The Island of Whispers

by Brendan Gisby

  By far the largest proportion of that number was destined to descend on South Queensferry, congregating in particular on the wide esplanade that extended from the eastern end of the town to the Hawes Pier. The esplanade gave commanding views of the old rail bridge, her road bridge neighbour to the west and the stretch of river between the two bridges. It was that expanse of water, along with the sky above it, which would form the main arena for the Big Day’s events.

  The esplanade was a hive of activity this early morning, with crowd barriers being erected along the seafront, the loudspeaker system being tested, the portable toilets being made ready for use, and the food and souvenir stalls and exhibition tents being set up. There was also much activity high up on the rail bridge overlooking the esplanade. Walking in single file along the narrow walkways on either side of the railway track, on the lookout for any storm damage, ensuring that all was shipshape for the old girl’s birthday celebrations, two crews of maintenance men had begun to cross the bridge from south to north. Close on the heels of the maintenance men were two similarly sized crews from the floodlighting contractors on their final walk-through to check that all of the lamps and cabling were still in place. Train services across the Forth may have been suspended until the next morning, but the bridge was busier than ever today.

  Down below, in the shadow of the bridge, a little plum-coloured boat was approaching Inchgarvie. The boat had departed from the Hawes Pier some time ago. On board again were Charlie McNulty and the two young men from the exhibition company. Charlie’s passengers were visiting the island on this occasion to remove the polythene wrapping from the fireworks display platform and to give the apparatus a final check before that night’s extravaganza.

  Charlie stood on the jetty with the sun on his face. He lit a cigarette and yawned. The sunshine felt good, but his head was still very fuzzy, and the fumes from last night’s beer were still in his nostrils. This journey over to the island at the crack of dawn hadn’t done his hangover any good. Nor was he relishing the prospect of patrolling under the bridge for the rest of the day.

  When he got back from yesterday’s trip, it was as if the whole town had been in a party mood in spite of the storm. It was Saturday evening anyway, so he had gone to the pub and joined the party. He had vague recollections of relating his story about killing the monster rat and of no-one seeming to believe him. He didn’t have the evidence with him, of course: it was still on the boat, wrapped up in a plastic bag to stop it smelling. And the two whiz-kids weren’t there to back up the story.

  He looked over to the crest of the island. The Thompson Twins were still fussing with their toy up there. He wasn’t even sure whether the pair of them actually believed that the rat had come from Inchgarvie or whether they thought that he had dangled it in front of them as some sort of practical joke. Either way, they didn’t appear to be phased about going back to the island. It was him, not them, who felt queasy this time; it was him, not them, who hung back at the jetty, not daring to go any further.

  The young men were descending the slope now. Both of them had big smiles on their faces. One was carrying the folded sheets of polythene under his arm. The other was speaking into a walkie-talkie.

  ‘All systems are go,’ he was shouting.

  Charlie threw his cigarette-end into the water and stepped down into the boat. As soon as this day was over and things were back to normal, he resolved, he would seek out old Proudfoot, the rat-catcher, show him his monster, hear what an expert had to say.

  They were all awake now, watching the Two-Legs vessel cut through the calm waters below. The Two-legs intruders were departing in the vessel, leaving behind their creature at the top of the island. The creature was shining brightly, glinting in the sunlight, its purpose still a mystery.

  Some of the youngsters had complained of being thirsty and hungry, and Bone-Cruncher was still softly mourning the loss of Fat One, but otherwise they were all resolute, all ready for the next challenge. Twisted Foot would lead the way. He had chosen the enormous steel arch to their rear as the safest and most straightforward way to go up. The arch travelled in a long curve from the giant’s foot on which they rested until it reached a length of parapet at its top. Once they reached the parapet, they would crawl through it and into the belly of the giant.

  Twisted Foot began the climb. Slayer came next. Then the others followed, all tentatively at first, until they became more confident of their footing. Long Ears had agreed to take up the rear so that he could encourage any of the group who faltered on the way. Their progress was relatively easy, and it wasn’t long before the whole group was strung out along the lower part of the arch.

  A short screech from behind him brought Twisted Foot to a halt. He recognised Long Ears’ warning call. When he turned his head, he could see his companion quivering in panic.

  ‘Two-Legs!’ Long Ears was shouting. ‘Two-Legs on the giant! Coming this way!’

  Twisted Foot strained to hear. It was a few moments before he could make them out. Their footsteps on the wooden walkway sounded like distant thunder. It seemed like a whole army of Two-Legs was approaching.

  ‘Return!’ he cried. ‘Return! Quickly!’

  They all scampered back down to the giant’s foot, where they huddled together again, their hearts pounding.

  ‘We’re trapped!’ Small Face wailed.

  The youngsters began to wail, too. And Bone-Cruncher resumed her mourning cries.

  ‘What now, Master?’ Slayer whispered into Twisted Foot’s ear, but Twisted Foot didn’t have an answer for him.

  – o –

  – Chapter Thirty-Three –

  It was eleven o’clock, and the sun was still shining. A chill breeze was blowing in from the estuary, but it didn’t seem to bother the mass of people who thronged the esplanade. Nor was it deterring the many others who were flocking to the place from every direction. The loudspeakers were booming out over the noise of the crowd to announce the first event of the day.

  The procession could be heard before it was seen, faintly at first and then louder by the moment as it marched from the town to the esplanade. At its head, with bagpipes skirling and drums beating, was a pipe band in full Highland regalia. A short interval behind was a military brass band, its trumpets and trombones and tubas all blaring simultaneously. More bands followed: a jazz band, a calypso band, bands from the local schools; all playing a different, rousing tune, all fronted by rows of twirling majorettes. Then came the floats, each one depicting a scene from the hundred years’ history of the town’s famous bridge. And finally came the street performers, a whole circus of them. There were stilt-walkers, fire-eaters, jugglers and acrobats to wow the crowd, and there was a gang of clowns of all sizes and descriptions to jostle it. The shouts and whoops from the clowns, and the delighted cries of children in response, added to the general racket of the place. The celebrations had begun.

  Just when the footsteps of the Two-Legs army above them had disappeared completely, just when they thought that it was safe again, they heard the din coming from the far shore. From where they squatted under the giant, they had a direct view of the esplanade and the sea of Two-Legs massed on it. The number of Two-Legs over there was many, many times the size of their own society. Could there really be that many of them on the world above? The thought of it, the sight of it, the sounds of it were frightening, unnerving.

  They became even more unnerved when the Two-Legs creatures suddenly zoomed into the sky above the waters. There were only six of them, but the noise that they made was deafening, unbearable. Keeping in formation, the creatures sped up the way and then down and then up again, turning in loops through the air. Now they were flying upside down. Now they were all speeding away in different directions, each one leaving behind it a long stream of coloured smoke. Now they were back in formation, streaking up and over the giant and out of sight completely, their distant roar being quickly replaced by the thunder of the Two-Legs’ clapping on the esplanade.

 
Twisted Foot had closed his eyes tight in an attempt to shut out the awful clamour of the creatures, but it had been to no avail. When the clamour had gone, when he opened his eyes again, it was only to see that the sky was filled with another set of creatures. These were larger and quieter. They seemed to drone and hover in the air. Then, astonishingly, Two-Legs in their scores began to tumble from the creatures and float down to the waters, their great arms extended like the wings of the white birds when they landed. He watched, mesmerised, as the Two-Legs dropped into the sea, where they were immediately picked up by the numerous Two-Legs vessels that had appeared there, as if from nowhere. In panic, he looked around him. There were many more vessels in the waters; they were coming from every direction, and they were all converging on the same place.

  Twisted Foot had to shake his muzzle to make sure that he wasn’t dreaming. What he was seeing, what he was hearing – it was all incredible, mindboggling. The Two-legs were everywhere: on the giant above them, on the shore opposite them, flying through the air, dropping from the sky – and now in the waters around them. They were surrounded by them. The only place where the Two-Legs were absent was on the island below. Perhaps that is it, he said to himself. We’ve tried and failed. We should return to the island now and take our chances with the Scavengers, who must surely have been the victors of the battle down there. Their society could be no worse than the one we left, could it? And we would have their own King with us to protect us, wouldn’t we?

  He looked at Slayer by his side and then at the rest of the group. They were all still hypnotised by the sight of the Two-Legs in the air – all, that is, except for Long Ears at the end of the group. He saw that his companion was staring at him. He felt that Long Ears was trying to climb into his thoughts again.

  ‘Don’t fail us now, Twisted Foot,’ Long Ears seemed to be saying. ‘Hold your nerve, comrade.’

  Quickly turning his gaze away from Long Ears, he glanced down at the island instead. He caught a glimpse of a shape among the rocks close to the point of the island. It was standing erect on its hindquarters, immobile, facing the giant, its back to the sun. The shape was only a silhouette, but a chillingly familiar one.

  Twisted Foot gulped. There was no choice now.

  ‘We’ll go up again as soon as darkness comes,’ he announced to the group suddenly and resolutely. ‘Try to remain calm until then. And try to keep still and quiet.

  ‘The danger will soon be over,’ he added, although not very convincingly.

  He was aware of everything that had been going on up here. In addition to the reports that he had received regularly from Torn Coat, he had caught snippets of information from the Protectors at the sacred tunnel. He knew that the Two-Legs had gone from the island, leaving their creature uncovered. He knew about the gangs of Two-Legs crossing the giant, and about the great army of them on the far shore and the noise that they were making. He had been told about the creatures flying through the air – the sounds of them could be heard even in the Protectors’ lair – and about the many vessels that were gathering in the waters. And he had just been told about the Two-Legs dropping from the sky like white birds. He wanted to see the last spectacle for himself. So for the second time that day he had ventured out on the world above.

  Long Snout was at a loss. He had no idea why this evil kept occurring. From those tales of the past which he and the other elders often related in the Common lair, he knew that the society had faced many dangers and many tests. But surely never so many all at the one time! The constant intrusions by the Two-Legs here on the outside world, the glowing giant, the slaves’ revolt, the decimation of the Inner Circle, the massacre of the Watchers, the flight of the traitors. And now all of this activity by the Two-Legs. It was never ending. But he must hold steady. He must take action to preserve the society ...

  He realised suddenly that he was staring across at the traitors, his eyes boring into them. Still there, he snarled, and looking small and lost and frightened. He was glad. Their time would come soon enough. But first there were the slaves to deal with. He would tell Torn Coat to return to One Eye as soon as it was dark. Torn Coat would convey his order to the Chief Hunter to begin the assault immediately. Once the Hunters charged, he himself would lead the counterattack by the Protectors.

  – o –

  – Chapter Thirty-Four –

  When night fell, the party on the esplanade was still going strong. The number of visitors had increased steadily throughout the day, and many more were still arriving, swelling the already jam-packed crowd. They were all there to see the main event, the finale of the celebrations. Most of them had wrapped up well, so they didn’t seem to notice the icy breeze that was now sweeping in from the estuary. The clear, starry sky above the esplanade was dominated by a large, bright, almost white moon. Looming over the scene, the silvery reflection of its immense structure shimmering in the black water of the estuary, the old bridge looked ghostly in the moonlight. Down to the left of the bridge, in front of the esplanade, the twinkling lights from a multiplicity of craft of all sizes seemed to dance on the water. On board one of those craft was the radio announcer who would shortly begin his broadcast not only to the waiting throng on the esplanade, but also to the many thousands of people who had gathered elsewhere along the shores of the Forth on this cold night. Also on board were the dignitaries who would set off the fireworks display by remote control and who would subsequently inaugurate the floodlighting of the bridge by the same means.

  ‘Good evening, ladies, gentlemen and children!’ the announcer’s voice boomed out from the loudspeakers. ‘Welcome all to the Firth of Forth! And welcome to the climax of many months of events to mark the hundredth anniversary of the opening of the graceful, the majestic, the world famous Forth Railway Bridge!’

  As if those words had triggered the release of their pent-up excitement, a great roar of whoops and claps and cheers erupted from the multitude of spectators along both banks of the river.

  He was so very relieved that they were moving at long last. They were already exhausted from their ordeal, as well as hungry and thirsty. Had they remained still any longer, some of them, especially the young ones, might have begun to succumb to the biting cold, perishing where they squatted. Apart from the fact that it was dark now, it seemed to be the right time to move. They hadn’t heard any footsteps above them for a long time. Nor had any creatures rushed through the giant all day. As far as he knew, it was quiet and safe up there. Although still noisy, the army of Two-Legs on the far shore didn’t seem to pose a threat. There were also still many Two-Legs vessels in the waters below, but for some reason they were all keeping a good distance from the giant. Yes, he was sure that it was a good time to go.

  Twisted Foot began the climb. The others followed in the same formation as during the first, aborted attempt. As before, their progress was easy, and it was not long before Twisted Foot reached the top of the arch. He was on the point of stretching up to climb through the parapet above the arch when two explosions, one coming immediately after the other, split the air asunder and momentarily lit up the sky; even the giant itself seemed to tremble at the ferocity of the blasts. The line of fugitives froze in terror.

  One Eye had been dozing again when Torn Coat re-entered the underworld to rouse him and pass on Long Snout’s instructions. Now the two old warriors were squatting side by side at the head of the ranks of the Hunters. Both of them were very tired – One Eye from the long period of inactivity here at the pool, Torn Coat from the constant scurrying back and forth between the crest of the island and the sacred tunnel in the course of that long daylight watch – but both were also ready for the fray that was about to begin.

  Although most of the Scavengers were in their lair, still sleeping off the effects of the battle and the great feast after it, a good number of them had returned to gorge themselves again on the corpses in the Common lair. They’ll be gone soon enough, thought One Eye. Then he turned to regard his warriors.

  �
�Let’s go,’ he said quietly.

  As soon as he spoke, a detachment led by Torn Coat moved off quickly and silently round the wall of the Common lair to seal off the tunnel to the Scavengers’ dungeon. The main force with One Eye at its head then spread itself across the floor of the Common lair and rushed forward with bloodcurdling shrieks.

  From his position outside of the entrance to the Protectors’ lair, with Broken Tail and his warriors hidden from view in the tunnel behind him, Long Snout heard the muffled echoes of the two explosions on the world above. He looked up to the roof of the lair and cursed the Two-Legs again. But there was no time to think about their latest evil; One Eye had begun the charge.

  – o –

  – Chapter Thirty-Five –

  Still reeling at the sudden thunder of the detonations, the crowd gasped when, equally unexpectedly, the sky was lit up by the powerful beams of a battery of searchlights from a score of boats moored at intervals along the estuary. The beams crisscrossed the sky, each one travelling in a wide arc across it, some intermittently washing over and highlighting a section of the rust-coloured bridge.

  ‘Now we enter the dark and ominous days of the Second World War,’ the announcer continued his narration of the history of the bridge. ‘On October 16PthP 1939, only months after the outbreak of the War, and almost exactly fifty-one years to this day, the Luftwaffe came to destroy the bridge. But it was truly her lucky day, for she emerged unscathed from that attack. And, of course, she survived the rest of the War to reign over the landscape for the next five decades.’