Brightwood (17 page)

EIGHT MONTHS LATER

The riverboat was sturdy, built for use rather than beauty. Its hull sat low in the water, and its three snug decks had been weathered by tropical rain and sun until they were the same brown color as the great river itself. The upper deck was open to the sky. From here, it was possible to see in all directions: the vast, slow-­moving water ahead and behind, the jungle-­smothered banks on either side.

Caroline Fitzjohn had set up her easel in one corner of the deck and was just adding the final touches to a painting of a flock of parrots exploding like fireworks out of the trees. She hesitated for a second, then signed the painting in the bottom right-­hand corner and stepped back, staring at it with her head tilted to one side.

“You know, Daisy,” her mum said, “if I pluck up all my courage, perhaps I could persuade a gallery to show one or two of my pictures. Maybe one day even an exhibition . . . ”

Daisy's mum rubbed the nape of her neck where her hair tickled. It was growing back fast, already a good three inches below the brim of her broad hat.

“Maybe I'm being too ambitious,” she added with a flash of doubt.

“No, you're not!” Daisy said. She was sitting cross-­legged on the deck with her binoculars around her neck and a notebook on her lap. She was wearing dark green trousers with a lot of pockets and loops, and there was a red bandana tied around her head. She had decided to keep her hair short. It felt light and good that way. “People are going to
love
your pictures,” she said.

Her mum stared out across the water at the dark, endless jungle. “I don't know about that,” she said. “Although there's something about this place that makes me feel as if all sorts of things are possible.” She smiled at Daisy. “I have to admit, when you said you wanted to go to the Amazon, I was a little shocked. Of all the places in the world to go! But you were right. After everything that's happened, it feels perfect.”

Her mum paused. “Why
did
you want to come here?”

“I've told you fifty times already,” Daisy said. “I made a kind of promise . . . ”

“Yes, but a promise to whom?”

“It's hard to explain—” Daisy began, then broke off abruptly. She seized her binoculars and scanned a clump of trees on the right bank. “I thought so!” she cried, recognizing a dark, motionless shape hanging from a branch. “It's a sloth! My first sloth! I can see its face!”

She reached for her notebook. She was making a list of all the animals she had spotted. The list was already fairly long:

pink river dolphin

scarlet macaw (x6)

tamarin monkey (x50?)

piranha (!)

Amazon river turtle

unidentified beetle (large with horns)

anaconda (although it might have been a twisty branch)

tapir

“And that's just what I've seen today!” Daisy said, adding
sloth
to the list.

“It's nearly time for supper,” her mum said, turning back to her painting. “I should clear this up for the day.”

Daisy kept her binoculars trained on the riverbank. She was hoping to catch sight of a jaguar, although she knew it was unlikely because jaguars were extremely rare. The jungle grew right to the edge of the water, so thick it looked impenetrable. But here and there, the roots of particularly large trees had forced small, mud-­filled clearings in the otherwise unbroken line of vegetation.

The boat was drawing parallel to one such clearing now. It was just the sort of a place a jaguar might come down to the water to drink.

There were shadows in the clearing, black and white against the deep green trees. Daisy squinted and adjusted the focus on her binoculars. The shadows separated into two figures.

One was a man in a strange helmet with his trousers rolled up to his knees. He was paddling in the muddy water, carelessly, not looking where he put his feet. All of a sudden, he lost his balance. Daisy watched him teeter, arms flailing wildly, then land on his backside with a splash.

The other figure was smaller. She stood high up on the bank, her hands on her hips, her body stiff with exasperation.

Daisy knew exactly what she was saying.

You have any idea how fast piranhas can strip a body to the bone?

Daisy raised her arm to wave. But they were too far away and too busy arguing to see her. Another moment and they were gone, lost in the flow of the swiftly moving river.

“What have you seen?” her mum called. “Another sloth?”

“No, nothing like that.”

“What, then?”

Can I be perfectly honest?
Daisy thought, smiling a little to herself. She shook her head.

“Just imagining things,” she said, jumping up to help her mum with supper.

Acknowledgments

This book may very well have remained no more than a collection of false starts and muddled drafts without the almost magical guidance and advice of my agent, Rebecca Carter. It is hard to be both kind as well as right, but somehow she manages it. Thanks also to Krestyna Lypen at Algonquin, whose shrewd, tireless editing turned a manuscript into a book, and Anne Sibbald, for her wisdom and support. 

Last, but never, ever least, my love and thanks to David Thaler.

D. E. THALER

TANIA UNSWORTH spent her childhood in Cambridge, UK, before moving to America in her twenties. She currently lives in Boston, Massachusetts, with her husband and two sons. She has written one previous novel for young readers,
The One Safe Place.
Her website is
taniaunsworth.com.

Published by

Algonquin Young Readers

an imprint of Algonquin Books of Chapel Hill

Post Office Box 2225

Chapel Hill, North Carolina 27515-­2225

a division of

Workman Publishing

225 Varick Street

New York, New York 10014

© 2016 by Tania Unsworth.

All rights reserved.

This is a work of fiction. While, as in all fiction, the literary perceptions and insights are based on experience, all names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

eISBN 978-1-61620-659-8