Magnus Fin and the Moonlight Mission (11 page)

Magnus Fin saw splinters of moonlight crash down through the sea. He had to be close to the surface. Relief surged through him. With one last mighty effort he heaved his load upwards and his head burst out of the water. Sheets of seawater streamed down his face.

Gasping, he called out, “I’ve got it. I’ll attach the net to the winch. When you get to the beach drag the net onto the sand. Then call for Aquella. She should be there in Ragnor’s cave. It can’t get out of the net, don’t worry.”

Tarkin had turned green. He groaned and clasped his hand over his mouth. Bending over the side of the boat, he retched and spewed up every toffee he had eaten.

Fin didn’t have time for sympathy. “Hurry up, Tarkin. Turn on the engine. Pull up the anchor. Come on, Tark. I really need you to help.” Fin wound the rope round the winch hook, noticing that the creature in the net had gone limp.

Tarkin staggered the few steps to the end of the boat. “Never again, Fin,” he moaned. “I’m never getting on a boat again. Ever!” But even in his misery he managed to reach over and pull up the anchor. Then he was sick again.

“And you called
me
smelly?” Fin said. “You’ll feel better afterwards, honest.”

“I’ll never feel better,” Tarkin groaned, “not ever.”

“Look, Tarkin, sorry to leave you like this. Take the net to the beach. Quick! I’ve got to go. Later, when Miranda’s better, we’ll have to get this dump cleaned up. I have to leave now, Tark, but selkie time moves fast. I might be back before you. Soon as I’m home I’ll call 999. If you’re back before me, you call. Tell them there’s a dump in the sea. Leave a buoy so we know where it is.”

Fin fumbled with the locket and drew out the last strand of seaweed. “When you get to the beach give this to Aquella. It’s for the thing in the net.”

“The what?” Tarkin groaned.

“The thing. Now go!” Fin dipped his head under the water, jack-knifed his body to face downwards and kicked back his heels. He had no time to lose. As he swam he clasped his locket shut. Only his baby tooth remained inside it. Grasping his moon-stone Fin felt its strength pour into him.

He dived deeper then glanced to the left. Was his grandmother this way? He flashed his torch-lights down a long rocky passageway to the right. Or was she this way?

Nice job.

Fin swung round. There in front of him was the crab, clinging to a long frond of seaweed and swaying back and forth through the water like a child on a swing.

You had me worried for a moment – but not really worried.

You left me trapped under that horrible fridge. And what about that poison? Not really worried? I nearly died!

But you didn’t. And hey! Great pal you’ve got up there. Cheer up, M F. Don’t let a few little bumps and scares get you down.

Magnus Fin shook his head in disbelief.
Little scares? I was petrified. And little bumps? I’ve got bruises all over me.

They’ll heal … and remember – you’re brave. But hey! Some show you put on! Nice thinking with that net. I loved the way you just dropped it right over the poor thing.

There was something charming about the crab. Fin’s anger evaporated. He couldn’t help but like him.

Anyway
, the crab continued,
now you know what’s causing the sickness, you and your pals can clear this dump. Right then, let’s get out of here.
And with that the crab jumped from his seaweed swing and paddled at high speed down the long rocky passageway. Fin followed, and soon the rock, rubble and underwater canyons were far behind them.

OK. Go for it, M F. Go to Miranda. She’s at Sule Skerrie. Turn your nose to the west and plough down the seas.

Magnus Fin turned his nose to the west and kicked back the ocean. He looked over his shoulder to wave goodbye to the crab, but when he glanced back, true to form, the crab had gone. Fin swam as fast as he was able.

Miranda!
he called in his thoughts,
Miranda!

And on the very edge of hearing, the faintest glimmer of a reply sounded through the waves:
Magnus Fin
…

The winkle picker stood up to stretch his back. His pail was filling fast. Full moon was always a good night for the periwinkles. “
Baffled our foes stand by the shore
,” he sang, rubbing his sore back as he did so, “
follow … they … will …
”

He rubbed his eyes. Then he rubbed them again. He blinked. His long-range eyesight was forever playing tricks on him,
“… not … da …”
The song died on his lips. Either he was moon-mad, or that was a boy in a boat hurtling through the sea with a full net in its wake!

Once Tarkin had filled the tank with diesel and turned the throttle, there was no stopping him. He zoomed across the sea. Behind him the net bounced and slapped.

“Aquella!” Tarkin shouted at the top of his lungs when the dim outline of the cliffs, cave and beach came into view. “Where are you?”

He slowed down. The net bobbed gently. Tarkin scanned the beach. Fin had said Aquella would be on the beach, the beach by the cave. He called again, “Aquella!” So where was she? An oystercatcher, disturbed from its sleep, piped loudly.

By this time Tarkin had reached the shallow waters. The bottom of the boat scraped and juddered against
the pebbles. The night before, Frank had berthed the boat in the small harbour. Tarkin had watched carefully as Frank had cut the engine, flipped a buoy over the side then thrown a rope around a bollard. But this beach was hardly a harbour and right now the boat was keeling on to its side. Tarkin panicked. What was he supposed to do now? He remembered seeing a film where the pirate tugged a raft ashore and hauled it up the beach.

“Here goes!” Tarkin shouted and jumped over the side. “Oh man! It’s freezing!” He waded through the ice-cold water towards the beach, pulling the short rope that was attached to the lip of the boat. It was heavy. Very heavy. The water wanted to drag the boat back, and the squirming net made it even worse. Tarkin’s feet slipped and scuffed on the slimy pebbles.

“Heave-ho!” he shouted, dragging his cargo inch by inch up onto the beach. “Here we go!” He stumbled on a boulder. The rope fell from his grip. With a thud Tarkin landed on his back. “Agh! Help!” he yelled. “Ouch! Agh! Somebody help!”

That’s what finally woke Aquella. She rose from her seaweed pillow and looked around. Where was she? Where were the other selkies and the sparkling water? She rubbed her eyes then sat bolt upright. She was on the flat rocks by the beach. She had fallen asleep. And if she wasn’t mistaken, that was Tarkin lying groaning on the sand!

Aquella jumped to her feet. A bolt of panic shot through her, seeing how far the moon had travelled. Had she been asleep all that time?

Magnus Fin,
she called in her thoughts,
I’m sorry! I am so sorry. I fell asleep. Are you all right? Fin – where are you?

Frantically she ran across the beach towards Tarkin. He was rolling from side to side, yelping like an injured dog and all the while the boat was slipping back into the sea.

“Tarkin!” she cried. “What’s wrong?”

“Get it!” he shouted. “Quick, Aquella, just get the boat! And that net! There’s something – ouch – in it for you!”

She swung round to see the boat glide back into the water. “But,” she stammered, “but I … the …”

Already the salt water was dangerously close to her feet. Had Tarkin forgotten? The waves ran up and curled just inches from where Tarkin lay groaning on the beach, holding his shoulder and rubbing his elbow. In that moment they both heard the sound of footsteps crashing over pebbles behind them. In the moonlight a figure darted past them and ran into the sea. The winkle picker dragged the boat and its trailing net up the beach, pebbles and shells crunching under the weight.

Tarkin and Aquella, jaws gaping, could do nothing but stare.

When the man had pulled the boat past the wavy line of seaweed that marked the tideline he sighed loudly and let the rope go. The boat keeled onto its side and the bundle in the net lay motionless behind it. The man, hands on his hips now, was wheezing loudly with the effort. Slowly he turned to face the two children.

“Look after him,” he said, gazing first at Aquella then at the net. “Rest,” he muttered, “aye – that’s what he needs.” Then he hurried away up the beach. In a moment he was swallowed up by the shadows of the cliffs.

Tarkin and Aquella stared at each other. They shot nervous glances up towards the cliffs where the man had vanished.

“Are you all right?” Aquella was the first to break the silence.

Tarkin nodded. He bit his lip and lifted himself up to a sitting position. “Weird,” he whispered. “Totally weird.”

“It’s that man who picks winkles,” Aquella whispered back. “I think he’s a friend of Ragnor. But what did he mean – look after him? Look after who?”

“Don’t ask me. That guy is seriously weird. He’s got something to do with killing the seals. Ouch. My back’s real sore.”

“But you’ve got your voice back! How come, Tarkin? What did you do?”

Tarkin looked up at Aquella strangely. “Do?” Then he looked over at the net. It lay unmoving on the sand. “I winched Magnus Fin out of the sea, then I dragged that thing all the way back here. Fin said you’d know what to do with it …”

Aquella stared at the net. Then she ran, stumbling over the beach towards it.

“Fin said he’d be back!” Tarkin shouted. “And we have to call the police – tell them about the dump. I left a buoy to mark the spot …”

But by this time Aquella had already reached the net. She wrenched the tight cord apart and gasped. A pile of stinking seaweed oozed out. She coughed, clutched her hand over her mouth and staggered backwards. The stink was overpowering. Even for a selkie like Aquella, who loved the pungent smell of the sea, this reek caught
at the back of her throat. What was a pile of rotten seaweed doing stuffed in a net?

The bundle didn’t move. She took a half-step towards it, keeping both hands pressed over her nose and mouth. She took another half-step, then another, then willed herself to peer into the putrid tangles.

At that moment, from the midst of seaweed, a thin white arm, smeared with gunge and pitted with barnacles, rose into the air.

Aquella screamed, reeled backwards and fell over a stone. But not once did she take her eyes off the strange arm that had now flopped over the side of the net.

From the net came a low whimpering noise. The arm had a hand. The hand had long curled nails and the nails were clawing at the net. Still Aquella stared as another arm rose up. The seaweed shook and shuddered. Inch by terrible inch, the seaweed rose upwards. The scarred arms pushed the net down.

Aquella had never been so terrified in her life but no matter how awful the sight she couldn’t pull her eyes away. Her heart leapt into her mouth as she watched the wild and stinking mass of seaweed shake from side to side. As it shook, a hundred tiny creatures flew from the fronds and matted mess.

Then the seaweed fell to the sides to reveal a face. It had green staring eyes, a small round nose and a wide mouth. The face shone ghostly pale in the moonlight. The creature rose unsteadily to its feet and clambered out of the net. Standing trembling on the sand it stared at Aquella, and from out of those green eyes large tears rolled down its face.

“Ronan?” Aquella gasped, staggering to her feet.
“Ronan?” She ran across the beach, crying, laughing, yelping, no longer caring about the terrible smell. “Oh Ronan!” she cried, and flung her arms about the seaweed and oil-stained neck of her brother Ronan.

It was a long, long way to Sule Skerrie.

As Magnus Fin swam he tried not to dwell on just how far it was. Time, in the selkie world, moved to a different rhythm. Maybe, Fin hoped, kicking his webbed feet back and forth like flippers, space did too? On he swam, shining his torch-lights ahead of him. They would alert him to any dangers. Killer whales hunted by night. And sharks were hungry anytime. Fin tried hard to banish killer whales and sharks from his mind. Even that ugly gang of ragged fish haunted his thoughts.

Fin swam through that dark clamouring silence, brushing aside trails of stringy seaweed that swept slowly to and fro, to and fro. His leg that had been trapped still throbbed but he pushed himself on. Under him an eel coiled then uncoiled its long tail, flicking up shells and small fish that floated off in slow watery motion. A large shoal of small silver fish surrounded Fin, then, as one, they were off, darting like arrows into the dark.

When fear gripped hold of him he thought of Miranda and held his precious moon-stone tight. Bravely Magnus Fin swam north. Feeling exhaustion slow him down he rounded Duncansby Head and continued into the Pentland Firth. Here was where the North Sea met
the turbulent waters of the Atlantic Ocean. The current swirled and rushed. Magnus Fin swam into the racing swell but felt the surge of the sea push him back. Now his arms were aching. With every stroke they grew heavier. Even an Olympic swimmer would struggle against the tidal pull here. His heart pounded in his chest. He had pushed his body to the limit. And it was still a long way to Sule Skerrie.

Magnus Fin battled on, stretching his arms forward, kicking his webbed feet. But his strength was spent. Each stroke was agony. And each stroke was slower than the one before. He swallowed disappointment like a bitter pill inside him.

After all this, he would have to give up.
I’m sorry,
he called, dropping his arms by his side. His shoulders slumped. His legs stopped kicking.
I’m sorry, Miranda.
He couldn’t go on.

I’m sorry. I fell asleep. Fin? Are you all right?

Fin let the tide drag him back. To take on the surge of the Atlantic Ocean was too much. But what was that?

Fin? Fin? Are you all right?

It was Aquella! She was back. But in Fin’s mind it was already too late. The currents buffeted and pulled him. Drifting backwards he was powerless to resist. He would have to tell Aquella it was over.
I can’t do it, Aquella. I can’t reach Miranda. I just can’t.

Her thoughts darted back, strong and positive.
Listen, Fin. To make it to Sule Skerrie in time you’ll have to summon every ounce of bravery you have. You have to let the change happen, Magnus Fin. Trust the change.

The what?

The change, Fin. Only as a seal will you make it now to
Miranda. You have to relax. Picture the strong sleek body of a seal. Imagine it so hard you’ll make it real. You are
Sliochan Nan Ron,
remember. You’re one of us.

Help me, Aquella!

I am helping you.

Do I want to be a seal?
thought Magnus Fin. But he already knew the answer: to survive and to save his grandmother, he
had
to become a seal.

He did as Aquella told him. He focused all his thoughts on changing into a seal. He pictured the beautiful strong sleek bodies of his selkie friends, their whiskered noses, glistening eyes and powerful flippers …

And that’s when it happened.

It started with his feet. He thought he had brushed against moss. He felt the webs between his toes thicken. Then his legs drew together, as though something was sucking him in then zipping him up. His feet fanned out and stiffened.

Huge strength poured into him. His whole body rounded and filled with it. His flesh expanded. His ribs pushed outwards. Magnus Fin cried out as an exhilarating power and joy pounded through him.

His arms contracted. He felt them suck in to merge with his strong round body. His hands grew bigger as though his own flesh was bursting from its skin to ripen into another stronger skin. These new hands drew in to his body. His fingers tapered. He felt a sleek warm fur cover him. A thick layer of protection and warmth enclosed him.

Then his face softened and his skin thickened. His neck dissolved. Bristles sprouted. His nose pushed forward and quivered as the tang of the ocean rushed
into him. His teeth sharpened. A trembling keenness shot through him.

He was a seal, strong and powerful.

Now Magnus Fin could take on the might of the Atlantic Ocean.