The Last Scarecrow

8 | HMS Fortitude

Erin's mind had wandered.

Being back on the water after all that time on Coldharbour Farm had frightened her far more than she'd realised. It was like visiting the scene of a viscous crime, or climbing a terrifying mountain, or returning to a nightmare that you'd only just woken from. But here she was, out on the Endless Blue. She saw the faces of her parents in the sun-dappled waves, their bodies swimming up towards her, their hands ready to break the surface.

But she knew they were gone.

She looked around in the water for Clyde but he was nowhere to be seen.

Missing.

Lost.

Gone?

These images were just dreams and nightmares creeping into her waking life; her hopes, struggling desperately for air.

Shaking the visions loose, her eyes found the enormous ship. It glinted on the horizon like a shining penny. Her mind melted into the painting of The Haughty Jinx with its rows of booming cannons, masts the size of giant redwoods, sails billowing in red and black.

As their little boat came closer to the mighty vessel, Erin's illusions were somewhat diminished.

Instead of a mighty galleon, a silent grey hulk cut the water like a giant steel blade. The hull was rent and scarred, pitted with large holes and dusted with soot and gunpowder. It looked as though a thousand monsters had dragged their claws down the sides, punching fiery fists clean through.

Demons, she thought.

An eerie yawn of bending metal filled the silent sea. The ship listed gently, gliding through the water in an enormous clockwise circle.

"What sort of ship is this?" asked Twelve.

"A warship," Erin replied. Pushing her glasses up her nose, she strained to read the name on the hull. "HMS— Fortitude, I think."

"What happened to it?"

"The Many Years Storm," Raven rattled immediately, as if that were the answer to every bad thing that had ever happened.

"We should go aboard," Erin said excitedly.

"Agreed," Twelve added.

Positioning Lazarus next to the hull, Raven flew up onto the deck, located a length of rope and began the arduous task of lowering it to Twelve and Erin. This done, the scarecrow tied Lazarus off and they both ascended onto the deck.

The scarecrow seemed to zip up the rope with less effort than it took her to walk.

Conversely, Erin found the climb particularly difficult. The course rope cut into her hands, making her malnourished muscles burn.

Twelve peered over the edge and extended a long arm to help.

Once on deck, huge turrets sat squarely in front and behind them, loaded with powerful gun-barrels aimed at the sky. Fire hoses, ropes, gas masks, and other lifesaving equipment hung on the grey walls. Signs at every doorway, issued cautions and warnings.

The ship yawned again.

Twelve adjusted her stance as the ship tilted gently.

Erin held onto the scarecrow's arm, her plimsoles slipping on the deck.

A three-storey tower stood at midships topped with radar, sonar and echo-locating devices, satellite dishes and an assortment of brightly coloured flags and pennants.