~ ~ ~
The container slams into the canal wall with the crash of metal on stone. From my perch on the side, I’m almost thrown into the water, but I manage to hold on. I can hear shouting – not Splinters or Gull; it must be someone seeing us. The container is floating, the barrels helping to hold its big awkward shape out of the water. I pull myself up, getting my feet perched on a barrel and then climbing the coarse rope to pull myself up the side. I’m almost there when I feel a strong hand grasp my arm and help me the rest of the way. It’s Splinters; he’s already on top of the container.
“Did you get all your barrels tied?” he asks me.
I shake my head no. “I got seven,” I say.
He seems pleased. “Seven should hold us,” he says to me reassuringly.
At the back, Gull stands, his tall shape and hooked nose barely visible in the dark. He’s working the long pole he brought, pushing it into the mud and turning the container into the canal. The process feels agonizingly slow, but at last his strong, deliberate pushes have us moving down the canal and out towards the harbour.
As we pass between two warehouses, I can see what all the shouting is about. In a neighbouring warehouse, what looks like a small fire is burning, and people are running to put it out.
A small thud turns my attention to the back of the container, where a dark shape has just landed from seemingly out of nowhere. As she stands, I make out the shape to be Mags.
“You like my distraction?” Mags asks, surveying the three of us arranged on the top of the container.
“I’d expected it to be bigger,” Gull says to her.
“I expected more warning,” Mags snaps back to him.
Gull gives a push, and our view of the fire is blocked by another warehouse. We pass the spot where we parted with Patience and then turn into another canal, heading away from the harbour. The tide is still going out, and I can see Gull pushing against it with all his strength, but we’ve slowed to a crawl.
Mags makes her way up to the front of the container, where Splinters and I are sitting, and crouches down with us. Gull has snuffed out the oil lamp, and we all stare ahead into the darkness.
“Gull knows these canals like his own family,” Mags says. “He’s run barges up and down these for his whole life.”
I take another look back at Gull, planting and twisting the pole for each push, and I wonder – a container lashed to barrels is not a barge.
At last we come to an intersection, our little canal joining a much larger one lined with boats.
“The Grand Canals,” Splinters tells me. “Legends say that Port Aurelia was founded by three sea captains who dragged islands together to form the lagoon. The Grand Canals are where the islands are divided.”
I look around: behind us are squat grey stone buildings like the warehouses. Across the canal I can see the large building with the gold dome rising up, surrounded on all sides by buildings of various shapes, sizes, and colours.
Gull pushes us ahead, crossing the canal. I catch sight of the opening of a small canal he seems to be heading for. Then we’re moving sideways, spinning a little; we must have caught a current. I watch as the small canal drifts further out of our path. We’re not going to make it. I look back at Gull. His jaw is clenched and his face set like Inés’s was when we crossed the Morrow Line. He gives one big push, and our sideways drift stops. We’re out of the current and almost across the Grand Canals, but we’ve passed the small canal by a little. The container twists and drifts as Gull tries to line it up, and then – “Hold tight,” Splinters says, grabbing one of the ropes. I see it too and grab on.
SLAM – the container bangs into the side of the canal. We’re twisted, and in the narrow canal we won’t fit unless we’re straight on. “Founders’ ashes,” Gull mutters from his post in the back, but I can feel him straightening us out. Then, with a sudden jerk, the container dips to its right corner. Looking over the side, I see it. One of the barrels I’d lashed, the seventh one I’d done in a hurry, has come undone. Without it, the container is listing to the side.
“It’s okay,” Splinters says. “As long as we don’t lose another.”
Gull is fighting the awkwardly listing container. At least the current is with us now, helping us down the canal. Up ahead the canal seems to be a dead end. I stare at it, looking for how we’re going to get through, and then I see it: a hard left turn. Gull is turning us, getting ready to make the corner, but the container is long, and as we turn, one of the barrels catches on the canal wall, stopping us dead in the water.
“We’re caught,” Splinters says. Scrambling to the side, he pulls a small knife from his belt. Clutching it in his teeth, he grabs one of the lines and slides over the edge. With his feet balanced on the barrel that’s caught, he takes the knife and hacks at its line, once, twice, and then there’s a creaking sound and a crunching pop. All of a sudden the whole front of the container dips to the left, lifting the back end up out of the water. Splinters is thrown into the water, but we’re moving again, and as I scramble to the edge I see him thrashing. He grabs on to the wreckage of the barrel he was standing on, crushed between the wall and the container. “Splinters!” I call out, but I don’t get a response. In the back I see Gull crouching and holding a line like his life depends on it. His pole is gone; he must have dropped it. We’re being pushed by the current now with no way to stop ourselves. The front end of the container is digging into the water, waves washing over it, sinking lower and lower every second.
“To the back!” I shout to Mags. “Help me!”
She doesn’t hesitate and follows me as I climb to the back, undoing the lashings that hold the barrels to the container as we go. Finally, with all the lines free and our combined weight in the back, the container rights itself, drifting lazily down the canal.
“It floats!” Gull says, impressed.
“The doors are sealed,” I tell him. “As long as no water gets in, it should float on its own for a while.”
“You’ve seen these things before?” Mags asks, confused.
“I’ve heard about them,” I say, trying my best to sound convincing, then, “What about Splinters?”
“He’ll be okay,” Gull says. “The water isn’t deep, and there’s lots of places for him to get out of the canal.”
“He knows the way to the safe house,” Mags adds.
“How far is the safe house?” I ask.
Gull looks at the buildings built up to the sides of the canal as if getting his bearings. “Not far, but that’s not the real problem.”
“What’s the problem?” I ask, worried.
“The problem,” Gull says deliberately, “is that we have one more turn and I lost my pole.”
I think about it. Without the pole we can’t steer. If we miss the turn, we won’t make the safe house. If we don’t make the safe house, we’ll be three pirates floating on a stolen container in the middle of the canal come sunrise. We have to find a way to steer.
We all sit quietly, watching the backs of the buildings that abut the canal drift by, thinking about what we’re going to do.
“There it is.” Gull points ahead to a wider canal branching left off of this one.
The current has slowed, and as I eye the edges of the canal, I see eddies form along the turn. If we can just start down it, we should be able to ride the current around the corner.
“Mags, Mateo, hold my waist,” Gull calls out. I look over to see him edging his way to the side of the container, and then I see what he’s eyeing. Just up ahead from the right side of the canal is a large beam. I scramble over and grab on to his waist. Mags does the same, and Gull leans out over the edge and manages to get a hand around the beam as we pass it.
The container is heavy, but in the slow current our weight is enough, and the container starts to spin, turning wide into the canal. “Now!” Gull says, pushing off of the beam, and the container drifts across the canal, its front starting to make the turn. I can feel the current picking up and helping us along. We’re almost there. “We’ve done it,” I say out loud, relieved that Gull’s move actually worked.
I can feel it before I see the change. The back end of the container, still jutting out into the narrower canal, starts to drift. We keep turning, slipping backwards into the narrow canal, the container turned all the way around. We’ve missed the turn.
“Curse it,” Mags mutters as we watch our turn drift away behind us. “Is there another turn?” she asks Gull.
“There is, but we won’t make it,” he says, pointing ahead.
A short bridge spans the canal up ahead. In a boat we’d have to duck to get under it. In the container there’s no way we’ll make it.
“What if we empty the container?” I say.
“Empty the container?” Mags asks, the words seemingly foreign to her.
“This is a shipping container,” I say, giving up any ruse. “Where I’m from, they use them to move goods on and off boats. Whatever the client – Thale – wants will be inside. We open it up, take what we can and carry it to the safe house.”
Gull looks from me to the bridge and nods. It’s the best plan we have now. We may not get everything out before the container sinks, but at least we won’t be caught or left empty-handed.
I scurry to the back of the container, where the door is now, and slide down the end, splashing into the water but keeping hold of the metal latch that secures the container. The latch is simple enough; I’ve seen similar ones on trucks that stop by Ashburn. I flip one metal toggle and then another, pivoting the latch. Then the door I’m holding onto swings open, and water starts to fill the container.
Waterlogged now, the container tips back towards me and starts to sink. Mags and Gull manage to hold on, but then, with a loud crash, the container rams into the bridge, throwing them into the shallow water. Struggling, they pull themselves over to the container, grabbing hold of the open door.
Inside, the contents have been left unsecured, and with the jostling it’s taken on our trip down the canals, once the water floods in, the large brown cardboard boxes start to float out. With my free hand I try to grab at one, but it’s too big. Gull grabs at another. He manages to get a hand on it, but it’s already been opened, and he tips it on its side, the contents spilling out.
In the darkness I can’t make out what they are: something small in plastic bags, and they seem to float. I grab one and look at it. It’s a bright yellow rubber duck, individually wrapped and stamped on the bottom with “Made in China.”
I’m exhausted, I’m wet, and I’ve been risking my life for rubber ducks. I hold the duck safely to my chest, close my eyes, and start laughing. I can’t stop myself; tears punctuate the laughter. I’m sure Mags and Gull will think I’m insane – maybe I am – maybe this whole journey to a magical sea full of monsters and pirates, and rubber ducks, is just me going insane. Maybe it’s the throes of madness, like my father had before sailing off into a storm.
“Mateo.” It’s a calm voice speaking to me.
“Mom?” I ask, opening my eyes, but it’s Mags looking at me.
“Mateo, we need to get out of the water. The… the thing is sunk.”
The container has sunk to the bottom of the canal, a good foot still above the waterline, and brown cardboard boxes float all around us.
We take turns pushing off the container to grab an iron ring near the bridge stairs. Once we’re all out of the water, I look at Mags and Gull.
“How many did you grab?” I ask them. They both shake their heads; they’re empty-handed.
“How about you?” Gull asks.
I look down at the one rubber duck I’m clutching to my chest. “I got one,” I say. Gull nods.
“Listen!” Mags says, snapping us to attention. “We need to get to the safe house, and soon. We’ve been lucky enough no one was out on this street, but dawn’s coming.”
She’s right. High up on the slate roofs of the buildings around us, I can just start to see the brightening of the dawn sun as it rises. “We should split up,” Gull adds. “Mateo, you take the… you take that and go straight there. Mags and I will take opposite circles to make sure no one is following us.”
Mags nods and quickly says, “Right – I’ll see you there,” before heading over the bridge and disappearing down a side street.
Gull is about to head out when I call to him. “I don’t know where it is,” I say.
Gull turns and looks at me, considering this. Quickly he points down a road that runs parallel to the canal we should have been on. “Go this way until you get to the library, then right, over a bridge, and double back about halfway to this canal. It’s a red stone house between a yellow and a brown one. There’s a hammer and anvil hanging over the door.”
I try my best to follow the directions, running them back in my head. “Wait!” I call out again as Gull turns to leave. “How will I know when I’ve gotten to the library?”
Gull looks at me oddly. “Where are you from? There’s no time for that now. The library – the Grand Library, the giant building with the golden dome. It’s the centre of the city; you can’t miss it.” He speaks quickly, not waiting for a reply, and then darts off down a side street and is gone.
Clutching the lone rubber duck close to my chest, I head off in the direction he’d pointed. I pass a few houses that are still dark. Most have signs out in front showing the trade of the people who live there: bakers, potters, woodworkers, sailwrights. Before long the narrow street opens up into a giant plaza.
The Grand Library of Port Aurelia stands impressively large in the centre of a huge cobblestoned plaza. Its multicoloured walls are made from the same bricks as the houses. At the top the giant gold dome is starting to glisten in the morning sun. I think about our library back in Ashburn. We have five thousand two hundred and eighty-seven books in the collection. Mom knows them all, or at least claims to. A library that size – there must be millions of books. Somewhere in there, there must be answers. How do I find my dad? What was he looking for? How can I get back home? First I need to finish this job and get my compass back.
The rest of Gull’s directions are clear, and the street is just starting to come to life as I reach the red house with the hammer and anvil hanging above the door. I knock, and Patience answers, gesturing me inside.
The inside of the safe house is warmly lit by a small fire in a fireplace, the orange glow reflecting off the dark walls. In the middle of the room some tall chairs are arranged around a table.
“Splinters!” I call, seeing the carpenter, wet but seemingly unharmed, sitting by the fire. He stands up and comes over to me, giving me a big hug. “I’m glad you made it,” I say, relieved that he’s here.
“Did we get the box back?” he asks nervously. I shake my head no, and then show him the one duck I’m holding. “This is all we got.” Cautiously he takes it from me and turns it over in his hands.
There’s a knock at the door, and I turn to see Patience letting Mags in, and then shortly thereafter Gull follows. We gather around the fire, and Patience is the first to talk.
“So, you lost the box,” he says. It’s not a question. Gull opens his mouth to speak, but I cut in. “We managed to get one of the… one of the treasures it was holding!”
“That’ll be a problem,” a voice from the shadows says, and we all turn as Captain Corvino steps into the light. “We’ve been obliged to get the whole box. One of those trinkets isn’t going to pay our debts.”
I watch Corvino nervously. He lets the words linger for a moment before leaning in, staring right at me with a smile, and saying, “But I do have a plan.”
~ ~ ~