Finding Serendipity

by Angelica Banks

  Chapter Twelve

  ‘Baxterr!’ Tuesday called again.

  She dived under the water. Below in the clear green of the sea she could make out the mast pointing towards the sea floor and the sails billowing gently in the gloom. She came up for air and still Baxterr was nowhere to be seen. She dived again, this time going under the boat and coming up in the space beneath the curve of the floorboards. Here there was air to breathe though the sea was slopping at her neck. She felt frantically about on the submerged deck and as she did so, she brushed against something. Her fingers grasped fur. It was Baxterr! She tried to haul him up, but he was caught. Ropes were twisted around his neck, trapping him underwater. Tuesday forced her fingers under the ropes and began peeling them over Baxterr’s head, freeing his legs.Water splashed in her mouth, making her cough. Despite the choking water, she kept at it, working hard until at last Baxterr was free. She hauled him up beside her, but Baxterr’s eyes were closed and he was heavy in the water.

  ‘No! No!’ she cried, her words echoing in the tiny space under the boat.

  Holding Baxterr tight, Tuesday dived from under the boat out to the open sea beyond. As she surfaced she realised that it was only her life jacket keeping them both afloat. She was tired and cold and Baxterr was a dead weight in her arms.

  Suddenly, out of the corner of her eye, Tuesday saw something dark leaping along the rocks from the shore. Not something – someone. Tuesday wiped salt water from her eyes and blinked. Above the wind, Tuesday could hear yelling.

  In one fleet movement the someone leapt from the rocks onto the upturned hull of Vivacious, landing as nimbly as a gymnast.

  ‘What on earth do you think you’re doing? You can’t bring her in like that!’ yelled the small girl.

  ‘My dog has drowned!’ Tuesday called. ‘Help!’

  The girl noticed Baxterr in Tuesday’s arms and she nodded.

  ‘Hold his head up,’ she yelled over the wind. ‘Swim for the shore!’

  Then the girl dived beneath the boat. A few moments later Vivacious was righted, looking dishevelled, but awaiting instruction. Soon she was underway again and, expertly, the girl sailed the small dinghy the short distance to the shore. Tuesday staggered out of the waves with Baxterr utterly limp in her arms. In a moment the girl was beside her, helping her carry Baxterr up the grey pebbled beach. Together the two girls laid him down on his side.

  ‘Oh!’ said the girl in a hushed voice. ‘It’s a … no, he can’t be a …’

  ‘He got a rope caught around him and was trapped under the boat when it capsized. Oh please, what we can do? Please, if there’s anything …’ Tuesday’s words rushed out of her, tears running hot and fast down her cheeks as she looked at Baxterr’s lifeless body.

  ‘We must save him,’ the girl said with fierce determination, and she ran her hands over Baxterr’s sodden fur, feeling his belly, his lungs, his throat, his back.

  How different Baxterr looked. He was so silent and still. Tuesday lifted his head onto her lap.

  ‘Oh, doggo, please don’t die,’ she said.

  ‘You must call him back to you,’ the girl said. ‘With his real, true name. Tell him he must come back to you.’

  ‘Baxterr,’ said Tuesday. ‘His name is Baxterr, with a double r.’

  The girl lifted one of Baxterr’s ears and indicated to Tuesday. And so Tuesday whispered into his ear, ‘Baxterr … Baxterr. Come back. Come back to me.’

  Baxterr shuddered. He trembled and then a wave of seawater erupted from his mouth and washed over the pebbles. He whined. Another great wave of water escaped him and he whined again.

  ‘There! There you are,’ said the small girl with infinite tenderness, stroking his neck. Baxterr shivered, but his eyes opened and fixed on Tuesday. He gave her a small, reassuring ruff and closed his eyes again as if it had taken all his strength to come back from wherever he had been.

  ‘We saved him!’ Tuesday said, kissing him on his cheek.

  ‘Where did you find him?’ asked the girl.

  ‘Find him?’ asked Tuesday, gazing at Baxterr. ‘My mother brought him home when I was five.’

  The girl said, ‘I never thought to see another.’

  ‘A dog?’ Tuesday asked, confused.

  ‘A Winged Dog,’ the girl said, still patting Baxterr’s head as he panted slightly. ‘I mean, he’s tiny for a Winged Dog, but I’d recognise one anywhere.’

  Tuesday had read about Winged Dogs, of course. In the second Vivienne Small book, Vivienne Small and the Remarkable Return, the legendary dogs of the Winged Mountains – dogs that were bigger than horses – had fought alongside Vivienne Small and the sea-people of Xunchilla in a fierce battle against an army commanded by Carsten Mothwood. So Tuesday knew that Baxterr was quite clearly not a Winged Dog. Winged Dogs were colossal, to begin with. And then there was the small matter of their having wings.

  ‘It’s been a great many years now since the Winged Dogs disappeared,’ the girl continued, stroking Baxterr’s fur. ‘They took to the air and were gone, and though it is said that they flew to another world, nobody knows for certain where it is that they went.’

  ‘Sometimes I pretend that he has wings, you know, but he’s not really a Winged Dog,’ Tuesday said gently, not wanting to argue with their rescuer.

  ‘Oh, yes he is,’ the girl said, and then she delved her hands deep into Baxterr’s wet fur and, with great care, spread out before Tuesday a vast, sodden, furry wing.

  ‘No!’ Tuesday said.

  Baxterr was too exhausted to do more than lift his head a little and grin at Tuesday. But grin he did. She put her arms around him and hugged him.

  ‘Oh, Baxterr,’ she exclaimed, tears of relief running down her cheeks. ‘You’re alive and you’ve … you’ve grown wings!’

  ‘But in future,’ said the girl to Tuesday, rather sternly, ‘you might want to be a little more careful about how loudly you say his name.’

  ‘His name?’ asked Tuesday. ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘Don’t you know that if the wrong person learned his name then you could lose him forever? It’s part of a Winged Dog’s magic. Their name is like a key, and you have to keep it safe.’

  ‘But at home, he’s not a magical dog,’ said Tuesday. ‘I mean he definitely doesn’t have wings at home. I’d have noticed. We all would have noticed. But he’s alive!’ she continued. ‘And that’s all that matters.’

  ‘Home? You’re not from here?’ asked the girl.

  ‘No,’ said Tuesday, ‘I just arrived today.’

  ‘And stole my boat,’ the girl said.

  ‘Your boat?’ Tuesday asked.

  ‘Yes!’ said the girl. ‘My boat.’

  And for the first time since coming ashore, Tuesday took her eyes off Baxterr and stared at the girl in front of her. She had dark wavy hair threaded with bright wet feathers, and leather clothes that were wet too. Her gleaming grey-green eyes were looking right back at Tuesday.

  Tuesday burst into an excited grin.

  ‘Vivienne – oh my goodness! I’m so sorry. I was so worried about Baxterr that I didn’t think, but it’s you! It’s you! Vivienne Small! It’s really you!’

  Chapter Thirteen

  ‘Yes,’ said the girl in surprise. ‘I’m Vivienne Small. But who are you?’

  ‘I’m Tuesday,’ Tuesday said, realising she had no idea how to proceed. ‘Tuesday McGillycuddy.’

  And here she stopped. Although she knew almost everything there was to know about Vivienne Small, it occurred to her that Vivienne Small knew nothing whatsoever about her. Baxterr whined. With some effort he scrambled to his feet and shook himself. In a majestic action – as if he always did this – he stretched out two marvellous shaggy brown wings. Then he gave a yelp of pain. Vivienne jumped to her feet and examined his wings.

  ‘I think he’s been cut while trying to get free from the boat. Well, you and me both, Baxterr,’ she said. Turning her back, Vivienne spread her own blue wings to show Tuesday a deep tear on the
right side.

  ‘It happened yesterday,’ said Vivienne, ‘so no flying for me just now. And none for this boy either. Wings heal quite fast, though. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if he can fly again in a day or two. You’re very lucky, you know. There would be people who would kill to have him for their own.’

  Tuesday’s head was spinning. Was Baxterr really a Winged Dog? She thought back to the day he had arrived at Brown Street when he was just a tiny golden-brown puppy. Serendipity had come down the stairs from her writing room with a little dog in her arms. Even Denis had looked surprised, though he had quickly recovered his equilibrium and popped out to the supermarket to buy puppy food and all the other things a small, unexpected dog might need. All those years ago, her mother had said to her: ‘Tuesday, this is your very own dog, and because he’s your very own dog, you and only you must name him.’

  ‘Baxterr,’ Tuesday had said, knowing instantly that this was his name.

  ‘Baxterrrr?’ her mother had said. ‘Why Baxterrr?’

  ‘Because rrrr is what he will say if anyone ever tries to hurt me.’

  And so Baxterr – with a double r – he was. But had her mother brought him home from another world, from this world of Vivienne Small where Winged Dogs grew to be bigger than horses, the fiercest of protectors? Tuesday could only sit and wonder at how such a thing had happened. Was Baxterr truly one of the last Winged Dogs?

  Sitting between Vivienne and Tuesday, Baxterr sneezed. And in a strange moment of synchronicity so did both Tuesday and Vivienne. Not once, not twice, but three times the two girls and the dog sneezed in perfect unison. And maybe it was the surprise of meeting one another or the relief of Baxterr being alive, or just the fact of having shared a bout of sneezing, but the two girls began laughing and then they found they couldn’t stop. And whenever they did pause for a moment, Baxterr sneezed again and they started over until their stomachs hurt from laughing. By the time the sneezing was finally over, and the girls had wiped their eyes, they were friends.

  ‘I think we’d better get dry,’ Vivienne said. She pointed high up in the cliff behind them. ‘I have a cave up there.’

  Together the two girls pulled Vivacious up the shore and tied her to a tree growing out of the cliff face.

  ‘How did you know about Vivacious?’ Vivienne asked Tuesday.

  ‘That she was more than just a model boat, you mean? That she could be made bigger?’ Tuesday asked.

  ‘Yes. How could you possibly have known about that?’

  ‘Oh, it was just luck, I guess,’ Tuesday said. ‘Baxterr found her and then I found the marble and …’ She looked up at Vivienne, who was clearly impressed, and then, not wanting to be untruthful, she added, ‘I did once read about something like that in a book.’

  ‘Really?’ Vivienne said, looking very intrigued.

  ‘Oh,’ said Tuesday, rushing to change the subject, ‘you’d better have these back.’

  She fetched her backpack, which was still tucked inside the cupboard on the boat, and fished out the two halves of the glass bottle from which Vivacious had so magically emerged. Vivienne took them from her gratefully.

  Then she said solemnly, ‘So you saw the tree house?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Tuesday. ‘I’m so sorry.’

  ‘But what were you doing there?’

  ‘Looking for you,’ said Tuesday.

  ‘You were?’ asked Vivienne perplexedly, as she continued furling the sails around the mast of Vivacious.

  ‘Yes. I thought you might help me find my mother. You see, that’s why I’m here. She’s lost and …’

  ‘Your mother?’ asked Vivienne.

  ‘Yes, my mother’s name is Serendipity Smith,’ said Tuesday hesitantly, realising that this was the very first time in her life that she had said these words.

  Tuesday watched Vivienne’s reaction carefully, and it seemed to Tuesday that even though Vivienne’s lips were almost blue with cold, her cheeks flushed a little at the mention of Serendipity’s name. Did the characters of books know their authors’ names? Surely they did. But, then, maybe they didn’t.

  ‘She’s about this tall,’ said Tuesday, indicating a little way above her own head. ‘And she has short brown hair. Or maybe she is this tall’ – Tuesday reached high above her head – ‘and has long red hair. It depends. She might be wearing a beautiful velvet coat, and knee-high boots. Or she might just be wearing jeans and a black top. Either way, though, she’s likely to have a pencil behind her ear. Have you seen her?’

  ‘Did you say “Serendipity”?’ Vivienne asked.

  ‘Yes,’ said Tuesday, holding her breath.

  ‘I think I might …’ Vivienne started, looked embarrassed, and then stopped and eyed Tuesday warily. ‘No, no. It’s not possible. The person I’m thinking of … well, even if her name was Serendipity, she couldn’t possibly be your mother.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Just not, you know,’ said Vivienne, in an evasive way. And then, shrugging, she said: ‘I’m very cold. Aren’t you?’

  Tuesday was desperate to see what else Vivienne knew, but she was also bitterly cold. She would have liked a cup of hot chocolate and some toast with marmalade.

  ‘Let’s go and make some toast, and maybe a hot chocolate?’ suggested Vivienne, as if she had read Tuesday’s mind.

  ‘Okay,’ said Tuesday, rather in awe. ‘But aren’t you going to put Vivacious back in her bottle?’

  Vivienne, who had already begun scrambling up the cliff, turned and looked out to sea, scanning the horizon.

  ‘Not just yet,’ she said. ‘We might need to make a quick getaway. Mothwood’s men will still be on the lookout for me, I imagine. C’mon, doggo,’ she added to Baxterr, who followed her up the narrow path that was well hidden by boulders and small bushes.

  ‘Doggo,’ remarked Tuesday to the girl ahead. ‘That’s funny. That’s what I call him.’

  But Vivienne didn’t appear to hear her.

  Some time later, beside Vivienne’s campfire, Tuesday sat wiping her bowl clean with a chunk of bread. Her cheeks glowed in the heat and she lifted her head from time to time to watch the smoke disappear up through a hole in the roof of the cave. Tuesday’s backpack and clothes were hung on the line to dry beside Vivienne’s breeches and shirt. Baxterr lay at the mouth of the cave surveying the coming night. His fur was dry again and his wings were folded at his side, the injured one carefully doctored with a special ointment that Vivienne had provided. His stomach was filled with the food that Vivienne had given him from a pot by the campfire. All three were entirely full, having consumed a wonderful backward meal that began with hot chocolate and marmalade toast and ended with potatoes in their jackets and a delicious, fragrant stew.

  The cave above the sea was fitted out with a small bed, a chair, a table, one shelf of cooking equipment and another of small treasures. As the girls had prepared the food, Vivienne had explained the significance of each item on the shelf of treasures, including several beautiful shells, two long black spirals of dried seaweed, a compass and a large brass ship’s bell that Tuesday knew Vivienne had once stolen from The Silverfish. She let Vivienne recount the story, enjoying it anew. Though she’d read the story plenty of times, in the pages of Vivienne Small and the River of Rythwyck, it was very special to hear the tale told by Vivienne herself.

  Both Tuesday and Vivienne were wrapped in blankets. The fire had been roused to a merry, crackling blaze. The breeze had settled, as breezes often do at nightfall, and the sea below them was as dark and smooth and shiny as the skin of an aubergine.

  ‘Tell me where you’re from,’ said Vivienne, as she put her own plate aside and watched the fire between them.

  ‘Well,’ said Tuesday, ‘it’s sort of like here – but different.’

  ‘What sort of adventures do you have?’

  ‘No real ones,’ confessed Tuesday. ‘This is the biggest adventure I’ve ever had.’

  ‘Today?’ asked Vivienne.

  ‘Yes, actually
,’ said Tuesday. It seemed remarkable to Tuesday that she had only arrived this morning.

  ‘Then what happens to you on other days?’

  Vivienne asked.

  ‘I go to school,’ said Tuesday.

  ‘School?’

  ‘Yes, you know, where we learn to read and write. And do maths.’

  ‘Maths,’ said Vivienne as if she was trying out the word for the first time.

  ‘Yes,’ said Tuesday. ‘And Baxterr meets me every day after school and he pulls me along on my rollershoes, which are these shoes with wheels in the heels so that you can roll along the ground.’

  Vivienne’s eyes widened. ‘They sound excellent!’ she said.

  ‘They are,’ Tuesday agreed.

  She stretched her bare feet nearer the fire.

  ‘What’s your house like? Is it a tree house?’ Vivienne asked.

  ‘No,’ said Tuesday, sounding a little disappointed. ‘Just an ordinary house. It’s tall and narrow, with five storeys.’

  ‘It has five storeys?’ Vivienne asked curiously.

  ‘Yes,’ said Tuesday. ‘We’ve lived there since I was born. I’ve never lived anywhere else.’

  ‘Who do you live with?’

  ‘I don’t have any brothers or sisters,’ said Tuesday, ‘so I just live with my mum and dad.’

  Having said this, Tuesday sat bolt upright. Meeting Vivienne had been so remarkable and wonderful that Tuesday had almost entirely forgotten what she was here for. Outside, it was well after nightfall and she still had no idea of how she was ever going to find Serendipity or be back for breakfast.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ Vivienne asked, also sitting upright and listening keenly. Baxterr stirred and looked back at them both.

  ‘It’s my mother,’ said Tuesday. ‘I was having such a lovely time that I forgot for a little while about finding her.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Vivienne. ‘Your mother. What’s her name again?’

  ‘Serendipity.’

  ‘Serendipity,’ Vivienne repeated quietly. ‘Is that her real name?’

  ‘Well, she was christened Sarah, and some people call her that, but out of the two names I’d say Serendipity is who she truly is.’