Liberty (12 page)

E
ighteen months later
, Penelope was strolling along a rocky beach in Maine. Though it was summer, a cool breeze blew. She reached the rocky point of land, well away from the pines, and stopped to hold her pearl-inlaid telescope to her eye, the one Santiago had bought from Captain Nichol's widow. For a moment she blinked, unable to focus, fondly remembering the telescope joke that Odd had played on her and Santiago. But there was no going back to that life. Captain Kingsley would have them hanging from a yardarm if he caught them; for now, they were fugitives.

She turned the telescope to the south. There. White sails against the blue sky. Cricket's boat, the
Mercator
.

She ran back to the cove and yelled for Santiago. “She's here.”

He came out of a tiny cabin hidden amidst the pines and waved at her. They watched for ten minutes while the boat maneuvered into the cove.

At last, Cricket jumped down barefoot, with her cotton trousers rolled up and her braid swinging into the salt water behind her; she waded noisily toward shore. Penelope splashed out to meet her, and they hugged and cried and laughed, all at the same time; Santiago waited onshore, but was ready with a hug, too, when Cricket reached him.

It was a joyous reunion. Over corn chowder, the Talberts told about their travels for the past eighteen months on their tiny yacht, the
Liberty
. They had bought her in Maryland last year, after Captain Brice had smuggled them out of Bermuda. The yacht had proven her seaworthiness, and then some, this year as they sailed around the world. Penelope's only regret was that she had left her journals and her Irish harp in the safekeeping of Captain Brice, taking only Santiago's maps and their duffels of clothing. She had thought that living in a small boat would be too crowded. Amazingly, though, the space was so well planned that everything had a snug place. She could have brought everything if she'd known. Some day, they would have to find the good Captain to get her things back.

 Cricket, in return, told them the gossip from Boston Harbor: who was hauling what, where, and who had become captain of their own boats. Her map store, she said, had doubled in size, and she now had two apprentices.

Finally, she had disturbing news. She pushed back from the rustic table and went to stand in the open doorway of the cabin. The late afternoon sun sent spiky dark shadows from the pines reaching toward the
Mercator
. “Captain Kingsley was in again last week asking about you.”

Penelope drew a deep breath. “He'll never give up. Never.”

“I can't stay the night,” Cricket said. “Kingsley knows I'm going to the Hildebrand farm in Maine and that I go there every year for paper. I suspect I'll find Frenchie waiting at that dock for me."

“He's followed you?” Santiago looked up sharply.

Penelope stepped outside the cabin with her telescope and swept the horizon. No sails, but that meant nothing. Anyone following Cricket would be discreet. Had someone followed her?

“Not here. I'm a better sailor than he is,” Cricket said with a grin. “But I need to move on within the hour, or he'll overtake me. Be warned: that penguin is skulking about. I heard Captain Kingsley say they'll sail across the Atlantic to the Canary Islands next. Go a different direction. Stay lost."

Penelope swallowed hard. The Oriental woman was their oldest, most loyal friend. She was right: they'd never be able to let their guard down.

To cover her emotions, Penelope said, “I brought you something.” From a shelf, she took a package and handed it to Cricket.

Cricket ripped off the brown paper. It was a new silk jacket.

“The latest style from Peking,” Penelope said.

Cricket donned the turquoise jacket and danced a jig with Penelope while they both laughed with the joy of friendship. Penelope hadn't realized how much a visit with Cricket meant to her.

When they calmed a bit, Santiago said, “You'd better look at maps now.”

They spent most of the remaining time looking at the nearly 100 maps he had bought for Cricket. In the past year, they had sailed in places away from the major shipping lanes. They had seen the Mediterranean Sea, the Black Sea, the South China Sea and many other seas.  These neglected byways had brought them a surprisingly rich store of maps.

“These are marvelous,” Cricket finally said. “I can double the price you paid on almost every one. I can pay you 500 gold coins for the lot.”

“Enough to sail another year,” Santiago said. That was all they needed just then. “Next year, the second week of July?”

“Yes. I'll be here,” Cricket said.

After Cricket sailed away, the Talberts pulled the
Liberty
out of hiding. She was a white wooden sailboat with teak decks they had re-varnished while waiting for Cricket to arrive. They kept her in tip-top shape, and she repaid them with surprising speed for her size. She had only a mainsail, and it was well rigged, so they seldom had to climb aloft. The
Liberty
was, in fact, a joy to sail. Since Captain Kingsley was sailing east to the Canaries, they decided to sail south.

Maybe successfully hiding from Captain Kingsley for over a year had made them overconfident. Or maybe they were just getting tired of running. Either way, the pigs didn't notice a small sailboat hiding in a cove a mile down the coast, didn't notice when it slipped in behind them, didn't notice when it stayed on the horizon—now in view, now just out of view—while they sailed south.

They gave Boston a wide berth, but then hugged the coastline, taking time, here and there, to pull into likely coves and rest for a day.  One night they tied up in a cove and were delighted to see a small river emptying into the ocean there.

“How long has it been since we had freshwater fish?” Penelope said. “Let's walk upstream and catch a few.”

“Do you think it's safe?”

“We haven't seen anyone following us,” Penelope said. “Captain Kingsley is halfway across the Atlantic by now.”

They took their time strolling the riverbank, fly fishing and enjoying a rare day off the boat. They built a fire and roasted their catch for supper. Then they lay beside the fire on their backs and counted meteorites streaking across the sky. Finally, at midnight, they stumbled sleepily back to the
Liberty
, tumbled into their bunks, and slept.

Their bellies were so full of fish, their eyes so full of stars, they didn't notice someone had been on their boat. Someone with stealthy webbed feet had climbed onto the deck, had opened cabinets until he found the tubes with maps, had searched the maps until he found three skillful forgeries and one original—did he know the difference?—and had taken those maps back to his friend and master.

Because they didn't notice the quiet theft, the Talberts sailed happily the next day, continuing south to avoid Captain Kingsley. When they came to Florida a few weeks later, they decided to put out 100 miles or so to sea, to avoid the shipping and tourist traffic.

The sea around them changed; great clumps of seaweed, ripped free from some distant bed, washed past them. Schools of jellyfish floated by. Somehow the air was wrong; it was too warm, too humid, too calm.

“There's a big storm out there somewhere,” Penelope said.

“Then we need to get back to shore before it catches us.”

They sailed southwest, hoping to get around Florida, into the Gulf of Mexico, before the storm hit. But the clouds gathered quickly, and the winds rose against them. They tightened all the hatches and made the
Liberty
as watertight as possible. They strapped themselves into harnesses that were tied with long ropes to the mast; if they accidentally got swept overboard by a large wave, they wouldn't be lost at sea.

The small yacht flew over the waves, westward toward shore, running in front of the storm.

“Ship, ahoy!” Penelope pointed north toward a large sailing ship that was bearing down on them. Suddenly, her legs turned to jelly. “It's the
Hallowe'en
,” she yelled over the storm's roar.

“She's supposed to be on the other side of the Atlantic. How'd she find us?” Santiago's voice was worried.

They both knew Captain Kingsley would be ruthless when he caught them. She remembered the vision she'd had before: black pig's feet inside a green glass jar. They were already running with full sail; they wouldn't be able to escape.

A wave caught the
Hallowe'en
broadside; they saw the white bulk of Captain Kingsley spinning the great wheel, so the boat lined up with the wave better. It was now between them and the storm. Oddly, he spun the wheel again and turned until he was facing into the storm.

“What's he doing?” Santiago cried.

The
Hallowe'en
disappeared behind the next wave.

“Why isn't he chasing us?” Then, Penelope knew. She threw open the hatch and plunged into the cabin. Frantically, she tore open the cabinet with the maps and raked through them. Gone. The sea serpent maps were gone. Penelope's throat felt tight. The mere possibility that Captain Kingsley would injure a sea serpent made Liberty suddenly narrow.

She raced back on deck. “He just wanted us to know. He's got all four maps. Somehow, he stole the maps from us.” It could have been any of several nights when they'd been lax with security and taken a stroll or gone fishing. They had been too complacent.

A large wave threatened to crash onto the pig's boat, but instead, the faithful
Liberty
leapt to the wave's crest.

“We've got to stop him.” Penelope and Santiago said at the same time.

The full fury of the storm overtook both sailing boats, and the
Hallowe'en
struck half their sails; the pigs, however, refused to lower even a square inch of sail. For a day, they chased Captain Kingsley, just managing to glimpse his boat or the boat's lanterns, in lulls in the storm. But there weren't many moments of calm.

Penelope worried: Would they survive the storm? Would Captain Kingsley find the sea serpent island? What would they do if they managed to catch up to the
Hallowe'en
? It was a fool's errand; they should turn tail and run. But she set her face into the wind and held the tiller steady, following the
Hallowe'en
as best she could in the roaring winds.

By morning, the storm did what they thought impossible: it worsened. A deafening wind tore at the sails until the pigs were forced to lower them or risk damaging the mast. The Talberts gave up worrying about the
Hallowe'en
because the
Liberty
had to fight just to stay afloat. They were tossed at the mercy of the wind's will.

Just when they thought the boat would rip apart, another sight almost ripped their courage apart: coils rising, no, towering above their boat. As suddenly as they appeared, the coils were gone, but their boat was moving steadily against the wind; a sea serpent was pushing their boat against the waves.

Penelope thought about fear. The hound, back home on the farm, had caused her first and deepest fear, that she would be overwhelmed by cruelty. In Liberty, she'd learned dogs could vary widely and that cruelty could come from any direction. But she didn't believe cruelty would come from sea serpents, despite their fearsome appearance.

The boat halted with a jerk that threw Penelope and Santiago off their feet, caught only by their harnesses. The sea serpents had run them aground, Penelope thought. How else would they have found an island in the midst of this storm?

“Thank you,” she called into the wind.

She spat out salty water, and then peered through the grey storm. Nearby, the
Hallowe'en
lay tilted on uneven ground, and, in the bow, like a giant figurehead, stood Captain Kingsley; his yellow-white fur was the only thing visible. He studied the waters around them. Frenchie staggered forward, fighting the wind, step by step, until he was beside his captain. He held up a whaler's harpoon, the weapon used to kill the huge creatures.  It had a long, smooth shaft, tipped by an iron point with barbs to prevent it pulling out easily. Why did Captain Kingsley need it?

A sea serpent had just saved his ship by putting them aground. Sea serpents were definitely intelligent. The Captain had to know it; he'd heard Captain Eznick's story of rescue. Was he really going to attack those who rescued him?

Captain Kingsley's huge paws closed over the long harpoon. He hefted it, as if testing its balance. Then he lifted his nose to smell. A polar bear can smell a seal's breathing hole even if it is half a mile away and covered with three feet of snow. In the midst of the storm, he was hunting by smell instead of sight. Suddenly, he reared back his right arm.

“No!” Penelope shrieked.

Like an ancient Greek warrior throwing a javelin, the Captain hurled the harpoon. Over the storm's noise came a high-pitched squeal. The rope attached to the harpoon snaked out until the rope was taut; it was tied securely to the mast, and unless the victim dragged the entire
Hallowe'en
with it, it couldn't escape.

Dimly, through the thick curtains of rain, Penelope and Santiago saw coils; Captain Kingsley had hit a sea serpent.

There was a sudden lull in the storm. Without thinking, without consulting each other, they clambered off their boat and staggered across the slick, rain-soaked beach grass toward the
Hallowe'en
. When they reached her, they hauled themselves up the side of the boat. Santiago slipped and fell heavily onto his back; but he shook himself off and climbed again, until Penelope helped pull him onto the deck.

Everyone was below, out of the rain, except Frenchie and Captain Kingsley, and they only had eyes for the writhing coils in front of them. The sea serpent's squeals didn't stop, but undulated in heart-wrenching waves.

The pigs pulled knives from their belts and started hacking away at the harpoon's rope. Working as shanty man, Penelope had acquired an ear for the sound and an eye for the look of ropes in use. Three strands of fibers were twisted together for strength, making them hard to cut through; but taut against the wind, the ropes stretched to their limit and were easier to cut. As long as the sea serpent pulled against the rope, they had a chance of cutting through it before they were discovered. Still, the rope was at least as thick as their forelegs, so progress was slower than she liked. Penelope leaned into the work, putting so much weight on her knife hand, that a sudden jerk of the boat threw her off balance; she went sliding down the tilted deck, hitting the rails with a crash.