The Keeper of the Octopus, page 12
A loud commotion came from outside on the wharf.
‘That’ll be the Gutted Mullet,’ said Pippy, and they all crowded around the window to watch the Calamary brothers unload their latest catch.
A huge blue marlin landed with a dull thud on the wharf. Its beautiful metallic blue colour faded before their very eyes.
‘Holy Storm of Teran, that fish would be nigh on twenty years old,’ growled Captain Whiting.
A hush filled the office as an enormous pile of fish was tumbled upon the wharf. Reef sharks, gummy sharks, tuna, barracuda, black bream, snapper, flathead and silver perch. There wasn’t a good deal of bycatch, which made sense now they knew it had been dumped at sea. But just when Pippy thought the Calamarys were finished, they opened a second hold in the hull and dragged out another mountainous pile of fish.
Pippy looked up, and found Elderman Whatmore staring at her.
‘I’m sorry, Pippy,’ said Mr Whatmore, hanging his head. ‘I really am. Augustus, your daughter tried to warn me about this drag net and I didn’t listen. I’ve been a fool.’
‘Well, there’s not much else we can do but revoke their fishing rights,’ said Mr Hedland, leaning towards Mr Whatmore.
‘But how?’ asked Mr Whatmore, running his hands through his hair. ‘How can we do that?’
‘Tell them we have quotas,’ said Pippy. ‘I’ve heard of catch limits in the Northern Sea near Norweg.’
‘Catch limits?’ said Mr Whatmore. ‘What are they?’
‘How do you know about them?’ asked Papa, looking at Pippy as if he was seeing her for the first time. ‘I’ve heard of them too. Apparently in the seas of Europa quotas have been introduced to try to protect fish stocks for the future.’
‘It’s a grand idea, Pippy,’ said Captain Whiting, her face brightening. ‘So, we tell them to clear out because they’ve caught their quota of fish already.’
‘What? How? We don’t actually have a quota system,’ said Mr Whatmore.
‘All those who vote for one,’ challenged Pippy, ‘raise your hand.’
Pippy, Papa, Mr Hedland and Captain Whiting all shot their hands in the air at the same time. Mr Whatmore nodded and slowly raised his hand.
‘Looks like we’ve got one now,’ said Captain Whiting, grinning.
As Pippy stared out the window, she noticed there weren’t as many villagers hanging around the wharf today to watch the Calamary brothers unload. She wondered if they had come to their senses and realised their waters were being emptied of all their fish. Or perhaps they felt guilty about the waste?
‘All right, then. Let’s do this,’ said Mr Whatmore, grim-faced as he pulled his jacket on.
‘We’ll back you up,’ said Papa.
Mr Hedland and Captain Whiting shouted in hearty agreeance. ‘Of course, we will!’
Pippy’s heart gave a quiver. She didn’t trust the Calamarys one little bit. ‘I’ll be right back,’ she said to Papa, and hurried out through the rear of the wharf office, sprinting to the Frayed Knot.
When Pippy burst in, Little Tomas had a tea towel in his hands, drying tankards behind the bar.
‘There’s trouble at the wharf! Papa needs your help!’ yelled Pippy, spinning on her heel and racing back out.
‘Augustus is returned?’ said Little Tomas, dropping the towel and storming after Pippy. The tavern’s patrons stood, equally stunned – ‘Augustus?’ ‘He’s alive?’ ‘Where’s he been all this time?’ – and followed Little Tomas to the wharf.
Arriving back at the village green, Pippy climbed up a Norfolk pine that had an excellent view of the wharf. There was a squawk from above and she climbed onto a branch to sit next to Fairweather. A southerly wind whistled through the upper reaches as the tree creaked and swayed.
Within moments, Papa, Mr Whatmore, Mr Hedland and Captain Whiting were on the wharf and striding towards Vincenzo Calamary and his brothers, who were still sorting the last of the fish for market.
‘Mr Calamary? May we have your attention, what?’ said Mr Whatmore.
Vincenzo Calamary stopped what he was doing and turned to face Mr Whatmore. He stood to up to his full height and pushed his shoulders back. He may have been garfish-thin, but he was an intimidating figure.
Pippy’s heart pounded and Fairweather chirruped as she placed a hand on his chest.
‘Your catch has far exceeded the quota of the granted rights for open fishing, and it has been decided you must finish up immediately and leave our shores,’ said Mr Whatmore.
Vincenzo Calamary towered above him, barely containing his simmering rage. He jutted his jaw out, putting his hands on his hips as Lorenzo and Arazio moved to either side of him.
Papa, Mr Hedland and Captain Whiting inched forward, flanking Mr Whatmore.
Stinger Ray, Snapper Jack and Jibber Jones stepped off their boats and onto the wharf to stand behind them with their arms crossed. Bill the Carrier and Little Tomas arrived, along with Mr Wheaton and Mrs Wheaton, whose flour-dusted hands clutched a rolling pin. They all stood behind Elderman Whatmore, Papa, Mr Hedland and Captain Whiting.
‘Our decision is final, what, and we ask that you leave peacefully,’ said Mr Whatmore, his tone firm.
‘Or do you require an escort out to sea?’ asked Captain Whiting.
Vincenzo Calamary’s eyes darted to the Portablow villagers who stood together side by side. He took a step backwards, his eyes bulging and his face turning a deep coral red.
‘We shall depart this evening on the outgoing tide,’ said Vincenzo Calamary, bowing reluctantly, with a forced politeness.
As the Calamarys prepared their boat to leave, the gathered villagers slowly wandered off. Pippy heard them muttering amongst themselves.
‘I always thought it was too much, I tell you,’ said one fisher.
‘It was outrageous how many fish they caught,’ said Stinger Ray.
‘About time they went on their merry way,’ grumbled another.
Only the fishmonger seemed sad to see them go, but even he was running out of hessian sacks for all the fish.
Pippy felt a huge wave of relief wash over her. It was a strange feeling – a wonderful feeling. She felt like jumping for joy! But instead, she jumped down from the tree in a big leap. A branch caught in the neck of her gansey, but luckily didn’t tear the wool. She pushed the branch away, and rubbed at the scratch, before heading home to tell Uncle Isaac the good news – Papa was back, and the Calamarys were leaving!
As Pippy walked away, she stole a glance at the scowling Calamary brothers, who were making their way to the Frayed Knot, no doubt for one last drink. Pippy huffed: good riddance.
But she didn’t see Vincenzo Calamary pause at a Norfolk pine, where he bent down to pick something up from the ground.
On the way home, Pippy got waylaid visiting Wally at Cairn Cottage to tell him what had happened.
‘Good news, Wally!’ said Pippy, breathless and flushed. ‘The Calamary brothers are leaving. Mr Whatmore told them to go. They’re leaving on the next tide!’
‘Holy Mither,’ said Wally. ‘That’s grand, Pippy. You happy?’
‘I am,’ agreed Pippy. ‘I’m relieved. So relieved. Oh, and Wally – Papa is back!’
Wally’s mouth popped open in shock. The two friends sat talking about Papa’s return, and the confrontation at the wharf and how it all unfolded.
But Pippy’s feelings of elation were short-lived, as a loud sorrowful wail carried to them on the breeze. It was coming from Bittern Cottage.
‘It’s Uncle Isaac,’ breathed Pippy, recognising his cry. ‘Oh, no. What’s happened?’
As soon as she burst into Bittern Cottage, Pippy knew there was something terribly, terribly wrong.
Uncle Isaac sat in front of the fire rocking back and forth, moaning with his head clutched between his hands.
Ferg and Papa were patting his back, trying to comfort him. Uncle Isaac didn’t even notice Pippy’s arrival and, in between weeping, he was muttering gibberish that made little sense.
‘What’s happened?’ whispered Pippy. ‘Has he lost his words again?’
Ferg shook his head and Papa turned to Pippy with a bewildered look upon his face.
When Uncle Isaac looked up and saw that it was Pippy, he began to lament even louder.
‘Argh, you’ll hate me forever, Pippy,’ Uncle Isaac wailed. ‘You’ll hate me.’
‘What are you talking about, Uncle?’ said Pippy, in a consoling tone. ‘All is well. Papa is home and the Calamary brothers are leaving. All will be well,’ she soothed.
Strangely, if it at all were possible, Uncle Isaac began to cry even louder. ‘Isaac, you need to calm yourself,’ shushed Papa, looking alarmed.
‘Crusty craypots, I’ve done the wrong thing,’ Uncle Isaac snivelled. ‘Pippy, you’re never going to forgive me.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Pippy, kneeling beside him.
‘Where’s your thingamajig?’ asked Uncle Isaac, touching his throat then pointing at hers.
Before Pippy even reached for the amulet, she knew it was gone. A thump of fear hit her, and she remained perfectly still as, piece by piece in her mind, she saw a tree branch catch on her gansey … tearing the amulet from her neck.
‘I must have lost it,’ stammered Pippy, her heart sinking like a treasure chest full of gold. ‘When I jumped down from the tree at the village green … it must have caught on a branch.’
‘No, Pippy Cocklebiddy!’ said Ferg, his voice squeaking.
‘Not long ago,’ sobbed Uncle Isaac, ‘Vincenzo Calamary came and asked to speak to me outside. He told me he had you in his clutches. I didn’t believe him, but then he showed me your amulet. And I just knew he had you. He said if I didn’t tell him where the giant octopus was, he was going to hurt you.’
Vincenzo Calamary must have snatched the amulet from beneath the tree, then come to the cottage while Pippy was around the back talking to Wally. Oh, why didn’t I come straight here? thought Pippy, a pain pulsing behind her ears.
‘Did you … did you tell him?’ asked Pippy, covering her mouth.
Uncle Isaac hung his head. ‘Well, of course, I told him, but only because I thought Octavia was safe in the cove. That’s when Ferg told me Octavia had returned to her den. I didn’t know, bairn. I promise you I didn’t know.’
So now the Calamarys knew the location of Octavia’s den, and they had the amulet to tell them when she was near. It was worse than Pippy could’ve imagined.
The room went completely silent, then it began to spin. Black spots swam in Pippy’s eyes and a cold clammy feeling washed over her. She squeezed her eyes shut as blood whooshed in her ears.
‘Why did you have to say anything?’ Pippy said to her uncle, her voice as cold as an iceberg. ‘You could’ve told him somewhere else, anywhere else!’’
Uncle Isaac covered his face and wailed even louder.
‘What am I going to do?’ cried Pippy, looking to Ferg and Papa.
‘You have to go to her nowt, Pippy Cocklebiddy, daughter of Claudine,’ said Ferg, rubbing Uncle Isaac’s back again.
‘Come on, Pippy,’ said Papa, and they stormed out of the cottage. With a whoosh Fairweather appeared by their side and they sprinted to the wharf. But the Gutted Mullet was no longer there. Pippy’s feet barely touched the ground as they thudded over the footbridge and raced to the river mouth.
The Gutted Mullet appeared in the distance, bob-bing up and down at the mouth of the river. A rare north-easterly wind had picked up, allowing the Calamary brothers to manoeuvre their stern closer to the rocks without any fear of being dashed upon them.
‘No!’ cried Pippy, her hair flying from its plait. ‘We’re too late, Papa. They’ve lowered their net into the water.’
The river stirred with the tide, and the trees whispered as the wind began to skiff and gust. Something was being put into motion that could not be stopped.
‘Keep running,’ yelled Papa, close behind Pippy. She ran as hard as she could.
Arriving at the mouth where the river meets the sea, Pippy yelled. ‘Stop! You have no right to do this. You’ve been told to leave!’
‘Desist, now!’ yelled Papa, waving his fist at them.
Fairweather swooped and dive-bombed the Calamary brothers, but they ignored him. They worked quickly in tandem as they wound the wheel at each end of the reel, winding the net in.
Pippy’s world stopped and started again at a different speed. She stood there feeling utterly useless. She counted her breathing, hoping with all her might that the Calamary brothers would haul up something else, anything else, but Octavia.
The net on the Gutted Mullet creaked and strained as the brothers heave-ho’ed, turning and reeling in their catch. In a few moments, all would be revealed.
‘Give way,’ whispered Pippy, crossing her fingers.
But the net did not break. It rose, slowly but surely, until finally the last of it breached the surface. And trapped within the net, pulled from the depths of the river mouth, was an extremely large, extremely heavy, and extremely angry octopus!
Pippy could see fresh crayfish tied at the bottom of the net, used to lure Octavia from her den. Pippy covered her mouth as the octopus writhed inside the wire mesh. Her skin was spiky and horns had appeared, raised up on her mantle. She looked ferocious, and she was blood-red angry as she roiled and wriggled.
The stern of the boat bobbed up and down. It sat dangerously low in the water as Octavia’s massive weight, which was hanging off the back, unbalanced the boat.
A physical pain stabbed into Pippy’s chest, and she knew it well. It was the same pain she’d felt when Mama died and when Papa had left. It was her heart slowly breaking open.
Octavia released a gushing spray of black ink, splattering the entire hull of the boat. The whole scene took on the garish feel of one of Pippy’s nightmares, but this was terribly real.
Pippy could see Octavia’s soft body bulging through the squares of the net as she continued to squirm. Pippy screamed as the rough metal threads cut into Octavia, slicing her rubbery flesh. Two of her arms had already been severed, and they were still wriggling and working independently, bravely trying to fight their way out.
‘No, Octavia. Keep still!’ Pippy yelled, holding her hand out, using the ‘stay’ signal.
Octavia’s eyes widened at the sound of Pippy’s voice. She stopped wriggling. She stopped struggling. She stared at Pippy through the net, stared straight into her very soul.
Pippy saw nothing but love in Octavia’s eyes, love and sorrow, and finally defeat.
The fight went out of Octavia and she deflated, fading to a dull, grey colour. Octavia’s eyes never left Pippy’s as she hung limply inside the net, sinking deep inside of herself.
Pippy sobbed and screamed. ‘That octopus is not yours to take! She belongs to the village of Portablow!’
‘Release the octopus now!’ bellowed Papa.
But Vincenzo and Lorenzo Calamary only laughed. Pippy noticed Arazio wasn’t joining in. He was on the other side of the boat, dry-retching over the rail and into the sea.
Carried on the breeze, she heard Lorenzo Calamary laugh. ‘What a catch! She will make a much calamari.’
Vincenzo Calamary clipped his brother across the back of his head. ‘You idiota! She’s far too precious to be eaten. She is going to the Museo dell’Acquatico as an exhibit. She will make us a fortuna!’
With that, the Gutted Mullet began to swiftly weigh anchor.
‘No, you don’t,’ yelled Papa. He ran several paces backwards before sprinting forwards to leap from the rocks towards the enormous net that held Octavia.
‘Papa!’ yelled Pippy, watching in slow motion as Papa launched himself through the air, windmilling his arms before he landed with an ‘oomph’ upon the octopus in the net. Pippy saw Octavia’s eyes widen as Papa clung to the net.
The Calamarys hoisted their mizzenmast and drifted away from the river mouth, taking Octavia and Papa with them.
‘No!’ cried Pippy, her eyes still locked with Octavia’s. Her voice shook as she yelled: ‘I’m coming after you, Papa. I’m coming, Octavia.’
How Pippy wished she’d cut through every piece of that rotten net. Her plan to give Octavia a fighting chance had failed miserably. She wished she’d done more in so many ways. She wished she’d gone in search of Papa. She wished she could bring back Uncle Isaac’s lost words. She wished she could hug her mama one last time.
Pippy watched in dismay as the Gutted Mullet sailed away. Papa clambered over the net onto the deck, only to be pounced on by the Calamary brothers the moment he landed and marched down into the hold.
Pippy felt a wave of anger unravelling inside herself. As she raced back to the wharf, the image of Octavia trapped in the net with Papa clinging to it played over and over until it was burned into her mind.
‘I’m coming, Papa,’ whispered Pippy, but her voice wasn’t shaking anymore. ‘I’m coming, Octavia.’
The wind blew steadily from the south when Pippy arrived at the wharf.
Fairweather wheeled above as Pippy leaped aboard the Flying Seahorse and rushed about to unravel the sails. Fairweather kept screeching at her as if to say hurry up, that the longer they took to set sail, the further the Calamary brothers were getting away.
Papa needed her.
Octavia needed her.
And Pippy had made her a promise – she was the Keeper of the Octopus.
As she ran around reeling in the mooring lines, all she could think of was Papa and Octavia’s pending fate, slipping away from her, cutting through her heart like the wire netting cutting into Octavia’s flesh.
And then who should appear but Ferg, with Mussels by his side, panting and smiling.
‘What are you two doing here?’ said Pippy, with a half-sob as she heaved up the sails. She was so very happy to see them.
‘I made a promise to Claudine, exceptional Keeper of the Octopus, that I would be here for her daughter in her time of great need,’ said Ferg, ruffling Mussels’ ears. ‘We’re here to help rescue the giant cephalopod! We need to make haste!’
