Changeling's Island - eARC (21 page)

Tim was silent. Then he laughed. “That sort of makes sense, you know. I often wondered. She was always after the sports-jocks and the rich kids, and always, like, a couple of grades ahead of her. I thought it was because I came from the island, and her dad knew mine.”

“Yeah. He tried to get your dad to get your gran to move into a retirement complex and sell the place.”

“Nan started to say something once, and then clammed up. I never knew why they…like, barely talk. I guess I thought he was trying to make things easy for her.”

“Maybe he was. Or maybe that’s what he believed.”

“Could be. My dad’s not bad or anything. He’s just weak. He slithers out of everything my mother says,” said Tim, sounding depressed.

One thing she couldn’t say about Tim, right now, was that he was squirming out. “It’s a good thing, too. Your gran couldn’t live anywhere else…and if you hadn’t come to her, I would never have met you.”

That did make him smile. “Yeah. And the same for me.”

“So, where are the kids?” she asked, changing tack, although she didn’t really want to.

“Marriot Reef,” he said. “Well, at least little Sammy is on Treasure Island, and the tide is coming in with the storm.”

That was the island with a small sand beach, maybe a hundred and fifty yards long, and a third as wide across, at low tide. At high water most of it disappeared, meaning it had nice white sand, popular for low-tide picnics, and it was out of range of the marsh flies on the main shore. With the storm surge, and full tide, waves would break over it.

“Oh. Exactly how do you know? I believe you; I just want to know.”

“The seal-woman,” said Tim, matter-of-factly. “The selkie Bunce came to rescue me from. She was sent to fetch the key, like it’s…it’s my birthright, she told me.”

“Um…is she telling the truth?”

“Yeah. I said she could have it if I got the kids back alive, when I heard they were out in a kayak in this weather. See, she wants that key back with Finvarra. And this way she gets it as soon as I can give it to her. Otherwise she’d have to wait until I…I fly over to Ireland. So I guess you don’t need to hurry about paying me. I’ll probably end up in deep trouble about this. That’s why I don’t want you involved.”

“But…you wanted to get out of here. To be safe.”

“Yeah. But I guess I don’t really want to go. I’ll just have to try to stand my ground here. They can’t punish me forever. Keep both hands on the wheel, Molly!”

“Sorry. I just…wanted to hug you. I’m glad you’re going to stay here. I want you to be here. Not away in Faerie. I’m selfish, I guess.”

“This is where I want to be too,” said Tim Ryan. “Only I kinda didn’t know it before. Slow down for the turn. The track is coming up just before the corner.”

She concentrated on bringing the ute around the corner of the loop road to the West End slip before getting out to look. Her mind was still dealing with what Tim had said.

The wind flurry brought angry drops of rain hissing down the blue-gray wall of the surging swell. It roared up the ramp in a seething ravel of white water and rolling stones. The inky blackness across the water devoured the outer islands, and the horizon had vanished into the rain haze. Suddenly it was backlit by a tracery of jagged lightnings showing every black billow of the vast, stark roiling mountains of cloud above the whitecapped gray sea.

“It looks a bit ordinary out there,” said Tim, zipping up the red life jacket. “I’m going to a get a little wet.”

Molly said nothing. She just looked at the little RIB as Tim checked bungs and hooked up the fuel line. She took a deep breath, hauled out the life jacket from behind the seat of the ute, and buckled it up. She looked at the sea and pulled the buckles tighter.

His eyes widened as he looked up at her while he freed the bow-shackle, but he didn’t try to argue. He just said, “Take your shoes off too, I think.”

She did. He didn’t need to explain that shoes and swimming didn’t go together well.

“Can you back her down?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I don’t know how to reverse with a trailer,” she answered. “I’ve tried. My dad had to take over.”

“I’m not too crash-hot at it myself, but we have to. Okay. Look. I’ll back down around the curve and then if you just reverse straight down the rest, I can get the boat off.” Tim edged the ute slowly down the rock toward the water. Molly watched from the back, pointing out the holes to him. A wave surged up and hit her feet, spraying up her legs and wetting her. Tim stopped. “Your turn,” he said. “Don’t go too far or we’ll lose the ute into the sea too.”

Hands damp and white-knuckled on the steering wheel, Molly eased her foot off the clutch. A wave crested up the ramp, and the sea plucked at the rear wheels of the ute, jerking and bouncing on the trailer. For an awful moment the rear end swayed. Cold sweat beaded her forehead as she thought that the sea would pull the ute, her, and the trailer into the deep. She’d never get out. She cracked the door open. Tim was yelling above the wind, “More! Quick!” She bit her lip and pushed back into the next wave. Both the trailer and then the ute bucked.

“Take her out, Molly!” shouted Tim, frantically pushing the boat’s bow around to meet the next wave. She clashed and ground the ute into first gear in desperate haste…and stalled. Started again, as a wave came racing along pulling the trailer and ute sideways with casual brute force. The tires spun and bit and the ute bounced and humped, and Molly desperately straightened her wheels and put her foot down as hard as she dared. Something metal screeched on stone and the ute bounded higher, away from the hungry water.

Now she could look back, and to her horror, Tim was clinging onto the side of the boat, already out on the swells. She shouldn’t have looked away, as the front wheel went over the edge of the ramp and the ute came down with a sickening bump. She scrambled out, rain stinging her face, screaming at the sea. He hauled up onto the boat, and…to her relief, was at the outboard. The boat’s nose reared, there was a welter of foam at its tail, and he swung it back to the shore as she pelted down the slippery water-polished granite and towards the boat. A wave nearly pulled her feet from under her as Tim swung the boat around.

“Jump!” he yelled as the next wave mounted, and she did, grabbing the bowline and sliding over the pontoon as Tim hit the throttle. The boat hit the crest and whacked down, motor roaring as it churned in the foam, before it bit water and kicked them onwards, out into the open water, as she lay there, gasping. Water sluiced down the deck around her.

“Get a hold of something and get your weight up front,” shouted Tim, urgently. “Hold the bowline and stand, legs apart, bend your knees.”

Molly did what she’d been told. As she stood up, she saw, in the bow wave, scything through the water like a black oiled flexible torpedo, the black seal as it made slight of the power of the sea.

“Maeve! Is the little girl still there?” yelled Tim.

“Indeed,” said the seal. “But the waves splash her and she cries.”

Tim opened the throttle and the nose of the RIB rose under Molly and then flattened, as they rode, skimming and bouncing over the whitecaps. Looking back, briefly, Molly saw Tim, his face intent with concentration…against the backdrop of Roydon Island and the looming storm. He saw her looking, and smiled.

CHAPTER 19

The rain battered down on Alicia Symons’s collar as she walked away from yet another empty holiday house. They were checking all of them. She sighed, looking out at the sea. The rain haze was sweeping across the bay and she could just see the boats coming in to Port Davies. Thank heavens it wasn’t her child out there. She was worried enough about Mike going. She’d just gotten back to the car when a walker appeared. A stranger, with a small backpack, which in itself was unusual for the island, especially at this time of year. He smiled and raised a hand in greeting, looking tired. It was worth asking, even if he turned out to be one of the searchers. She wound down the window the window and said, “Hello. You haven’t seen two little kids, have you? A girl of about six, blonde, ponytails, and a boy of about eight?”

He shook his head. “No, I haven’t. I’ve been for a bit of a bush-walk. Took a lot longer than I expected to, and look at the weather now. It was lovely when I set out. You don’t know where I could find a reasonable B&B around here? I don’t fancy camping in this lot.”

“Well, we own one. But it’s at West End. And we’re in the middle of a search and rescue operation. Look, walk back along this road, first right, about the second house along there is a sign—John’s with the SES guys, but his wife is home, I think.”

“Great, thanks,” said the hiker. “I’ll just go and get my gear from my kayak. Best of luck with the search. I’d offer to help, but I don’t know this place. I’ve spent all day being lost.”

Only one word registered. “Kayak? Where did you leave it?” she demanded.

He looked a little startled. “Right next to the slip. There was no sign saying you can’t or anything.”

Alicia flung open the other door. “Get in, please. I’ll run you down there.”

“Well, sure. What’s wrong?” asked the hiker, strapping in as she turned the car.

“Tell me about the kayak. Did you leave the paddle with it?”

“Well, no. I tucked it in the bushes. But it’s got a Minn-kota. One of those electric motors. Takes the pain out of paddling. I’ve got a solar charger, and she’ll do fifteen kilometers on a charge,” said the kayak owner, proudly.

Alicia almost forgot she was driving and closed her eyes. Then she said, “Oh, no!” and accelerated, putting her foot flat.

“What?” asked her startled passenger, “What’s wrong? What’s the rush?”

“I think those kids are in your boat. Look, the island police are there. Just let me concentrate on the road.”

“What? You mean…”

They skidded to a halt at the ramp, just as one of the boats was being hauled out of the water by the police ute. She jumped out of the car, recognizing her Mike among the life-jacketed men, and ran over to them. “I’ve got the kayak’s owner. The kayak had one of those little electric outboards! It’s got about a fifteen-kilometer range.”

A moment of horrified silence spread across the group.

“They could be out as far as Prime Seal Island,” said the SES captain. “We’ve just got a much wider search area.”

“They’re kids. They probably wouldn’t head out to sea,” said one of the men who had just come in with the boat. Alicia had hardly recognized him, the hood of his waterproof tight around his head and wearing a grim expression instead of his usual smile. It was the abalone diver. He was unzipping his jacket as he spoke. “We’ll have to plan a new search. I’m just going to see who the hell has tried to ring me. Had three calls while I was out there.” He looked at the number. “Hello. It was Tim Ryan.”

“Ryan!” said the policeman, and Alicia saw him turn pale. “He called me to say the girl was on Marriot Reef. I…I didn’t think it was possible.”

“What?” demanded Mike.

“Hang on. He left a message,” said Jon McKay. “Shut up so I can listen.” There was instant silence. “Marriot Reef. Middle island, the one with a sand-spit.”

“But…I mean, how could he know?” said the policeman.

“He’s my boatman,” said Jon, tersely. “That kid reads the sea like you read a book. It’s in his genes. He’ll find good abs at twenty meters down while he’s on the surface, reads currents and waves like they were talking to him. I’ve been cursing all afternoon that I didn’t take him up on coming along with us.”

“I thought he was Melbourne…trouble,” said the policeman slowly. “Up to something.”

The look he got from Jon McKay was pure scorn. “I’m calling back, but in the meanwhile let’s get this boat tied down well enough to tow down there. If we take the track just past the Wheatleys’ place, we can probably manage a beach launch at the mouth of the creek there.” He turned to the SES captain. “If that’s okay.”

That worthy smiled and nodded. “Yer beat me to the punch. I’ll send the next boat in to West End. It’ll be an easier launch, and better than trying to push across Marshall Bay in this. I wish we could have had got the chopper out, but it was already just too wild by the time we got the call out.”

Men jumped about, tying the boat down. Jon shook his head. “No answer. I better check my message bank. There was another message.”

A moment later he said, “The boy has taken my boat to go and get her.”

There was a stunned silence.

“Come on,” yelled the SES captain. “We might have a second search and rescue. Get going. I’ll send the guys on quads down the beach from Castle Rock.”

Alicia felt the sudden cold in her stomach, looked at her husband and pulled out her mobile.

* * *

Tim knew things were going to get worse before they got better, once they got out of the lee of Roydon and the Pascoes and got the full force of the swells and wind. The shallower waters of Marshall Bay would do two things—push the waves into peaking and then rob them of some force as they broke and expended their energy in foam. He knew that. Knew how best to deal with it. It was still incredibly hard, and took all his concentration, running just behind the break, then over at the right moment, to zig out and do it again. The sea was a churning mess of white, and the squalls of sheeting rain made it hard to see more than a few hundred meters ahead. He had to rely on his senses: his ears for the roar of the waves, his eyes to see what he could, and the feel of the water and wind biting to help with direction.

It would be better once they found the lee of Marriot Reef, but even that would be wild, he knew. And he had to find his way there…he could ask the seal-woman. But he didn’t need to. He also didn’t know if she could move as fast as the RIB did, anyway.

* * *

Molly felt the vibration of the phone in her inside pocket. There was no way she could get to it. She was amazed it still worked; the scything spray had soaked her and she’d thought that she was wet to the cold skin. She’d have been frightened out of her wits if it hadn’t been for the glance back at Tim. He had one of those easy-to-read faces. And he wasn’t miserable or afraid. He was just…intent. And he seemed to be smiling. He looked, simply, in control.

He caught her look, gave her a brief thumbs-up. “Five minutes,” he yelled. “Nearly there!”

How could he tell? But his confidence lifted her spirits.

* * *

“Thank yer!” called Mary Ryan, as she hastily opened the door and scrambled with all the speed she could manage out of the woman’s car. She was running through the rain for the house, not waiting for polite goodbyes. There wasn’t a light on in the house. The stove was warm, had been lit, but hadn’t been recently fed, by the temperature. She added wood out of habit as she demanded of the air: “Where is he?” Well, of the furry little feller of light and shadows that she could half see.

It pressed the ute keys into her hand.

She jog-trotted out of the house, trying not to shake. It was hard to start the old brute in the cold, but she got it going. Her little-folk helper clung to the outside mirror, as he always did, pointing. Her heart sank still further, because that was the beach track he was pointing her down.

* * *

“She’s out there, Mike,” said Alicia Symons. “Not answering the mobile, and now it has stopped ringing.”

“I’ll kill him, if he isn’t dead,” said Mike Symons, driving too fast, but just keeping up with the police vehicle towing the boat in front of them, cursing that the trailer lights had obviously not been hooked up.

His wife was silent. Then she said, “If Molly is out there, and he brings her back alive, you’ll listen to her first. Because I bet if she went along, Tim did his best to stop her.”

“He should have done more, then.”

“Like what, Mike Symons?” she asked. “You never managed to stop me skydiving.”

“I just hope to God she’s all right.”

“I thought you were an atheist?”

“Not when my daughter is at sea in this.”

“Yes. Look out, they’re turning.”

They bumped down the rutted, muddy trail to the beach behind the police vehicle. It was raining hard again, difficult to see, even with the wipers on fast.

“How can they hope to find anything in this? I just hope they give up and come home,” said Alicia, fearfully.

* * *

Jon was in the front passenger seat of the police vehicle, with three of the other crew in the back, as they headed away from the ramp at Port Davies. The sergeant said, “Tell me about this kid. Seems I got it wrong. He said he was from Melbourne and all he wanted to do was to get back there.”

“Maybe he did,” said Jon. “But Ryan’s ancestors were among the first sealers to settle here. The people who became the Straitsmen. You know, took Aboriginal wives, lived on the islands off the sea, lived off muttonbirds and a bit of farming. A lot of them came from little islands off Scotland or Ireland anyway. They were suited to the life, they knew the sea, and they survived and stayed on. The kind of people who couldn’t cope with it either died or left. Seamanship is in their blood, Sergeant. That boy works as my boatman. He doesn’t think about how to fish or read the sea. He just notices small details you and I don’t. He doesn’t even know, consciously, that he’s doing it at all. I’ve asked him dozens of times what he’s picking up. He shrugs, tells me what he can, but it’s not all of it. He’s uncanny with the sea. I’ve seen him dealing with sheep and cows too…he knows what to do without thinking much about the job.”

“I had a boatman like that when I was running sheep on Chalky,” said one of the men in the backseat. “He could find his way in to Whitemark, drunk as a skunk, in mist so thick you couldn’t see your hand in front of your face.”

“He’d need it out there this afternoon. Is there a GPS on your boat?” asked the policeman.

Jon sighed. “It’s in my pocket. I took it off to log the dive spots. We keep a record. Still, he does know the area. I just wish like hell you’d listened, Sergeant. I wish like hell the boy wasn’t out there, especially if Symons is right and his daughter is on the boat too. The RIB is as good a small boat for a bad sea as you can find, and Tim is competent, keeps his cool, I think, but he doesn’t have experience in these conditions.”

“Look, I’m sorry. He behaved like…well, he had something to hide. And his grandmother confirmed it by chasing me off. So I…”

“She chases everyone off,” said one of the men in the backseat. “Has for years, Sergeant.”

“Well, as it happens, Sergeant, she told me why she was so upset,” said Jon, angry with the man himself. “The last time a policeman came to her door, he was escorting the officer who came to tell her that her husband was MIA in Vietnam. You think she’s going to welcome you?”

“Oh, hell…I thought, well, I know there’s cannabis being grown somewhere close to that part of the island. I thought it was there.”

“Dicky Burke,” said one of the men in the back. “You won’t catch him, Sergeant. He’s a wily fox, that one.”

“I know. But they’re relations…He collects mail for her, goes there. And we tracked some of the money from a deal. She spent it.”

Jon snorted. “I can tell you how that happened, all right. And it’s not a pretty story. Burke’s been selling her cows for her, and gypping the old lady something terrible. I found that out when I agreed to buy some instead. You know what the bastard was giving her?” He told them, knowing that at least one of the fellows in the back was a farmer. “And to add insult to injury, I reckon laundering some of his money through the sale, giving her your tracked notes instead. I’ll bet she’s no dope grower. For starters, they’re as poor as church-mice, and I reckon as honest as the day is long, by her standards, and I’ll bet that doesn’t cut it with her.”

“I’m sorry. Still, that boy just has to see my uniform and he’s in a panic. Don’t tell me there’s no history of trouble.”

“You’re probably right. I got into strife as a teenager, you probably did too. I was trying to prove myself a man and impress the chicks. Trouble is, for a kid like that in the city…he can’t do it without getting into strife. Here he can. In Melbourne, he’s just another kid who doesn’t really fit. Here, he’s a round peg in a round hole.”

The radio crackled. “Bad news, Sergeant. The guys on the quad-bikes…they just found the little boy washed up on the beach, near Marshall Rock.”

There was silence in the vehicle. Then Jon said: “Can’t you drive a bit faster, mate?”