CHAPTER 8
MEMORY OF VULTURES
Larry Monkey was only a baby when his parents disappeared. The last thing he remembered was being tucked into bed on a windy night, the branches of a tree swishing against his bedroom window like spidery fingers trying to get in. His mother was smiling as she stroked his head fur and scratched affectionately behind one large, pink ear. His father was standing in the shadow of his bedroom door, arms crossed. He couldn’t remember his father’s face but could remember his strong hands.
At some time during the night they left the house, or were taken. The search for them lasted weeks but no trace was ever found, and so they joined the ranks of the Lost Ones.
Larry was nearly dead from dehydration when the neighbours finally broke a window to get in. He bounced from one foster home to the next after his parents disappeared; never staying long and unable to shake the feeling he’d been abandoned because he wasn’t good enough. The logical part of his mind told him they had been taken against their will, like all the Lost Ones, but his devastated heart said otherwise; that they’d left of their own free will because they didn’t want him anymore.
After Larry left the Stinging Nettle he wandered the dark backstreets and alleyways oblivious to the rain. He didn’t really care that he was wet or where he was going, he just wanted to be alone. Mention of his parents always put him in a dark mood. And the news about Mr Elephant leaving, and Harry and Flossy too, meant he would soon be all alone again.
Larry’s black arms were crossed against the cold and the brooding shadows seemed to close around him like a fist. His chimpanzee feet sloshed through deep puddles and his wet fur drooped sadly. He was vaguely aware he was heading downhill towards Lunar Bay but didn’t much care where he ended up.
There was a flutter and he glimpsed something grey with wings flash overhead.
He flattened himself against the wall, heart thumping loudly. Some of the wall’s rendering came away from the ancient brickwork and fell at his feet then all was still.
He risked looking up again. The shadows probably conjured the creature from his imagination but it had moved like how he imaged a bird of flight to move, and it was above him, on the roof.
Sharp claws scratched on roof tiles and there was a flutter of feathers.
Pressure built inside Larry’s skull as if his brain was swelling. He knew the feeling and he knew it wasn’t anything he could easily stop. When this happened, usually following a fright or sometimes during a dream, things he had never seen or heard become known to him, instantly, as if my magic. He couldn’t remember the first time it happened but he remembered the last. Mr Elephant had asked him to solve a maths problem using differential calculus. He had never heard of differential calculus and the thought of standing in front of the class made his heart hammer and his palms sweat. Then it happened, the pressure built and the knowledge of differential calculus tumbled in like someone else’s memories. Standing at the chalkboard, he solved the math problem in three different ways and raced back to the safety of his desk, refusing to make eye contact with any of his classmates. Mr Elephant’s mouth had hung open as he studied Larry’s solutions, then he brightened and said: ‘Remarkable! Elegant! Wonderful! Brilliant! I would never have thought to solve it like that but I can see now how you… Well done, Larry Monkey!’ Larry had smiled despite himself.
Not daring to move from the wet, crumbling wall in case he was seen by the bird, Larry relaxed and let the new memory—someone else’s memory—tumble into his mind.
King Vulture (Sarcoramphus Papa): a large bird once found throughout Central and South America. It is the only surviving member of the genus Sarcoramphus, part of the New World vulture family Cathartidae. Large and grey, the King Vulture has a grey-black ruff, flight, and tail feathers. Its head and neck are bald and its beak is adorned with a fleshy caruncle, usually yellow…
The bird was a King Vulture! Vultures were well known as pirate spies but last night had shown there were no pirates in Port Isabel. If there were no pirates then there would be no vultures. But it had moved like a bird and it was mostly grey with no feathers on top and a yellow caruncle beneath its beak, just like in his new memory.
Larry edged his way down the alley. Water cascaded down the deep gutter next to him, heavy drops leaping onto the slimy cobblestones and splashing his feet. But he paid no attention. His entire attention was directed at the rooftops. He strained to see the vulture but the angles were wrong and he dared not risk showing himself by leaving the shadows.
He was some distance down the hill when he saw the vulture again. This time he was sure it was a King Vulture and not some other large bird. Its bald head, ugly beak and ruffled grey feathers left no doubt. Larry sidled the wall keeping a wary eye on the bird. It showed no sign of having seen him.
A second vulture joined the first. They seemed to speak together briefly before beating their wings and flying away, quickly disappearing over the rooftops. They just beat their wings and lifted up into the air like kites on a windy day. They made flying look so effortless.
Larry’s heart was racing. If there were vultures in the Port Isabel there would be pirates too. What should he do? Should he run back to the others and warn them? They may not believe him. But even if they did, they might think that the risk of pirates was low. Perhaps the vultures were here alone to do recognisance for the pirates still stuck on the wreck at the reef? If so, they would soon return to their masters, no harm done.
He would have to confirm his suspicions first. Before he told the others, he would have to discover whether the pirates were here too.
Larry made his way carefully down the alleyway. He could hear music spilling from an open window as he climbed over stacked boxes of reeking garbage that blocked his way. On the other side, thick moss grew in damp, shadowy corners and water cascaded from a rusty breach in a downpipe and spread across the slippery cobblestones. Filtered sunlight slanted through the narrow gap between the rooftops above.
Keeping low, ears and nose alert, Larry rounded a corner. The rain was heavier away from the walls. A nearby drain was blocked and water pooled deeply. He went around the puddle. In this way he moved silently and swiftly in the direction the vultures had flown.
Larry reached the bottom of the long hill that lead down to Gateway Quay without being seen. The ground had levelled out and old work sheds had been squeezed into every available space. He slid into a narrow gap between two sheds. On the other side he sidled silently along the back wall of one and squatted behind a barrel overflowing with rain water.
Nearby, faithfully recorded in a patch of sand was the unmistakable proof that pirates were in Port Isabel: a dog-shaped paw print. Dog prints were unlike prints from people belonging to the cat family. Dog claws didn’t retract fully into a dog’s paw and so left an unmistakable claw scratch. Mr Elephant had taught him that at school. Larry knew it was newly made because the rain hadn’t a chance to soften the edges or wash it away.
He sniffed then frowned. He could smell dog and sheep, but why sheep? Were sheep in league with the pirates? That was a preposterous idea! Perhaps the dogs were feeding. Dogs were well known as cannibals; that they ate other mammals. Maybe they were eating sheep? Larry shivered. He wondered what it would feel like to be eaten by a dog. Not very pleasant.
He carefully peered around the barrel and then quickly pulled back. The two vultures were standing guard on the edge of a low roof a dozen yards away. Below them was a large pack of dogs, as many as fifteen; pirates certainly, for they looked like wild animals rather than regular people. The largest and fiercest might be Pirate Pratt himself.
They were in conference, growling quietly in a huddle. Their wet fur was mostly mottled grey and black and they were big, scarred and mean looking. A few wore the skin of sheep, probably a disguise. That would explain the smell. They were using the skins of sheep they had eaten to disguise themselves. Larry wondered whether the sheep were still alive when their skins were removed. What would that fee
l like? He shivered. Not very pleasant.
What were they doing? Why were they here? Surely they couldn’t expect to overrun the town with so few. Perhaps if he left them alone they would quietly go away. Larry didn’t really think so but it was a nice idea. Should he run for help or should he try to stop them himself? If he ran for help they might have accomplished their evil mission and departed before he was able to return with others. He made up his mind. He had wrecked the Interloper with a harpoon and two cheese wheels. He had stopped them once and would stop them again.
Staying low to avoid being seen Larry slipped back down the gap between the sheds and made a wide arc around the pirates. They would probably have scout vultures positioned about the place looking out for such a one as he but Larry had the advantage of knowing this part the docklands well. He was only a few hundred yards from the quay. Also, they had no idea he was stalking them so he had the element of surprise in his favour.
As he silently crept though boatsheds and under drying fishing nets he thought about how he might capture the pirates. They would have arrived by sea and would, no doubt, depart the same way. The most likely departure point would the jetty on which were moored any number of vessels they might steal. Which one would they take? Would it be the biggest so they could recover their things from the wreck, or the fastest? He guessed the biggest. They would need something to replace the Interloper. And the biggest vessel at the quay was the Happy Trader.
Larry squeezed between two work sheds abutting the quay and stepped lightly onto the boards. He couldn’t see very far across Lunar Bay because of the misty rain but he could see far enough to be sure there wasn’t a pirate ship moored nearby.
He looked cautiously left and right. There was no one about. He had seen no one on his way down except for the pirates and their vultures. Everyone was either away recovering from last night’s riot or had already been dealt with by the pirates. Larry wasn’t sure which. He hoped it was the former.
The rain made the heavy wooden boards of the quay shiny black. Shallow waves gently nudged the piers and fizzed on the rock shore beneath the timber deck. The many small fishing boats, strung with fishing nets and painted in gay colours, swayed in the swell as they tugged against their mooring ropes. Somewhere a bell tinkled softly.
Halfway along the jetty he could see a large, dark shape through the misty rain—that would be the Happy Trader, the pirate’s most likely target.
Keeping to the shadows Larry silently picked his way along the quay towards the jetty. The first few work sheds he passed were empty. The next was closed up tight. The next seemed empty too but he thought he heard a scuffling noise within and so, cautiously entered to investigate. He walked on soft wood shavings and rounded the upturn hull of a fishing boat as his eyes adjusted to the dark. The scuffling noise had come from the rear of the shed but he couldn’t see anyone.
‘Who-Who-Who’s there?’ an anxious voice whispered.
Larry jumped with surprise but didn’t run. It was Assam Tortoise; the one who owed the Windrush, the fast little skiff he and Larry had borrowed yesterday to chase pirates. Assam was upside down, his legs waving in the air. His head was twisting about frantically on a long, thin neck as he tried to see. Someone had placed him shell-first in the top of an open barrel so he couldn’t right himself.
‘Who-Who-Who’s there, I say!’
Larry took a step closer so he was in Assam’s line of sight.
‘Is that you L-L-Larry?’ said Assam, peering at Larry with one fearful eye. ‘Oh, thank goodness, it is you. There are p-p-pirates! P-P-Pirates, I say! They did this to me Larry. I’ve been stuck here for hours. I can’t move! Please help me.’
Larry pushed the barrel with one foot. It hardly moved. He pushed again, harder this time. The barrel rolled on its edge, pivoted sideways and fell with a crash. Assam withdrew his legs and head before he hit. His tough shell bounced off the floorboards and rolled him the right way up. Shiny nails spilled noisily from the barrel, which rolled to a stop against the hull of the upturned boat.
‘Th-Th-Thank you, Larry,’ said Assam looking around nervously. ‘We should hide. They p-p-probably heard that.’
Larry looked at the floorboards.
Realisation dawned on Assam’s leathery face. ‘Larry, you w-w-were lucky the first time. I heard about the cheeses. Very heroic b-b-but I’ve seen these dogs! They should not be trifled with. The whole t-t-town should run and hide in the hills until the p-p-pirates are gone. They’re still out there somewhere so we should hide!’
Larry turned away and left the work shed without looking back.
‘Larry! Be reasonable, you’re y-y-young, they’re p-p-pirates! You don’t need to be a hero, leave that to others. Being young is a good excuse, the best. They won’t b-b-blame you. Larry!’
The misty rain was easing as Larry turned onto the jetty and walked towards the Happy Trader. There were boats here of all sizes. They were gently bumping against the jetty in the swell, ropes swinging indolently. There were no people about, though it was usually busy in the mornings. The threat of pirates in the Gulf would have stopped the fishing fleet from sailing overnight, so there were no fish to unload. And the riot in Town Square would keep everyone in their beds and stables.
Larry loved the sea and took every opportunity to sail. If he was to ever find his parents it would be somewhere across the sea, maybe even outside the Gulf on the other side of the Southern Icewall. Flossy’s map had shown a sea on the other side dotted with islands. His parents could be on one of them. If they were he would find them and bring them home. But first the pirates needed to be stopped. He clenched his fists. He would stop them.
Larry had an idea.
Just in front of the Happy Trader was a fishing boat with a large boom that could be made to swing out over the water. The boom, so positioned, made it easy to haul a net full of wriggling fish from the sea. The same principle could be applied to haul a net full of wriggling pirates from the jetty. It would be difficult and risky but he might just be able to set things up so that it would work. He didn’t know how much time he had and he wasn’t even sure the pirates would come this way but it seemed possible that he might succeed.
He heard a noise behind him that made him jump, heart pounding. He spun about, eyes wide, but it was only a boat bumping against the jetty. Larry felt pressure building in his head. He relaxed and let the unfamiliar memories and flood in.
Lever: a machine consisting of a beam pivoted at a fulcrum. It amplifies an input force to provide a greater output force. The ratio of the output force to the input force is the ideal mechanical advantage of the lever. Mathematically, this is expressed by…
He ignored the words and visualised the neat diagrams, then he turned and looked up at the finishing boat’s boom. Glowing numbers and gridlines seemed to transpose themselves on his vision. They hovered in the air showing the calculated forces and tensions required to swing the boom and to drop and raise the net. They were so vivid it seemed he might be able to pluck them from the air.
He could see that his idea would work, provided the pirates came this way.
Larry was about the climb onto the fishing boat to make preparations for his trap when he heard the clatter of trotters behind him.
He spun about.
Staring at him with fierce little black eyes wasn’t a pirate, but a boar. It was black as night, hairy and had a disfiguring scar on its snout. It forelegs were bundles of muscle and it had no neck. Its short ivory tusks lifted up sagging gums like curtains. The tusks looked every bit as menacing as a pirate’s cutlass.
Larry raised his arms above his head as the black boar marched purposefully towards him. He would somehow have to convince him to help as there was little time to affect his plan. He would have to explain that there were pirates in Port Isabel and he meant to capture them in a fishing net.
‘There you are!’ said the boar with a snarl. ‘Trying to escape on one of the ships, are you? Or trying to hide? You’v
e led me a right royal excursion, young monkey. You won’t invade me this time.’
The icy rain grew heavy and splashed on the boards like tear drops. The wind gusted.
‘You must come with me at the behest of His Lionship, Mayor Lion himself, at his orders and instructions. You come with me, forthwith and now, or else!’
The boar charged at Larry without waiting for an answer.
The Secret Invasion of Port Isabel Page 8
