Quest for the Sun (12 page)

I said the worst word I knew — then I was smashing through the bushes after him. I reached the place he'd gone over in moments: a tempting screen of leaves just dense enough to conceal the crumbling precipice; a tell-tale skid-mark, a half-uprooted shrub, and a single, pathetic square of toilet paper impaled on a twig.

I knelt, parted the leaves and peered cautiously downwards. ‘Jamie?' I called. ‘Are you OK?' It was a steep slope rather than a sheer drop, I saw with relief, and there seemed plenty to grab onto on the way down; but if he'd fallen onto rocks, or twisted his leg under him as he fell — well, with Jamie's weight …

There was a muttered ‘Trust Jamie …' behind me. Rich.

‘I'm going after him.' I swung my legs over the edge ready to start half-climbing, half-sliding down — and then Jamie's voice drifted up from way below, slightly shaky, but unmistakably triumphant. ‘I'm OK — well, almost. But guess what? I've found the heart-shaped bay, and something else as well. Something you'll never believe in a million years! Come and see!'

 

Very carefully, and way more slowly than Jamie, we made our descent, Blue-bum in the lead. And there at the bottom was Jamie, muddy, scratched and beaming, busting to show us his discovery.

There was no doubt we were in the right place. The bush-covered cliff-face reared behind us; gazing up, I could see that the bay would be completely hidden from above. If Jamie hadn't literally stumbled on it, we'd have walked right past.

The rocky sides of the tiny cove extended out to sea like protective shoulders, and between them nature had carved two identical crescent-shaped inlets, side by side, the exact shape of a heart. Curving beaches of fine white sand sloped down to the sea; between them, where the two halves of the heart joined, was a pointed outcrop of flat rock, bisected by a deep cleft extending down to the water.

‘A heart is broken
…' murmured Gen.

‘Yup, we've found it all right — way to go, Jamie!' said Rich with satisfaction. ‘Though you were lucky not to hurt yourself. What on earth were you doing so close to the edge?'

At Rich's first words Jamie had swelled with pride; now he deflated like a popped balloon, turning pink. ‘I
was
lucky,' he admitted, ignoring Rich's question. ‘I landed on those bushes …' He pointed. Sure enough, the cliff met the ground in a cascade of lush green undergrowth. It would be like falling on a mattress, springy and resilient. ‘Fell right through them — and look what I found.'

He parted the branches and we peered into the leafy gloom. It was so well hidden that at first I couldn't even see it; but then I made out the blunt end of what looked like a pole lying on the ground, and beside it a curved rise of tight-sealed planks.

‘It's a boat!' squawked Gen.

‘It's more than that!' corrected Jamie. ‘It's a
cradle-craft
— I'm betting the exact same one Meirion set sail in with Zenith all those years ago!'

It didn't take us long to haul the little boat out of the thicket and over to the water. Then, with the bow pointing out to sea and the blunt stern safely on the sand, we stood back to admire our find.

It was solid-looking and seaworthy, plenty big enough for the five of us, plus one little chatterbot. But it wasn't a seagoing galleon, that was for sure. ‘Cradle-craft' was about right: a simple dinghy with three bench seats and a tiny cupboard built into the pointed front.

‘Is it a rowboat, d'you think?' asked Gen, giving it a doubtful prod with one foot.

‘I hope not,' said Kenta. ‘I don't fancy rowing all the way to Limbo, wherever that is.'

‘Well, it's not a motorboat, that's for sure,' said Rich. ‘And you can relax, Kenta: it isn't a rowboat. There are no what-d'you-call-thems?'

‘Rowlocks.'

‘Yeah, them; and no oars either.' His face clouded.

We all stared glumly at the boat. The question was all too obvious, and none of us had an answer.

‘Hang on, though,' I said suddenly. ‘I thought I saw …' Back to the bushes I went, and burrowed inside. Yes! There was the pole I'd caught sight of earlier. A couple of tugs and it was lying on the sand: a smooth length of timber with two cross-pieces.

‘So,' said Jamie, ‘it's a sailing boat, and this is its mast.'

‘Give me a hand, guys.' Rich was struggling to hoist it upright. ‘It'll slot in that hollow cylinder sticking up from the floor. I wondered what it was for.'

‘If there was ever a sail, it'd have rotted away years ago,' said Gen. ‘But look at these cross-pieces. They're hinged, to make a long kind of clamp …'

‘And there's a spring-loaded metal clasp at each end to hold them tight,' grinned Rich.

‘So it doesn't have to be the actual sail, anything would do. To take a random example: our trusty
tarpaulin!' As he spoke, he was throwing stuff out of his bag; last of all out came the bright blue plastic tarp. Rich shook it out with a crackle and held it up.

‘It looks about the right size,' said Kenta. ‘Come on, Gen: help me with this side!'

Together we stretched the tarp out flat; Blue-bum scampered up the mast and clamped the top: it fitted perfectly and in no time the sail was rigged.

The little boat looked jaunty and ready for anything. Rich dumped in the gear and rubbed his hands. ‘In you hop, let's give it a trial run!'

Jamie and the girls clambered in, and Blue-bum settled himself on the little triangular seat in the bow, hanging on tight. ‘You can be our figurehead,' said Kenta. ‘That seat could have been made for you!'

Rich and I heaved and with a rasp and a wobble the boat was floating. Rich flopped down on the sand and yanked off his boots and socks, then waded into the water after it. He didn't have to go far: it was still wallowing within easy reach of the beach. Rich scrambled in and the boat tilted dangerously, to squeals of alarm from Kenta and Gen. He settled himself at the back, one hand on the tiller, every inch the captain and they all sat there, waiting for something to happen.

It didn't.

It was Jamie who finally spoke, in an aggrieved tone. ‘But … it isn't going anywhere, Richard.'

‘Well,' said Rich a touch defensively, ‘it won't till there's a wind.'

‘But,' said Gen, ‘
When twain is one and one is twain Wind blows and sun shines forth again.
Remember? If we wait for the wind, we'll wait forever.'

‘Or at least till Adam and Zenith are together,' amended Jamie.

‘But that isn't going to happen till we get to Limbo,' Rich pointed out.

‘And we won't get to Limbo or anywhere else until the wind starts to blow,' said Kenta.

There was a silence.

And that's when I remembered.

‘Well, even if it
is
a sail I don't see how it can possibly help,' grumbled Rich as we manhandled the boat back onto the beach. ‘I know you think old Meirion is the best thing since sliced bread, Adam, but fifty years' solitary confinement in a pitch dark dungeon with water dripping on your forehead would be enough to send anyone off their rocker.'

Jamie was examining the cloth I'd extracted from the depths of my pack. ‘It's definitely magical,' he announced; ‘it has that tingle. But who says it's a sail? It could be a magic tablecloth that covers itself with food when you spread it out …'

‘In your dreams, Jamie,' retorted Richard. ‘And now, if you've finished drooling over it, how about giving us a hand?'

It wasn't long before the blue sail had been replaced by a far more flimsy white one. But even if it was the sail Meirion had originally used, it would be as useless as the tarp had been with no wind to fill it.

‘But we may as well try doing it Adam's way,' said Gen kindly, with a sympathetic glance at me.

Feeling like a spoilt toddler, I tossed Rich's boots along with my own into the bottom of the boat and gave Jamie and the girls a hand back in. They took up their places, but the excited anticipation of the first launching was noticeably absent. Jamie was muttering about lunch, and Kenta and Gen were busy hatching a plan to send Blue-bum to the top of the cliff to fill the water bottles. As for Rich, he was standing high and dry on the sand, arms akimbo, an
I told you so
look on his face.

I gave the boat a rather half-hearted shove and it shot forward as if the sandy beach was a greased slipway. Blue-bum, who'd been perched on his special seat, flew backwards to land in a tangled heap with the boots and smelly socks. I staggered after the boat into the icy water, grabbing for the back with one hand, the other windmilling wildly to keep my balance. My fingers snagged the wooden edge and gripped it tight — and the next thing I knew I was being dragged through the water at a flailing run.

Without thinking, without time to wonder what was happening or why, I threw myself forward in a headlong lunge and heaved myself over the back of the boat, landing on top of Blue-bum in a jumble of knees and elbows. Rolling over, I gawked up at the others' shocked faces and past them at the sail, in stunned disbelief.

The flimsy white cloth that had drooped so forlornly when the boat was aground was fat-bellied and straining with nonexistent wind that was propelling us out to sea at an alarming rate. Scrambling to hands and knees, I stared back at the beach. Already, a widening expense of water separated us from land. Rich was a rapidly dwindling silhouette performing an agitated war-dance on the sand, waving his arms and yelling, ‘Come back, you guys!
Come back!
'

‘The tiller!' gasped Jamie, pointing.

I knew less than nothing about boats, but I grabbed the wooden lever with both hands and pushed; then yanked it towards me. It didn't budge. I threw my weight on it, at the
same time searching frantically for something that might be holding it in place. There was nothing. I heaved again with all my strength but it might as well have been set in concrete.

‘It's jammed. Quick, Blue-bum, climb up and undo the clamps! We have to get the sail down!'

Already Gen and Kenta were fumbling with the clips that secured the bottom edge; Jamie seemed completely immobilised, his face a picture of woe. As for me — uppermost in my mind were jubilation and relief.
Yes!
Meirion had come through! The sail was magical and once we'd collected Rich it would take us straight to Limbo in double-quick time!

Then Gen spoke, and something in her voice wiped the smile clean off my face. ‘The clamps won't undo. The sail's stuck! Adam,
do something
— quick!'

There was only one thing I could do. I cupped my hands round my mouth and yelled.
‘Richard! We can't turn back! Swim for it — before it's too late!'

For a moment he stood frozen and I thought he hadn't heard me. I sucked in a giant breath and raised my hands to try again, choking down the panic pushing up inside me. But then, as if a starting pistol had fired, Rich sprinted down the beach and flung himself into the water in a shallow racing dive.

The sea around us was silvery and still, only the smooth swell of the boat's wake disturbing it. But behind Richard it churned white and foamy, as if he was being driven by an outboard motor. His arms scythed through the water, his head flicking first one way, then the other as he breathed. ‘Wow,' breathed Jamie enviously, ‘he sure can swim!' I remembered what Rich had told us on the banks of the River Ravven: he was freestyle champ at school. Watching him now it was easy to believe.

‘He's gaining,' Gen whispered. ‘He has to be!'

And he was. The gap between his thrashing figure and the boat was shrinking. Blue-bum skipped about, jibbering with excitement; Gen raised clenched fists in the air and jiggled up and down like a cheerleader shrieking, ‘Go, Richard!
GO!
'

Kenta was kneeling, leaning out over the water with outstretched hands as if she could somehow drag him towards us by sheer force of will … but then she raised a tear-streaked face to us: a face sick with despair. ‘He's slowing,' she said flatly.

Richard was exhausted. His rhythm had gone; the motion that had been so fluid and effortless had become choppy and uncoordinated. The beach was a thin pale line in the distance, the cliffs dark smudges on either side. If he didn't make it to the boat, he wasn't going to have the strength to get back.

He was close enough now for us to hear the ragged gasping of his breaths over his splashing strokes — only the width of a tennis court away — and still the little boat sailed on. Jamie thumped to his knees, scrabbling frantically in his pack. ‘The rope!' he panted. He thrust a coil of red nylon into my hands. ‘You do it!'

I'd only get one chance. Richard's arms were all over the place, his head bobbing up with every stroke; we could see desperation in his face. I wound the free end of the rope round my hand and threw.

The thin nylon curled up and out, unravelling, snaking through the air and over the shimmering water like a serpent. Up, out and down. It wasn't going to be long enough, I realised with a gut-wrenching jolt of despair; it wasn't going to reach.

Richard gave one last sweeping lunge forward, reaching with one hand like an Olympic swimmer stretching for the finish line — and the rope snapped tight, almost jerking me out of the boat.

I threw myself backwards, feeling the others grab whatever bits of me they could reach; heard my voice shouting hoarsely over and over again: ‘Hang on!
Hang on tight!
'

Then Rich flopped half-into the boat on a freezing wave of seawater and we were dragging him over the back and in, gasping and spluttering and shivering with cold and cussing a blue streak with what little breath he had left.