The Keeper of the Octopus, page 2
Pippy felt herself drifting off as the tide of sleep tugged at her. She was exhausted from her fall into the sea. She couldn’t resist, and soon she was dreaming of Mama and the mysterious circles on her arms. In the time between wakefulness and sleep, she remembered the soft, beautiful voice that had chanted to her on the bottom of the ocean.
You are not alone.
No sooner had Pippy nodded off than she was awoken by the familiar tug and pull of the river current, so different to the chop and churn of the sea.
As Uncle Isaac sailed the Flying Seahorse up the river to the wharf, the villagers of Portablow waved and called out.
‘You orright, Pippy?’ yelled Mrs Plum, the local grocer. Mrs Plum wore an apron with deep pockets full of plums and she was always yelling: ‘Eat plums! You won’t get scurvy!’ She could see Pippy at the mast, wet and bedraggled inside the blanket. ‘What’s your uncle got you into now? You should be at school, not on the seven seas!’
‘It’s not Uncle’s fault, Mrs Plum,’ cried Pippy. ‘I lost my footing and fell into the sea.’
‘Oh, pet, you must be freezing!’ hollered Mrs Wheaton. She and her husband, Mr Wheaton, ran the local bakery. Sensitive to the cold, Mrs Wheaton always worried about other people feeling the cold. With the help of her husband and their brownie Geordie, she kept their ovens stoked and the bakery warm all day long.
Through the chattering of her teeth, Pippy couldn’t fail to hear the disapproving whispers of other villagers.
‘That Isaac Marguettes is befuddled. He shouldn’t be going out to sea anymore, he don’t even know what day it is.’
‘He lets that bairn run wild. Always runnin’ along the river, or down to the beach.’
Pippy had heard this sort of talk before about Uncle Isaac. It was true. Pippy was allowed to roam free and she hadn’t been to school for months. Uncle Isaac told her she could return when she felt better. It was also true that Uncle Isaac had moments of confusion. But Pippy knew that to remain with him, she had to protect him from being seen as ‘befuddled’.
‘I’m warming up now, thanks, Mrs Wheaton,’ said Pippy, as another shiver overtook her. She desperately needed to get out of her wet clothes. Uncle Isaac shouted his thanks to the villagers, then waved down Bill the Carrier. For a small fee, Bill and his pony would cart them home to Bittern Cottage.
With Pippy wrapped in a blanket, they trotted along the pier, passing the wharf offices and the fishmonger, following a cobbled path around to the village green. The green was surrounded by towering Norfolk pines, and the wind howled through them like screaming banshees. Bill’s cart ventured across the road, passing the bakery and then the tavern before turning into Uncle Isaac’s street.
The village of Portablow was a windy place well known for its roaring southerly gales and sideways sleeting rain. On the rare occasion the wind did stop blowing, the place went awfully quiet as people stopped yelling at each other when they talked. They straightened their backs when they walked, discovering they didn’t need to lean quite so far forward to gain any ground. Spring was typically less windy and autumn could be quietly calm, but when the prevailing winds blew in winter, they could take weeks to blow themselves out.
As they rattled up the street, Uncle Isaac’s home, Bittern Cottage, appeared before them. It was set two streets back from the river, where it was blessedly sheltered from the chilly winter wind. Eleven stone cottages sat higgledy-piggledy along a wobbly, cobbled street, each one surrounded by a small yard with a stone fence.
Their cottage was adorned with abalone shells and driftwood, and the yard was covered in craypots and fishing nets, all awaiting repair. As Uncle Isaac lifted Pippy from Bill’s cart, she turned her face away from her old home next door. It hurt seeing Billowness Cottage with all of its windows boarded up, a daily reminder of all she had lost.
Uncle Isaac kicked the gate open and carried Pippy inside. The cottage reeked of salt and damp and the fish stew that Ferg was cooking as they walked in.
‘What’s happened, Isaac?’ cried Ferg, scurrying from the hearth.
Pippy had few memories of her life without Ferg. He’d been her mama’s family brownie for generations; she’d adored him. Nobody knew his age, only that he wasn’t your typical brownie. Most never left their cottages – like Geordie, the Wheatons’ brownie, who was always in the bakery – but it was rumoured that Ferg used to go to sea with Uncle Isaac.
‘Pippy fell into the sea,’ said Uncle Isaac, shaking his head as he carried Pippy to her bed, placing her gently upon it. ‘She got knocked off by a wave.’
‘Oh, Mither forbid,’ said Ferg, wide-eyed. He knew very well that Pippy swam like a fish, just like her mother before her, and that she could hold her breath underwater for two minutes. ‘Are you orright nowt, Pippy Cocklebiddy, daughter of Claudine?’ Then Ferg hissed at Uncle Isaac. ‘Were you not watching her? How could you let this happen?’
‘I’m fine,’ interrupted Pippy, trying to smile at Ferg through her blue lips.
‘Leave it off,’ said Uncle Isaac. ‘It were an accident. You know she’s got better sea legs than all of us.’ Then he whispered to Ferg. ‘She’s been feeling dizzy again.’
‘No wonder, with all the fretting she does – and she eats like a bird,’ complained Ferg, stoking the fire and pumping the bellows by jumping up and down on the arm.
‘Change into dry bedclothes, Pippy bairn, and hop into bed,’ said Uncle Isaac. ‘I’m going to warm a hot stone for you.’
Pippy’s bed was in a snug little alcove off the kitchen. Uncle Isaac slept in the room upstairs, and Ferg slept in a cosy, quilt-lined cupboard in the kitchen. Yes, the cottage was small, but it was perfectly fine for the three of them.
As Pippy peeled off her wet clothes, she noticed more small rings on her body.
‘There are circles all over me,’ said Pippy, calling out from her alcove. ‘They don’t hurt or anything.’
She slipped into her bedclothes – a long shift of soft linen and fluffy socks knitted by Ferg – and waited for Uncle Isaac to speak. But he said nothing. Neither did Ferg. That was unusual.
‘Is it a rash? Am I sick?’ asked Pippy, her throat as thick as sea fog.
‘No, no, my little cockleshell,’ said Uncle Isaac, coming in to towel dry Pippy’s damp hair. ‘It’s nothing to worry about.’
As Pippy traced the circles with her finger, a memory flashed before her eyes. Her forehead tingled, which it did whenever something was right and true. She realised she’d seen marks like these before. She’d seen them upon her very own mama’s arms. And her legs. Many a time. How could I have forgotten? It was as if her mind had kept hold of these memories, secretly tucking them away.
Closing her eyes, Pippy cast her mind back to when she was a wean waddling along the river with Mama. They were standing on rocks by the river mouth with a bucket of fish, and Mama was tossing them into the sea. She was feeding something – something huge and beastly. But that was all Pippy could remember. It left her feeling more than a little confused.
‘Come on, bairn,’ said Uncle Isaac, dragging Pippy from her memories. ‘Into bed now.’
Pippy was too tired to speak as Uncle Isaac placed a warm stone at her feet and tucked her in. Ferg climbed onto her bed, placing his ear to her chest to listen for a rattle. There was none. The little brownie fussed around her, touching her forehead to check for a temperature, before tucking her in again.
Papa’s old dog, Mussels, appeared, pushing his wet nose into her hand. How Pippy loved him! Mussels still whimpered every time Uncle Isaac and Pippy went to sea without him, but his seafaring days were long gone due to failing eyesight and creaking joints.
‘Hey, boy. How are you?’ said Pippy. Mussels gave a soft whine as he snuffled her. ‘I’m fine,’ she whispered to him, and he panted as he grinned at her.
‘Go on, then,’ said Uncle Isaac. He didn’t like the dog on the bed, but he knew Pippy couldn’t sleep without him by her side.
‘Come on, boy,’ said Pippy, and she helped Mussels up. He smelled a little, but not like Buccaneer. His was just an old, wet doggie smell. Mussels burrowed into her side and rested his head in the crook of her arm, his eyes never leaving her face.
Uncle Isaac sat on a small chair by her side, and Ferg climbed up at the end of the bed to sit near her feet. He pushed a finger deep inside his left nostril and Pippy shuddered as she watched him pick something out, which he began to nibble.
‘That’s disgusting,’ said Pippy, feeling a little queasy.
‘It were just a wee tasty one,’ giggled Ferg.
‘What did you see down there, Pippy bairn, beneath the water?’ asked Uncle Isaac, ignoring Ferg. ‘Weren’t you scared?’
‘No, it was beautiful,’ said Pippy. ‘It was cold, but I felt warm. And safe. It felt like … like before everything happened with Mama and Papa. Like I was home.’ She searched her uncle’s eyes and he nodded.
Uncle Isaac paused for a moment, as if he was trying to decide upon something. He wrung his ropey old hands together and tugged on his beard, before exhaling with a huff and shuffling to the fireplace. Reaching up high on the mantlepiece, Uncle Isaac retrieved a small drawstring bag.
‘I only remembered where this was today, bairn,’ said Uncle Isaac, his voice earnest and his eyes apologetic as he opened the little bag. He removed something that he pressed into the palm of Pippy’s hand.
Pippy’s eyes widened when she realised it was the golden octopus amulet, the one that Mama had worn all the time. As Pippy clutched it to her chest, her heart swelled like a sea sponge.
‘Mama was down there,’ Pippy whispered to Uncle Isaac, her voice trembling. ‘I heard her.’
Uncle Isaac nodded again. Ferg stopped digging in his nose and sat very still, staring at Pippy, wanting to hear more.
‘She was holding me,’ said Pippy, and her eyelids began to droop. She felt so very tired. With the warm amulet in her hand and the reassuring weight of Mussels beside her, the last thing she remembered was hearing her uncle and Ferg talking quietly by the fire.
‘It’s time, Isaac. Pippy Cocklebiddy needs to know. She wants her – not you, you old galoot,’ muttered Ferg. ‘It’s her duty nowt.’
Need to know what? Who wants me? What’s my duty? worried Pippy, but she couldn’t fight the wave of exhaustion that was engulfing her, and she fell into a deep slumber.
Pippy was floating down, down, down to the bottom of the sea. She exhaled, slowly releasing all the air from her lungs. She dropped like a pin and watched air bubbles rise up past her face, growing bigger and bigger as they rose to the surface. Weightless and free, Pippy watched the light above her dwindle. Everything around her turned into vibrant shades of blue and green. It was quiet, so very quiet. Her breathing softened. Fronds of kelp swayed with the current.
As Pippy drifted in descent, there was a flash of something behind her – no, it was below her. What was it? She turned in the water, but couldn’t catch sight of it. As she spun, she glanced above and she saw a huge fur seal floating down towards her.
She watched it twirl, head first, in perfect spirals like a falling leaf. It was then that Pippy realised the seal was sound asleep. Its long-lashed eyes were securely shut, and as it whirled by, it had the most serene expression on its sweet little face.
The fur seal landed with a gentle bump on the bottom of the sea, settling in between rocks. It awoke briefly and fluttered its eyelids. But it quickly shut them, rolled over and went straight back to sleep, rocking with the motion of the sea.
Pippy closed her eyes, then, and slept too. She felt herself being cradled, as if she were a baby again. She knew that she was being held with precious care and that she was loved. Pippy couldn’t explain it; she only knew that she felt a wonderful lightness. That everything was going to be all right.
Pippy stretched and yawned and rolled over in bed. She snuggled into Mussels, who heaved a sleepy sigh beside her. It was the first time Pippy had dreamed, and not had a nightmare, since Mama had gone.
The next morning Pippy awoke and lay in bed, thinking about her dream and what had happened yesterday at the bottom of the sea.
Her tumble into the ocean had left her so exhausted that she had slept through a whole day and night. She could hear Uncle Isaac and Ferg bickering in the kitchen, which wasn’t unusual, and they banged and clanged pots as they made porridge and honeycakes for breakfast.
‘Get out of my way, you old galoot,’ Ferg told Uncle Isaac.
‘You’re in my way,’ said Uncle Isaac.
Slipping out of bed so as not to wake Mussels, Pippy pulled on her petticoat and tatty dress. She retrieved the octopus amulet from under her pillow and looped it around her neck, the weight unfamiliar but not uncomfortable. She tugged a thick gansey on over the top of her dress before she stepped into the kitchen.
‘How are you feeling this morning, bairn?’ asked Uncle Isaac.
‘I’m fine,’ said Pippy, staring at him intently.
Uncle Isaac went to say something, but he hesitated, and a strange silence hovered between them. Pippy never felt like this with Uncle Isaac – they were two fish in a craypot. Something’s wrong, fretted Pippy.
‘We need to talk, bairn,’ said Uncle Isaac, pulling a rickety chair out from the kitchen table.
Ferg placed a bowl of porridge in front of Pippy as she cautiously sat down.
‘There’s something important …’ said Uncle Isaac, tapping his fingers on his temple before lapsing into forgetfulness.
Pippy tried to coax it out of him. ‘What is it, Uncle Isaac?’
‘Oh, Mither,’ sighed Ferg, rolling his eyes. ‘We’ve just talked about this, you old dolt.’
‘Oh, aye. I remember now,’ said Uncle Isaac. ‘Pippy, there’s something important you’ve been born to do.’
Pippy slid to the edge of her seat, perched like a cormorant drying its wings.
‘Your grannie did it, and your mama did it,’ said Uncle Isaac. ‘When we lost your mama, I took it on for a bit to give you time to grieve, to adjust to your situation. But it’s you she wants, not me, bairn. It’s time for you to take it on.’
‘Take what on?’ asked Pippy. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘Crusty craypots, I’m trying to tell you, Pippy bairn,’ cried Uncle Isaac. ‘Your mama was the Keeper of the Octopus – and now so are you.’
‘The Keeper of the Octopus? What is that?’ said Pippy. For a moment, she wondered if Uncle Isaac was making this up, but the expression on his face was serious.
‘You’ve started in the wrong place, Isaac!’ Ferg scowled. ‘You must tell her about the Octopus and the Sharks.’
‘But I know that story already,’ said Pippy, more confused than ever.
‘You do?’ Uncle Isaac asked.
Pippy nodded. Of course she did. Every child in the village grew up hearing that tale. It was folklore. A long time ago a shark attacked a Portablow fishing boat as it sailed up the river with its catch. A giant octopus who lived at the river mouth fought with the shark, saving the fisherfolk and their livelihood. And from then on, an octopus had always lived at the river mouth to protect the fisherfolk from sharks. At least, that was the story.
‘Well, then, bairn,’ said Uncle Isaac. ‘The octopus that lives at the river mouth has always had a Keeper. To protect it, you see, and to keep it close. You’re now the Keeper of the Octopus.’
‘I didn’t think the tale was true! I thought it was a myth,’ said Pippy. ‘But why would I be the Keeper?’
‘Well, it were your great-great-great-great-grannie,’ said Uncle Isaac, closing his eyes as he counted the generations, ‘… the bright spark that she were, who first trained a giant octopus to live at the river mouth to protect the village fisherfolk against the sharks, and to keep the balance of the sea.’
‘One of my great-grannies trained a giant octopus!’ cried Pippy, astounded. How do you train an octopus? Pippy could hardly believe it. But, slowly, things began to fall into place in her mind, like stones dropping into the river, creating ripple after ripple. She remembered her mama with the large creature by the river mouth, and the bucket of fish in her hands. She thought of Mama’s octopus amulet. Could this be why Mama had always worn it? And why an octopus pattern was knitted in their ganseys?
Pippy clutched the amulet around her neck, her eyes closed tight. She tried to remember Mama at the river mouth. The bucket of fish, the huge creature. She remembered … a tentacle, creeping out of the water and wrapping itself around her mama’s foot. She had wanted to cry ‘look out!’ before it got Mama. But the lone tentacle just stroked Mama’s foot. Mama laughed and spoke lovingly to the creature, the same way that she spoke to Pippy.
Pippy gasped, opening her eyes. How could Mama have been the Keeper of the Octopus without Pippy noticing? She’d known Mama to sometimes be a little mysterious. She always collected buckets of fish from Stinger Ray, but never brought them home. She scribbled in a big diary that Pippy was never allowed to see. And she was always at the river mouth.
‘But aren’t giant octopuses meant to be huge and beastly?’ said Pippy, her voice rising.
‘Argh, no, Pippy,’ said Uncle Isaac. ‘Octopuses are harmless, highly intelligent creatures. Being the Keeper is a great honour, bairn, and a great responsibility. Now, this ancient role has been handed down for generations, from your great-grannies all the way down to your mama, and now it belongs to you.’
Pippy put her face in her hands. ‘But I’m just a bairn. I don’t know what to do.’
‘Come, now. Your mama left you a book about it – the Keeper’s Book – that will answer your questions, bairn,’ said Uncle Isaac. ‘Octopuses are territorial, so all you need to do is feed her to keep her hanging around. Octavia’s den is beneath the rocks at the river mouth. She likes company and being talked to and whatnot. You just make sure she’s happy – that sort of thing. Her ladyship has got one enormous appetite, I can tell you that much.’
‘She?’ asked Pippy, wide-eyed and still reeling.
