Return to Roar, page 10
“Mitch?” whispers Rose.
Mitch is sitting on the edge of a giant copper bath, her tail trailing in the water. Recognition flashes across her face. “ROSE TROUT!” she bellows, then she lifts her tail and slams it down, showering us with water.
With a cry of joy Rose shoves past me, and throws herself at her long-lost friend.
Mitch pulls her into a tight hug. “Is that really you, Rose? I don’t believe it!”
Then a lot of things happen at once. Mitch yanks a rope, opening a shutter, Rose laughs with happiness, and Win slips over in a pool of water, pulling me down with him.
When we get to our feet, Mitch’s arms are still wrapped tight around Rose. In fact, she looks like she’s never going to let go. Rose, meanwhile, is staring at Mitch with a mixture of wonder and pure happiness. I realize I haven’t seen Rose smile like this in ages. It’s totally different from her selfie smile, or her school smile. It’s massive, beaming, and it takes over her whole face.
Mitch does a hearty cackle. “Sorry about my crew and the creepy room and whatnot. I try to have a bit of an attitude when we take prisoners, you know, show them who’s boss. Well, I’m sorry for you, Rose. Win and Arthur”—she waggles a webbed finger in our direction—“not so much. HA HA HA!” Hearing that laugh again, deep-bellied and gravelly, I realize just how suited Mitch is to life as a pirate captain.
Mitch holds Rose away from her and looks at her appraisingly. “You’ve changed,” she says. “Got bigger and stuff . . . Why aren’t you talking?”
“Because I’m . . . happy,” manages Rose. “I missed you.”
“Yeah, I missed you too,” says Mitch. Then she grins, swings her tail out of the tub, and uses it to tap a battered leather sofa. “Grab a pew, me hearties, and tell me where you’ve been, and why you’re sailing around in some weird shark ship dressed as polar bears.”
The three of us perch in a row and Win and I take it in turns to talk, explaining how Crowky left us a message and that this led us to finding the map—her tattoo—and then the crow stealing it. Rose just stares at Mitch as if she might disappear at any moment.
“We can’t let him get the Box,” I say. “Me and Rose, our fears are different now. We don’t know what would come out of it, but it would definitely be much worse than a clown with big feet!”
“Hold up,” says Mitch. “Explain that bit about my tattoo again.”
“One of your tattoos shows where you hid the Box,” I say. “We know because we found a copy of it in your book.” Rose gets the tattoo kit out of the satchel and hands Mitch her book. She starts flicking through it. “You won’t find it in there,” I add, making Win shift uncomfortably. “It . . . fell out and Crowky got his hands on it.”
“And that is why it’s so brilliant that we’ve found you,” says Rose, finally finding her voice. “The picture showed mountains and a big waterfall, but it’s not a proper map. Crowky will be desperately trying to work out where he’s supposed to go, but you can lead us straight there!”
Mitch stares at us with a confused look on her face. “I’m sorry, but I do not know what you are talking about.”
“The map is one of your tattoos,” I say as slowly and clearly as possible, wondering why Mitch is finding this so hard to understand.
“What did it look like?” she says.
“A big drop of water,” says Rose, “with loads of stuff inside it, and, right at the bottom there was this little box and a goldfish.”
“Yep, that’s one of mine,” Mitch says, pushing up the sleeve of her black shirt and pointing at a tattoo on the inside of her left wrist.
Relief rushes through me. “It’s the same!” I say. “Look, the fish’s eye is a cross and the moon is bright yellow. They’re identical.”
“We worked out that you hid the Box at the End,” says Rose, “but that’s as far as we got. Mitch, where exactly did you hide the Box?”
Mitch laughs and slaps Rose on the shoulder. “I haven’t got a clue, Rose, me old mucker!”
Silence fills the cabin. Rose and I share a look of worry.
“I don’t know what any of my tattoos mean!” Mitch says cheerfully. Then she rolls back into the bath and wriggles around a bit. She pulls herself out and flops on the sofa next to Rose. “Sorry, itchy tail,” she says, flinging her mass of wet hair over our shoulders.
“But . . . Mitch,” says Rose, “you drew every single one of your tattoos for a reason, an important reason. That one there”—she points at a black feather crossed with a rosebud—“you put that on your wrist after Crowky and I had a fight in the waterfall. He stole your spell book, but I got it back!”
“You’re probably right.” Mitch presses her finger against the little box with the fish in it. “And I’m sure this is a map that shows where I hid the Box, but that’s what I keep trying to tell you: I can’t remember. My memory’s gone. Well, lots of it. I’m surprised I even remember you three.”
And just like that, our joy at finding Mitch and knowing we are so close to getting the Box fades away.
Mitch doesn’t seem to notice the effect her words have on us. She pulls up her other sleeve and turns her arms from side to side, examining her tattoos. Cheerfully she starts to point them out, one by one. “What’s that? A rat or a mouse? I don’t know! And what’s with all these starfish? There are loads of them. I’ve got some fish here and bubbles, tons of them, and something that looks like a weasel—actually, Win, that might be a picture of you—HA HA! I must have known what they meant once, but now they’re just a load of random pictures.” She ends her speech with a smile and a shrug.
“How did you lose your memory?” asks Rose. She’s shrunk low on the sofa. I’m not sure she wants to hear this story.
“It’s so strange. One day I was lying in my hammock chatting to a mermaid and the next thing I knew—bang!—I was floating in the Bottomless Ocean, only I didn’t know how I had got there.” Mitch laughs in amazement, but Rose and I know exactly how she got there. As we grew up and began to forget about Roar, things started to disappear. The moment Mitch vanished must have been the moment when Rose’s belief in her finally faded away.
“But you were fine, right?” I say, knowing how bad Rose must be feeling right now. “No lasting damage?”
Mitch snorts. “Well, my tail was still there, and my hair was looking as awesome as ever, but I’d lost my memory. I knew that I was an uber-powerful merwitch, and I could remember some people, like you three, and Crowky, but that was about it.”
“So what did you do?” asks Rose.
Mitch shrugs. “I swam, and the water got colder and colder, and that’s when the crew of the Alisha fished me out of the sea in a net. At first they were going to chuck me back in—they were annoyed I wasn’t something they could eat—but with a little bit of persuasion”—she pauses here to grin—“and quite a lot of magic, they decided to make me their captain.”
“So you didn’t forget your magic?” asks Win. He almost sounds disappointed as he says this, and I remember how jealous he used to be of Mitch’s skills.
“I forgot a bit,” says Mitch, “but it came back pretty fast.” Then she leans back, grabs a jar off a shelf, takes out a pinch of what look like petals, and blows them into the air. She mutters something under her breath and instantly they turn into burning lights that float around the cabin.
They twist and turn, revealing shelf after shelf of bottles and jars, all stuffed full of ingredients. Blobs of seaweed pulsate and glow. Worms squirm around each other. Leaves, petals, feathers, pieces of fur, stones, crystals, and things I just can’t identify are packed into each container. I read some of the labels: Petrel Chick Feathers, Penguin Breath: HOT, Penguin Breath: TEPID, Seal Droppings, Rain, Mist, Mangy Rabbit . . .
Rose smiles as the flickers of light continue their journey around the room, revealing dried objects hanging from the ceiling: bunches of herbs, garlands of mushrooms, and some furry things that look worryingly like tails.
“Still don’t use a wand?” says Win, casually taking out his own wand and muttering: “Fuzz button.” A slight wind wafts through the cabin. He nods. “Just what I wanted to happen.”
Mitch snorts. “A wand? I don’t think so, Win. I do proper magic, not party tricks like you. I respect the laws of M.O.O.N. and as a consequence my magic is powerful and profound.”
Win tries to do his own mocking snort. “M.O.O.N. That’s just herb tea and mushed-up flowers to put on burns!”
“What is M.O.O.N.?” I ask.
Mitch curls her fingers into a fist. The letters M.O.O.N. are tattooed on her knuckles. “M—I can make, but I can’t break,” she says. “That means I can’t blow stuff up. O—Owls are sacred. I can never harm them. The next O stands for Ooooooh! That’s what my magic has to make you feel. So I can’t use magic because I’m feeling lazy, like to make a cup of tea.” She waggles her fist around. “Finally, N—nature. I can only use what nature provides to make a spell, and my spell has to be part of nature.”
“So, you could use the sun, but you couldn’t use . . . my sneakers?” I say.
“Exactly, Arthur.” Then she shoots an annoying smile in Win’s direction. “M.O.O.N., the most noble and best form of magic EVER!”
And also something that was obviously made up by my sister when she was about six.
“It sounds rubbish,” mutters Win.
“Well, it works for me.” Mitch grabs a handful of dried seaweed, puts it on the tip of her tail, and gently bats it toward Win’s face.
Instantly the seaweed vanishes and the cabin window blows open. Then there is a swoosh and a rogue wave arcs through the window and hits Win in the face, totally soaking him.
“HA HA!” cackles Mitch, collapsing against Rose, who is also shaking with laughter.
Obviously I feel bad for my wet friend, but it’s so good to see Rose laughing again, and I mean proper belly laughing, that I can’t help joining in.
Perhaps it’s this that makes Win draw his wand and yell, “FLOATY POTATO!” A single green star bursts from his wand, lands on his knee and stings him. “OW!” He rubs hard at the spot. “I must have got the words wrong. There should have been at least five of them, and they should have landed all over Mitch!”
Mitch has recovered enough to throw a pile of blue feathers in the air. In a flash they turn to snow—blue snow—which falls directly over Win.
“Whistle fur!” he cries. This is Win’s best spell—his marshmallow spell—and he says it with plenty of passion and conviction because marshmallows start pinging out of his wand like it’s a marshmallow machine gun.
WHACK! Mitch sends some crushed beetles toward Win that become a whirl of sand.
“Jazzy cheese!” Smelly green smoke billows from Win’s wand.
And so it goes on, and Rose and I find ourselves caught in the cross fire of a magic-off. Mitch is obviously the winner—her pink hailstones are truly magnificent—but this doesn’t stop Win from magicking up endless smoke and stars until we’re all choking and wet and struggling to breathe.
“Watch this,” says an out-of-breath Mitch, pouring a ladle of something green and luminous on her tail, but we don’t get to see her next spell because we’re interrupted by a gentle tap, tap, tap, coming from the window.
Something is sitting there. A crow.
It has a curved beak and two huge yellow eyes. It leans forward and pecks the window again. Tap, tap, tap. When it sees that it’s got our attention it does something extremely creepy. It lifts up its wing, curves its feathers, and waves. Just like a person.
“Urgh,” says Mitch. “What is that thing?”
“It’s one of Crowky’s birds,” says Rose. “He makes them . . . somehow. They’re his spies—”
“And messengers,” I add.
“Right.” Mitch leaps into action, reaching up and snatching a bottle of deep blue powder off the shelf. “Let’s send a message to Crowky.”
But before she can even unscrew the lid, the crow has nudged the window open with its beak and dived into the cabin. Its huge wings knock the bottle from Mitch’s hands, then it swoops around the room, once, twice, shrieking as it goes. I throw my arms up to protect my head and its claws graze my skin. Bottles smash and dried mushrooms rain down on us.
Then, as quickly as it arrived, the crow flies out of the window and back across the icy sea.
We take in the destruction in the room. The crow has done considerable damage, smashing a whole row of bottles and scattering their contents over the floor. Next to my feet some little fish wriggle in a puddle of sparkly liquid.
Then I see a folded piece of paper has been dropped in my lap. “Look,” I say. When I open it I find four words scrawled inside: WHAT’S IN THE BOX?
“Do you think he’s found it?” Rose’s voice is quiet. I can tell how scared she is.
Mitch notices Rose’s fear too. She slams her tail down and lets out a growl of rage. It’s so scary I shrink back against Win. Then she jabs a finger at the tattoo on her wrist and says, “We are going to find the Box before that stupid scarecrow can get his hands on it because I do not like it when people mess with my magic, and I hate it when they MESS WITH MY FRIENDS!”
Then she scoops up some of the spilled ingredients and slaps them on her tail. She pulls herself over to the window and flings the whole lot out. We hear a rumble of thunder, quiet at first then building in intensity. Next comes a flash of lightning that’s so colossal it jolts my heart and seems to split the sky in two.
“TAKE THAT, CROWKY!” she screams out of the window.
“Hot tub, anyone?” Despite having just made a storm, Mitch’s voice is unnervingly calm.
Without waiting for an answer she reaches up and pulls herself through a hatch in the ceiling. We go outside and find her swimming around a circular pool overlooking the deck. The pool is similar to her bath, only bigger, and steam rises from the water. She rests on the copper side and pulls up her sleeve. “Right, let’s work out where I hid the Box.”
Her tail flips from side to side as she stares at the tattoo. We all hold our breath.
After a moment she points at the waterfall. “I think I know where this is. There’s this waterfall that we call the Vampire because it’s frozen into sharp points like fangs. We’ll head there and maybe I’ll remember more on the way.”
I feel a rush of optimism. Mitch sounds so calm and confident that us beating Crowky to the Box seems like a possibility again. I want to get going straight away. “Whose ship shall we take?” I say.
Mitch laughs. “Well, mine obviously, because yours is rubbish.”
We look over at the Bowt bobbing up and down in the water, its underpants flag flapping in the wind. “I suppose yours is bigger,” admits Rose.
“And it hasn’t got a face,” says Mitch. “But I’m afraid we’re going to have to do a bit of pillaging before we set sail. It’s nothing personal, just how us pirates do things: we nick stuff, then share it out.” With a loud bellow she gives an order that makes her crew of orangutans drop what they’re doing and go leaping across the net to the Bowt.
“Can I go and get some candy?” asks Win, a note of panic in his voice.
Mitch shrugs. “Sure, but you’ll have to fight them for it.”
“Wish me luck!” he cries, then with a whoop he pulls out his wooden sword and goes clambering across the net.
Mitch grins. “This should be fun,” she says, then she settles back in her hot tub, ready to watch a ninja wizard fight a load of apes for sweets.
“Get me some rocky road!” I shout as Win dodges an orangutan’s fist and disappears below deck.
Once all the pillaging is over, and Win has returned bruised but triumphant, his pockets bulging with sweets, we say goodbye to the honey badgers. Mitch invited them to join her crew but Danny and Eric were keen to head off alone and sail north beyond the End to try their luck on the Slushy Seas, whatever they are.
“I’m still your captain!” Rose calls after them as our two ships slip apart. At least, that’s what she claims she said. To me it sounded like a load of growls.
It’s sad to say goodbye to our strange ship, and our even stranger crew, but as the Alisha’s sails fill with wind it’s obvious we’ve made the right decision. The Alisha is fast, and soon we’re racing across the sea. Plus it feels good knowing we’re on board a ship that’s bigger than the Raven and captained by a witch.
Mitch announces that we are going to sail through the night to make up for lost time. I offer to help on the rigging, but it’s clear the orangutans don’t want me getting under their feet. So, while the sun sets, I lean back against Mitch’s hot tub (I have to, it’s freezing) and start to map the End.
Using paper and a pen borrowed from Mitch, I draw the line of mountains we sailed through and everything I can see ahead of us. I carefully draw the strange creatures I’ve already spotted: a huge, fluffy white whale, a whole gang of flying penguins, and some sort of manatee that I thought was a blob of seaweed until it lifted its head out of the water and started mewing.
There’s a bang as Mitch opens the trapdoor from her cabin. She drops into her hot tub, has a quick swim under the water, then comes to see what I’m doing. “That mountain’s way bigger,” she says, leaving a wet fingerprint on my map. “And tomorrow you’ll see that the islands are pointier . . . but I suppose this is all new to you.”
It is all new to me, but at the same time it feels strangely familiar, and I think I know why. Now we’re sailing through this world of pirate ships and whales and snow, I’m starting to wonder if it was mainly my ideas that got sent to the End. After all, it was me who was into pirates, and me who was obsessed with all things snowy. I’ve watched Frozen Planet loads of times and one Christmas I got the book and a cuddly baby seal. I used to pretend that seal was a killer whale and make it destroy boats full of Lego people.
Just then one of the furry whales arcs out of the water, racing alongside the ship. It fixes us with a small eye, shoots a fountain of glittering water from its blowhole, then disappears beneath the waves again.
