Sky Run (14 page)

But there it was, right ahead of us, with ten or more boats moored up at its jetty: The Inter Island Motel and Skyway Services. Prop: J. P. Procrustes. Food, accommodation, showers, laundry.

I went straight into badgering mode.

‘Peggy! Look! Can we stop and get a shower and something different to eat? And maybe sleep in proper beds for a night? Can we? It'd be so nice to have a shower, wouldn't it, and get all these … well … bits off us.'

‘Can you read the room rate?' she said. ‘My eyes aren't so good.'

‘Says eight Units a room. But we can share. We don't need a room each. And we could have a meal too. A not-fish meal. Can we, Peggy? Can we afford it? Can we?'

‘I guess …'

‘And it looks all right, or all those other boats wouldn't be there, would they?'

‘I guess not. Seems to be popular. But then there's not exactly much by way of choice in the area. Only motel we've seen so far in the whole, wide sky.'

‘But it's got to be OK. Can we go there? Can we?'

‘Well, it would be nice to get a good, long, hot shower and wash these clothes …'

And I could tell that though none of the others was saying much, they'd have appreciated a nice long shower too.

‘It must be OK if there's other boats there,' I said again, and that kind of clinched it. Peggy was persuaded.

But I was wrong about that – about the place being OK, just because it looked popular. Seriously wrong. Conclusions are things you should go ambling towards; you shouldn't go jumping to them. But I didn't know that at the time.

No. Just because a place looks busy, that doesn't mean it's anywhere you want to be. Appearances can be deceptive, as we were about to find out.

Yes, well, so that was all thanks to Martin and his big mouth and wonderful ideas yet again.

Looking before you leap was never his strong point, as he was to prove once more. It's not that he's ever short of suggestions. He's had some classic ones. Like, ‘Let's jump off the headland here, Gemmy. I can sky-swim this, no trouble!' And that nearly had us both killed, with him getting into difficulties and thrashing about with all the grace and buoyancy of a dead sky-walrus, and me just about able to keep him afloat and get him back onto solid ground. Even I didn't tell Peggy about that one.

And it wasn't just the motel, to be honest. He'd been getting on my nerves for quite some time, ever since we had the bad fortune to run into that rat-skinner and took Miss Speckles on board. (Least that was how I thought of her, but I kept the nickname to myself.) Not that I had anything against Angelica – she was very friendly and very nice. It was Mr Lovesick who was the pain in the nether regions.

I mean, I know Peggy said it was high time we got ourselves to City Island, and not just for the self-improvement but for the socialising's sake too. She said if we weren't careful we'd end up feral – which meant, according to her small but well-thumbed dictionary, that we'd end up as domestic creatures gone wild and impossible to tame or to let into the house without putting papers and litter trays down first and locking up the biscuits.

‘You won't know how to relate to people, not anyone of your own age. And old Ben Harley's no role model, I can tell you that. You need to meet young people and know what's going on with them.'

And I could see the truth and value of that, and I could understand that as Martin had never seen any other girl apart from me (and sisters plainly don't count) since he was too small to even know what a girl was, then meeting one might come as a surprise. But I hadn't expected him to actually start drooling. And when I saw him with Miss Speckles, and when I saw Botcher the sky-cat with a bowl of food, it was hard to tell the difference between them, except that maybe Botcher dribbled less.

Martin just followed her around the boat like she had him on a piece of string, and it was, ‘Angelica, shall we do the cooking together?' and ‘Angelica, shall we share this watch and both stay awake and then I'll stay awake for your watch too?' Or, worst of all, it was, ‘Angelica, have you got any more rat-skinning stories that you haven't told me yet?'

And there the poor girl was, racking her brains for old rat-hunting yarns to keep him happy, and they got more and more unbelievable and far-fetched as we went along, and everyone could see it apart from Martin, who was swallowing them down like they'd been cooked on toast. I did feel quite sorry for Angelica, and knew she was only making them up for his sake. But when we got to the one where she was swallowed whole by a sky-rat and her dad had to pull her out by sticking his arm down the creature's throat and getting her by the hair – well, I thought, even Martin isn't going to fall for this one.

But no. He just nodded like it was something straight from the pages of
A History of the Sky Island Peoples
and as true as the sun shining. I just didn't know where all this rat-skinning was going to end. It was hard to keep a straight face sometimes. But finally Angelica put a full stop to it when Martin was on at her to tell him just one more.

‘I really think I've told you them all, Martin,' she said.

‘There must be one you haven't told me,' he said. But you could tell she was suffering from creative burnout and liar's block (which is no doubt like writer's block; liars and writers – so Peggy says – being pretty much the same thing, and if you have an aptitude for one, then you may well have a knack for the other). But Angelica plainly didn't want to tell even one more rat-skinning tale.

‘No, I'm sorry, Martin. But why don't you tell me about you, and living on Peggy's island?'

‘Nothing ever happened,' he said.

‘Martin,' I said, ‘tell her about the Barbaroons, when they nearly carried you off to sell you – not that they'd have got much, mind.'

‘They tried to kidnap you?' Angelica said, all big eyes behind her glasses. She could be as cute as peas sometimes.

‘It wasn't that interesting,' Martin said.

‘No, go on.'

So he told her. And one story led to another, and just listening to him made me realise that even on a tiny island miles from anywhere civilised, you can have an interesting life. Even a fascinating one, when it comes to recounting it, though it didn't seem so special at the time.

Anyway, so there we were, sailing into the Inter Island Motel and Skyway Services. Prop: J. P. Procrustes. There were pictures up in black and white, silhouettes of rice bowls and chopsticks and one of a bed and another of a shower nozzle flowing, so even if you couldn't read you could still get the message that here was everything weary travellers needed to get the grime and sweat off themselves and the weight off their feet and to have a good tuck in.

‘I'm getting a burger,' Martin said.

‘They don't do burgers,' Peggy said.

‘They do. There's a picture of one.

‘Is that a burger? I thought that meant there was a capstan to tie your boat up at,' Peggy said.

‘Ha, ha,' Martin said.

‘What's a burger?' Alain asked.

But that's the kind of world it is. Nobody knows everything. Sometimes even experience proves nothing.

We tied up with the other boats.

‘See, popular place,' Martin said again, like he just couldn't stop with the bragging and the being proved right.

‘So you keep saying,' I told him.

‘Can you smell cooking?'

‘No,' I said.

‘I can smell the burgers.'

‘In your dreams.'

We walked across the pontoons and up onto land. Then we followed the path to the reception. For a place with so many boats at its moorings, there didn't seem to be a lot of people about. Or any, come to that.

‘Where are they all?'

‘In their rooms, sleeping.'

‘I wonder who runs the place?'

‘Ring the bell.'

‘Think they'll have any rooms left? They might be full.'

‘Ring the bell again, please, Gemma.'

‘I'll do it!'

‘Ring it, Martin. Not smash it.'

‘Yeah, all right, Gemma, keep your hair on. I didn't ring it that hard, did I, Angelica?'

‘Well, I didn't think it was that loud, Martin.'

(It really did make you sick.)

‘Anyone coming?'

‘Here's someone now.'

A woman appeared behind the reception desk. She was formidable-looking, with brawny arms and a tattoo on one of them, of a dagger stabbing a heart and a serpent coiled around it. But she was friendly enough, if gruff.

‘Howdy.'

‘Hi,' Peggy said.

‘Help you?'

‘We'd like to freshen up, maybe stay a while, do some laundry, get a shower and a meal – do you have any rooms?'

The woman indicated the key board and all the hooked room keys hanging there.

‘You can take your pick.'

‘Oh, good. We just thought you might be full.'

‘Why'd you think that?'

‘The sky-boats tied up at the jetty out there.'

‘Oh, them. No. We ain't full.' And she gave no further explanation. ‘How many rooms are you wanting?'

‘Well, the boys can share, and Gemma and Angelica too, and a room for me.'

‘Three rooms, one night, twenty-four ICUs, cash appreciated, in advance.'

‘Eh … OK. Fine.' And Peggy got her wallet out. ‘You've got laundry facilities?'

‘Down at the end of the block.'

‘Showers?'

‘In the rooms. You'll be wanting to eat?'

‘I think we will.'

‘Meat or fish? The meat we have to get out of the freezer to thaw, so some notice helps. Fish is fresh.'

‘Can I have a burger?'

‘Sure, young man. We'll get that out of the freezer for you.'

Peggy handed over the money and the woman gave her the keys.

‘You manage your own luggage? Don't look like you've got much. Or shall I call Mr Procrustes to carry it for you?'

‘We can manage.'

‘Going far?'

‘City Island.'

‘Right. Expecting you there, are they?'

‘Kind of.'

‘And people at home to miss you too, I guess?'

‘No, not really,' Martin blurted out, before I could shut him up. I didn't like this woman. She asked some funny questions. What did she want to know if there was anyone to miss us for?

‘OK, well, make yourselves at home,' Mrs Procrustes – I assumed that was who she was – said. ‘I'll go and get the meat out the freezer.'

‘Where do you get it from, by the way?' Peggy asked. ‘I've not seen meat in – well – twenty turnings or more. I mean, old world livestock, that's so rare – and expensive.'

‘Mr Procrustes knows the people to get it from,' she said, and then clammed up, like it was some trade secret.

‘OK. Then let's get freshened up, shall we?' Peggy said, taking the keys and doling them out.

‘You know, you all don't smell so good,' Mrs Procrustes said. ‘And there's bits of fish or something on you.'

‘We realise,' Peggy said. ‘It's why we want the laundry and shower.'

‘What happened? You smell like a whale exploded.'

‘Something like that,' Peggy said.

‘Then you carry on. When do you want to eat?'

‘Couple of hours' time suit everyone?' Peggy asked.

It seemed to. So we went to our rooms.

Miss Speckles was OK really. It was the first time I'd talked to her properly on her own, but she was fine to share a room with.

‘My brother annoying you, Angelica?' I said. ‘I can speak to him, if he is.'

‘No,' she said. ‘He doesn't annoy me at all.'

‘Not even with the rat-skinning stories? I thought you might be feeling the pressure.'

‘No, really. I don't mind. In fact, I quite like him.'

So there you are. Just when you think there's no surprises left in the world, some girl tells you that she likes your brother.

I wondered what he and Alain were talking about across the corridor in their room. Martin was probably putting the squeeze on him to relate a few crossbow-firing stories, or floating-sky-mine stories, or being-press-ganged-into-the-army stories. I just hoped Alain would tell him the truth and frighten any notions out of him of one day being a soldier himself.

‘Beds aren't very big, are they?' Angelica said.

I tried mine out.

‘No. Bit short.'

‘Maybe they might change them.'

‘Could mention it.'

‘But then you curl up when you sleep.'

‘You want the shower first, Angelica?'

‘No, you go.'

So I did. Then she did. Then we put on some clean clothes and took the mucky stuff to the laundry area, where we found the others.

‘I've still not seen anybody else,' Martin said. ‘Have you, Alain?'

‘No, no one.'

‘Where are all the owners of the boats?'

‘Sleeping?'

‘But none of the other rooms seem occupied.'

‘Stretching their legs?'

‘Maybe. But all of them? And it's not that big an island. You'd think we'd see somebody.'

We got our clothes washed and hung them out in the sun. They dried fast, long before the time we'd agreed to eat.

‘I really can smell those burgers now,' Martin said.

‘You've been smelling burgers since you were born,' I told him.

‘That and your far—'

But Peggy managed to stop him.

‘That's enough, Martin. Thank you very much.'

‘I'm going exploring,' Martin said. ‘You coming, Angelica?'

He would have asked me once. But I was happy to stay with the grown-ups.

‘OK.'

Off they went together.

‘Don't be late for dinner.'

Peggy said she was going to rest. I walked on with Alain round the coast. We all went rolling and waddling. We'd been sailing too long and hadn't got the knack of the land again yet. We ran into Mrs Procrustes, who was there on the headland, throwing garbage into the sky.

‘It all falls into the sun,' she said. ‘So it's not littering.'

But half of it wasn't heavy enough and just floated away on the thermals.

I thought I'd mention the beds.

‘Is it possible to get a longer bed, please, maybe?' I said, politely as I could. ‘Mine's a bit short.'

‘The ones in our room are the same,' Alain said.

Mrs Procrustes looked at us, as if sizing us up.

‘Beds too short?'

‘A bit.'

‘Legs hanging over the end?'

‘A little.'

Then a big smile opened up her, so far, rather sullen face.

‘Not a problem. I'll get Mr Procrustes to step round after supper, and he'll be only too happy to sort that matter out for you.'

‘Thank you.'

‘Just need to have a bed more your size, huh?'

‘If possible.'

‘Or, I guess, if you were a little shorter, that might help as well – huh? Like if you stopped at the ankles or something?'

And she patted us both on the shoulder and we made an effort to join in the joke and laugh along with her. But I didn't think it was that funny.

‘Weird woman,' I said, when we were out of earshot. Alain nodded.

‘Yes,' he said. ‘But most Islanders are weird – to a Cloud Hunter.'

‘But is that what you still are?' I said.

‘Always,' he said. ‘Forever.'

I felt he might have said something more, or even done something more, as we were alone together for the very first time and there was nobody else around –

‘Gemma! Gemma! Gemma! Gemma! Gemma!'

Yeah. Exactly. Always there to spoil my treasured moment. Mr Bigmouth running for all he was worth (which wasn't a great deal) across the escarpment, followed by Miss Speckles, who was shouting, ‘Alain! Alain! Alain!'

They didn't so much stop as collide.

‘Gemma. Gemma. Got to get Peggy. Got to get out. Get Peggy. Get our things. Get out. Now. Right now. Now!'

‘OK, hold on. Where's the emergency? Just slow it down.'

‘We've got to get out. Now!'

‘Martin, we haven't eaten yet,' Alain said.

‘And I thought you wanted a burger.'

‘No!' Martin yelled. It was nearly a scream and I had to clamp my hand over his mouth. He bit it.

‘Ow!'

‘No, Alain … Gemma – Angelica and me – we saw inside the freezer.'

‘What were you doing nosing about?'

‘We were round the back and the kitchen door was open and there was no one there, so we went in, and I wanted to see what was in the freezer.'

‘So?'

‘So Angelica kept watch by the door and I opened the freezer.'

‘And?'

‘You know we thought it was funny that all those boats were tied up, but there's no one around –'

‘What about it?'

Martin moved his mouth but no sound came out. He looked appealingly at Angelica to speak for him. It came out straight and level and somehow flat.

‘They're all in the freezer,' she said.

I said the most ridiculous thing. It just came into my head.

‘But aren't they cold?'

And then I realised what an absurd remark that was.

‘They're not cold, Gemma,' Angelica said. ‘That is – they are cold – but they're not feeling it.'

‘And you know we were talking earlier about the beds being a bit short.'

‘Yes?'

‘I think I know how they fix the problem.'

‘Yeah. Give you a longer bed,' I said. ‘We just asked her about it.'

‘No, Gemma. They don't make the bed longer. They make the person sleeping in it shorter.'

‘But that's impossible,' I said. (More ridiculous, not-quite-getting-it remarks.) ‘To make someone shorter, you'd need to cut their feet off and –'

And then I saw Angelica's and Martin's faces staring at me.

‘They're all in the freezer,' Martin said. ‘We counted ten pairs, plus an odd left one on its own. And a shoe.'

I looked at Alain.

‘And I left my crossbow in the room,' he said. ‘Come on. Let's get Peggy.'

He ran. And we followed. We didn't stop until we were banging on the door of Peggy's room and telling her to open up. Alain dashed to his room to get the crossbow.

‘Can't a one-hundred-and-twenty-year-old get five minutes' sleep?'

‘Peggy, open the door.'

She did. Finally.

‘What's the problem? And can't it wait?'

‘Peggy, grab your stuff, put your sandals on, we've got to go –'

‘What? We've only just –'

‘Peggy!' Martin was yelling again. ‘There's people in the freezer! And feet!'

And then there was silence. We all had our backs to the corridor, all except Peggy, who was looking out from her room. She kind of tensed and stiffened.

‘Oh my –'

I looked around.

They were both there. Mrs Procrustes, from reception, and with her an ugly, boiled-face man, who looked as mean as a thousand Scrooges. He had one good eye, and in his right hand he carried a cleaver, and in his left one, a meat hammer. He faced us and said:

‘Who's complaining about the beds?'

‘Well, as a matter of fact I –' Martin started. But I got my hand over his mouth.

‘Actually,' Peggy said, ‘you don't need to worry about them. We've decided to leave early. Everyone – shall we go?'

‘But my toothbrush – I've left it in –'

‘I'll get you a new one, Martin. Everyone – go!'

We headed down the corridor, pushed open the fire exit and ran.

‘What about the laundry?'

‘Grab what you can.'

We snatched what we could off the line on our way past and went on running. Alain and I took one of Peggy's arms each, to help her keep up. We made it as far as the jetty, our hands full of laundry and belongings, all flying in the wind. The couple of monsters were still coming in pursuit.

‘Go on ahead,' Peggy said. ‘Untie the boat.'

I did. Alain, to give me cover, stopped and loaded his crossbow, took aim and shot the cleaver right out of the man's hand. He let out a roar, bent to retrieve it, and started after us again. Mrs Procrustes meantime was coming down the jetty and over the pontoons like an unstoppable tank. And that was what did for her: she couldn't stop, and when I tripped her, she just kept going, out into space. I heard the yell, but I didn't hear the landing or the sizzle – but then, it is a very long way down. And it's not everyone who has the knack of sky-swimming. Some people never really learn.

‘Come on. Get on board!'

The ship was untied and the solars were open and the other three were already on. We jumped across a gap of space and made it. Behind us the cleaver kept on coming, with Mr Procrustes firmly attached to it.

‘You'll pay for this! You'll pay for this!'

‘We already have,' Peggy reminded him. ‘Twenty-four International Currency Units. And I never got my night's sleep.'

In a fit of rage – or maybe it was pique – he hurled the cleaver. It spun through the air and landed with a vibrating thud in the deck.

Alain pulled it out.

‘Might come in handy for something,' he said.

‘I'd prefer not to keep it on board, Alain, if you wouldn't mind. Considering what it's been used for,' Peggy said.

‘Oh. Yes. Take your point.'

I thought Alain was about to drop it over the side. But he didn't. He just threw it back with all his might, towards the man who had hurled it at us.

I don't think Alain meant for it to happen. It was just an unfortunate thing. Because the cleaver could have landed anywhere. But it landed where it did. And it was hard to feel any sympathy for the man lying back there on the pontoon.

‘Martin, Angelica – don't look,' Peggy said.

Only, they already had.

‘I don't think that was a very good motel,' Martin said as we got under way.

I was about to give him a major ticking-off for that – and then I saw from his face that he was being perfectly genuine. It wasn't sarcastic, it wasn't knowing, it wasn't even an attempt at a joke. He was completely serious. He did not think it was a good motel.

‘I'm not staying at one again,' he said, ‘if they're all like that. What about you, Angelica?'

Sometimes I'm just grateful I'm not Martin's age any more. But I'm positive I was never that bad. Surely not. I couldn't have been. Or maybe I was. One day I'll have to ask Peggy. Or, then again, maybe I won't.