The Secret Invasion of Port Isabel (8 page)

Not daring to
move from the wet, crumbling wall in case he was seen by the bird,
Larry relaxed and let the new memory—someone else’s memory—tumble
into his mind.

King Vulture
(Sarcoramphus Papa): a large bird once found throughout Central and
South America. It is the only surviving member of the genus
Sarcoramphus, part of the New World vulture family Cathartidae.
Large and grey, the King Vulture has a grey-black ruff, flight, and
tail feathers. Its head and neck are bald and its beak is adorned
with a fleshy caruncle, usually yellow…

The bird was a
King Vulture! Vultures were well known as pirate spies but last
night had shown there were no pirates in Port Isabel. If there were
no pirates then there would be no vultures. But it had moved like a
bird and it was mostly grey with no feathers on top and a yellow
caruncle beneath its beak, just like in his new memory.

Larry edged
his way down the alley. Water cascaded down the deep gutter next to
him, heavy drops leaping onto the slimy cobblestones and splashing
his feet. But he paid no attention. His entire attention was
directed at the rooftops. He strained to see the vulture but the
angles were wrong and he dared not risk showing himself by leaving
the shadows.

He was some
distance down the hill when he saw the vulture again. This time he
was sure it was a King Vulture and not some other large bird. Its
bald head, ugly beak and ruffled grey feathers left no doubt. Larry
sidled the wall keeping a wary eye on the bird. It showed no sign
of having seen him.

A second
vulture joined the first. They seemed to speak together briefly
before beating their wings and flying away, quickly disappearing
over the rooftops. They just beat their wings and lifted up into
the air like kites on a windy day. They made flying look so
effortless.

Larry’s heart
was racing. If there were vultures in the Port Isabel there would
be pirates too. What should he do? Should he run back to the others
and warn them? They may not believe him. But even if they did, they
might think that the risk of pirates was low. Perhaps the vultures
were here alone to do recognisance for the pirates still stuck on
the wreck at the reef? If so, they would soon return to their
masters, no harm done.

He would have
to confirm his suspicions first. Before he told the others, he
would have to discover whether the pirates were here too.

Larry made his
way carefully down the alleyway. He could hear music spilling from
an open window as he climbed over stacked boxes of reeking garbage
that blocked his way. On the other side, thick moss grew in damp,
shadowy corners and water cascaded from a rusty breach in a
downpipe and spread across the slippery cobblestones. Filtered
sunlight slanted through the narrow gap between the rooftops
above.

Keeping low,
ears and nose alert, Larry rounded a corner. The rain was heavier
away from the walls. A nearby drain was blocked and water pooled
deeply. He went around the puddle. In this way he moved silently
and swiftly in the direction the vultures had flown.

Larry reached
the bottom of the long hill that lead down to Gateway Quay without
being seen. The ground had levelled out and old work sheds had been
squeezed into every available space. He slid into a narrow gap
between two sheds. On the other side he sidled silently along the
back wall of one and squatted behind a barrel overflowing with rain
water.

Nearby,
faithfully recorded in a patch of sand was the unmistakable proof
that pirates were in Port Isabel: a dog-shaped paw print. Dog
prints were unlike prints from people belonging to the cat family.
Dog claws didn’t retract fully into a dog’s paw and so left an
unmistakable claw scratch. Mr Elephant had taught him that at
school. Larry knew it was newly made because the rain hadn’t a
chance to soften the edges or wash it away.

He sniffed
then frowned. He could smell dog
and
sheep, but why sheep?
Were sheep in league with the pirates? That was a preposterous
idea! Perhaps the dogs were feeding. Dogs were well known as
cannibals; that they ate other mammals. Maybe they were eating
sheep? Larry shivered. He wondered what it would feel like to be
eaten by a dog. Not very pleasant.

He carefully
peered around the barrel and then quickly pulled back. The two
vultures were standing guard on the edge of a low roof a dozen
yards away. Below them was a large pack of dogs, as many as
fifteen; pirates certainly, for they looked like wild animals
rather than regular people. The largest and fiercest might be
Pirate Pratt himself.

They were in
conference, growling quietly in a huddle. Their wet fur was mostly
mottled grey and black and they were big, scarred and mean looking.
A few wore the skin of sheep, probably a disguise. That would
explain the smell. They were using the skins of sheep they had
eaten to disguise themselves. Larry wondered whether the sheep were
still alive when their skins were removed. What would that feel
like? He shivered. Not very pleasant.

What were they
doing? Why were they here? Surely they couldn’t expect to overrun
the town with so few. Perhaps if he left them alone they would
quietly go away. Larry didn’t really think so but it was a nice
idea. Should he run for help or should he try to stop them himself?
If he ran for help they might have accomplished their evil mission
and departed before he was able to return with others. He made up
his mind. He had wrecked the
Interloper
with a harpoon and
two cheese wheels. He had stopped them once and would stop them
again.

Staying low to
avoid being seen Larry slipped back down the gap between the sheds
and made a wide arc around the pirates. They would probably have
scout vultures positioned about the place looking out for such a
one as he but Larry had the advantage of knowing this part the
docklands well. He was only a few hundred yards from the quay.
Also, they had no idea he was stalking them so he had the element
of surprise in his favour.

As he silently
crept though boatsheds and under drying fishing nets he thought
about how he might capture the pirates. They would have arrived by
sea and would, no doubt, depart the same way. The most likely
departure point would the jetty on which were moored any number of
vessels they might steal. Which one would they take? Would it be
the biggest so they could recover their things from the wreck, or
the fastest? He guessed the biggest. They would need something to
replace the
Interloper
. And the biggest vessel at the quay
was the
Happy Trader
.

Larry squeezed
between two work sheds abutting the quay and stepped lightly onto
the boards. He couldn’t see very far across Lunar Bay because of
the misty rain but he could see far enough to be sure there wasn’t
a pirate ship moored nearby.

He looked
cautiously left and right. There was no one about. He had seen no
one on his way down except for the pirates and their vultures.
Everyone was either away recovering from last night’s riot or had
already been dealt with by the pirates. Larry wasn’t sure which. He
hoped it was the former.

The rain made
the heavy wooden boards of the quay shiny black. Shallow waves
gently nudged the piers and fizzed on the rock shore beneath the
timber deck. The many small fishing boats, strung with fishing nets
and painted in gay colours, swayed in the swell as they tugged
against their mooring ropes. Somewhere a bell
tinkled
softly.

Halfway along
the jetty he could see a large, dark shape through the misty
rain—that would be the
Happy Trader
, the pirate’s most
likely target.

Keeping to the
shadows Larry silently picked his way along the quay towards the
jetty. The first few work sheds he passed were empty. The next was
closed up tight. The next seemed empty too but he thought he heard
a scuffling noise within and so, cautiously entered to investigate.
He walked on soft wood shavings and rounded the upturn hull of a
fishing boat as his eyes adjusted to the dark. The scuffling noise
had come from the rear of the shed but he couldn’t see anyone.

‘Who-Who-Who’s
there?’ an anxious voice whispered.

Larry jumped
with surprise but didn’t run. It was Assam Tortoise; the one who
owed the
Windrush
, the fast little skiff he and Larry had
borrowed yesterday to chase pirates. Assam was upside down, his
legs waving in the air. His head was twisting about frantically on
a long, thin neck as he tried to see. Someone had placed him
shell-first in the top of an open barrel so he couldn’t right
himself.

‘Who-Who-Who’s
there, I say!’

Larry took a
step closer so he was in Assam’s line of sight.

‘Is that you
L-L-Larry?’ said Assam, peering at Larry with one fearful eye. ‘Oh,
thank goodness, it is you. There are p-p-pirates! P-P-Pirates, I
say! They did this to me Larry. I’ve been stuck here for hours. I
can’t move! Please help me.’

Larry pushed
the barrel with one foot. It hardly moved. He pushed again, harder
this time. The barrel rolled on its edge, pivoted sideways and fell
with a crash. Assam withdrew his legs and head before he hit. His
tough shell bounced off the floorboards and rolled him the right
way up. Shiny nails spilled noisily from the barrel, which rolled
to a stop against the hull of the upturned boat.

‘Th-Th-Thank
you, Larry,’ said Assam looking around nervously. ‘We should hide.
They p-p-probably heard that.’

Larry looked
at the floorboards.

Realisation
dawned on Assam’s leathery face. ‘Larry, you w-w-were lucky the
first time. I heard about the cheeses. Very heroic b-b-but I’ve
seen these dogs! They should not be trifled with. The whole
t-t-town should run and hide in the hills until the p-p-pirates are
gone. They’re still out there somewhere so we should hide!’

Larry turned
away and left the work shed without looking back.

‘Larry! Be
reasonable, you’re y-y-young, they’re p-p-pirates! You don’t need
to be a hero, leave that to others. Being young is a good excuse,
the best. They won’t b-b-blame you. Larry!’

The misty rain
was easing as Larry turned onto the jetty and walked towards the
Happy Trader
. There were boats here of all sizes. They were
gently bumping against the jetty in the swell, ropes swinging
indolently. There were no people about, though it was usually busy
in the mornings. The threat of pirates in the Gulf would have
stopped the fishing fleet from sailing overnight, so there were no
fish to unload. And the riot in Town Square would keep everyone in
their beds and stables.

Larry loved
the sea and took every opportunity to sail. If he was to ever find
his parents it would be somewhere across the sea, maybe even
outside the Gulf on the other side of the Southern Icewall.
Flossy’s map had shown a sea on the other side dotted with islands.
His parents could be on one of them. If they were he would find
them and bring them home. But first the pirates needed to be
stopped. He clenched his fists. He would stop them.

Larry had an
idea.

Just in front
of the
Happy Trader
was a fishing boat with a large boom
that could be made to swing out over the water. The boom, so
positioned, made it easy to haul a net full of wriggling fish from
the sea. The same principle could be applied to haul a net full of
wriggling pirates from the jetty. It would be difficult and risky
but he might just be able to set things up so that it would work.
He didn’t know how much time he had and he wasn’t even sure the
pirates would come this way but it seemed possible that he might
succeed.

He heard a
noise behind him that made him jump, heart pounding. He spun about,
eyes wide, but it was only a boat bumping against the jetty. Larry
felt pressure building in his head. He relaxed and let the
unfamiliar memories and flood in.

Lever: a machine
consisting of a beam pivoted at a fulcrum. It amplifies an input
force to provide a greater output force. The ratio of the output
force to the input force is the ideal mechanical advantage of the
lever. Mathematically, this is expressed by…

He ignored the
words and visualised the neat diagrams, then he turned and looked
up at the finishing boat’s boom. Glowing numbers and gridlines
seemed to transpose themselves on his vision. They hovered in the
air showing the calculated forces and tensions required to swing
the boom and to drop and raise the net. They were so vivid it
seemed he might be able to pluck them from the air.

He could see
that his idea would work, provided the pirates came this way.

Larry was
about the climb onto the fishing boat to make preparations for his
trap when he heard the clatter of trotters behind him.

He spun
about.

Staring at him
with fierce little black eyes wasn’t a pirate, but a boar. It was
black as night, hairy and had a disfiguring scar on its snout. It
forelegs were bundles of muscle and it had no neck. Its short ivory
tusks lifted up sagging gums like curtains. The tusks looked every
bit as menacing as a pirate’s cutlass.

Larry raised
his arms above his head as the black boar marched purposefully
towards him. He would somehow have to convince him to help as there
was little time to affect his plan. He would have to explain that
there were pirates in Port Isabel and he meant to capture them in a
fishing net.

‘There you
are!’ said the boar with a snarl. ‘Trying to escape on one of the
ships, are you? Or trying to hide? You’ve led me a right royal
excursion, young monkey. You won’t invade me this time.’

The icy rain
grew heavy and splashed on the boards like tear drops. The wind
gusted.

‘You must come
with me at the behest of His Lionship, Mayor Lion himself, at his
orders and instructions. You come with me, forthwith and now, or
else!’