Impeccable’s smile was like a wulf’s. ‘Of course. Every workman knows his trade. I bow to your superior knowledge in these matters.’
I won’t cry, Singay told herself. I won’t give him the satisfaction. But the tears were brimming already. Impeccable was strong, and he was hurting her, and she was deathly afraid. She blinked hard, and a few hot tears spilled over onto the hand that held the knife.
‘Oh, now, don’t take it personally,’ said Impeccable. ‘You must see you really were the obvious choice. It was either you or the other little girl – girls are traditionally the best hostages, of course – and, well, as we know, a Flatter’s not all that valuable. Not to mention the fact she and the other brat just betrayed you. Nobody might want to bother keeping her safe.’ He glanced over at Pema. ‘You, mountain boy, look in the top drawer of that chest – there should be some rope in there . . . Good. Toss it to me.’
Pema’s mind was racing. What could he do? This couldn’t be happening! It’s up to me. I haven’t a clue. I think I’m going to be sick. What should I be doing?!
‘I’m perfectly happy to slit her throat, you know,’ Impeccable said mildly as he finished tying Singay’s hands behind her back. ‘That old definition of a hero being somebody who gets other people killed is right on the mark here, if you were planning anything noble. I’ve no problem with using this knife. Though you can believe me or not. It’s nothing to me, either way.’
‘He means it, Pema,’ said Rose, his voice infinitely weary. ‘I’m going to do what he asks.’
Singay tried to turn towards him. ‘No! Rose, you can’t! It’ll kill you!’ Then she gasped in pain as Impeccable pulled back on her hair again.
‘Leave her alone!’ wailed Pema. ‘Rose, it’s not possible. What about the cascade? The cave-ins?’
‘I will do everything I can to dissuade the surrounding strata, at least until some sort of evacuation plan can be implemented?’ He looked without hope to Impeccable, who snorted and shook his head.
‘Rose,’ said Singay, ‘did you mean all those things you said?’
Rose smiled sadly at her.
‘In other words, just bluffing,’ smirked Impeccable. He adjusted his grip on Singay. ‘We’ll be on our way now. There are the keys, boy, for the door, and I’ll have the whole lot of you in front of me if you don’t mind. You too, Flatters.’
They did as he said.
‘Fortunately, maintaining a launch is something I’ve been able to do,’ he continued, ushering them all forward. ‘There are some standards you just don’t slip below. Turn left, down those stairs.’
The boathouse must have been spectacular once, with beautiful mosaic walls, a vaulted ceiling, and moorings for half a dozen launches. Only one boat remained, tied up at the far end of a decaying pier.
Impeccable looked at it smugly. ‘I’ve kept her paintwork fresh and oil in her engine. Now, stay close and behave, girl. I don’t think you’ll be able to swim far with your hands tied.’
Singay shivered. I can’t swim at all!
The twins cast off at Impeccable’s instructions and soon they were on their way, slipping through the back canals and the rain, heading out to the oilfields.
Heading out to the Sea.
There were guarded checkpoints along the way, but all it took to get past these was a launch with a crest and a driver with a supercilious manner. A dozen scenarios raced through Pema’s mind: of wrestling Impeccable to the deck, seizing the launch, speeding away from the horrible oilfields and out to the clean Sea and Rose’s friends. But Impeccable kept his knife – and Singay – close at all times.
On and on, they threaded their way, under the bellies of the huge storage tanks and between the metal legs of the rigs. There was a heavy smell in the air, and spilled oil smeared the surface of the water, leaving metallic colours swirling in their wake. Machinery thunked ponderously, never resting, as the pumps dragged oil up from the depths and the drills whined through the rock below the water, blindly searching for more.
Pema leaned closer to Rose. ‘Are they there?’ he whispered. ‘Can you hear the others?’
‘No talking!’ barked Impeccable. ‘Be quiet and enjoy the ride.’ He certainly seemed to be. He snuffed up the stink of oil as if it were a fine perfume, and stared greedily around at the rigs and tanks.
‘Right,’ he said finally. ‘This is it. Tie up there.’
The crest of the Grandiloquents was plastered everywhere. The tank they were moored to, and the rigs and other structures surrounding it, all proudly proclaimed the House that owned them.
‘This is as close as it gets,’ said Impeccable, licking his lips. ‘Do it now.’
‘I just wanted to get home,’ moaned Rose.
‘And so you shall, my dear fellow, so you shall. With the money I’m going to pay you, you’ll have enough to go anywhere you like. A more than generous payment for this one little thing.’
But Rose wasn’t paying attention to him anymore. Singay and Pema recognised the strange, remote look on his face. He was reaching out to the rock beneath them, listening, preparing to manipulate and control.
‘Oh, is he doing it?’ clamoured Impeccable. ‘Has he started doing it? Has he?’
‘Shut up,’ said Singay.
Impeccable put both his hands over his mouth like a child and his eyes sparkled with malicious excitement.
They could hear the plashing of the waves against the side of the boat, and the thudding of the drilling rigs, and the screaming of gulls in the sky above, but it was as if a pool of silence had formed around the Driver.
What is he hearing? It was hard to imagine – the babble of all those rocky voices, then closing in on the voice of the chamber walls, feeling for the weaknesses, the line of stone most likely to be persuaded to shift, ever so slightly, just a little more, to let in the whole mighty volume of the Sea.
They could see him struggling, when he was only encouraging the stone to do something it was willing to do already, but then the truly hard part came. The boat shuddered and rocked as the chamber flooded and collapsed, and then Rose was faced with the entire coast’s irresistible desire to do the same. It was like dropping a boulder into a lake and then trying to persuade the ripples not to spread.
For one long, impossible moment, the little man did it. They could see how the effort was using him up, devouring him from within – yet still he held. And held . . .
Then, as if lightning had suddenly struck him out of the clear, blue sky, his whole body jerked. His head snapped back, his spine arched, and he flung his arms up and out. His mouth was wide open in a silent scream, more horrifying and intense because the sound of it was beyond their hearing.
Then, just as suddenly, he folded in on himself and collapsed into the bottom of the boat.
‘ROSE!’ yelled Pema.
‘You’ve killed him!’ Singay struggled to go to him, but Impeccable held tight to her rope.
‘Nonsense – he’s just tired. He’s—’
Before he could finish his words, the world began to shake.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Higher!
There was a muffled roar from below, a sound so deep they felt it more than heard it, and all around the surface of the water began to judder and jump. Rippling out from where they were, rigs suddenly flared and then stopped, metal screamed and groaned, shaken from the foundations. In the distance, in slow motion, one of the structures toppled and fell.
There was a sudden, pressing silence.
‘No,’ whispered Impeccable.
And the level of the Sea began to drop. Within a breath, the launch was tilting backwards.
‘Loose the mooring rope!’ screamed Zamin.
Impeccable didn’t move, frozen in disbelief.
‘Get out of the way!’ Pema shoved him aside and struggled with the knot, desperate to get it undone before the weight of the boat dragged it impossibly tight. It was raw luck that his fingers found the right bit to pull. With a wet screech, the rope
shot through the ring. The launch lurched level, then dropped as the Sea disappeared under it, down, down, and all the while, there was a horrible sucking sound as the water was drawn into the chambers below.
And then, it stopped.
The launch floated in a shallow gulley of water, surrounded by dripping, slime-streaked rocks. Panting, they peered up, following the barnacle-encrusted metal leg until, high above them, they saw the body of the tank, like a strange, bloated spider.
‘Hey! Hey!’
It was an oilman, his face all creased up and urgent. He leaned over the railing of a walkway and scanned the little group anxiously. He bellowed down to the twins, ignoring everyone else.
‘You’re Granny’s, aren’t you?’
‘Why? Who wants to know?’ yelled Za.
The oilman made an impatient gesture. ‘Ditch that – I’ve no time for muck. I’ve eaten at Granny’s table myself, so I’m telling you this for nothing – get some height! Now!’
‘What are you talking about?’ demanded Impeccable, but the man had already disappeared.
For a moment, no one moved.
Then Impeccable knocked Singay viciously aside and lunged for the leg of the tank. Slipping and swearing, he scrambled up the criss-cross metalwork, sending gobbets of green seaweed down onto their heads.
The wet sliminess seemed to galvanize them.
‘Untie my hands!’ demanded Singay hoarsely. The twins rushed to her while Pema bent over the fallen Driver and gently raised his head.
‘Rose?’ he whispered.
Rose’s eyes flickered open for a moment, and shut again.
‘Singay, tie him onto my back – I need my hands to climb.’ As she busied herself with the ropes, he barked at the twins, ‘Za, Zamin, get out of here.’
The pair hesitated for only a second, then fled after Impeccable.
The moment Rose was tied onto his back, Pema gave Singay a shove.
‘Go!’ he said roughly. ‘Climb – hurry!’ She didn’t argue.
He checked the ropes round Rose once more, and followed.
Up and up he went, each handhold festooned with slippery seaweed, the placing of each foot precarious. The stink from the exposed mud rose up after them, over-powering in the close, still air. Pema didn’t look down. He focused every nerve, every muscle, every panting breath on dragging himself and the friend on his back to whatever safety lay above. A sudden hot wind burned sour at the back of his throat, and his skin prickled, the hairs standing up. He could hear a distant rumbling, and his own rasping breath, and the pounding of his heart, and finally, a voice.
‘Pema! Come on! You’re almost there!’
It was Singay, calling down to him from above.
He risked a glance up and there she was, peering intently over the edge of the walkway, her head framed by a brilliant, cloudless blue sky. That sky’s all wrong, he thought. Why’s it so blue?
‘Hurry!’ cried Singay.
With a final surge he reached the platform, his breath rasping in his throat, his hands cut and bleeding from the raw metal of the tank’s leg. But he knew there was no time to rest. We need to get higher. The staircase that curved round the outside of the tank was only a few paces away. It had proper steps and a handrail, and was perfectly, wonderfully free of seaweed and slime. Pema felt a stiff little smile begin to form on his face as he stumbled towards it. We’re going to make it, he thought. We’re going to . . .
Then he saw the others – Singay, Za and Zamin. They were huddled together at the bottom of the steps, staring. He turned to see what they were looking at.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Out of the Depths
The ocean had disappeared. As far as the horizon, Pema could see nothing but lines of buckled rock, twisted and tilted in ranks like shattered teeth. Great boulders and blocks were draped with swathes of rubbery seaweed, brown and fleshy, and interspersed with oily pools and films of slime. Fish flapped frantically. Things with legs scuttled, trying to get out of sight. There was an obscene smell.
Pema had a sudden flash of memory, of Rose speaking lovingly about the Sea as a thing of such glory, such beauty. Not like this. What they were being shown was not meant to be seen.
And there was the silence.
‘Too quiet,’ someone moaned. ‘Too quiet!’ All the relentless thudding of machinery had ceased. The wind had died away. There was a pressure on his ears, like deafness, that only stopped just this side of actual pain.
Then he saw it.
The wave.
The sight came before the sound, like thunder trailing lightning. It already filled the skyline and was racing towards them before the roar of it caught up.
‘We need to get higher!’ Singay tried to shout the words, but her voice sounded small and weary, and her feet refused to move.
Then her eyes met Pema’s and, straightening her shoulders, she led the way at a run.
Four pairs of feet pounded up and around the sheer side of the tank. At first the clanging metal of the steps drowned out all other sounds. But soon the howl of the approaching wave, hundreds of thousands of tons of water relentlessly on the move, beat at them with a wall of noise.
‘Climb! Climb!’ shouted a voice from above.
The top came so suddenly they almost fell onto it. It was wide and flat, and crowded with oilmen, staring in rigid terror at the horror that seemed to be reaching up to engulf the sky. Singay caught sight of the twins, clinging to the man who’d told them to climb.
And then time ran out.
Flinging themselves down, they wrapped their arms round the railings and braced.
‘Hold on!’ yelled Pema, though no one could hear over the roar, so loud it was like an enormous fist of sound, pounding bodily against them, harder and harder.
The tank shuddered and rang like a gigantic, dissonant bell as the wave smashed into it, exploding round the curve of its walls. Lethal shards of metal slammed past, propelled by the volume of bottle-green water on either side. Blinded, battered, crushed by unbearable weight, the whole world was submerged – even the sun had drowned. Time stopped beneath the wave.
Then they became aware of a light approaching, something they could sense even through tightly shut eyelids.
This is what dying feels like.
And then, impossibly, the light surrounded them. The wave had passed.
We’re still alive.
They clung to the railing, bruised and sodden, throats raw with salt water, eyes burning, but gulping down air once more. For a long time, that was enough. But then, they looked around them.
On the top of the tank, drenched, bewildered men stirred. Some started to move towards injured comrades. Some hugged their knees, shaking. Some turned, and turned again, staring about, as if uncertain where the great wave could have gone.
Singay and Pema dragged themselves upright.
‘This must be a dream,’ whispered Singay. ‘It can’t be real.’
Acrid smoke and steam wreathed around the tanker. There was a hot, erratic wind that shredded and shifted the cloud, revealing nightmare shapes in the greasy swells of the Sea. Twisted metal shards cut the surface and disappeared, appeared and sank, over and over, all that remained of the oilfields’ platforms and gantries and cranes. There were things drifting between the rigid, broken structures. Pema squinted, trying to focus on what they could be.
Bodies. So many bodies, face down in the Sea. The way they moved was horrible, as if they were turning gently in their beds.
Later! Think about it later! shrieked Pema’s brain. Think about Rose! Even with soaking clothes, the body on his own back weighed next to nothing.
‘Is Rose all right?’ he croaked. ‘Help me get him off my back!’
Singay, too, had been standing as if poleaxed, but Pema’s voice brought her back with a jolt. ‘Rose? Rose!’ she cried. She scrabbled with the wet knots and managed at last to free the Driver from Pema’s back and lay him gently down.
His silvery skin was almost
translucent now, and the bones of his face stuck out sharply, as if the flesh that covered them had melted away. At that moment he looked more alien than they had ever seen before, more unearthly, more . . . far away.
‘Rose! Here, take this! You must!’ Singay dragged the irradiant sack from his pocket and thrust it into the little man’s lifeless hands. ‘Rose!’ He didn’t respond. She took the bag back, fumbling with the knot, trying to untie it, but she was crying so hard she could barely see. Even soaked with seawater, the bag weighed almost nothing now. Maybe if she turned it inside out – maybe there was still just enough left. Maybe . . .
A hand reached over her shoulder and took the bag. She was pushed aside.
But . . . what . . . how . . . Singay scrubbed her arm across her face and stared.
It was another Rose. Another Driver. He knelt beside her Rose’s crumpled body and carefully lifted his head.
BOOK THREE
Look to the Stars
North of the Jungle, they look to the mountains; south of the Jungle, they look to the sea; either way, they miss the point.
(Borang proverb)
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
The Tale of Trout
Soaked and battered and bewildered, Singay and Pema could only stare.
There were silver tears streaming down the strange Driver’s face. ‘What have they done to you . . . what have they done to you . . .’ he murmured, his voice anguished. He produced his own silver bag and began to trickle irradiant again and again onto Rose’s skin.
‘Is he . . . Will he be all right?’ croaked Singay.
The new Driver turned on her abruptly, spreading his silver hands protectively. ‘I won’t let you kill him!’ he snarled. ‘I don’t care what you do to me, but you won’t kill him!’
Then a voice spoke, a voice Pema and Singay – and the new Driver too, perhaps – thought they’d never hear again.
‘You found me. How did you . . . ?’
It was Rose. He sounded infinitely frail and weary, but in some unidentifiable way more himself than he had in such a long time.
Walking Mountain Page 18
