A Brief History of Montmaray (23 page)

‘I’ll take Mother–’ Simon began.

‘No,’ said Veronica at once. I could tell what she was thinking – that the two of them would take the rowboat and leave us here to die.

Simon must have gathered this, too. He flushed and clenched his jaw. ‘Fine,’ he said. ‘Sophia’s the smallest, I’ll take her.’

At some point in the past, I might have dreamt of Simon choosing me above everyone else; of Simon and I together, alone in a boat as sunset drew close. But I looked at the raft and all I could think was, ‘They went to sea in a Sieve, they did. In a Sieve they went to sea! And when the Sieve turned round and round, everyone cried, “You’ll all be drowned...”’

‘Perhaps we should just wait here a bit longer,’ I remember saying feebly, but no one paid me any notice and the next thing I knew I was crawling towards Simon, who was kneeling in the middle of the raft and holding out a hand to steady me. The raft dipped under our weight, sending icy water sloshing over our calves. Then Carlos leapt into the sea with a great splash, drenching both of us. I turned quickly to Veronica, intending to give her my precious journal for safekeeping, but already the current had wrenched us away.

‘Veronica!’ I screamed.

‘See you soon!’ she shouted bravely. She raised her arm in farewell. It cast a long shadow – the sun was sinking. Beside me, Simon was lying flat, trying to steer with a long plank, but it was no good – the water was too deep, the swirling currents too strong, the walls of the Chasm now out of reach. Everything was moving much too fast. My stomach heaved in protest.

‘We’ll just have to wait till we reach a smooth spot,’ Simon panted, dragging his makeshift paddle up. ‘Then try and steer towards the other wall ... aargh!’

A rush of dark water came at us, just as another wave slammed into us from the side, and suddenly we were whirling around wildly, clutching at each other and at the edges of the raft with numb fingers. Like the Jumblies, my head was green and my hands were blue, except in my case it was from seasickness and cold. I retched and shivered as wave after wave of salt water slopped over the tilting surface to which we clung. At one point, I felt even death might be preferable to much more of this.

Mustn’t give up, have to get to the boat, for Veronica’s sake,
I told myself, over and over again. Then I remembered

Carlos.

‘Carlos?’ I spluttered. ‘Where...?’

‘Look out!’ cried Simon, and jerking around, I saw a black cliff looming towards us with frightening speed. Dizzy, not even sure which side of the Chasm it was, I flung out the paddle to stop us crashing headfirst into the rock. The paddle snagged, held for a second, then snapped like a twig. We spun around and glanced against the cliff face, the raft shuddering beneath us. I flung myself sideways. Grabbing a jutting rock, I clung on grimly until somehow, miraculously, the raft managed to wedge one corner of itself into a crevice.

‘Well done,’ said Simon weakly, raising himself to his knees. I turned around, and stared in horror. The firewood cave was hidden from view, but far behind us, on the other side of the Chasm, lay the smoking ruins of the castle. The bombs had finished the job Napoleon had begun on the curtain walls. The gatehouse was missing its roof and leaned precariously into the courtyard. The library tower was a pile of rubble. I thought of the little black cat, the nanny goat I’d left tethered by the cucumber frames, the hens, Spartacus. I closed my eyes, overwhelmed with grief.

Then there was a splash beside me and Carlos slopped his heavy paws onto the raft.

‘Oh, Carlos!’ I sobbed, hugging his sleek head. ‘You made it!’

‘We almost didn’t,’ Simon said, pointing over my shoulder. Another ten yards and we would have been at the open mouth of the Chasm and headed out into the deep blue waters.

‘Now what?’ I said, wiping my face with my sleeve. It seemed that any sudden movement would send us back into the maelstrom. But the cliff was craggier here, with sharp rocks to loop our rope over or cling to with our finger tips, and slowly, painfully, we made our way around the curve of the cliff, Carlos bobbing beside us. At last we reached a spot where it was possible to clamber onto the rocks. We hauled the raft above the high tide mark in case we needed it later (although I had no intention of setting so much as a toe on it ever again) and we crawled and crawled until we reached the top. I collapsed in the prickly grass while Carlos shook himself vigorously. Turning over onto my back, I was amazed to discover my journal had survived the trip, thanks to the leather binding. It was a bit damp and the ink had blurred at the edges, but it was still legible, mostly. I was less surprised to see my fingernails were shredded and my palms scored with gashes, although I felt no pain; my hands, and indeed most of the rest of me, being numb with cold.

‘We’d better get on,’ said Simon. The sun was close to the horizon, sending out streaks of red and orange through the clouds. Alarmed at how dark it had grown in the past few minutes, I let him tug me to my feet and together we stumbled off towards the village. It looked more abandoned than ever, with only a few cottages still intact. The wharf was undamaged, but the gig was at the bottom of the bay. The
Queen Clementine,
though, had fortuitously been pulled up behind a boulder. We even found a spare set of oars.

‘We’d better have a look in the cottages, see if we can salvage anything,’ said Simon. Alice’s cottage was lop-sided, one wall battered and the roof fallen in at the side, but we found matches, candles and a flask. We filled the flask from the water tank, having a deep drink ourselves first, then turned to retrace our path to the boat.

Night had fallen by that stage. There was a sprinkling of stars and a curve of white moon, but the cloud cover was thick and the breeze kept blowing out the candle that Simon had lit. We stumbled along, pitching into rabbit holes and tripping over rocks, guided largely by Carlos. Finally we reached the rowboat and tugged it down to the water’s edge.

Relieved that at least it wasn’t raining, I grasped the oars, wincing as the splinters cut into my grazed palms. Simon offered his handkerchief to bind them but, certain his hands were in even worse shape, I refused. We pushed off, Carlos at the prow, and started back the way we had come. But the tide had reached its height and the currents were against us. Worse, in the darkness, we had to rely on the sound of the waves against the rocks to navigate. If we were to drift too close to the cliff, we’d gouge a hole in our hull; too far away and we’d risk being swept off into the open sea. And after each stroke of the oars, I stiffened, straining my ears for the faint drone of an aeroplane, Anthony or the Germans, either one. I heard nothing, though – nothing but the crash of the waves and the increasing whine of the wind. Then we reached the churning mouth of the Chasm and I had to give up on listening for aeroplanes because I needed to put every bit of energy into heaving at the oars. A red pain flared in my shoulders and burned down my spine; my thighs ached; my hands felt rubbed raw.

‘Where
are
we?’ muttered Simon.

After ten minutes of rowing, we seemed to have made little progress; indeed, we’d been whirled about so thoroughly, I wouldn’t have been surprised to find we were now heading back where we’d come from. The darkness was even denser now that we were surrounded by tall cliffs that shut out the stars and the moon. I peered ahead, hoping to catch sight of the drawbridge, but saw nothing I recognised.

Simon cupped his hands around his mouth. ‘Mother! Veronica!’ he shouted. We waited, shaking with tension and cold. ‘Did you hear something?’ he asked.

I nudged Carlos with my foot. ‘Woof!’ he said.

‘Wait, was that...?’

‘Woof! Woof!’

‘Soph?’ came a faint cry.

‘Quiet, Carlos!’ I said. ‘Veronica!’

‘Keep shouting!’ yelled Simon. The voice seemed to be coming from behind us, to the left. We wrenched hard on the oars and hauled the boat around. Before long, we were passing under the dangling remnants of the drawbridge (I wasn’t sure how we’d missed it the first time) and the firewood cave emerged in the gloom. It was already knee-deep in water; Veronica and Rebecca had climbed onto a rock ledge, but were soaked. There was nowhere for us to tie up, but we managed to get close enough for the two of them to clamber in.

‘Worried you wouldn’t make it back ... till daylight,’ murmured Veronica. She was clutching her satchel and had her eyes closed. Rebecca had quickly crawled to the furthest point of the rowboat from Veronica and was now an unmoving, blanket-swaddled lump.

‘Mother?’ said Simon, but Rebecca stayed obstinately silent. Neither of them had expressed any gratitude for their rescue, marvelled at our bravery or offered to take over the oars. I felt a bit put out. Simon must have felt the same way. He sighed heavily. ‘Well, come on then,’ he said to me.

And we rowed back to the cove, a far easier task now that we were moving with the current. I gave Veronica a brief account of our adventures, but she seemed to have fallen asleep and I was too busy with the oars to shake her awake. I felt more and more disgruntled. It wasn’t terribly late, after all, and sitting in a cave for an hour or so shouldn’t have been all that tiring for her. We finally reached the cove and Simon leapt overboard to pull us in.

‘Veronica, wake up,’ I snapped, dropping my oars with a clunk. The cloud had peeled away from the moon and a faint silvery light now reflected off the water. Veronica was revealed as a pale figure slumped against the side of the boat. ‘Veronica?’ I said, grasping her shoulder.

She murmured something. I bent over and touched her cheek. Her skin was icy. ‘What...?’ I started, and then I saw that her jersey was stained with streaks of red.

‘Simon!’ I screamed.
‘Simon!
Rebecca, what happened? What did you do to her?’

I pulled Veronica upright and she winced, cradling her right arm. I reached for it, shoving aside the ripped sleeve. Blood pulsed from a gash along her wrist. There were more cuts crossing her palm.

‘Simon!’ I shrieked again, but he was already splashing over, taking in the scene in an instant. He tore at his shirt-tails as I sloshed handfuls of sea water over the wound – I had the idea that it was antiseptic – and together we wrapped the makeshift bandage around her arm as tight as it would go.

‘Let’s get her out of here,’ said Simon and we pulled Veronica free of the boat, onto the rocks. Rebecca had wandered off towards the cottages and I felt a surge of rage –
she
was responsible for this, I knew. I had no energy to waste on her, though, not just then. I propped Veronica up, held the flask to her blue lips and made her swallow some water. Then I tried to rub some warmth into her other limbs, while Simon secured the boat and retrieved the satchel.

‘How’s she doing?’ he said, dropping down beside me a few minutes later.

‘Fine,’ said Veronica weakly.

He snorted. Together, we dragged her up and staggered off to the remains of Alice’s cottage, which seemed like the best shelter we’d find tonight. Rebecca was already there, crouched by the door and poking through the clutter. I snatched her damp blanket away, tucked it around Veronica and settled us both in the corner furthest from the damaged wall. Carlos curled himself beside her and whined.

‘What happened?’ I snarled over my shoulder at Rebecca. ‘How long has she been like this?’

‘Mother?’ said Simon. But she was ignoring him, too. ‘Look,’ he said to me quietly, ‘we’ll sort it out in the morning, I’m sure it was just some kind of accident.’

‘No,’ mumbled Veronica, ‘came at me...’

‘Does she have a knife?’ I whispered urgently.

Veronica shook her head. ‘Axe ... threw it ... in the water.’ The bandage had already soaked through and she was shivering violently. I tried to remember the best treatment for blood loss, but beef tea and a warm bed was all that came to mind.

‘Light a fire,’ I told Simon, but the fireplace had been destroyed, there was no dry wood and the wind whistling through the broken wall would have snuffed it out in an instant. Simon muttered something about the next morning and passing ships.

‘What passing ships?’ I shouted. ‘There aren’t any, not any more! And we need help
now!
Your crazy mother’s ready to murder us in our sleep – that’s if we don’t die of cold first or, or the Germans come back to finish us off!’ And I broke into jagged sobs then, unable to voice my worst fear – that Veronica’s life was trickling away as I watched. Carlos leaned over her and started licking my face.

‘Look, there’s nothing else I can do!’ said Simon, clutching at his hair. ‘Nothing!’ At that, Rebecca rose to her feet and staggered off outside. ‘Oh, for God’s sake!’ he burst out, and he turned on his heel and went after her.

I sniffled, pushed Carlos away and wiped my face. Dragging the satchel nearer, I saw that Veronica had stashed the Bible in it. I would gladly have used it to light a fire, but even it was damp. Beneath that were more useless objects – my parents’ wedding photograph, some handkerchiefs that were too small to serve as proper bandages, a comb. At the bottom were some peppermints left over from the Christmas hamper. I tried to feed them to Veronica, but she lolled against my shoulder, impossible to rouse. I choked back another sob and fumbled at her neck for her pulse. It was slow and weak.

Then Simon crashed back into the cottage.

‘Ship!’ he panted. ‘About a mile off!’

My heart clenched. ‘The Germans!’ I said. ‘They’ve come back to see what their bombs did!’

‘No, no,’ said Simon impatiently, jerking at my arm. ‘Come and see!’

‘But ... oh, all right! Carlos,
stay.
’ And with a backwards look at Veronica, I stumbled off after Simon, who still had a bruising grip on my elbow. The moon was higher and brighter, tracing a broken path across the rough sea and illuminating a small black ship. The outline was vaguely familiar and I was sure Henry could have identified it at a glance. But was it Otto Rahn’s ship, its blue swastika flapping like a skull and crossbones? Or something else, one of the fishing trawlers that used to pass by regularly, an American cruiser, a cargo steamer?