Is (26 page)

‘Wonder what we’ll find when we get to the top?’ said Joe. ‘D’you reckon the others will still be there? Or will they have bunked off?’

Is had been wondering the same thing, and had been worrying about it. For it was all very well to devise a means of getting the workers out of the mine. But what was to be done with them next? There had been no time to make further plans. They would need clothes and food; most of them were half naked. Most would probably want to go back to their homes in the distant Southland – but a big obstacle lay in between, and that was Gold Kingy. He’s gotta be dealt with now, thought Is, but how? In the wide world,
how
?

The upper mouth of the whim-gin, when they reached it, was not large: a hole about eight feet across. Dim light of dawn revealed the bulky wooden structure, the big winding-drum up above, the shaggy patient horse plodding round in a circle.

‘Right there, Dobbin, you can stop now!’

Is climbed out of the corf basket with suddenly buckling knees, and had to grab one of the wooden posts to support herself. Next moment she found herself wrapped in the bony hug of Dr Lemman, and was dazed and astounded to hear a wild shout of welcome from hundreds of hoarse voices all around.

‘Huzza! for Is, who fetched us up outa the dark.
Huzza!
’

Is gulped. Stupidly, she felt she could almost have boo-hooed, even louder than little Coppy. Instead she swallowed a couple of times, and spoke, after a moment, in thought language:

‘Thanks, cullies! But we ain’t outa the wood yet, no how; we gotta find somewhere to lodge you and feed you till we get you shifted from here. So don’t hollo too loud yet!’

‘What’s that message you are sending out to them?’ inquired Lemman, who still grasped her arm and was looking at her with close attention. She told him in words.

‘I say, dearie, that thought-transit system of yours beats semaphore any day of the week! But don’t you fret; we’re going to get ’em under wraps down there in the old post office; your aunt Ishie and the other good ladies have been boiling turnips and making britches out of mail-sacks for the past twelve hours. The colliers wouldn’t start down the hill until they saw
you
come up safe and smiling. But now I reckon it’s time for them to trudge; if you’ll just give ’em the office to start. Father Lance will show them the way.’

‘Will you all follow the old bald gent in the black petticoat!’ Is told the Bottom Layer, the grimy hopeful throng around her on the hilltop, ‘And he’ll take you where there’s vittles and togs.’

Relieved, grateful and shivering, they trooped off down the hill.

‘How did you and Arun nobble the whim-gin winders?’ Is asked Lemman.

‘Oh, all I had to do was offer them a dram, and lace it with a drop of laudanum. They’re asleep in the workshop yonder.’ He nodded towards a shed at one side of the coal-yard where they stood. From it a rail-track ran down the side of the headland diagonally to the docks and foundries below.

‘The foundries!’ cried Is in a fright. ‘What’ll happen to them in there when this big wave comes – they’re at water-level, on the dockside – ’

‘That’s all rug, dearie – your pal the cat-boy has been down and warned ’em.’

‘But if it comes sudden – ’ began Is.

‘Well, you can only do so much, dearie,’ said Lemman. ‘You can’t save the whole
world
, you know! – What’s up?’

She was looking past his shoulder in astonishment. Most of ruined old Blastburn lay visible below them, fringing the landward side of the headland, with its mangled townscape and broken buildings. A dark and windy day had declared itself, with smoke from the foundry chimneys streaked by tails of snow like strips of grimy tattered rag gusting inland. Dimly visible through the smoke, between the broken roofs of old Blastburn, through its ruined streets, wound something that resembled a black and flashing snake.

  

  

‘What’s
that
?’ said Is.

‘Oh – that – ’ answered Lemman, rather awkwardly for him. ‘That – I fear – is your grandfather’s funeral procession. Gold Kingy decided he must have the old gentleman buried with full military honours; as Grandfather of the State, or some such nonsense. I reckon that way Roy hopes to sugar over the fact that he hastened the old boy’s end by flattening his cat and wrecking his home and generally harassing him. Your aunt, I need hardly say, does not see eye-to-eye with Roy over this; although she was offered a black-and-gold landau and a leading part in the procession, she chose to absent herself from the ceremony. As I said, she is in the post office cutting up mailbags.’

‘So Grandpa did die.’

‘Not immediately,’ said Lemman with a grin. ‘He contrived to linger for six weeks in a coma; no one can say if he did it on purpose to drive Gold Kingy wild, but it certainly had that effect. Yes: if he wasn’t crazy before, he’s on the edge of it now.
You’d
best keep out of his way, dearie. Captain Podmore says he’ll be glad to take you on board – ’

Is hardly heard Lemman. She was watching the spectacle of what must have been Gold Kingy’s entire army, with bayonets flashing, musket-barrels swathed in sombre chiffon, bright standards at half-mast, and all those black chariots and black-plumed horses, winding slowly among the ruined streets, making for the main entrance to Holdernesse town and, presumably, Twite Square.

Poor old Grandpa, thought Is; wonder where they’ll put him? Is there a cemetery in Holdernesse? I’m real sorry the old boy’s gone, I’ll miss him considerable, but how he would laugh to see what’s happening now! If he’s up above (and I’m sure I hope he is, for he never meant any harm, and in his time he must have been useful to lots of folk) he must be splitting his sides at this very minute. She chuckled in sympathy.

But then, clutching at Lemman’s arm, she cried out, ‘
Murder
, Doc Lemman! Look there!’

Down the coast from the north came rolling a wave. But what a wave! It was to the ordinary lace-crested breaker what a killer whale is to a tadpole. It marched along the coast, steel-grey, iron-blue, large as a mountain, calmly and majestically chewing off whole landscapes of cliff or sand-dune as it proceeded. Behind it came eight others, equally huge.

Off Holdernesse Head the leading wave performed a gentle curtsey: as a person might tread on soft ground over a mole-run, sink, stumble, then gracefully recover and move on without breaking step. The following waves eddied and dipped likewise, but then travelled calmly on. That’s the mine smashed in, thought Is. Now the procession of waves approached the docks of Holdernesse town; they swept over the foundries like a bucket of water demolishing an ants’ nest; a plume of steam flew up and a distant explosion rocked the hill. A back-wave careered up the estuary and swept away the inky funeral procession as if it were a handful of coal-dust, entered the gateway of Holdernesse town, and then withdrew again. Its eight attendant waves followed the same course – up, back, in, out – then all of them slid away down the coast, on their southward road towards London and France.

‘Heaven help us!’ said Lemman soberly. ‘That’s the end of Holdernesse town.’

They could feel the hillside slipping and shuddering under their feet, like a sandcastle when its foundations are washed from under it. Lemman started running down the hill towards the foundries and the dock area. Is followed. Arun and Joe, at the tail of the procession of colliers, guessed their intention and came racing over to join them.

‘Perhaps somebody can be saved,’ Lemman panted as he ran.

But when they were halfway down the hill, at an elbow in the road, the doctor stopped and threw out his hands with a gesture of helpless despair. For below them there was now nothing but water; the sea had risen and covered the docks, the foundries, all the area at the foot of the headland; both arched gateways to Holdernesse town were completely submerged. All that could be seen was some wreckage tossing about, and the tops of one or two foundry chimneys.

‘There
can’t
be anybody left alive in the town – can there?’ croaked Is.

Lemman shook his head. ‘Not a ghost of a chance, dearie – see what’s happening to the hill.’

It was plain that the cave roof over Holdernesse had collapsed.

‘Stove in like a busted egg,’ said Arun. ‘Lucky we didn’t wait any longer to get out the colliers.’

Is thought of Grandpa Twite’s funeral procession, and shivered. Where was his coffin now? Washing about in submerged Twite Square among the bodies of Gold Kingy’s army? Where was Gold Kingy?

‘And what about London?’ she asked, clutching Lemman again in horror. ‘London’s low-lying too!’

‘What about the coast of Kent?’ from Arun, suddenly anxious.

‘Well – maybe the waves will have reduced in size by the time they get farther south,’ said the doctor. But he did not sound too hopeful.

‘Let’s go to the post office and help Aunt Ishie,’ said Is. ‘That’s summat we
can
do.’

To get there, they had to climb over the hill again. There was no way round. Descending the landward side, they found that Corso Mill was now within a quarter-mile of the new coastline. The lower streets of old Blastburn were awash, but the upper ones, with library, post office and rail station, were well above water-level.

Passing the library they saw on its steps the Gower family – Mrs Macclesfield, her sister, Coppy, a girl who must be Helen, and Mr Gower. He was white, drenched and shivering, but with a look on his face Is would hardly have believed it could wear.

He ran down to her and gripped both her hands.

‘Miss Twite – I cannot tell you – I do not know what to say – my boy – my niece – all restored to me – ’ He stuck there, with his mouth twisting uncontrollably.

‘Oh, well,’ said Is gruffly, ‘that ain’t no big grig – it’s jist lucky we was able to get ’em all out in time. – See here, Mr Gower,’ she went on, a sudden excellent notion coming into her head, ‘are you in charge here now? Is my Uncle Roy a goner?’

‘I – I scarcely know,’ he said, startled. ‘No one has seen him – it seems likely indeed – he and the whole funeral procession were inside the city, or entering it, when the first wave struck. I went down in a boat to reconnoitre, but any attempt at rescue is out of the question; huge masses of water are still washing about inside and, indeed, everybody in there must have been drowned at once.’

Well, Uncle Roy’s no loss, that’s for sure, thought Is. She went on, ‘Seems to me, Mr Gower, the least you can do is to ship all these colliers back home wherever they come from.’

‘That’s a capital notion, dearie,’ agreed Lemman. ‘Though of course we must bear in mind that their homes in the south may also have been flooded. Don’t you agree, Gower, that they should be sent home? There’s naught for them to do here, with the foundries awash and the mine full of water.’

Mr Gower looked much beset and moithered at having these large responsibilities thrust on him, but Arun, very unexpectedly, suggested, ‘Why not pack the lot of them on the Playland train and send it back?’

‘Ay, but what about the track farther south? It may have been flooded.’

Gower was full of doubts and possible objections, but Lemman said, ‘Just the same, that’s a decidedly happy notion, dear boy; why don’t you go round to the station directly and discover what kind of trim the train is in.’

‘What about a driver?’ said Gower fretfully.

‘The boy can look about for a driver at the same time.’

Arun nodded and ran off. He was beginning to look, Is thought, less like a cat, more like a person. I must talk to him some more about Davie, she thought, when we’ve time. I want to hear as much as I can about Davie.

They went on towards the post office, accompanied by the Gower family. Mr Gower, now that he had run into Lemman, seemed reluctant to lose sight of him, and asked him continual questions.

‘What should we do about the drowned people? All that destroyed property – houses, stores, manufactories? Should we try to compile a list of what’s gone – a list of the victims? What is your opinion, Doctor?’

‘Why,’ said Lemman rather impatiently, ‘our main duty, as I see it, is to care for those who remain alive. And here we have them,’ he added, as they walked into the sorting office.

This presented a scene of brisk but orderly activity, with Aunt Ishie and her friends very much in control. Soup, cheese and bread were being distributed in flowerpots, pewter bowls, seedpans, crocks, jugs, baskets – any vessel that could be found and brought into use. Shirts, skirts and breeches were being cut and pieced together from the old mailbags, stitched with expert speed, and eagerly received by the shivering mineworkers. A few of the Bottom Layer were already engaged in useful activity, helping their elderly hosts sort mailbags, pour soup, or fetch fuel for the great iron stove; but a large number of them appeared utterly exhausted and shocked by what they had been through, and could do no more than huddle together and tremble. Most of them could hardly see in daylight, for they had been so long underground that their eyesight had become dimmed.