Mr Darwin’s voice came back to me: ‘The bull sea lions guard their territory closely, Covington, they’ll fight for hours, and their wounds can be fatal. It isn’t unknown for them to mistake a man for an unwelcome interloper out to steal his females, so take good care.’
I raised both hands and edged backwards, almost tripping over one of the bodies – probably the female this furious male sea lion mistakenly thought I was after.
‘Whoa there! I don’t mean any trouble, big fellow. Just let me get out of your way . . .’
Another bellow, this time from behind, and I turned to see a second male rearing up. He too had gashes across his muzzle and a clear set of claw marks across his chest.
I’d stumbled directly into the middle of a sea lion brawl.
The two bull sea lions crashed down on to the sand. I didn’t know if they were furious at me, or only at each other, or both. I crouched, trying to make myself look less of a threat. But the movement disturbed the sea lion to my left, and he took a swipe at me with his huge flipper, slapping me across the shoulder and sending me sprawling on to my back. He thumped down on his belly, unbalanced by the swipe, and I only just rolled out of the way as his quivering bulk sent vibrations through the sand.
I scooted backwards, out of the space between the two sea lions, and crawled on hands and knees away, but now the one who had swiped my shoulder had his attention firmly on me. He was quicker than he looked, galloping towards me on those front flippers. I scrambled to my feet but slipped, and he gained on me, grunting . . . and then a different sound threaded through the hollers, something between a hoot and growl.
A flash of green sprang from nowhere on to the sea lion’s head. A pair of claws covered his eyes and his ear was gripped between a set of small pointed teeth.
Farthing!
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
It really was Farthing! She tugged the sea lion’s ear like a puppy playing with a knot-end of rope, and the animal waddled in a frantic circle, flicking his head from side to side and bellowing. I scrambled to my feet and back up the rocks I’d climbed to reach this beach. The smaller sea lion took his opportunity; whilst his opponent was distracted he lunged, slamming into the larger animal’s body and rolling right over his tail; they were like the mud wrestlers I’d once seen at the harvest fair.
‘Farthing!’ I called out, terrified she would be crushed.
Farthing sprang free and darted towards me and was almost safely away when the bigger animal whipped around and launched himself after her. I gasped as the sea lion bit down on the end of the lizard’s tail.
‘Farthing! Run, now! Here . . . Farthing!’
Farthing was flung to the ground but bounced back up, twisting to bite the fleshy lump between the sea lion’s eyes. He shook his head with more booming bellows and Farthing was flicked free. She landed neatly and raced up to where I stood on the rocks, continuing past me and over the pile.
I ran after her. The very end of her spiky tail had been bitten clean off leaving a bloody stump. I stopped at the crack where I’d emerged from the cave and pointed. Farthing was injured and should take shelter, but she didn’t stop running.
This time I didn’t question that the lizard knew where she was going, I simply couldn’t bear to let her out of my sight. It dawned on me that she was still the only one of her kind I had seen. Maybe this lizard wasn’t Farthing at all.
I stopped. The lizard stopped and nudged at the ragged stump of her tail with her snout. I crouched as she turned. Those bright copper eyes. She tilted her head to one side and the ruff of scales at her neck rose. One of the scales was missing from the neat row.
‘It really is you,’ I whispered. Somehow, she’d survived the fire. My throat felt full and I had an urge to sweep her up in my arms, but instead I reached out my open hand. Farthing took a step forward and nudged her snout gently into my palm.
‘That was awful bricky, taking on those big beasts,’ I said, and stroked her scales.
I looked up at the purple-pink evening sky. Still no sign of the dragon, but I needed to get Farthing underground with me. But the relief at seeing her again made me feel weak and dizzy. I was tired of trying to figure out the best thing to do, so I followed her.
Farthing led me inland through a plain of prickly pears, and I stopped, my mouth watering. I’d left the buccaneer’s knife in the boat.
She stopped and pawed at the ground, impatient, turning only her head to look behind.
‘I need to eat,’ I said, picking up a stone and tapping it against a ripe fruit, avoiding the irritating hairs. Farthing huffed out a noisy breath, but with the help of her tough claws, I ate until I was full. My shoulder was throbbing. I peered behind me and saw my shirt was ripped. There was a gash where the sea lion had struck me, and it was oozing blood that had soaked into my already filthy shirt. Farthing raised her snout and sniffed. Then she ran on.
I blew out a long breath. I couldn’t follow her for ever; the red sun was nearly touching the horizon. I needed to get back to the tunnel and shelter until sunrise.
I imagined Mr Darwin in his cramped cabin on the Beagle, table strewn with papers, eyes shadowed with worry. Captain Fitzroy wouldn’t want a further delay to the voyage; he didn’t think much of the Galapagos and had said he was keen to leave. Tomorrow, I would test the tiny boat.
Any thoughts about navigating? The lizard can’t help you there.
I didn’t reply to that, but realized I was blindly following the little lizard yet again.
‘Where are you going, Farthing?’ I said. She was now heading alongside the shoreline. The ground was flattened and dotted with pale pinkish blotches – hundreds, maybe thousands of them – reaching way into the distance. What were they?
Farthing stopped at the edge of this flatter area and I slipped, smacking down on the seat of my pants into something thick, cool and slimy.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
I sat up straight, afraid of sinking sand or a swamp, and released a squeak of shock. A huge pink bird looked down its crooked black beak at me, like a rose-coloured swan whose legs had grown too long. It wasn’t scared of me, and stopped to take a delicate sip of water from a pool in the mud before stalking off on its spindly legs, like a lady holding her skirts out of the town filth. And now I saw that the blotches were a giant flock of these birds. I wondered if they were edible. My stomach would love some meat, those prickly pears didn’t satisfy for long. The bird cocked its head like it had read my mind.
‘No fear, Mr Pink. The knife is back at the tunnel, and I think you’d be safe even if I had it,’ I said. We were on a kind of floodplain or salt marsh, stretching out to the sea at a distance. Sally Lightfoot crabs skittered across the surface of the black mud. It reminded me of when Da took me to the Thames Flats to see if the sea air might help his cough. We’d collected cockles on a hot afternoon, cooked them in a pot over a driftwood fire, and eaten them hot and fresh, spicy with vinegar.
I sighed at the memory. Imagine what Da would have made of this place. He’d toured with a band, before I came along, and always said when I was old enough we’d travel together.
The pole-legged birds were scattered across this mud field in their thousands. I scanned the sky, but found no sign of the dragon. For now. The ground trembled and I fixed my eyes on the volcano. The smoke was thick above it and a spray of orange lava spurted into the air. A scattering of birds flew off in a giant cloud of white and pink, and then landed again further along the shore. The ground steadied, but the volcano definitely looked angrier.
‘What are you up to?’ I said, when I saw Farthing wallowing in the sludge like a pig. She burrowed her snout in a muddy pool and blew thick bubbles. I laughed.
‘Have you brought me here to play?’ I said, and as I said it, I remembered the local people we’d stayed with at Tierra de Fuego in South America. They’d made a poultice of straw and mud . . .
Could Farthing have brought me here for healing? I leant down, dipped my finger in the bla
ck mud, and sniffed it. It wasn’t rotten, didn’t smell of much at all, just earth and sea. I reached over and smeared some across the wound on my shoulder while Farthing watched me. It didn’t feel good or bad, maybe a bit cooler. I shrugged. When I’d finished, she sniffed the air in my direction. She was satisfied.
What a clever and strange little beast she was.
Darkness was falling now. I turned and started back towards the opening that led into the tunnel. I checked Farthing was behind me, she followed at a distance. I reached the gap and ducked through into the tunnel. I waited for my lizard friend and wondered what I would do if she didn’t follow. I couldn’t force her to stay with me and I had nothing to tempt her.
After all your maudlin, the creature wasn’t even dead.
Scratch was propped up by the boat.
I stared up at the entrance to see Farthing’s bright copper eyes peering down at me.
The memory of the dragon filling the hole with flame billowed into my mind and I wanted to run up there, grab her close and keep her with me. But I just watched. She glanced this way and that, then gave a small hoot and slipped through the gap to join me.
This time it was Farthing who had followed me.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
I slept near the opening of the tunnel, far from the long-dead buccaneer. Farthing stayed close, her head rested on her claws, her tail – its bitten end now crusted in dried mud – curled around her. Her eyes didn’t close, but they narrowed to slits.
The blue light of sunrise woke me. This must be my fourth morning on the island.
The Beagle could be long gone by now.
I swallowed and forced myself not to think about it.
‘Well, who’s being maudlin now?’ I said. ‘I’ve got a boat to launch.’
Farthing’s eyes flicked open wide at the sound of my voice.
That night it had rained, and I’d left the buccaneer’s tarnished copper pan out for this very reason. As I drank away my thirst, the ground trembled, but it had become a bit like my aunt’s complaints; happening so often I hardly noticed it.
I hauled the boat up and out with the rope I’d found. I knew better than to stumble into sea lion territory again and dragged it sideways along the smooth rock until I reached the flamingo mud flats beyond. It was difficult to keep to my feet here and I slipped over more than once in the black mud, Farthing hooting each time and nudging me. Having the small lizard there kept my spirits up, even though, in the light of day, the ancient boat seemed a mean thing and I was fearful it wouldn’t float at all.
Eventually I reached the shoreline, shoulders burning with effort.
The water was shallow and without rocks. I waded out and the boat lifted. Afloat. I sat inside it and a few tiny spouts of water jumped from the seams, with one little fountain wide enough to give me serious worry. Any sailor would eye it with disgust, especially without a ship’s swain to do a day’s work on it. I imagined how Robbins would grimace at the sight of it, he’d probably give me a gentle cuff around the ear for even suggesting it was seaworthy. Its seams needed filling or it wouldn’t float for long. If I was forced to bail out constantly, I’d not be able to row and would be going nowhere.
I climbed out and looked at Farthing, as I tugged on my neckerchief trying to think of a solution. In the high sun, the lizard’s eyes glowed metal-bright. I scratched my back where the mud had cracked and the wounds were crusting over underneath. It didn’t feel too bad.
The animals on this island used what they had. What did I have? The buccaneer’s boat, rope, knife and pan. Mr Darwin’s eyeglass, the clothes on my back . . .
Forgetting something?
Of course! Scratch, and my block of rosin in the case. Rosin was pine resin, waxy and waterproof.
I hauled the boat up the mud and on to the dry lava field. The timber would dry quickly in the midday heat and then I’d fix it as best I could. The ground shifted with a deep groan. Farthing lifted on her hind legs. I’d not seen her do that before and I laughed, until I saw she was sniffing in the direction of the volcano.
She was right, there was an awful bad smell, like when the ship’s cook had burnt an ostrich egg that was going to be the captain’s breakfast. The volcano was spitting and smoking.
Then Farthing released a call that was more growl than hoot, and raced off in the direction of the volcano so fast her legs were a blur. I searched the sky for the dragon, remembering the last time she’d run off like this she’d been leading me to safety in the lava tube. But there was no dark shape in the sky.
I watched her run like a small green dart, skimming over the rocks until she was in amongst the prickly pears and I could no longer make her out. I felt hollow. She was a lizard, a wild animal, I would never know what she was thinking and I couldn’t expect her to remain at my side all the day.
Farthing came back before, she’d come back again.
Not like you can take her with you, anyway.
I didn’t have anything to say to that.
I smoothed the rosin into the seams between the boat slats as the sun beat mercilessly on my head and neck, then left my handiwork to set in the shade of a rock and brought the copper pot, the knife and Scratch up from the cave. I couldn’t just leave with no provisions at all. I needed water, food.
I stared out to sea. It was flat now and there was no wind. If only I could make it back to Albemarle. If the Beagle had already left I had a chance of survival there, on the largest island, with a supply of fresh water. The currents were difficult in the channels between islands and I would likely be swept into open ocean. I was no navigator, but Robbins had taught me to find my way using the stars. How would that help me when I had no way to steer, though?
Stay bricky.
One thing at a time.
At least with the knife I could collect prickly pears myself. I stared along the wide horizon and back at the tiny boat.
Mr Darwin’s eyeglass was still wound around my wrist and the sun was burning. I didn’t need to leave right away. I should set a fire on the beach, it was a clear day and if the Beagle did pass by . . .
You’re waiting for the lizard.
I didn’t have an answer to that either.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
I filled my mind with the task of creating fire, collecting driftwood from the mud pools, and leaving the twigs and scraps to dry on the rock. I sharpened the knife to a keen silver edge with a stone, then used it to shave threads off the end of the rope until I had a little pile. Over these I added a steeple of sticks.
Not going to manage much fire with that.
‘I’m only trying it now, and if it works I can forage inland for more wood later.’
Sounds like a good excuse to search for the lizard.
It was true, I couldn’t stop thinking about Farthing and how she’d darted off so suddenly. Where had she gone? I took Mr Darwin’s eyeglass and squeezed it tight in my hand. The young gentleman said he saw nature’s magic through that glass.
I tilted the lens back and forth in the sun, finally concentrating a thin beam, until my pile of kindling began to smoulder. I laughed out loud. I hadn’t expected it to actually work! I held the beam steady as I crouched over it, blowing gently, cupping my other hand around the smoke, coaxing and cajoling and finally charming a tiny tongue of yellow flame.
‘See! I knew I could do it.’
The ground trembled and I almost fell face-first into my efforts. I didn’t want to look up at the volcano. I didn’t want to feel the trembling continue on and on and know I had to leave, but I couldn’t avoid it. Boiling lava was now being thrown high into the air in great thick clumps, like Cook’s morning oatmeal boiling over.
A familiar hooting sound, but louder and urgent. I spun round as Farthing emerged from the hole. I grinned and ran over to her, but something wasn’t right. Her scales on one side were blackened and a patch was missing entirely.
I crouched and held out my hand to her. ‘Farthing, you’re hurt! What happ
ened?’
She ducked back into the gap that led to the lava tube and the cave.
‘Let’s go back to the mud and put some of it on that wound,’ I said, as I followed her.
The lizard waited in the cave and her hoot turned into a growl. Then she ran into the darkness of the tunnel, towards the centre of the island.
Towards the volcano.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
I waited. Farthing would come back, she was injured, it didn’t—
Another hoot and she reappeared out of the shadows. This time she rose up on her hind legs, ruff flattened against her neck and her hoot was more of a howl, a desperate sound. The hairs rose on my arms.
‘What is it, Farthing?’
She darted away but was back within seconds and whine-growling. She pawed the ground.
I shook my head raising my hands. ‘I know you want me to follow you again, but the volcano . . .’
The lizard darted forward, grasped the ragged bottom of my breeches and tugged.
‘Hey!’
My trousers were slipping; I’d become thin on a diet of prickly pear. Farthing wouldn’t let go, she hauled and jerked and now she was closer I could get a good look at her injuries. The black patch on her side looked like crusted ash, and the skin below it was raw, shiny and bubbling. I’d seen an injury a little like that when Cook had spilt oil on his wrist. Farthing had been scalded. It was like a punch to my chest to see it.
This lizard had survived the dragon fire, yet now she was burnt. I looked closer. Was the wound from . . . lava? Had she been to the erupting volcano?
‘Let go, Farthing, please. I don’t understand—’
She gave a hard yank, growling, and a piece of fabric tore free. I fell on my back and Farthing sprang on to my chest.
My face was only an inch from her snout. Her copper eyes bored into mine, her claws needled at my ribs. She arched her neck back and her howling whine would have put a wolf to shame.
Darwin's Dragons Page 6
