Miya Black was fourteen years old and bored. She was fourteen years old because around fourteen and a half years ago her mother, Lilith ‘Lily’ Black (née Brightburn), the queen of Clover Island, had given birth during a momentous thunderstorm, while her father, Tomas Black (AKA Black Boots, a pirate of somewhat dubious infamy), the king of Clover Island, fought with half a dozen soldiers outside the room. Tomas won the fight with little more than a gash on his right arm, Lilith gave birth to a beautiful, screaming baby girl, and the Legendary Saga Of Miya Black began. Miya was bored because currently the Legendary Saga Of Miya Black consisted of little more than lumping around after her mother, gazing wistfully out the window, and sighing hugely.
“Forty-two,” said Lilith, not looking up from the ledger she was intently checking.
“Forty-two what?” Miya asked, somewhat tensely.
“Forty-two massively melodramatic sighs. That’s how many times today you’ve opened that mouth of yours and let loose with a sigh that would give Simon Sighmonson the Sighing Champion of the Great Sigh Empire some very decent competition.”
“Well maybe if I had something to do—”
“There’s plenty to do, what’s there not to do? Why don’t you help me check these tax records?”
“Why don’t I? Let me think. Could it be because that sounds like the most boring thing in the whole world?”
“Mundane but necessary. The life of a queen,” said Lilith. She hummed a little as she started on a new page. “It’s actually very satisfying.”
Miya yawned.
“Forty-three,” said her mother.
“You don’t have to count them, you know,” said Miya. “And that was a yawn, anyway, not a sigh.”
“Oh!”
“It wasn’t that great an observation.”
“I just remembered something. You might enjoy this.”
Miya looked up, mildly interested, as her mother opened a drawer.
“I’d forgotten about this until just then,” said Lilith. “I found it yesterday while I was reorganising my jewellery box. Here.”
Miya’s mother held out a silver necklace with a rather unattractive and bulky locket hanging from it. Miya took the necklace and looked at it dubiously.
“Uh?”
“The locket opens, Miya. Look inside.”
Miya pushed her thumbnail into the edge of the locket and sprung it open.
“It’s a picture of me,” she said. “When did you get this done?”
Miya looked up from the tiny portrait to see her mother beaming triumphantly at her.
“Huh? I don’t get it.”
“That locket is almost thirty years old, as awful as it feels to say that. I received it on my fourteenth birthday. Don’t I always say that you look just like me at that age?”
“Are you serious?” Miya found herself newly fascinated by the picture in the locket—now that she looked again there were differences; yes, the hair was longer, the ears different, the shape of the face softer, and of course the scars Miya had on her cheek and mouth weren’t there, but even so—
“It’s actually kind of weird,” said Miya, after studying the picture for a while.
“I have to admit, I had exactly your reaction when I first found it—’how on earth did a portrait of Miya get in here?’.”
“Thanks for showing me,” said Miya, as she handed it back. “That took up, wow, at least half a minute.”
“For goodness sake, are you back to grumping already?”
“Maybe it’s being stuck inside that does it, I think I’m just an outside sort of person.”
“So go outside, take Sam for a walk, it’s a nice day … the sun’s out, at least.”
“I already took him for a walk this morning, a really long one all around the upper fields. And it looks pretty breezy out, anyway.” Miya put on her best ‘princess’ voice: “You know how I simply abhor the cold.”
“Then wear your scarf.”
“I … um, I lost that scarf, unfortunately,” said Miya, looking out the window innocently.
“Honestly, that’s the third scarf this month, if this keeps up I’m going to stop making them for you.”
“That’d be nice.”
“Pardon?”
“I’ll try to be more careful,” said Miya.
“The thing that confuses me is that you’re normally so collected when it comes to your possessions—you’ve never misplaced that blasted sword of yours, have you?”
“A pirate must always know where her weapon is,” said Miya, seriously. Lilith grimaced and shook her head.
“What?” Miya snapped. “It’s just a word. ‘Pirate’. Irate pirates gyrate on a plate. It’s not like saying ‘pirate’ magically makes pirates appear or something—unfortunately.”
“I just don’t like hearing it. As a favour to me, Miya, please don’t say that word while I’m around.”
Miya sighed again, quietly. “Fine,” she said. “Anyway, you weren’t complaining about me knowing where my sword was when I defeated Badger Pete—”
“For goodness sake, Miya, would you shut up about that?”
Miya stared at her mother, shocked at the sudden irritation in her tone. Lilith glowered back at her—she rarely glared or even scowled, but she could glower with the best of them, just a tiny wrinkle in her forehead and a darkness in her eyes signalling her disapproval.
“I was only saying—”
“That was over half a year ago, Miya, and we have bigger things to worry about now. The refugees, clearing the northern jungle, the fact that Blackport is bursting at the seams and we have nowhere to put these people—barely enough to feed them. It’d be very nice if there were some big bad monster for you to fight to make these problems go away but there isn’t. It’s not that simple. And I know that you’re bored being stuck here but perhaps you should have considered the consequences of your actions before you caused the mess you did—”
“That wasn’t my fault, that SO wasn’t my fault! That guy was one of the thugs who tried to kidnap me—”
“I don’t care, Miya, I’ve heard this before from both you and your father, many times. I’m sick of it. It’s done now, you’re living with the consequences, I don’t need to hear about it again.”
Miya gasped at the injustice of this. “YOU brought it up, not me! That’s SO unfair!”
“Regardless of who brought it up, it is now being dropped. Understood?”
Miya rolled her eyes and sulked for a while.
“I’m sure I could be doing SOMETHING useful, if I was allowed to,” she muttered, eventually. Lilith sighed.
“You have a long list of things you’re allowed to do,” she said, “I think we were very fair about the terms of your grounding. Why don’t you go and help with the felling project, if you’re sick of being cooped up indoors? Honestly, Miya, when are you going to use all this potential you have?”
“I use my potential! What would you know about it? And I did help out with the felling, remember? Or has your memory started to go already?”
“Yes, you were very helpful. I’d go so far as to say that you were great. You worked as hard as anyone else there, you cheered others on, you bounced around that camp like an energetic little feel-good fairy and you provided a fantastic example to the other workers. I swear productivity doubled that day you were there. That one day you were there.”
“Well … I’d done it then,” muttered Miya.
“And there it is, the infamous Apathy of Miya Black. If it’s not an adventure it’s not worth doing.”
“What? That’s unfair!”
“Then why just the one day? Why not go back?”
“I … it’s just … GAH! You just don’t understand me! You don’t even TRY to understand me! I’ll be in the library—or is READING too ADVENTUROUS for you?”
Miya didn’t wait to hear her mother’s reply, instead flounced out of the room and slammed the door behind her. How dare she? she thought, as she stomped her way to the library. I should be the hero of this island, not grounded JUST for attacking a known kidnapper! And so what if the Southern Freebooters didn’t join the Rainbow Alliance, we don’t need them! (Well, we kind of do, actually, said the tiny voice that Miya had become very familiar with lately. She wasn’t sure where it had come from but she suspected it might be some kind of rebellious ounce of common sense. I’m fourteen and a half years old, Miya thought, common sense is the last thing I need!) (Still, though, that irritating tiny voice may have kind of a point in this case; who do we have in the alliance so far? Triangle Island, a tentative promise of further talks from Outlook Island and that’s it? What’s WRONG with people? Can’t they SEE?)
Muttering under her breath and with a heavy expression on her face, Miya stomped into the library. She pulled a book off a shelf without looking to see what it was, sat heavily in a chair, opened the book at random, and started reading it. She was so annoyed that it took more than a minute for her to realise that the book she’d chosen was her childhood favourite, Necessary Tales. For some reason this irritated Miya still further, and she tossed it across the room with an annoyed grunt—although she regretted the action as soon as the book left her hand. She watched as it hit the far wall and split open, half the pages falling free and scattering over the floor.
Miya looked at the broken book for a few moments, conflicted in feeling—irritation jostling with self-pity and indignation, all of which were shoved out of the way to make room for a massive lump of guilt, which sat in her gut grumbling and prodding her until she got up and stomped over to the scattered pages and began picking them up. She was about halfway done when she heard a gasp from the doorway.
“Hi, Sola,” she said, without turning around. No one except her half-brother would have reacted with that much horror at the sight of a damaged book.
“What happened?” he asked, entering and kneeling beside Miya, gathering scattered pages with his big hands, displaying all the care you’d expect of a nurse with an ailing patient.
“Oh … you know, just an accident,” said Miya, unable to bring herself to admit her actions, not to Sola. He’d never be able to look at her the same way again if he knew she’d hurt a book. “It was kind of an old book, this was pretty inevitable.”
“I’ve repaired several books at the school, I’ll do my best with this one also,” said Sola, his tone as solemn as anything Miya had ever heard. “I know this book means a lot to you.”
“Yeah,” said Miya, the guilt sitting in her gut inflating several sizes and growing spikes. “Um, I mean, yes, it does. Thanks.”
She passed the tattered cover of the book to him, and he accepted it with grave dignity.
“Such an awful sight,” he said. Miya grimaced.
“I, um … hey, are you getting any northern island kids at the—” Miya stopped as she saw Sola’s face darken. “Oh. Well, um … keep trying, you know? Sometimes it just takes people a long time to come around to something new—”
“It has been over half a year. I have made six trips to my home. Every time the same thing happened; I arrived, I talked, and then I left, the only change being a few more footsteps on the beaches, to be quickly washed away by the tides. All that I have achieved is to make more solid the belief in my people, ‘that Sola, he has some crazy ideas’.”
“Oh, it can’t be that bad,” said Miya. She looked at Sola’s face. “Can it?”
Sola shook his head. “I thought that things would change. After …” he waved his hand, a simple gesture elegantly summing up the temporary enslavement of most of the northern islanders. “I thought … but I am not strong enough, not in that way. If only my mother were alive, I know she would find the words … like keys.”
Miya looked at Sola, her expression soft.
“Um, what?” she said, after a moment.
“Keys,” said Sola. “Words are like keys. If you find the right words they can unlock an idea, or a belief—a mind. Words have power. The right words can change the world.”
As usual, Miya had little idea what her brother was talking about.
“So you’re saying that … oh my goodness.” Miya’s tone lowered and she moved just a little closer to Sola. “Are you saying that your mother could do magic?”
“No! But YES!” Sola rarely raised his voice, even now the difference was not great, but Miya felt the impact deep in her chest. “She could make a crying child laugh, she could relieve an injured man’s suffering, she could heal broken bonds, she could win fights without striking a single blow, and all with nothing but words, THAT is magic. But me? I can barely get them to listen to my words. I am not my mother. I have not her magic.”
“But … but the kids at the school, the school here, they listen to you, right? Whenever I go to one of your classes … keeping a bunch of kids quiet while you just talk …” Miya suddenly realised what Sola had
meant. “Yeah, that IS like magic! Like little Niki, I can’t remember five times I’ve seen him even sitting still, but when you’re speaking at his class he’s always quiet.”
“The children here …” Sola trailed off, then smiled. “I can only say, your mother and our father, they have done well. They have created a great place. Where even the children who will not sit still know how to listen. But my people … my people are good at remembering, but they have forgotten how to listen. Perhaps the children may yet learn … there is one girl in particular in whom I see hope … but, they do not come.”
“Then take the lessons to them! Build a school on Tonfa-Tonfa!”
Sola shook his head. “No. That is not the answer either. Nobody can be forced to change. That way leads to conflict, argument, struggle.”
Privately Miya thought that didn’t sound so bad, but she didn’t say anything.
“Our father—Dad,” Sola corrected himself, with the slightest of smiles. “He thinks that Clover Island should be more active in the lives of the northern islanders. Take to them education, take to them ideas of medicine, ideas of commerce, ideas of living. This thinking … I agree but I CANNOT agree. There is a balance of life in the northern islands, sometimes I feel it is so delicate that the wrong breeze could upset it. To bring Clover Island’s ideals to them, at this time … no. That would certainly lead to unbalance.”
Miya watched Sola as he placed the last loose page of Necessary Tales inside the book’s cover. He closed it gently, then stayed still a moment, gazing at the broken book. Very quietly, he sighed.
“You can only bring an idea to a person halfway,” he said. “Set it before them, display it for them, attempt to cast a favourable light upon it. But it is always they who must make the final move. You cannot force an idea onto a person; the person must come to the idea.”
*
“You shouldn’t be down here, Coconut. Does your mother know where you are?”
“I won’t tell if you won’t,” said Miya, watching her father wind a length of rope into a tight coil.
“Miya …”
“Come on, Dad, it’s been almost a month. Look, my hand’s fine.”
“What’s that got to do with anything?”
“Dad! You said when my hand had healed the grounding would be over, REMEMBER?”
Tomas grinned at the rope he was coiling. “Let me see it, then.”
Miya held out her hand.
“OW!”
“Not quite healed, I think.”
“Dad! That was … ow! You didn’t have to hit my hand!”
Tomas shrugged, then put the coiled rope down and picked up another length.
“As I said, you shouldn’t be down here.”
“But I miss it SO much, you wouldn’t believe. I can’t take this lack of freedom.”
“Try being married sometime.”
“I am so telling Mum you said that.”
“I am so telling Mum you came down here.”
Miya looked at her father a moment.
“Okay, so maybe now we’ve both got something on each other,” she said. “You’re going out, right? In my ship?”
“Maybe. Haven’t decided yet. If I wanted to, though,” said Tomas, looking up at the sky, a reflective look on his face, “I would certainly be very free indeed to pursue that course of action. On the other hand, I’m equally free to just stand here coiling ropes all afternoon. That’s the nice thing about freedom, it gives you so many choices. You remember freedom, don’t you Coconut? It’s that thing you used to have before that hot little head of yours got us—”
“Okay, okay, you don’t have to keep rubbing it in, I get it, I messed up, I made a mistake. Let’s forget all that and just have an adventure!”
“Come on, Miya, you’re not being fair. I let a lot of things slide with you—yes, I do, and if you search that occasionally biased memory of yours, and if you’re honest with yourself, I think you have to agree with me on that. I’m more than fair to you. I give you a lot of free passes.”
Miya opened her mouth, then closed it again.
“Anyway,” said Tomas, “what about sorting out Governor Henry? Now THAT was an adventure, you can’t deny that.”
“Dad, that was, like, MONTHS ago, I can barely even remember that far back,” said Miya. She kicked at a loose plank on the wharf. “I want a NEW adventure.”
“Miya, that Outlook Island affair should be enough adventure to last you at least through to your next birthday.”
“Are you kidding? It was barely enough to last me through that month, it’s like … how would Sola put it, he’s so good at ‘putting’ things. It’s like reading a book, no matter how interesting it is, no matter how great the story is, after you’ve read it a couple of times you want something new. Right? That’s like adventure!”
“Adventure isn’t food or water or books, Miya. It’s not a basic need.”
“It is to me!” Miya twirled on the docks. “I need adventure. I need adventure forever.”
Tomas looked at his daughter, laughter in his eyes.
“What? Are you laughing at me without laughing again? You know I HATE it when you do that.”
“Sorry, Coconut, I’m honestly not, I was just … just then, you reminded me very strongly of someone.”
“Yourself when you were younger, I know,” muttered Miya, sitting heavily on one of the wharf’s bollards.
“No, I was thinking of someone different.”
“Huh? Who then?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“WHO, Dad?”
“Really now, do you need me to tell you who you are?” Tomas asked. “I think you must at least have an inkling by now—”
“Just one girl in all the world, I know,” said Miya. Her father had often used this phrase to describe her, a way of reminding her that although she WAS a princess, she was also just one person; keep yourself grounded, is what it said to her. Remember that you have limits.
“Not exactly what I was getting at,” said Tomas, “but it’ll do. Not everything has to be a great adventure, Coconut. Not everything CAN be. Treat this time as an opportunity, as a blessing—sometimes ‘nothing’ can be the greatest reward of all.”
“I do know when you’re talking rubbish, Dad, and I’d just like to tell you that nothing you just said made me feel better in the least.”
Tomas shrugged with a grin. “At least I try,” he said. “Look, you’d better get back to the house or one of your ‘approved’ areas before one of your mother’s spies sees you.”
“Mum has spies?”
“No, that was more ‘rubbish’. Really though, I’d prefer it if you and I weren’t seen together in this kind of place, she’d just assume the worst and it’d be me who paid for it.”
“Fine, I’ll go then.” Miya stood and started walking up the wharf, away from her father and towards town. “You do a good enough job of getting into trouble without me, anyway.”
*
Several days later, in a fit of bored desperation, Miya rode her horse out to the northern refugee camps. She didn’t much like coming here, it always made her depressed—but more than that, it annoyed her because she couldn’t quite figure out why, exactly, it had that effect on her. Perhaps it was that she couldn’t do anything to help the people here. Or that the things she COULD do to help them were difficult and dull and so small as to seem not worth doing at all. It didn’t seem fair, that all these people were here, in tents and small, makeshift huts, and that they were her responsibility (or Clover Island’s responsibility, anyway—which, indirectly at least, made them her responsibility). It wasn’t even the fact that they WERE here, Miya liked that they were here, she always loved it when new people came to the island. It was just … it was just that there weren’t homes for them to come to, that there simply weren’t enough houses or the resources to build them, that these people had little money, few possessions, and that this wasn’t really anyone’s fault, no one close enough to punch, anyway … every time Miya came here her palms itched, she wanted to fight whoever was responsible for this state of affairs. The problem was that she’d already done that—it was Badger Pete who had attacked these people’s islands, it was Badger Pete who had burnt these people’s homes to the ground, it was Badger Pete who had driven them here. And Miya had, with the help of her family, defeated Badger Pete, and while that had stopped him from doing any further damage, it did nothing to help the harm and the hurt he had already caused. So what could she do now? Go to his little prison island, beat him up again? What would that achieve?
“Nothing,” she muttered.
“Huh?”
“What?”
Miya’s friend Penny looked at her.
“What?” Penny eventually said. Penny had automatically invited herself along on the ride, since horses were involved.
“I don’t know!” said Miya.
“Don’t say things suddenly with no context! You know of my distaste for a lack of context!”
They rode past the rows of makeshift homes, some little more than a stretch of fabric strung between a couple of strong sticks. People waved to Miya as she passed, some calling out to her:
“Hello, Princess!”
“Good to see you, Princess!”
“Enjoy your ride, Princess!”
Miya smiled and waved back, but inside she was thinking, why are you waving to me? Why are you greeting me? I’m not even really your princess, you didn’t even choose to come here, you were forced from your homes! (But, said Miya’s tiny voice, they DID choose to run here, and then they chose to stay.)
“I wish they’d say something to me too. It’s so awkward,” said Penny. “Then again, what can they say? ‘Hello, astonishingly beautiful girl riding with the princess! You’re looking especially clever and talented today!’. It’d be a bit of a mouthful. I kind of understand why they don’t say it. I suppose as long as they’re thinking it, that’s the important thing.”
“Huh.”
“Gosh, you’re in such a good mood,” said Penny. She grinned, and Miya knew that her friend’s favourite joke was coming. “Me for your thoughts?”
“We don’t even USE pennies any more, it doesn’t even WORK as a joke.”
“Still, though. What’s the prob?”
Miya sighed and waved a sullen hand at the refugee camp. Penny looked around.
“Is the degradation getting you down? Actually, for a refugee camp the people here seem pretty … what’s the opposite of degradation? Aggradation? That seems somehow incredibly wrong. But you know what I mean, they’re pretty happy around here.” Penny waved to a family at their camp site, and they all waved back. “See? Aggradised!”
“That’s not even a word.”
“Oh, come on, Princess Grumpypants! It’s a nice day, people are smiling and waving, that little girl just there is sooooo cute, look at her Miya, look at her! With that little yellow ribbon in her hair, hello! Hello!”
Penny waved to the little girl, who looked up at the two riders and their horses, her eyes wide as she hesitantly waved back.
“Plus,” said Penny, as they passed the girl, “we’re riding horses. I think in some parts of the world it’s actually illegal to have a bad time while you’re on a horse. The local authorities see you frowning on horseback? Wham! Off to the brig with ye, you—ye scurvy … rat!”
“Penny, please don’t try to talk ‘pirate’, you really just can’t do it, it’s kind of embarrassing.”
“Well, whatever, you’re starting to annoy me now.”
“This isn’t enough!” Miya snapped. “All this, is this really the best we can do?”
“Well, it’s pretty good considering everything. At least everyone’s got a place to sleep and enough food.”
“Only just barely, if there’s any kind of problem at all with the crops or the trade ships or ANYTHING then we’re gonna start running out pretty quickly,” said Miya, who heard about this from her mother every
day. “It’s not good enough. It’s been six months, these people should all have houses!”
“So go help build some, if you’re so angry about it.”
“I’m not angry! Well, I AM, but … why is it so HARD?”
“Is that a trick question? Could it be, oh, I don’t know, because it’s life? It’s like Mr Vassily says; if you want things to stop being hard, die.”
“That’s not what I meant, I just want … this looks like it should be … where’s the bad guy?”
“Huh?”
“The bad guy! All this, this camp, this shouldn’t be a bunch of people trying to, y’know, get by as best they can, it should be something like … like a group of prisoners, maybe forced to work at a mine or something by an evil group of rogues. Then I could charge in on Three Leaf, sword at the ready, defeat the rogues, rescue the people—” Miya stopped and scowled at the look Penny was giving her. “You know what I mean.”
“Let me try to sum up, just in case I missed something,” said Penny. “You, Princess Miya Black (of Clover Island), are upset because these people AREN’T being forced to work for a group of unpleasant rogues?”
“No, it’s not—”
“I get what’s going on here, I really do. You went off on your big adventure, you found yourself in a bunch of situations that you managed to pretty much just fight your way out of, you came back here, you battled the fires until you nearly collapsed and then without resting you repelled a bunch of raiders, you rowed out and captured a frigate and then you single-handedly defeated—”
“Not single-handed, I always say, I couldn’t have done it without my family—”
“Okay, okay, whatever, you defeated the evil pirate Badger Pete with the help of your family, you saved the island, hurray hurray hurray, isn’t our princess such a clever and brave and special princess indeed, everything was fine, and then … well, everything was fine. No more pirating to do, just princessing. And of course there are problems here but really they’re pretty small, the refugees aren’t a problem—well, there were those fights at the start but they’ve settled down now, anyway, what I’m trying to understand here, and please correct me if I’m wrong, because I’m your friend—”
“My best friend,” Miya muttered, trying to stay grumpy and not doing a very good job of it.
“—right, your best friend, so I want to make sure that I understand what’s happening here, in actual fact you are upset because there ISN’T some kind of crisis going on?”
“No! Well yes. But no! It’s that … I want …”
Miya reined her horse in; they’d come to the edge of the rise that led down to the northern felling camp. She took a deep breath.
“It’s just that so much happened to me, I did so much, mostly by myself … I found my grandparents, I fought off—well, I’ve told you the stories—”
“MANY times,” said Penny, smiling. Miya smiled too.
“I did all that and then I came back, and everything was great—and I’m not trying to be all big-headed or anything because I recognise everything that everyone did but that’s part of it, we all fought together, we all did it together, I did what I could and so did everyone else, and I was so proud, I AM so proud, you know … you know how much I love my island.”
“I know.”
“Right? I’d do anything to make sure this place is okay. But now that’s exactly the problem, what is it that I can do? I’ll do anything, but there’s nothing TO do. I’m just useless.”
Penny looked at her friend, then reached over and cuffed her on the back of the head, not unkindly.
“Ow, hey!”
“You’re such an idiot,” said Penny, fondly. She tugged on the reins and guided her horse around, and started trotting away. Miya turned her own horse and trotted after her friend, catching up in a few seconds. Penny glanced back at Miya, and laughed at the look of confused hurt on her face.
“What?”
Penny shook her head, smiling. “What did I just say about you?” she asked.
“I don’t know, you said a bunch of stuff.”
“I said something like ‘hurray hurray hurray, isn’t our princess such a special and clever and brave princess indeed’.”
“Yes? So?”
“So that wasn’t sarcasm, you dolt. Why do you think these people are waving at you, smiling when they see you, calling out to you? Do you think that’s normal behaviour? Are you so used to people being pleased to see you that you honestly don’t realise what these people see when they look at you?”
Miya looked at her friend, trying so very hard to understand what she was saying.
“Huh?” she finally managed.
“I give up,” said Penny, throwing her hands up. “I love you, Miya Black, but at times you are, simply put, the most difficult friend a girl could have. Race you back to the stables.”
Penny kicked her heels against her horse’s flanks and was instantly away in a cloud of dust. After just a moment Miya followed, still confused but somehow feeling just a little bit better.
*
That evening, as the sun began to set and the stars began to appear, Miya made the long walk up to the fort on the hill, along what her father had named the Dragon’s Spine, a pathway through the only really rocky part of Clover Island, a rise on the north side of Blackport. It was a steep and tiring walk, but something that Miya felt she had to do. Every month she came up here, small paper bag in hand, into the fort, greeting the guards then making her way down into the lower levels of the fort, into Clover Island’s prison. Mostly the prison was used for drunks who got a bit too shouty or punchy (or on really bad occasions bitey), or the occasional thief or other petty criminal—Tomas was fond of saying that the long hard walk up to the prison was more of a deterrent than the cells that waited at the top.
However, petty criminals weren’t the people Miya had come to see, although she stopped to tut at Devon, an ex-pirate who was having a little trouble adjusting to Clover Island’s laws of commerce—namely that if you took something from a shop you should probably pay for it. The person that Miya was here to visit was someone who had committed a worse crime than theft, a worse crime than disorderly conduct, some might say a worse crime even than murder. He had committed the crime of betrayal; the crime of treason. Miya stopped at the prison cell in the corner, in which sat a man, his knees tucked up into his chest, his face tucked into his knees.
“Hi Uncle Lars.”
Lars didn’t move, didn’t respond.
“I brought you a cinnamon bun. Actually a couple. I’ll just leave them here,” said Miya, putting the bag down beside the bars of the cell. “I actually asked Mrs Cherry for the recipe a few days ago because I wanted to try baking them myself, but she said it’s a secret and even though I’m the princess of the island I can’t have it. Which is kind of fair, but still.”
Lars didn’t so much as look at the bag. Miya looked around a bit.
“Have they put new lamps in?” she asked. “It seems a little brighter in here. Maybe they’re using a new kind of oil. Sam’s doing good, by the way, his leg’s completely healed now—thank goodness, too, he really hated not being able to run how he wanted to.”
From Lars there was no response of any kind.
“There’s not that much happening around the island at the moment. I’m a bit bored, actually. I’m still grounded. I’ve tried doing some normal stuff but, well, after having adventures everything ‘normal’ just seems so, y’know, mundane.”
There was, perhaps, the slightest of movements from Lars at this, but then again it could have just been the flickering of the lamplight.
“I’m a bit worried about Sola. He seems pretty depressed about the northern islanders. I get why, everyone thought that they’d become, like … I don’t know, more open, but it’s kind of the opposite … they haven’t joined the Rainbow Alliance which is stupid, I mean they need protection more than anyone … but they just keep closing themselves off more and more, I mean I heard that they’re not even really trading now.”
From Lars, nothing.
“Oh, I saw Devon just before, in here I mean, he used to be part of Grace’s crew but I don’t think we should hold that against him. He’s been taking stuff again. This time it was a shirt from Jenny Sparks’ place. Are you okay for shirts and stuff? I could bring you something if you need it.”
Apparently Lars wanted for nothing.
“Oh, and yesterday I bumped into this guy in town, pretty big, really rough-looking, but also really, like, polite and respectful, he was all like ‘Good day, Princess, pardon my clumsiness, Princess’ except in this really rough voice, it was kind of funny. Then I didn’t realise until like ten minutes later that it was the guy I beat up on the Boundaries None, that first time I snuck aboard, do you remember me telling you about that? Anyway, I guess he knew not to rub me the wrong way, right?”
Whether Lars agreed or not, he gave no sign. Miya looked at him a moment, then breathed a very small sigh.
“Well, anyway, I suppose I’d better get going. Enjoy the buns. I’ll … I’ll see you again next month. Don’t forget to eat and stuff, okay?”
Miya paused for the smallest of moments, then she turned and walked away from Lars’s cell. Devon nodded at her as she left, and she graced him with a small smile. She said goodnight to the guards, and shared a joke with one, and they thanked her again for the cinnamon buns that she’d brought them, and then Miya left the prison and walked slowly down the path leading back to town.
She made it almost halfway down before she began to cry.
*
The next morning, rather late, Miya was woken by the sounds of raised voices—or, more accurately, one raised voice, that of her grandfather. Oh, she thought as she jumped out of bed, he’s back, yay! Miya smiled as she padded towards the evening lounge, which is where her grandfather’s voice was coming from. As she got close enough to make out what he was actually saying, however, her smile disappeared:
“Ye’re a blasted fool to trust ‘em, son, ye’re weak, ye’re a lily-livered poltroon if ever I met one.”
Miya stopped outside the door to the evening lounge, the tone of contempt and anger in her grandfather’s voice one she hadn’t heard since her first meeting with him. She’d thought he’d changed since then, but—
“They presented proof. Those ships belonged to them.” Her father’s voice was not exactly raised, but Miya recognised the dangerous tone it held—whenever he spoke in clipped sentences like this she knew he was serious. “It would have been wrong to keep them.”
“Arr, plain to see they forged that evidence, ye’re a bloody gullible fool, Tommy boy, a bloody gullible fool. Ye’ve been cheated out of a couple o’ fine frigates, and what’s yer daughter gonna say when she finds out ye’ve given away her ship?”
DAD GAVE AWAY THE SWAN?
“Miya will … I’m sure she’ll understand, eventually—”
“That were the first ship she ever captured, son. From her rival, no less, that mad little wench, ye didn’t think mebbe she’d be a bit upset to hear ye just gave it away to some odd rogue?”
Miya had just managed to stop herself from charging into the room in time, conflicted emotions rising in her—the ship I captured from Grace, she thought. Dad gave it away?
“That’s … that’s beside the point.” Tomas’s voice had a note of uncertainty in it now.
“Ah, so now ye’ve realised, have ye? Mebbe the right thing to do weren’t so right after all, eh? Ye followed the letter of the law and it might end up hurtin’ someone ye cares about. That’s how it goes, Tom. The law ain’t out to protect ye, it’s just another bloody weapon fer these clever dicks and charlatans to use against ye. Even if’n they were right to take them frigates, ye ain’t got to deliver! Stand yer ground, show some guts, ye’ve made yerself and yer island look bloody weak, is what ye’ve done.”
“It was the right thing to do, Dad. We can’t just pick and choose which laws we like—”
“And why not? Ye’ve got yer own blasted kingdom here, pickin’ and choosin’ laws is exactly what ye should be doin’, make it a fair place to live—”
“It IS a fair place to live.”
“Arr, ye knows what I be meaning. Truth be told, son, I’m getting sick of it here, I’m missing me own island more with each passing day, miss having a bit o’ authority around the place—”
“Says the man who spent his entire hells-damned life FIGHTING authority!”
“Arr … ye get to a certain age, authority begins to reveal her hidden attractive qualities to ye, ye know how it is.”
There was silence in the room for a few moments. Miya listened carefully.
“Aye.” Her father. “Aye, true enough.”
“And these pirates walking around—”
“Enough, Dad.”
“No, no, no, I gots me piece to say, ye better stand there and listen, mebbe some things needs be hearing, savvy? These pirates I see walking around, happy as ye please, most of ‘em are Badger Pete’s thugs! How’s that work in a fair world, eh?”
“That is EXACTLY how it should work in a fair world. They’ve paid their dues, they’ve shown a spark of decency, they deserve a second chance—that’s what Clover Island is, Dad. It’s a place for second chances.”
Go Dad, Miya thought.
“Arr, ye’ll never learn, will ye? Always the soft bloody option with ye. Give a pirate an inch o’ rope and he’ll find some way o’ stranglin’ ye with it. Ye knows what kind of scum these men be. Ye do!”
“I know what I believe. I know the ideals that Lily and I have worked hard to—”
“Soft, soft, bloody soft. And what ye did with Badger Pete himself, even worse! Luxury bloody retirement on a beaut wee island? I near choked on me own bile first I heard that lovely little bit o’ news.”
“That was the northern islanders’ choice of punishment, it wasn’t up to us—”
“Ah, bloody rubbish, them lot don’t know from evil, you mark my words, no good’ll come o’ that. And as for that psychotic wee wench of a girl, hell’s bells son, the way she were spittin’ and cursin’ like a blasted wildcat then went all quiet-like? That mad wee smile? She ain’t right in the head, son, ye should’ve done us all a favour—”
“And done what? What, exactly, should I have done with them?”
“Hung ‘em! Hung the lot of ‘em and good riddance, and a problem ne’er thought of again. Show yer people and the world what happens when ye threaten Clover Island. Send a clear bloody message—mess with us and this is all ye have to look forward to, a long walk and a short drop.”
There was a tense silence, and Miya skipped away from the door as she realised her grandfather was going to leave. She hid around a corner as she heard him exit, heard his parting shot:
“Ye’re weak, son. Yer island’s weak. And the whole bleedin’ world knows it.”
*
“And then, oh, did you hear about this Al-Rhal thing?”
Miya scrubbed at the deck of her ship, using her left hand—despite her claims that her right hand was completely healed, it still hurt to do things like scrubbing a deck with it. Penny sat on the stern deck, watching Miya work, absently stroking a small black and white terrier.
“What Al-Rhal thing?” Miya asked.
“Al-Rhal, you know, it’s that country waaaaay up north, all deserts and … maths? I don’t know much about it, anyway, apparently Spirea invaded it!”
“What? No way. That’s gotta be a false rumour.”
“I don’t know, I heard it from Mum and she heard it from Midge Young, and she heard it from Little Willy Baker, and HE heard it from a trader who just came from up north … seems like a pretty solid chain of gossip to me.”
“Yeah, but who’s this trader? He’s probably just making stuff up. What do you think, Sam?”
The terrier opened his eyes, gave Miya a sidelong look of patient reproach, then closed his eyes again.
“He seems doubtful,” said Miya. “I’m inclined to agree with him.”
Penny patted Sam’s side fondly. “Maybe, he’s usually pretty sharp about this kind of political stuff.”
“Al-Rhal, though,” Miya paused in her scrubbing. “And Spirea, even … what do you think those places are like?”
“Hot. And cold. Al-Rhal’s hot, Spirea’s cold.”
“There’s got to be more to it than that. Like, what’s a desert like, really? Is it truly as hot as people say? You’d get sunburnt pretty easily, I bet. You’d have to wear a hat, and maybe cover your body up too. But if it’s hot you’d want to be wearing LESS clothes … and fighting in the heat must get really tiring, I wonder if Al-Rhalian swordsmen have special techniques to deal with that? Preparing for an adventure there would be really interesting. What do Al-Rhalians wear, do you know?”
Penny shrugged again.
“Well you’re no use. Sam?”
The terrier didn’t respond this time.
“You know he’s not interested in fashions and trends,” said Penny. “You’re asking the wrong dog there. Oh, but in Spirea they wear silk.”
“What, just silk?”
“That’s what I heard.”
“What, everyone wears silk clothes?”
“Everyone.”
Miya considered this for a moment, then continued scrubbing. “They must be really rich there.”
“That’s what I figured. Hey, there’s a ship coming in.”
“Huh,” said Miya, concentrating on a patch of tar that just wouldn’t come off. “Probably just one of the fishermen coming back for lunch.”
“Flying Highland colours?”
“WHAT.”
Miya was on her feet instantly, her eyes narrowing as she watched the sloop approaching the docks. Sam was beside her, leaning against her leg, watching just as alertly as his mistress.
“It’s just a little one,” said Penny.
“Maybe a spy. Or an assassin!”
“Why would a spy or assassin come in under the colours of their own country? In the middle of the day? To the main docks?”
Miya didn’t move for a moment. “Good points,” she admitted. “We’d better check them out anyway.”
Miya and Penny approached the tiny sloop as it came in to dock, Sam close behind. Standing at the bow was a tall, rather striking young man with floppy brown hair, wearing neat clothing and square spectacles balanced on a long nose. He glanced at them, his expression one of friendly interest, then jumped just a little awkwardly onto the pier and began tying his ship. Penny moved forward to help but Miya put out her arm, stopping her friend.
“We don’t aid the enemy. In fact, that’s a crime.”
“Miya, it’s not like we’re at war with them. Anyway, he seems, I don’t know, kind of nice.”
“I cannot even express how shocked I am that you even said that.”
Miya scowled at the young man as he approached them. He smiled at her and Penny, then down at Sam, before addressing Miya:
“You wouldn’t happen to be the princess of this island, would you?” he asked. “You fit the description I was given.”
“So what if I am?”
“She is,” said Penny. “Princess Miya Black, the scowliest princess in all the Necessary Ocean.”
“Penny!” Miya looked up at her friend, shocked, as the young man laughed politely.
“And this is Sam, her faithful hound,” said Penny, gesturing to Sam, who was staring at the sparkling water, mouth open, tongue out.
“That’s an Oceanic Terrier, isn’t it?” said the young man, looking down at the little dog. “My sister had one when we were growing up, they’re said to be very loyal.”
“Huh,” said Miya.
“In any case, it is an honour to meet you finally, your highness.” The young man bowed elegantly to Miya, then turned to Penny. “And you, my lady, your name?”
“P-Penny. Penny Buck,” said Penny. “I’m … I’m nobody special, not a princess or anything.”
“You do yourself a disservice, Miss Buck.”
Miya very nearly gasped as Penny blushed.
“Why are you here?” she demanded, moving forward in front of her friend. “We don’t take kindly to Highland scum setting foot on our island.”
“Miya! Don’t be rude!”
“No, no, it’s quite understandable. I apologise, your highness. Please allow me to introduce myself, at the very least. I am Alvin Hawksthorne, Special Emissary for the Kingdom of Goldmeadow. Technically I am a lord, but I am under no illusions as to the value my title holds here, so please address me as either Alvin or Mr Hawksthorne, whichever you prefer.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Alvin,” said Penny, curtsying. He bowed again.
“And a very great pleasure to meet you, Miss Buck. And yourself also, Princess Black. Or do you prefer Princess Miya? Some kingdoms use the family name, some use the given name, I was unfortunately unable to find any information on the custom here.”
“You don’t have to worry about what you should call me,” said Miya. “Because you’re going to get right back on that sloop and sail back to wherever you came from.”
“I must apologise, my lady, but I cannot do that. I am here to meet with your mother, Queen Black—”
“Queen Lilith,” corrected Penny. “Oh, I guess we do use given names. So why does Chuck always call you Princess Black?” she asked Miya.
“It’s a term of endearment! And my mother doesn’t want to meet with you—we’re not stupid, we know the Highland was behind Badger Pete’s attacks—”
“That is one reason for my coming here. Badger Pete’s attack upon this island, and indeed this archipelago, was in part thanks to Highland involvement—”
“Aha! So you admit it!”
Alvin smiled and bowed his head for a moment.
“However,” he said, “I can assure you that Goldmeadow had nothing to do with it.”
“Yeah, right. Highland is Highland!”
Alvin smiled again, slightly strained.
“My lady, Goldmeadow views itself as one of the more … progressive kingdoms in the Highland, and as such we recognise Clover Island’s place in the world. That is the main reason I have travelled here.”
“What, to ‘recognise’ us? ‘Oh look, that’s Clover Island’?”
“Perhaps somewhat more than that,” said Alvin. He smiled at Miya, and put on a more ‘official’ tone: “I have come here to establish an embassy. Goldmeadow wishes to ally with you, my lady.”
Next:
2
Love And Taxes
