The Moth and Moon

by Glenn Quigley

  Outside, he clutched his cap tightly and began the journey down the steep roads towards the harbour. He thought the winds had begun to ease a little and was grateful for the small mercy, but then he noticed the rain had stopped entirely. Pausing in his tracks, he turned his head to the sky. Heavy grey clouds remained overhead, but now there was scarcely a breeze.

  “The eye of the hurricane,” he mumbled to himself.

  He hurried down the pathway from his house on the hill, down to the laneway to the coast. It was eerily quiet and still after the clamour of the storm. He paused for a moment, surveying the damage already done. Downed trees, loosened slate tiles, and scattered thatch littered the village. Just then, he became aware of a faint sound, barely a whisper above the sound of the still-rough sea. He pretended not to notice and carried on a few steps before hearing it again. A pathetic, desperate bawling. He closed his eyes, hoping it would stop. He didn’t have time for this, but on and on, it went. He knew what it was. In an instant, he’d been flung back to his childhood, lying in bed, awakened by a storm and a similar cry, one he ignored, angered at having being roused from sleep. The following morning he’d found the source—one of the recent litter from the farm’s cat had crawled from its bedding and trapped its neck between a box and the barn wall. Its body hung lifeless, mouth still open. The image of that had haunted him for years. He couldn’t shake the thought of the tiny, forlorn creature crying for help, and how he’d ignored it. He could have saved it if he’d just gotten out of bed. He remembered how callous and unconcerned his father had been when he’d told him over breakfast of the creature’s plight.

  “Just an animal,” his father had said, taking another bite of bread. “Just an animal.”

  “Damn it,” Duncan said, turning back towards the source of the noise.

  It was coming from the hedgerow beside him. He’d often stopped and picked blackberries from it on his way past. The faint moonlight barely illuminated the clouds overhead, so he held his lantern close. After some searching, he found the source of the noise—a tiny black and white kitten. Not days old, but not yet months either. Its bright blue eyes threw back the lantern light, and its mewling grew louder when it noticed Duncan.

  “What’s all the noise about? Where’s your mother?” Duncan asked, searching through the bramble. In short order, he found her and the rest of the litter. All dead. They’d been crushed and buried by shingles blown loose by the winds.

  Sighing heavily—resigned to the obvious course of action—he reached in through the dripping wet blackberry bushes and carefully lifted the kitten to his chest. The tiny creature meowed in protest, as loudly as its feeble lungs could manage.

  “Shut up, you little idiot, I’m trying to help you,” Duncan tutted.

  He examined the kitten for any injuries but found none. He did notice, however, that one of its front legs was a little shorter than the other. He wrapped the kitten into the safety of his coat and wondered what to do next. There was no time to bring the animal back to his home—the people in the lighthouse needed him. He couldn’t just leave it there, either. He knew what his father would do, but Duncan could never be quite so heartless. He hesitated for a heartbeat before throwing his head back and yelling at the sky.

  “Fine, you’re coming with me. Maybe someone at the inn will take you off my hands.”

  Chapter Eleven

  IN THE MOTH & Moon, it took a few minutes for the villagers to notice the winds had stopped. Cautiously, some people began to peer out of the windows and even prepared to venture outside. The younger folk, most of whom had been entirely too excited to sleep, began to cheer, thinking it was over, but the elders knew it was just the eye of the storm and warned them to stay indoors. The calm centre of a hurricane could last for minutes or days; there was no way to tell. That’s what made them so dangerous.

  Robin and his companions hadn’t found anywhere to lie down for the night, so they had nestled in the corners of their alcove, closed their eyes, and tried to get some rest. Edwin was wrapped up in his father’s coat and dozing peacefully. Iris was lying with her head resting against his heavy arm and twitched slightly as she slept. Eva was wide awake, as was Robin. She couldn’t sleep unless it was in a comfortable bed in a quiet room, and Robin had slept enough earlier on. They occasionally spoke in hushed whispers, but for the most part, each was lost in thought.

  They became aware of the commotion happening at the entrance across the bar and leaned out from their alcove to get a better look. News of the break in the weather was rippling through the crowd. The noise woke Edwin and, in turn, Iris, who sat up, yawned, and stretched.

  “Oh!” she said suddenly. “I’ve just had a rather brilliant thought. Robin, Eva’s family has owned a lot of boats that use Blashy Cove, perhaps she might be able to find out what happened to the ship your father disappeared on.”

  “That’s a good idea,” said Edwin. “I never thought of that.”

  “Do you happen to know the name of it?” Iris asked.

  “It were named the Caldera. I tried to find out exactly what ’appened to ’er a few times over the years, but nobody knew.”

  Even Robin noticed the look of shock on Eva’s face.

  “What? You’ve ’eard of ’er?” he asked hopefully.

  Eva looked to Iris, then to Edwin. She picked up a glass of whiskey that had been sitting unmolested on their table for some time

  “That ship, the Caldera. I know it well. It was indeed one of my family’s vessels.” She cleared her throat again. “I’m aware the natives of Merryapple enjoy beating around the bush, but that’s simply not in my nature, so what I say now I say with kindness, though it may sound otherwise. Mr. Shipp, the Caldera was a pirate vessel.”

  Robin looked as if he’d been slapped in the face.

  “My father was initially unaware of this, but he discovered its captain, one Thomas Oughterlauney, was using it—a Chase Trading Company vessel—to attack and sink other ships. Father had hired the man in good faith, but then rumours about his past began to surface. My father had a number of investigators in his organisation, and he tasked one with compiling a report on Oughterlauney’s life—a report that was buried in the company files. It contains every detail the investigator could dig up. Details of Oughterlauney’s piracy. My father was not pleased to discover that he had sunk one of the company’s craft years earlier, in 1726. Here, as a matter of fact, in the cove, when Oughterlauney was planning to attack this village but was thwarted by an alliance between my father’s ships and one other.”

  “I’ve heard my mum and dad talk about that. It was quite a battle, by all accounts,” Edwin said.

  “In 1740, I believe it was, my father quietly dispatched two vessels to capture or sink the Caldera. They received word that Captain Oughterlauney’s ship had been sighted off the coast of Merryapple but didn’t seem to be acting aggressively. Fearing the village might be damaged should they engage in combat, they chose to wait until the pirates were in the waters between here and Blackrabbit Island before attacking.”

  Eva cleared her throat one more time, her voice faltering.

  “Oughterlauney was unprepared for battle, and the Caldera was sunk. All hands were lost. Mr. Shipp, I’m afraid it seems my father was ultimately responsible for your father’s death.”

  She quivered slightly as she downed the entire glass of whiskey in her hand. Robin sat back into the cushioned alcove and slowly tugged on his earlobe.

  “Are you sure about this?” he asked quietly.

  Eva nodded. “I recognise the name. I’m very familiar with my family business’s entire history. It was the only way I could be taken seriously by the captains I deal with every day. I had to know more than they did. I had to know everything, including information my father didn’t make public. He was afraid word of the Caldera’s activities would get out, that it would make his company look bad, make him look bad for not knowing about it sooner, so he made sure it was kept quiet. He paid off the crews of the ship
s that sank it and buried all the records. I found them years ago in his study. I memorised them. Did you know? That your father was involved in piracy?” she asked brusquely.

  “No. No, I didn’t,” said Robin. “Thank you for tellin’ me this, Lady Wolfe-Chase.”

  Suddenly, the heavy oak doors of the inn were flung wide open with a loud bang as Duncan burst in, panting and somewhat frantic.

  “Something’s wrong at the lighthouse,” he spluttered, “I need someone to come with me, while it’s calm.”

  Robin, grateful for the distraction, dashed to the door and immediately volunteered to accompany Duncan.

  “Hold on. You need to rest,” Edwin objected. He’d slid out of the alcove after Robin.

  Duncan had pulled out a small piece of cloth from his pocket and was wiping the rain from his spectacles. He looked at them both.

  “Why? What happened?” he asked, pulling the legs of the eyeglasses behind his ears.

  “Nothing, I’m fine. I’m fine, Edwin.” Robin shot a look at the red-headed baker that would have quelled the tide. It wasn’t that he didn’t want Duncan to know. He simply didn’t want him to worry. Edwin sighed.

  “Fine,” he said, “but I’m coming with you.”

  May Bell was now quite recovered from her earlier ordeal. Her mother had the foresight to bring a change of clothes for the family, and little May was warm and dry in her linen dress, embroidered with woollen flowers and pretty bows. Duncan held the kitten in his hand, clasped gently against his chest. Carefully, he handed the tiny, fragile creature to her.

  “Will you look after him for me?” he asked. “I found him all alone among the bramble on the way here.”

  The little girl was delighted and nodded earnestly. This was not a responsibility she would take lightly.

  “He’ll probably just sleep, but ask Mr. Reed for a saucer of water for him,” Duncan said.

  “Water?” she asked. “Don’t you mean milk?”

  “Oh no, too much cow’s milk isn’t good for kittens, it can make them ill,” Duncan replied quickly. “If he won’t drink any water, you can put a couple of drops of milk into it, but no more. Trust me, I used to have lots of cats when I was growing up.”

  May nodded, and holding the black and white kitten in her arms, she began singing him a lullaby. The kitten gazed up at his new protector and, seemingly finding her care agreeable, closed his bright blue eyes and began to purr.

  After his actions earlier, the men of the village seemed more willing to accept Robin’s help. Together with Dr. Greenaway, the butcher Mr. Bounsell, and Mr. Blackwall, the fishmonger, they hurried out of the ancient tavern and toward the harbour. The waves had died down considerably, but the journey would still be rough going.

  “Where’s Bucca?” Duncan asked, as he looked toward the little craft’s usual mooring place.

  “We can’t take ’er. We’ll ’ave to take one of the luggers or a rowboat,” Robin said. “It’ll take too long to prepare one of the larger boats.”

  “What? But we could just…” Duncan began, but Robin was already barking orders at the other men.

  A rowboat was resting on the sand, mercifully undamaged but filled with material blown about by the storm. They emptied it out as much as possible and began manoeuvring it into the bay. One by one, they jumped in and positioned themselves at the oars. The rowboat was easily large enough for the six men, and they arranged themselves two to an oar. Robin assumed the captain’s role, shouting orders and guiding the inexperienced temporary oarsmen. Once they cleared the harbour, the rain began to spit and they rowed with a new urgency. Before long, Duncan was grumbling about his arms growing tired—not from lack of strength, he hastened to add, but simply from a lack of reach. He was short, barely taller than Mr. Reed, though much broader, and his arms didn’t stretch as far as the other men’s. Ben Blackwall, who was quite unused to such exertion, was next to useless already, despite his lengthy limbs. Fortunately, Ben had been paired with Edwin, who was more than capable.

  As they approached the islet, they spotted their first problem—the tiny wooden pier the keepers used to moor their boat had been swept away, as had the boat itself. The islet was mostly rocks, which presented a significant danger. In calm seas, it would be dangerous to approach, but the winds were blowing again and the waves became rougher with each passing moment. There was a small area to the west of the islet where the rocky shore gave way to a sort of stony beach, but it would be hazardous to attempt a landing there. Robin mulled it over in his mind before deciding they had no other option. Shouting his orders, the men pulled the heavy oars and steered the rowboat around to the side of the jagged isle.

  They would have to risk approaching the beach at speed, to avoid being swept into the rocks on either side. There was a chance the craft would be damaged from the stones, but there was nothing else for it. Robin stood at the prow, mooring line in hand, as the village men rowed. The prow struck the beach with terrific force and a hideous scraping sound. As everyone lurched forward from the impact, Robin launched himself through the air at precisely the right moment and landed on the pebbles with a dense thump and mighty grunt. He pulled with all his considerable strength to keep the rowboat swaying from side to side and hitting the huge boulders circling the beach. The other men leapt from the boat and grabbed the mooring line, heaving the tender onto shore. They found a secure rock to tie it to and made their way inland.

  Beside the lighthouse had stood a small cottage—the main living quarters for the lighthouse keepers during their tenure on the island. A small, simple, brown building, it had one bedroom and a larger room serving as kitchen, living room, and storage facility. Built shortly after the lighthouse proper, it had withstood many storms over the centuries, but not this one. It had been completely levelled by the hurricane. Rubble lay scattered across the entire islet. Wood, glass, furniture—everything sat in pieces on the ground, a broken trail of breadcrumbs leading to the sea. The men searched quickly for anyone who might have been caught up in the devastation, but finding nothing, they headed for the door of the lighthouse. Painted in red to match the exterior of the lantern room at the summit of the towering edifice, it was shoved open by Duncan, who immediately began to call out to the keepers.

  “Keeper Knott? Keeper Hall? Hello, can anyone hear me?”

  The ground floor was where the lighthouse keepers stored their wet weather clothes and fishing gear. With no signs of life there, the men from the village made their way up the winding stone staircase. Robin winced from time to time and held his knee. He’d landed heavily on it when he rescued May from the beach, and jumping from the boat hadn’t done it any favours. Checking each room as they passed, they found nothing until they reached the second-last floor before the lantern room. Here, a door was barred shut from the inside and they could hear a faint moaning coming from within. They called and banged on the door, but to no avail. Together, Robin and Duncan heaved with all their strength and succeeded in opening the door just enough for the lanky Mr. Blackwall to slip through.

  “What can you see?” Mr. Bounsell called.

  “Oh dear, oh dear…” Mr. Blackwall said, becoming increasingly panicked.

  “What is it? What’s happened?” called Mr. Bounsell again.

  “Oh dear, oh dear!” came the reply once again, more high-pitched and worried than before.

  “Damn it, man, what is it?” Duncan yelled.

  “It’s Keeper Knott, he’s trapped under a heavy bookcase, and he’s barely conscious.”

  “Open the bleddy door!” Duncan roared.

  Mr. Blackwall audibly struggled to move the boxes blocking the door and let the other men in. Keeper Hall was sprawled on a stool with his head in one hand and a lantern held loosely in the other. He was swaying as if dizzy, and rambling softly to himself. While Dr. Greenaway examined his head for signs of injury, the other men heaved the fallen bookcase off Keeper Knott. Edwin said that it must have been knocked over by the force of the waves hitting the
lighthouse walls. The keeper’s leg was broken, so they prepared a splint using some wood from the bookshelves and fashioned a stretcher to carry him downstairs and back to the boat. Keeper Hall had come round a little and was able to walk with some help from Mr. Blackwall, who complained about oil and soot from the lighthouse keeper’s hands getting onto his clothes.

  “It’s bad enough they’ve already been soiled by those dusty boxes, and what about my poor boots? Soaked through with seawater, they are!”

  “That’s enough now, Mr. Blackwall,” said Robin.

  “Books,” Keeper Hall said weakly. “Books fell, hit my…hit my head… Wait. Someone has to stay here, to watch the light, to guard the light, to keep it running, to…” He blinked hard, trying to stay awake.

  “He’s right,” Duncan said. “I’ll stay.” “So will I. You can’t do it alone,” said Robin.

  “I can.You don’t always have to…” Duncan began.

  “I’ll stay too,” Edwin interrupted. “If only to keep you two from throwing each other into the sea.”

  They all helped get the two injured lighthouse keepers downstairs. The winds had picked up again, and they hurried toward to stony beach, picking their way carefully through the remnants of what had been the keepers’ cottage. Loading the injured men carefully into the rowboat, they heaved it into the sea and it bobbed along back toward the harbour. Returning to the lighthouse, Robin stood at the door and watched the boat getting farther and farther away, before the waves began to crash again and he was forced to go inside.

  “Once they’re back on shore, Dr. Greenaway can treat them at the inn,” said Edwin.

  Robin and Duncan were standing apart, neither one looking at the other.

  “For better or worse, we’re stranded here for the long haul.”