Chapter Six

Theft and Identity

Vyse took the rope in his arms and threw it heavily, grunting with the effort. The coil spread through the air and landed with a thud on the deck of the other ship. He glanced back at Aika, who yanked the other end of the rope to make sure it was secured to the mast, and then gave him the thumbs up. He stepped up onto the railing with the rope in his hands and leapt towards the other ship, twisting his body effortlessly, letting the rope slide between his hands and bending his knees for the landing. He landed with his legs bent and steadied himself with his hands before stretching up and throwing the rope back towards Aika. He waited until she had landed next to him, slightly less steady on her feet as he had, taking her hand and helping her up.

Below them in the engine room, Piastol and Maria huddled together. Piastol felt her sister flinch as a series of bumps echoed through the deck above them. She rubbed her hand through Maria's soft hair. Where was Doc? He'd been gone for a long time.

She felt braver than she truly was as she followed the ridge of Doc's knife with her thumb-tip. What if he never came back? What if she was going to die in the engine room of her own ship? Wouldn't the flames eventually find them, or worse, blow the ship apart?

She didn't know what to do. Whenever she didn't know the answer to something, she asked her father. Piastol knew she had to find him. He was all the girls had left after the death of their mother. She looked down at Maria. She had to leave her sister here, as it seemed safer for her to stay here than to come with her.

Her heart stopped suddenly as the door to the engine room swung open. Maria gasped. Piastol shuffled further behind the pipes, batting her sister with her hip to keep her further in and hidden. She turned her head to see what was going on.

Three men raced past. They weren't in the smart uniform of the Valuan fleet; in comparison, they looked quite unkempt. They were shouting; it was tough to hear if their shouts were cruel or neutral.

Piastol suddenly felt a rush of anger. If they were on her father's ship and not in crew uniform, then it must have been them. They had blown the ship apart, and now they were here for the treasure!

She watched, breathing heavily through her nostrils as the three men raced through the engine room, not noticing the two little girls behind the engine and the piping, and through the door leading back to the crew's quarters.

Piastol made up her mind. As soon as they were gone, she squeezed out of the pipes. Maria looked out at her quizzically, and then made to wriggle out and follow her sister. Piastol put a hand on her shoulder. "No," she said firmly. Maria looked at her with watery eyes. "You have to stay. Piastol is going to find daddy."

Her voice caught in her throat, and she willed herself not to cry. "I have to be brave," she said to her sister, "And you have to be brave too. Stay here, wait for me. Don't move, no matter what happens."

Maria began to cry silently as she watched her sister leave through the way the strange men had just come. "I love you," she whimpered. "I love you lots."

Piastol fled up the stairs to the top deck. Fire and smoke was everywhere. People were running around, none of them whom she recognised and none of them in Armada uniform.

She wanted to lash out, to hurt one of them, but she was a small girl and they were all grown men and women. She ran between them instead, noticing the ruins of the Captain's cabin. The people were clawing for her, making sounds with their strange mouths, but she was too quick for them. She climbed over the wreckage and found her voice. "Father! Father!"

She reached the other side. There were two figures, darkened like shadows against the blaze at the front of the ship. Piastol realised that they were young, like her. They were bent down over a body.

Piastol saw her father. She saw the two strangers stood over him, saw what looked like guilt on their faces.

He wasn't moving. His coat was on fire. There was oil on the floor – was it oil? She realised it was too dark to be oil. It couldn't be anything other than oil, could it?

Then she saw the boy's cloak flap in the breeze, saw the cutlass at his side. She added it up in her head. They had hurt him. It was blood on the deck, not oil. Her father's blood.

She let out a harsh cry like a wild animal. The two faces snapped towards her. She could do nothing, and now they would kill her.

Then she remembered the knife. She couldn't help her father, but she could make them hurt. She could make them hurt for ever like she was going to hurt, for the rest of their lives or even further. Like she knew she would feel for the rest of her life.

The girl was bent towards her father's body. She had placed her thieving raider hand on her father's arm.

Piastol snapped. She wrenched the knife upwards out of her belt, cutting herself and her nightclothes as she did so, but she felt nothing but a slight sting. With another cry she raised her arm, watching the strange faces distort with disbelief, and flung the knife with all her might towards the girl.