Danger Ahead

by R. A. Spratt

  ‘I’m pretty sure we have to go south to get to the Cayman Islands,’ said Melanie, ‘but don’t ask me which direction that is. I know you can remember the points of the compass by saying, “Never Eat Soggy Wheat”, but that’s all I ever picked up in geography.’

  ‘Ian isn’t in the Cayman Islands,’ said Friday. ‘If my deductions are correct, he’s just offshore from the school.’

  ‘He is?!’ exclaimed Melanie.

  ‘He can see Orion directly above him,’ said Friday. ‘Look up!’

  Melanie looked up. ‘All I can see are stars.’

  ‘Trust me, those stars above you are the constellation Orion,’ said Friday.

  ‘But surely a large chunk of the world can look straight up and see Orion at night?’ said Melanie.

  ‘Not right now,’ said Friday. ‘The earth and Orion are always moving. This is the only place on earth with this exact view. We know he’s on a boat. So he has to be offshore somewhere here.’

  ‘But how are you going to be able to spot him?’ Melanie. ‘It’s pretty unlikely the kidnapper would be silly enough to leave on the lights on their boat if they’re holding a hostage.’

  ‘No, but Ian is awake and the kidnapper isn’t. So perhaps Ian turned a light on,’ said Friday. ‘And he has – look!’

  They could see a light flickering in the distance.

  ‘Are you sure that’s not just a phosphorescent fish?’ asked Melanie.

  ‘Good use of the word “phosphorescent” in a sentence,’ said Friday.

  ‘I thought so,’ agreed Melanie. ‘I’ve always liked the idea of animals that glow in the dark.’

  ‘I’m pretty certain that’s a boat light,’ said Friday. ‘It’s clearly above the water, whereas a fish would be under the water.’

  ‘Not if it was a flying phosphorescent fish,’ said Melanie.

  ‘There are no flying phosphorescent fish,’ said Friday.

  ‘Then we’re really going to confront a kidnapper on the high seas, aren’t we?’ said Melanie.

  ‘Hopefully we can avoid that if the kidnapper is a deep sleeper,’ said Friday. ‘Shhh, we’re getting close. We don’t want them to hear us.’

  The girls stopped talking. They could just make out the shape of a boat up ahead in the moonlight.

  ‘Won’t the kidnapper hear our boat engine?’ whispered Melanie.

  ‘It’s a constant sound,’ said Friday. ‘Maybe it will lull them in their sleep.’

  ‘I don’t find it very lulling, and usually anything could put me to sleep,’ said Melanie.

  ‘Well, we could turn the engine off,’ said Friday. ‘But then we’d have to row the rest of the way over to the boat.’

  ‘Leave the engine on,’ said Melanie. ‘It’s worth the risk.’

  As they drew closer, the girls could make out that it was quite a fancy yacht.

  ‘How are we going to get up on deck?’ asked Friday. ‘It must be four feet above water level. I didn’t bring a grappling hook or a rope ladder.’

  ‘Bring us around to the back of the yacht,’ said Melanie. ‘Yachts always have a ladder fixed around there. At least, they always have on all the yachts Daddy has owned.’

  Friday steered the boat around to the rear of the yacht and, sure enough, there was a ladder attached to the back.

  ‘Tie us on,’ said Friday. She was still operating the engine, so Melanie picked up the rope at the nose of their boat and fastened it to the bottom rung.

  ‘Let’s go,’ said Friday.

  Melanie climbed up onto the yacht first. Friday left the engine idling and started making her way across the boat to the ladder. Unfortunately it was quite a choppy sea, so as Friday walked up the centre of the small boat, a large wave rolled through causing the boat to buck up. Because Friday was wearing her slippers (not recommended footwear for boating), she slipped and tumbled into the water with a big splash.

  ‘Girl overboard!’ cried Melanie. ‘Friday, Friday! Where are you?’

  Friday had been pulled away by the surge of the sea and was several metres from the boat. In the dark of night, Melanie couldn’t see her anymore.

  ‘Mel … blurgh!’ spluttered Friday as she swallowed a mouthful of sea water while trying to call out to her friend.

  Friday was not a strong swimmer at the best of times, but she particularly struggled when fully dressed in pyjamas plus a dressing gown in cold, churning water.

  ‘Friday!’ cried Melanie, a growing note of panic in her voice. ‘Friday!’

  Suddenly something flew straight over Melanie’s head. She heard it fizz through the air above her. Melanie whipped around to see.

  Silhouetted against the yacht’s cabin light was Ian Wainscott, standing on the gunwale and athletically pulling in a rope hand over hand.

  Melanie turned back to the sea. She could make out a bright orange buoyancy ring being dragged across the surface of the water, with her spluttering, bedraggled best friend clinging on to it for dear life. Ian lay down flat over the side of the yacht and grabbed Friday by the hand. Melanie clambered over to help. Together, they pulled Friday out of the water and onto the deck of the yacht. Friday collapsed there, gasping for breath for several moments.

  ‘If this is a rescue attempt,’ said Ian, ‘it must be the worst rescue attempt ever.’

  ‘We came for you, didn’t we?’ said Friday, before she had to stop speaking to cough up another lungful of seawater.

  ‘I must admit, I’ve never been so happy to see two incompetent schoolgirls in their pyjamas motoring towards me in a boat,’ said Ian with a smile.

  ‘Let’s get out of here before your kidnapper wakes up,’ said Friday, getting to her feet.

  They all went to the back of the yacht.

  ‘Where’s your boat?’ asked Ian.

  The dinghy was no longer tied to the ladder. There was no sign of it.

  ‘It was right there,’ said Friday. ‘Melanie tied it up.’

  Ian and Friday turned to Melanie.

  ‘Melanie,’ said Friday, ‘you do know how to tie a knot, don’t you?’

  ‘Is there something to know?’ asked Melanie. ‘Whenever I’ve seen other people do it, it just looks like they’re tangling it altogether.’

  ‘This rescue attempt is getting better and better,’ said Ian.

  ‘I think he’s being sarcastic,’ Melanie informed Friday.

  ‘Yes, I picked that up,’ said Friday.

  ‘So, basically,’ said Ian, ‘instead of just me being held hostage on this yacht in the middle of the sea, now all three of us are being held hostage on this yacht in the middle of the sea?’

  ‘No,’ said Friday, ‘because the kidnapper doesn’t realise we’re here yet. Technically we’re not hostages until they wake up.’

  Just then, the door onto the deck burst open and a head popped through.

  It was the driver who’d picked Ian up. As he climbed onto the deck, they could see that he wasn’t smartly dressed now. The man was wearing pyjamas and carrying a frying pan in a menacing way that made it clear he wasn’t intending to cook eggs. ‘What’s going on?’ he demanded angrily.

  ‘You’ve been kidnapped by a chauffeur?’ marvelled Melanie.

  ‘He’s not really a driver,’ said Ian. ‘His name is Sam Fullerton. He knows my dad.’

  ‘Who are these girls?’ Fullerton demanded. ‘How did they get here?’

  Chapter 6

  Newtonian Physics

  ‘I am Friday Barnes, Girl Detective,’ declared Friday, bravely standing to confront Fullerton.

  ‘Ooh, I like the official title,’ said Melanie.

  ‘And I have come to rescue my friend Ian,’ continued Friday.

  ‘They’re secretly in love,’ explained Melanie.

  ‘Not now, Melly,’ said Ian.

  ‘But they’re in denial about it,’ added Melanie.

  ‘I can’t hold you all hostage!’ yelled Fullerton. ‘Get out of here!’

  ‘We can’t, our boat escaped,’ said Melanie.<
br />
  ‘Lucky boat,’ muttered Ian.

  ‘I suppose you’ve got powerful parents too,’ said Fullerton, looking Melanie and Friday over. ‘They can make Wainscott pay me what he owes me.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Friday, turning to Ian. ‘So your kidnapper is a disgruntled acquaintance of your father’s?’

  ‘Apparently Dad ruined him,’ said Ian. ‘Swindled him out of all his money. Leaving him with nothing but this yacht and the leased town car he kidnapped me in.’

  ‘I’m not trying to steal anything!’ yelled Fullerton. ‘I just want back what’s mine!’

  ‘That’s not quite true, is it?’ said Friday. ‘Because you’ve already stolen Ian.’

  ‘How about you don’t correct the semantics of the angry man with the frying pan?’ suggested Ian.

  ‘Sir,’ said Friday, stepping forward, ‘I can see that you have a valid case for your grievances.’

  ‘You don’t have to take his side,’ said Ian.

  ‘But your irrationally drastic course of action also leads me to believe,’ Friday continued talking to Fullerton, ‘that you are mentally unhinged.’

  ‘Is that a scientific term?’ asked Melanie.

  ‘I thought it was politer to say than “bonkers”,’ said Friday.

  ‘Can you please stop calling the kidnapper names?’ pleaded Ian.

  ‘I am taking control of this vessel,’ declared Friday, ‘and sailing back to Highcrest Academy, where you shall be handed over to the police.’

  ‘Friday,’ said Ian warningly, ‘be careful. He’s got a temper.’

  ‘I don’t care, these ridiculous shenanigans have gone on long enough,’ said Friday as she decisively strode towards the bridge.

  ‘No, you don’t!’ bellowed Fullerton as he lunged at her.

  ‘Friday!’ cried Melanie, covering her eyes so she wouldn’t have to see something bad happen to her friend.

  ‘No!’ yelled Ian, lunging at Fullerton.

  But in a move of surprising dexterity, Friday did not back away from Fullerton. Instead, she launched herself at him. Although, not the whole of him. She launched herself at his feet, dropping to a ball on the ground just as he hit maximum speed so that he tripped over her, slammed into the gunwale with so much momentum that he toppled straight over the side and landed with an enormous splash in the water.

  ‘Did you plan that?’ asked Ian, astonished.

  ‘I saw something similar on a Road Runner cartoon,’ said Friday. ‘At the time I thought it was an improbable – but not impossible – use of Newtonian physics.’

  ‘Help!’ spluttered Fullerton. ‘Help!’

  ‘Why should we help you?’ called Ian.

  ‘Because leaving someone to die is technically manslaughter,’ said Friday, throwing a buoyancy ring out to the man.

  ‘But when he gets aboard he’ll just try to overpower us again,’ said Ian.

  ‘Then we won’t let him board,’ said Friday, tying the end of the rope (much more effectively than Melanie had earlier) to the ladder at the rear of the boat. ‘Melanie, do you know how to drive a yacht?’

  ‘I do, actually,’ said Melanie.

  ‘Then take us full speed back to the school,’ said Friday.

  ‘Which way is that?’ asked Melanie.

  ‘You see that yellow light in the distance?’ said Friday, pointing to a far-off circle of light. ‘That’s the clock face of the school tower. Aim for that. You’ll see the light on the jetty when we get closer.’

  ‘What about him?’ asked Ian. Fullerton had swum most of the way to the boat.

  ‘Sir, we are not going to allow you to reboard,’ said Friday. ‘So I suggest you grab hold of the buoyancy ring.’

  ‘What?’ said Fullerton.

  ‘We’re taking you back to the school,’ said Friday, ‘but we’re not allowing you back on the boat, because you’re deeply unpleasant and we don’t trust you.’

  ‘But it’s my boat!’ yelled Fullerton.

  ‘We’re not going to damage it,’ said Friday, ‘because soon you’ll need to sell it to cover your legal fees.’

  At this point, Melanie had obviously figured out all the controls because she gunned the engine and the expensive yacht took off at full speed.

  ‘Hey!’ yelled Fullerton.

  ‘Grab the ring!’ yelled Friday.

  The man reached out and grabbed the orange ring as it whipped past him. The yacht was moving fast. He had to hug the ring close to his chest to hold on as he was dragged along the surface of the water, skimming on his belly.

  Ian was able to use the yacht’s radio to contact the police. By the time Melanie slowed the boat for its final approach to the school jetty, there was quite a crowd waiting for them. Sergeant Crowley was there. He had driven his squad car all the way down the lawn to the jetty. The lights on his car were flashing, giving an unexpected party feel to the dark night.

  ‘That’s going to annoy Mr Pilcher,’ observed Friday. ‘He’s going to have a tricky time getting the tyre tracks out of the grass.’

  Soon they were alerted to the presence of Mrs Wainscott.

  ‘Sausage!’ she shrieked.

  Ian groaned.

  Melanie giggled.

  ‘My baby, my poor baby!’ cried Mrs Wainscott.

  ‘He looks fine,’ said Uncle Bernie, trying to calm his new wife.

  ‘He’s probably in shock, permanently traumatised,’ predicted Mrs Wainscott hysterically.

  ‘What’s she even doing here?’ asked Ian.

  ‘Friday didn’t tell you?’ asked Melanie.

  ‘Tell me what?’ asked Ian.

  Friday stomped on Melanie’s foot.

  ‘Ow,’ said Melanie. ‘You just stood on my foot. Oh, I see. You stood on my foot as a subtle signal to get me to stop talking.’

  ‘Tell me what?’ repeated Ian.

  ‘It’s not for me to say,’ said Friday. ‘You need to talk to your mother.’

  ‘About what?’ asked Ian. ‘Oh no.’ He was staring at Uncle Bernie now. ‘Why is your uncle wearing a suit?’

  As soon as Ian stepped onto the jetty, Mrs Wainscott fell on him, weeping. ‘My baby, my poor, poor baby.’

  ‘I bet you wish she was calling you “Sausage” now,’ said Melanie.

  ‘Where’s the perpetrator?’ asked Sergeant Crowley.

  ‘His name is Sam Fullerton,’ said Friday. ‘He’s behind the boat, in the buoyancy ring.’

  Sergeant Crowley went around to the back of the yacht and panned a flashlight across the water.

  ‘What buoyancy ring?’ he asked.

  ‘He can’t have gone anywhere,’ said Friday. ‘He was right there a moment ago as we approached the school.’ She hurried to the back of the boat and leaned over. She grabbed the rope and started pulling it in. But the rope came too quickly. Soon she was holding the empty end of the rope in her hand.

  ‘You lost him?’ said Sergeant Crowley.

  ‘In my defence, our priority was rescuing Ian, not detaining a violent criminal,’ said Friday.

  ‘Although Friday did a really clever self-defence move she learned from the Road Runner,’ said Melanie.

  ‘He can’t have gone far,’ said Uncle Bernie.

  ‘Are you kidding?’ asked Mrs Wainscott. ‘Sam Fullerton is a former Olympic swimmer. He came seventh in the breaststroke at the Seoul games. He could be miles away by now.’

  ‘You know the man who kidnapped me?’ asked Ian.

  ‘Of course, so do you,’ said Mrs Wainscott. ‘He was your father’s groomsman at our wedding. He’s your godfather.’

  ‘And Dad ripped him off?’ said Ian.

  ‘Your dad rips everyone off, darling,’ said Mrs Wainscott. ‘You know he doesn’t mean it personally.’

  ‘You three get up to the school and get warm. I’ll come and take your statements as soon as I can,’ said Sergeant Crowley. ‘I’m going to get the water police and the recruits from the academy to come down here and make a full search of the swamp and the bay. I’d better
call Inspector Ray. She’s not going to like this. But we’ll find him, don’t you worry.’

  Friday, Melanie and Ian started walking back to the school with Mrs Wainscott, Uncle Bernie and the Headmaster. Friday hadn’t realised she was cold until now. The adrenalin must have given her the illusion of warmth, but now that things were starting to return to normality she realised she was freezing. Pretty soon, even her teeth began to chatter. Then suddenly she was enveloped in total warmth that smelled like pizza, coffee and breath mints. Uncle Bernie had draped his jacket around her shoulders.

  ‘Have you been eating pizza in your best suit?’ asked Friday.

  Uncle Bernie smiled. ‘Maybe a little.’

  ‘You make me sick,’ said Ian.

  ‘I didn’t know you disliked pizza,’ said Melanie.

  ‘You’re taking advantage of my mother when she’s fragile and vulnerable!’ accused Ian.

  ‘What?’ said Uncle Bernie.

  ‘You’ve married her, haven’t you!’ demanded Ian. ‘Don’t try to deny it. I can see the rings you’re both wearing.’

  Uncle Bernie didn’t say anything. But even in the darkness of the moonlit night, they could see he was blushing red.

  ‘Are Mum and Dad even divorced properly yet?’ asked Ian. ‘I thought there was paperwork to process.’

  ‘Oh, sweetheart,’ said Mrs Wainscott, ‘that all happened months ago. I didn’t like to say anything in case it upset you.’

  ‘Months ago?’ said Ian. ‘But Dad hasn’t been in jail that long.’

  ‘Yes, that’s the other thing we didn’t tell you,’ said Mrs Wainscott. ‘Your father and I started the divorce paperwork a year and a half ago, long before he got arrested.’

  ‘Why wasn’t I told?’ asked Ian.

  ‘Well, you were here at school,’ said Mrs Wainscott. ‘We didn’t want to distract you from your studies.’

  The Headmaster made a snorting noise.

  Uncle Bernie glared at him.

  ‘Sorry,’ said the Headmaster. ‘Ian is undoubtably very bright and capable, but he isn’t that diligent a student.’

  ‘We’ve come to pick you up,’ said Mrs Wainscott to her son. ‘We thought you’d like to come with us on our honeymoon trip.’

  ‘How nauseating,’ said Ian.