Gargantis

by Thomas Taylor

Dr Thalassi straightens his bow tie.

  “Yes,” says Mrs Fossil, looking into the distance and considering. “Yes, I could do that. And I could come to see the bottle whenever I wanted…”

  “I would display it at the museum entrance, in pride of place,” says the doc quickly. “It would be the first thing people see when they enter, Wendy. I promise you that.”

  “Then I agree,” declares Wendy Fossil, flashing her snaggletooth grin and shaking hands with the delighted doc. “No, don’t try to stop me! It’s my bottle, and I’ll donate it if I want to.”

  “Thank you, Mrs Fossil,” says Dr Thalassi.

  Violet and I do a fist bump, discreetly, under the table.

  “That means that the museum will have another example of Eerie Script to add to the collection,” the doctor continues. “If you are still interested in the secret letters, Violet, come over with Herbie for those lessons, and we can examine them. Who knows, you may even help me make a breakthrough!”

  The doc chuckles at that last bit, as if the idea is preposterous.

  I look at Violet and see that she’s smiling sweetly and saying thanks. But I also see a fierce light in her eyes that tells me she can’t wait to get to the museum and start translating the code in front of Dr Thalassi. I definitely want to be there for that.

  “Fish and chips almost ready,” says Mr Seegol, coming to join us, the thumb of one hand tucked proudly in his apron string while the fingers of his other are miraculously hooked around the necks of six bottles of chilled lemonade.

  “Maybe you can all help me with something first,” says Vi, pulling a book from her coat pocket.

  She places it on the table.

  And there, despite the sun and the warmth and the promise of the day, lies a horrible sight that chills me to the bone:

  On the cover, the stricken liner is eternally sinking beside its iceberg, while underwater the drowning passengers writhe and twist as they fall to the depths. From the lower edge, tentacles, claws and feelers reach up to snatch them for ever.

  The mood around the table changes.

  “Why have you brought that, Violet?” Jenny Hanniver demands. “I was just beginning to feel summery.”

  “The mermonkey dispensed it,” Violet says, avoiding my eye but catching everyone else’s. “I just wondered what you all thought. If it was dispensed to you, I mean. What would you think it meant?”

  “Ah,” says Seegol. “I’ve read this novel. I would just see it as a reminder of where the fish I serve come from. Nothing more.”

  “A rather simple interpretation,” sniffs Dr Thalassi. “But understandable. For me it would be a sign that death will come to us all one day, whether you’re a rich passenger at the captain’s table or a lowly dishwasher in the ship’s galley.”

  “Trust you to think of something gloomy like that!” declares Mrs Fossil. “For me it would mean: make the most of life while you can. Sing! Beachcomb! Make tea for your friends and bake cakes! Maybe spend a bit less time curating – and a bit more time having fun.”

  Everyone laughs at that. Well, almost everyone. Jenny Hanniver is looking at the book in silence. Then she turns to me.

  “I’d like to know what Herbie thinks.”

  Everyone turns to me.

  “I think…” I start to say. “I think that maybe…”

  And I wonder – wonder about the things Sebastian Eels said to me in the cave. Is the sinking of the SS Fabulous actually a true story? Did Eerie-on-Sea’s most famous author steal the idea from real events, and pass it off as his own work of fiction? Is there hope for me in The Cold, Dark Bottom of the Sea, after all? And suddenly, as I look again at the disturbing cover art, I see something that I never noticed before: on the white line that represents the surface of the sea, there are little shapes. I’d always thought they were just distant icebergs, floating in the ocean, but now – as the sunlight of a new day streams down onto the book – I understand what they really are.

  Lifeboats. Rowing away from disaster.

  Full of survivors.

  Could my parents be among them?

  “Herbie?” says Violet, cutting through my thoughts.

  “I think,” I say, blinking with the possibilities of it all, “that maybe, in the end, it doesn’t really matter what horrible things happened to me in the past, or what the future may bring, because today, here and now, with all my friends around me, I reckon Seegol’s chips will taste better than they’ve ever tasted. But not if we let them get cold.”

  Jenny Hanniver picks up the book and hands it over to me.

  “I think that’s exactly what it means,” she says with a smile. I do a grin in reply as I slip the book into my pocket.

  Then the chips arrive, and drinks are poured, and a lunch fit for the king of the merfolk is spread out before us on the table.

  “I hope you don’t mind that I brought that book,” Vi says later, while everyone is chatting. “But it is my job.”

  “As assistant at the Eerie Book Dispensary?”

  “As your best friend,” she replies, slipping another fishcake to Erwin under the table. “There are always a hundred different ways to feel about the books the mermonkey dispenses, even one written by Sebastian Eels.”

  “A book is like a mirror,” I reply, watching Erwin licking his chops. “We always see ourselves inside.”

  The cat winks at me with one of his ice-blue eyes, but says nothing.

  “Yes,” says Violet. “And now we know Sebastian Eels knew something about your past when he wrote The Cold, Dark Bottom of the Sea, we can read the book and look for clues, Herbie. Clues about your past we can research! Maybe we’ll even find a passenger list for the SS Fabulous! And then… Hey, Herbie? Are you listening to me?”

  I am. But I don’t have anything else to say right now.

  Because Violet’s entirely right.

  And I’m already eating a muffin.

  THOMAS TAYLOR has always lived near the sea (though that’s not difficult in the British Isles). He comes from a long line of seafarers but chose a career as an illustrator because that involves less getting wet and better biscuits.

  His first professional illustration commission, straight out of art school, was the cover art for Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone. This led to a lot more drawing until he finally plucked up the courage to try writing for himself. It turns out that turning biscuits into books is even more fun when you get to create the story, too.

  Thomas currently lives on the south coast of England, which provided a lot of the weather for this book. As a keen beachcomber he has found several messages in bottles over the years, including one that appeared to be in secret code. He hasn’t been struck by lightning yet, but as the best time to find beachcombing treasures is just after a storm, it’s surely only a matter of time.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. All statements, activities, stunts, descriptions, information and material of any other kind contained herein are included for entertainment purposes only and should not be relied on for accuracy or replicated as they may result in injury.

  First published 2020 by Walker Books Ltd

  87 Vauxhall Walk, London SE11 5HJ

  Text and interior illustrations © 2020 Thomas Taylor

  Cover illustrations © 2020 George Ermos

  The right of Thomas Taylor to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted or stored in an information retrieval system in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, taping and recording, without prior written permission from the publisher.

  British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data:

  a catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

  ISBN 978-1-4063-9576-1
(ePub )

  www.walker.co.uk