by Perrin Briar
Lightfoot was hesitant with crossing the bridge. Bill made a set of blinkers for him. Lightfoot calmed and followed the scent of carrots, allowing Bill to lead him across.
Lightfoot pulled up before the sharp flint incline and sniffed at it.
“Should we remove the wheels?” Fritz said.
“No,” Bill said. “I think he can handle it.”
Jack gave Lightfoot a piece of carrot. Then he stepped up onto the incline backwards. Lightfoot whinnied in the back of his throat and shuffled his hooves side to side, shaking his head.
Jack took a carrot out of the bag and waved it under Lightfoot’s nose. Lightfoot placed a hoof on the incline and leaned forward, but was very hesitant and began to back away.
Bill slapped him on the rump. Lightfoot reared up and shot up the incline. Jack ran back a few steps as Lightfoot brought the cart up with him, hooves sliding on the slate, but he strained his muscles and maintained friction. He reached down and munched the carrot off Jack’s palm. The cart slipped back half a step.
“Keep him going!” Bill said.
Jack extracted another carrot. Lightfoot raised his short-snouted head into the air and neighed. He threw his weight forward and powered up the incline, one powerful step after another. Fritz and Bill could hardly keep up as they chased after the cart.
Jack kept running, the carrot in hand. He checked over his shoulder. Lightfoot began to slow, looking toward the jungle on his left. Jack slowed and pulled up in front of Lightfoot, waving the carrot under his nose.
“Just a bit farther, I swear,” Jack said. “Come on. Please.”
Lightfoot snorted and followed him up the incline. Spent and out of breath, Jack pushed himself up over the ridge and onto the flat of the clearing. He turned and was surprised to find Lightfoot half a dozen paces behind.
He was struggling with the load. He took a step forward, and each time he did, he slid back down again, his eyes wide with fear.
“Get behind the cart!” Bill said to Fritz.
“If Lightfoot lets go we’ll get flattened!” Fritz said.
But Bill was already bracing the cart with his weight. It was unspeakably heavy, no way they could push it themselves. Fritz braced the weight alongside his father. Lightfoot, sensing the relief of the weight for a moment, leaned forward and pulled the cart the final few yards.
“Go on!” Bill said, body shaking with the cart’s weight. “Go on! Go on!”
The cart creaked, and the front wheels rolled over onto the top of the hill, followed by the back wheels. Jack took a large carrot out of the bag and handed it to Lightfoot.
Bill and Fritz, unable to contain their excitement any longer, raised their arms in the air and yelled at the top of their voices.
“Yeaaaah!”
They gripped one another, hugging and dancing around in a circle.
“What’s all the excitement about?” Liz said, emerging from the treehouse. “Are those my carrots?”
Jack hid the bag behind his back.
“This is a historic day,” Bill said, bracing Liz with tears in his eyes. “Your carrots in exchange for a home. Not a bad swap, wouldn’t you say?”
Lightfoot had snuck up behind Jack and nibbled at the bag with his thick top lip. Jack pulled the bag away.
“No more until you bring another cart up!” he said, waving a warning finger.
“Be thankful it’s Jack who’s in charge of the carrot rations,” Bill said. “I’d have run out halfway here.”
Liz pressed her lips together.
“Fine,” she said. “But don’t expect any carrots on your plate for a while.”
She marched away. Bill turned to the boys.
“Don’t worry about your mother,” he said. “She’s just very fond of her carrots. Now, let’s get these panels off Lightfoot and him back down to the beach for another load.”
“Me and Jack could bring the panels up while you and Fritz start building them,” Ernest said.
“All right,” Bill said, a little disappointed. “But I wanted to see Lightfoot bring up more loads first.”
“Ernest is right,” Fritz said. “It’s a better use of our time.”
Bill reached into the bag of carrots and handed one to Lightfoot.
“The most beautiful creature in the whole world,” Bill said with tears in his eyes, stroking Lightfoot’s muzzle. Bill lowered his voice and spoke to the boys. “Don’t tell your mother.”
Chapter Forty-Nine
LIZ BROUGHT Lightfoot to a stop. He had a row of large coconut buckets strapped to either side of his body. Liz reached up and unhooked one of the buckets. It was at an awkward angle, so she had to raise the bucket over her head to lift it down.
The water sloshed over the side and splashed her. She didn’t even gasp, clearly used to it. Her arms shook as she lowered it to her stomach, dousing her further, and then prepared to lower it to the ground. The bucket slipped from her fingers and hit the ground, spilling most of it.
Liz straightened, hands to her aching lower back. She looked up at the sky, shut her eyes and swallowed a scream.
“You do it like this every day?” Bill said.
Liz started, unaware Bill had been watching her.
“It’s the easiest way,” Liz said. “At least I have Lightfoot now.”
“It’s certainly a way,” Bill said. “But it’s certainly not the easiest.”
Bill took the remaining buckets off Lightfoot’s back.
“How about we come up with a better way of getting the water here?” Bill said. “Make it easier.”
“Can you?” Liz said.
“I can try,” Bill said. “Although I’ll miss seeing you in your solo wet T-shirt competition.”
Liz looked down. She covered herself with her arms.
“Pervert!” she said.
“Just an admirer,” Bill said.
Chapter Fifty
THE WATER streamed over the smooth rocks, down to the base of the mountain, working its way around to the sea.
“What are you thinking about?” Liz said.
“Hm?” Bill said, miles away.
“You’re trying to figure something out?” Liz said.
“We’re too far away from the water source,” Bill said. “It would be better if we could pipe it directly to us.”
Liz smiled.
“You don’t do anything by half, do you?” Liz said.
“Why should I?” he said. “With creativity we can solve any problem.”
Liz judged the distance from the mountain to the edge of the jungle below.
“We could use some kind of windmill wheel to power a system,” she said.
Bill nodded.
“We could,” he said.
By his tone Liz could tell he’d already had the idea and dismissed it.
“How about an aqueduct?” Liz said.
Bill’s eyes lit up.
“Of course!” he said. “It’s so obvious!”
Liz pursed her lips. Bill noticed. He kissed her on the cheek.
“Not to take away anything from your brilliant mind and creative faculties,” Bill said. He turned back to the edge of the jungle. “I wonder…”
Bill headed back down the mountainside. Liz turned to the boys, who were washing themselves.
“Boys,” Liz said. “We’re heading back.”
“Where’s Father going?” Fritz said.
Liz watched Bill’s departing back.
“Off to the darker corners of his mind, I suspect,” she said.
Bill reached the bottom of the mountain and judged the sharp angle and distance. He walked to the tall, thick bamboo trees standing bolt upright before him. He rapped on one of them with his knuckles.
“Yes,” he said to himself, peering up at the tree.
He measured the distance between each bamboo knuckle. It was two feet. He counted each knuckle as far as he could, shielding his eyes against the sunlight with one hand. He beamed as Liz and the boys joined him.
“I’ve got it,” he said. “It’s so simple. It’ll take some work, but it’ll be worth it.”
“What?” Ernest said.
“We’re going to build an aqueduct,” he said.
Fritz and Ernest exchanged uneasy glances, knowing full well who Bill’s ‘we’ was referring to.
“What’s an aqueduct?” Jack said.
“An aqueduct,” Bill said, drawing himself up, and relishing the moment, “is a Minoan invention whereby one funnels water from one location to another with the use of gravity. We will chop down these bamboo trees and build a series of struts to hold them, down this mountain, all the way to our treehouse.”
The family followed Bill as he walked through the jungle, peering up at the tall trees above them.
“When we get to the jungle we can lash the bamboo poles to the trees,” Bill said.
They came to a small hill that overlooked their treehouse.
“From here the pipe will drop straight down to our treehouse,” Bill said. “Gravity will do all the work. So long as we maintain a downward incline everything should be fine.”
They built the aqueduct backwards – starting from the treehouse and working back to the hill, and then to the mountain. They connected the long bamboo tree tube-like stumps, high through the trees, and used a sticky resin to fill the joins. With Jack able to scale the trees and position the bamboo poles it was almost too easy. They built the majority of the aqueduct in just two days.
“Good work,” Bill said. “But now comes the hard part, as much down to calculation as careful building. From here to the mountainside where the water comes out there are no trees. We’ll have to build struts.
“I suggest we cut down trees and chop them up into equal lengths. We will tie each set together, forming a kind of tripod. That way, we can lay the bamboo tube across the top of the tripods, each tripod gradually taller until we get to the stream. Make sense?”
“So far,” Ernest said.
“Now, here’s the tricky part,” Bill said. “The tube can’t be too high for the stream to flow into, nor too low to reach the pipes we’ve already set up at the entrance to the jungle. That’s a difference of about a metre.”
“Just under a metre, actually,” Ernest said. “And the distance is four hundred feet from the jungle to the stream.”
“That’s beyond my ability with maths,” Bill said. “Can you figure it out, Ernest?”
“Yes,” he said. “I think so.”
“All right,” Bill said. “Let’s have lunch and then get to work.”
In actual fact, the trickiest part turned out to be tying the struts together. It was difficult to hold them in place as tying them tight caused them to slide out of place. But then Ernest had the idea to build them each of the same height, and then chop segments from the bottom of the strut legs, allowing them to be lowered at millimetre intervals. After this development, progress was swift.
They affixed the bamboo poles across the top of the struts to the stream, Bill giving Ernest the honour of placing the final piece. They clapped when it was completed, and watched as the stream’s water dribbled into the pipe and began its slow journey.
Jack climbed a tree with his ear placed close to the bamboo pole.
“I can hear it!” he said. “It’s coming! It’s working! It’s working!”
The Flower men ran the length of the system to their treehouse, where they found Liz waiting in what would become the kitchen area. The water gathered around the lip of the bamboo, as if waiting for one droplet to show backbone and be the first to hop out. Finally one did. It was immediately followed by a steady flow.
Liz cupped her hands and drank the water.
“How is it?” Bill said.
“Fresh,” she said. “Try some. It’s still cold!”
They each took a turn, tasting the fruit of their labour.
“How do I turn it off?” Liz said.
“You don’t,” Bill said. “Turn that little nozzle on the side.”
Liz did, and a square of the bamboo pipe fell away. The water fell into the cattle’s water trough below.
“You’ve thought of everything,” Liz said.
“I try,” Bill said with a grin.
Chapter Fifty-One
LIGHTFOOT FOLLOWED the carrot in Jack’s hand like a moth to a flame, pulling the cart behind him with ease along the beach at a gentle trot. Five yards from the bridge Francis passed the carrot to Jack, who ran along the bridge. Without even breaking stride, Lightfoot followed.
About ten yards from the hill, Jack passed the carrot to Ernest, who powered up the incline, running as fast as his long legs could carry him. Lightfoot gained on Ernest until he got halfway up the incline, when the cart’s weight started to pull him back. But Lightfoot never stopped, and by the time he got to the top, he drew up alongside Ernest.
“He won again,” Ernest said, shaking his head and handing the carrot over. “The things creatures do for a little gratification. It escapes reason.”
“Wait till you get a girlfriend,” Liz said. “Then we’ll hear what you say on the subject.”
Francis and Jack appeared over the ridge, both still a little out of breath.
“Ernest does have a girlfriend,” Fritz said, nodding to Nips, who sat on Jack’s head. “She’s a bit shy, but then who wouldn’t be, dating Ernest?”
“Nips isn’t a girl!” Jack said, pushing Fritz.
Nips grinned, wide and toothy.
“But she does have a beautiful smile,” Liz said.
Ernest rolled his eyes.
“I cannot believe I’m related to you all,” he said.
Lightfoot nuzzled Jack, usually the chief carrot bearer.
“Where do you want these panels, Dad?” Fritz said.
“With the others is fine,” Bill said. “I could do with a hand putting this one in place.”
Jack took Lightfoot out of his harness and put a new one on him. He led him forward. The vines tautened and the panel rose up into the air with the aid of winches and pulleys. Bill and Fritz guided the panel down into place.
“Stop there!” Bill said, moving the panel slightly. “Okay, lower it.”
Bill and Fritz pushed the panel forward onto the protruding wedges.
“Hold it there a minute,” Bill said.
He bent down and affixed the bolts.
“Okay,” Bill said. “Let it go.”
The vines grew lax as the panel was released. This was the third panel, making one wall. Liz ascended the ladder and hugged Bill.
“One wall,” she said. “Three more to go.”
“Five more, technically,” Bill said. “You’re forgetting the roof and floor.”
“After twenty years, this will be the first house we own without a mortgage,” Liz said.
Bill smiled.
“Not too bad, is it?” he said.
“Not too bad at all,” Liz said.
Bill’s smile faded, and his eyes moved to the side. He frowned.
“Excuse me,” he said. “There’s, uh, something I need to check on.”
Bill descended the ladder and rounded the treehouse. The goats in their pen ambled over to see what was up. Bill counted the tally marks on the tree trunk they kept as a reminder of their incarceration on the island. By counting the days they could work out the date.
“September fourth,” Bill said. “September fifth… September…”
His eyes widened.
“It’s our anniversary in four days…” he said.
The eldest goat mehed with a big smug smile on her face.
Chapter Fifty-Two
BILL HAMMERED the thorns into the wood. He sat his tool down on a branch and pulled the beams of wood together, straightening them. He held them together with one hand and reached for the hammer with the other. His hand found empty air. He peered over but couldn’t locate it. He looked down at the clearing floor. It wasn’t there either.
“Jack?” Bill said. “Is that you playing around?�
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Jack poked his head up from under the floor Bill was assembling.
“What was that?” he said.
“My hammer,” Bill said. “Did you take it?”
“No, why?” Jack said.
“I just put it down and now it’s gone,” Bill said. “Did Nips take it?”
“No, he’s been with me the whole time.” Jack’s eyes widened. “Dad, look out!”
Bill instinctively ducked his head. Something fell, not more than a couple of inches from Bill’s shoulder, and struck the ground, breaking the stone it smacked into.
Bill looked up. A long-tailed squirrel monkey grinned and clucked its tongue at Bill, whooping like it had committed the best practical joke in history.
“Think it’s funny, do you?” Bill said.
The squirrel monkey nodded its head as if it understood, performing a funky little dance, and then hung by one hand from a tree limb. Jack handed the hammer up to Bill.
“Bloody monkeys,” Bill said. He looked up at the squirrel monkey. “You’re lucky we’re related.”
Bill held the beams of wood together and reached for the thorns he kept in a leaf pouch at his side. But the pouch was no longer there. He frowned, and then looked up at the monkey. It held the pouch in one hand and fished out a thorn. It bit the thorn, and shrieked with pain.
“Serves you right,” Bill said.
The squirrel monkey turned the pouch upside down, letting them spill over the ground.
“Cheeky little fellow isn’t he?” Jack said.
“Yes,” Bill said. “Reminds me of a cheeky little monkey I know.”
Bill waved at the squirrel monkey to scram. It waved back, hooting at Bill, before taking off into the trees.
“Father,” Fritz said. “We’ve got a problem. One of the pulleys has got tangled up in the tree leaves.”
Bill peered up. A vine was wrapped around a high bough of the tree, the panel twisted in mid-air.
“I could climb up there and work it free,” Jack said.
