We skidded into the outer harbour on a freshening breeze and the crowd on the breakwater came into view. Most of the town must have been there; people stood in groups around the three large guns which had been set up along the side of the tramway track, long barrels pointed bravely out to sea. Snowy grummets perched on the black iron, disputing territory with wings outspread. The birds had no fear of the crowds.
Several people waved and I headed closer in, sliding near the causeway of rocks on which the breakwater was built. “When are the Parls coming?” I shouted.
“Soon.” We could recognize individual faces now; I saw Ribbon and her father. There was no sign of Wolff. Ribbon waved to us frantically, grinning and shouting. We shouted back and sailed on. Browneyes was watching me speculatively and I felt a twinge of apprehension.
“It happened again, didn’t it, Drove?” she said obscurely, but confident that I knew what she meant.
“Uh?”
“I mean that you and she were involved in that truck explosion up the new cannery road and somehow I wasn’t there.”
“Browneyes, I couldn’t help that. I love you.”
Her eyes softened. “I know. But I still have this awful feeling that if I go on missing out on things, then in the end I’ll miss out on you. That won’t happen, will it, Drove?”
“Never,” I said, wondering why I felt so freezing guilty.
“Keep going, otherwise she’ll want to come with us.” Indeed, Ribbon was strolling along the breakwater parallel with our course, smiling down at us. “She’s changed, too,” said Browneyes. “She’s different recently, not so bossy. She’s nicer…Why is she so freezing nice?” wailed Browneyes quietly in sudden despair, gazing up at the undeniably beautiful young girl who walked so assuredly above us.
“She’s growing up and becoming more sensible,” I said. “It’s happening to all of us. We’ll none of us be the same after this summer…and in a way it scares me. I feel as though I’ve lost such a lot, so quickly. I’ve gained a lot too,” I added hastily.
A buzz of comment and speculation from the breakwater saved me from an awkward situation. Browneyes lowered the sail and the little craft came to an almost instantaneous halt on the sticky surface. We waited, watching the curve on the road around the far side of the harbour. Beside us there was a commotion. A huge silver fish, long and sinuous, had been writhing on the surface for a short while and the grummets now judged it safe to attack. They wheeled about us in a screaming flock, diving at the fish and slashing it with their s sharp talons until one approached too close to the head. The longfish snapped, obtained a grip on the flapping white pinions and, with a gigantic plunging, succeeded in forcing itself beneath the water, dragging the grummet after it. A few pale feathers drifted on the surface which had immediately become still. Blood floated in streaks and pools, not dispersing.
Three steam trucks puffed their way around the harbour road, whistling ceaselessly to clear the onlookers from their path. Their platforms were packed with uniformed men; the scarlet of the military police in the lead truck being followed by the more drab hues of the cannery guards in the following two. The trucks halted at the shoulder of the breakwater near the beached deep-hulls and the troops jumped down. They carried springrifles at the ready. “I do hope nobody tries anything silly,” said Browneyes. “I don’t like the look of those men. I feel as though they want to use their guns, like that time at the new cannery.”
The onlookers were shouting and waving their fists, but Strongarm’s voice could be heard calling for sanity. The troops had formed into a body and were marching along the breakwater in step, the trucks puffing slowly behind. Only one man barred their path, breaking from the grip of his comrades and running in front of the soldiers. I didn’t quite see what happened. Suddenly he was not visible from my low viewpoint, while the soldiers marched relentlessly on. They halted at the first gun and waited while the truck drew alongside. Another column of smoke rose beyond the houses; soon the tramway locomotive trundled into sight, pushing a mobile crane. The crane platform was crowded with scarlet uniforms.
In a comparatively short time the guns were loaded, the troops climbed up after them and the trucks moved away, pursued by futile jeers and epithets. Strongarm stood above us; his head was bowed and his shoulders slumped. Ribbon went up to him, and put her arm around him, standing on tiptoe and whispering in his ear. He grinned at her miserably, put his huge arm around her shoulder, and together they walked away.
“Listen, Drove…” said Browneyes unhappily. “I’m sorry I said all those stupid things about Ribbon. I do like her, really.”
By the time we’d rounded the lighthouse and were beating up the seaward side of the breakwater against the westerly breeze, the crowds had dispersed. The guns, for just three days symbols of Pallahaxi’s determination to defend itself, to thumb its nose at authority, to establish its independence, were gone. I was reminded of the time my father had confined me to the cottage following the fracas at the Golden Grummet.
Browneyes and I were in subdued mood. The sun was hot and the weather heavy and humid. Although the grummets had efficiently cleaned the surface of the ocean of small fish, the bigger ones were now being forced to the top and lay all around us, struggling feebly or frantically according to how long the death throes had been in progress. Assorted debris had floated up from the bottom: waterlogged and decayed pieces of timber, thick weed, scum. The ocean stank.
“Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to come for a sail after all,” Browneyes said. “We could always turn back and go for a walk instead. It’s not nice out here, today.”
“Let’s go just a bit further,” I said. “It might not be so bad off the Point. The tide sweeps round there. What we’re getting here is the muck from the whole area.” I had something in mind, but I didn’t want to upset Browneyes. I wanted to see if the body was still under the cliff and, if it was, I wanted to establish the cause of death…
Browneyes was regarding the water unhappily and I could tell her thoughts were running on similar lines to mine. If the body had not been left behind with the tide, then it might well be floating in our vicinity. Every time we bumped into a piece of flotsam she started and peered apprehensively over the side.
“Drove,” she said suddenly, looking out to sea, “I think there are grume-riders about.” She pointed. A flurry of white showed near the horizon.
“Probably grummets,” I tried to reassure her. “Anyway, we’ll keep close in to the shore. We can always jump on to the rocks if anything happens.” I eased the boat in under the cliffs.
We passed the place where we’d seen the body, but there was no sign of it. A large black fish floated nearby, belly up; a grummet had laid claim to the carcase and stood with talons locked into the gleaming flesh, watching us with a jealous eye. Soon Browneyes relaxed in visible relief as the water began to clear and we moved around Finger Point. “He’s gone,” she said with a long sigh as though she’d been holding her breath for minutes. “He’s gone, gone, gone.”
“The Parls killed him. I tackled Mestler and he wouldn’t say anything, but I could tell. They must have shot him just after we saw him swimming to land. I suppose they had no further use for him, the freezers.”
“Yes, well please don’t talk about it, Drove. Look, do you like my dress?”
I had to smile at the naive switch. “Yes, but what happened to the yellow pullover?”
“Oh…” she coloured. “Mother said I mustn’t wear it. She said it was…too small, you see. It was too small, really.”
“Too sexy, she meant. She was frightened I’d…uh…” I broke off in confusion, having got myself into deep water.
“Look, there’s the new quay,” said Browneyes conversationally. “Do you think they’ll be using it much, now that the Ysabel‘s sunk?”
“I expect so. They wouldn’t have built it for just one ship. Fishing boats have been offloading here…Rax. Look out!”
A gr
ume-rider had been sitting on a rock, sunning itself. As it caught sight of our skimmer its head came up with a snort and it slid into the water, some fifty paces away. Accelerating rapidly on flailing limbs, it literally bounded across the dense surface towards us.
“Lie down, Drove!” said Browneyes urgently.
My mouth dry with fear, I obeyed, sliding down until I was lying in the bottom of the skimmer. Browneyes did likewise, crawling beside me, watching me quietly with anxious eyes. Out of the breeze the sun became hot on my clothes and I was sweating, though not entirely due to the heat.
The skimmer shook as the grume-rider shook it squarely. There was a bark of rage. Water rained about us in oily drops as the creature dashed itself against the thin hull in snorting, baffled anger. Then for a moment all was still and we held our breath, listening to the grumerider panting harshly.
The boat tilted slightly and a shadow fell across us. I edged away, huddling closer to Browneyes as a blunt head appeared above the gunwale, turning this way and that, myopically scanning the interior with deceptively gentle eyes. The creature’s breath filled the boat with the stench of fish and I swallowed carefully, quietly. For a long while the animal and I looked at each other.
Then with a disgusted snort the black head withdrew and the boat shook to a sharp, decisive slap as the grume-rider pushed himself off and skittered away. We lay there, breathing as quietly as we could while the sail hung limp; the heat intensified and it became evident that the light breeze had died entirely. At last I eased myself into a sitting position and risked a quick look over the gunwale.
The sea lay flat like a mirror. The lone grume-rider disported himself about a hundred paces away, flinging slow drops as he worried at a carcase and drove off diving grummets with snarls of fury. Browneyes hoisted herself beside me, careful not to attract the grumerider’s attention by a too sudden movement. “What shall we do, Drove?” she whispered. “If we try to paddle for the wharf, he’ll see us.”
I looked towards the land, judging the distance. “We’ll have to do something, quickly,” I said. “We’re drifting further away.” I took a quick look around the ocean, which had turned a dull grey as the sun was temporarily obscured by mists. Nearby, there was a large area of sea which seemed darker than the rest. Further away, near the entrance to the estuary, there were long ripples in the flatness, like surf, like a solitary tidal wave coming in our direction. “What’s that?” I asked.
There was a tremor in Browneyes’ voice. “That’s…that’s grumeriders, Drove. A whole pack of them; that’s the way they usually work. This one here must be a rogue.”
“Uh…What will they do?”
“They’ll just swamp us…It happened last year, a fisherman was caught by a pack of grume-riders. They jump into the boat and they…”
There was no need for her to elaborate; I could visualize that horde of powerful brutes, each one as big as a man, converging on our tiny skimmer, bounding over the low gunwales…
I found I was watching the dark area of sea, close to port. Great sluggish bubbles were rising and bursting as though the very ocean was belching with disgust at the filth which covered its skin.
Browneyes was talking quietly beside me. “…we don’t have very much time, Drove. I wish…I wish we hadn’t wasted so much time getting to know each other. Please kiss me, quickly.”
I bent over and kissed her long and hard, and she clung to me and cried against my shoulder while I watched the grume-riders racing towards us in a voracious pack. I took the paddle from the bottom of the boat and hefted it in my hand; it was all we had and there was no point in dying before we had to.
I’d never been so scared in my life and yet I was thinking about Browneyes and how the freezing grume-riders would have to kill me before they got her…
The nearby rider paused in its feasting, lifted its head as it floated high on the buoyant water. It regarded the approaching pack, then turning, raced away westwards out to sea, flippers flailing, streaming a trail of spray. I glanced towards the land; it was much too far off now. The pack would be upon us before we reached the wharf.
Browneyes stiffened in my arms; she had turned away and was staring down at the water. “Look!” she gasped. “Oh, Drove, look!”
The dark shadow below the surface was taking shape, becoming firm, the outlines sharp and distinct. More bubbles rose and burst, smelling of damp timber, of rope and tar. I stared over the side, my eyes focused and I could see decks, broken spars, hatches, all swimming slowly towards me out of the depth of the Pallahaxi Trench. It was an eerie sight and I forgot the danger, and the grume-riders, and shivered from sheer superstition as the grume lifted the Ysabel from the ocean bed…
The jagged end of a shattered mast broke the surface twenty paces away, disembodied, cut off from the wreckage below by the intervening plane of silver. But soon the dripping black wheelhouse emerged also, shapeless and with windows smashed but still recognizable. The hatch covers rose into view, moaning softly as the viscous water reluctantly drained away and allowed fresh air to enter the holds. Soon the entire deck was visible, streaming water like ponderous mercury.
I thrust the paddle into the water and pushed, driving the skimmer across the short intervening distance while the grume-riders bounded closer and I could hear their barks of hunger. They had seen us; their line was converging as they closed ranks for the kill. Then the skimmer bumped against the heavy timbers of the Ysabel and I held on while Browneyes scrambled to the deck. I followed, still holding the paddle; but in my haste I slipped, felt the skimmer slide away from under me as I fell towards the water and my head smashed into the black hull in a burst of light and darkness…
My fingers were clutching hardness, digging in as I dragged myself forwards and upwards, still semi-conscious and impelled by dread of the predators who by now must be almost upon me; how long had I been unconscious, how long…? I raised my head as I struggled on and saw a vision of Browneyes against the brightness of the sky, standing astride me with paddle upraised, smashing, smashing at the leaping forms around us.
I crawled on and the deck was beginning to take shape beneath me now. I could feel it heaving as the grume buoyed it up slowly, and I could hear Browneyes now, screaming in breathless desperation as she flailed away with the paddle, “Get away from him, you freezers, get away from him, get away from him…”
I stood, staggering, fighting to clear the fog from my brain and eyes; then I stepped forward and gently took the paddle from my Browneyes as she thrashed at the inert forms, mouthing wordlessly, her eyes empty. I rolled three bodies over the edge; the water lay at least two paces below us now; they struck with a sullen splash. The grume-riders closed in instantly, tearing, devouring with low snuffling sounds. Soon, they raced away southwards.
Browneyes was pressing her hands to the sides of her face, beginning to think again, beginning to tremble. She was cut around the legs and shoulder and her pretty dress had been torn half off and hung in tatters around her waist. I put my arm around her, helped her to a hatch and sat her down; then I tore off the remains of my shirt, damped it and began to bathe her wounds as carefully as I could. She had a deep cut on her shoulder which oozed blood but her sweet breasts were unharmed and I kissed them gently as I wiped them clean. I hesitated then, but decided there were things more important than modesty and I could see blood near her waist, so I stood her up and eased the remains of the clothes from her. She had a slight cut on her hip, so I bathed that and kissed it, and washed the rest of her off while she began to smile and stroke my hair as I knelt before her.
“Now you,” she said urgently, so I got undressed and she washed me down, slowly and very thoroughly. I didn’t notice whether I was injured or not. She stepped back and looked at me long and frankly, then grinned.
“Who said nothing ever happened to us?” she said.
CHAPTER 17
The broken masts and twisted funnels were dripping slime and festooned with weed so
we deduced that they had been embedded in the sea bottom, anchoring the Ysabel while the grume intensified. Then, at last, they had dragged free and with the loss of most of the deck cargo the ship had risen fast, righting herself as she neared the surface.
Neither of us was in any hurry to report the news back to Pallahaxi.
We lay on the deck for a while to recover, while the hot sun dried our wounds and Browneyes looked like a beautiful piece of jewellery as she sparkled with crystals. It seemed a waste to put our clothes back on and there were no boats in sight, so we wandered about the decks which were themselves beginning to glitter as the waterlogged timbers dried out and we looked at the machinery, the remains of the deck cargo, but mostly at each other.
We managed to open the wheelhouse door, dragged out a bundle of wet canvas and arranged it on the deck, folded over several times like a bed. As the slow steam began to rise I looked at Browneyes and there was a serious, almost desperate expression on her glowing face as she stared back at me, her gaze travelling over my body in a searching, hungry way that made me feel shy. Then suddenly she chuckled and grabbed hold of me and we hugged wildly and joyfully while the crystals rained from our bodies and we laughed like idiots.
I’ve often thought, since, how lucky we were that we loved each other so much. Otherwise it might have been awkward, because neither of us really knew what to do. We struggled into the folds of the warm, wet sail still laughing, wriggling as the material clung to us, clumsy because we didn’t want to let go of each other; we wanted to touch each other as much and as thoroughly as we could. There was a moment’s pause when we found that we were lying outstretched, naked and closer than we’d ever been before, and there was nothing to stop us doing this wonderful secret thing that adults did, except our own ignorance.
Pallahaxi Page 17
