The Castle in the Sea: Quest of the Sunfish 2 Page 2

  And that was where her thoughts stopped. A low, dismal, terrible feeling swept over her and she couldn’t think, couldn’t begin to see what they should do next. Will and Essie had been swept overboard and lost, and it felt like it was all her fault. Why hadn’t she done more to save them? She replayed the scene in her head: Essie in the water, calling to her. Why didn’t she go in after her? And why hadn’t she tried harder to find Will? She hadn’t seen him anywhere, but if she’d looked harder, done something . . .

  ‘Perhaps,’ Pod said, ‘we try and make it straight?’

  Distracted from her thoughts, she saw Pod was considering the mast.

  ‘Mast stuffed!’ Graham said.

  ‘We can’t make it perfect,’ Pod said, ‘but maybe we can fix it a bit, so we can put up a sail.’

  ‘Look at it,’ Annalie said. ‘Graham’s right, it’s stuffed.’

  A stubborn look came over Pod’s face. ‘We got tools though, right? Maybe, if we brace it, we can put something up.’ He paused, waiting for her to take charge. ‘We can’t go and look for them if we don’t fix the mast.’

  Jolted out of her misery, Annalie stared at him. ‘What?’

  ‘We’re going back for them, right?’

  Annalie turned to look out at the vast, empty blue stretching away from them on every side. ‘How would we know where to look?’

  Pod frowned, his faith in her wavering. ‘Can’t you look at the charts? Work out where they might’ve gone?’

  Annalie wanted to laugh and cry. Did he think she had magical powers?

  ‘We can’t just give up,’ he said. ‘You think about it. I’ll try and fix the mast.’

  He got up and went to look for the tools.

  Graham sidled over to her and stroked her knee with his head. ‘Graham help look,’ he suggested. ‘Graham has excellent eyesight.’

  ‘I know. Thanks, Graham,’ Annalie said, stroking his feathers. Pod was right: they couldn’t give up on Will and Essie. The waters of the archipelago were warm; you could survive in them a reasonably long time, so long as you had something to keep you afloat. And she had a fairly good idea of where they’d been when the storm first hit them—she’d taken their position just a few hours earlier. Surely all she had to do was work out where the Sunfish was now, then sail back along the same line. If either of them were still afloat, surely she’d be able to find them.

  Filled with a new sense of determination, Annalie jumped to her feet and fetched her charts and instruments. While Pod began straightening the mast, bracing and lashing it with spare oars, bits of timber, rope and wire, Annalie charted a line for their search. The storm had blown them further off course than she’d imagined, but it was simple enough to note where they’d been, and where they should go looking. Annalie marked up the chart and showed it to Pod.

  ‘This is our search area,’ she said.

  ‘Okay,’ Pod said. ‘That’s quite big, right?’

  ‘It is,’ Annalie said. ‘But it’s hard to be more specific. How’s it all looking?’

  ‘The rigging’s a mess, but we can still put up some sail.’

  ‘What about the motor?’

  ‘It won’t start. Some of the solar panels are smashed, but not all of them, so they should be pulling some juice. But the motor’s completely dead.’

  ‘Motors were always Spinner’s department,’ Annalie said. ‘And Will’s.’ Tears threatened; she fought them off. ‘See what you can do,’ she said. ‘In the meantime we’ll just have to stick to sail.’

  Annalie took the wheel and turned the Sunfish around, sailing back towards the west. This was not an easy task as the wind was blowing the other way, towards the east, and they were constantly having to tack into the wind to stay on course, which made the patched-up mast creak and groan. Annalie and Pod took turns steering and looking for their missing friends. The sun dazzled off the water, making it hard for them to look for too long without their eyeballs frying. Graham launched himself on mission after mission, flying first to port side, then to starboard, but saw nothing. After lunch, the sail broke loose from the rickety mast and they had to stop to make further repairs. They resumed the search as soon as they could, tacking doggedly into a stiffening breeze. The afternoon wore on. Still they saw nothing. Graham wore himself out flying and had to have a little snooze. The sun began to set.

  ‘Let’s stop for the night,’ Pod said. ‘We won’t be able to see anything soon.’

  ‘Let’s give it another half an hour,’ Annalie said, not willing to give up yet.

  They kept tacking. No glimpse of orange fluoro showed itself. When the light was totally gone, Pod appeared again at her elbow.

  ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Let’s go below.’

  They had done nothing to clean up the saloon and it was still just as the storm had left it: wet, messy, littered with spilt and broken things. They had to spend an hour putting it all to rights before they could even sit down to eat.

  ‘Graham fly further tomorrow,’ Graham promised.

  ‘We know you’re doing your best,’ Pod said.

  ‘Tomorrow we’ll find them,’ Annalie said.

  When the meal was done, she took out her charts and made notes and calculations—distance travelled, distance still to be covered—hoping to find reassurance there. She knew, all too well, how big the ocean was, and how small one person could be in that great expanse of water. But she had to believe they were still okay. She had to believe she could find them. The alternative was unbearable.

  ‘We’ve still got a lot of ocean to cover, haven’t we?’ Pod said.

  Annalie nodded.

  ‘This’ll be their second night in the water,’ Pod said.

  ‘It’s warm,’ Annalie reassured him. ‘They can still make it.’

  They resumed their search at first light the next day, beating into the same wind. The sail broke loose again, twice. While Pod was working on the sail for the second time, late in the afternoon, Annalie stood on deck watching Graham come swooping back from one of his searches. Something about the way he bent into the wind gave her an idea, which she wished she’d had sooner.

  Anxiously she checked their position.

  Pod came over to her. ‘How are we doing?’

  ‘If I’m right, we’re back to where we were when the storm hit,’ she said.

  ‘Already?’ Pod said, rather surprised. ‘But . . . shouldn’t we have found them, then?’

  ‘The thing is,’ Annalie said, ‘I may not have accounted enough for the wind.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘The wind’s blowing this way now,’ Annalie said, showing him the direction on the chart. ‘But when the storm came up, it was blowing this way.’ She showed him the direction of the storm front, which had blown up from the south. ‘So it’s possible when we were travelling from here to here, we weren’t going in a straight line, we were going in a curve, because of the strength of the wind gusts.’

  ‘Oh,’ Pod said.

  ‘I mean, I allowed for that. But maybe I didn’t allow for it enough.’

  Pod frowned. ‘So what do we do? Keep going east, or turn back and try going in more of a curve?’

  Annalie hesitated, wishing she knew what to do. She didn’t know exactly where they’d been when the storm hit, nor did she have any real sense of how far north the storm might have pushed them. And how far had it pushed Will and Essie? So many variables, so much ocean. And she was horribly aware that her brother and her best friend had been in the water for two days now. Even in warm water, that wasn’t good.

  ‘For now we keep going,’ she said. ‘And if we don’t find them, tomorrow we’ll turn around and go back the other way on more of a northerly line. Once we’re travelling with the wind again it’ll be easier on the mast and we’ll be able to cover more ground that way.’

  ‘Okay,’ Pod said. ‘I’ll take next watch.’

  They tacked on into the wind until the sun went down. They saw no sign of their lost companions.

&nbs
p; The three of them retired to the saloon, gloomy and disheartened. Annalie coloured in the chart showing the area that they’d covered that day. It was a solid amount, but still they’d found nothing.

  ‘Tomorrow we’ll turn back,’ Annalie said, marking out the new line, the new search area, studying it for the hundredth time. ‘I think we just need to go further north and we’ll find them.’

  Pod nodded. ‘Okay.’

  But as she lay in bed that night, all Annalie could think was, What if we don’t find them? What if I’ve got it wrong? What do we do then?

  At first light the next morning Annalie set the new heading and they sailed on. The sailing was easier now and, despite her night of worry, she felt her spirits rise. Now we’re on the right track, she told herself. Today we’ll definitely find them.

  But they didn’t.

  They sailed and searched. Graham swooped and flew. Once, Pod saw a flash of orange far out on the port side, but when Graham went out for a look, he discovered it was just floating sea junk. It was not a life jacket.

  The third day ended. Annalie was bewildered, Pod despondent.

  ‘We’ve looked everywhere I can think to look,’ Annalie said. ‘Maybe we missed them somehow.’

  ‘I don’t know how,’ Pod said, ‘we were pretty thorough.’

  ‘Maybe tomorrow we start again. Go back to the beginning,’ Annalie said. ‘Or start looking places we haven’t already looked.’

  ‘Which places?’ Pod asked.

  They both stared down at the chart with its lines and crosshatches, as if it might suddenly spit out new clues. ‘I don’t know,’ Annalie said helplessly. The stress and worry of the last three days suddenly rose up in her like a wave, and, to her embarrassment, she started to cry. ‘I don’t know what to do next,’ she gulped. ‘We can’t just leave them there. But I don’t know where else to go.’

  ‘Maybe . . .’ Pod said, but couldn’t think of anything to suggest either. ‘You did your best,’ he said instead.

  ‘My best wasn’t good enough,’ Annalie said.

  Graham flew down onto the table and stood on the chart. ‘Maybe boat find them,’ he said. ‘Maybe they’re not here. That’s why we don’t find them.’ His bright eye glinted at them in the darkness of the saloon.

  Pod turned to look at Annalie. ‘It’s possible, isn’t it?’ he said.

  ‘Anything’s possible,’ Annalie said, wiping the tears away.

  ‘If a boat’s already picked them up, then we’re wasting our time out here,’ Pod said. ‘Aren’t we?’

  ‘But what if a boat hasn’t picked them up?’ Annalie said.

  She remembered the despairing look on Essie’s face as she was swept away.

  Pod paused. ‘I checked our water supplies before. The main tank needs to be purged before we can use it again. One of the secondary tanks has got salt in it too. The other one’s good, but it’s only about half full.’

  ‘We’re not out of water yet,’ Annalie said.

  ‘I know,’ Pod said. ‘But still.’

  ‘Can’t search forever,’ Graham said. ‘Spinner would say so.’

  Annalie looked at the wise old bird, and knew he was only trying to help.

  Essie, she thought. Will. She wasn’t ready to give up yet.

  ‘You know, maybe Graham’s right,’ Pod said. ‘Maybe someone picked them up. For all we know, they could be waiting for us somewhere right now.’

  ‘They could be,’ Annalie conceded.

  ‘Maybe it’s time to get help,’ Pod said. ‘Raise the alarm. Find out if anybody’s seen them.’

  Annalie let this idea grow in her mind. The thought of getting help came as a welcome relief. ‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘We should push on to Dasto Puri and get help there.’

  Pod looked relieved that she’d come round to his point of view. ‘Do you think they’ll be able to help us?’

  ‘I hope so,’ Annalie said. ‘If Dad’s friend lives there, there must be something there, right? A port, or a town. And he should be able to help us raise the alarm. Send out a search party.’

  In her mind’s eye, she imagined helpful island folk with fishing boats getting on their radios, sending messages, helping them search, discovering Will and Essie miraculously unharmed and hanging out in a little fishing village, waiting to be picked up. Never mind that in most of their previous island encounters the people they met had tried to rob, murder or eat them; Annalie hoped Dasto Puri would be different.

  The Dastos were a young-looking island group, with pointy mountains sticking up into the ocean, many of them clad in a thick blanket of vivid green. One of the largest was topped by a volcano, streaming a thin plume of white smoke. In spite of this, people lived here: small boats worked the coastal fringes; there were settlements in some of the bays, and other buildings, some of them quite large, their purposes unguessable from this distance, further up the slopes. Annalie felt heartened by all the boats; maybe the local people would know where to look for Will and Essie.

  At last they reached Dasto Puri. It loomed threateningly; from a distance it seemed to be all cliffs, and it was hard to imagine that anyone could live there. The surf crashed onto rocks at the base of the cliffs, making landing seem impossible. Light winked from the island, suggesting habitation—glass or metal objects reflecting the sun. As the Sunfish drew closer, something came zipping out of the cliffs and sliced through the water towards them.

  It was a motorboat, fast and manoeuvrable, which zoomed towards them and then slewed to a stop. There were three men on board. One was driving, the other two held big guns. Annalie, standing on deck with Pod at the wheel, realised too late that the boat, and the three men on it, were wearing the purple colours she recognised all too well.

  ‘They’re Kangs,’ she said to Pod. ‘I think Dasto Puri belongs to the Kang Brotherhood.’

  And the guns were pointed directly at them.

  An honest gentleman of the sea

  The Kang Brotherhood was one of the many gangs that flourished where the poorest people of the world congregated: in the slums, like the one Annalie had grown up in; in the refugee camps; in the Moon Islands; and all those places in their flooded world where too much saltwater had broken governments and ruined people’s livelihoods. The Kangs were smugglers, pirates, traffickers, enforcers, and they were seriously scary people.

  The driver of the Kang boat spoke; his voice leapt from an amplified device attached to the front of the boat.

  ‘Where are you headed?’

  ‘Dasto Puri,’ Annalie shouted.

  ‘What’s your business?’

  ‘We’ve been damaged in a storm,’ Annalie called. ‘We need help fixing our boat.’

  ‘How many of you are there?’

  ‘Just the two of us,’ Annalie said.

  The driver opened his throttle and the boat took a leisurely turn around the Sunfish. The guns remained fixed upon them.

  ‘Okay,’ the amplified voice said finally. ‘We’ll send someone to tow you in.’

  Pod looked at Annalie. ‘You sure this is a good idea?’

  ‘No,’ Annalie said. ‘But what choice have we got?

  Soon, a launch appeared and towed them up a treacherously narrow passage between ridged fingers of rock and through a gap in the cliffs that opened onto a deep, handsome bay.

  ‘You know this is a pirate bay, right?’ Pod said, looking around him in dismay.

  ‘Yep,’ Annalie said.

  ‘We just gave ourselves to pirates,’ Pod said.

  ‘Yep,’ Annalie said again.

  It was a surprisingly busy place, studded with many boats, some of them little and zippy, others bigger and more threatening. Unsurprisingly for a pirate fleet, they all bristled with weaponry.

  Pod clutched at his head and said, ‘I can’t believe I’m going back to a pirate bay!’

  ‘It’s going to be okay,’ Annalie said.

  ‘It’s not going to be okay,’ Pod said fiercely. ‘Pirates are bad people. They make y
ou do bad things.’

  ‘That won’t happen to us.’

  ‘Why not? You got money? Lots of money?’

  ‘You know we haven’t.’

  ‘Then what makes you so special? You want help, you gotta pay. Don’t have no money, you might not like what they want you to do.’

  Annalie frowned. ‘What do you mean? What do you think they’re going to make us do?’

  ‘I dunno,’ Pod said. ‘But bad things. Dangerous things. Things you don’t want to do. But if you don’t do them, no boat. Or worse.’

  ‘What would be worse?’

  ‘You not useful, they sell you. Or just kill you.’

  ‘Pirates take our boat?’ Graham said. ‘Turn Graham into barbecue?’

  ‘No one’s taking our boat,’ Annalie said firmly.

  ‘How you planning to stop them?’ Pod said.

  They anchored in the bay, and a small boat took them to shore, where a delegation of four Kangs—three men and a woman—waited for them. They were all ostentatiously well-armed.

  ‘Hello there,’ said the smallest of the three men. Although he was less brawny than the others, it was clear he was their leader: he held himself with a relaxed but confident stance that made it clear he expected to be obeyed. He had no need to threaten them with guns or enormous knives—his bright eyes were intimidating enough. His head was completely shaved and a ferocious tattoo of barbed wire wrapped around his head, complete with tattooed blood droplets. Underneath the tattoo were the ridged lines of real scars; the tattoo had been designed around them, perhaps as a badge of honour. ‘Looks like you broke your boat.’

  ‘We were in a storm,’ Annalie said. ‘And two of our friends were washed overboard. We need your help to find them.’