‘No captain of a working ship would let its name wear away like that,’ Barda muttered from below him. ‘This is a hulk—abandoned. And some years ago, by the look of it.’
Lief was certain that Barda was right. The ship was drifting. The eerie squeaking he could hear was the sound of the wheel spinning from side to side on the deserted deck.
But someone—or something—was aboard. He knew it. Something had sensed them. Something was holding its breath, waiting…
‘Keep moving, Lief,’ Barda growled. ‘Whatever is up there, we must either face it or drown. And I would rather die fighting.’
So Barda senses danger too, Lief thought. At least we are prepared. But forcing himself to climb the last few rungs of the ladder was one of the hardest things he had ever done. His legs felt as if they were made of stone. His whole body was weighed down by dread.
He reached the top. He saw crawling mist, a tangle of ropes and sails, the wheel swinging slowly, with no hand to guide it. He saw the jagged stub that was all that remained of the ship’s main mast.
A moving picture leaped into his mind like a flash of vivid memory. He saw the ship tossing in a ferocious storm. He saw giant waves crashing over the deck. He heard the terrible, screeching sound of the mast snapping in two, and the terrified cries of drowning men.
Visions of the past…
He slid over the side of the ship, onto the deck. Shivering and panting he crawled aside to make room for Barda. As he did, something made him look up. His heart seemed to fly into his throat.
A woman in a long blue robe was standing motionless on the prow of the ship. She was staring out to sea, leaning forward slightly, her hands clasped over her heart. Mist billowed around her, but nothing on her stirred—not a fold of her robe or a curl of her long red hair.
Her face, with its stubborn chin, its steady grey eyes, was strangely familiar.
Lief’s mouth went dry as he realised who she was. And as Barda thudded onto the deck beside him, he suddenly realised, too, why the fragments of the ship’s name had rung warning bells in his mind.
This abandoned, drifting hulk was Laughing Jack’s ship, The Lady Luck.
And the woman standing so silent, so motionless, on the prow was Red Han’s daughter, Verity.
6 – Ghost Ship
Lief and Barda crawled to their feet, dripping and shivering. The deck creaked beneath them. Behind them, the wheel squeaked and spun. The figure of Verity did not stir.
‘It is not real, Lief,’ Barda muttered. ‘See how it leans over the water, as if to guide the ship? It is a figurehead, carved out of wood and painted. Many ships have them. You must have seen pictures—’
‘Yes,’ whispered Lief, through chattering teeth. ‘But I have never seen a figurehead which looks as real as this. And it is Verity to the life. I think—’
His voice faltered. It seemed to him that the rigid figure on the prow turned its head very slightly, as if it had heard him. Or had his eyes been deceived by the drifting mist? He clutched the Belt at his waist…
Suddenly, there was a flurry of movement, glaring light, and a roar of sound. Seabirds shrieked. Water splashed. Harsh voices cheered, shouted and guffawed.
Then they were no longer alone. A crowd of grinning men jostled all around them.
Cursing in shock, Barda reached for his sword.
Lief did not move. He knew that the men could not see them. This was the crew of The Lady Luck, as it had gathered on deck eighteen years ago to enjoy the sort of entertainment it liked best.
Two men were tying a girl to a short pole fixed to the prow. The girl was wearing a long blue cloak.
‘Verity,’ Barda breathed.
The men had placed Verity so that she was facing the lighthouse that gleamed white across the water.
‘Ah, what a fine figurehead she makes, to be sure!’ jeered a rat-faced man in a striped woollen cap.
‘Too scrawny for my taste!’ bawled a hulking brute with a black patch over one eye.
‘She will be scrawnier yet when the birds have finished with her, Beef,’ a third roared, baring teeth like crooked yellow pegs.
The whole crew laughed uproariously.
The girl made no sign that she had heard them. She did not struggle as loop after loop of rope wound about her, binding her to the pole.
Laughing Jack was standing beside her, peering through a telescope. He stood as still as a tall, thin statue, his bony shoulders rigid, the sharp line of his jaw intent. After a moment, he lowered the telescope and turned to Verity, the edges of his wide mouth curving into a smile.
And just for an instant, as he turned, he reminded Lief of someone else. Someone I know, Lief thought in confusion. Who…?
Then the smile broadened into the familiar death’s head grin, and the illusion vanished.
‘Your father is watching, girl,’ Laughing Jack sneered. ‘He is in the Light chamber.’
Verity made no answer.
Laughing Jack moved a little closer to her. ‘Sound carries well across water,’ he said. ‘Red Han will hear you if you scream. You would do well to begin now. The sooner he gives in, the sooner you will be free.’
‘My father will never give in, James Gant,’ Verity said. ‘And I will never call to him.’
Laughing Jack’s eyes narrowed. ‘Fine words,’ he hissed. ‘But they will not last. Soon you will be begging for food and water, beaten to rags by the wind and the waves. And then the hungry birds will come. You will scream loud enough when they begin to feast on you, girl, make no mistake.’
He turned on his heel and strode away from her, directly towards Lief and Barda. The crew stumbled out of his way, some falling over in their haste.
Lief and Barda stood their ground. Laughing Jack passed through them like a gust of icy breath. And in that moment, the vision vanished, and they stood blinking on the creaking deck, mist floating all around them and the silent figurehead their only companion.
‘If ever I have the chance to lay my hands on that grinning monster, he will know what fear is,’ Barda muttered at last.
His eyes were fixed on the figurehead. His fists were clenched.
He is remembering the girl he saw painting on the beach of the little bay, Lief thought. The happy girl in the yellow skirt that fluttered in the wind.
‘We do not know the end of the story, Barda,’ he said. ‘Red Han may have given in after all. Verity may have been returned to him. Then they may have fled Bone Point together.’
‘I doubt it,’ Barda muttered.
Lief doubted it too. His mind was seething with questions, but the vision he and Barda had just seen was proof to him that The Lady Luck had been the setting for frightful deeds. The ship was haunted by memories so terrible that they would not die.
With a heavy heart he turned away from the figurehead. Whatever he had suspected before, he was sure now that it was only a carving.
The skin of the figurehead was smooth and undamaged, the steady eyes untouched. And the scavenging birds would not have left them so.
After Verity’s wasted, torn and lifeless body had been at last cut down, Laughing Jack had no doubt enjoyed replacing it with a likeness of her as she had been. What better way to torment the father who had refused to do his will?
Lief shuddered all over and suddenly became aware of just how cold he was. His teeth had begun chattering again. Water was dripping from his hair and clothing. His feet felt like blocks of ice.
‘We must go below deck and try to find a way of warming ourselves,’ Barda said. ‘I can see no lifeboat. No doubt it was taken when the ship was abandoned. We will have to stay here until the storm ends and the Kin return for us.’