Wicked's Way by Anna Fienberg

Author:Anna Fienberg
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Allen & Unwin
Published: 2016-02-03T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 18

As Wicked rowed away from Devil Island, the sun was low and the voices of the villagers grew as faint as the moon’s shadow in the east. He didn’t know where he was headed.

It was strange, that’s what it was, as mysterious as a catfish with legs. Now he was the one escaping, with as much treasure as a pirate could carry, and yet he felt worse than at any time he could remember. Almost without noticing, they’d let him take his own share, steal the dinghy, and only bothered to murmur ‘good riddance’ as he’d sailed off.

‘And good riddance to you too, you rotten rubbish,’ he’d yelled back, but the wind off the sea had lifted his voice up with the spray, and thrown it away.

Heading into wide open sea, Wicked tried to concentrate on the simple stroke of his oars, the splash as they hit the water. His eyes scanned the horizon – no land, no nothing interrupted the flat gilded world ahead. It didn’t matter; right then, he didn’t care where he ended up. He’d never known what was coming, or what to do about it when it came, so what was the point of planning anything now?

You took it in the teeth, same as always.

All around, the darkening ocean spread out as empty as Wicked’s future. He could see no sign of life to the north, south, east or west. But he rowed on. For a while his arms ached, but then he stopped feeling it. The motion of the oars dipping down and up, down and up, almost sent him to sleep. He was tired, so bloomin’ tired.

But wait, up there, what was that on the horizon? A shape looming up like … like the humped back of an animal. He blinked, wondering if he was dreaming. He looked again.

Land. Definitely land.

Wicked felt a rush of relief. For hours now he’d been wondering if he was turning into the Captain, alone in an old dinghy, drifting on the seas …

As he rowed nearer, he realised that this must be Turtle Island. He remembered sailing towards it once before, his heart full of hope.

The first star rose, twinkling brightly like one of the diamonds in the sack at his feet. Wicked felt his spirits rise with it. His toes felt for the rough canvas with the lumps of treasure inside. He’d taken his share before he left, all right. Spanish gold, bars of silver, strings of pearls, diamonds, rubies the colour of burning coals. He’d worked for it like everyone else, hadn’t he? It’d buy him anything he wanted. They couldn’t take that from him, no! He just hadn’t wanted to spend his lot in that blasted place with those blasted villagers and their happy, everything’s-rosy-now faces.

Rosy for who?

Wicked wriggled uncomfortably in the boat.

How they all hated him now!

Even Horrendo. That lad was the worst. He’d only been nice to Wicked because he was under a curse – of niceness! But now the lad was roaring like the most pernicious pirate on the Cannonball Seas.

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