The Silver Casket by Chris Mould

enemies had begun. They swung awkwardly at each other with cudgels and blades and cursed each one another’s names.
    Very quickly their bodies became listless and weary. They were drawn to the Ibis, every one, but as they came near they were caught in Stanley’s effortless trap. The fever boiled on their brows and the energy of the ancient Ibis spiraled it into a furious force.
    There were hundreds of pirates, but soon their grubby corpses lay scattered across the decks. Some had died from the fever and some from the battle. And yet still more came.

    Angel Cuzco appeared as if from nowhere. His long white hair and scarlet coat glowed in the darkness, and the lights of his emerald green eyes were enough to frighten the fiercest of men. He was forced into terrifying battle.
    Stanley and Daisy had joined back up with the gypsies, and now the full force of the Crampton army stood in silhouette along the cliff top. They watched the north bay battle from the safety of the hills. Through the stinking, filthy, darkness, the pirates battled and searched for the treasure all night.
    After hours of vicious pandemonium the pirates who were left grew distracted from the fight, drawn by the Ibis. Still they sweated at the brow and felt the slimy boils pop up on their skin. They did not notice the illness that grew upon them. They found themselves
almost hypnotized by the Ibis, as each and every one of them searched among the stones that lined the bottom of the Rusty Blade.

    All except for Angel Cuzco, who stood staring hard at the pebbles, almost as if he could see right through them and then when he found the spot he would walk right over to it.

    And that’s exactly what he did.
    He was strong, stronger than most. He did not feel a fever or a shaking in his limbs.
    Stomping his way through the crowd of sickly pirates, he sank his hand deep down to where Stanley had laid the Ibis. He wrapped his bony joints around it and plucked it from its nest.

    Then, without a moment’s thought, he
stood up straight and climbed to the upper deck. The pirates that still littered the ship were on their knees. The fever was taking their lives quickly, and as they lay upon the deck their gruesome features rotted and only their stinking bones were left. It grew quiet as the noise of gunfire and the screams of war were banished by the silent grip of death.
    The ships lay battered and broken on the rocks, and soon the evidence of their presence would be swallowed by the gulf waters.

14
    The Pirate Wolves
    But Angel Cuzco was not done. He was strong and he was hungry, and he had not come this far only to suffer illness.
    He walked around the deck in the early morning light, picking his way through the bones. He kept the heads of those he knew belonged to the hardest of pirate captains, holding them by their hair: those he had
fought in the past and those he had struggled to beat that very night.
    With his arms full and his sword tucked by his side, Angel Cuzco headed for the gypsy encampment.
    â€œPut the children in the wagons!” someone cried out. But Stanley and Daisy avoided being rounded up and mingled with the warriors.
    The travelers were preparing for the onslaught. Weapons appeared and the horses were brought forward. Bartley and Phinn, stripped to the waist, held their fists high.
    A huge crowd of troops stood in wait: some on horseback, some on foot, many with weapons and many with hardened fists that knew their trade.
    The crazy stare of Angel Cuzco came close. Now he wanted the silver casket, and
he wanted it desperately. The gypsies could see that he was alone, but that he carried something in his hands.
    Inside her tent, Greta had been looking into her ball. She cried out in panic when she saw familiar eyes peering back at her.
    â€œWolves!” she cried. “I thought we were free of the wolves. Why do they show themselves in the glass?”
    Before she could see clearly, but now the green mist came again and