Chapter 76
STORM’S A-brEWIN’, THE LIbrARY’S RECORD IS IN JEOPARDY, AND THE RAIN BEGINS TO HURT
Millie woke when the tarpaulin was yanked away and an old man cried out in surprise. High above, the gulls echoed his cry into the patchy clouds.
“Jerry,” she moaned from the bottom of the boat. “Not so loud.”
“What are you doing in here, miss? But oh, looky there. Not a spot of bile to be seen.”
She eased herself upright. “I used your chum bucket.”
The fisherman’s face fell. “Oh. Well, thanks for keeping the rest of the Darlin’ May clean, I suppose. Here, I’ll hold her steady while you get out.”
The old man was as good as his word, the boat barely bobbing as Millie eased one leg over the side and then the other. The surf was only ankle deep here where the boat was tied to a fat piling under the pier. She smoothed a hand over her ratty hair.
“I apologize for the fright and the presumption, Master Jerry. I was just so distraught, I thought I could force my seasickness away through extended emersion. You know, build up an immunity?”
“So you slept in the bottom of my boat all night and tried to literally vomit the seasickness out of your body?”
“Essentially.”
“And how did that go?”
“I think I burned my throat,” she admitted.
He scratched his scalp under his red hat. “Yeah, thought you sounded a mite like sandpaper.” Leaning over into the Darlin’ May, he rummaged around and extracted a fat bottle wrapped in wicker. “Give this a swallow.”
She popped the cork, drank, and coughed. The drink was deliciously fruity and thick with syrup, the bite of alcohol present but not zesty enough to agitate her throat.
“It’s port wine. Better than rum, in my opinion. Doesn’t burn as good, though.” Jerry shrugged. “Not in the habit of burning my booze, so I guess it doesn’t matter.”
When she offered the bottle back to him, he shook his head. “Naw, you take a few more swallows while I take care of . . . this.” Nose wrinkled, Jerry took the covered chum bucket, waded out until he was mid-thigh, and pitched the contents as far as he could throw them.
Returning, he checked the bottom of the boat to confirm she hadn’t missed the chum bucket at any point last night. “Reckon your friends are worried about you, or did they know about your experiment?”
Millie shifted her weight. “I sorta ran away.”
“Had a fight?”
“Yep.”
“Well I’d offer to take you out on the water, does wonders for putting your troubles in perspective, it does, but I don’t think you’d survive the trip.” He gave her a lopsided smile.
“I appreciate it, Master Jerry. You’ve been awfully kind.”
“It’s clear you’re in a crisis of some sort. Sometimes a change in scenery and a little kindness can shake things loose, you know? Maybe leave the bustle of the boardwalk for a while, get away from all that noise.”
“That’s a fabulous suggestion, Master Jerry, thank you. And please, stop by The Dreary Pelican at some point. I’ll set aside the rest of the teacakes for you.”
“Well, that’d be mighty fine, miss. If you insist.”
“I do.” With a smile, she helped shove him the Darlin’ May into deeper water.
“Don’t stray too far, though,” he called, matching his words with the strokes of his oars. “Storm’s a-brewing. Can feel it in these arthritic bones.”
“I should be out there looking for her,” Bradley grumbled, flipping another page.
“We looked all morning and left word with the marines post and half the businesses in town. They all know where we are and where we’re staying.” Dirk slapped his book down. “And why am I the voice of reason here? I’m only four years old!”
Bradley dropped his face into his palms, scrubbed hard. “Because you’re not the one who messed up.”
“That’s true.”
The apprentice sighed into his hands, dragged them down his face, and looked out the window for what had to be the thousandth time, as if he would at last determine which ant-sized person along three miles of beach was their missing princess.
Unsuccessful, once again.
“All I know is that when we get back to the tower,” Dirk declared, “I’m throttling Sir Roger for teaching Millie evasion tactics and Pocket for teaching her how to be extra sneaky.”
The apprentice went to the window. “There’s a storm coming. I don’t mind getting wet and I know you don’t, but I’d rather get another search in and be back at The Dreary Pelican before that turns into a real squaller. How much you got left?”
“Just a few more pages.”
“And that’ll be it.” Bradley dropped into his seat and slid the book he’d finished to the end of the table for a bookwyrm to retrieve whenever it fluttered past. “We’ve gone through this entire section. You know, maybe we’d have better luck if you could be a bit more specific with Renaldo.”
Dirk flipped another page. “Nope.”
Restless, Bradley rose from the table to perform his own search for a book on human curses. He knew this library was vast, but someone as skilled as Renaldo should’ve found something by now. The assistant was purposefully dilly-dallying.
No sooner had Bradley reached the end of the stacks, than a bell tolled from high in the lighthouse. It was deep sound, resonant in a way that sent a shudder through your bones and encouraged your heart to skip a beat.
Renaldo was at their table in an instant. “Quickly, you must come below. Leave the books—the bookwyrms will attend to them.”
Three bookwyrms in three different colors descended upon the table, snatching books and fluttering off with crazed chirps. The bell tolled a second time, urgent and insistent. Outside, another smaller bell echoed back.
“What’s going on?” Bradley demanded as Renaldo herded them towards the staircase.
“Pirates are attacking a merchant vessel just offshore. If they fail to capture their prize, or if they’re feeling spicy in their victory, there’s a good chance they’ll turn their cannons on the town for a chance at extra plunder.
Summer holidays mean lots of visitors with coin to spend, after all. ”
“And you want us to hide in a basement?” Dirk exclaimed, shouting to be heard over the peal of the bell.
“A carefully curated and environmentally controlled wine cellar, but yes. While this library is indestructible to all but magical attacks, cannon balls can make the books pop out of the shelves. It’s been 3178 days since a patron was injured here, and we’d like to keep that record intact.
The Komodo monks will defend the library and its guests should it be breached, so never fear. Come along.”
“But what about Millie?” the Mini Red demanded.
Renaldo winced. “That fine lady will have to take her chances outside.”
Leave her to take her chances with pirates?
Bradley whirled and punched the Komodo square in his beautiful face. As the assistant staggered back, clutching his nose, the apprentice bolted for the front door. “C’mon, Dirk!”
The two of them escaped the library as the bell tolled a fourth time, its peal making the air shudder above them. The moment they crossed the threshold, the iron door of the library magically locked itself behind them.
“Get up in that sky and find her, Dirk.” Bradley sprinted down the sandy path to the boardwalk, sliding to a halt when the little dragon squealed, “There! On the pier. There she is!”
The fool of a princess was at the end of the pier, one hand holding her sunhat in place on her head against a fearsome wind, the other resting on the hilt of her cutlass.
“T— Millie, what are you doing?” Bradley shouted above the cannon fire. “We’ve got to go!”
But she was immovable, even when he tugged on her arm, fixated on the scene unfolding before them. But that wasn’t the joy of watching her dream unfold before her on her face. It was scrutiny. Assessment.
The merchant vessel hadn’t been sailing alone. Its armed escort was an agile schooner, and it valiantly defended its sister ship from the galleon dogging its heels. A jolly roger of a skull smoking a cigar flapped against a darkening sky.
Smoke drifted inland as the ships traded fire, stinging their eyes.
They could hear the boom of cannons and the splintering of wood and the cries of men even from this distance.
On the beach, the swimmers screamed as if a fleet of sharks were in the water instead of a single pirate galleon.
There was a great cacophony of slamming doors and shutters as businesses closed and boarded up.
The sound of pounding feet upon the boardwalk—the marines—was drowned out by the thunder of the incoming storm.
Then, magefire bloomed like a purple chrysanthemum across the deck of the pirate galleon, rippling up the pitch-covered rigging and devouring the mainmast.
“They have a war mage on the schooner,” Bradley breathed.
“They’re going to get away,” Millie said, voice hushed.
“Not those pirates. They’ll row for the closest land, which is right here. Come on.” He tugged on her hand.
“I don’t think they’ll make it.” She pointed.
Lightning threaded white and blue against the wall of darkness sweeping in from the west. Even in the low light, the whitecaps were stark against the churning sea.
“Bradley?” Dirk said in a small voice. “I can’t out-fly that.”
“We have to get inside.” When Bradley tugged on Millie’s hand again, she turned willingly.
The three raced down the pier, raindrops as fat as frogs pelting after their heels, and were promptly shouted at by the marines for lollygagging.
“Those are pirates, you fools,” the captain said. “Stop gawking and get inside or be mistaken for one if they land.”
It was a short run to The Dreary Pelican, made long by the ferocity of the wind and rain. It had begun to hail, and Millie cried out as marble-sized balls pelted her exposed arms. The same moment Bradley pulled her close, trying to shield her with his body, Dirk shoved himself into the air.
He spun a look over his shoulder and found only a wall of gray, the white-and-blue uniforms of the marines smudges of color bleeding away. No one would see him.