Adam and the Arkonauts

by Dominic Barker

  ‘How did Mum get here?’ Adam wondered.

  The Doctor was asking himself the same question. But he was not prepared to admit it to his son. He had searched for his wife for ten long years, diligently following up any reported sighting, exhausting every lead. Along the way, he and Adam had visited cities and towns on every continent and during the time spent at sea, sailing from one place to the next, he had perfected his research. Now he and his thirteen-year-old son could communicate with almost every kind of animal, and some of the animals they had met on their journey had joined their boat, determined to see the world for themselves. These animals were the Arkonauts. Thanks to the Doctor’s teaching, most of them could even understand the language humans spoke. But important as this work was, it would always take second place to Doctor Forest’s primary objective: finding Lily.

  ‘The telegram from the Mayor I received in Istanbul was quite clear,’ he told Adam. ‘Your mother left him a message.’

  ‘What was it?’

  ‘He refused to say,’ the Doctor replied. ‘He insisted that if I wanted to know, I must come in person.’

  ‘Do you think it could be a trap?’ said Adam.

  ‘We will not judge until we get there,’ his father said firmly. ‘Groundless speculation is the enemy of science.’

  ‘Why do you think Scabellax has never contacted you?’ asked Adam. ‘Do you think he’s discovered how to talk to animals by himself?’

  ‘We are not going to think about that,’ said the Doctor firmly.

  He was angry at Adam for reminding him of his own terrible fear: that Scabellax, too, had cracked the code and therefore no longer needed the Doctor’s wife as a hostage. But to think that way was to risk giving into despair.

  ‘But what if –’ Adam began.

  ‘I said we are not going to speculate,’ repeated the Doctor firmly.

  Adam sighed. His father was probably right about speculation. Maybe it didn’t help. But Adam couldn’t stop himself wondering about things he had no way of knowing . . . wondering about his mother, snatched away from him by Professor Silus Scabellax when he was only three years old.

  Adam could not remember her. Now he was thirteen and he felt as though his whole life had been spent trying to find something he had never known. Sometimes when he closed his eyes in his cabin at night, he felt that he was so close to remembering her, but she remained tantalisingly out of reach, just beyond the edge of his memory.

  The Ark of the Parabola was touching twenty knots. Soon they would begin their approach into the harbour.

  ‘I think you should take us in,’ said the Doctor.

  ‘Me?’ said Adam, looking at the jam of boats bobbing in and out of the harbour.

  ‘You’re ready,’ his father replied.

  Adam was far from sure he was ready. It was one thing navigating the Ark on the open sea, when there was an empty blue vastness in front of him and nothing to crash into, quite another to steer it through the chaotic port of Buenos Sueños.

  The Doctor seemed to sense what Adam was feeling.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘Much of the chaos will resolve itself into patterns the closer we get to it.’

  Adam knew better than to argue with his father. If it can be done, his father always said, then with enough practice and patience we can do it too. He said things like that with great confidence – a confidence that Adam rarely felt. He wondered, yet again, if he took after his mother more than his father. He gripped the helm tightly.

  Behind him, out of the hatch which led down into the living quarters, emerged a monkey. It looked at Adam controlling the wheel, shook its head, then loped along the deck, chattering anxiously before tugging at the Doctor’s sleeve.

  ‘What is it, Simia?’

  The monkey pointed at Adam and jabbered in a series of high-pitched shouts and yelps.

  At least that’s how it could have sounded to anybody else’s ears. The Doctor and Adam, both being fluent in the monkey’s language, heard, ‘I can’t believe you’re letting him steer. Don’t you remember what happened last time?’

  The Doctor replied, yelping and chattering back in the monkey’s language. Listening, Simia thought that, however hard he tried, the Doctor would never get his accent quite right. He sounded much more like he was speaking baboon. But apart from that, his yelps made sense.

  ‘Adam is ready, Simia, he just needs practice.’

  ‘He nearly crashed. Right into the Governor’s yacht in Jamaica. What trouble that would have caused! Lots and lots of trouble.’

  ‘That was ages ago,’ yelped Adam indignantly.

  Simia had to admit to herself that Adam’s accent was perfect. But then, he’d been brought up learning both monkey and human language. Still, she was in no mood to praise his accent.

  ‘Tch!’ Simia turned to the Doctor. ‘He is a very, very, very stupid boy.’

  ‘Don’t call me very, very, very stupid,’ Adam said. ‘Just stupid would do.’

  ‘Let me steer like always,’ the monkey pleaded.

  ‘He needs to learn, Simia,’ the Doctor said.

  ‘What kind of coordination do you humans have, tch? Can you swing from branch to branch? No. Yet another thing you lost when you decided to leave the trees and walk on the land. Tch!’

  ‘But –’ began the Doctor.

  ‘When I think of how I had to rescue you all those years ago,’ continued Simia. ‘Perfectly good tree to escape up but you couldn’t climb it because of all this clever evolving you’d been doing.’

  The Doctor had spent ten years being reminded by Simia that she had saved his life, and all the more often since he’d explained to her Darwin’s theory of evolution and the survival of the fittest. Simia had interpreted the whole concept as a gigantic insult to monkey-kind.

  ‘Chill out, girlfriend,’ said a long, slow, smooth voice. Malibu, the ship’s cat, had woken up.

  He had joined them in California, having previously lived the pampered life of a film-star pet, only to be thrown into the streets of Hollywood when his breed stopped being fashionable. He stretched himself out in the early-morning sun.

  Simia scratched her head in irritation.

  ‘This is nothing to do with you, cat,’ she said. ‘Nothing at all.’

  ‘Morning, Doc,’ purred Malibu, showing no interest in the monkey’s concerns.

  ‘Good morning, Malibu,’ said the doctor, bending down to tickle him behind the ears.

  Sensing that she was not going to get her way, Simia stomped off to the rail, muttering darkly.

  ‘I don’t want to attract attention to us yet,’ the Doctor called to the retreating monkey. ‘And nothing attracts attention like having your boat steered by a monkey.’

  They were now on the final approach to the port of Buenos Sueños. Fishing vessels seemed to be all around them and he could hear the unconcerned shouts of the anglers on either side.

  ‘Hola!’

  ‘Ciao!’

  A fishing smack sailed so close that Adam heard the crack of the wind in its sails. Once past the harbour wall Adam knew that there would be calm water and easy sailing. But before that he had to negotiate the bottleneck of boats that had jammed together at the entrance to the harbour. He gripped the wheel tightly.

  ‘Just keep a steady course,’ counselled the Doctor.

  The shouts of the sailors mixed with those coming from people on the wharf and the cries of the seagulls overhead who followed the boats, hoping for any of the catch that was rejected. There were boats behind the Ark, in front of the Ark and on both sides of the Ark. One veered suddenly towards them, its skipper distracted by a swinging rope. Adam wanted to steer the other way. Moments later he was glad he hadn’t, as another boat nearby tacked round unexpectedly when a fisherman discovered he’d forgotten his lunch. An
other boat shot right in front of them.

  ‘Don’t panic,’ said the Doctor calmly. ‘A man who panics is lost.’

  Adam didn’t want to panic. He wanted to shut his eyes and open them again when they were in the calm blue water of the harbour – but this would be to rely on fate, which, according to the Doctor, was even worse than panicking. The boat in front got closer and closer and closer, and then, with an expert flick of the rudder, the fisherman took it safely past.

  ‘Muy bien, chico,’ he shouted across to Adam.

  Adam’s faith in his ability was growing. He kept his eyes open and his course steady and, following one final gust of wind, the Ark of the Parabola surged triumphantly into the harbour.

  Simia tutted. ‘Beginners’ luck.’

  ‘Remember to breathe, Adam,’ said the Doctor.

  Embarrassed, Adam took a huge gulp of air.

  ‘I didn’t think they were ever going to get out of the way,’ he said.

  ‘Of course they were going to,’ his father remarked. ‘The interesting thing to observe from a scientific point of view was how.’

  Adam was more interested in the way his heart was beating like it wanted to force its way out of his chest and the way he felt dizzy with the success, but he knew better than to say so. His father would have dismissed this as putting sensation over science, and if there was anything he despised more than giving into fate, it was overemphasising sensation.

  ‘Right,’ said the Doctor. ‘Let us find a discreet berth where we can keep the Arkonauts as far as possible from the gaze of prying eyes. And Simia, I’m afraid you’ll have to retire below for a little while.’

  At these words the monkey picked a flea out of her fur, ate it and then loped across the deck to the hatch and disappeared down below.

  ‘Right,’ said the Doctor. ‘Let us go and see the Mayor of Buenos Sueños.’

  .

  CHAPTER 2

  ‘There’s no time to waste,’ Doctor Forest urged his son. ‘Whistle for Sniffage and then we can leave.’

  There was a mewl of disapproval from behind them.

  ‘That dog makes soooo much noise,’ moaned Malibu.

  Moments later, an orange and white patched head with large floppy ears stuck out of the hatch to the hold. The spaniel never did anything slowly. He bounded down to the front of the ship, barking.

  ‘Yeah! Yeah!’ Sniffage yapped. ‘Where are we going? We going for a walk? Let’s go for a walk!’

  ‘We are going for a walk, Sniffage,’ the Doctor assured him.

  ‘Let’s go somewhere smelly. Can we? Yeah! Yeah!’ Sniffage shook his floppy ears from side to side with enthusiasm.

  ‘Eww,’ said Malibu. ‘Dogs are so gross.’

  Sniffage ignored Malibu. He had spotted a stick. He grabbed it between his teeth, padded over to Adam and dropped it at his feet.

  ‘Throw it for me, yeah! You won’t lose it. I’ll bring it back! Yeah! Yeah!’

  Adam picked the stick up and threw it to the other end of the ship. Sniffage charged after it, scooped it up in his mouth and charged back, his tail wagging with pleasure. He dropped the stick at Adam’s feet.

  ‘Do it again! Yeah! Throw it further! I’ll get it again!’

  Adam picked up the stick.

  ‘I don’t know who’s stupider,’ mewled Malibu. ‘You for throwing it or him for getting it.’

  ‘There’s no time for this,’ said the Doctor, leading the way down the gangplank.

  ‘I’ll keep an eye on things here while you’re gone,’ said Malibu, and promptly fell asleep.

  Standing on the quay, it was obvious to the Doctor and to Adam, though perhaps not to Sniffage, that finding anything in this maze of higgledy-piggledy streets lined with tall white houses was not going to be easy. And what is more, there didn’t seem to be anybody about to ask. All the people that they had seen on the wharf as they sailed into the harbour had vanished.

  ‘Strange,’ remarked the Doctor.

  They crossed a wide road and entered the labyrinth of Buenos Sueños.

  ‘Smelly!’ Sniffage barked approvingly.

  ‘Sometimes,’ remarked the Doctor, ‘I almost regret learning to understand what they’re saying.’

  ‘A signpost!’ said Adam, pointing to a crossroads at the end of the narrow street.

  ‘A very detailed one,’ added the Doctor, noticing that the signpost was bristling with directions. ‘Surely one of the signs will point to the town hall.’

  They hurried over to it. The town hall was signposted to the left.

  ‘Come on,’ said the Doctor.

  But Adam tugged at his father’s sleeve and pointed again. He had noticed that the town hall was also signposted to the right.

  ‘And look,’ he said.

  The town hall was also signposted on the road that went straight on and even on the road that they’d just walked up. In fact, walking in any direction, according to the signpost, would lead them to the town hall.

  ‘Strange,’ repeated the Doctor. ‘And not particularly helpful.’

  ‘Over there,’ said Adam. A little further down the street was a small kiosk. A sign above it said ‘Tourist Information’.

  Sitting by the door, with his feet stretched out and a faded brochure perched on his face, was a sleeping man. He was wearing a vest which featured an interesting mixture of sweat patches and holes. A badge attached to the vest informed Adam and the Doctor that his name was Señor Gozo and he was here to help.

  The Doctor coughed.

  Señor Gozo opened his eyes. They were red-rimmed and hostile.

  ‘What?’ he growled.

  ‘We’d like some information, please.’

  ‘Why?’

  The Doctor was taken aback.

  ‘Because we’re in a strange city and a little confused about the directions.’

  ‘What do you want to go visiting new cities for, eh? You should stay in cities that you know. That way you don’t get lost.’

  ‘But you’re the local tourist information officer,’ said Adam. ‘Aren’t you supposed to help us?’

  ‘No,’ said Señor Gozo.

  ‘What are you supposed to do, then?’

  Señor Gozo growled, ‘I am here to give information about tourists, like they wear shorts even when it is cold and are taking photos of everything in a place, even the really boring things. And are always getting their wallets stolen. We have so few visitors to Buenos Sueños, people need advice on how to deal with them.’

  The Doctor and Adam exchanged puzzled glances. Buenos Sueños was obviously a city unlike any other.

  ‘Errr . . . we’re looking for the town hall,’ persisted the Doctor.

  ‘There’s a signpost over there.’

  ‘We know,’ Adam said, ‘but it says that the town hall is in four different directions. We were wondering if you could tell us which is the best.’

  ‘Depends,’ said Señor Gozo, ‘on whether you want the direct route, the scenic route, the route avoiding low bridges or the route including low bridges.’

  ‘The route including low bridges?’ said Adam. ‘Why do you have that signposted?’

  Señor Gozo scratched his hairy stomach.

  ‘The Buenos Sueños Society for the Appreciation of Low Bridges is a thriving local organisation. They crouch every Tuesday underneath the Puente Pequeñita near the swimming baths.’

  ‘We’d like the direct route, please.’

  ‘Well, good luck,’ said Señor Gozo. ‘You’ve got a one in four chance of being right.’

  Sniffage, having become bored during this conversation, had gone off to investigate. Now he reappeared.

  ‘Your dog appears to have a dead thing in his mouth,’ observed Señor Gozo.


  Sniffage dropped the unidentified dead thing at Adam’s feet and began to bark enthusiastically.

  Señor Gozo closed his eyes and leant back. It seemed that he had given them as much help as he was prepared to.

  ‘Thank you,’ said the Doctor. ‘I suppose if we get lost we can always ask a policeman.’

  ‘Ask a policeman?’ said Señor Gozo, opening one eye, and his face broke into a broad smile. He disappeared into the dark recess of his kiosk, laughing uproariously.

  The Doctor and Adam looked at each other in confusion. Above them the sun burnt down, reflecting off the white houses, steadily raising the early-afternoon temperature.

  ‘Yeah! Yeah!’ barked Sniffage, bounding around their legs. ‘Is anybody thirsty? Bet you are. I am. Yeah! Found this puddle. Couple of dead things floating in it. Come and have a drink! Yeah!’

  ‘No, thanks.’ Adam shook his head.

  ‘Sniffage,’ cautioned the Doctor, ‘how many times have I told you not to drink from pools with dead things in? They could make you seriously ill.’

  ‘Dead things?’ Sniffage cocked his head to one side as though he was hearing this for the first time. ‘Dead things aren’t good for you?’

  ‘Not in drinking water,’ insisted the Doctor.

  ‘Yeah! But all the rest of the time. Yeah!’

  ‘Pick a direction. Any direction,’ he said, turning to Adam.

  ‘That one,’ said Adam, pointing straight on.

  .

  CHAPTER 3

  At every crossroads there were directions, always pointing in four different ways. The sun beat down mercilessly and the streets of Buenos Sueños shimmered in the intense heat. Sniffage’s tongue lolled out of his mouth and his breathing was heavy.