Liberty (7 page)

She worked silently, efficiently, making sure the pine straw was evenly distributed. The ice compartments were dark and cool. Working as a stevedore for the last year had given her an intimate knowledge of the insides of boats, so she was working mostly by feel. She didn't light a lantern. She finished the rear compartments quickly, and then moved to the last one in the forward part of the hull. She heard voices, but kept working. Slowly, the voices came closer, louder, and more distinct.

“It's cool down ‘ere,” Frenchie said with satisfaction in his voice.

Captain Kingsley cleared his throat. “I'm taking this command of the
Hallowe'en
.”

“What about Captain Brice? Zhe won't be happy. ”

“I'll deal with her. We'll deliver this shipment.”

“Why? I zought we were staying in Boston zis year.”

Penelope was embarrassed she was accidentally eavesdropping. She hoped they'd just glance around and leave her to her work.

Captain Kingsley's voice went deep with longing. “I want my collection. All of it.”

Frenchie was silent. The lantern in his hand swung lightly, casting a shifting shadow. “Zat means visiting every ice ‘ouse. Rio de Janeiro, Sydney, Calcutta, Bombay—”

“Yes. Every single one.”

“Is zat wise? Few would understand what we've done.”

“I don't care. I want it all together.” Captain Kingsley lifted the eye patch and rubbed his blind eye, a childish gesture that made him look tired.

“You're still dreaming about it.” It wasn't a question.

Was the Captain not sleeping well? Penelope wondered.

Captain Kingsley replaced the eye patch. “We only lack one thing, and I dream of that.”

“No,” Frenchie shook his head. “Zat's not what you dream of.”

Up to now, Captain Kingsley was just the Ice King, the hard-nosed businessman. Or the excellent swimmer who saved her. This strange conversation revealed him more as a person. There were depths to the Captain that people barely guessed at, and Frenchie understood those depths. Penelope was fascinated by the relationship. Trying to see the expressions on their faces, she straightened and bumped into the low roof.

Frenchie spun around and held up the lantern. “You! What are you doing here?”

“My job. Spreading the last layer of pine straw,” Penelope managed to say calmly. “Making sure it's all done right.”

Frenchie frowned. “I will do ze inspection. You may go.”

“Yes, sir.”

What collection did Captain Kingsley have? Why wouldn't others understand it? Penelope felt an uneasiness touch her, and she shivered. The dark hold had been comforting a moment ago, but now she hurried upward toward the lanterns on deck. Captain Kingsley, the Ice King, had deep secrets, and she hoped she'd never find out about them.

O
ne spring day
, Penelope woke early and threw open the shutters to find not a cloud in the sky. Laughing, she called out a line from one of Mrs. McDonald's favorite poems by Rosetti:

 “I strain my heart, I stretch my hands,

And catch at hope.”

Santiago didn't share her good humor: “We should be at sea.”

“No,” Penelope said. “None of the ships in harbor are right for us.” Leaning out the window and staring down Lime Alley to the harbor, she mentally ticked off the captains and crew of each ship. She had loaded or unloaded for most of them this past year, and had listened to their tales later in the taverns.

Santiago came to stand in the window's breeze with her. “I've learned enough about mapping. Smell that salt air! It's April.”

The biggest problem was that they wanted adventure, not commerce. None of the ships in harbor offered more than a commercial run to Bermuda and back, or to England and back, or to India and back, or to Australia and back. Working as a stevedore had taught Penelope that much of shipping was boring business: delivery of goods as fast as possible. But shipping could be an adventure. Vast areas of the ocean were unexplored, as Santiago's and Cricket's maps proved. In the end, it was the maps that mattered; Penelope and Santiago could spend a lifetime filling in the blanks.

“Be patient,” Penelope said.

“One more month, then. After that—”

“We'll take the first ship that seems even halfway likely,” Penelope agreed.

Downstairs, the bell that hung over the door rang sweetly. Santiago and Penelope climbed down the steep stairs and then stopped short. The shop looked like a whale had beached itself on a tiny sand bar; Captain Kingsley sat on a bare strip of floor in front of the viewing wall. Even at that, he had to stoop not to hit his head on the ceiling. Frenchie, beret under his wing, perched on a stool beside him.

Cricket, herself dwarfed by the Captain, stood beside the viewing wall, with rolled up maps under her arms. She wore her best red silk jacket, so he must have sent a messenger ahead to announce his intentions to visit the shop.

“Your shop is known for its sea serpent maps,” Captain Kingsley said. “I was told to talk with Santiago.”

“Santiago?” Penelope turned to him in surprise.

But Santiago scooted around to the drafting table and sat where he could watch Cricket and the Captain. Penelope couldn't catch his eye. That meant Santiago was up to something, for sure. She scooted around to sit beside him.

“I'm the proprietor here,” Cricket said. Her mouth was tight, which meant she was mad. “I can help you. We have many maps of the Bermuda Triangle, where sea serpents are rumored to live.”

Penelope felt uneasy. She felt like she was watching a chess match, and she wasn't sure Santiago and Cricket were on the same side.

Why was Captain Kingsley so interested in sea serpents? After hours of collecting sea serpent stories, she felt rather like her territory was being invaded.

Captain Kingsley sat patiently for half an hour as Cricket unrolled map after map of the Bermuda Islands, the Caribbean, the Atlantic currents, the Gulf Stream, the Sargasso Sea, or anything remotely close to that area.

Finally, she ran out of maps. “Captain, does anything here strike your fancy?”

She must be nervous, Penelope thought. Her British accent was more pronounced than usual.

Captain Kingsley's good eye blinked. “No. Not one had a sea serpent on it. Where are they? I've heard rumors you have several very old sea serpent maps.” His voice was calm, quiet. He hunched his shoulders and held his massive paws too still. Penelope shivered.

Cricket turned back to the wall and reached to unpin the map that was displayed. Her hand quivered.

Penelope opened her mouth, and then shut it.

It was Santiago who saved them.

Coming forward, he said, “Yes, Captain, we did have such a map. In fact, we've had seven maps with serpents come through the shop in the last year. Three, we sold to Captain Asad of the
Krakatoa
. You wouldn't want them anyway.”

Captain Kingsley swung around to stare at Santiago. The Berkshire pig was now three years old and in his prime. He was solidly built, as you'd expect from a pig, but agile, intelligent, bright-eyed. He met Captain Kingsley's stare without flinching.

“And you are?”

“Santiago Talbert, at your service.” He bowed gracefully over his extended leg.

The shop window was a bright square now, so bright Penelope couldn't see out. It made her feel like they were all locked inside a dark cave. Captain Kingsley, Frenchie, Santiago, Cricket—everyone was studying the chessboard, planning a strategy. Cricket had the secret of Penelope's sea serpent maps to protect. But why was Santiago squinting so much? Why was Captain Kingsley, and even Frenchie, so alert?

“Ah. At last. Why wouldn't I want those three maps?” Captain Kingsley asked.

“Because the sea serpents on those maps were just decorations,” Santiago said.

“And you know zis, because?” In spite of being an Emperor penguin from the Antarctic, Frenchie spoke with a heavy French accent that made Penelope wonder about his background. On the dockside, it had seemed just a part of the scenery, but here in the shop, it was odd.

Santiago brushed aside the question with a gesture of his foreleg. “Mapmakers know decoration when they see it, eh, Cricket?”

Captain Kingsley's gaze swung back to her.

“Yes.” Cricket shrugged and rolled out one of the maps again that showed an elaborate compass rose. “Sometimes, we get carried away.”

“And the other four maps?” Now, Captain Kingsley's voice was like a shark, circling its prey.

He wouldn't give up easily. Penelope struggled to keep her gaze from going to the staircase to her room, where a dozen sea serpent maps lay hidden under her bed.

Santiago continued, “Three others were doubtful. Maybe the mapmaker or someone he talked to had actually seen a sea serpent. But not where they drew it.”

He paused again and walked around a few bins. “But there was one map—” He picked up a couple rolls and looked at the bottom of the bin. “I wonder where it's gotten to?” He looked at Cricket, but she concentrated on rolling up the last map and refused to meet his eye.

Santiago paused. “I remember. I sold it just before Christmas.”

“Who has it?” Captain Kingsley's eye didn't leave Santiago's face.

“The Captain of the
Cormorant
. Captain Eznick.”

The fastest ship to leave harbor this spring, Penelope thought. Did he really sell a map to Captain Eznick?

Cricket spoke up. “Yes, I remember you told me about that sale. I was out the day he came in. You said he bought it on a lark.”

Penelope nodded in relief: Cricket was supporting Santiago now. Whatever they were mad about would wait until the Captain was gone.

“Zee
Cormorant
,” Frenchie said. “When did she leave dock? Where was she ‘eading?”

“Not so fast,” growled Captain Kingsley. “Tell me about the map.”

Santiago described a crudely drawn map. To Penelope, it sounded too much like her original sea serpent map. Why was he describing that?

Santiago said, “It's in bad shape, that's for sure, and it's very old. But if you wanted to find a sea serpent, I'd look at that map first. Is that what you want? To find a sea serpent?”

Penelope's heart beat fast, waiting for the answer. Because if the answer was yes, then she wanted to sail on his boat. He'd be a hard Captain, but the chance of seeing a sea serpent might be worth it. She had heard so many sea serpent stories by now that she had started to doubt certain things. She wanted a first-hand look at these creatures.

Captain Kingsley took his time answering the question, so that Penelope almost leaned in close to pull the words from him. Why did he want that map?

At last, Captain Kingsley just laughed. “Sea serpents are just stories. I'm a collector. Of maps. That's all.”

Frenchie sniggered behind his tiny wing. “A map collector.”

“Wait, Frenchie.” Captain Kingsley looked offended. “You make light of my collection.” He spread out his huge paws to Cricket and the pigs, as if to seek their understanding. “Collecting is all consuming. It's a physical, mental and visual experience that moves me greatly. My collection of—” he turned to give Frenchie a stern look, “—of maps reminds me of the terrors of land and sea, the struggle for survival, the wildness that this world of Liberty almost crushed in us.”

His voice was harsh.  Penelope could imagine him hunting seals, an Arctic predator, a ruthless hunter. When she overheard the Captain and Frenchie on the
Hallowe'en
, had they been talking about a map collection? But why would they keep maps in icehouses around the world? They couldn't collect sea serpents because they didn't know where to find any. That's why they wanted the map. None of it made sense. But the Captain was obsessive about some kind of collection, and the map had something to do with it.

“I want my collection complete,” Captain Kingsley whispered.

And the whisper—so full of longing—struck a chill into Penelope in a way that a shout or a loud demand could never have done.

Frenchie coughed.

The Captain shook himself and in an instant changed back from a predator to a gentleman and businessman. “I'm sorry. I go on too long.”

The map shop suddenly seemed smaller as the Captain and his first mate rose.

“Thank you for your information,” said Captain Kingsley, brisk and businesslike now. “We'll look for Captain Eznick.” He left, followed by Frenchie.

Oddly, the shop was overtaken by a soundless void. Cricket collapsed into the chair by her desk.

But then the Captain filled the doorway again. “You, pig. Our navigator resigned today. Would you like the post of navigator on the
Hallowe'en
? I'll pay a bonus if you search every port we stop in for sea serpent maps. You'll know the real thing when you see it, won't you?”

Santiago drew in a sharp breath and darted a glance at Penelope. “Navigator?”

Going to sea with Captain Kingsley? She ran through the list of other captain and ships and realized Captain Kingsley might be exactly what they wanted. They'd certainly see the world since he meant to visit every icehouse he owned. And they might get to see a real sea serpent.

Impatient, Captain Kingsley said, “You know maps, right? You can read a sextant and keep us on course?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then, it's settled.” Captain Kingsley turned and ducked under the doorframe, but rose too soon, scraping his shoulders on the frame.

“Wait.”

The polar bear turned back impatiently. His massive paws hung on the top of the doorframe, letting his head hang low enough to see back inside. He glared—with his one good eye—at Santiago.

Penelope shivered as she remembered the sightless eye behind the patch.

“Penelope here,” Santiago said. “She's my wife, and we've vowed to go to sea together.”

Now the polar bear's gaze turned full upon her. Penelope let her mind go blank and returned his stare; this strategy had often worked on the docks when someone threatened to get too aggressive.

“What can you do besides load a ship and try to drown yourself?” Captain Kingsley asked.

“Sail. Climb riggings. Furl and unfurl. Haul anchor. Sing shanties. Load and unload. Cook.”

“Cook?” Frenchie tilted his head until Penelope was afraid his beret would fall off. “Cook what?”

Remembering the scene at Fresh Pond, Penelope said, “Fish. Stew.”

“Done. Navigator and assistant cook. Will it do?” Captain Kingsley asked.

“No,” Penelope said, surprised at her own boldness. “I want to be a sailor, not a cook.”

Captain Kingsley pulled out a pocket watch, studied it, and then returned it to its pocket. He swiveled his massive head, staring first at Santiago, then Penelope. His voice was a low rumble. “I've never had a hoofed animal as a sailor. Can you climb the riggings?”

“Yes, sir,” Penelope answered without hesitation. “I've been practicing.”

Captain Kingsley's head bobbed, “Sailor, then. You can try. Navigator and sailor. Will it do?”

Penelope wished she had time for a long talk with Santiago. Captain Kingsley would be a hard captain. She shrugged at Santiago and held her breath.

“Yes or no?” Captain Kingsley insisted.

A huge grin spread across Santiago's dark face. “Yes!”

To them both, Captain Kingsley said, “We sail at high tide. Tonight. Be on board the
Hallowe'en
by six.” He was already out the door. “Frenchie, find out what you can about the
Cormorant
.”

They disappeared down the street.

Cricket's voice was full of tears. “Tonight at high tide. On the
Hallowe'en
.”

“Sooner than we thought,” Penelope whispered.

“We're going to sea!” whooped Santiago, and drew them both into an ecstatic dance.