The Valley of the Lost

The boat, filled ankle-deep with rainwater, was bobbing at the river’s edge. No doubt it had been pulled onto dry land when the last of the pirates came ashore. But the river had risen since, and set it afloat. If it had not been tied to a tree, it would have drifted away.

It took a matter of moments for Barda to untie the rope while his companions crawled into the boat, Kree fluttering after them. By the time the big man clambered to the oars, they were already beginning to move into deeper water.

Shouts and screams from the trees still pierced the drumming of the rain. Not far away, the pirate ship strained at anchor. Two portholes in its side glowed like eyes. Lief had not noticed that before. Frantically scooping water from the bottom of the boat, he peered at the ship’s deck, looking for a sign of movement.

Meanwhile, Barda was struggling with the oars. But he was not expert at the task, and the swollen waters of the river surged around the boat, fighting his every movement, pushing them downstream.

“The current is too strong for me! I do not know if I can get to the ship,” he roared, shaking his wet hair from his brow.

“You must!” Jasmine cried. And only then did Lief realize how desperately she wanted Dain to be saved. She had said nothing before, appearing to accept the boy’s loss with the calm she always showed in the face of disaster. But now that Dain was so near, she could not face the thought of leaving him behind.

Gritting his teeth, Lief threw down the pail and crawled to the rower’s bench. “Make way!” he shouted, and squeezed himself down beside Barda, seizing an oar. He had never rowed before, but he had seen the pirates do it only days ago. He thought he could copy what they had done. Together he and Barda bent forward, pulled back, bent and pulled again.

The extra weight upon the oars began to take effect. Slowly, painfully, the boat drew nearer to the pirate ship. Then there was a shout. A shout, not from the shore, but from the ship itself.

Lief glanced around. A figure was standing on the deck, waving frantically. It was Dain. A smaller figure capered by his side, a lantern swinging wildly in its hand. Lief realized that it was the odd little thieving creature Dain had called a polypan. The pirates must have left it onboard with Dain. And somehow he had persuaded it to set him free.

Dain had lifted a coil of rope attached by one end to the boat’s deck. He began swinging it, as if he was about to throw.

“Here!” exclaimed Jasmine. She staggered to her feet, holding out her hands. The boat rocked dangerously.

“Sit down!” roared Barda. “You will have us over! Lief, row!”

Then Jasmine gave a cry, Kree screeched, and the boat jerked and rolled. Lief glanced again over his shoulder. The dark shape of the pirate ship, its glowing porthole eyes staring, loomed very near.

Dain had thrown the rope, and Jasmine had caught it. The slender line stretched tightly between the two rocking craft. It seemed that surely it must snap, but though it creaked and thinned, it did not break.

“I cannot hold it!” Jasmine shouted. Already she was leaning perilously over the bow, water foaming just below her head. Filli was chattering with fear on her shoulder, unable to help, terrified of falling. Kree fluttered beside them, screeching in panic.

Barda dropped his oar and scrambled towards them. He took the weight of the rope in his own powerful hands and heaved. The boat lurched and wallowed in the swell. Lief grasped both oars and did his best to fight the current alone.

“Go back, Dain!” he heard Barda shout. “We will come aboard!” Again Lief risked turning to look. Dain, with the polypan close behind him, was climbing frantically down a rope ladder that hung from the ship’s side directly between the shining porthole eyes. The polypan still held the lantern. It looked like a third eye, an eye that flickered and swung.

But — Lief squinted through the rain — the other two eyes were flickering as well. And surely they were brighter, far brighter, than they had been before.

“Dain!” Barda roared furiously. “Dain! This boat is too small. We cannot —”

Dain must have heard, but took no notice. He turned and made ready to jump, clinging to the ladder with one hand. His hair was streaming with water, plastered to his head. His face, gleaming in the lamplight, was desperate. Above him the polypan gibbered and swung, shaking the ladder in panic.

Then Lief smelled smoke, and understood.

“Fire!” he shouted.

As the word left his mouth there was a roar from somewhere in the ship’s belly. The portholes shattered and jets of flame belched from them. Great cracks opened in the ship’s side, and the gaps were filled with raging fire. The rain hissed and steamed as it hit the burning wood.

Dain and the polypan leaped together, crashing down into the rowboat. It tilted sideways, a great wave of water surging over the side, throwing Lief backwards, tearing the oars from his hands.

The boat righted itself again. It wallowed in the swell, rapidly drifting sideways, weighed down by two extra passengers and the water that swirled inside it. Stunned by his fall, Dain lay slumped against a seat as Jasmine bailed frantically and Lief and Barda scrambled for the oars. The polypan screamed, clinging to the point of the bow. It knew boats. It knew all too well what could happen to this one.

Cries of rage rose from the riverbank. The pirates had heard the noise, discovered the loss of the boat and seen the fire. Lief, grimly trying to keep the boat steady, saw their shadows leaping in the glow of the lantern they had lit once more. But that tiny glow was nothing compared to the inferno that the ship had become.

It seemed incredible that fire could rage while rain poured from above and angry water rushed below. But the fire had started below the deck, and roared out of control through the stores.

“It was the polypan!” Dain shouted, pulling himself upright. “It threw a lantern into the cabin under the deck where the oil, grease, and paint are stored. The rain and the pirates’ beatings have driven it mad!”

As has its longing for the brown gum it loves to chew, perhaps, thought Lief, staring at the screeching, long-armed figure clinging to the bow. Ah, how it must wish it had never left the River Queen.

“We must get away from the ship!” Barda roared over the rain. “If it begins to sink it will pull us down with it!”

He and Lief bent again to the oars. But their clumsy efforts were of little use. Nothing seemed to stop that perilous sideways drift. As fast as Jasmine bailed, more water splashed over the side.

The polypan shrieked, its eyes glazed with terror. Then, without any warning, it suddenly sprang from its place at the bow and leaped for Lief and Barda, thrusting them aside and seizing the oars itself.

Cursing, Barda lunged for it.

“No!” shouted Lief. “Leave it! It can row far better than we can. It can save us all!”

With two deft sweeps of the oars, the polypan turned the boat. Then, back bending, powerful arms bulging, it began to row. And as if the boat recognized that at last it was in the hands of an expert, it began to cut through the swell like a knife through warm butter. In moments it had pulled clear of the burning ship and was heading straight across the river.

Jasmine continued to bail and as the water slowly disappeared from the bottom of the boat their speed increased. Soon the burning ship was far behind them. They knew that ahead was the broad, straight water of Broad River, and the bridge that arched over it. Ahead, too, was the sad village of Where Waters Meet, and the little jetty that bore the River Queen sign.

Filli chattered excitedly, snuffling the air.

“We are very close!” Jasmine exclaimed. “We are almost at the bank!”

The polypan turned, baring its brown, chattering teeth. Its arms did not stop their work for a moment, but its eyes seemed to burn as they searched the darkness.

Water swirled around them as the swollen waters of the two rivers mingled. The boat raced forward. It is like cutting through a whirlpool, Lief thought, gripping his seat. If the polypan was not rowing, we would never survive this.

But the next moment, the polypan was not rowing. It had jumped from its place, abandoning the oars. It was springing to the bow and leaping past Jasmine and Dain — out and away into the darkness.

There was a thump, and the sound of running feet.

“The jetty!” Jasmine screamed.

Wildly she leaned from the boat, snatching at the piers of the old jetty, at the pole that supported the River Queen sign. But the raging water snatched the boat away before she could take hold. Then the boat was being swept down the river, spinning, spinning. One of the dragging oars dug deep into the water, pulled free, toppled into the swirling tide and was lost.

Barda lunged for the other, but reached it too late. Before he could grasp it, it had followed its fellow.

Then the companions could do nothing — nothing but cling to the sides of their lurching craft, as the treacherous waters swept them away.