Hunt for the Pyxis Read online

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Text copyright © 2015 by Zoë Ferraris

  Jacket art and interior illustrations copyright © 2015 by Sophie McNally

  All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Crown Books for Young Readers, an imprint of Random House Children’s Books, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.

  Crown and the colophon are registered trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.

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  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Ferraris, Zoë.

  The galaxy pirates : hunt for the Pyxis / Zoe Ferraris. — First edition.

  pages cm. — (The galaxy pirates)

  Summary: After her parents are kidnapped, Emma and her best friend Herbie set out on an adventure that takes them through a galaxy populated by pirates, monkeys, the tyrant Queen of Virgo, and other creatures, human and otherwise, as they try to rescue her parents and protect the mysterious Pyxis.

  ISBN 978-0-385-39216-7 (trade) — ISBN 978-0-385-39217-4 (lib. bdg.) —

  ISBN 978-0-385-39218-1 (ebook) [1. Adventure and adventurers—Fiction. 2. Space and

  time—Fiction. 3. Pirates—Fiction. 4. Kidnapping—Fiction. 5. Identity—Fiction. 6. Science fiction.] I. Title.

  PZ7.1.F467Gal 2015 [Fic]—dc23 2014042924

  eBook ISBN 9780385392181

  Random House Children’s Books supports the First Amendment and celebrates the right to read.

  v4.1

  ep

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter 1: That Fish

  Chapter 2: The Markab

  Chapter 3: Spy, Alien, Drug Lord

  Chapter 4: Caz Rastall Comes to Dinner

  Chapter 5: Sweetser and Wantling Join the Party

  Chapter 6: The Signal

  Chapter 7: Meteorites

  Chapter 8: Arcturus Venture

  Chapter 9: The Butt End of Monkey

  Chapter 10: Porta Amphitrite

  Chapter 11: Scuttlebutt

  Chapter 12: Scuppered

  Chapter 13: The Great Argh

  Chapter 14: The Aerie

  Chapter 15: The Protector From Lynx

  Chapter 16: A Baby Dragon-of-War

  Chapter 17: Markabs

  Chapter 18: Memory Water

  Chapter 19: Fairfoot

  Chapter 20: The Chained Lady

  Chapter 21: Every Last Little Yipping Fox

  Chapter 22: A Squilch

  Chapter 23: A Doubleheader

  Chapter 24: Dragon-of-War

  Chapter 25: Fluvius Eridanus

  Chapter 26: A Prick on the Skin

  Chapter 27: The Maggot

  Chapter 28: The Revenge of Artemisia Gent

  Chapter 29: Whispers of the Living and the Dead

  Chapter 30: The Dragon and the Roach

  Chapter 31: Drool and Fire

  Chapter 32: Reunion and Ragnar

  Glossary of Terms

  People, Places, and Ships

  Captain Tema Gent stood on the top deck of the HMS Trunchien, surrounded by a group of her strongest men. They formed a half circle, battered by the wind, their red uniforms made dark and shapeless by the rain. Looking past the starboard rail, Gent noted with disgust that it was beginning to hail.

  Standing in the center of the deck, the prisoner made a pathetic figure. She was shivering violently and clutching her waist. Her hair—cut jagged by the surgeon’s knife—was flattened to her skull, and her robe was heavy with the icy rain.

  “Miss Brightstoke,” Gent began, “I will give you one more chance to tell me where it is before I throw you overboard.”

  Brightstoke looked nervously to port.

  “It’s not particularly wise to continue this silence,” Gent said, waving her hand at the sky. “With this weather…it’s a drowning night.”

  Brightstoke didn’t look at her. She had withdrawn into a deep, silent part of herself.

  Gent glanced down at her wrist, where her tarantula, Besnett, was beginning the long, tortuous climb up her arm. She was a black creature with fine silvery edges. The white epaulet on Gent’s shoulder was her favorite perch.

  Gent turned back to her prisoner. “I would have thought,” she said, “that after the events of the past few days, you might have come to some conclusions about your captain. Are you willing to die for him now?”

  Brightstoke stared relentlessly at the deck. The rain was coming down harder, and the waters of the Strand were churning beneath them, rocking the ship.

  “He’s no good,” Gent went on. “I would have thought you were smart enough to see that. Especially after his betrayal of you.”

  Brightstoke clenched her jaw.

  “Fine,” Gent said. Besnett had made her way onto Gent’s shoulder, and now she stood clinging to the epaulet despite the buffeting winds and the fierce lashing of Gent’s bright-red hair. “You leave me no choice. Under the Articles of Maritime War, piracy and treason are to be punished by execution. Should I fail to carry out your sentence, I would be subject to the same punishment myself. So you can see how my hands are tied.” Gent showed her hands and added slyly, “However, I do want to be merciful with you. I would expect the same for myself.”

  Brightstoke met her gaze. The women exchanged a tentative look.

  “Under certain circumstances, piracy is forgiven,” Gent reminded her. “I realize that the Pyxis is an important object for the rebellion, but perhaps we could come to an agreement. You give the Pyxis to us, and we guarantee that the Queen will no longer use her power against your systems. This would be enough, in my opinion, to win you a pardon.”

  Brightstoke blinked against a slash of rain. “How do I know you won’t kill me anyway?”

  “You have my word,” Gent replied.

  Brightstoke’s eyes narrowed. She had been betrayed by her pirate companions, and Gent could see that it had wounded her.

  In Gent’s mind, this was all an elaborate ruse to get the prisoner to speak. Of course she would speak. Only a fool would remain silent in the face of a death like this one—being thrown into the memory seas. They’d had her for three days; they’d kept her in the fo’c’sle without food or water. Usually that was enough, because even the stupidest prisoners knew that pirates could only be held for three days before execution was required.

  “So what is it, Miss Brightstoke? What will you tell us?”

  “Nothing,” the prisoner said. “We cannot trust the Queen. The Pyxis has to remain hidden. Forever.”

  Gent drew closer, eyeing her carefully. “Noble, Miss Brightstoke, but can you guarantee that it will remain hidden? That no one will find it accidentally? Or on purpose?” Brightstoke blinked. Gent was making headway. “Have you secured it properly? Do you have enough men and ships to protect the Pyxis from all the greedy, desperate renegades out there who will spend their lives trying to find it?”

  Brightstoke looked hesitant, but she steeled herself and said, “I have secrecy on my side. That is enough.”

  Gent let her breath out slowly and turned to her men. “Crounse, fetch the judgment! Grimble and Bocock, tuskets ready! Let’s make this quick.”

  “You won’t kill me!” Brightstoke cried out. “I’m the only one who knows where it is!”

  Gent eyed her sharply. “Comfort yourself with this: if you die, then your secret will be safe.”
/>
  Moments later, Crounse reappeared on deck with the scroll. Gent said through clenched teeth, “Read the judgment.”

  “ ‘Halifax Brightstoke of Spica,’ ” Crounse called. “ ‘After judicious decision by the maritime configuration of a war seas council, you are hereby charged with treason and piracy…. ’ ”

  Gent stared fiercely at the starboard rail. Brightstoke was really going to give up her life? For the Pyxis? It was infuriating. They had spent months at sea and lost dozens of lives trying to catch Brightstoke. Her capture had been their only success. Gent felt certain that they would get the Pyxis too. Now everything was falling apart because this little princess was still pretending to be a pirate.

  So be it, Gent decided. She didn’t need Brightstoke anyway. She would find the Pyxis herself.

  “ ‘…by law,’ ” Crounse continued, “ ‘your punishment is immediate execution in a manner to be determined by Captain Artemisia Gent of the sloop Trunchien in Her Majesty’s service. Graces to the Queen.’ ”

  “Wait!” Fuming, Gent turned to her men. “Go down and fetch the lynx. Yes, you heard me. Bring it out of its cage. And bring me some ballast. Bricks should do it. And I’ll need a sheet of canvas, big as the topsail. Hurry! We’re going to put her in a Party Bag.”

  The rain lashed Brightstoke’s cheeks, and she squinted against it, looking defiant. Two men tightened the rope that bound her hands. They raised a sack to her head. Gent told herself that she was ridding the seas of a thief—in this case, a particularly dangerous thief—and a murderer.

  “Let this be a warning to others like you,” Gent called out. “Piracy is forbidden on the galactic seas.”

  The lynx’s cage was carried onto the deck. The great cat was curled up against the rain. Two midshipmen stunned the animal with a club. The lynx gave a loud, wailing cry and fell on its side with a thump. The men opened the cage and dragged it out, wrapping it quickly inside the canvas. Then they grabbed a struggling Brightstoke and shoved her inside, right next to the lynx, followed by half a dozen bricks for ballast. They began stitching the edges of the canvas together, their fingers working quickly. At any moment the creature might wake and spring at them. It took three men to sew the final seams, but when they were done, the bag formed a nice, tight pouch around its occupants.

  No sooner had they finished than the bag began to jump and jolt. They heard Brightstoke’s muffled screams, but with perfect naval composure, the men waited for Gent’s command. “Go on,” she said. They grabbed the bag’s edge and dragged it toward the gap in the starboard rail. The bricks thumped angrily against the deck. The occupants thrashed. Everyone stared at the canvas cover. Suddenly, the lynx roared, and Brightstoke gave a heartrending cry.

  Gent motioned to her men. “Tuskets ready,” she said. “On my count.” The men pointed their weapons at the sky. The long ivory daggers at each tusket’s tip glistened in the rain. When Gent gave the order, they fired into the sky, a deafening boom to commemorate an execution on the Strands.

  Brightstoke and the lynx seemed to have fallen quiet. Everyone stared at the bag, but nothing moved. Slowly, a dark bloodstain seeped through the fabric.

  “Throw it over,” she said.

  The men gave it a heave, and with one quick swish, the bag flipped over the side and into the dark sea. Everyone ran to the rail. Gent heard the splash and felt Besnett crawl into her collar so that only her forelegs were sticking out. When the men turned around, she saw from their faces that the deed was done.

  “Captain?”

  She turned to see Dr. Vermek, his scrawny form coming up from the depths of the ship. Clutching whatever he could grab against the lashing rain, he shouted, “Where is the prisoner?”

  “What is your interest in the prisoner?” Gent asked.

  “She was pregnant,” he said. “I just finished the test. I don’t think she realized…. ”

  Gent didn’t hear the rest. She spun away. Pregnant? Brightstoke was pregnant? Gent was filled with horror. It was illegal to execute a pregnant woman because, although she was guilty, the baby was not. And in this case, the baby would have been a member of the royal family!

  Vermek looked at the men still standing by the rail. “Is she gone?” He moved past the captain and, summoning his nerve, peered over the side. “Dear grace.” He drew back, shutting his eyes. “Oh, dear grace.”

  “You didn’t tell us!” Gent snapped. “You didn’t even tell us it was a possibility, Doctor.”

  Vermek didn’t reply. He turned to the sea, while Gent, hot with anger and shame, stared at his back. She felt Besnett crawl out of her collar and take a position on her shoulder again, her skinny legs firm against the wind.

  “Well, you know what they say,” Vermek said, trying to steady himself by holding the rail. “Good pirates never die.”

  “What exactly is a good pirate, Doctor?” Gent snapped. He looked abashed.

  She left him and marched to the foredeck, her cloak whipping at her back. “Murch, set a course for Rigel. We are still charged with finding the Pyxis.”

  “Yes, Captain, but uh…” His voice was polite, but his expression wasn’t. It said: How can we do that if Brightstoke is dead?

  “We’ll find it ourselves,” she growled. “Now get going.”

  The Implacable was anchored on a dark, lonely, windy Strand, one of millions of such Strands, which were like great tunnels as wide as oceans, flowing like rivers, filled with water and life and air, light and darkness, and all manner of majestic and dangerous creatures. These seas crisscrossed the galaxy, connecting the vast distances between stars. In fact, the Implacable was on the Eridanus Strand, a winding watercourse not known for its hospitality. The ship was hidden behind an enormous outcropping of rock, hoping to avoid the Queen’s navy.

  “Captain!” The Implacable’s second mate came running down the deck. “Captain, flotsam sighted on the starboard—”

  Captain Sparks looked over the rail and saw it—a floating canvas sack. “Haul it up!” he ordered. “And be quick about it!”

  His men scurried down a starboard ladder and hooked the sack. It rose slowly, dripping, out of the water. Once they’d laid it out, everyone stood back.

  “All right, men, back away,” Sparks said. He called for the cook. Mr. Muttycombe arrived with his leather pouch and began to open the sack. Slowly, he extracted the objects from their tomb. First he took out two bricks. (The captain and his men exchanged a look. This was very odd indeed—a bag full of bricks floating on the sea?) Then Muttycombe grabbed something much harder to maneuver. Two crew members yanked the canvas in the opposite direction, and the cook extracted a woman from the bag.

  “It’s her,” someone gasped. “It’s the pirate Brightstoke!”

  “Yes, the very one!” someone else added. “I saw her on Rigel, I did! The Queen’s navy got ’er!”

  Captain Sparks raised his hand. He knew his men were fearful. The captain himself felt uneasy. It was bad luck to have a dead pirate on board—not to mention what would happen if the navy found out that its bricks didn’t sink.

  She was a sad sight, bloated and blue, but the cook straightened her tunic and felt for vital signs anyway.

  “She’s dead,” he pronounced.

  Dry-mouthed, the captain stared at the sack. “What else is in the bag?”

  After another struggle, the cook withdrew a dead lynx. The crew members looked at the dead woman’s body with a new awe. How had she been sewn in a sack with a lynx and not received a single scratch? It was anyone’s guess, and some terrible guessing was going on in the crew’s minds.

  Just then, Sparks saw the woman’s hand twitch.

  “Did you see that?” he asked. “Her hand gave a twitch. Are you sure she’s dead?”

  The cook inspected her body. “She’s cold, sir,” he said, “except here.” He motioned to her belly. “It’s a warm touch here. Captain, I don’t know how to say it, but I think she’s pregnant. And by some miracle—I swear, sir, I’v
e never seen anything like it—the baby might have a shred of life in it.”

  Sparks stared at the woman’s flat belly. “Are you sure it’s a baby? Could it not be some—some fish ate its way inside her belly? Maybe swam down her throat?”

  “Beggin’ your pardon, sir, I don’t see how, with the canvas being shut so tight and all—”

  “Of course,” the captain snapped. “It would have been shut in with her, would it not? Now, in your opinion, Mr. Muttycombe, is it not possible that she swallowed a fish?”

  “Well, sir, I’d need to cut her open to find out.”

  Sparks screwed his eyebrows together and thought. It was the damnedest thing he’d ever seen, but it had to be a fish—and the crew had to find out to put their minds at rest. He leaned closer to the cook and whispered, “If it is a baby, can it survive without its mother?”

  Muttycombe shook his head. “Never heard of such a thing.”

  “So it won’t hurt the baby if you cut open the belly. It’s going to die anyway.”

  Muttycombe looked nervous. “Sir?” he said. “I don’t—”

  “Open the belly, then,” Sparks said, loudly enough for his men to hear. “We’ll find that fish.”

  Reluctantly, the men carried the woman’s body to the kitchen below and laid her on the table. The cook leaned over her body, counted to three in his mind, and set the knife on the fabric of her tunic. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw the crew’s terrified faces, but he steeled himself.

  The knife was dull and it took some hard pressing. Just as he broke the fabric, the woman’s eyelids fluttered. The men gasped and drew back. All at once, the woman jolted to life.

  The cook and his men flew away, howling, crashing into tin pots and silverware. They gripped one another and stared in horror as Brightstoke coughed, spitting up a good pint of seawater. She rolled sideways off the table, falling to the floor. No one moved to help her. They were terrified of her powers.