Liberty (10 page)

This sent the crewmen aloft, unfurling more and more canvas, until they ran under full sail. The
Hallowe'en
flew across the waves, as graceful as a black swan.

At last, at dawn on the third day, Hammer called from the crow's nest, “Sails on the horizon!”

And so, the
Hallowe'en
found the
Cormorant
while they were both still at sea. Between signal flags and small boats carrying messages back and forth, it was finally decided that Captain Kingsley would host Captain Eznick on the
Hallowe'en
at dusk for dinner. And the orangutan would bring with him a certain map.

I
n preparation
for the meeting of the Captains, the crew scrubbed the deck until it shone. Frenchie dove into the water and fished, catching three sea bass for their meal; everyone else helped Cactus peel vegetables or set up tables on deck for the meal.

All afternoon, as she scurried about the galley, Penelope felt the pressure building. Santiago should easily be able to tell if the sea serpent map was real or one of his copies. That left two questions: If it was the real map, did they want the Captain to have it? And why was the Captain searching for sea serpents?

The Atlantic cooperated that evening with fair weather. For this meal, the tin plates were replaced with the Captain's best china and silverware. Cactus insisted that small railings be used on the table's edge to prevent the expensive table settings from falling off, in case of an unexpected swell or wave. But it wasn't necessary, so calm was the sea.

Just at dusk, the rowboat from the
Cormorant
arrived.

Captain Eznick, the orangutan, was resplendent in his blue uniform and shiny brass buttons, while Captain Kingsley wore a black uniform with gold buttons, with a black satin eye-patch. Neither wore shoes, but both had curved swords strapped onto their waists.

Everything was black and white on the
Hallowe'en
: bone-white china, white tablecloth, black chairs. The mates' uniforms were black, while the rest of the crew wore dress-white, and even Frenchie, who normally didn't wear clothes, put on a black bow-tie and black beret and looked like he was in a formal tuxedo. Black and white. Penelope almost expected to look overhead and see a flag with the wicked skull-and-crossbones. She shivered. What would happen tonight?

The Captains' conversation during the meal was about shipping gossip: who was hauling what to where? Penelope chafed at the chitchat. Fortunately, she was assigned to serve Frenchie, which kept her mind off the real business of the evening. Likewise, each officer from both ships had a crewman to serve them.

Not until coffee was served did the topic turn to sea serpents. Though Penelope still stood at attention, she hung on every word.

Captain Eznick cupped the coffee mug in his hairy hands. “You look for a special map?”

“Yes. I believe Cricket Mansfield's shop sold you a map while you were there this winter,” Captain Kingsley said.

“It's old. Not any good for navigation.”

“Then why did you buy it?”

Captain Eznick leaned forward. “Each of us has a story about moving from our small worlds into Liberty where intelligent creatures can make their way. Mine is a story of dumb luck.”

Startled, Penelope realized he was going to tell about his crossing. Few spoke of their own crossing, almost as if their old life had never existed. Were they ashamed that the other world existed? She didn't know, but she and Santiago had seldom told their story, either.

 “My mother was captured when I was just a small thing.” Captain Eznick made a cradling motion with his arms. “From what my father said, they carried her off to the London Zoo, where, for all I know, she still lives.”

At the word “zoo,” Frenchie sat up straighter and turned to stare at the orangutan.

Penelope, watching from behind Frenchie's chair, was surprised. Nothing seemed to phase Frenchie; why the word, “zoo”?

“For my part,” Captain Eznick continued, “I left the jungle and took passage on a sail boat crossing from Africa to Barbados; it was my crossing into Liberty. In the middle of the Atlantic, a hurricane slammed into our boat. It tossed us and turned us, but somehow we managed to stay afloat for a day, then two days. We hoped the hurricane would blow over soon, and we'd be safe. But sometime in that second night, the storm grew worse, until at the gray dawn, we saw we were breaking up. We feared all hands would be lost.

“Then the most amazing thing happened. We were cold from the storm. We were exhausted from two days of fighting the weather. But none of that mattered. Not when we saw rising above us the coils of a sea serpent.

“The sea serpent swam alongside us, towering overhead, even higher than the curl of the waves. It bumped our ship, and we thought we were gone. Then we stopped, without knowing why. By evening, the seas calmed, and we saw that we were beached on a strange island, one I'd never seen before or since on a map.

“I think the sea serpent pushed us onto that island. I think it saved our lives. Because of a sea serpent, I lived to find my way to Liberty.”

Penelope sighed in satisfaction. It was what she heard over and over again from sailors: tales of rescue. She had yet to record a story where a sea serpent tried to eat anything—except in someone's imagination.

“It's the coils you remember,” Captain Eznick said. “Like a snake, it coils around and around. When I saw the map with sea serpent coils, I had to have it.”

“Frenchie and I have made our fortunes with maps,” Captain Kingsley said. The good food and good wine had put him in a good humor and made him talkative. “We were crewmen on the
Tongass
, when we came across a map store in Anchorage, Alaska. The oldest map they had—and the cheapest, which is why we bought it—was a tattered treasure map. Gold doubloons were supposed to be buried in a cove on the Patagonia coast. We pooled our money and bought a tiny boat. Sailing around the Cape of Good Horn and up the South American coast to Patagonia took us a year. We had to stop at different ports and work for a while in order to buy supplies. Fortunately, Frenchie can catch a fish in any waters, or we would have starved.”

Every
Hallowe'en
crewman was staring at Captain Kingsley. No one had heard this much of the Captain's story, not ever.

But Captain Kingsley wasn't finished. He tossed down another glass of wine and called to Cactus to bring another.

He continued with his story. “We found the right cove and dug. What do you think?” He leaned toward Captain Eznick and waited. At the orangutan's shrug, he rapped his knuckles on the table. “We found the treasure.” He leaned back in his chair and whistled low. “Beautiful gold. It made us rich, eh, Frenchie?”

The penguin's voice was cold. “You tell too much. Be careful.”

“We used that gold to start the ice trade. Oh, everyone thought it was a crazy idea, but we know about ice and snow and cold, don't we, Frenchie? A polar bear and a penguin. We're good businessmen.” Captain Kingsley rose, a bit unsteady, and leaned onto the table. His voice became hard. “And I want that map.”

Captain Eznick roared with laughter. “So dramatic! You won't want it.”

“Why not?”

“It's a fake,” Captain Eznick said. “Before we left Boston Harbor, I dined with Captains Brice, Nichols and Oakley.”

Frenchie muttered, “Zee
Endurance
, zee
Loch Doon
, and zee
Elizabeth
.”

“We all had a copy of the map. Each different. And each bought at a different map shop. Oh, each one was an accurate picture of North and South America, and the Caribbean. But each showed the sea serpent island in a different place. We passed them round and round, and in the end, I don't know if I have the same map I paid for. I doubt it makes much difference.”

“Forgeries!” Captain Kingsley raised a fist to the moon where it sat full and yellow on the horizon. Then, his gaze fell on Santiago where he sat at the foot of the table. “Ah.” His mood changed. He sat, and then turned courteously to Captain Eznick. “Then, I'd be glad to take that worthless map off your hands. Let my navigator examine it first.”

Penelope was surprised that Captain Kingsley trusted Santiago's judgment so much. It made things even trickier. Santiago needed to tell the truth about the map if he could at all.

“I've already told you it's a forgery,” Captain Eznick said. “Pay me first.”

Captain Kingsley sighed. “What? A gold coin?”

“I paid ten gold coins for it.”

Captain Kingsley's dark eye glittered dangerously, but his voice was calm: “Ten, it is.”

“Done.” Captain Eznick snapped his fingers. His first mate, a tall man with a bulging Adam's apple, rose and brought him a small packet.

Immediately, Frenchie was beside Captain Eznick, holding out a pouch of coins. He dropped it into the orangutan's hand and took the map. He marched around to Santiago, swept his dishes out of the way, and put the map on the table in front of him.

With every eye on him, Santiago tugged at the string around the map. Carefully, he unfolded it and set tea cups on each corner to hold it open.

Penelope wasn't surprised to see that the lower left corner was torn; Santiago would have duplicated that in each one. But was the map real or fake?

Cactus chose that moment to appear with flaming
crepes l'orange
for dessert. Penelope had helped Cactus make the crepes, thin dessert pancakes. The oranges for the sauce were, of course, supplied by Captain Eznick. The flaming dessert captured everyone's attention for the next few minutes, except for Santiago's. And Penelope's. She watched him closely, but he didn't look up. Was it a forgery? Reluctantly, she turned her attention to serving the crepes to Frenchie.

When everyone was served, the attention returned to Santiago. Over the chatter and sounds of eating, Captain Kingsley fixed Santiago with a fierce stare. By now, the lanterns had been lit, and the Captain's one good eye glittered darkly in his face. Captain Kingsley said, “Well? What do you think?”

Santiago shook his head. “Forgery, sir.”

Penelope let out a sigh.

Captain Kingsley slammed his paw on the table, startling everyone. “Frenchie!”

“Yes, Captain. I understand.” He turned to Captain Eznick. “What do you know of zee
Endurance
, zee
Loch Doon
, and zee
Elizabeth
?”

“The
Loch Doon
is headed for Bombay, and the
Elizabeth,
for Sydney. The
Endurance
is slow, so she only runs from Barbados to Boston. She should be back in Boston by now,” Captain Eznick said. He hesitated. “I'd go after the
Elizabeth
first, and then the
Loch Doon
. The
Endurance
you can find easily whenever you want, but the other two travel the globe. I assume you want to find all four maps?”

And Penelope worried even more. When they finally found all four maps, including the original, what would Captain Kingsley do with them? Why did he want sea serpents so badly? They were no closer to the answer; all this had done was tease Captain Kingsley and make him want the other maps even more.

The lantern in the crow's nest made the mast and riggings cast dark shadows. This sailboat would be Penelope's and Santiago's world until they had all four sea serpent maps. How long would they live on the
Hallowe'en
before returning to Boston?

M
ay
. Heading South.

They chased the
Elizabeth
and Captain Oakley south, towards Sydney, Australia. Penelope loved the warm tropics and was thrilled when they crossed the equator. But as the Southern Cross constellation came into view, she found she and Santiago had switched places. Now that Santiago had a stable position in the crew, he became complacent, content to put in his watch, then sleep. But Penelope rarely slept. She wanted to be something besides the cook's assistant. Ambition. She had more of it than Santiago now. But it didn't feel like ambition to her; it felt like frustration. What other task could she perform on this ship? The question sent her prowling the ship, watching, watching, watching.

Unexpectedly one evening they put into the port at Rio de Janeiro. Darkness veiled the city; only the mountain, which towered over the harbor, was visible. No one was allowed shore leave except Frenchie. He left with a small, carved chest that he pushed along in a wheelbarrow. He returned six hours later just as the watch changed at midnight. The crew getting off duty was already below. The crew coming on duty was crowded near the galley, getting cups of coffee. Only Penelope—watching everything—saw Frenchie return. Silently, he lugged the chest aboard and laid it at the Captain's feet.

“From zee icehouse,” Frenchie said softly.

In the starlight, the Captain's white face smiled, showing his yellow teeth. He heaved the chest onto his shoulder and carried it to his cabin. When it was safely stowed, he gave the orders to leave port.

Obviously, Frenchie had brought the Captain part of their collection from the Rio de Janeiro icehouse. Whatever they collected, it wasn't large, or it wouldn't fit in such a small chest. What, Penelope wondered, were they collecting?

J
uly
. Rounding Cape Horn, southern tip of South America.

July in the southern hemisphere is winter, and rounding Cape Horn challenged them all. On Santiago's maps, Chile tapered to a point at Cape Horn, making him think it would be a quick passage; instead, it was long and full of fog and icebergs, waves and rocks, making it more difficult; the winter days held a few scant hours of daylight before sending them into darkness again. Unceasing, fierce winds tried to blow the
Hallowe'en
onto the rocks. They had to tack, back and forth, in heavy seas, hampered by cold, stiff hands or paws and weary bodies. The “All hands on deck” call came so frequently that no crewman had more than an hour's sleep at a time.

Only Captain Kingsley and Frenchie were comfortable: they discarded their sodden, cotton clothing and let their natural fur and feathers shed the water and cold. Polar bears have small bumps and cavities on the soles of their feet that act like suction cups, preventing the bears from slipping on the ice. When no one else could stand, Captain Kingsley spun the great wheel as if it were weightless. Frenchie swam through the foamy waves that pounded their decks.

Peeking out from the warm galley, Penelope thought of the first day she had seen Captain Kingsley, dining in style at the edge of Fresh Pond, regal and imposing: the Ice King. A superb businessman and a trendsetter in polite society. He was refined.

Here, in the Straits, that Captain Kingsley would not be recognized. With windblown fur, he moved with a loose-limbed grace, swinging his arms as if conducting the harsh symphony of frigid wind and water. He was a wild Ice King, bursting with a fierce joy.

S
eptember
. Sydney, Australia.

Compared to the trip around the Horn, the run to Sydney was easy, and they arrived in early September. Frenchie found that the
Elizabeth
had just left port the week before, sailing for Hong Kong. Though Captain Kingsley wanted to follow immediately, they were forced to wait a week for the ice to be unloaded and provisions to be taken aboard. To help pay expenses, the Captain took on small shipments bound for Hong Kong, but no one had much interest in their new cargo. Penelope did notice, though, when Frenchie slipped off one day with the chest; when he returned later, it was very heavy, and Captain Kingsley quickly took it below.

Penelope and Santiago used the week to explore the thriving seaport. Tulips, imported from Holland, were blooming in the early spring weather of the southern hemisphere.

Penelope and Santiago located three map shops, where Santiago spent half of Cricket's gold coins. Penelope found two maps with sea serpents on them, but she resisted buying them because she didn't want to have them on Captain Kingsley's boat. Santiago saw them and bought them anyway.

“These serpents are just decoration,” Santiago reassured Penelope. “It won't hurt to give them to Captain Kingsley.”

“What will he do with sea serpents if he catches them?” Penelope asked.

The Talberts discussed this urgent question but came to no conclusion about Captain Kingsley's ultimate goals. But one thing was clear: they didn't trust him.

O
ctober
. Bombay, India.

From Sydney to Hong Kong and Hong Kong to Bombay, they chased the
Elizabeth
. They loaded and unloaded minor cargoes at every port, but Captain Kingsley made sure that didn't slow him down. The Captain insisted on full sails as they crossed first the Pacific and then the Indian Ocean.  By now, he always used Santiago's charts, which let them stay in currents where they could run under full sail.

Finally, in Bombay, they caught Captain Oakley. He was a British fox, with a long red tail. He refused to see Captain Kingsley; he was too busy, he said, until his ship was loaded. So Captain Kingsley fumed and waited.

Penelope and Santiago were anxious to see the town of Bombay, but Captain Kingsley allowed no shore leave, fearing the
Elizabeth
would try to slip out of harbor during the night. The
Elizabeth
was a small, swift barque, originally built for the tea trade to and from China, but now it carried cargo wherever she found it. She was loading cotton and would soon leave, bound for Boston Harbor.

Finally, tired of the waiting, Captain Kingsley took matters into his own hands and stomped over to the
Elizabeth
and roared for permission to board. Captain Oakley rushed onto deck.

“What is it you want?” Captain Oakley said. He stood on the poop deck, making sure he was higher than the tall polar bear.

“The sea serpent map you bought from a map shop in Boston.”

Captain Oakley narrowed his eyes and flicked his tail suspiciously. “That's it?”

Captain Kingsley gave a curt nod.

“It cost me ten gold coins.”

“I'll give you twenty.”

“Done.”

Santiago stared at the second map and compared it to the first. “Forgery,” he told Captain Kingsley.

The Captain bellowed in frustration and paced back and forth, sending all the crewman below or aloft, out of his way. He didn't calm down until Frenchie returned an hour later.

The penguin stood on shore watching the Captain pacing for several minutes before he was noticed. When Captain Kingsley finally saw him, Frenchie called out triumphantly, “I ‘ave it.” His wing caressed the mysterious carved chest.

Captain Kingsley brightened, and then disappeared, carrying the chest, into his cabin. For several hours, a strange sort of chemical smell came up from his cabin, but no noise.

Left to themselves, the crew took bets on what was in the chest: money, jewels, maps, spices, or holy relics. Penelope took all their money with her guess: a secret.

D
ecember
. Cape Town, South Africa.

They sailed across the Indian Ocean bound for London, where Frenchie had heard the
Loch Doon
and Captain Nichols could be found. Captain Kingsley wanted that third sea serpent map.

They spent Christmas and New Year's Day in Cape Town, South Africa. Frenchie again slipped off to the icehouse and returned with a heavy chest. But an illness aboard ship kept the pigs from worrying about it this time.

Cactus caught a fever and couldn't cook, leaving the galley solely to Penelope. She went into town daily and explored the native fruits, vegetables and spices. The responsibility left her with no time to fret about wanting other jobs on the ship. She cooked, ate, cleaned up—and slept soundly for the first time in weeks. She was almost sad when Cactus returned to supervise the cooking again.

The fourth mate also fell ill in Cape Town, and though they waited a week for him to recuperate, he was still unable to sail. They left him there, making Santiago the fourth mate.

A month ago, Penelope would have been jealous of Santiago's promotion, but now she was enjoying her job in the galley. Contentment was a surprise to her after the ambition that had consumed her at the voyage's beginning. There was a pleasure in doing a job and doing it well, pleasure in the rhythms of the job: buying food, cooking, serving, cleaning up.

J
anuary
. Lisbon, Portugal.

It was a leisurely sail up the African coast to Lisbon, Portugal where they put in for a month to resupply. Before the month in Lisbon ended, the mysterious chest reappeared again to Captain Kingsley's delight and the crew's frustrated speculation. Captain Kingsley fiercely guarded the privacy of his cabin, and no one dared even think of crossing him.

Penelope's guess about the contents of the chest stood: a secret.

When they sailed again, Penelope thought that going to sea was like going home. “I love sailing,” Penelope told Santiago. “This is a good life.”

F
ebruary
. London, England.

At London, when they finally arrived in late summer, they were stunned to learn Captain Nichols was dead: he had been washed overboard in a storm and drowned. His sea chest and all it contained had been sent to his widow in Dublin.

February. Dublin, Ireland.

So, the
Hallowe'en
went to Dublin. But here, all trace of the widow had disappeared. Captain Kingsley hired detectives to find her, but it meant a long stay in port. The crew rotated standing watch, an easy duty because Captain Kingsley was gone most evenings visiting other sea captains. And unless they had watch, the crew had shore leave—though they were warned to stay close in case the
Hallowe'en
had to leave on short notice.

Penelope loved the Green Isle. She spent long hours in pubs listening to sea serpent stories, learning new sea shanties, and trying to speak with an Irish brogue. The first week there, she heard an old Irish woman playing a harp, and Penelope insisted on learning. She took harp lessons each morning; by the second week, she bought a small, carved Irish harp for herself. Though she couldn't pluck the strings, her hooves allowed her to strum them.

Meanwhile, Santiago haunted the map shops, hovering over the cartographers, and learning to draw Celtic knots to embellish his own maps. Sea serpent maps were everywhere in this land of superstition; it was as if the sea serpent was the national mascot.

Finally, the detective returned and reported that Widow Nichols had moved to her parent's home on the Isle of Man. Captain Kingsley ordered the
Hallowe'en
to be ready to sail within the hour. Every sailor was found except Odd the shanty man.

Captain Kingsley paced the deck for thirty minutes, scanning the shore, waiting for Odd to appear. Finally, he called Penelope to the poop deck.

“Can you still sing shanties?”

Penelope stared up at the polar bear and stammered. “Ye-yes, s-sir.”

“Good. You're the new shanty man. My cabin boy will take your place as cook's assistant.” He whirled and yelled to Frenchie. “Cast off!” Then he turned back. “Penelope, sing a shanty to get the men working on unfurling the sails.”

Penelope sang the rest of the watch, as they negotiated the harbor and ran out to sea. Later, lying on her bunk, she thought about her change of fortune. By now, she had learned to like cooking, and that gave her real hope that she would enjoy the shanty man's job, too. She'd taken a job she hated at first and learned to do it with skill and joy. What could she do with a job she initially liked?

She was hoarse the first days of leading and singing shanties, but her voice soon settled into the sailing life, like a horse getting used to the bit. Her favorite pastime was flipping through her journals, looking for new shanties to try.

F
ebruary
. Douglas, Isle of Man.

Within two days, the
Hallowe'en
anchored off the shore of Douglas, the capital of the Isle of Man. The small island lay in the center of the Irish Sea, equidistant from England, Scotland and Ireland. Frenchie rowed Santiago ashore.

Santiago followed the detective's directions until he found Widow Nichols' white cottage on a wind-swept cliff overlooking the harbor. She wore black as did her three sons. Their clothing was worn and too small, but the boys spoke bravely.

“If you knew our father, you are welcome here,” the oldest said. His back was straight and his eye clear, like his father's had been.

“I've come because I wonder if you might sell me a map he had,” Santiago said.

Eagerly, Widow Nichols pulled out her late husband's sea chest. “We have no use for these things.” She left unsaid what was obvious; she needed cash to keep her sons fed and clothed.

Captain Nichols had twenty maps, including the sea serpent map. Santiago let her bargain a price of 25 gold coins for the lot. Eagerly, she held up a pearl-inlaid telescope. “Would you be needing something like this?”

Santiago bought it for Penelope for five more gold coins.

“You're a real blessing,” Widow Nichols cried. She insisted he stay to afternoon tea and tell her sons stories of life at sea before he left.