by Angie Sage
Jerra now set an OutPost ensign fluttering from the stern (which Rosie had stayed up all night sewing), spread a patterned rug from their kitchen onto the boat’s rough wooden deck and asked Oskar to nail a strip of traditional OutPost gold braid along the edge of the cuddy. “There,” he said with a grin. “Now she looks like all those other fancy-pants OutPost boats. Poor Skimmer.”
The misty pale sun climbed higher in the sky, a brisk breeze sprang up and the ensign—dark blue with two big gold stars—fluttered importantly as Skimmer headed for Goat Rock—a tiny, rocky island that, if seen with half-closed eyes and a lot of imagination, was the shape of a goat’s head. Skimmer was well named. She skimmed across the water and soon they were near enough to Goat Rock to see an elegant little boat, its sails white against the gray granite, waiting for them.
“There she is,” said Jerra, waving excitedly. “There’s Annar!”
Through the telescope Tod saw a dark-haired girl in a thick blue fisherman’s jersey. She handed the telescope to Oskar and whispered, “She looks okay, Oskie.”
Annar and her boat, Swan, were waiting at a small stone quay on the sheltered side of Goat Rock, but as Skimmer approached she sailed out to meet them. “There’s a thick mist up there this morning,” she told them. “Follow close or you’ll lose me.”
As they drew near the mouth of the creek, a white mist came in and Annar raised a red pennant to make it easier for them to follow. Soon the wind died and both boats had to be rowed the rest of the way. They tied Skimmer and Swan together to the OutPost quay wall and moments later they were on the quayside. Annar and Jerra were hugging and smiling delightedly. Oskar raised his eyebrows at Tod as if to say, Jerra’s got a girlfriend.
“This is my brother Oskar and our best friend, Tod,” said Jerra, introducing them to Annar.
“Hello, Oskar. Hello, Tod,” Annar said, a little shyly.
Tod noticed that Annar was standing beneath a large board on which was a written long list, each section beginning with: “DO NOT.” One in particular caught her eye: DO NOT land here if you are an undesirable alien. Undesirable aliens include: PathFinders, Moth-Wardens and Carminators. Penalty: not less than ten years in prison.
Across the word “PathFinder,” someone had scrawled: fish slime.
Annar followed Tod’s gaze. “I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s horrible. But we have to come here to get a pass for the creek.”
But the Quay Office was not yet open. Annar glanced around anxiously. “Let’s go somewhere quiet,” she said. She led them to a line of deserted net lofts that backed onto the high wall that separated the OutPost from the woods and the creek beyond. They sat in the sunshine, watching the Quay Office and hoping that someone would soon arrive to open up.
“I’ve got your stuff here,” Annar said. She handed Tod and Oskar two red-and-white-striped tops with Tristan embroidered across the back in big blue letters. “Put them on later,” she said. “No one likes the Tristan people here.”
Tod listened carefully while Annar described the layout of the Tristan. She did it so well that Tod could picture the ship as if she were there. Oskar, however, was having difficulty concentrating. He was ravenously hungry and longing for breakfast. Every now and then he glanced across at a hut with the words SnakShak scrawled across its black wooden planks. It sat in the middle of the quayside sporting a cheerful striped awning, and it was selling fresh bacon rolls. The smell of the frying bacon was driving Oskar crazy. As Annar once again ran through the layout of the hatches on the Tristan’s deck, Oskar’s stomach let out a long growl—and before anyone could stop him, he was up and away, heading toward the SnakShak.
“Sheesh!” said Jerra, leaping to his feet. “What’s he doing?”
Oskar had ducked in under the awning and was approaching the counter. Jerra looked at Annar in a panic. “He’s got to get out of there.”
“I’ll get him,” said Annar, setting off toward the SnakShak with Jerra and Tod in tow. “Nice and slow. No drawing attention to ourselves. We just act natural, okay?”
Jerra nodded and tried to walk nonchalantly. Tod followed, confused. Oskar seemed to be behaving in the most natural way of all, she thought. What was wrong with going to get a bacon roll? Tod soon found out.
Under the awning, a young seafaring couple looked up from their breakfast. They smiled at Oskar—as people who have spent time at sea do when they reach the safety of land. They both looked windswept and sunburned. The young man had friendly, bright green eyes, and a shock of tangled straw-colored hair with braids and beads woven into it. The young woman, with her white-blond hair and blue eyes, was clearly from the Land of the Long Nights; on her lap was a small orange cat to whom she was feeding tiny fish. As Annar hurried in after Oskar, the couple smiled at her too, but Annar was too preoccupied to return their greeting. She put her arm around Oskar’s shoulders and Oskar looked up irritably. He didn’t think Annar knew him well enough to do that.
“Come now, Oskar,” said Annar. “We must go.”
“But I’ve just ordered four bacon rolls,” Oskar said in his telltale lilting PathFinder accent.
“I’ll get them,” said Annar. “Go now, your brother wishes to speak to you.”
Oskar frowned. “Can’t it wait?”
“No,” Annar said sternly.
Tod saw the cook behind the counter stare at Oskar’s hand as he offered his payment of four big copper pennies. In the shadows of the awning the sheen on Oskar’s skin and red hair flashed like the shine on a newly landed fish. Now Tod understood Jerra’s concern.
The cook recoiled. “Put them there, Fish Boy,” he muttered under his breath, indicating the zinc counter. But still Oskar stood waiting, taking no notice of Annar.
“I’m going to get him,” muttered Tod.
As Tod joined Oskar and Annar at the counter she saw two OutPost officials wandering across to the Quay Office, their gold braid glittering in the sun and their elaborately curled white wigs bright against the black-painted sheds behind them. The SnakShak cook saw them too.
“Hey!” he yelled. “Fish slime here! Fish slime!”
Tod leaped forward and grabbed Oskar. “Run, you idiot!” she told him. With Annar on one side and Tod on the other, Oskar was propelled rapidly out of the SnakShak, protesting as he went. “Ferdie’s dragon! You made me drop her dragon!”
Tod and Jerra pushed Oskar across the quay, following Annar as she dodged behind a line of net lofts. Behind them they heard the thudding of heavy footsteps. Annar dived under a tangled pile of old fishing nets, and Tod, Oskar and Jerra followed fast. In the rank, fish-smelling gloom they listened to the sound of the pursuing footsteps stop some distance away, wait a while and then walk away. None of the officials wanted to get their finery dirty.
Many long, smelly minutes later they warily crept out.
“You idiot!” Jerra hissed at his brother. “You stupid little know-it-all. You total—”
“That’s enough, Jerra,” Tod cut in. “Oskie knows it was stupid. There’s no point fighting about it.”
Oskar was distraught. “Ferdie’s dragon. Her lucky dragon!”
“Oskie,” said Tod, “you have to forget the dragon.”
“Now please, follow me,” Annar said.
Oskar hung back. “But the dragon,” he wailed.
Jerra grabbed hold of Oskar’s top and pulled him along. “Shut up, Oskar. You nearly got us all thrown in prison for ten years.”
Oskar looked wide-eyed at Jerra. “Why?”
“Idiot boy. Didn’t you read the sign? We’re not allowed here, get it?”
Suddenly a shout from behind made them all jump. “Hey!”
They spun around and to their horror saw the young seafaring man who had been at the SnakShak running toward them, closely followed by his girlfriend carrying her cat.
“Run!” said Jerra.
“No, wait,” said Tod. “Look, I think she’s got—yes, she’s got Ferdie’s dragon!”
Jerra hesitated.
The young woman with the cat was holding out something very small and possibly green.
“Please, Jerra,” Oskar pleaded. “Please wait.”
“Let’s wait,” said Tod. “I think they’re okay.”
Jerra was not inclined to trust his brother’s judgment, but he did trust Tod’s.
The couple reached them. “You dropped this,” the young woman said, handing Ferdie’s felt dragon to Oskar with a smile.
“Oh, thank you,” said Oskar. “Thank you very, very much!”
“It is my pleasure,” she said in a singsong Northern Trader accent.
The young man was looking around warily. He lowered his voice and said, “I saw you were having trouble. There are some strangers who are not welcome here, you know.”
“We know,” Jerra said shortly.
“Look,” the young man said, a little awkwardly. “I think those two officials who saw you have gone to get reinforcements. They’re not going to give up the search. You have to get out of here.”
Oskar broke in suddenly. “But we can’t! We have to rescue my sister!”
“Oskar, shut up, will you?” said Jerra.
The young man remembered a time when he and his little brother had been searching for their sister. He remembered the desperation he had felt—the same desperation he could see now in the eyes of the kids in front of him. “So where’s your sister?” he asked gently.
Jerra kicked Oskar to tell him to be quiet. No one answered.
“You can trust me,” said the young man. “My name is Nicko. Nicko Heap. And this is my girlfriend, Snorri Snorrelssen. I know this place. I know how it works. And believe me, you are in danger.”
“Which is why we’re on our way out,” Annar said, a little snappily. She pointed to the gate set in the high wall that surrounded the OutPost. As she did so four burly officials marched through, closed the gate behind them and stood on guard.
“Not that way, you’re not,” said Nicko.
“Come with us,” said Snorri. “We have a boat. We will get you out of here.”
Jerra glanced at Annar, who nodded. “Thanks,” Jerra said. “Thanks, Snorri. Nicko.”
As they approached the quay they saw another knot of officials—in their usual array of white wigs and too much gold braid upon their jackets—staring down at the boats tied up below. They had discovered Skimmer. As they drew nearer, Jerra could see his beloved boat being trampled in by two heavy-footed men laughing at her hand-sewn flag and her rough disguise while they tied her—and Swan—to an OutPost launch.
“Hey!” Annar yelled. “Leave my boat alone!” And before anyone could stop her, Annar had darted away to argue with the officials.
Jerra had to be stopped from going after Annar. “Don’t,” said Nicko, grabbing his arm.
“You will put her in danger if you go after her,” Snorri told him sternly.
Nicko and Snorri hurried them on, heading for a large, weather-beaten red boat called Adventurer moored with the bigger fishing boats. In seconds they were on board and Snorri was casting off the mooring lines. As they sailed off from the quay, Jerra had to watch his beloved Skimmer—along with Swan—being towed away by the launch. But what was even worse was seeing Annar marched off to the Quay Office, her slight figure dwarfed by the prancing OutPost officials with their ridiculously tall white wigs.
From across the water came the conversation of the two sailors towing Skimmer and Swan.
“No escape for them now,” they said, laughing. “Stupid Fish Slime.”
THE LEMONADE STALL
The Adventurer was moored at a jetty in the creek safely past the OutPost, and Nicko was cooking breakfast. Up on deck Snorri was showing their Visitor Pass to a pair of officials who had arrived as soon as they tied up. Down in the cabin, Oskar’s stomach was rumbling loudly.
Over breakfast—a deliciously heavy soup of beans and fish with crusty pieces of cheesy bread floating in it—they exchanged stories. Snorri told them how she had met Nicko in his country across the water, and how after a few years she had gone back home to the Land of the Long Nights. Nicko told them about his long voyage to find Snorri and that she was now coming back to his home—which he called the Castle—where they planned to get married. Tod thought this was very romantic indeed. Oskar thought it was a long way to travel just to find a girl, but he knew better than to say so.
Then it was the turn of the PathFinders to tell their story. Tod did the talking while Nicko and Snorri listened increasingly somberly. She explained about Ferdie, the Garmin and Aunt Mitza. And the more she explained, the worse Tod thought things sounded. By the time she had finished, Tod was feeling seriously scared. A glance at Oskar told her he felt the same.
Jerra, too, looked serious, but he was thinking about Annar. What would she think of him, watching her being taken away and doing nothing about it? And without Annar, they did not know where to find the Tristan.
There was a lemonade stall set up at the end of the jetty run by a big woman with a friendly smile. After breakfast, Tod and Oskar decided to ask the lemonade seller about the Tristan. Tod made Oskar stay in the sun while she ventured into the shadows of the awning. She handed over a couple of copper pennies and the stallholder took two thick green bottles out of a tub of ice and gave them to her.
“Excuse me,” Tod said. “We are looking for a ship. She’s called the Tristan.”
The woman frowned. “The Tristan?”
“Yes. We have an, er, appointment there. I wonder if you know where—”
The lemonade seller leaned so close that Tod could smell her sweet, lemony breath. “Look, ducks, here’s advice. If you have an appointment on that ship, don’t keep it. Go home. Got that?” Suddenly she screamed out, “Get off, you vermin! Get off!”
Oskar froze. He’d been discovered—but how? He was standing in full sunlight. He turned to run but Tod grabbed him. “No,” she said. “It’s that. Look.”
A small monkey wearing a red jacket was leaping across the pile of lemons, skillfully avoiding the lemonade seller’s swipes. It picked up a lemon and then jumped into the sugar barrel, scooped up a fistful of sugar and crammed it into its mouth.
“Filthy, filthy animal!” yelled the woman. She lunged at the monkey and set the pile of lemons tumbling to the ground. The monkey screamed with laughter and ran off.
“Tod!” said Oskar. “Look. Look what the monkey’s got!”
“What?” said Tod, who was busy picking up the lemons and handing them back to the lemonade seller.
“Thank you, ducks,” said the woman. “You see, nothing but trouble comes from that ship.”
“Tod!” Oskar said urgently.
Tod ignored him. “So,” she asked the lemonade seller, “is that where the monkey’s from—the Tristan?”
“Yes, ducks. And it’s not the only filthy creature on board, either.” She leaned forward confidingly. “There are abominations on the ship. Abominations.” The woman rolled the word around her mouth like a sour lemon.
“Sorry,” Tod said, looking at the fallen lemons, “but we have to go now.”
Oskar was impatiently hopping around in the sun. “Did you see what was on that monkey’s arm?” he said.
“No, what?”
“It was Ferdie’s purple ribbon.”
“Oh, Oskie!” Tod spotted a flash of red scuttling through the stalls. “There it is! After it!”
Oskar dithered. “But what about Nicko and Snorri? They won’t know where we’ve gone.”
“There’s no time,” said Tod. “We have to follow the monkey.”
Snorri saw them go. “They are chasing a monkey,” she said to Nicko as she climbed down into the cabin. “They are a little peculiar, do you not think?”
THE MONKEY
Following the monkey was not as difficult as Tod had feared. As it scampered along the dusty path beside the creek, people leaped out of the creature’s way. Tod noticed that many of them crossed their index fingers against each other and held them in fron
t of their faces, making the seafarer’s sign to ward off the Evil Eye.
Suddenly the monkey sat down and bit into the lemon. It leaped up squealing and hurled the offending fruit out into the creek.
Oskar chuckled. “Serves it right,” he said.
The monkey dropped down off the path and set off along the sand uncovered by the low tide. The flash of its red jacket against the dark yellow was easy to see, and Tod and Oskar jogged along the path keeping pace with it. They had left the market behind and the creek was now bordered by a dense wood, which curved into a steep left-hand turn ahead. As they rounded the bend, Tod and Oskar no longer had any need to watch the monkey. In front of them lay a beautifully elegant ship, her paintwork shining blue and gold. Her white sails were neatly furled, her woodwork shone, her ropes were perfectly coiled and the line of windows in her broad stern—their blinds down—gleamed in the sunlight. And just below the stern rail, proud curlicues of gold proclaimed the ship’s identity: Tristan.
Tod was shocked. “But . . . she’s beautiful.” She had been convinced that somehow the ship would show the evil that lurked within.
Oskar, too, was dismayed at his inability to read the ship. He had been convinced that as soon as he saw the Tristan he would feel that Ferdie was close by. But Oskar felt nothing at all. His twin could just as easily be thousands of miles away on the other side of the world.
Down in the deep cut of the creek, the monkey was scampering toward the ship. Her blue hull reared up like a cliff face and they watched the monkey run into the shadows of the ship’s overhang.
“Look!” said Tod. “There’s a rope ladder for the monkey!”
“We could use that to get on board,” Oskar whispered.
There were some ivy-clad ruins deep in the shadows of the trees. In an old, eerily dark archway with the figure IV carved into it they put on their Tristan tops.
