you’re probably right. Rude is a fairly big part of being Nain.”

  “Well, there you have it,” said the merrow.

  “So you live here in the sea?” asked Ven.

  “No, I live in the mountains,” said the merrow scornfully. “I’m just here on holiday.”

  “Forgive me,” Ven said, embarrassed. “I’m not quite thinking clearly. My head is muddled from everything that has happened to me.”

  “Do you remember your name?” asked the merrow.

  “Oh yes,” said Ven. “My name is Charles Magnus Ven Polypheme, but most just call me Ven.”

  The merrow nodded. “Well, if you are going to forget your manners, at least it is good to be able to remember your name. Mine, by the way, is Amariel.”

  “Amariel,” Ven repeated. The word rolled around in his mouth like the ocean waves. “Very pretty.”

  “It means Star of the Sea,” said the merrow proudly. “My mom thought it up.”

  A wave of exhaustion rolled over Ven, and he felt his eyes begin to close.

  “Hey! Wake up!” the merrow shouted, slapping her tail down sharply on the water. A cold salty splash hit Ven in the face, bringing him around again. “You can’t afford to sleep, Ven. You have to stay awake, or you are going to die. What’s worse, you are making me feel as if I am not good company. Stop being so Nain.”

  “Sorry, sorry,” Ven muttered, shaking the water droplets from his face.

  “So, since you obviously don’t live here in the sea, why don’t you tell me how you came to be here?” the merrow said. “I certainly have never seen anyone who looks like you around these parts. Tell me your story; maybe that will keep you awake.”

  “I didn’t really have much of a story until today—at least I think it was today,” Ven said, struggling to remember. He looked at the position of the sun and felt suddenly cold; it was rising, still before noon.

  “The ships burned yesterday,” said Amariel, floating on her back and watching him intently. “You have been asleep since then, all through the afternoon and night until now.”

  “Thank you for staying with me,” Ven said.

  The merrow shrugged.

  “Did you see anyone else?” Ven asked hopefully, sadness beginning to take hold of him. “Did anyone else survive the explosion?”

  The merrow shook her head. “I don’t know,” she said blandly. “I didn’t see anyone but you by the time I got here. I came with my school because we saw the fire on the water. The merrow men have a great fondness for rum, as you know, and there are always a good many treats to be found floating when a ship sinks. Especially a pirate ship. Always makes for a good party. You were pretty far down below the waves when I found you. I don’t think anyone else survived.”

  “I was afraid of that,” Ven said sadly. “The explosion was my fault. I should have died, too.”

  The merrow splashed him with her tail again. “Well, you didn’t. Obviously you weren’t meant to. The sea could have taken you if it wanted to—and it still might. But at least now you have a few friends watching out for you.”

  “Friends?” Ven asked. “More than you?”

  The merrow nodded and pointed overhead. “There’s one. She’s been flying overhead since I got here.”

  Ven looked up, careful not to upset his raft of wreckage, and saw the albatross gliding in great lazy circles above him.

  “Oh” was all he could say.

  “Yes, she guided me to you. Otherwise I woul
d never have seen you amid all the flotsam and jetsam floating in the shipwreck area.”

  “Oh,” Ven said again. His eyes were growing heavy, and his skin was starting to turn gray.

  “So tell me your tale,” the merrow said.

  Ven explained about Magnus the Mad and his family’s factory, about his birthday and the Inspection, and about the albatross. In the course of the telling, he noticed that his cap with the feather was gone, and fell silent for a moment. The merrow splashed him impatiently, and he took up the tale again, telling her about the Fire Pirates, the quicklime, and the explosion.

  “That quicklime was a wise idea,” the merrow said, drawing patterns in the waves with her impressive tail. “Fire Pirates are merciless; they never leave anyone alive. They can hide in the wind and appear as if from nowhere. I’m sure you all did the best you could. Just as well that you blew up both ships.”

  “I’m not exactly certain how that happened,” Ven admitted. “I was only trying to set fire to the pirate ship, fire that wouldn’t be put out with water.”

  “Well, you certainly managed to do that,” Amariel said. “There are pieces of it scattered for leagues, still burning now, some above the surface, some below. It looked very pretty last night—lit up this whole part of the sea.”

  “Great,” Ven said gloomily.

  “Oh, do cheer up,” the merrow said in exasperation. “Does Nain mean ‘melancholy’ as well as ‘rude’?”

  “Frequently,” Ven said, trying to muster a smile. “There were good men on that ship—my father’s ship. Which I destroyed.”

  “Sounds like you didn’t have much choice,” said the merrow. “And at least you took the Fire Pirates down with the ship. Even for land-livers, those pirates were really bad men. Hmmmm—that does mean there’ll be less booty for us to find under the sea, now that they’re gone. Maybe we should talk about something else.”

  “Why don’t you tell me your tale?” Ven asked, struggling to keep his head up. “What is it like, being a merrow, living in the sea?”