The Island of Whispers (14 page)

The others
stared silently at the sea for a while, their eyes fixed on the
spot where Timid One had disappeared. They hadn’t been able to help
her. Now they were too exhausted even to mourn her death.

The storm
continued to rage around them, its fury unabated. The wind cut into
their bodies. The driving rain added to their misery. From time to
time, a frothing wave would curl up and crash against the pillar to
remind them of Timid One’s icy fate. At least we’re safe for the
time being, Twisted Foot thought. We’ll rest here until darkness
comes, he decided, and then continue our journey. He gazed up into
the belly of the giant at the intricate network of crisscrossing
spars. The first obstacle had been overcome. He sensed that the
next obstacle would be no less dangerous.

His thoughts
were interrupted by the sudden wails which came from Bone-Cruncher
and her youngsters.

‘
Fat One!’ Bone-Cruncher cried. ‘Fat One isn’t
here!’

The others
peered along the ledge, searching to their left and right. Then
they stared down into the sea, as if expecting Fat One to emerge
suddenly from the waves.

Small Face’s
voice came almost like a whisper.

‘
I ... I th-think ...’ he stuttered, ‘he w-went b-back to the
underworld ... f-for Sh-Sharp Claws ...’

Twisted Foot’s
heart sank. He looked across to the island. His gaze travelled
along the point, past the ruins of the monastery and up to the
crest. There was no movement. Even the creature on the high ground
had stopped flapping. A train was thundering overhead. The giant
shook, and Twisted Foot along with it.

Tall waves
crashed across the little boat’s prow as it veered to starboard and
headed back to the Hawes Pier. Inside the cabin, the three
occupants were still cold and dripping from their experiences on
the island. As on the journey out, the young men from the
exhibition company clung grimly to the rail under the windscreen.
Their task had been completed successfully. The fireworks display
was safe.

Charlie’s hair
was still plastered to his head. His sodden, crumpled trousers
stuck uncomfortably to his legs. He lit a cigarette and glanced at
his passengers. The Thompson Twins without moustaches, he thought
mischievously. The young men returned his glance. They had seen him
raking among the rubble in the middle of the storm. Looking for
ghosts probably. They thought he was crazy.

Charlie was
grinning now. Still staring straight ahead, he said:

‘
You remember my wee joke aboot the rats?’

The men looked
at him, but said nothing.

‘
Well, boys,’ Charlie continued.

He left the
cigarette dangling from his lips, reached down to a little cupboard
on his right and pulled out the dead rat by the tail. He held up
the corpse so that the rat’s glazed eyes were level with his
own.

‘
What d’you think o’ this beauty?’ he asked.

The young men
blanched. One of them swore softly. The other began to gag. Charlie
brayed with laughter. They thought that he sounded remarkably like
a hyena.

–
o –

Part Four:

Inside the Giant

–
Chapter Thirty-One –

It was the
sudden brightness that woke Twisted Foot. When he opened his eyes,
he could see the sun facing him. It was away in the distance,
peeping above the horizon, sending out its first rays to light up
the estuary. The rays were washing over him and his companions,
warming their damp bodies.

Twisted Foot
felt the coldness and tiredness begin to lift from him. It had been
a long ordeal up here on the narrow ledge. All through the dark
hours the storm had raged. They had dared not move from the ledge,
lest the wind snatched them away and plunged them into the frothing
waters below or lest they slipped on the giant’s dripping surface
and slithered down to their deaths. They had stayed huddled
together, shivering, waiting for the storm to break. And when it
finally did, all they wanted to do was close their eyes and
sleep.

He looked
around at the others. They were all still asleep. He would have to
rouse them. They had escaped from that accursed society over there,
but they were out in the open here, exposed for all to see.
Daylight or not, they would have to continue their journey soon or
risk discovery by the Two-Legs.

He lingered
for a few moments longer. He wanted to savour the warmth of the
sun. Everything was so quiet, so peaceful now. Even the waters had
ceased their constant turmoil to lay flat and placid, reflecting
the light. He had witnessed this scene – the awakening of the world
above – many times before when he came to the end of those long,
lonely watches in the darkness. He knew that the tranquillity
wouldn’t last, though. The vessels of the Two-Legs would appear
beside them soon. And the Two-Legs creatures would begin to rush
back and forth through the belly of the giant. It occurred to him
that he still hadn’t heard the first of those creatures; it usually
accompanied the appearance of each new day’s light. He didn’t know
why this day should be any different.

After many
hours of shrieks and squeals and growls and dying gurgles, quiet
had also returned to the underworld. From his perch at the head of
the pool, One Eye surveyed the aftermath of the battle in the
Common lair. The floor of the lair was strewn with corpses.
Although there were many Scavengers among the corpses, there were
also many warriors and she-rats and youngsters from the Outer
Circle. The carnage had been even worse on the platform in the
centre of the lair, where the bodies of the Rulers were now piled,
one on top of the other, almost all with their bellies split open.
A few Scavengers still prowled around the bodies, gnawing at the
spilled entrails, but most had gone, having already gorged
themselves on Inner Circle flesh; tired, sated and thirsty, they
had returned to their own lair, where they could quench their
thirsts and sleep.

One Eye was
pleased with himself for having had the presence of mind to guide
the members of his lair to this narrow entrance to the pool. By
making a stand here, the Hunters had not only denied the Scavengers
access to the pool, but had also blocked their means of escape to
the outside world. He was equally pleased with the performance of
his warriors; they had successfully withstood wave after wave of
attacks. Some warriors had been slain, of course, but most were
still there beside him, alert, ready for the next onslaught. Behind
them, sleeping fitfully round the edge of the pool, were their
mates and youngsters. He turned to regard the sleeping forms. Safe
for the time being, he nodded. Not like the Watchers. Having
observed the slaves wander freely into and out of the Watchers’
lair, he could only presume that they had all perished. They were a
useless lot anyway, he muttered to himself; their presence in the
underworld wouldn’t be missed.

He returned
his gaze to the Common lair. Directly across from him was the mouth
of the tunnel leading to the Protectors’ lair. His comrades over
there had also fought bravely. They, too, had beaten back the
slaves to protect their own mates and young, as well as what was
left of the Inner Circle. He nodded again. It wouldn’t be long
before the Hunters and Protectors joined forces to regain control
of the underworld. Together, they would drive the remaining slaves
back into their dungeon, and they would ensure that none could ever
escape from the dungeon again. That was the plan. All they were
waiting for now was the order from Long Snout to begin the
assault.

He had heard
the details of the plan direct from the mouth of the Chamberlain
himself. When he saw that the battle was ebbing, that the
Scavengers were growing tired, he had gone immediately to the world
above, struggling through the wind and rain to reach the sacred
tunnel and make contact with the survivors in the Protectors’ lair.
Long Snout had been there; unbowed by the revolt, angry, defiant,
as imposing as ever, the old Chamberlain was confident that, when
it came, their counterattack would defeat the slaves. But first he
wanted the surviving warriors to rest up, tend their wounds and
regain their strength. In the meantime, there were other important
matters to be considered. During the battle, the Two Legs had
returned to the world above, their presence bringing to a halt the
Protectors’ pursuit of those wretched, young traitors. According to
the Protectors, one of the Two Legs had killed a warrior. Its
victim was a decrepit, worthless Watcher, but a warrior
nevertheless. Although the Two Legs had departed in their vessel
long ago, the Chamberlain was convinced that they would be back
once more. With the traitors still at large, he also feared that
that next visit could lead to discovery of the underworld and the
destruction of their society. That was why the Protectors now
permanently guarded the sacred tunnel from the outside. And it was
why he, as Chief Hunter, had agreed to take on responsibility for
watching over the rest of the outside world. Torn Coat, his most
trusted lieutenant, was up there at this moment, with orders to go
direct to the sacred tunnel to report any unusual activity.

One Eye
yawned. Now it was just a case of waiting for the signal from Long
Snout. He was tired. His only eye felt heavy. Perhaps he would also
doze for a little while.

It had been
many Cycles since he had ventured out on the world above, but when
he heard the report from Broken Tail he had felt the necessity to
come up here and witness the spectacle for himself. He was still
blinking in the brightness, still gasping at the sharpness of the
air, when he saw them. They were clustered around the top of one of
the giant’s feet: a bedraggled, sorry-looking bunch. From where he
stood just outside the entrance to the sacred tunnel, he could make
out the cripple from the Watchers’ lair and the cripple’s
long-eared collaborator. The smaller, muscular one alongside the
cripple must be the slave-King, he growled; Broken Tail had said
that he was there. There was no sign of the fat traitor, though.
The Protectors who chased him out of the underworld bragged that
they had dealt him a mortal blow. Perhaps his corpse was somewhere
among the rocks. Or perhaps he had drowned when he tried to swim
across to the giant. No matter. It was the cripple he wanted. It
was the cripple who was to blame for all of this. It was the
cripple who would pay! As soon as he could spare them, as soon as
this business with the Scavengers was over, he would pick out his
best Protectors. Their job would be to find the cripple and bring
him back. The traitor’s punishment would be special,
unprecedented!

Unable to
contain his anger, Long Snout was growling and snarling so loudly
now that he didn’t hear the approach of the Two-Legs vessel. Torn
Coat’s sudden appearance at his side alerted him to the danger.

‘
Go back!’ he hissed at Torn Coat. ‘Let me know what the Two
Legs get up to this time!’

‘
Pah!’ he hissed again as he swept past the guard to return to
the underworld.

–
o –

–
Chapter Thirty-Two –

As predicted
by the weathermen, the Big Day had arrived in a blaze of sunshine
and blue sky. Out of the storm that had raged for a whole day and a
whole night, there emerged a bright, fresh autumn morning of the
kind that are common in the east of Scotland. As soon as it was
light, the organisers of the Big Day hurriedly reviewed the impact
on their arrangements of the storm and the terrible deluge that had
accompanied it. Not unexpectedly, parts of some of the fields which
they had designated as temporary car and bus parks were still
waterlogged, and frantic efforts were being made to drain the
excess water. However, judging from the number of vehicles that
were already converging on the fields, a bit of boggy land was not
going to deter sightseers. That difficulty over parking aside,
everything appeared to be still intact to cater for the estimated
influx of at least a million visitors to the area.

By far the
largest proportion of that number was destined to descend on South
Queensferry, congregating in particular on the wide esplanade that
extended from the eastern end of the town to the Hawes Pier. The
esplanade gave commanding views of the old rail bridge, her road
bridge neighbour to the west and the stretch of river between the
two bridges. It was that expanse of water, along with the sky above
it, which would form the main arena for the Big Day’s events.

The esplanade
was a hive of activity this early morning, with crowd barriers
being erected along the seafront, the loudspeaker system being
tested, the portable toilets being made ready for use, and the food
and souvenir stalls and exhibition tents being set up. There was
also much activity high up on the rail bridge overlooking the
esplanade. Walking in single file along the narrow walkways on
either side of the railway track, on the lookout for any storm
damage, ensuring that all was shipshape for the old girl’s birthday
celebrations, two crews of maintenance men had begun to cross the
bridge from south to north. Close on the heels of the maintenance
men were two similarly sized crews from the floodlighting
contractors on their final walk-through to check that all of the
lamps and cabling were still in place. Train services across the
Forth may have been suspended until the next morning, but the
bridge was busier than ever today.

Down below, in
the shadow of the bridge, a little plum-coloured boat was
approaching Inchgarvie. The boat had departed from the Hawes Pier
some time ago. On board again were Charlie McNulty and the two
young men from the exhibition company. Charlie’s passengers were
visiting the island on this occasion to remove the polythene
wrapping from the fireworks display platform and to give the
apparatus a final check before that night’s extravaganza.