by V M Jones
‘If there was ever a sail, it’d have rotted away years ago,’ said Gen. ‘But look at these cross-pieces. They’re hinged, to make a long kind of clamp …’
‘And there’s a spring-loaded metal clasp at each end to hold them tight,’ grinned Rich.
‘So it doesn’t have to be the actual sail, anything would do. To take a random example: our trusty tarpaulin!’ As he spoke, he was throwing stuff out of his bag; last of all out came the bright blue plastic tarp. Rich shook it out with a crackle and held it up.
‘It looks about the right size,’ said Kenta. ‘Come on, Gen: help me with this side!’
Together we stretched the tarp out flat; Blue-bum scampered up the mast and clamped the top: it fitted perfectly and in no time the sail was rigged.
The little boat looked jaunty and ready for anything. Rich dumped in the gear and rubbed his hands. ‘In you hop, let’s give it a trial run!’
Jamie and the girls clambered in, and Blue-bum settled himself on the little triangular seat in the bow, hanging on tight. ‘You can be our figurehead,’ said Kenta. ‘That seat could have been made for you!’
Rich and I heaved and with a rasp and a wobble the boat was floating. Rich flopped down on the sand and yanked off his boots and socks, then waded into the water after it. He didn’t have to go far: it was still wallowing within easy reach of the beach. Rich scrambled in and the boat tilted dangerously, to squeals of alarm from Kenta and Gen. He settled himself at the back, one hand on the tiller, every inch the captain and they all sat there, waiting for something to happen.
It didn’t.
It was Jamie who finally spoke, in an aggrieved tone. ‘But … it isn’t going anywhere, Richard.’
‘Well,’ said Rich a touch defensively, ‘it won’t till there’s a wind.’
‘But,’ said Gen, ‘When twain is one and one is twain Wind blows and sun shines forth again. Remember? If we wait for the wind, we’ll wait forever.’
‘Or at least till Adam and Zenith are together,’ amended Jamie.
‘But that isn’t going to happen till we get to Limbo,’ Rich pointed out.
‘And we won’t get to Limbo or anywhere else until the wind starts to blow,’ said Kenta.
There was a silence.
And that’s when I remembered.
Into the deep
‘Well, even if it is a sail I don’t see how it can possibly help,’ grumbled Rich as we manhandled the boat back onto the beach. ‘I know you think old Meirion is the best thing since sliced bread, Adam, but fifty years’ solitary confinement in a pitch dark dungeon with water dripping on your forehead would be enough to send anyone off their rocker.’
Jamie was examining the cloth I’d extracted from the depths of my pack. ‘It’s definitely magical,’ he announced; ‘it has that tingle. But who says it’s a sail? It could be a magic tablecloth that covers itself with food when you spread it out …’
‘In your dreams, Jamie,’ retorted Richard. ‘And now, if you’ve finished drooling over it, how about giving us a hand?’
It wasn’t long before the blue sail had been replaced by a far more flimsy white one. But even if it was the sail Meirion had originally used, it would be as useless as the tarp had been with no wind to fill it.
‘But we may as well try doing it Adam’s way,’ said Gen kindly, with a sympathetic glance at me.
Feeling like a spoilt toddler, I tossed Rich’s boots along with my own into the bottom of the boat and gave Jamie and the girls a hand back in. They took up their places, but the excited anticipation of the first launching was noticeably absent. Jamie was muttering about lunch, and Kenta and Gen were busy hatching a plan to send Blue-bum to the top of the cliff to fill the water bottles. As for Rich, he was standing high and dry on the sand, arms akimbo, an I told you so look on his face.
I gave the boat a rather half-hearted shove and it shot forward as if the sandy beach was a greased slipway. Blue-bum, who’d been perched on his special seat, flew backwards to land in a tangled heap with the boots and smelly socks. I staggered after the boat into the icy water, grabbing for the back with one hand, the other windmilling wildly to keep my balance. My fingers snagged the wooden edge and gripped it tight — and the next thing I knew I was being dragged through the water at a flailing run.
Without thinking, without time to wonder what was happening or why, I threw myself forward in a headlong lunge and heaved myself over the back of the boat, landing on top of Blue-bum in a jumble of knees and elbows. Rolling over, I gawked up at the others’ shocked faces and past them at the sail, in stunned disbelief.
The flimsy white cloth that had drooped so forlornly when the boat was aground was fat-bellied and straining with nonexistent wind that was propelling us out to sea at an alarming rate. Scrambling to hands and knees, I stared back at the beach. Already, a widening expense of water separated us from land. Rich was a rapidly dwindling silhouette performing an agitated war-dance on the sand, waving his arms and yelling, ‘Come back, you guys! Come back!’
‘The tiller!’ gasped Jamie, pointing.
I knew less than nothing about boats, but I grabbed the wooden lever with both hands and pushed; then yanked it towards me. It didn’t budge. I threw my weight on it, at the same time searching frantically for something that might be holding it in place. There was nothing. I heaved again with all my strength but it might as well have been set in concrete.
‘It’s jammed. Quick, Blue-bum, climb up and undo the clamps! We have to get the sail down!’
Already Gen and Kenta were fumbling with the clips that secured the bottom edge; Jamie seemed completely immobilised, his face a picture of woe. As for me — uppermost in my mind were jubilation and relief. Yes! Meirion had come through! The sail was magical and once we’d collected Rich it would take us straight to Limbo in double-quick time!
Then Gen spoke, and something in her voice wiped the smile clean off my face. ‘The clamps won’t undo. The sail’s stuck! Adam, do something — quick!’
There was only one thing I could do. I cupped my hands round my mouth and yelled. ‘Richard! We can’t turn back! Swim for it — before it’s too late!’
For a moment he stood frozen and I thought he hadn’t heard me. I sucked in a giant breath and raised my hands to try again, choking down the panic pushing up inside me. But then, as if a starting pistol had fired, Rich sprinted down the beach and flung himself into the water in a shallow racing dive.
The sea around us was silvery and still, only the smooth swell of the boat’s wake disturbing it. But behind Richard it churned white and foamy, as if he was being driven by an outboard motor. His arms scythed through the water, his head flicking first one way, then the other as he breathed. ‘Wow,’ breathed Jamie enviously, ‘he sure can swim!’ I remembered what Rich had told us on the banks of the River Ravven: he was freestyle champ at school. Watching him now it was easy to believe.
‘He’s gaining,’ Gen whispered. ‘He has to be!’
And he was. The gap between his thrashing figure and the boat was shrinking. Blue-bum skipped about, jibbering with excitement; Gen raised clenched fists in the air and jiggled up and down like a cheerleader shrieking, ‘Go, Richard! GO!’
Kenta was kneeling, leaning out over the water with outstretched hands as if she could somehow drag him towards us by sheer force of will … but then she raised a tear-streaked face to us: a face sick with despair. ‘He’s slowing,’ she said flatly.
Richard was exhausted. His rhythm had gone; the motion that had been so fluid and effortless had become choppy and uncoordinated. The beach was a thin pale line in the distance, the cliffs dark smudges on either side. If he didn’t make it to the boat, he wasn’t going to have the strength to get back.
He was close enough now for us to hear the ragged gasping of his breaths over his splashing strokes — only the width of a tennis court away — and still the little boat sailed on. Jamie thumped to his knees, scrabbling frantically in his pack. ‘The rope!’ he panted.
He thrust a coil of red nylon into my hands. ‘You do it!’
I’d only get one chance. Richard’s arms were all over the place, his head bobbing up with every stroke; we could see desperation in his face. I wound the free end of the rope round my hand and threw.
The thin nylon curled up and out, unravelling, snaking through the air and over the shimmering water like a serpent. Up, out and down. It wasn’t going to be long enough, I realised with a gut-wrenching jolt of despair; it wasn’t going to reach.
Richard gave one last sweeping lunge forward, reaching with one hand like an Olympic swimmer stretching for the finish line — and the rope snapped tight, almost jerking me out of the boat.
I threw myself backwards, feeling the others grab whatever bits of me they could reach; heard my voice shouting hoarsely over and over again: ‘Hang on! Hang on tight!’
Then Rich flopped half-into the boat on a freezing wave of seawater and we were dragging him over the back and in, gasping and spluttering and shivering with cold and cussing a blue streak with what little breath he had left.
Water everywhere
‘The good thing is,’ said Rich with a crooked grin, ‘we’ll get to Limbo in no time flat at this rate.’
‘I hope so,’ said Gen in an odd little voice.
‘And now,’ fussed Kenta, ‘you need some food, Richard. I only wish we could make some hot cocoa to warm you up …’
Rich was huddled in the bottom of the boat. He’d exchanged his sodden clothes for my spare polypropylene underwear — red and white pirate-striped long johns and a long-sleeved vest, stashed away by Hannah’s Nanny in a side pocket of my pack and promptly forgotten. Now, swathed in my cloak for the sake of modesty, he looked cosy and snug and remarkably cheerful. He accepted a handful of scroggin from Jamie and began wolfing it down hungrily.
‘Want some, Gen?’ Jamie asked, proffering the packet. Gen shook her head. She was staring towards the invisible horizon, her face pale and pinched-looking. Jamie reached out shyly and touched her hand. ‘Everything’s OK now, Gen. Try not to worry.’
Gen didn’t even look at him; just stared out over the dark water as if he hadn’t spoken.
‘Maybe she’s seasick,’ suggested Richard through a mouthful of scroggin. ‘Though this sea’s as calm as a duck-pond. Have some water, Gen, that’s supposed to help.’
Slowly, Gen turned her head to look at him, and the instant I saw her eyes I realised something was badly wrong. ‘No thanks, Richard. We’d better save the water for when we really need it. Because we never did fill those bottles — and there’s only about a thimbleful left.’
It was mid-morning the following day when we weakened and shared out what was left of the water. Gen had been wrong: there was more than a thimbleful. When we pooled the dribbles left in the bottom of everyone’s canteens, there was about half a cup. In spite of Jamie’s token objection to ‘sharing spit’ we passed the tin mug round in a solemn ritual, each taking a tiny sip from a different place before passing it on. It went round exactly three times before Rich upended it over his open mouth and let the last crystal drop tremble and fall.
Time crawled by, and the little boat surged steadily on towards the unchanging horizon. Now and again someone would crawl over to Kenta’s pack and pull out the map; unroll it, stare at it for a minute or two, then replace it without speaking. It hadn’t changed since we left the shores of Karazan, and we knew in our hearts it wasn’t going to.
Lunch time came and went. ‘We should eat,’ muttered Jamie. ‘Food with a high moisture content, I remember reading that somewhere.’ But all our food was dehydrated. Just Add Water! was printed on the front of every single pack.
Jamie offered round the scroggin again; I took a pinch so as not to hurt his feelings, but it tasted like sawdust. All I wanted was a barley sugar, and they were long gone. The chocolate was thick and tacky, turning what little spit I had to glue, the sultanas dry as bullets in my mouth — and there didn’t seem to be any of Hannah’s imagination left at all.
And still the sea stretched on forever.
I spent the afternoon staring out at the water, dreaming of drinks. Coke, ice cold with a slice of lemon the way we’d had it at Quested Court, the bubbles fizzing under my nose. Milk, gulped straight from the fridge at Highgate when Matron wasn’t looking, leaving a creamy moustache on my lip. But by the time night fell all I could think of was water. Cool, clear, fresh, pure, life-giving water.
As we were settling down to sleep Jamie produced five grimy-looking pieces of chewing gum, which the others fell on with eager croaks. I snapped mine in half and gave one of the grubby morsels to Blue-bum, who sniffed it dubiously before tucking it behind one ear. Saving it for later … with a ghost of a smile, I slipped my piece into my pocket, too. It would be good to have something to look forward to.
I slept fitfully, sprawled with the others on the hard planks that made up the bottom of the boat. Tormenting dreams circulated in my brain. I was at Highgate, asleep in bed; woke with a raging thirst and padded through to the boys’ cloakroom for a drink. But there was Matron, tight-lipped, guarding the door …
I was in a forest in Karazan, following the tinkling music of a stream through the trees. But when at last I reached it and bent to drink, the reflection of a faceless, hooded head stared back at me …
When at last I woke it was almost a relief. I lay listening to the others’ breathing, rocked by the now-familiar motion of the little boat on the water. My mouth was as dry as paper. I closed it, working my tongue and cheeks to try and generate some moisture. My tongue felt like leather; my throat like an old, dried-out drain. My breath stank.
For the first time, I wondered what would happen if we didn’t reach land soon. For the first time, I seriously considered asking the others to use their microcomputers to go back to Quested Court, and leave me to face whatever lay ahead alone.
Morning came.
My eyes grated open and there was Rich, bum in the air, bent over the side of the boat. He glanced back and saw me watching and something in his eyes sent a bolt of alarm through me. ‘Richard,’ I whispered, ‘what are you doing?’
‘Nothing.’ He turned, trying to hide something behind his back. It was the battered little saucepan we’d used to make all those countless rehydrated meals.
‘Rich,’ I croaked, ‘you haven’t — have you?’
A slow blush crawled up his face, but he met my eyes defiantly. ‘No. But I’m going to.’
‘You can’t!’ Gen was awake now, staring at Rich as if he was mad. ‘You go crazy if you drink sea water!’
‘It’s an old wives’ tale.’ It was hard to make out Rich’s words, they were slurred, as if his tongue was too big for his mouth. ‘What’s crazy is dying of thirst in the middle of all this water. Water’s water — so what if it’s salty?’
‘No.’ Jamie struggled up on one elbow. His face seemed to have shrunk overnight, and his eyes looked dull. ‘The more sea water you drink, the more dehydrated you get. It’s to do with osmosis. There’s more salt in sea water than in your blood, and your body has to get rid of it …’ he swallowed, making a horrid clicking sound. ‘You excrete the extra salt in your urine, but that uses more water than was in the sea water in the first place. You don’t go crazy, you dry up. It kills you, sure as poison.’
Very slowly, with a mixture of shame and bravado, Richard drew the saucepan out from behind his back. It was almost full; the water sloshed gently to and fro. He stared from one face to the next, his face expressionless.
‘Richard, wait. Here —’ I was fumbling in my pocket for the gum I’d saved last night. ‘Have this — it’ll help, just for now, while we decide what to do …’ My fingers felt numb and awkward, but at last they found the smooth fragment and pulled it out. ‘Jamie, girls: we have to talk. There’s something I want you to do for me. But first, Rich,’ I summoned a rusty grin from somewhere, and held out my free hand for the saucepan: ‘swap.’
Rich hugged the saucepan closer.
His face was clenched in a stubborn scowl … but his eyes dropped automatically to the piece of gum in the palm of my hand. Puzzlement replaced the frown but he didn’t pass over the pan. ‘Why would I want that?’ he croaked.
I looked down. It wasn’t the gum. It was the teardrop-shaped mosaic from the gardens of the Summer Palace, deep sea-green inlaid with shimmering gold glitter. ‘This is seriously weird …’ I muttered, staring at it.
‘What?’ Jamie shuffled closer, peering into my hand. ‘What’s weird?’
They were all watching me, even Rich. Oh well, I thought, at least it’s distracting him from the sea water. ‘It’s changed. Before, it was green. And now …’
I held it up for them to see. The colour had completely disappeared. It was no-coloured, crystal-coloured … a perfect teardrop the colour of water. The others looked at me blankly. An idea was rising slowly through my mind. A memory. Hope.
Playing on the computer long ago with my friend Cameron, we built up a collection of useless-seeming stuff, just like Meirion had talked about — an inventory, Cam called it. And sometimes the appearance of things changed, just slightly, when the time came that they could be used. I stared at the teardrop, willing it to be true. Then I slipped it into my mouth, and sucked. Gen had said it tasted of salt. Now it tasted of nothing.
‘Richard,’ I said quietly, ‘pass me the saucepan … please.’
He hesitated. Then slowly, reluctantly, he passed it over.
I lifted it to my lips.
‘Adam — no!’
I took the tiniest sip. It tasted brackish, salty — like the poison it would be if we drank it. I dropped the teardrop into the pan with a tiny plop. It sank straight to the bottom; I couldn’t see it, but I knew it was there. Raised the pan to my lips … took another tiny sip. It was fresh water. Cool, clear, pure, life-giving water. I held the saucepan out to Richard. ‘Drink.’
