Magnus Fin and the Moonlight Mission (8 page)

In the village hall, the St Andrew’s ceilidh had begun. Tam was there on the accordion and Johnny on the fiddle, tuning up. Jeanette was passing round sausage rolls and Wendy and Francis were welcoming the newcomers, Frank and Martha from America.

Out at sea, Frank’s fishing boat was about to run out of diesel. Not that Frank had any inkling of that. Nor did the boat’s skipper, Tarkin.

On the flat rocks by the cave, Aquella was struggling to stay awake. It had been so long since she had been this close to the sea. The swish of the waves breaking over the skerries soothed her. The tang of the salt sea that she so often dreamt of filled her lungs. She hadn’t been this close to home for months. She felt more relaxed than she had ever felt as a land girl. In front of her the waves lapped, running up the stony shore then rippling back. Up and back, up and back. Aquella, eyelids drooping, kicked off her uncomfortable human shoes, bunched a tangle of seaweed into a pillow, laid her head down upon it then closed her eyes and slept.

Deep under the sea, swimming in wide strokes through twisting caverns and over ribbed plains, Magnus Fin had never felt stronger. He was in deep water now. He could
feel the weight with every stroke. When he needed to rest he treaded water. Below him, on the seabed, blue lobsters scavenged on a rotting shark. Fin shivered and kicked his webbed feet.

Through wide basins teeming with fish he swam, grateful that the many weird and wonderful marine creatures, though curious, didn’t seem interested in making a boy in a wetsuit their next feast.

A huge octopus with long tentacles swirled upwards and brushed his cheek. The longest worm he’d ever seen, like a writhing giant’s bootlace, looped around Fin’s foot, then recoiled and slunk off. Bright, round sea urchins lay in their thousands on a carpet of red and green seaweed, and dead man’s fingers waved as he glided by.

He had met no seals yet; slithering darting eels, huge shoals of glistening salmon, trembling luminescent jellyfish, he’d even heard the deep bass song of a whale, but seals were nowhere to be found.

Seals would have been good company, but the lack of them made Fin focus on the mission ahead. It was a green staring eye he was searching for, weeping brown oozing tears. He needed to find the crack in the rock and somehow put a stop to this poisonous creature, then quickly find Miranda and give her the medicine.
Somehow.

Fin glided above the ghostly remains of a sunken ship wondering,
How?

He followed a shoal of glittering herring. Biting his lip he had to admit to himself, he had
no
idea how he was supposed to put a stop to this poisonous creature. There was something about that eye that turned his
spine to butter. But he, Magnus Fin, had defeated a great monster, hadn’t he?

At that moment a jellyfish brushed his face. Fin winced and pushed it away.

Miranda!
he called, but only the sound of waves booming against rocky caverns called back to him.
Miranda!

It was then the terrible thought hit him that maybe he was too late. What if Miranda was dead? Panic rushed through him. The great Neptune was far away. And where was Miranda? Fin felt like the tiniest boy in the deepest ocean. And, he realised as his panic grew, this tiny boy was lost.

The ocean seemed fathomless. There were so many dark caverns, so many forests of kelp. It all looked the same. Should he turn right? Or left? Frantically he glanced around. Which way now? He twisted round in the water.

Where are you?
he called to any selkies that might hear him. Even a fish might show him where to go.
Don’t leave me alone!

The deep silence of the sea was the only reply.

The sea that only moments before had seemed friendly and exciting was suddenly menacing. The swaying seaweed and plankton were now tantalising witchy fingers out to get him. Under his wetsuit a trickle of sweat ran down his spine. Which way should he go? Back the way he came? Or even deeper down through the dark sea? He grabbed his moon-stone.

Instinct!
The word flashed into his mind. “If you’re lost, follow it, son.” That’s what his dad had said. “Selkies have a kind of marine radar, like a compass.
It’s in our nose, it’s in our belly. It tells us the way to go.”

Fin clapped his hand on his belly. His dad was right. Instantly Magnus Fin knew where to go. The panic left him. He twisted his body to the left and swam on, deeper.

In the immensity of the ocean one green eye was a pin-prick, but suddenly Fin was following a map in his mind. He
would
find it,
and
the cause of this sickness. As he swam he remembered the underwater cities Sargent had mentioned in school. He scanned the dark waters beneath him. He saw sea anemones, kelp and waving fronds of bladderwrack, but no sunken city. No glimpse of Atlantis. Only rocks, studded with mussels, barnacles, limpets and cockles. But a rock, Fin reminded himself, was what he was seeking.

Fin dived deeper to examine the rocks. One in particular beckoned him, a small dark rock that stood alone, wedged into sand and sludge. Fin swam closer. His heart skipped a beat. Upon that rock, in silvery wavy writing, the letters M F stared up at him.

Fin slapped his hand on his belly but could only feel the thudding of his heart.
Hey!
he shouted out in his underwater thoughts.
I’m here to help. I came! I’m here to help the selkies. I’ve brought medicine. Hey! M F, that’s me. Is there anybody there?

Nothing answered. Only a faint thudding sound, as though someone, or something, far in the distance, was thumping a battering ram against a rock door.

Hey, dude! What’s with the human?

Little diver gone and got himself good and lost, looks like to me.

And me.

No wrecks here, diver boy, just us dudes.

Fin was surrounded. He twisted round but they had him covered.

Diver boy looks discombobulated, dontcha think, guv?

That’s the word, Spike. Or dontcha mean dislocated? Ha ha. Will be soon!

The gang of fish swam closer. Teeth flashing. Wide mouths pulsing. Rusted hooks hanging from festering lips. Faces puffing up. Eyes blinking.

Fin gulped. There was only one course of action – politeness.

Pleased to meet you,
said Fin.
So, um, how are you all doing?

The gang leader glided even closer – so close its sharp white teeth came into biting range. Magnus Fin could see these teeth had been in some scrapes. Most were crooked and broken and rotten. And half of them weren’t sharp or white at all. Fin could see a whole sorry life story in this set of teeth, to say nothing of the rusted fish hooks festering away in its lips. One fish hook stuck out from the ugly fish’s face.

Don’t suppose you have dentists down here?
Fin asked.

The gang leader chattered its teeth. They sounded like castanets. The other hoodlums laughed.

Think he taste good?
Spike, the teeth-snapper said, slobbering.

Bit thin, boss. Bit scrawny. Them divers are always rubbery and thin.

Politeness didn’t seem to be working. The gang looked hungry. They circled him menacingly, fin tails swishing, slapping Magnus Fin in the face.
So what are you doing here?
Fin asked, trying to protect his face with his hands.

We’re just cruising. We’re hanging loose. Just loafing around.
Fin got the idea.
We’re just seeking amusement.

Fin groaned and put his hand on his belly. They weren’t so clever, these fish. If politeness wasn’t going to get him out of this scrape, wit would have to.

Seen any more divers around here?
Fin asked the big boss, the one with the hook in his face.

Big boss sneered. Those puffy, wounded lips parted. Fin shrank back, wondering – was this a fish smile?

Yes, big fellows? Huge shoulders?
Fin went on.
They were here a second ago.

Big fellows, you say?

Huge. Enormous. Really fat.

Which way they go, shrimp face?

Yeah, you tell us or we’ll eat you and spit you out!
That was the scaly sidekick, who had so many hooks stuck in his mouth he seemed to have a metal beard.

For a second Magnus Fin thought about his escape from the sunken ship. That was nothing compared to the amount of escapes this gang had been through.

The fat guy went that way,
said Fin, pointing into a deep kelp forest.
He’s probably hiding in the fronds.

As quickly as they had appeared, the gang of ragged hungry fish flicked round and headed for the forest.

Magnus Fin was ready to swim away fast when underneath him a clam shell opened, and out scuttled the little crab. It darted round behind a rock, and Fin, not knowing what else to do, dived in next to him. The rock was big enough to hide behind. Magnus Fin hunched down close to the crab.

You just wait here till the coast is clear,
said the crab.

Fin could feel the tickly prickly movement of the crab crawling up his arm and coming to rest on his shoulder. Fin adjusted his eye-lights by blinking and let a soft glow fall upon the small pink creature with the tiny red eyes.

So M F,
it said,
what took you so long?

Look,
said Fin,
I hope you don’t mind me asking but – who are you exactly?

The crab clicked his pincers together and seemed to consider Fin’s question.
Let’s just say I work for the boss.

The boss? Who exactly was the boss? And though Fin had barely thought the thought, the crab was quick to answer.

The Big N.

The Big N. Who’s that? A newt? A nurse shark? A narwhale?

Come on, Magnus Fin. Get that brain in gear. You’ll need it for the job ahead.

But what job? I don’t understand.

How about less talk and more action
… And with that, the crab was gone, away from their hiding place and scuttling through the water at a rate of knots.

Fin kicked his legs and swam. Once again he found himself following this mysterious crab.
And who,
Fin shuddered as he swam in fast wide strokes through the water,
or what, is the Big N
? Suddenly it dawned on him. He swam faster.

Hey! Crab! Do you mean Neptune?

The crab stopped scuttling and swung round, its red eyes flashing through the dark water.
Congratulations, M F – you got it!

This underwater adventure seemed to be taking longer than usual. Tarkin looked at his watch and felt the first quiver of anxiety. Magnus Fin had been gone four minutes. That had been three toffees and a swig of orange juice. Tarkin thanked his lucky stars for a calm sea and a bright moon – and for the circle of pine trees around the village hall. Apart from one fleeting jab of seasickness he felt fine. Yes, the calm seafaring life was definitely for him. He didn’t much fancy being tossed about on a choppy ocean with the rain coming at him sideways and sharks hovering nearby.

Sharks! Drat!
He tried to push the thought away, tried to picture happy looking dolphins and gentle kind-eyed seals. Why did he have to go and think of sharks? Now he couldn’t get them out of his mind: tiger sharks, great white sharks, basking sharks, bull sharks. They grew enormous. They glided through the infested water to theme tunes and circled his tiny fishing boat. Reef sharks, goblin sharks, lemon sharks. He stuffed another toffee into his mouth and chewed furiously. He peered longingly into the water.
Fin!
he thought.
Buddy! Where are you?

He looked up. In the distance he could make out dark shapes of rocks and cliffs. Tarkin chewed his lip. If he wasn’t mistaken, land was further away than he thought. Although the sea seemed still as a millpond there must, Tarkin reckoned, be some movement or swell to it. In four minutes of drifting Tarkin had travelled a fair distance out to sea. His worry level rose. He swallowed the toffee, gulped noiselessly and stood up fast, making the boat rock like a cradle. He staggered over to the outboard motor and turned the key.

The small engine puttered, spluttered, coughed out a dark puff of smoke and died.

Tarkin would have screamed if he’d had a voice to scream with. Here he was, the captain of the rescue vessel, and now it was he who needed rescuing. He whimpered soundlessly and his body shook like a leaf. Towel, torch, sweets, rope and blanket weren’t much good now.

That’s when his foot bumped up against something. He knelt down and fumbled at his feet. If he could have, he would have shouted for joy because he had just found the oars. It had been a long time since he and his dad had taken a rowing boat out on the lake in Canada. But Tarkin remembered what to do. “Put your back into it, son,” that’s what his dad had told him.

Quickly he got to work, hauling up the heavy oars and linking them into the round oarlocks on either side of the boat. Panting hard, he managed to secure the oars. He had seen rowers on the television. They never looked where they were going. It seemed dangerous but Tarkin reckoned these strong men on the television probably knew more about rowing than he did.

So Tarkin sat down facing out to sea. He dipped the oars into the water and pulled. It was hard work. He put his back into it. The water dragged at the oars. Tarkin heaved them through the water for all he was worth. Was the boat moving? He hoped so. He kept rowing.

At least he had forgotten the sharks!

For one so tiny, the crab swam fast. Fin followed, clutching his moon-stone. He had a strong feeling that the green eye he was seeking was close by. He would need every ounce of courage he could summon. The fish gang had been bad enough. Magnus Fin shot a few glances behind to check that he’d lost them. He caught up with the crab and as they darted through the water Fin tried to make conversation.

That ugly fish gang must have had more escapes than I’ve had hot dinners,
he said, shuddering at the memory of the festering sores and rusting fish hooks.
They must be really strong to wrench themselves away from fishing lines.

The crab’s thoughts travelled swift and clear.
Strong? Those bullies aren’t strong. They range the seas looking for weaker creatures to bully. No, they’re not strong. Fishermen just saw how ugly they were and threw them right back. I don’t blame them. Now, where is it?

Where’s what?

The canyon. Ah yes, this way. Come on, quick.

You’re not going to disappear again, are you?
Magnus Fin asked, somehow knowing what the answer would be.
It would make me feel better knowing you’re around.

Don’t worry, I’ll be around. I’m always around. You know, even if I vanish from time to time, I’m still around. Oh, and
don’t worry about the bullies,
said the crab.
If they come back just threaten to pull their fish hooks. That’ll send the fear of a tsunami into them. Right, here we are. A job for you. Are you feeling strong, M F?

Um, crab … what job am I supposed to do?

The crab fixed Magnus Fin with his piercing red eyes. This, Fin could tell, was serious.
The boss is away on another job. Miranda is working flat out to save her people. Listen well – Neptune told me to call on you. You have the combined power of land and sea. And you’ve already proved yourself a hero for us. Something behind this rock is poisoning the sea. The selkies are dying, Fin.

Fin stared at the crab. He felt a lump rise in his throat. Neptune, the great sea king, had asked for his help?

Crab,
Fin said, finding his voice,
I think there’s another monster behind this illness. It has a scary green eye. I know – I’ve seen it.

Well, now’s the time to go and put a stop to it,
the crab said, adding, as Magnus Fin knew he would,
cos this is where you and I bid each other bye-bye. Good luck, M F. I’ll never be far away. So long.

And with that the crab disappeared.

Magnus Fin didn’t ask where he was supposed to go. He knew. He swam alone through a cavern studded with barnacles and shining shells. He came to mighty crags and canyons where it seemed faces of wizened men and mighty warriors had been carved. A feeling of déjà vu came over him.
I have been here before,
Fin thought.

In bits it came back to him. Yes. This was the place. Somewhere near here was the rock with a face. On he swam, in and out between the great rock shapes. His thoughts turned to his grandmother Miranda. The last
time he had seen her on the beach, a veil of white sat over her eyes and she had seemed afraid and weak. Miranda was queen of the selkies. She was strong and beautiful. She couldn’t die. And Shuna? Would she be locked in that sunken ship for ever?

The memory of the weeping rock came back to him, and Fin fumbled to fit his goggles. They would keep the brown sludge from seeping into his eyes. He pulled them on and was plunged into night. They might stop his eyes from stinging, but his torch-lights, it seemed, couldn’t penetrate through them. He couldn’t see a thing.

Magnus Fin was close to the rock. He knew that. His nostrils told him so. A sickly metallic smell caught at his throat. He grasped his moon-stone with one hand and placed his other hand over his belly.
Stay alert,
that’s what his instinct told him.

Sightless, he reached his hands out and felt through the thick water. Hearing a bang he drew back, afraid. Was that the beating of his heart? Or was it the same muffled thudding sound he had heard before?

He strained to hear. The sound grew louder. And louder.

Blindly he followed the awful noise, groping forward through the water, trying to imagine he had an eye at the tip of each finger. One moment the banging sounded like a whale trumpeting, the next like a messenger knocking at a castle door. Trails of plankton brushed his face. The dull battering went on and on.

Fin reached forward and the palms of his hands grazed against hard rock. His fingers landed in something jelly like. He winced. He felt a thin gap in the stone. More of
the oozing jelly smeared his fingers. Fin drew his hand back and clutched his moon-stone. This was it! He had finally arrived.

The banging stopped. An eerie silence hung around him. Where was the green eye? Staring at him through the crack in the rock? Fin couldn’t tell. But the source of the selkies sickness lay behind this rock. Of that he was certain.