by Janis Mackay
“I’ll find the key to the Seudan,” Fin said, surprised at the power in his voice. The last thing in the world he wanted to do was to return to the ruins of the false king’s palace, but he repeated the words, the strong arms of his father wrapped about him. “I will. I’ll find it!”
The next morning in the changing room while they were getting ready for gym, Magnus Fin inched along the bench to where Tarkin was struggling with his laces. “Want to give me a hand?”
“Sure,” Tarkin said, then his eyes lit up and he left off fiddling with his laces. “You’ve seen her? You’ve seen my mermaid?”
“No.”
Tarkin looked disappointed. “Well, what then? Like, I thought we were on Mission Act Normal?”
“We are, but…”
Tarkin grinned. He was secretly growing tired of acting so normal all the time. The prospect of a good adventure set his blood stirring. Fin was about to launch into the meeting with Miranda when Tarkin beat him to it.
“Know my mermaid, Fin?”
“Yes?”
“Well, I’ve been thinking.”
“Uh-huh?”
“That if she made it, like, all the way to Scotland, maybe my dad will make it too!”
Fin didn’t know what to say. It had been a few weeks now since Tarkin had received as much as a postcard from his dad. Fin knew how much he missed him.
“You never know, Tark,” he said, trying to sound positive, “he might.”
Tarkin tucked his long orange laces into his trainers and stood up. It was time to play basketball, so nothing more was said – about mermaids, Dads or treasure chests, but Fin could see the look in Tarkin’s eyes. So it wasn’t only the mermaid he was thinking about, it was his dad. Fin hoped, for Tarkin’s sake, that one day his dad really would turn up, but it seemed unlikely.
It was fish for lunch that day and peas. Tarkin was the only boy in school to ask for a whole lemon to squeeze on his fish. Fin tried to fork his peas but they kept rolling away. The dining room was a din. Fin toyed with his food, waiting till most people had gone, then he leant across the table.
“You said you’d help me. So, fancy a bit of treasure digging?”
Tarkin speared a slice of tomato. “Sure. Like, what kinda treasure you got in mind?”
Fin leant even further over and whispered so loudly he practically hissed, “The thing in the sand – we need to wrap it in kelp.”
Tarkin chewed his tomato then leant towards Fin. “I thought we were just gonna leave it and forget about it? Mission Act Normal is working. Sargent thinks you’re the best. He thinks you are so normal. And I need to protect my mermaid. Don’t want folk frightening her off.” Tarkin looked over his shoulder. The dinner lady was glaring at him.
“Hurry up, laddies,” she shouted, “we’ve not got all day to wait on you.”
Fin forgot his peas. “Meet me at sunset tonight. I’ve got two garden spades. We can use those.” Fin spotted Tarkin’s reluctance. “Oh come on, Tark. It’ll be fun. And I’ve got rubber gloves. Look, it’s important. Really important.” Magnus Fin put his plate on his tray and shifted in his seat, ready to stand up. “But if you don’t want to help, I’ll do it on my own.”
Tarkin put his plate onto his tray, bit his lip then nodded. “OK, buddy. Count me in. It just freaked me out. Your hand was gross. But sure, I’ll help. Just don’t forget the gloves.”
“I won’t. I’ve got everything we need. I got it all ready last night.”
“So if I’m gonna help do I get in on the secret? Like, what is it, this thing in the sand?”
Magnus Fin glanced at the ruddy-faced dinner lady who was drumming her fingers on the counter at the hatch. Fin looked sideways at Tarkin. “King Neptune’s stolen treasure,” he whispered, then rose and hurried off with his tray.
That afternoon in school minutes seemed like hours. Magnus Fin had forgotten all about Robbie Cairns and had fallen back into his old habit of gazing out of the window. Absent-mindedly he doodled hammerhead sharks on the cover of his jotter. He didn’t put up his hand once to answer a question, and when Mr Sargent asked Magnus Fin to stand up and read a poem, he stuttered, went red, didn’t know how to pronounce “chapman billies” and had no idea what “drouthy” meant.
Mr Sargent looked crestfallen. His star pupil wasn’t shining now. Fin bit his nails and hung his head. “You disappoint me,” was all Mr Sargent could say. “Sit down.”
What are you thinking about?
Fin glanced over his shoulder. Aquella winked at him. Cos it’s certainly not “Tam O’Shanter”, that’s for sure!
Fin giggled. Mr Sargent glared at him. “First you make a complete hash of our national poet,” bellowed the teacher, “then you sit there and titter. Well, it’s not funny. Not one bit!”
Magnus Fin tried to pull himself together. Detention was the last thing he needed on this day of all days. He stared down at his desk, but still Aquella hounded him, jabbing her thoughts into his mind.
Something’s going on. What is it?
Fin’s mind raced. I’ve been asked to protect the thing in the sand. We’re going to the beach tonight at dusk. It could be Neptune’s stolen treasure. I would have told you, but your skin… You can’t risk being close to the sea. The tide will be up. I didn’t want to give you more to worry about.
I knew it! I had a hunch. Something’s wrong, isn’t it?
I’ll tell you later. Except selkie thought-speak didn’t manage secrets well. Aquella had already picked up on the thought he was trying not to think: King Neptune’s dying.
She gasped.
“Are you alright, Aquella?” Mr Sargent asked, now knitting his bushy eyebrows in her direction.
Aquella coughed and stammered, “Ye-yes. Ah, sorry – I’m fine.”
Then he swung round to Tarkin who was chewing the end of his ponytail, a habit Mr Sargent deplored. “You’re very quiet this afternoon, Tarkin,” he remarked. “Why don’t you stand up and give us all a bit of Rabbie Burns, eh?”
Reluctantly Tarkin rose to his feet, fumbling to find the right page. The book shook as he tried to make sense of the words. “When chapman – bill – um, sorry – billies – leave the street,” he read, painfully slowly, “and – dru… no, um – and drouthy – neigh – um, neebours, neebours meet…”
Never had the clanging of the school bell sounded so sweet. Leaving Tam O’Shanter to stare at dancing witches, Tarkin dashed out of the classroom, followed by Magnus Fin, followed by Aquella. They didn’t stop running till they reached the bridge over the river.
“OK, Tarkin,” Fin gasped, dumping his rucksack on the grassy verge. “Meet me outside the house when the sun starts to set, and we’ll go down to the beach and dig up the treasure. Aquella – if you want to join us – you can be on lookout.”
Aquella looked horrified while Tarkin, who had now forgotten all about Magnus Fin’s gross hand, looked delighted. “Man, I can’t wait. What a blast! Treasure! We are gonna be so rich.”
“It’s not ours,” Fin said, picking up his rucksack and slinging it over his back. “It’s Neptune’s. The false king stole it. And we can’t open it because we haven’t got a key.” Not yet – he didn’t say. He didn’t want to think about trying to find the key.
Tarkin nodded. Aquella shuddered. Any mention of the false king set her reeling. He had taken her prisoner, and destroyed her seal skin. Fin saw her frown.
“Look, it’s OK, Aquella. Me and Tark – we’ll deal with this. We’ll dig it up at dusk. You don’t have to come along. We’ll be fine.”
“Cool,” said Tarkin, “I like dusk. Dusk is when bats and owls come out. Good time for adventure. Ghosts too maybe.”
“Dusk is when dog walkers stay indoors,” said Fin flatly, “I hope.”
“And when the moon is full,” added Aquella, “dusk is when selkies haul out on good flat rocks, take off their seal skins and dance.”
“Nice!” Tarkin whistled. “And what about mermaids?”
“They co
me out of their sea caves to splash in the shallow water wearing pearl necklaces,” Fin said and laughed.
Tarkin’s blue eyes widened and his jaw dropped. “Seriously?”
“Joke.” He winked. “But you never know, Tark, it could be true.”
Chapter 16
Dusk fell. Aquella said she felt tired so stayed indoors, while Magnus Fin and Tarkin hurried along the beach path, each carrying a garden spade and saying not a word. There was something about dusk that demanded silence. The land lay still. As Fin had hoped, no one was around. It was balmy that evening and the sea was flat. Fin wore his wetsuit. Even in early June, balmy or not, the sea would be cold.
“You stay here, Tark. I’ll fetch the kelp.”
And he did. He fetched up loads of it, tearing up thick fronds and wrapping it round his arms. He saw how fish moved heavily, as though dragging their silvery bodies through the sad sea. Magnus Fin plunged deep into the sea, parted thick swathes of kelp, then jolted back in shock.
Good lad. I said to Miranda, “Magnus Fin will set it all to right.”
Fin gaped at the tiny pink crab that clung to a twist of sea grass.
With your mouth open like that, you resemble a dogfish. We have a little saying down here: if the tide turns you’ll stay like that! And you wouldn’t want that, Magnus Fin!
Fin snapped his mouth shut. The crab hopped down to land on strands that grew closer to the seabed. Here, Magnus Fin. Take a few of these. They’re the best!
With that, the tiny crab paddled off and vanished into the dark water. Fin felt a surge of energy at meeting his old friend. He couldn’t help liking the crab, even though he always seemed to volunteer him for the ocean’s most dangerous quests. He had been there when Magnus Fin defeated the false king, and he had guided him towards discovering what was poisoning the selkies last autumn. And how, Fin wondered, tearing up the very fronds the crab had suggested, did something so small come to be so powerful? He was King Neptune’s right-hand man.
Tarkin was guarding the patch of sand with two spades at the ready when Fin reappeared, bent under what seemed a mountain of seaweed. “Ugh!” Tarkin held his nose. “It pongs.”
“But it’ll protect us.” Magnus Fin set the bounty of kelp down on the sand and picked up his spade. “You ready to dig?”
Tarkin pulled on the bright orange rubber gloves. “Sure thing, buddy.” Then he too picked up his spade. They started to dig.
Dusk was fast turning into night. The first stars came out and the silvery moon rose while Fin and Tarkin jabbed their heavy garden spades into the damp sand. The faster Fin dug, the slower Tarkin dug, until his enthusiasm evaporated and he stopped altogether.
“Look, I dunno about this. I think we gotta act sensible.”
Magnus Fin threw back another spadeful of sand then stared at his friend. “Sensible? I’ve been so sensible for a whole week. I was the star pupil. I’ve almost read a whole book. Anyway, Tark, you’re the one who’s always telling me to go for it – be adventurous. I thought you couldn’t stand sensible?”
Tarkin looked glumly into the hole, as though imagining some infectious fiend down there. “Yeah, well, I can change my mind.” The spade hung limply in his hand.
“Come on, Tark. You’ve seen how dead the sea looks, or else wild like it’s angry. It’s not right. And if you’re going to be friends with me you’ve got to get used to stuff like this. Think about it – Neptune needs this back. Without it the sea’ll be no place for any creature to live. No place for your mermaid.”
At the mention of the mermaid Tarkin’s enthusiasm returned. “OK,” he said, lifting the spade, “when you put it that way, I’m with you. Let’s dig!”
Tarkin grinned, and dug. Any doubts and fears soon turned to excitement. Simply being out on the beach under the slowly darkening sky, digging for treasure, was adventure enough. They flung up damp sand. In no time they hit metal. Fin fumbled for the torch and shone it down the hole.
“Look, Tarkin, that’s it.”
Tarkin peered down the hole, squinting to see. “It doesn’t look much like treasure.”
Fin flashed the torch around, showing up rusty bumps and studs. Tarkin was right: it didn’t look like treasure at all. Maybe Miranda had got it all wrong? Fin tried to stay positive.
“Anyway, we have to dig round it then bring it up.” With his dad’s big garden spade he could work quickly. He sliced the damp sand, circling the thing, which wasn’t as huge as he’d at first thought. “We’ve gone right round it,” he announced, panting with the effort. “OK, Tark, I’m going to dig under it then lever it up.”
But levering it up wasn’t easy. The thing was heavy. Tarkin lay down his spade and joined Fin, leaning down on the wooden handle to force it upwards.
“It’s coming, buddy,” Tarkin shouted, forgetting about the silence of dusk. “Oh boy, oh boy – it’s coming up!”
“Hold it tight, Tark. Don’t wobble. We don’t want it to fall back down!”
They succeeded in raising the thing a few inches, then a few more. “It’s not huge,” Fin yelled, “but it’s kind of heavy.”
“It’s like one of those old boxes people used to put coal in,” Tarkin yelled. “Easy does it, we’ve got to swing the spade up and lower it onto the sand. You ready, buddy?”
“I’m ready.”
Leaning down on the handle they tilted the spade up. The thing was coming into view, though in the dusk all they could see was a dark shape. Panting, they swung the spade slowly round then lowered the metal box onto the sand.
“Right, Tark,” Fin cried, “we’ve nearly done it. We have to slip the spade away from under it. OK, let’s do it!”
They did it, leaving the box sitting in front of them.
“Shine the torch on it, Fin. Quick! Let’s have a good look at this treasure chest. Oh man, what a blast!”
“It’s called a kist,” Fin said, groping for the torch. “That’s what Miranda said.” He switched it on and swung it in the air. As he did so the white glaring beam from the torch lurched round, lighting up the retreating form of a man hurrying along the beach path.
Fin and Tarkin froze. “Who’s that?” they both said.
“I think it’s that man I saw,” Fin whispered. “That stranger.”
The kist on the sand sat like a rusty secret, glinting in the torchlight. Magnus Fin and Tarkin were afraid now. Tarkin wanted to leave, but Fin wanted to stay. “We can’t just leave it here. Come on, Tark. That man’s gone. Whoever he was, he’s not here now. And anyway we need to cover it with kelp and hide it in the cave.”
Fin dragged a heap of kelp towards the rusty kist. Tarkin stared as Fin pulled out long strands of seaweed and wrapped them around the box, as though he was bandaging it.
“You can help, you know,” Fin whispered. “Take some seaweed and wrap it. We have to totally cover it.”
“OK. Yuk, it’s kinda smelly.” They spoke like spies, in hushed whispers, wrapping the kist until every inch of rusty metal was covered. Every few seconds Tarkin glanced over his shoulder.
Magnus Fin was also worried about the stranger on the beach. He was the same man he’d seen when Miranda had come ashore; he was sure of it.
“Right, we have to carry it up to the cave and hide it there. You ready?”
“It looks heavy,” Tarkin whispered.
“We have to try. Come on. You go on that side, I’ll go on this side. Hurry.”
Tarkin looked pale in the torchlight, but though he was frightened he nodded. “OK,” he whispered, squatting down beside the wet, smelly box, “let’s do it! One… two…”
Sharing the weight, they staggered up the beach towards the cave. With rubber gloves on, and slimy seaweed to grapple with, the kist slipped and wobbled. It was heavy but they were strong and determined. When they reached the darkness of the cave they lowered the kelp-covered kist down to the sand.
Panting hard, Tarkin hurried to the mouth of the cave and shone the torch along the beach. There was, he repor
ted, no sign of the stranger. “Weird,” he muttered, slinking back into the cave, “seriously weird.” He shone the light on to the seaweed lump. “Aren’t you gonna open it?” he asked, his voice trembling with anticipation.
“No, Tark, we’re going to stow it away in a dark corner, heap a bit more seaweed over it, then leave it. It needs a key. Didn’t I tell you?”
“We did all that and we can’t open it?”
“Not yet. Tark, that was the easy bit. And thanks for your help. I really appreciate it.” Fin dropped one more clump of dried seaweed over the kist. “It’ll be fine now. Even that strange man we saw snooping about would never guess there’s a treasure chest under here.”
Tarkin peeled off the rubber gloves and stepped back. “I think we should get out of here. It’s late.”
Magnus Fin stared down at the pile of seaweed. Was Neptune’s treasure really hidden under that? And if he went all the way back to the ruins of the monster’s palace – assuming he could find the ruins of the monster’s palace – and if he found a key – and that was surely a massive if – how likely was it that the key would fit this kist?
“Come on!” urged Tarkin from the mouth of the cave. “Let’s split.”
The bat that slept on the high ledge where Magnus Fin kept his seal skin swooped around the cave, snapping him from his wonderings.
They hurried along the beach path to the cottage, hardly needing the torch now, for the waxing moon had risen and lit their way. Tarkin had left his bike leaning against Fin’s garden wall. He swung onto the saddle and was ready to pedal away when he said in a hushed voice, “Maybe I was right about the paparazzi? Like, maybe they’ve really come!”
Magnus Fin pushed open the front door of the cottage, the image of the stranger in the beam of torchlight haunting him. Maybe Tarkin was right. Maybe they really had.
Chapter 17
The paparazzi was back taking notes in the Rugged Coast Bed and Breakfast. Billy Mole, pressed up against the radiator, wrote in his notebook,
