Island of the Aunts

Chapter 21

Herbert was magnificent. In spite of the darkness and the choppy sea he sent the Peggoty sailing steadily towards the single light burning on the Hurricane. His hands on the tiller never faltered, he seemed to understand the old boat as he understood the sea.

Fabio and Minette sat very close together in the stern, not daring to speak. When the helicopter took off again and they realized what a wonderful mistake had been made, they had wasted no more time. While Herbert was filling petrol cans by the jetty, they had climbed aboard and down into the little cabin full of fishing hooks and ropes and tackle and pulled a tarpaulin over their heads. With luck, by the time they were found, they would be too far out to turn back.

But it wasn’t Herbert who found them — it was Aunt Etta and Aunt Coral. It had never occurred to the children that the aunts would be part of the boarding party. Dorothy was staying behind because she had sprained her wrist when she bashed Casimir with her wok and Herbert had forbidden Myrtle to come.

“You have had a shock, Myrtle, and you must rest,” Herbert had said, and that was that. But not even Herbert had been able to stop Etta and Coral.

They had never seen the aunts so angry.

“Turn back at once!” commanded Etta. “These children will not face any more danger! I forbid it!”—and Coral tried to get hold of the tiller and force the boat to change course.

But Herbert stood firm. He had sensed the change in the sea and knew what would happen to the ocean if the kraken’s son perished. Even the children did not matter compared to that.

They glided silently alongside the Hurricane. No lights were burning in the cabins; no one expected an attack. With unbelievable strength Herbert threw the knotted rope and they heard the grappling iron fasten on the wooden boards.

Within seconds, Herbert had climbed the rope and was on deck. Etta and the children followed. Coral with her bulk took longer but she did it.

They stood in silence, listening. Herbert had his knife ready. If they could cut the kraken free and push him overboard, he could swim to safety.

They had almost reached him when it happened.

The door from below opened, a beam of light was thrown on to the deck — and Lambert, in his pyjamas stood there, blinking.

The poor boy was definitely going crazy. Since the Hurricane had filled up with creepy-crawlies that weren’t really there, Lambert had been plagued by dreadful dreams. In this one he’d dreamt that Old Ursula had come to his school, sliding on her tail, and said she was his grandmother and all the boys had jeered at him and thrown him buckets of fish.

Now he came on to the deck, too afraid to wake his father, and saw a huddle of shapes creeping towards the tarpaulin where the thing that didn’t exist was lying.

He gave a cry of terror and as Herbert turned, the knife in his hand, the klaxons began to blare and searchlights raked the deck.

Ten minutes later, the rescuers had joined the prisoners in the stench and darkness of the hold.

You couldn’t really blame the police. When the helicopter landed on the Island, two little children had run straight into the arms of the policewoman and begged to be taken home.

“Take us away,” they had lisped pathetically. “We hate it here. Take us home to our mummy.”

It was clear that the poor little scraps had been abominably treated. They had not been allowed to clean their teeth and been given sweets which tasted nasty — drugged ones, the policewoman was sure. All the way they had whimpered and complained and it was clear that the aunts who had held them were as evil and dangerous as everyone imagined.

But of course the muddle took some time to sort out. The tax inspector had to come from Newcastle upon Tyne to fetch his children and no one knew whether the T-shirts and the chocolate bars should be given to them or kept for when the other children came. And the whole business of capturing the vile kidnappers and the children that they were holding had still to be done.

But it couldn’t be done at once because a great fog had come down, covering the Western coast and making it impossible for helicopters to take off, or ships to move. The prisoners had been in the hold of the Hurricane for several hours when they heard the engine judder into life.

Soon they would be off, and then…Nobody put into words what would happen once they were out in the Atlantic, but all of them knew. Why should Sprott let them live to tell the world what he had done.

In a corner, Minette was talking quietly to Fabio.

“If I could get to the kraken…just for a few minutes?”

Fabio shrugged. “How would it help? We’ve nothing to cut him free with.”

“I’ve got an idea. It might not work, but we’ve got nothing to lose.”

“What sort of an idea?”

Minette looked round. The aunts were dozing, their backs against the wall; the worm was curled round himself like a piece of worn-out hosepipe…

She moved closer to Fabio and whispered in his ear.

Fabio looked doubtful. “Remember what Aunt Etta said — that they can’t do it till they’re ready.”

“Yes, I know — but once or twice when he’s been learning a song, I thought…And anything’s better than nothing.”

“All right,” said Fabio. “Let me think.”

He sat for a while with his head in his hands. Then he went over to speak to Herbert who nodded and went over to the mermaids’ tank.

“I can’t,” they heard poor Queenie say. “I haven’t the heart.”

But Herbert was firm: “I’m afraid you must,” he said in his sensible voice.

An hour later Des came down the ladder with some bread and a bucketful of drinking water and as he did so, Queenie called to him.

“Des,” she trilled. “Could you come here a minute?”

He put down his bucket and sidled past Herbert. He could never be sure whether this was or wasn’t the man who had tried to strangle him on the point — it had been too dark to see his face — but Herbert gave him the creeps.

“I’ve got ever such a painful place here in my back,” Queenie went on. “Would you come and look, please?”

Des bent over her and Queenie tossed her hair so that it fell over his face.

“No, not there,” she fluted. “You show him, Oona.”

It was only thinking of the kraken that gave Oona the courage to come closer to the man with his horrible hot breath, but she did it, and she too tossed her long thick hair so that Des was completely covered in the mermaids’ tresses.

“Where?” he kept saying. “Where does it hurt?”

Only Boris was guarding the hatch — Casimir wasn’t good for much since Dorothy had broken his nose — and Fabio now climbed up the ladder. “Help,” he shouted. “The mermaids are being pestered. Send someone down!”

Sprott heard him and was furious. He had forbidden the men to go near the twins.

“What’s going on there?” he yelled and, as Boris turned, Fabio dodged round behind him running towards the deckhouse, while down below the mermaids began to scream.

The chase did not last long — Boris caught Fabio and almost threw him down into the hold. But Minette had been behind Fabio and managed to slip out unseen in the muddle and the fog, and make her way to where the captured kraken lay.

The kraken lay tethered and dangerously still. He still breathed but only just; his eyes were closed.

She tiptoed forward and laid her cheek against his head, and her tears fell on his face.

But Minette had not escaped from below deck to cry. She had only a few minutes to do what she had set herself to do.

“You mustn’t give in like this,” she said into his ear. “It’s wrong. You’re a brave and important person. You have to fight back.”

The kraken tried to turn his head but the ropes bit into his throat. She saw the look in his golden eyes and her heart sank. But she wouldn’t seem to be sorry for him; that was not the way.

“You must remember who you are,” she said sternly.

The little kraken sniffed and was silent.

“You must think of your father,” she went on.

“Father,” said the kraken. He seemed a little stronger when he said that and she could see he was thinking of the mighty creature who had given him life.

“That’s right.” Minette followed this up. “What does your father do?”

The little kraken sighed. It was a heartbreaking sound, as though all the sorrow in the world was coming out of his throat.

“Go on. Think,” prompted Minette.

The kraken sighed again. He was not good at simply thinking. Then:

“Smiles,” he said.

“Yes. He smiles. He’s got a lovely smile.” Minette saw the curve of the great beast’s mouth as he swam into the bay. “And what else does he do?”

There was another pause. Then: “Swims,” said the little kraken. “He swims.”

“That’s right. He swims.” Minette nodded hard, giving encouragement. “And what does he do when he swims?”

No answer.

“What does he do when he swims round the oceans of the world making everything better? Think.”

The little kraken thought. You could see him trying, but the ropes were beginning to cut into his flesh. He was too young to think through pain.

“Don’t know,” he moaned.

But Minette would give him no chance to go under. “Yes, you do. When he swims he does something else. What is it?”

Another sigh. Then: “He hums,” said the little kraken.

“That’s right.” She rubbed his head to give him encouragement. “He hums, doesn’t he? Humming is what krakens do.”

He tried to turn his head. His eyes were still bewildered.

“Humming is what krakens do,” repeated Minette. “Isn’t it?”

“Yes.” His voice was very weak but he was following her.

“And you’re a kraken,” she insisted. “Aren’t you? A kraken is what you are.”

It didn’t seem as though the poor exhausted creature could speak again, but he took a weary breath and tried once more.

“I’m a kraken,” he repeated obediently. “A kraken is what I am.”

At first she’d thought it was going to work. There had been a flash of pride in his eyes as he spoke; but almost at once he fell silent and turned away — and then Boris came and pushed her roughly down the ladder.

Now she sat beside Fabio, her head in her hands and knew that it was over. She had done all she could and she had failed.

In the darkness, the wan faces of the captives showed a wretchedness that was beyond tears. The two aunts sat with closed eyes trying to bear what they had done. Facing their own deaths was not so hard but what they had done to Fabio and Minette was not to be endured. Only Herbert was still upright, listening to the sound of the water against the sides of the ship.

Another hour passed…and another…The Hurricane’s engine had been turned off while they waited for the fog to lift, but now they heard it start up again.

Unsteady at first, fainter than before…wavering…but gradually settling into a kind of thrumming rhythm.

Except that the engine hadn’t sounded quite like that…

Fabio who had been dozing, sat up suddenly and dug Minette in the ribs.

Then slowly, wonderingly, the wretched prisoners looked at each other with a dawning hope.

The great kraken had reached the Islands of the Southern Reef. The turquoise water, the coral strands, were staggeringly beautiful.

There was little to do in this paradise. The people who lived there respected the sea and the creatures in it, and they came out to pay their respects to the great kraken, standing with bowed heads. They did not gawp or gape or stare; the legend of the kraken who healed the sea was in their stories and had been for generations.

“He does not smile,” said the old chief, whose great-grandmother had seen the kraken when he came before and told him about the healer’s mouth curving in a bow which made everyone joyous to watch.

“He is troubled,” said the chief’s wife, who was a magic woman.

“How strangely his hum is sounding,” said a child. “There are two hums, aren’t there? A big hum and a little hum.”

“It must be an echo.”

But the kraken had stopped swimming. He was quite still in the water, resting. His head was tilted. Like the islanders he was listening…listening…

What was going on? His own hum was being interfered with. It was being disturbed. This had never happened before. Sometimes there had been an echo from his hum when he swam in a ford between mountains, and sometimes the whales joined in, but this was different. What he could hear was his own hum but it was smaller.

He fell silent, and all the creatures under the water came up to look at him and wonder what was happening.

But the silence was not complete. The small hum, the underneath hum, was still there. It was unsteady, quavery…but it was growing now in strength.

A great judder went through the kraken, sending the resting birds up in a flutter from his back. He made himself absolutely quiet once more, but it was still there — this other fainter hum that wasn’t his own hum…and yet was just exactly that.

Then the people on the barrier reef saw a most extraordinary sight. The great kraken reared up out of the water — and now he did not hum. Instead he roared.

And then he turned.