The Golden Flight (17 page)

‘I don’t know,’ he told me, ‘it just came into my head. They often do.’

Marguerite turned her attention back to Lundy. ‘Can you make it?’ she asked.

‘I will. We dolphins have a saying –

‘If you think you can,

Or if you think you cannot

Either way it’s true.

Sun and Sea will support you –

Buoy your determination.’

Lundy swam doggedly on.

‘We have a saying like that too,’ Marguerite said and then was silent, to let the dolphin concentrate on her swimming.

They had passed the boatworks and the caravan park on their right and a gaggle of fishermen’s huts on the pebbles to their left, and Lundy was now forcing herself to swim against the tidal flow at the narrows where the buildings of the Army Bridging Camp loomed against the sky.

The black heads of cormorants bobbed up around them then disappeared as the birds dived, only to reappear with small flatfish in their beaks which they swallowed awkwardly, their throats bulging as the fish went down. Others, fully gorged, sat on the concrete ramp their wings spread to catch a drying wind.

The flow eased as the lagoon widened but Marguerite could sense Lundy’s strength ebbing. ‘Come on, my friend – if you think you can…I know you can, I know you can. Carry us to your Finisterre.’

She felt the exhausted dolphin find new reserves and surge forward again. ‘You can, you can, YOU CAN,’ Marguerite urged her as more dolphin voices within her head were joining her own.

‘Lundy,’ one was saying. ‘Keep going, we are here with Finisterre. Keep going. You have the squirrel with you?’

‘Better than that,’ Lundy responded, her tiredness apparent in every wave of her voice. ‘I have
three
squirrels.’

‘Keep going. Bring them to us. Keep going, Lundy, keep swimming!’

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

As dawn broke, the dolphin swam into shallow water on the Chesil Bank side of the Fleet Lagoon. On the pebbled shore were several large white birds. The squirrels recognised them as swans, even though they had never been near any of them whenever they had flown in and landed on the Lagoon at Ourland.

Lundy’s head drooped and the oar-handle floated out of her mouth, rolling over in the water with the weight of the squirrels.

Marguerite let go of the wood and called to the others, ‘Swim to the beach.’

Chip and Sycamore followed her through the brackish water and crawled on to the pebbles. Cold and bedraggled, they shook themselves and blinked the water from their eyes, only to find a pair of swans, their necks bent low, hissing fiercely at them. In the face of this hostile reception they had no choice but to retreat back into the cold water.

‘LEAVE – THESE CREATURES – ALONE.’

It was Lundy’s voice, speaking slowly and with great authority. The swans raised their necks, waved their heads from side to side and walked away as though the squirrels no longer existed.

‘Please, my friends, go over the bank and help my son. I must rest here. Come back to me when you are successful. Go now, please!’ Lundy pleaded.

Wet from their swim ashore, tired from lack of sleep and stiff from many hours clinging to the oar, the three squirrels scrambled over the shingles to the top of the bank.

Though the sky was clear, the wind, now blowing strongly from the south-west, was forcing huge waves to roll in from the bay and crash on to the shingle. The wind tore and tugged at their ears and tails and buffeted their chill damp bodies. On the beach, being thrown about by the waves, they could see the young dolphin, its flippers entangled in a mass of fine white threads. Just seaward of it, a semi-circle of dolphins who were trying to shelter, it were themselves frequently getting tossed up on to the beach. They would then roll back with the undertow and swim out to try and stem the force of waves once more.

Marguerite stood on her hind-legs to assess the situation before acting. The dolphins, seeing her tiny body silhouetted against the skyline, sent waves of welcome through the air to envelop her and her companions. She recognised Malin’s voice as he greeted her.

‘What should we do?’ She focused her thoughts on him.

‘Can you reach Finisterre and bite away the net?’ There was a desperate pleading in his thought-voice. ‘Are your teeth strong enough?’

‘We will try,’ Marguerite replied aloud. ‘If you think you can…’

Her voice was lost in the roar of an even bigger wave rushing up the beach towards her. She turned to Chip and Sycamore.

‘Follow me,’ she said, and scurried down the pebbles. The three reached the water’s edge just as a wave was withdrawing. They followed the retreating line of foam as far as the young dolphin who was eyeing them thankfully.

Each squirrel grabbed at the tangle of fine nylon threads, and held on tightly, biting vigorously until the next wave came crashing in and smothered them in salt water and sea-foam. They hung on, holding their breaths as the wave spent its energy and rolled back, then started biting again, severing the thin hard filaments one by one. Blood seeped through the tangled mass where these had cut into the dolphin’s smooth black skin.

‘I’ll go to the other side,’ Sycamore shouted above the roar as yet another wave rushed in to submerge them. As he clambered over Finisterre’s slippery back, the wave tore him free and the undertow dragged him down the wet pebbles and sucked his squirming body into deep water. The next wave towered up.

I’m going to drown, he thought as his lungs filled with salt water and he struggled frantically towards the surface. Then he felt himself caught in a gentle mouth and he was lifted clear of the wave while he coughed and coughed and coughed.

A voice enveloped him, ‘Can you carry on, or do you need to rest?’

‘Carry on,’ he responded and Malin surfed in on the next wave to deposit Sycamore once again on Finisterre’s left side. On the stranded dolphin’s other side, Marguerite and Chip were still biting and gnawing, their teeth and jaws aching with their efforts. Malin lay on the shingle at Finisterre’s tail ready to catch any squirrel who might lose its grip, his huge bulk helping to break the rush of each wave.

The tangle of nylon was beginning to come free and more blood was flowing from the dolphin’s wounds as they tugged and pulled at the severed filaments. Suddenly the whole mass came loose and was drawn down the beach by a retreating wave, the three squirrels rolling with it as they clung on.

Malin caught the ball of nylon filaments in his mouth and surged up the beach on the next wave to drop it just above the highest point reached by the waves. He turned and pushed Finisterre into deeper water as other dolphins swan forward to help support the youngster with their bodies.

The next wave to reach the squirrels was a chorus of ‘Thank you’ from the dolphins in the sea. The squirrels dragged their tired and aching bodies a little further up the beach.

As they lay there, Marguerite picked up instructions being given by Lundy on the other side of the bank.

‘THREE SWANS –

GOTO THE FAR SIDE OF THE RIDGE –

FIND THE THREE SMALL ANIMALS –

PICK THEM UP –CAREFULLY –

BRING THEM TO THE SHORE HERE –

AWAIT INSTRUCTIONS –

ACTION NOW .’

A few minutes later three white heads with orange beaks and black masks appeared on the skyline.

Chip did not see them. Tired as he was, something else had attracted his attention. Immediately under his right paw was one of the bright yellow disks of soft metal that he had found near the Portland end of the beach when they were leaving there and which his father had discarded as useless. It gleamed in the sunshine and he turned it over. There was a Man-head on the one side and indecipherable squiggles on the other. He wanted to keep it more than anything he had ever wanted before. As he drew it to his body, he felt the skin on the back of his neck gripped firmly and he was lifted into the air, still clutching the golden disk.

Dangling and wriggling helplessly, he saw that Marguerite and Sycamore were being treated in the same way and the three swans carried the squirrels over the beach and down to the shore on the sheltered side. The storm-clouds, that had been massing on the horizon, covered the sun and cold rain came driving in towards the land.

‘SWANS –

THESE ANIMALS ARE AS PRECIOUS AS UNHATCHED EGGS –

ONE SWAN – SHELTER THEM –

TWO SWANS – FETCH GRAIN-FOOD FROM THE MEN ACROSS THE WATER OF THE FLEET –

ACTION NOW.’

Lundy was still lying in the shallow water issuing instructions to the swans, who reacted to her programming exactly. One scratched a hollow in the tide-wrack and each lowered their squirrel into it as the rain came slashing down the beach. One swan spread its wings and settled over the three weak animals, warming them with the heat of its body. The other two swans waded into the water and swam through the storm towards the Mainland.

After the initial feeling of being smothered, the squirrels found that they could breathe easily, air moving freely through the feathers. Underneath the swan it was dry and snug, and as they sheltered their fur dried and their teeth stopped chattering. One by one they fell asleep.

The storm had passed when Marguerite awoke and peered out at the clean-washed world from under the swan’s wing. There was a small pile of wheat-grains near her and she woke Chip and Sycamore to share a meal. The swan seemed content to stay where she was.

In the evening sunlight Marguerite could see Lundy’s fin sticking up out of the water and projected her thoughts in that direction.

‘Lundy-Friend, all you all right?’

The fin moved and Lundy’s head appeared above the water; Marguerite could just see her usual grin.

‘Yes, I’m stronger now. I’ve never been so tired. Malin tells me you saved Finisterre. We can never thank you enough.’

‘Is Finisterre safe? I was concerned about his injuries.’

‘We believe so. He is young and fit and the sea water helps the healing if it is not polluted. It is clean here at present. He should be himself again soon.’

‘What will you do now?’ Marguerite asked.

‘I am resting here tonight. You must do the same. Stay under the swan – you will be safe and warm there. Then we must find the best way to take you back to your island. After that I will rejoin Malin and Finisterre.’

‘Will that be difficult?’

‘Oh, no. Think how easily I can contact you when I put my mind to it. What is your friend holding?’

Marguerite saw that Chip was hugging a disk of bright metal. She described it to Lundy.

‘That’s a golden coin. We know where there are many of those on the seabed. Humans rate them highly. They are pretty – but not worth fighting over.’

‘Humans fight for those?’

‘Fight and kill one another!’

Marguerite took another look at the coin –

People puzzle us

With their strange actions – but then

They’re only Human.

When the moon rose that night, a hungry fox padded along the walk-way through the rushes and on to the pebbles of the beach. He had found no Man-scraps and had failed to catch even a mouse. He scented the air, no food- smell there, so he followed the shore of the Fleet Lagoon hoping to find a dead bird or a fish on the tide-line.

He passed the Dragon’s Teeth. To the fox these huge weathered concrete blocks had always been there – seemingly as old as the medieval chapel on the hill opposite.

The fox saw the three sleeping swans and walked towards them cautiously, puzzled by an apparent scent of squirrel mixed with the familiar swan-scent. He did not approach too closely – all local foxes had tried to tackle a swan once, but only once. He turned up the beach to follow a faint blood-smell that was teasing his nostrils.

On the pebbles over the ridge he found the ball of nylon that has nearly caused the death of Finisterre and had now been blown up the bank by the force of the gale. He crept towards it. He licked the nylon, then tried to push his nose further into the tangled mass. A thread caught behind a tooth – the other side of the loop caught under his lower jaw. He tried to push the loop off and his right paw caught in another. His left paw could not free it either, and then that too was tangled. Soon a back paw was also trapped and, growling and struggling, the fox rolled down towards the breaking waves which were rushing up the beach as if they had a hunger greater even that his own.

His one free paw reached forward in a last effort to disentangle himself and as it did so a Seventh Wave towered higher than the rest, crashed on to the pebbles, roared up towards the helpless fox and dragged him down into the deep water off-shore.

That night the scavenging conger eels learned a new taste, though by dawn one of their number was himself trapped by the fine filaments. Later, crabs dined on the body of that conger eel. When the net was finally thrown up the beach again, a human burned it on a pile of driftwood, along with the empty carapaces of a dozen crabs and, the body of a herring gull that had been tempted by the crab-meat.

Unaware of the drama being played out so close to her, Marguerite, warm under the swan, dreamed of their flight in the balloon. A new and exciting idea was filling her head when she woke.

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

‘Lundy, are you awake?’

Marguerite projected her thought towards the black fin, visible in the dawn-still waters of the Fleet. The rumble of the waves on the far side of the Chesil Bank could just be heard, but the wind had died away during the night.

‘I am here, we don’t sleep in the same way as land animals.’

‘How do you get the swans to do what you want them to do?’ Marguerite asked.

‘Birds have simple brains. Mostly they act as their instincts direct and do not reason as we do. If you can reach their brains with clear instructions they follow those instead of their instincts. You heard me do it yesterday.’