Changeling's Island - eARC, page 23
* * *
“She’s out there, Mike,” said Alicia Symons. “Not answering the mobile, and now it has stopped ringing.”
“I’ll kill him, if he isn’t dead,” said Mike Symons, driving too fast, but just keeping up with the police vehicle towing the boat in front of them, cursing that the trailer lights had obviously not been hooked up.
His wife was silent. Then she said, “If Molly is out there, and he brings her back alive, you’ll listen to her first. Because I bet if she went along, Tim did his best to stop her.”
“He should have done more, then.”
“Like what, Mike Symons?” she asked. “You never managed to stop me skydiving.”
“I just hope to God she’s all right.”
“I thought you were an atheist?”
“Not when my daughter is at sea in this.”
“Yes. Look out, they’re turning.”
They bumped down the rutted, muddy trail to the beach behind the police vehicle. It was raining hard again, difficult to see, even with the wipers on fast.
“How can they hope to find anything in this? I just hope they give up and come home,” said Alicia, fearfully.
* * *
Jon was in the front passenger seat of the police vehicle, with three of the other crew in the back, as they headed away from the ramp at Port Davies. The sergeant said, “Tell me about this kid. Seems I got it wrong. He said he was from Melbourne and all he wanted to do was to get back there.”
“Maybe he did,” said Jon. “But Ryan’s ancestors were among the first sealers to settle here. The people who became the Straitsmen. You know, took Aboriginal wives, lived on the islands off the sea, lived off muttonbirds and a bit of farming. A lot of them came from little islands off Scotland or Ireland anyway. They were suited to the life, they knew the sea, and they survived and stayed on. The kind of people who couldn’t cope with it either died or left. Seamanship is in their blood, Sergeant. That boy works as my boatman. He doesn’t think about how to fish or read the sea. He just notices small details you and I don’t. He doesn’t even know, consciously, that he’s doing it at all. I’ve asked him dozens of times what he’s picking up. He shrugs, tells me what he can, but it’s not all of it. He’s uncanny with the sea. I’ve seen him dealing with sheep and cows too…he knows what to do without thinking much about the job.”
“I had a boatman like that when I was running sheep on Chalky,” said one of the men in the backseat. “He could find his way in to Whitemark, drunk as a skunk, in mist so thick you couldn’t see your hand in front of your face.”
“He’d need it out there this afternoon. Is there a GPS on your boat?” asked the policeman.
Jon sighed. “It’s in my pocket. I took it off to log the dive spots. We keep a record. Still, he does know the area. I just wish like hell you’d listened, Sergeant. I wish like hell the boy wasn’t out there, especially if Symons is right and his daughter is on the boat too. The RIB is as good a small boat for a bad sea as you can find, and Tim is competent, keeps his cool, I think, but he doesn’t have experience in these conditions.”
“Look, I’m sorry. He behaved like…well, he had something to hide. And his grandmother confirmed it by chasing me off. So I…”
“She chases everyone off,” said one of the men in the backseat. “Has for years, Sergeant.”
“Well, as it happens, Sergeant, she told me why she was so upset,” said Jon, angry with the man himself. “The last time a policeman came to her door, he was escorting the officer who came to tell her that her husband was MIA in Vietnam. You think she’s going to welcome you?”
“Oh, hell…I thought, well, I know there’s cannabis being grown somewhere close to that part of the island. I thought it was there.”
“Dicky Burke,” said one of the men in the back. “You won’t catch him, Sergeant. He’s a wily fox, that one.”
“I know. But they’re relations…He collects mail for her, goes there. And we tracked some of the money from a deal. She spent it.”
Jon snorted. “I can tell you how that happened, all right. And it’s not a pretty story. Burke’s been selling her cows for her, and gypping the old lady something terrible. I found that out when I agreed to buy some instead. You know what the bastard was giving her?” He told them, knowing that at least one of the fellows in the back was a farmer. “And to add insult to injury, I reckon laundering some of his money through the sale, giving her your tracked notes instead. I’ll bet she’s no dope grower. For starters, they’re as poor as church-mice, and I reckon as honest as the day is long, by her standards, and I’ll bet that doesn’t cut it with her.”
“I’m sorry. Still, that boy just has to see my uniform and he’s in a panic. Don’t tell me there’s no history of trouble.”
“You’re probably right. I got into strife as a teenager, you probably did too. I was trying to prove myself a man and impress the chicks. Trouble is, for a kid like that in the city…he can’t do it without getting into strife. Here he can. In Melbourne, he’s just another kid who doesn’t really fit. Here, he’s a round peg in a round hole.”
The radio crackled. “Bad news, Sergeant. The guys on the quad-bikes…they just found the little boy washed up on the beach, near Marshall Rock.”
There was silence in the vehicle. Then Jon said: “Can’t you drive a bit faster, mate?”
CHAPTER 20
Áed’s powers were far too small to fight the might of the sea, but his master was doing that well. Still, he used what little strength he had to aid. A little magic: the rain he made fall ahead might wet…but it beat the swell down, and behind it, as it often is behind a rain-squall, the light was a little better and air a little clearer. The day was dying, and it was growing darker. That raised Áed’s small power, but it didn’t help the master.
But the selkie was out there, moving as fast as they were, and she had her watchers keeping the child on the rocks. Áed could taste the selkie spell-work.
* * *
“Rocks! Rocks ahead!” shrieked Molly.
“Marriot Reef!” Tim swung the tiller over slightly, and they raced along a wave and in behind the rocky Islet in its seethe of foam and breaking waves.
It did give some shelter, but even on the lee of the chain of little islands there was no way they could safely land. “Treasure Island ahead,” shouted Tim. “Can you see her?”
“No…Are those sharks?”
“Dolphin! And there’s the seal-woman. And look! Look! Up against the rock!” He shouted, triumphant.
There was a huddled child—a wet blonde head and a scrap of red shirt. “Sammy!” screamed Molly along with Tim. The child didn’t move. Then she lifted her little head and started waving frantically, plainly screaming too. But the wind whipped her cries away like a seagull’s mew. A sheet of spray shot up behind her, drenching her.
“How close can we get, Tim?” asked Molly.
In answer he fiddled with something next to the outboard. “I’ve unlocked the motor, I’ll run in as close as I dare. Grab the anchor rope.” He had his knife out. “I’ll cut the anchor off. We’ll throw the rope to her.”
Starting from the anchor end, Molly hauled the anchor chain until she got to where it connected to the rope. There was a shackle, but she knew Tim was right, her fingers were too cold and weak to undo that. She struggled back to him in the tiny pitching boat, nearly going overboard. “She’s too little. She can’t. Tie it onto me. I’ll get her.”
“I’ll go,” he said, slashing the rope free. It was a very sharp knife.
“I can’t drive a boat,” said Molly. “And I am not strong enough to pull you out of the water. And I can swim well.”
He didn’t waste time arguing. Just tied knots.
“Bowline. Tie one on her too. Let’s go.”
Tim edged the boat in, the breaking surf bouncing it around.
Molly could only hope he was right about them being dolphins. But sharks ate seals, didn’t they?
“Go!” he shouted. “Now!”
Molly dived overboard.
She was a good swimmer. It couldn’t be more than ten meters to the waves sloshing almost over the rock. She was still totally unprepared for the cold, and for the sheer strength of it…she couldn’t swim in this! She had a moment of terrible panic. And then she was carried upward, something muscular, warm, and immensely powerful thrusting her along, ripping her jeans as she shot up the rock with the wave. She scrambled clear. There wasn’t much island left. The little girl flung herself into her arms.
“Bowline! How the hades do I tie that? Sammy, honey, let me tie this onto you. Quickly.” She did her best, and then ran back to the rock edge. The sea looked huge and hungry. Tim and the boat seemed so far. “Take a deep breath, Sammy. Seal lady! Maeve! Help us!” she yelled as she backed off and ran at the sea, jumping as far clear of the rocks as possible.
Tim wasn’t pulling the rope. Instead he’d tied it to the boat and used the engine to drag…and the seal lifted them, away from the rocks. Tim was hauling at the rope now, like a runaway steam-train, pulling them up the side of the boat. She shoved Sammy up, got a kick for her pains, but then Tim heaved her over the pontoon too, as she pulled and the seal shoved. Molly sprawled in the bottom of the boat, but she was on-board.
“Sorry!” said Tim, his arm strong and warm around her as he lifted her to her knees. “Had to get you away from the rocks, Maeve said. Crawl up in the bow and let’s get out of here! We’ve still got to get in!”
And he turned to the water. “Maeve! Thank you!”
“I’ll hold you to our bargain,” said the seal-woman. “Sail. There are bigger waves coming.”
Molly didn’t try to stand. Instead, she clung on to the bow-rope with one hand and cuddled Sammy on her lap with the other. The child was even colder than she was. Fortunately, now they were running straight for the shore, riding on the back of a foaming wave, so it wasn’t the pounding they’d taken quartering the sea. She couldn’t see the shore. Ahead were the backs of more monstrous waves, peaking and breaking. The beach must be there, somewhere. But could they get in through the shore-break?
And then as the wave peaked and Tim dropped the throttle back slightly, she caught a brief glimpse of car lights on the beach.
* * *
Jon and the crew in the police vehicle arrived at the flooded creek mouth, with the sea breaking into it just as another elderly ute came bumping and swaying down the track over the dune on the other side. It stopped, barely at the edge of the water, and the door was flung open. A small, white-haired woman got out and strode into the water. “Who is that?” asked someone.
“Tim’s grandmother,” said Jon. “Someone must have told her. Let me do the talking, Sergeant. Coo-ee, Mrs. Ryan,” he called out.
She nodded at them, briefly, but looked intently at the sea. “My boy is out there, Mr. McKay. I can’t take a third heartbreak. It’ll kill me.”
“We’re here to do our best, Mrs. Ryan. Be strong for him. He’ll do it if anyone can.”
She nodded. She didn’t say anything, but Jon could see the tears coursing down her cheeks as she stared intently at the sea.
He looked at it himself, and it was not encouraging. He knew there was a shallower bank of coffee-rock and mud about seventy or eighty yards offshore, and the waves were peaking and breaking on it with a fury that would toss most boats. It was merely a strong, thundering foam running about a meter high and racing up the beach and into the creek-mouth beyond that.
“We’ll never manage a beach launch in this! She’ll be swamped before we can turn her,” shouted one of the men. The sea was far worse here than it had been when they’d left the Port Davies ramp.
“We’ll put the boat in the creek, turn her, and push out with the waves. You’re going to get wet,” shouted Jon McKay. “The trick is going to be getting through the big break out there.
“There’s a boat! There’s a boat out there! Oh, dear God, it must be them!” shouted a woman—Alicia Symons.
Jon turned to see his own RIB rising with the wave just short of the mudbank.
But it would be suicide coming in over that.
And plainly the red life-jacketed skipper knew that too, because he turned on the wave top and scooted for slightly deeper water again.
* * *
From the wave top Tim had seen and assessed the break on the mud bank. He’d seen it from the shore, before, but only at very low tide. There was a slightly deeper water channel here on the seaward side, so the half-breaking waves started to reform, and it was slightly less hectic than it had been further out. A bigger wave could still come through and flip them. He opened the safety drum. Dug with one hand, watching the sea, working by feel. Pulled out what he was looking for—a spare yoke—a basic life-preserver. “Tie that on her. We’re probably not going to get in here.” But what alternatives did he have? Trying to batter their way back into the wind and waves to West End? That could take hours, and there was no guarantee it would be possible to land there. The sea was getting rougher, the swells bigger.
And then he had an odd experience, rather like the seeing of Faerie, but sort of inside his head. Eight men, dressed like they came out of one his mum’s favorite English romantic movies from long ago, but much scruffier than in any movie, in a long, narrow, wooden boat, rowing—in a storm, in this very place. In the bow, a few huddled women and children. And at the stern, holding an oar in the water like a rudder, was someone who made him feel he was looking in a mirror—but wearing fancy old-fashioned sailor clothes. “We’ll never get in!” said one of the rowers fearfully.
“On the double wave,” said the mirror-image, ice-cool. “On my call, on the double wave.”
Tim looked at the sea, and turned outward again, looking for the wave. He understood now what he had to do. He unlocked the outboard again so the engine’s keel would not dig in. Now to choose the wave…
They circled three more times, and then he saw it. A monster, already capping beyond them. He gave the RIB full throttle and cut across the smaller wave, and up the steepening face to get over the top, and then turned and chased it inward. “Brace yourself and her,” he shouted. And then, for reasons he never quite understood until years later, yelled, “Two six, stroke!”
* * *
“What’s he doing?” demanded Alicia, anxiously.
“Looking for a break in the waves or somewhere to get through,” said Jon, staring. “But I can’t see one.” He wished he hadn’t said that. But there wasn’t a gap. Just big waves. He saw Tim lip a monster…and turn to follow it. Why? part of him screamed…it was worse than the rest.
And then he understood. The big wave was catching up on the wave behind, making for much deeper water, so instead of a dumping break it was curling over, and the boy was keeping the RIB just behind the breaking edge, where the water was fast, but still rushing forward, not tumbling and crashing. As it finally broke he’d tapped off the throttle and then, on the surging uprush of foam, opened it fully. Jon was with rest of them running into the water…
But Tim had judged it just right. The RIB skimmed up the wave onto the sand—going right past the first few men. Then Tim was over the side, yelling, “Help haul her in. Quick! Haven’t got an anchor.”
* * *
Mike Symons thought his heart would burst when he saw his daughter, wet hair plastered to her head, stand up in the bow of the boat, with the young girl in her arms. “She’s really cold,” she called, as strong hands lifted the RIB further up the beach, with her still in it. “Can someone take Sammy and get her somewhere warm?”
The cheering was loud even above the tumult of the waves and storm.
And Mike was only one of the men carrying her, and the child, to the police vehicle.
“Ambulance is on its way,” the cop yelled. “Get the little girl in here, I’ll want a first aider, space blanket, and the boat unhitched, fast, gentlemen!” Men leaped to do it. But that didn’t include Mike or his wife. They were too busy hugging their wet child to do that.
“Sorry, Mum, Dad. I had to do it,” she said.
“You’re back safe and alive and you got the child, honey, and that’s all that matters,” said her mother. “And we’d better get you somewhere warm and dry and into some dry clothes. Your bags are still in the car.”
She nodded. “Just got to make sure Tim is all right, Mum. Dad. You won’t let them take him away or get him into too much trouble? If he hadn’t gone out, little Sammy Burke would be dead, too, I think.”
“Huh. I might give him a little trouble for taking you out there,” said Mike, giving her a squeeze and a smile to show it wasn’t…really meant. “But no one else is going to.”
“He tried to get me to stay behind. But he needed me, and I knew that. So I went. He couldn’t exactly stop me. He was…careful as he could be. He’s a really good skipper.”
“I don’t think anyone is going to disagree with you about that! Or think that he’s going to be in any trouble. Honey, if the sergeant had only listened to him…I just wish you’d called me.”
“I should have. But I thought you’d say no, and I didn’t think you’d believe. Good grief! Mum, that’s Bunce. How did he get here?”
The wolfhound was leaping and licking in delight as she hugged him. “I really have no idea,” said her mother, “but he’s also pleased to see you.”
Jon McKay came over and handed them a silver blanket. “Wrap it round her. We’re all going back to the Ryan place, to get the boy and his nan settled, and to all get dry and warm. The young man needs a bit of support from me, I reckon. Are you going to join us? Or are you going to take our heroine home? Well done, girl. Tim has been telling us about how you swam over to get her. Brave as a lion. Uh, lioness.”
“They do all the work,” said Alicia. “What do you want to do, Molly? And what do you think, Mike?”
“How do you feel, girl?” asked Mike, turning to his daughter.
She smiled up at him. “Cold. Tired, a bit sore, hungry…and I would not let Tim…or his nan down for anything, Dad. He may still need me. Us. I want to go with them. Please?”
