A Brief History of Montmaray

by Michelle Cooper

  “Well?” said Simon into my ear. “What do you think?”

  All I could think was how grateful I was that Toby, with his broken leg, and Henry, my reckless little sister, didn’t have to face this. Veronica glanced over her shoulder, noticed my frantic waving, and edged backwards. We ended up in an awkward huddle at the tunnel mouth, Rebecca and I squashed in the middle.

  “We can reach the firewood cave,” Veronica said. “That ledge is a foot wide.”

  I disagreed vehemently. It was more like eight inches, and bits of it were missing altogether. “And they’re bombing directly above it!” I cried. “They’ll see us!”

  “No, they won’t, not from above, not with that rock overhang,” said Veronica. “And the Chasm’s too narrow for them to fly through.”

  “But the cave will still flood at high tide,” I argued. “And—”

  “And we need to get to the other side of the Chasm,” put in Simon impatiently. “The castle’s too dangerous, even if we could reach it from here—all that falling rock, those unexploded bombs—and besides, the boats are both tied up near the village.”

  “Why didn’t I think of that?” said Veronica. “Let’s just take a stroll across the drawbridge, shall we? Oh, I forgot, it’s been completely destroyed!”

  An involuntary sound, almost a laugh, emerged from my mouth—even in mortal peril, Simon and Veronica were still managing to snipe at each other.

  “Don’t be stupid!” snapped Simon. “That raft of Henry’s is in the cave—we’ll cross the Chasm on it, keep close to the rock on the other side, then steer around to the cove where the boats are.”

  I turned, as much as I was able, to stare at him. It was a plan worthy of Henry herself. It was completely insane. However, we couldn’t stay squashed in the tunnel forever, not with the waves surging towards our feet as we spoke. The only real question was whether to wait for the planes to stop or not. The bombardment seemed to have been going on forever, although it had probably been no more than ten minutes. I found it hard to believe it would ever stop, but Simon pointed out that they would run out of bombs or fuel eventually. After a bit more heated argument, Veronica told us she was going on ahead and stepped back out onto the ledge before I could try to stop her.

  I shoved Rebecca aside at once and craned my neck after Veronica. I was suddenly aware of the frantic thud of my pulse in my ears, and it was this that made me realize the engine noise had died down. It sounded as though a couple of the planes had peeled off from the rest and flown away while we’d been arguing. There hadn’t been any really loud thuds for a while, either. Still, I had more than bombs to worry about as I monitored each careful step of Veronica’s. At one terrifying point, her foot slipped off the ledge and she staggered sideways, managing only at the last moment to fling herself back against the cliff face. But at last she scrambled up into the cave, reappearing a moment later to beckon us up.

  Rebecca went next, with a sure-footedness that surprised me until I considered she’d spent more time on this island than any of the rest of us. Simon and I then resolved that I should lead Carlos (who, with his tail tucked between his hind legs, looked decidedly unenthusiastic about the plan), with Simon prodding Carlos along from behind.

  I sent up a silent prayer and stepped out onto the ledge. Carlos took a mouthful of my skirt and whined, trying to tug me back. I murmured some rather unconvincing encouragement and started to inch along sideways. I pressed as much of my back as possible against the cliff face, one hand fumbling for the next rock hold, the other stretched out and clenched in Carlos’s scruff. I dared not look down into the churning water, or up at the sky, or anywhere else except at my feet. One or two planes still roared overhead, to Carlos’s distress—at one point, he halted in midstep and refused to go on. We cowered there together, frozen in place, for what felt like whole minutes, until Simon screamed at us and I managed to lift one foot and move it a few inches in the right direction. A couple of yards on, I was forced to crouch as I passed under the place where the remains of the drawbridge were still attached. Then finally, finally, I was clambering up the last rock. I took hold of Carlos and pulled while Simon gave him a push from below; then all at once the three of us were in a shaking heap on the cave floor.

  Somewhere above us came another crash, and we scuttled for the furthest corner of the cave, Veronica’s arms reaching out and hauling me to safety. Huddled beside her, I buried my face in Carlos’s neck, inhaling his familiar wet-dog scent and trying very hard not to sob. I knew that if I started, I might never manage to stop.

  “Listen,” said Simon at last. The roar of the planes was a low drone; the last three were flying away.

  “But will they come back?” I said, raising my head. Surely Gebhardt had had enough vengeance by now. “They won’t want to destroy the whole island, will they?”

  No one answered. I looked around. Veronica and Simon were now bent over Henry’s raft in the corner, examining it with near-identical expressions of disapproval (the two of them looking more than ever like brother and sister). The raft was slightly longer than it was wide and made entirely of flotsam and jetsam—curved planks that seemed to have come from a boat, a dismantled tea chest, some thick branches that were almost logs—all of it lashed together with old rope and fishing line and even bits of fishing net. There had been an attempt to insert a mast in the middle, but all that remained was a jagged hole.

  “Hopeless,” murmured Veronica. I suspect it was only habit that made Simon argue with her.

  “Look, there’s some rope attached,” he said. “We could throw it onto a bit of the cliff on the other side of the Chasm and pull ourselves …” His voice trailed away. The other side of the Chasm is mostly sheer cliff face, and even if it weren’t, it’s doubtful the rope would reach that far or that any of us would be able to toss it so accurately. And the water is far too deep and turbulent for even the strongest swimmer. Veronica immediately pointed this out.

  And since then, for the past hour or so, Simon and Veronica have been arguing about the best way to improve the raft’s seaworthiness as they fiddle round with spare planks, bits of rope, and the firewood ax.

  Meanwhile, I’ve been sitting here, writing frantically, as Rebecca has an impassioned conversation with thin air …

  We eventually agreed we had to do something, with the tide rising and no food and no fresh water, and the castle end of the tunnel probably buried under rubble by now. There was nothing else for it. I helped Veronica and Simon carry the overhauled raft to the edge of the rock and slide it on top of the water. It listed a bit to one side as it bobbed up and down, but it stayed afloat.

  “It won’t hold all of us, though,” warned Simon.

  “Carlos can swim beside it,” said Veronica, and Carlos, back to his old self now the aeroplanes had gone, thumped his tail. “You take one of us and come back for the others in the boat.”

  “I’ll take Mother—” Simon began.

  “No,” said Veronica at once. I could tell what she was thinking—that the two of them would take the rowboat and leave us here to die.

  Simon must have gathered this, too. He flushed and clenched his jaw. “Fine,” he said. “Sophia’s the smallest, I’ll take her.”

  At some point in the past, I might have dreamt of Simon choosing me above everyone else; of Simon and me together, alone in a boat as sunset drew close. But I looked at the raft and all I could think was, “They went to sea in a Sieve, they did. In a Sieve they went to sea! And when the Sieve turned round and round, everyone cried, ‘You’ll all be drowned…’“

  “Perhaps we should just wait here a bit longer,” I remember saying feebly, but no one paid me any notice and the next thing I knew I was crawling towards Simon, who was kneeling in the middle of the raft and holding out a hand to steady me. The raft dipped under our weight, sending icy water sloshing over our calves. Then Carlos leapt into the sea with a great splash, drenching both of us. I turned quickly to Veronica, intending to give her my precious
journal for safekeeping, but already the current had wrenched us away.

  “Veronica!” I screamed.

  “See you soon!” she shouted bravely. She raised her arm in farewell. It cast a long shadow—the sun was sinking. I hurriedly stuffed my journal back in my waistband, pulling my damp jersey over the top of it. Beside me, Simon was lying flat, trying to steer with a long plank, but it was no good—the water was too deep, the swirling currents too strong, the walls of the Chasm now out of reach. Everything was moving much too fast. My stomach heaved in protest.

  “We’ll just have to wait till we reach a smooth spot,” Simon panted, dragging his makeshift paddle up. “Then try and steer towards the other wall … Aarrgh!”

  A rush of dark water came at us just as another wave slammed into us from the side, and suddenly we were whirling around wildly, clutching at each other and at the edges of the raft with numb fingers. Like the Jumblies, my head was green and my hands were blue, except in my case it was from seasickness and cold. I retched and shivered as wave after wave of salt water slopped over the tilting surface to which we clung. At one point, I felt even death might be preferable to much more of this.

  Mustn’t give up, have to get to the boat, for Veronica’s sake, I told myself, over and over again. Then I remembered Carlos.

  “Carlos?” I spluttered. “Where…?”

  “Look out!” cried Simon, and jerking around, I saw a black cliff looming towards us with frightening speed. Dizzy, not even sure which side of the Chasm it was, I flung out the paddle to stop us crashing headfirst into the rock. The paddle snagged, held for a second, then snapped like a twig. We spun around and glanced against the cliff face, the raft shuddering beneath us. I flung myself sideways. Grabbing a jutting rock, I clung on grimly until somehow, miraculously, the raft managed to wedge one corner of itself into a crevice.

  “Well done,” said Simon weakly, raising himself to his knees. I turned around and stared in horror. The firewood cave was hidden from view, but far behind us, on the other side of the Chasm, lay the smoking ruins of the castle. The bombs had finished the job Napoleon had begun on the curtain walls. The gatehouse was missing its roof and leaned precariously into the courtyard. The top of the library tower had disappeared. I thought of the little black cat, the nanny goat I’d left tethered by the cucumber frames, the hens, Spartacus. I closed my eyes, overwhelmed with grief.

  Then there was a splash beside me and Carlos slopped his heavy paws onto the raft.

  “Oh, Carlos!” I sobbed, hugging his sleek head. “You made it!”

  “We almost didn’t,” Simon said, pointing over my shoulder. Another ten yards and we would have been at the open mouth of the Chasm and headed out into the deep blue waters.

  “Now what?” I said, wiping my face with my sleeve. It seemed that any sudden movement would send us back into the maelstrom. But the cliff was craggier here, with sharp rocks to loop our rope over or cling to with our fingertips, and slowly, painfully, we made our way around the curve of the cliff, Carlos bobbing beside us. At last we reached a spot where it was possible to clamber onto the rocks. We hauled the raft above the high-tide mark in case we needed it later (although I had no intention of setting so much as a toe on it ever again), and we crawled and crawled until we reached the top. I collapsed in the prickly grass while Carlos shook himself vigorously. Turning over onto my back, I was amazed to discover that my journal had survived the trip, thanks to the leather cover. It was a bit damp and the ink had blurred at the edges, but it was still legible, mostly. I was less surprised to see that my fingernails were shredded and my palms scored with gashes, although I felt no pain, my hands, and indeed most of the rest of me, being numb with cold.

  “We’d better get on,” said Simon. The sun was close to the horizon, sending out streaks of red and orange through the clouds. Alarmed at how dark it had grown in the past few minutes, I let him tug me to my feet, and together we stumbled off towards the village. It looked more abandoned than ever, with only a few cottages still intact. The wharf was undamaged, but the gig was at the bottom of the bay. The Queen Clementine, though, had fortuitously been pulled up behind a boulder. We even found a spare set of oars.

  “We’d better have a look in the cottages, see if we can salvage anything,” said Simon. Alice’s cottage was lopsided, one wall battered and the roof fallen in at one end, but we managed to find matches, candles, and a flask. We filled the flask from the water tank, having a deep drink ourselves first, then turned to retrace our path to the boat.

  Night had fallen by that stage. There was a sprinkling of stars and a curve of white moon, but the cloud cover was thick and the breeze kept snuffing out the candle that Simon had lit. We stumbled along, pitching into rabbit holes and tripping over rocks, guided largely by Carlos. Finally we reached the rowboat and tugged it down to the water’s edge.

  Relieved that at least it wasn’t raining, I grasped the oars, wincing as the splinters cut into my grazed palms. Simon offered his handkerchief to bind them, but certain his hands were in even worse shape, I refused. We pushed off, Carlos at the prow, Simon and I each with a pair of oars, and started back the way we had come. But the tide had reached its height and the currents were against us. Worse, in the darkness we had to rely on the sound of the waves against the rocks to navigate. If we were to drift too close to the cliff, we’d gouge a hole in our hull; too far away and we’d risk being swept off into the open sea. And after each stroke of the oars, I stiffened, straining my ears for the faint drone of an aeroplane, Anthony or the Germans, either one. I heard nothing, though—nothing but the crash of the waves and the increasing whine of the wind. Then we reached the churning mouth of the Chasm and I had to give up on listening for aeroplanes because I needed to put every bit of energy into heaving at the oars. A red pain flared in my shoulders and burnt down my spine; my thighs ached; my hands felt rubbed raw.

  “Where are we?” muttered Simon.

  After ten minutes of rowing, we seemed to have made little progress; indeed, we’d been whirled about so thoroughly I wouldn’t have been surprised to find we were now heading back where we’d come from. The darkness was even denser now that we were surrounded by tall cliffs that shut out the stars and the moon. I peered ahead, hoping to catch sight of the ruined drawbridge, but saw nothing I recognized.

  Simon cupped his hands around his mouth. “Mother! Veronica!” he shouted. We waited, shaking with tension and cold. “Did you hear something?” he asked.

  I nudged Carlos with my foot. “Woof!” he said.

  “Wait, was that…?”

  “Woof! Woof!”

  “Soph?” came a faint cry.

  “Quiet, Carlos!” I said. “Veronica!”

  “Keep shouting!” yelled Simon. The voice seemed to be coming from behind us, to the left. We wrenched hard on the oars and hauled the boat around. Before long we were passing under the dangling remnants of the drawbridge (I wasn’t sure how we’d missed it the first time) and the firewood cave emerged in the gloom. It was already knee-deep in water; Veronica and Rebecca had climbed onto a rock ledge, but were soaked. There was nowhere for us to tie up, but we managed to get close enough for the two of them to clamber in.

  “Worried you wouldn’t make it back… till daylight,” murmured Veronica. She was clutching her satchel and her eyes were closed. Rebecca had quickly crawled to the furthest point of the rowboat from Veronica and was now an unmoving, blanket-swaddled lump.

  “Mother?” said Simon, but Rebecca stayed obstinately silent. Neither of them had expressed any gratitude for their rescue, marveled at our bravery, or offered to take over the oars. I felt a bit put out. Simon must have felt the same way. He sighed heavily. “Well, come on, then,” he said to me.

  And we rowed back to the cove, a far easier task now that we were moving with the current. I gave Veronica a brief account of our adventures, but she seemed to have fallen asleep and I was too busy with the oars to shake her awake. I felt more and more disgruntled. It wasn�
�t terribly late, after all, and sitting in a cave for an hour or so shouldn’t have been all that tiring for her. We finally reached the cove, and Simon leapt overboard to pull us in.

  “Veronica, wake up,” I snapped, dropping my oars with a clunk. The cloud had peeled away from the moon and a faint silvery light now reflected off the water. Veronica was revealed as a pale figure slumped against the side of the boat. “Veronica?” I said, grasping her shoulder.

  She murmured something. I bent over and touched her cheek. Her skin was icy. “What…?” I started, and then I saw that her jersey was damp with something darker than water.

  “Simon!” I screamed. “Simon! Rebecca, what happened? What did you do to her?”

  I pulled Veronica upright and she winced, cradling her right arm. I reached for it, shoving aside the ripped sleeve. Blood pulsed from a gash along her wrist. There were more cuts crossing her palm.

  “Simon!” I shrieked again, but he was already splashing over, taking in the scene in an instant. He tore at his shirttails as I sloshed handfuls of seawater over the wound—I had the idea that it was antiseptic—and together we wrapped a makeshift bandage around her arm as tight as it would go.

  “Let’s get her out of here,” said Simon, and we pulled Veronica free of the boat, onto the rocks. Rebecca had wandered off towards the cottages and I felt a surge of rage—she was responsible for this, I knew. I had no energy to waste on her, though, not just then. I propped Veronica up, held the flask to her blue lips, and made her swallow some water. Then I tried to rub some warmth into her other limbs while Simon secured the boat and retrieved the satchel.

  “How’s she doing?” he said, dropping down beside me a few minutes later.

  “Fine,” said Veronica weakly.

  He snorted. Together, we dragged her up and staggered off to the remains of Alice’s cottage, which seemed like the best shelter we’d find tonight. Rebecca was already there, crouched by the door and poking through the clutter. I snatched her damp blanket away, tucked it round Veronica, and settled us both in the corner furthest from the damaged wall. Carlos curled himself around her and whined.