by Alex Shearer
But half of it wasn’t heavy enough and just floated away on the thermals.
I thought I’d mention the beds.
‘Is it possible to get a longer bed, please, maybe?’ I said, politely as I could. ‘Mine’s a bit short.’
‘The ones in our room are the same,’ Alain said.
Mrs Procrustes looked at us, as if sizing us up.
‘Beds too short?’
‘A bit.’
‘Legs hanging over the end?’
‘A little.’
Then a big smile opened up her, so far, rather sullen face.
‘Not a problem. I’ll get Mr Procrustes to step round after supper, and he’ll be only too happy to sort that matter out for you.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Just need to have a bed more your size, huh?’
‘If possible.’
‘Or, I guess, if you were a little shorter, that might help as well – huh? Like if you stopped at the ankles or something?’
And she patted us both on the shoulder and we made an effort to join in the joke and laugh along with her. But I didn’t think it was that funny.
‘Weird woman,’ I said, when we were out of earshot. Alain nodded.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘But most Islanders are weird – to a Cloud Hunter.’
‘But is that what you still are?’ I said.
‘Always,’ he said. ‘Forever.’
I felt he might have said something more, or even done something more, as we were alone together for the very first time and there was nobody else around –
‘Gemma! Gemma! Gemma! Gemma! Gemma!’
Yeah. Exactly. Always there to spoil my treasured moment. Mr Bigmouth running for all he was worth (which wasn’t a great deal) across the escarpment, followed by Miss Speckles, who was shouting, ‘Alain! Alain! Alain!’
They didn’t so much stop as collide.
‘Gemma. Gemma. Got to get Peggy. Got to get out. Get Peggy. Get our things. Get out. Now. Right now. Now!’
‘OK, hold on. Where’s the emergency? Just slow it down.’
‘We’ve got to get out. Now!’
‘Martin, we haven’t eaten yet,’ Alain said.
‘And I thought you wanted a burger.’
‘No!’ Martin yelled. It was nearly a scream and I had to clamp my hand over his mouth. He bit it.
‘Ow!’
‘No, Alain … Gemma – Angelica and me – we saw inside the freezer.’
‘What were you doing nosing about?’
‘We were round the back and the kitchen door was open and there was no one there, so we went in, and I wanted to see what was in the freezer.’
‘So?’
‘So Angelica kept watch by the door and I opened the freezer.’
‘And?’
‘You know we thought it was funny that all those boats were tied up, but there’s no one around –’
‘What about it?’
Martin moved his mouth but no sound came out. He looked appealingly at Angelica to speak for him. It came out straight and level and somehow flat.
‘They’re all in the freezer,’ she said.
I said the most ridiculous thing. It just came into my head.
‘But aren’t they cold?’
And then I realised what an absurd remark that was.
‘They’re not cold, Gemma,’ Angelica said. ‘That is – they are cold – but they’re not feeling it.’
‘And you know we were talking earlier about the beds being a bit short.’
‘Yes?’
‘I think I know how they fix the problem.’
‘Yeah. Give you a longer bed,’ I said. ‘We just asked her about it.’
‘No, Gemma. They don’t make the bed longer. They make the person sleeping in it shorter.’
‘But that’s impossible,’ I said. (More ridiculous, not-quite-getting-it remarks.) ‘To make someone shorter, you’d need to cut their feet off and –’
And then I saw Angelica’s and Martin’s faces staring at me.
‘They’re all in the freezer,’ Martin said. ‘We counted ten pairs, plus an odd left one on its own. And a shoe.’
I looked at Alain.
‘And I left my crossbow in the room,’ he said. ‘Come on. Let’s get Peggy.’
He ran. And we followed. We didn’t stop until we were banging on the door of Peggy’s room and telling her to open up. Alain dashed to his room to get the crossbow.
‘Can’t a one-hundred-and-twenty-year-old get five minutes’ sleep?’
‘Peggy, open the door.’
She did. Finally.
‘What’s the problem? And can’t it wait?’
‘Peggy, grab your stuff, put your sandals on, we’ve got to go –’
‘What? We’ve only just –’
‘Peggy!’ Martin was yelling again. ‘There’s people in the freezer! And feet!’
And then there was silence. We all had our backs to the corridor, all except Peggy, who was looking out from her room. She kind of tensed and stiffened.
‘Oh my –’
I looked around.
They were both there. Mrs Procrustes, from reception, and with her an ugly, boiled-face man, who looked as mean as a thousand Scrooges. He had one good eye, and in his right hand he carried a cleaver, and in his left one, a meat hammer. He faced us and said:
‘Who’s complaining about the beds?’
‘Well, as a matter of fact I –’ Martin started. But I got my hand over his mouth.
‘Actually,’ Peggy said, ‘you don’t need to worry about them. We’ve decided to leave early. Everyone – shall we go?’
‘But my toothbrush – I’ve left it in –’
‘I’ll get you a new one, Martin. Everyone – go!’
We headed down the corridor, pushed open the fire exit and ran.
‘What about the laundry?’
‘Grab what you can.’
We snatched what we could off the line on our way past and went on running. Alain and I took one of Peggy’s arms each, to help her keep up. We made it as far as the jetty, our hands full of laundry and belongings, all flying in the wind. The couple of monsters were still coming in pursuit.
‘Go on ahead,’ Peggy said. ‘Untie the boat.’
I did. Alain, to give me cover, stopped and loaded his crossbow, took aim and shot the cleaver right out of the man’s hand. He let out a roar, bent to retrieve it, and started after us again. Mrs Procrustes meantime was coming down the jetty and over the pontoons like an unstoppable tank. And that was what did for her: she couldn’t stop, and when I tripped her, she just kept going, out into space. I heard the yell, but I didn’t hear the landing or the sizzle – but then, it is a very long way down. And it’s not everyone who has the knack of sky-swimming. Some people never really learn.
‘Come on. Get on board!’
The ship was untied and the solars were open and the other three were already on. We jumped across a gap of space and made it. Behind us the cleaver kept on coming, with Mr Procrustes firmly attached to it.
‘You’ll pay for this! You’ll pay for this!’
‘We already have,’ Peggy reminded him. ‘Twenty-four International Currency Units. And I never got my night’s sleep.’
In a fit of rage – or maybe it was pique – he hurled the cleaver. It spun through the air and landed with a vibrating thud in the deck.
Alain pulled it out.
‘Might come in handy for something,’ he said.
‘I’d prefer not to keep it on board, Alain, if you wouldn’t mind. Considering what it’s been used for,’ Peggy said.
‘Oh. Yes. Take your point.’
I thought Alain was about to drop it over the side. But he didn’t. He just threw it back with all his might, towards the man who had hurled it at us.
I don’t think Alain meant for it to happen. It was just an unfortunate thing. Because the cleaver could have landed anywhere. But it landed where it did. And it was hard to feel any sympathy f
or the man lying back there on the pontoon.
‘Martin, Angelica – don’t look,’ Peggy said.
Only, they already had.
‘I don’t think that was a very good motel,’ Martin said as we got under way.
I was about to give him a major ticking-off for that – and then I saw from his face that he was being perfectly genuine. It wasn’t sarcastic, it wasn’t knowing, it wasn’t even an attempt at a joke. He was completely serious. He did not think it was a good motel.
‘I’m not staying at one again,’ he said, ‘if they’re all like that. What about you, Angelica?’
Sometimes I’m just grateful I’m not Martin’s age any more. But I’m positive I was never that bad. Surely not. I couldn’t have been. Or maybe I was. One day I’ll have to ask Peggy. Or, then again, maybe I won’t.
16
troubling thoughts
GEMMA JUST ROUNDING THIS PART OFF:
So on we sailed. When you’ve somewhere to reach, what else can you do? You just keep on moving and moving gets you there in the end.
I liked the travelling, but I had mixed feelings about the getting there. I didn’t know if I was going to like City Island or not. And what was going to happen to Peggy? Was she really going to turn around and go home, and make the whole journey back on her own?
Meanwhile we carried on with the usual routine, taking turns with the cooking and cleaning and keeping watch. Or we took a turn at the helm and got the hang of reading the sky-charts. Because one day everyone has to make their own way around the world, and it helps to know which direction to sail in and how to read the good signs and the bad omens.
One late watch, when I was up by the prow, and everyone else was sleeping – or so I thought – I heard this stifled sobbing noise, and when I went looking I found Angelica hiding away, rolled up in her sleeping bag by the stern.
‘Angelica – are you all right?’
It took her a while to emerge, but when she did she said, ‘Gemma, I’m homesick. I miss the island and I miss my dad, and I know you’ll think it’s stupid, but I miss the sky-rats too.’
I sat down and put my arm around her. She was shivering, but it wasn’t from cold.
‘I don’t,’ I said. ‘I don’t think it’s stupid at all. I miss home too, and it wasn’t much, just a rocky island with a few bits of green, but I miss it like I had toothache.’
‘It’s not that I don’t want to go to the big island and go to a school …’
‘I know.’
‘I just miss everyone.’
‘I know. And everyone does. We all miss people.’
She stopped crying and wiped her eyes.
‘Do you miss your dad?’
‘Yes, I do. And I miss that I never really knew him, nor our mum either. We were both so young when we lost them. I can barely remember them or picture their faces. I don’t know if Martin can remember them at all.’
I realised then that there was something else rolled up by the sleeping bag with her, and Botcher’s fat face appeared.
‘So this is where he goes.’
‘He sleeps next to me. I don’t mind.’
‘Good. You’ll stop him from feeling lonely.’
‘That’s what I thought. Gemma –’
‘Hmm?’
‘How can you miss someone you never really knew?’
‘It’s like a hole, Angelica, like a great big hole in you that nothing can ever fill. And it doesn’t really matter how nice and how kind other people are, that hole’s always there. You don’t always think about it; it’s not that you’re sad all the time – it’s just that you know it’s there. And people who don’t have that hole in them, they don’t really understand … but someone else who does – you kind of recognise them …’
‘Like you and me!’ she said. ‘We’re sensitive, aren’t we, Gemma?’
‘Yes,’ I said, to keep her happy. ‘We are. I think there’s a secret society of people who’ve got holes in them.’
‘And Martin too,’ she said.
Which was news to me.
‘Really?’ I said. ‘Martin?’
‘Yes. He misses your mum and dad really badly.’ And of course he must have. But we’d never really talked about that, even though we were brother and sister. We’d never spoken about it at all. ‘He told me,’ she said. ‘And I said I understood.’
‘That was good of you, Angelica.’
‘And you can talk to me too, Gemma, if you ever feel sad.’
‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘I’ll maybe do that. You going back to sleep now?’
‘I’ll try.’
‘OK. Goodnight then.’
‘We say goodnight but it’s hardly ever dark.’
‘Put on your sleep mask.’
‘I will.’
I gave her another hug and left her. She wasn’t so bad. And you don’t feel so bad yourself when there’s someone you can comfort in some small way. Though maybe all you are really doing is comforting yourself by feeling useful and wanted.
I went to the helm and checked the charts and the autopilot, then completed the remainder of my watch. Alain took over from me, and I lay down and slept. When I awoke everyone was up and moving and fish were frying in the pan. There were a few sky-crab catchers in the offing, who waved as they passed us by. Then we were in empty sky again for a while, with islands in the distance beckoning us on.
And then I heard Martin’s voice from across the deck, repeating one of his favourite phrases.
‘Peggy! What is that?’
And looming down from above us was the most extra-ordinary craft I’d ever seen. It was shaped like a long, cylindrical tube and didn’t have a single porthole in it. It appeared to be flying blind, and whoever was inside it – if anybody was – couldn’t be seen.
‘Peggy – do you know what that is? Have you seen that before?’
‘I’ve seen pictures of them.’
‘What is it?’
‘They used to be called submarines.’
‘It’s a USO,’ Alain said. ‘Never thought I’d see one, but it’s a USO.’
‘What’s a USO?’ Martin asked.
‘Unidentified Sailing Object,’ Angelica told him. ‘My dad sees them all the time.’
‘Yes, and so does old Ben Harley,’ Peggy said. ‘Especially after a session with the private stash.’
‘Where’s it from? And what’s it doing here?’ I said.
The thing was heading for us and it slowly came alongside.
‘How can it see where it’s going? Where’s its eyes?’
Just as I said that, part of the roof opened and a long swivelling pipe came out, with a gleam of glass at the end of it, and it turned itself around until it was pointing directly at us. And then it stopped.
‘Are there people in there? Or does it do that all on its own?’
‘There’s someone in there,’ Peggy said. ‘But they can’t be like us.’
‘Then where are they from?’
‘Up there, I guess,’ she said, and she pointed up at the myriad distant islands that floated above us in the upper atmosphere.
‘And they’ve come down here? What for? To gawp at us?’
‘The spirit of scientific enquiry, no doubt.’
‘So you mean there are – well – aliens up there?’
‘I suppose that would be one word for them.’
‘So it’s an alien sky ship?’
‘More or less.’
‘They’re not going to abduct us, are they?’ Martin said. ‘And stick probes up our –’
‘Martin –’
‘Noses.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. Where did you get that from?’
‘One of Peggy’s old books.’
‘So why are they hiding in there?’
‘The atmosphere and the heat here would probably kill them,’ Peggy said. ‘We couldn’t survive at their level, and they can’t live at ours.’
‘Shall I wave at them?’ Martin said.
‘How do you know waving means the same to them as it does to us? Waving could be extremely rude to them for all we know – a provocative gesture – even a declaration of war,’ Alain said.
‘Well, I’m going to risk it,’ Martin said. ‘I’m going to wave. I don’t see why you have to assume that aliens are nasty and out to get you.’
‘You were the one going on about the probes,’ I reminded him.
‘I’ll take a chance.’
He waved at the sky-sub’s periscope as the vessel floated by. The lens stared at us, and then the front of the sky-sub tilted, and down it went to greater depths.
‘Look, it’s diving! I’d love to go down there, wouldn’t you? Wouldn’t you like to go exploring?’
‘Martin, you haven’t even explored this level yet, never mind the depths.’
‘I caught an ugly-fish once,’ he said. ‘On a two-kilometre line. Pulled it all the way up. Had a face like a bag of lumps, didn’t it, Peggy?’
‘It wouldn’t have won too many beauty competitions.’
‘Skin like you wouldn’t believe. Ten times as thick as ours, to keep the sun off.’
‘What did you do with it?’ Alain asked. ‘You threw it back, I hope?’
‘Well, I would have,’ Martin said. ‘But it died first.’
‘Probably the sight of you that killed it,’ I said.
‘The sight of someone round here …’ Martin said, looking pointedly in my direction.
‘It’s too cold for them,’ Peggy said. ‘And the air’s too thin. The shock killed it.’
‘But we gave it a decent send-off,’ Martin said.
Alain didn’t say anything in reply. I don’t think he approved. Cloud Hunters don’t like waste. He leaned over the deck rail and watched the sky-sub disappearing. Its rudder spun and down it went, until we could no longer properly see it, and it was just one more speck in the sky, inclining towards the heat of the sun.
‘Peggy –’
‘Not now, Martin.’
‘No, Peggy –’
‘I’ve got to navigate.’
‘No, Peggy, what’s that? Please.’
‘What’s what, Martin? What is it now?’
‘Over there. On that big island we’re coming to. What’s that?’
We were just turning out of the deeper sky and re-crossing the Main Drift. Here some big islands lined the way, like houses down a street, but set far, far apart.
