Skull in the Wood (12 page)

I was having to zigzag again to reach the harbour, but I figured it might be faster if I rigged the sails to take the wind directly from behind. Goose wings, it's called. You spread the mainsail out one way and the jib in the other direction, like a goose in flight. I grimaced – geese in flight were the last things I wanted to be thinking of right now. But it was worth a try if it got me into Dartmouth before the weather really kicked up.

Dreamcatcher
plunged about a bit while I sorted everything out. But it seemed to work. With the sails spread, suddenly I could take advantage of the wind right behind my back. I could see the tower on the hill that marked the entrance, and made a course for that. We were skimming over the water like a dolphin.

Then it all went haywire.

I'd forgotten that goose wings is the most difficult point of sail. Get it slightly wrong, and the wind whips you round, and you've lost it – which is exactly what happened. One moment
Dreamcatcher
was
perfectly balanced between the waves. The next, the boom swung round with a huge crash, taking the mainsail with it.

The boat lunged over and drove hard up into the wind. The jib started flapping madly. And then, with a terrifying rasping noise, it ripped almost in half.

Dreamcatcher
bucked and floundered, totally out of control. Everything was clunking and bashing and screeching. Spray soaked me from head to foot. Above the din I was sure I could hear something else – an eerie whistling that made my hair stand on end.

This is it
, I thought.
It really is. I'm going to capsize
. The curlews, harbingers, whatever, had done their stuff. The gabbleratchet had won.

I wished I'd phoned Mum when I'd had the chance.

But I had to do something. Anything. I grabbed the mainsheet and dragged the boom in. There was nothing I could do about the jib – it was completely ruined. I wound it in to stop it flogging, then took the helm again. I knew exactly how expensive sails were. If I ever got back, Dad was going to kill me.

I wondered if I should send up a distress flare before it was too late. And I'd need to get down below and radio for help. Channel 16.
Mayday. Mayday. Mayday. This is Dreamcatcher. Dreamcatcher. Dreamcatcher.
Latitude
this,
longitude
that,
immediate assistance required.
Dad had practised it with me so many times I could do it in my sleep. Was I actually going to have to do it for real now?

I looked round at the thrashing ocean. Then, slowly, my fingers tightened round the helm. I had to pull myself together. I had to take charge. And I wasn't going to let the gabbleratchet beat me.

Years of barked sailing instructions began to float back to me.
Get a reef in the sail, you moron,
I told myself. I couldn't believe I hadn't thought of that before. It would cut the wind down and give me loads more control. I should have done it right at the beginning. If I'd had any sense.

I edged to the companionway and found the box of safety clips just inside. Yet another thing I'd forgotten on the way out. If it's at all choppy, you need to clip on to the boat in case you lose your footing. Dad would be horrified if he knew I hadn't done it. I grabbed a clip and fastened one end to the ring on my life jacket, the other to one of the safety wires that runs the length of the deck. Holding gingerly on to the handrail, I inched out towards the mainsail. It wasn't so bad really, even with the rain making straight for my eyes. I held on tight, lowered the sail and put two
reefs in, then raised it up again. Now it was about half the size and wouldn't catch nearly so much wind.

I got back to the helm and switched on the engine. It chugged into life.
Dreamcatcher
rocked but stayed upright. I offered up a silent prayer of thanks.

My progress wasn't quick, but it felt a whole lot less precarious. The rain had eased off a bit, though I was sopping wet and my teeth were chattering. But at last I was at the entrance to the river. I steered the boat round the entrance buoy and in.

Almost instantly, the wind died down, and the water was as flat and calm as if nothing had happened.

Now that I was out of danger, other thoughts were sliding into my brain. What would Mum be thinking? I didn't want to imagine it.

My phone. I'd forgotten all about it in the chaos. I slowed the engine to a crawl, dived into the cabin and raced up with it again. I switched it on and miraculously there were a couple of bars. Even out on a boat I was better connected than on Dartmoor.

Loads of messages kept arriving from Mum, but I ignored them. Biting my lip, I dialled her mobile. She answered on the first ring.

‘Matt! Oh, thank God!' she said. ‘Where on earth are you? I've been worried sick.'

‘Listen, Mum,' I said, stopping her mid-flow. ‘I'm on the boat, on the River Dart.'

‘What!' said Mum. She sounded stunned. ‘Are you out on your own? Matt, what on earth—'

‘I'm fine,' I said. ‘I wasn't, but I am now.'

‘Oh, God—'

‘Everything's OK. I'm coming in.'

She snapped into sensible mode. ‘Be very careful,' she said. ‘Are you wearing a life jacket? Good. Call me the moment you're in the marina. We're on our way to your uncle's. We'll talk later. Just make sure you're safe. And I'm calling the harbour master right now.' She rang off.

Not long after, a grey launch came racing up towards me. As I got ready to go port to port, I realised it was the harbour master's. He had a loudspeaker, and he was trying to talk to me. My heart sank.

‘Are you all right?' he yelled.

‘I'm fine,' I said. ‘Everything under control.'

‘Your mother asked me to check on you,' he said. ‘She sounded very worried.'

The shame of it. I blushed, hoping he couldn't see beneath the wet.

‘I'm phoning her now to tell her you're safe,' the harbour master yelled.

‘Don't worry, I already have,' I said.

He ignored me. Then he spun round and came up alongside. As I'd been dreading, he read me the riot act. What was I thinking of? Did I know how to handle a boat at all? And just how old was I, anyhow?

I apologised, adding a couple of years to my age, and trying to look as sorry as I could. Finally he gave up.

‘Make sure I don't have to do this again, young man,' he said. ‘I'm not a nursemaid.' He turned his boat and made off.

I took it very slowly. It was well past midday by the time I reached the marina. I was starving and shattered, and I wasn't looking forward to bringing
Dreamcatcher
into her berth. Getting out had been easy. Coming in again might not be so simple. I put out the ropes and fenders, cut the engine to a crawl and scanned along the line of boats for Dad's berth.

Then I saw them. Tilda and Uncle Jack and Kitty, standing on the pontoon and waving to me. Jez was barking madly. Mum's work again, I supposed. I'd never imagined I'd be so pleased at seeing them again, but I could feel all my muscles relaxing.

‘Chuck us your ropes,' shouted Uncle Jack.

I inched
Dreamcatcher
into her berth, and Uncle
Jack and Tilda made the ropes fast on the cleats. I switched the engine off, and found I was shaking.

‘We were in Totnes looking for you when your mother called,' said Uncle Jack. ‘Gabe told us you'd taken the bus. Here, get that wet stuff off and stick this on.'

He passed me a huge fleece and a heavy green jacket. Tilda held out a towel for me to rub my hair. It was the first time she'd ever done anything remotely nice for me.

‘Birdbrain,' she said. But she was half smiling.

I could still feel the motion of the sea, up and down, up and down. It felt great to be warm again. It felt great to be off the water. But a single thought was shrieking inside my head like a power drill: I'd thought I could run away from everything, but I couldn't. I was going to have to go back to the moor. Whatever weird stuff was going on there, I had to get to the bottom of it.

16

Tilda

M
att was a total zombie in the car. He fell asleep about thirty seconds after gulping down a sandwich, so we didn't get a chance to ask him anything. Dad said it was the sea air, but I think he just didn't want to have to explain everything to us. Which wasn't really surprising, given what an idiot he'd been.

Even so, I couldn't help feeling a bit impressed. I mean, Matt had actually nicked his dad's boat and sailed it out to sea – that takes guts. I would never have imagined him doing something like that. It's nice to know that for a posh townie with stupid shoes he's not completely useless.

I hadn't forgotten the skull, though. He'd better have brought it back or there was going to be trouble.

When we got home I had to wait a while to find out, because Dad made me and Kitty do the dusting in honour of the royal visit. Even though Matt had turned up safe and sound, Aunty Caroline was still on her way here.

Finally I escaped and knocked at Matt's bedroom door.

‘Come in,' he called. I pushed open the door. He was lying on his bed listening to music on his phone. And meanwhile Kitty and I had been slaving away downstairs – all for his mum.

‘So,' I said, ‘where is it?'

He knew exactly what I was talking about. He reached down for his bag, rummaged inside it and pulled out the box.

‘Here,' he said.

I opened it, took the skull out and held it in my hand. It was cool and dark and heavy. It wasn't exactly how I remembered it – the beak seemed a bit shorter, a bit less pointed – but I still loved it. It was the most brilliant thing I'd ever seen. Suddenly all my dislike for Matt rose again like a bad smell.

‘We've got to get rid of it,' he said.

I forced my gaze away from the skull and gaped at him. I wasn't sure if I'd heard him right. But I had.

‘I was going to chuck it overboard,' he said, ‘only I didn't get a chance because of the weather. So it's up to both of us now.'

A black cloud started gathering somewhere behind my eyes.

‘Listen a minute, will you?' Matt said, hurriedly. ‘Don't go off on one. It's important.' In a rush he told me all about meeting Gabe, and then about the curlews and how they'd attacked him. ‘Gabe said I wouldn't be allowed to leave,' he said. ‘And he was right.'

Gabe's nonsense again. I was sick to death of it. I made a move to go.

‘No, wait,' said Matt. ‘Think about it – all those omens. Old Scratch Wood. The skull of a curlew . . .'

‘A
dead
curlew. Dead as a dodo, in fact. And I don't think dodos count among your precious omens.'

‘Yes. But a curlew, all the same. The sheep on the way back from Old Scratch Wood. The farm animals yesterday. And when I was leaving, I saw a hare . . .' He stopped and looked straight at me, his brows scrunched together.

‘Please, Tilda. We need to do something.'

Suddenly I wasn't quite so sure any more. What if something bad really
was
coming? Then I remembered that the worst thing in the world had already happened to my family. I wasn't going to let myself be freaked out by a bunch of stuff that anyone who knew anything about the countryside would think was perfectly normal.

Matt touched the skull, then jerked his finger away as if he'd been burned. ‘We've got to bury it again,' he said. ‘Put it back where we found it.'

‘You're joking.' There was no way on earth I was going to let him do that.

‘I think it's important, Tilda,' he said. ‘You don't understand. It's making things worse. It's – I don't know – sort of evil. As if there's something inside it, watching us.'

I scowled. ‘You're not having it.'

Matt looked exhausted. ‘Then don't blame me if something terrible happens.' He turned over and closed his eyes.

I took the skull back into my bedroom and laid it on my dressing table. The beak was even blacker than before, and it seemed to weigh more now. It wasn't all in my imagination – bird skulls should be super-light, and this one was more like a stone. It was weird. But
I loved it, and Matt could dream on if he thought I was going to let it go.

There was someone who might know more about it. Alba, Gabe's wife. She's really into birds – she knows their calls and everything. She used to teach me about them when I was little and she and Mum were friends, and she tells me where to go on the moor to see interesting stuff. And she's not half-batty like Gabe, though she's into all those stupid stories about the moor, too. If I was quick I could go and see her and still get back before Aunty Caroline arrived.

I packed the skull into its box again, scribbled a note for Dad and told Jez we were off for a walk.

‘Don't get too excited, though,' I said. ‘It's only round to Alba's.'

But from the way Jez was barking, I don't think she got that bit.

We went across the moor, avoiding the road so I didn't have to put her lead on. The last of the rowanberries were clinging to the stubby trees along the ridge. Winter was nearly here.