The Keeper of the Octopus, page 11
At last, she stopped and surfaced. Pippy stared up at a canopy of stars, recognising that she was nearly under the rope footbridge. She swam to the riverbank and settled in the shallows, squishing between rocks with wriggling baby eels that Uncle Isaac called elvers.
Pippy waited and listened with a growing sense of anticipation. She could hear the stir of the river, the whisper of the trees. Water lapped against the rocks, and then through the quiet of the night, a distinct, gentle slapping echoed across the water.
Pippy didn’t know what it was at first. She thought she could see fins sticking out of the water, but she gasped in surprise when she realised what she was actually witnessing. It was a fever of stingrays sweeping up the river.
There were at least thirty stingrays, all jammed together, half-jumbled in on top of each other, with the tips of their wings curling out of the water. They soon spread out, reforming into an orderly V-shape, and in perfect formation, they began to glide up and down the river. Up and back. Up and back. It was fluid and graceful like a flock of birds.
Pippy was mesmerised.
She wasn’t sure how long they sat watching, until finally the fever disbanded and all the stingrays went their separate ways.
Immediately, a strong desire to return to the river mouth came upon Pippy. It was the most intense longing she’d ever felt. Her throat ached with undeniable yearning. She swam like a cannonball all the way back to the river mouth.
Diving deeply, Pippy turned into a gap in the rocks where it was dark and familiar and safe. A calmness washed over her. A relief. It felt like home. She was inside Octavia’s den.
But what was Octavia doing back here when she was meant to be at the sheltered shallow cove?
Pippy didn’t wake until midmorning. Something niggled at her and she lay there stroking Mussels’ fur as she thought about it. She still felt a little guilty about her act of sabotage last night, but that wasn’t it. It was something else.
It was her incredible dream with Octavia. She’d never seen a fever of stingrays before, and it was amazing. But then she thought about the intense feelings of longing that arose after the stingrays were gone. A sense of yearning that was acute, almost painful.
Moving Octavia to the sheltered shallow cove might have been harder than Pippy imagined. Was the octopus so conditioned, so well-trained, that she couldn’t stay away?
Yawning and stretching, Pippy got up to go and check on Octavia. She knew she shouldn’t risk visiting her in daylight hours, but if the Calamary brothers were out at sea fishing, they wouldn’t see Pippy on the shore. Pippy could walk the beach, pick up some periwinkles and just happen to wander past the cove.
Arriving at the wharf, Pippy found Stinger waiting for her with a bucket of fish.
‘Morning, Pippy,’ said Stinger, looking unusually solemn. ‘A sad day it is too.’
‘What’s wrong, Stinger?’ asked Pippy.
‘Didn’t you see the massive catch the Calamarys brought in yesterday? There’s not going to be much left if they keep that up.’
‘I’ve told Mr Whatmore their nets are dangerous, but he won’t listen to me,’ Pippy said. She thanked Stinger for the fish and hurried across the bridge. When she and Fairweather arrived at the sheltered shallow cove, Octavia was nowhere to be seen. The amulet felt toasty against her, but it strangely hadn’t changed colour. Pippy wriggled her toes in the water and paddled in the shallows for over an hour. Fairweather was nearby on a rock, watching her, holding his wings out to dry.
Pippy waited and waited, but there was still no Octavia.
Where are you? worried Pippy.
All manner of dreadful thoughts appeared in her mind. Has she been caught? Is she hurt? What if Octavia has gone out to sea again? Or maybe she’s just returned to her den?
‘There’s only one way to find out,’ whispered Pippy, and she cut along to the river mouth with Fairweather flying above.
Gazing into the depths where the river met the sea, Pippy splashed her toes in the water. Fairweather landed on the jetty behind her and squarked. The amulet was warm and glowing a soft purple, so Octavia must be near. Pippy kept twinkling her toes, but still Octavia didn’t appear.
As there was not a soul around, Pippy tugged off her gansey and dress, waded into the water, and duck-dived down to Octavia’s den. She had to check that Octavia was actually there, and know she was safe.
Octavia’s den was about six metres below the surface, and Pippy’s ears popped and squeaked as she swam deeper and deeper. She found the opening of the cave and, gripping onto the rocks, she peered inside.
It was dim and dark and Pippy’s eyes took a few moments to adjust to the filtered light. Through swaying seaweed, she spotted Octavia at the back of the cave. She’d seen Pippy too, but wouldn’t come to her.
Pippy could see Octavia was siphoning water at a rapid rate. Her first thought was that Octavia was injured, but she was glowing purple, which usually meant all was well.
Pippy could see that Octavia was busily doing something. Tiny white puff balls chuffed out from somewhere deep inside of her. Octavia’s arms worked in unison as she gathered them beneath her. She seemed to be weaving the little balls together.
Releasing some air from her lungs, bubbles flashed past Pippy’s face. With less air inside of her for buoyancy, she sank a little lower. She could now see hundreds of garlands of white puff balls, hanging like bunches of grapes from the ceiling of the den. They glistened in the filtered light like strings of luminous, teardrop pearls.
This was Octavia’s home and she’d returned here for a reason. Pippy had read in the Keeper’s Book that octopuses were notoriously territorial and lived out their entire lives in the same den.
But Pippy felt unsettled. Octavia knew Pippy wanted her to stay in the cove. But she feels safe here, thought Pippy, and whatever it was she was doing down here, it was keeping her busy and out of sight.
Pippy’s lungs were beginning to burn − she had to resurface. With one last look, she pushed off from the edge of the cave and kicked hard. Puffing and panting at the surface, she stepped out of the water, and dried herself off with her dress before slipping it back over her head.
As Pippy squeezed the water from her braids, the distinctive sound of a ship’s bell clanged somewhere far out to sea. She squinted at the horizon, trying to recognise it. She didn’t, but as it came closer, what she did recognise was the familiar silhouette of the person standing at the front of the bow.
Pippy blinked her eyes several times as the boat turned to starboard to tack into the wind. Her throat tightened. It couldn’t be. But it was. It definitely was!
Sailing towards Pippy was the Silver Gull, and the person standing upon the gunwale, frantically waving to her, was Papa.
‘Papa!’ shouted Pippy, as the wind snatched at her words. She waved her arms excitedly, nearly toppling into the water as the boat sailed closer.
‘Pippy!’ Papa yelled back, as he waved both arms at her.
But as much as Pippy was filled with joy at seeing her papa again, she was also filled with anger. It was hot and heavy in her chest and her eyes. She was angry with him for leaving, and even angrier at the tears that were spilling down her cheeks.
‘Where have you been, Papa?’ yelled Pippy, stamping her feet.
‘I’m sorry, Pippy!’ yelled Papa. ‘I’ve missed you every second of every minute of every day.’
Pippy had missed Papa, too. But she’d had no choice in the matter.
‘Why did you leave me?’ cried Pippy, clenching her fists. Part of her knew she should wait until the Silver Gull was moored to have this talk with Papa, but Pippy couldn’t stop the tidal wave inside her. ‘I needed you! We needed you!’
‘I know, Pippy,’ called Papa. ‘I’m sorry. I did the wrong thing. I shouldn’t have left you.’ His voice sounded broken and full of regret. She could see it written all over his face, but her fury didn’t abate. It was still there, simmering beneath the surface like an underwater volcano. It hurt that Papa had left when he did; Pippy couldn’t deny that. But like a change in the weather, the wind went out of Pippy’s sails and she felt herself deflate. She was angry, but she was so tired of feeling this way.
It was hard to believe nine months had passed since she’d lost Mama, since she’d last seen Papa.
The Silver Gull eased alongside the small jetty at the river mouth and Papa leaped out. Fairweather snapped his beak together, as he too recognised Papa.
‘Fairweather! My old friend,’ called Papa as he moored his boat. But Fairweather turned his tail feathers on Papa, and took flight. It seemed Fairweather was angry with Papa, too.
Papa ran to Pippy with open arms, but all she could do was stand there numbly, with tears streaming down her face. Augustus Cocklebiddy hugged his daughter. He held her at arm’s length, then quickly hugged her again.
‘Forgive me, Pippy,’ cried Papa, his voice raspy. ‘Oh, look, how you’ve grown!’
Pippy let her father hug her and she sobbed as she stared into his whiskery face. How she’d missed him. Missed his stories, missed his deep, rumbling laugh. Weather beaten and tanned, his blue eyes were still as blue as the bluest sea. He was still the same. But Pippy was not.
‘I’m sorry I left you, Pippy,’ said Papa again, hanging his head. ‘I didn’t cope after … after Mama died. I was only meant to go out fishing for a few weeks, not nine months. I was so full of my own sorrow, I wasn’t thinking straight. I shouldn’t have left you, Pippy. I’ve had a devil of a time trying to get back to you.’
Pippy nodded, but remained silent. She wanted to scream at her papa; she wanted to unleash the storm inside of her. Of course, she knew the grief he was talking about because they had all gone through it. She didn’t understand why they couldn’t have shared their sadness. Pippy knew her papa’s words were heartfelt, but it was going to take time to be able to forgive him.
‘We didn’t know what had happened to you, Papa,’ said Pippy. ‘We thought you’d been lost at sea. We thought you were …’
‘Oh, Pippy, I’m so sorry,’ said Papa, rubbing his face. ‘I sailed into an almighty storm and for three days and three nights I fought to keep her on an even keel, but I was blown off course and run aground. I spent seven months in Anju repairing her, trying to get her seaworthy again. But I’m home now, Pippy, and all will be well.’
Pippy could only shake her head, her chin trembling.
‘I know it’s going to take time to earn your forgiveness,’ said Papa softly, his eyes full of concern. ‘So, take all the time you need.’
‘So much has happened,’ said Pippy, exhaling with a huff. ‘I’m not sure where to begin.’
As Pippy and Papa walked along the river towards the footbridge, she tried to explain everything that had been going on in Portablow. Fairweather squarked above as he drifted high on a slipstream.
‘And I’m now the Keeper of the Octopus,’ said Pippy.
Papa raised his eyebrows at her. ‘You’re so like your mama, Pippy.’
She then told Papa about the arrival of the Calamary brothers with their huge drag net. Papa listened grimly without interruption as she explained how the net was hidden inside the stern, and told him of the huge bycatch they caught and wasted.
Papa slapped his forehead. ‘Pippy, as I was sailing in I saw a fishing vessel I’d never seen before – black and sleek, with a Pisces insignia on its flag.’
‘That’s them, Papa,’ said Pippy.
‘I watched them as I sailed past,’ said Papa, in dawning understanding. ‘They were tipping dead fish off the boat and into the ocean. Masses of dead fish, floating belly up as they drifted into the path of my boat. There were harlequin fish and angel fish, loads of small squid and a huge moray eel. I think I even saw a dead seal. I didn’t understand it, but now …’
‘That’s the Calamarys, but things get even worse, Papa,’ said Pippy. ‘They’re here to hunt octopuses. I’ve tried to hide Octavia in the sheltered shallow cove, but she won’t stay there. And I’m sure one of the Calamarys followed me when I was visiting her. I’m afraid they’re going to find her … and capture her.’ Pippy’s voice quavered on her last word.
‘We need to speak to George Whatmore,’ said Papa, increasing his stride. ‘Come on.’
But as they were hurrying across the footbridge, who should be sailing up the river? The Calamary brothers with their latest catch.
‘There they are, Papa!’ cried Pippy, pointing out the Gutted Mullet. ‘Now you will see for yourself.’
‘Let’s hurry,’ said Papa, and they ran the rest of the way.
Pippy and Papa found Mr Whatmore in the wharf offices, chatting with Mr Hedland and Captain Whiting. They were speechless when Pippy burst in with Papa by her side.
‘Blow me down! Augustus!’ bellowed Mr Whatmore, standing from his desk. ‘Welcome back. We should have had more faith in you, eh?’
‘Indeed, you should have,’ laughed Papa, and there were handshakes and backslaps all around. Then Papa told his story again.
‘It’s grand to have you back, Gus,’ said Captain Whiting, a beaming smile spreading across her face.
‘Thank you, Captain,’ said Papa. He put his arm around Pippy’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. ‘It’s good to be back.’
‘Pippy’s just told me about the Calamary brothers and their secret net and enormous catches,’ said Papa. ‘Have you seen them?’
Mr Hedland and Captain Whiting glanced at each other with worried looks.
‘Well,’ said Mr Whatmore, in a disbelieving voice. ‘I’m not so sure about secret nets—’
‘Tell us about the nets, Pippy,’ said Papa, cutting Mr Whatmore off mid-sentence.
Four sets of expectant eyes turned upon Pippy and she gulped and took a deep breath.
‘The Gutted Mullet has a five-metre by twenty-metre-long drag net on a reel hidden inside its stern,’ said Pippy, trying to steady her voice. The room went very quiet. You could’ve heard a fish hook drop.
‘The net is beneath a spring-loaded plank in the deck,’ Pippy went on. ‘If you place your feet on it and push with your full weight, you’ll hear a click and it’ll spring open. The net isn’t made from hemp, it’s made from something much stronger. Here’s a piece of it,’ said Pippy, producing from her pocket the piece of net she’d managed to cut and passing it around the room.
‘Where did you get this …?’ said Mr Whatmore, faltering as Mr Hedland and Captain Whiting studied the piece in amazement before passing it to Papa.
‘Hang on,’ said Papa, rubbing the piece of net between his fingers. ‘I heard about these nets when I was stranded in Anju. It’s called wire. It’s made from various metals that have been melted down and extruded. Extremely tough stuff. It can carry an enormous load and never break.’
‘Everything the Calamarys catch in that net comes up dead or injured, and at least half of it is bycatch. I’ve seen dozens of sharks caught, and octopuses, and a dolphin. I’ve even seen an albatross,’ said Pippy, thinking of Fairweather and how she’d felt when she thought it was him in those nets.
Captain Whiting sucked in her breath at this bad omen.
‘I passed the Calamary vessel as I sailed in,’ Papa said, ‘and I saw them tossing fish from their boat into the ocean. When I met Pippy at the river mouth, she was telling me about their massive bycatch. I realised then that that’s what I’d seen: the Calamarys dumping their bycatch. Tiddlers, squid, even a seal.’
Mr Whatmore cleared his throat. ‘Oh, ahem … I told the Calamarys we didn’t want any more of their bycatch as the villagers weren’t taking all of it. Couldn’t just be left to rot on the wharf, what, could it? But I swear I had no idea they’d be doing this.’
Mr Hedland and Captain Whiting shook their heads.
‘The net is weighted,’ explained Pippy. ‘And when lowered into the sea, it ploughs up the seabed. It tips over rocks and damages coral. It rips up seagrass beds and tears kelp gardens apart. This drag net destroys everything, all the sea creatures’ homes, where they feed and where they breed.’
‘Pippy’s right,’ said Captain Whiting. ‘Nets like that would be disturbing stable, natural conditions. When coral is damaged, it never grows back – and hundreds of species of fish live in those reefs.’
‘I’ve heard Portablow’s coral reefs are thousands of years old,’ said Mr Hedland, sadly.
Just like that, the tide of opinion turned. Papa winked at Pippy and she slowly exhaled. She knew the truth of their situation was finally dawning upon everyone. And not before time.
‘So what do we do?’ said Mr Hedland, looking from Papa to Captain Whiting and Mr Whatmore, who was fiddling with the corner of the logbook on his desk.
‘They have to be told to leave,’ said Captain Whiting, in a firm voice.
‘Oh, I don’t think we can tell them to do that,’ said Mr Whatmore, his eyes darting. ‘I gave them my word. I told them they could stay and fish for as long as they liked, what.’
Pippy watched as Mr Whatmore’s weather-wrinkled fingers kept fiddling with the logbook. She remembered what she’d read in it: the percentage number beside the Calamarys’ fishing tallies, and a circled letter ‘A’.
‘Would that be because you’re getting a percentage of their catch sold at Aberthy market?’ asked Pippy.
‘How …? Um, what?’ stammered Mr Whatmore, his mouth opening and closing like a groper fish.
‘Holy Mither,’ whistled Papa.
‘George Whatmore, is this true?’asked Mr Hedland, putting his hands on his hips.
‘What for? Why are you taking a cut?’ demanded Captain Whiting.
‘Well, I thought we could do some upgrades to the wharf,’ said Mr Whatmore, squirming and looking suitably guilty.
Captain Whiting glared at Mr Whatmore. ‘You’ve got to tell them to leave, George. If they don’t stop, there won’t be any fish left in the waters of Portablow.’
‘Oh, come on. Surely, that’ll never happen?’ said Mr Whatmore, but he wrung his hands with worry. He was finally starting to see the truth.
