Jamrach's Menagerie (24 page)

Some were easy, some were hard. I could get tunes for al but Skip, and with him I couldn’t decide between a whimsy and a lament. Nowhere clearer than the ocean for a good bright state of being, of fal ing with constant clarity into the vortex inside, of sleeping with eyes wide open and waking on a sudden thump of the heart – I jerked awake to the sound of singing down below. Sometimes it felt as if the stars out there, far from al land, were screaming. Hundreds of miles blaring at your head. So beautiful, that night, waking in the sky with the screaming stars al round my head. I shivered. The others below seemed mil ions of miles away and I feared that I might fal . I’d never felt like this before and wondered if I was getting sick again, but after a moment my head cleared, and fifteen minutes later the bel rang and I went down.

First thing I saw was John coming to take my place.

Second thing I saw was the dragon come striding, fast and hungry, humping high shouldered along the deck behind him with its monstrous muscled forelegs lifted high and its claws splayed. Its long stony face was smiling, and the white circles round its eyes made it look quite foul, as if it was staring madly. A pale tongue like a snake darted in and out, a foot or more. At that moment I was back in Ratcliffe Highway, eight years old, and the tiger walking towards me.

The same impossibility. Only this time I was scared.

Clack-a-clack went the dragon’s claws. I yel ed at John:

‘For God’s sake, the dragon!’ and he looked back and gave an almighty yel , and after that it was al madness.

We ran down larboard. Clack-clack it came after, scrabbling for hold on the boards. Everyone was lounging around, a more peaceful scene there could not have been til we burst through with the beast after us, and al hel broke loose. It ran wild about the deck, and so did we. The ship became a stage ful of bobbing marionettes, running and shouting, the starry black sky stil roaring. Tim jumped up on the tryworks. Joe and Bil were on the windlass. Four or five vanished sharp down the fo’c’sle companionway, and the rest of us rushed this way and that in utter confusion.

Simon’s fiddle got kicked along the deck. Everyone was drunk, the dragon on freedom. Its claws skidded on the boards and it plunged into the side of the ship, snapped like a turtle, twitched round in a circle and charged furiously into a little knot of men that jumped in al directions. John Copper, Felix, Henry Cash, Yan. Yan shouted in a deep throaty fear-voice. Mr Rainey bel owed somewhere like the wind. Skip appeared from behind the windlass, wild-eyed.

Mr Comeragh grabbed my shoulder. ‘Up, boy, Jaf,’ he said.

‘Drive it with me, come.’

Dan Rymer, drunk to hel , grinning like old Father Christmas, stood on a barrel with his arms outspread as if conducting a band, his cap awry and his dirty curls wet, shouting: ‘To me! To me! This way!’

I stuck by Comeragh. Comeragh was a good sane man.

‘That way, Jaf!’ cried Comeragh.

I had no idea what I was doing. Comeragh’s long legs flashed along the opposite deck.

The dragon came fast my way and I nearly brained myself banging into Bil y Stock, both of us trying to flee. I heard Tim’s voice cal ing plaintively, ‘Jaf! Jaf!’ and Skip sobbing. I have no idea what real y happened, we were al just running about shouting, and the clack-clack of sliding claws was everywhere. Next thing I knew I was running after Comeragh and there was the cage with the door wide open, and Skip’s sketchbook lying splayed, some of the pages bent.

Comeragh said, ‘You stay here, Jaf, get on top ready to close the door when we get him in,’ and I jumped on top of the cage. Everything suddenly came clear into focus. I couldn’t see past the windlass, I didn’t know what was going on, al the shouting and yel ing and crashing. I was al a-shiver with my teeth rattling and there was a serious smal voice in my head saying, This is bad, this is al very, very bad and you’re not ready. And I was alone, miraculously. Then suddenly the dragon appeared in front of me, its muddy head raised up, dark-holed with flat nostrils and ear holes and those beady black eyes ful of guile, pink-ringed. There was something about them that brought my guts up to my throat. Its tongue flicked, then it opened its cavernous mouth and closed it again, got up on its hind legs and put its great clawed hands on top of the cage. It could reach me. Its arms were like thick old trees that had been growing for ever.

Long yel ow flick of a tongue, and an immensely wrinkled throat as wide as a washboard. It looked deep into my eyes and it was not like meeting the eyes of a dog or a cat, or even a tiger. There was nothing there that I could fathom, no mercy, no malice. It was a cold soul I looked into. It would kil me, tear me with teeth. None of it would matter.
I
would matter no more than a green shoot that pushes through the earth and is cropped by a passing sheep.

Comeragh appeared, harpoon poised. The dragon was fast. It flicked round like a fish, the harpoon flew wide and clattered off the edge of the open door – then al so fast I don’t know how, Comeragh was down on the deck and it was running, snapping and slavering, he was pushing himself back, heels sliding, kicking at it, but al to no avail, for it opened its long, crocodile mouth wide and sank its teeth into his leg just below the knee and he let out one almighty scream that brought everyone running. It gave a shake of its head that snapped Mr Comeragh’s head back on its stem, let go and charged through the yel ing mob, which spun about as if stirred in a pot and gave chase. I jumped down, saw Abel Roper fal on one knee next to Comeragh, heard Comeragh cursing heartily and steadily through his teeth. I ran with the others. There was the horrible thing with its fat legs pumping and scrambling back along the larboard deck.

And then the end came suddenly, as ends do, a flood of hatred, a bursting tide of it that drove the creature overboard.

They poured from the hatches and down from their safe perches, a screaming yel ing tide which I joined in triumph.

We were legion. We came from both sides and it had no chance. Someone loosed the bolts and opened up the ship so we could drive him over, and down he went, sprawl legged and ridiculous, a splayed fool walking on nothing, kicking at the void, then – an explosion, a hole in the black ocean receiving one more offering.

Gone.

A cheer went up. We gripped the rail, leaning forward and looking over. He must have sunk a fair way down because it took as long as a few breaths in and out for the great block of his head to punch through. Another cheer. He dived once more, deliberately; then up, the shake of a great humped back, a circle-turn of movement, purely graceful. And away he swam, front legs paddling the wave before him, due northwest on a steady course, away into darkness never more to be seen.

Tim was beside me at the rail. Dan Rymer stood behind, put an arm round each of our shoulders, breathing ale.

‘There goes our fortune, lads,’ he said softly. ‘There goes our fortune swimming away.’

‘How did it get out?’ the captain roared.

‘Skipton!’ Rainey grabbed Skip’s shoulders. ‘It was you, wasn’t it?’

‘It was you, wasn’t it?’ Skip said, with a simpleton smile on his face.

‘You were there, I saw you. You let it out, didn’t you?’

‘You let it out, didn’t you?’ Skip repeated.

Rainey struck him hard across the face and he went down.

‘Mr Comeragh’s got a nasty bite,’ Sam Proffit said, appearing at the captain’s side. ‘Bloody.’

‘Fool!’ Rainey’s boot slammed into Skip’s side. ‘That thing could have kil ed someone. Get up! Get up, you son of a whore!’

Stil vacuously smiling, Skip shakily rose, one hand vaguely hovering before his brow.

The captain’s face wore a look of exaggerated calm, but he was tight with fury. ‘Mr Skipton,’ he said, ‘you have endangered the entire ship.’

Skip laughed, a harsh loud hack that burst from his throat.

Blood burst out of his nose at the same moment and dripped down his front and onto the floor.

‘Are you mad? Are you mad, Mr Skipton?’ the captain shouted. ‘What have you done? Do you know what you have done? You could have kil ed someone!’

Skip shoved his hands under his nose to catch the flow.

‘Speak,’ the captain said. ‘What the devil got into you?’

‘Nothing,’ said Skip.

‘Nothing! Nothing! You are insane. We should have put you ashore at Cape Town.’

‘It was …’ Skip said.

Mr Comeragh came walking lopsided, leaning on Abel Roper. He didn’t look too bad, but there was a lot of blood on his breeches.

‘Mr Comeragh,’ the captain said, ‘this fool let it out.’

‘Why?’ asked Comeragh, looking at Skip.

‘It told me to,’ Skip said.

Rainey hit him across the face again.

‘Do you realise the value of that creature?’ the captain said.

‘Value? Value?’ Skip shouted right into his face.

Proctor blinked sharp and his voice went up a notch. ‘We have had enough of you, you, Mr Skipton, you have ruined this endeavour. We had succeeded! We were bringing back a great new wonder of the world. Mr Rainey! Put him in irons!’

‘By al means, sir,’ said Rainey.

Funny how things change in a second. Skip burst into tears, no longer a mysterious and irritatingly knowing boy, just a kid snivel ing for his ma. His nose ran and his breath piled up in sobs in his throat.

‘This is bad,’ said Abel, meaning Comeragh’s leg.

‘How bad?’ snapped Rainey.

‘Very,
very
bad.’

‘Oh, God in damnation!’ Rainey’s eyes looked hol ow. ‘Kil the fool.’

‘What happened?’ asked Dan, his calm voice in the middle of it al . ‘What happened, Skip?’

Mr Comeragh sat down on the deck suddenly, and Abel peeled back the bloody cloth. ‘It’s the swel ing, sir,’ he said, looking over his shoulder at the captain. ‘That’s what’s got me a bit worried.’

Mr Comeragh’s leg had blown up like a fat sausage.

‘I might want to be lancing that, I might. Looks like a snake bite sort of thing, that’s poison in there, that is.’

‘Hurts like fucking mad,’ said Comeragh tightly.

‘Nothing to worry about, sir,’ Abel said brightly. ‘We’l just get you below deck and cut this boot off and you’l be up and about quite soon. Sam, give us a hand.’

‘I thought I gave orders,’ Dan said. ‘No one goes near the beast but myself and Jaf Brown. Why was this boy al owed anywhere near?’

Not a word. It was me, I let him go there to draw.

‘Al owed?’ Proctor turned with a look of outrage. ‘He was not al owed! Surely, Mr Rymer, it was your duty to set a watch upon such a valuable animal.’

‘Certainly, if there was a man to spare twenty-four hours a day, but there isn’t,’ said Dan. ‘An order’s an order and should be obeyed.’

Proctor turned on his heel and walked round in a smal circle that brought him back to face Dan. ‘Mr Rymer,’ he said, ‘you and your boys were responsible for the animal’s welfare. The animal has gone. You are the one who must explain this to Mr Fledge. For myself, I thank God the damned thing is off my ship. Damn you, Skipton. Put him below!’

Henry Cash and Gabriel led Skip to the hatch, him blubbing and wiping his nose on his sleeve. The captain stomped away up onto the quarterdeck, where his plump figure could be seen motionless in morose contemplation of the eastern sea for more than an hour.

Early morning. A vast canopy of cloud covered the sky in the west, black and slate grey and white. Rough sea, dark grey.

Upon the quarterdeck the captain and Mr Rainey. Bil y Stock aloft. Wilson Pride in the cookhouse soaking hardtack, Joe Harper careful y mending Simon’s fiddle, Felix Duggan yawning, Yan straddling a spar, a knife in his mouth and a rope in his hand.

First thing Dan told us Mr Comeragh was stil poorly from the bite. Bled a lot, he said. It had stopped now, and Abel had lanced the swel ing, but he’d got a nasty fever. Sam was keeping an eye on him.

‘Wil he be al right?’ I asked.

‘I’d say so.’ Dan looked tired. ‘I have to write a report.

Know what he told me? Skip?’

‘What?’

‘Said he was taking it for a walk around the deck.’

‘Jesus.’

‘Here, Pol y-dog,’ said Tim, and laughed.

‘Boys,’ Dan said, ‘don’t worry, you’l stil do wel out of this.

We never thought we’d find the thing in the first place, did we? You both did wel . I shal make that clear.’

Then he sent us off to muck out the cage. Its open-doored emptiness made me sad. There was the imprint of a long thick body in the straw, the shedded debris of black scales.

He was a messy dragon. Didn’t care where he shat.

‘No one wil ever believe it,’ said Tim, and laughed. ‘That we real y caught it. No one wil ever believe.’

‘Jamrach wil ,’ I said, stooping to pick up Skip’s sketchbook. ‘So wil Fledge. He’l send another expedition.’

‘Think so?’ Tim leaned on his broom. ‘Wil
you
go?’

‘I’ve been thinking about that,’ I said, flicking through the pages. Dragons, demons, bars. ‘Depends. Depends what it’s like back home.’

‘Back home,’ he repeated dreamily. ‘Feels like a mirage.’

Oh I wish I was back in Ratcliffe Highway, Ratcliffe Highway across the sea …

‘Suppose we’l never be rich, me and you,’ I said, sliding the book into my pocket. It was an easy fit.