Sky Run (6 page)

I left him to it. That's the rule. When you're stuck with the cooking you get on with it and no interference. There's not really the space in the galley for two cooks anyway, and besides, according to Peggy, they spoil the broth. Although, on the other side of the coin, two heads are better than one and many hands make light work. Peggy says it doesn't matter what any one proverb says, there's always another to contradict it. She says proverbs are like people and their opinions – they seldom agree with each other.

So Martin got on with the sky-fish – all the gutting and scraping and the rest – while I checked the sails and the course we were taking. It looked OK so I lay in the other hammock up on deck and watched the blue sky overhead, and when some clouds appeared I tried to work out what they looked like. But most of them just looked like clouds, and I couldn't decide if it was they who lacked the imagin-ation or me.

I must have dozed off, for when I woke again it was to the odour of cooking rising up from the galley and it didn't smell bad either. Then Martin appeared, shouting, ‘It's ready!' and carrying a pot, and some bowls and cutlery, so we could eat up on deck.

‘Smells good, Martin,' Peggy said, and she waved at me to help her out of her hammock, as she had trouble doing that on her own, due to the old bones situation.

I got her up and then went and poured us a glass of water each from storage. We were still good for water and had enough for a long while yet. Then we sat down to eat. It was sky-fish, oven-baked, with herbs and greens and rice and seasoning. But never mind three, there was enough for six.

‘Martin –'

‘Better too much than not enough.'

‘It's all going to be wasted.'

‘I'll feed it to the fish. They like leftovers.'

‘I guess.'

There was no pudding. You don't get much pudding here. You can go weeks and months without pudding. Peggy said that when we got to City Island it would be pudding every day. But I wasn't bothered. You don't miss what you never have. I told Peggy that as far as I was concerned, pudding was just theoretical and academic – which was another of her sayings, and which my using made her smile. Maybe I didn't use it right but she didn't correct me, just smiled.

As Martin had been stuck with the cooking I was stuck with the washing-up. Peggy offered to do it, as she believes in democracy, to which age is no barrier. But I said no, I would do it, as she was stuck with us and that was worse than the dishes. Which made her smile again. And she said no, she wasn't stuck with us, but that the years she'd had us had been among the best.

And that was the first time it crossed my mind that when we got to City Island to begin a new life, Peggy wouldn't be starting one with us. She would be going back to her island, all on her own, and she might be lonely. And even old Ben Harley across the divide wouldn't keep that loneliness away, as we'd been with her every moment of our lives for such a long time, and suddenly we wouldn't be there any more.

I felt sad and sorry then. It's not nice to be old and lonely – or young and lonely either, come to that. And I thought that I would miss her. Or worse, I wouldn't, as I'd have this new exciting life on City Island with proper boys (not just brothers) around the place, who might be distracting, and I'd never think of Peggy at all – which would be awful, after everything she'd done.

There'd be other girls there too, my own age, who might be my friends, as I'd never even
seen
another girl, not for a long time, let alone made a friend of one. Martin and I hadn't seen another living boy or girl for years.

I tried to put all that out of my mind. But before I did, I vowed I wouldn't forget Peggy, and I'd not let her be lonely, if I could prevent it somehow.

I gathered up the dirty plates and bowls.

‘What do you want to do with all these leftovers, Martin?'

‘I'm going to feed them to the sky-fish.'

So I handed him the pot and he scraped it out over the side.

Which was a big mistake.

See, you shouldn't feed the sky-fish.

Oh, you can feed them raw titbits, that's fine, that's no problem at all. But cooked – that's different.

I suppose that sky-fish are kind of cannibals really. If a fish eats a fish then it's eating its own species – which makes it a cannibal, right? Fish are predators. But when they eat each other, they eat each other raw. They don't get the griddle out, or put the oven on to warm up, as they leaf through the recipe books.

The little sky-fish are no problem when you throw them scraps, raw or cooked. They turn up in their reeling shoals and gulp down what you've tossed over the side. Then they maybe hang around a while to see if there's any more forthcoming, and when there isn't, they scoot off.

It's the bigger fish that are the trouble. Not that we knew that then. Maybe Peggy did, and she forgot to tell us. But if a big fish gets the taste for cooked food, it doesn't go away. It hangs around wanting more. And there's one fish in particular that's very fond of a little variety to its diet. It's the sky-shark. And of all the varieties of sky-shark, the worst is the Great Blue. It's got teeth like chisels, and jaws that can snap a mast in half.

But we weren't thinking of anything like that as Martin scraped the cooked leftovers out of the boat and let them float away, as the little sky-fish got the scent of them and gave chase.

I carried the plates and bowls down below and got on with the washing-up. I took my time and did a thorough job and put everything back in its place – as you have to keep a boat shipshape or everything'll be under your feet.

I was just admiring my handiwork and thinking how tidy the galley looked, when the boat suddenly rocked, as if we'd bashed into a jetty, or collided with some massive piece of driftwood.

‘What the –! Martin! What are you
doing
up there?'

When there's trouble, and when you have a younger brother, your first instinct is to assume that he's the one responsible for it. And you're generally right.

‘Martin! What have you
done
?'

I hurried out of the galley and clambered up on deck. The first thing I saw was Martin, standing like he'd been turned to stone; the second thing I saw was Peggy, staring like she'd never seen anything to compare to this before, not in all her one hundred and twenty years.

The third thing I saw was a creature about half the size of the boat, hovering no more than a couple of metres above the deck; its side-fins pulsating like the wings of some gigantic hummingbird. It had the blackest, beadiest eyes I had ever seen, and from its open mouth dripped beads of what had to be saliva, falling from teeth that had tips like razors and were the size of swords.

‘What the – what is
that
?'

Well, I knew what it was, but it wasn't a definition I was after, more a reason for its being there.

‘Martin –'

‘I wouldn't come any nearer if I were you, Gemma …'

‘Peggy … ?'

‘Gemma – just move really slowly and get over towards the mast and see if you can pick up that boathook – but slowly …'

‘OK … I …'

I started to move, and
very
slowly.

‘What does it want?' I said.

‘It wants more,' Martin said. ‘I think. More leftovers.'

‘So give it some and it might go away.'

‘There aren't any.'

I was halfway across the deck. The two black beads of those eyes swivelled towards me.

‘Don't move, Gemma. Just stop a while.'

Which wasn't easy, as my every instinct was to run. Not that there was anywhere to run to.

‘When it realises there's no more leftovers, it might go,' I said, with a sort of hopeful naivety.

‘I don't think so, Gem,' Peggy said. ‘I think it's got the taste now.'

‘Taste for what?'

‘Warm flesh,' Peggy said.

I felt my heart thudding in my chest, and try as I did, somehow I just couldn't swallow. My mouth filled with saliva. I'd soon be dribbling, like a sky-shark, if I wasn't careful. That, or I'd be its dinner.

There's always a problem with ‘right here'. You ever noticed that? Other places suddenly seem to have their unsurpassable advantages, and where you're actually at right now doesn't look so great any more.

‘Gemma … don't worry … just don't move quickly …'

Peggy didn't need to say that. I wasn't going anywhere.

‘Just wait …'

I did.

In the old world – so Peggy told us once – the planet was mainly water. Bits of land, but mostly water, and the fish were happy to stay in the sea. They swam under you or alongside you. But they couldn't come out of the ocean and swim right next to you or swoop down on you from above, or decide to follow you home. I could now see all the pluses of a place like that.

‘Wait and see what it's going to do …'

The Great Blue hovered there, fins beating. It flicked its tail and spun around. If I'd reached up, I could have touched it, leathery skin and all. It could move so fast it was like it hadn't moved at all, just changed position by willpower alone.

‘Don't bother it and it might go …'

I had the boathook in both hands now. I'd slowly reached out and got it. But those teeth could have crunched it into pieces. Peggy was standing as still as a rock, and Martin was staring at the Great Blue, watching the balls of saliva drip from its gaping mouth and splash onto the deck, landing with a kind of sizzle, as if they were acid.

‘It'll go. Just leave it and it'll go …' he said.

It might have done too, if it hadn't been for your friend and mine. He'd been down below sniffing around in the galley, looking for titbits, but now here he came, up the steps, fat-faced, lazy-eyed, good – as usual – for nothing. Botcher. Botcher the sky-cat. A nice, warm-blooded snack.

He saw the sky-shark hovering two metres above him, froze solid, and then decided he needed the toilet. He had my sympathy. I felt the same.

‘Botcher, not on the …' Peggy began, but she trailed off.

Funny how things that don't really matter – given the circumstances – still seem to matter somehow. Standards, Peggy was fond of saying, have to be maintained.

The Great Blue saw him. Fat, friendly-looking sky-puss. Good old Botcher. A nice little lap-warmer and a tasty morsel too.

The sky-shark's eyes appeared to work independently of each other. One swivelled to look down at Botcher; the other kept on staring directly at me.

‘Gem … he's going to eat Botcher …'

To be honest, in some ways, it seemed like a sacrifice worth making. If it would eat Botcher and go away … well, you can always get another fat, useless sky-puss without any trouble. But then, we'd had him for years, and it may have been a bit of a strange-shaped family, but he was a part of it, in his bone-idle way.

‘One of the eyes, Gemma …'

I'd known that instinctively. But just the thought of it turned me over. The stomach, the throat, the chest – that I could do. But it had to be something that would stop it in its tracks.

The Great Blue flipped a fin and spun round again. It angled in for the kill, tail up, nose down. Botcher sat looking at it. You might not believe that a sky-cat could sob, but he did. He was just a big ball of absolute terror.

Then the Great Blue opened its mouth wider, ready for the big, swallow-whole bite. You could see all its teeth, both sets of them, and sharp as knives.

‘Gemma …'

I knew I had to do it and I wanted to do it with my eyes closed. But that would have been no good as I might have missed. So just as the Great Blue went in for the kill, I stabbed upwards with the boathook, thrusting it in with all my strength.

‘Oh, that is … revolting!'

I jumped back. Botcher ran. I could hear Martin throwing up. The Great Blue crashed to the deck and began writhing. Peggy was over next to me then, taking the boathook and telling me to get out of the way. She stuck the hook in again, aiming for its heart. For an old lady she was stringy but strong. She pulled the boathook out again and rammed it in once more, as if she and sky-sharks had an old grievance, and she was getting her own back for past losses, and finally settling old scores.

The sky-shark let out the most awful gasp, fighting for breath and survival. It thrashed over the deck, its huge body crushing and knocking things aside. Then it flapped its fins and managed to get briefly back into the air, like it might manage to escape. But its strength gave out and it crashed again onto the boat, with a horrendous screech coming from it. There was the sound of things breaking as it twisted around on deck, then it finally stopped moving, and at last it was still and quiet, and just lay there in a pool of blood, on top of the now-smashed solar panels.

‘Is it dead?'

Martin approached it.

‘Just wait, Martin.'

Peggy stood, boathook in hand. She gave the shark a couple of prods.

‘It's OK. It's gone.'

Botcher ventured near. All bravery and swagger now, as if he'd killed the sky-shark himself. But when those huge jaws twitched again, in the throes of death, he was off like a harpoon to the far end of the boat.

‘What are we going to do with it?' Martin said. ‘And the stink!' He was right. It didn't smell too good. ‘And what's
that
?'

Sky-lice were crawling away from the dead shark.

‘Rats,' Peggy said. ‘Deserting the sinking ship.'

She stamped on them.

‘And we don't want them either.'

‘But what are we going to do with it?' Martin said.

‘Throw it overboard.'

‘How? I mean, look at its teeth.' Then he got covetous. ‘Can I pull one out? As a souvenir?'

‘Martin! Stay away.'