The Song of the Winns (23 page)

“Cook's not the horrible one—we are!” She absent-mindedly took a strawberry from her brother's outstretched palm.

“Huh?”

“Remember what Cook said? Her grandchildren dine on our leftovers.”

“So?”

“So the more we eat, the less food there is for her grandchildren to eat. That's why she gave us watery soup at first: she was trying to save some fish and potatoes for her family. Alex, from now on you have to steal all our food in the middle of the night.”

“Um, okay.” Alex seemed surprised by his sister's sudden change of heart.

“Cook's grandchildren will starve unless we leave a lot of leftovers.”

“Oh. I get it.” Alex sounded somber.

“Just steal little bits of lots of things so it's not too obvious,” Alice advised as she lay down to sleep once more.

“Alice?” said her brother into the dark.

“Mmm?” Alice murmured sleepily.

“I don't think I'm going to enjoy being Sourian.”

Alice closed her eyes. “Me either,” she said.

15

Atticus Island

F
or the next three days, Alistair, Tibby Rose, Slippers Pink, and Feast Thompson waited for Billy Mac's return. Their situation was far from comfortable. The cave, in a small cove to the south of Cobb, was dark and damp and barely large enough for the four of them to squeeze into. When it wasn't raining—which was rare—Alistair sat on the rocks near the cave and stared across the choppy gray water at Atticus Island. Though, as Billy Mac had said, it was hardly an island; it looked like nothing more than a chain of dark, jagged rocks. He thought of the years his parents had spent in this desolate place, years in which they must have long ago ceased to hope for a reprieve, and he longed to embark on the rescue immediately. The waves that crashed relentlessly on the shore only increased his restlessness.

The others seemed to adjust better to the period of waiting. Feast worked out a timetable of shifts, so that they
each took a turn keeping watch for movement on the path at the far end of the beach. When they weren't on watch, Feast and Slippers slept or studied the sketched map of Atticus Island that Tobias had given Slippers, or played cards with a tattered deck they kept in the front pocket of their rucksack. Tibby Rose, who was used to amusing herself after her solitary upbringing, used the nylon twine from Billy Mac to fashion a net, knotting strands of the twine at regular intervals lengthways and crossways, then tying rocks to one end for what she called the lead line, which sank. She spent hours of each day wading through the shallows, dragging the net. By evening she had usually caught enough tiny fish to add flavor and substance to the soup they made by boiling water they fetched from a freshwater spring at the base of the cliff, seasoning it with wild herbs.

Finally, just before dawn on the fourth day, Slippers, who was on watch, hurried into the cave.

“There's a boat coming,” she said.

“Is it Billy Mac?” Alistair asked, hope rising in his chest.

Slippers shrugged. “Can't tell. Let's stay out of sight till we know for sure.”

They huddled in the cave as a pale blue boat, bobbing in the swell, neared their hiding place. It wasn't till it drew alongside the rocks that they were able to recognize the coppery figure of Billy Mac on the deck.

“Right,” he said, as they gathered on the rocks, “which of you is doing this daft thing?”

Slippers and Feast exchanged a look. “It had better be
me,” she said. “You've got to watch your ankle, Feast.”

Feast nodded.

“And me,” said Alistair, adding, “Tibby can't swim.”

Slippers shook her head. “I don't think so, Alistair,” she said. “It's too risky.”

“If anyone should be taking the risk it's me,” Alistair argued. “They're my parents.”

Slippers looked pained, as if she wanted to forbid him, but Alistair just stared at her resolutely.

Finally she lifted her shoulders in surrender. “Short of tying you up, I don't think I can stop you,” she said. “But, Alistair, I am in charge of this rescue, okay? I give the orders.” She looked at him steadily until Alistair nodded his agreement.

Slippers sat on a rock and pulled off her long black boots. If Billy Mac was surprised to see that the almond mouse had gingery pink feet he didn't let on; he just extended a coppery arm to help her onto the boat. Alistair clambered after her.

He stood for a moment, accustoming himself to the roll of the deck, then turned to look at Tibby Rose, who was watching him calmly, though the twitching of her tail betrayed her nervousness. “Good luck,” she said.

“Thanks,” said Alistair. And then the boat was moving away, and he turned to face the forbidding silhouette of Atticus Island.

The journey was a quick one—the outgoing tide was running in their favor—and soon the chain of rocks Alistair had been staring at for days loomed ominously
above them. But there was no sign of the infamous prison, no tower was suddenly revealed as they approached the dark, jagged teeth protruding above the waves.

As they neared the third rock from the left, Billy Mac slowed the boat and pointed.

“It be down there,” he said. “About a meter under.”

Alistair looked, but he couldn't see anything beneath the churning water.

“In that case,” said Slippers Pink, “I guess this is our stop. Thank you, Billy Mac. Coming, Alistair?” And she leaped nimbly onto the railing of the deck, balanced precariously for a few seconds, then dived cleanly into the sea.

Alistair's own entry into the water was more of a belly flop, and he flailed in the heavy swell for a moment, gasping and winded, before settling into a rhythm and treading water.

Slippers resurfaced, her almond fur sleek and wet against her head, and said, “There does seem to be a tunnel. Take a look.”

Ducking his head under the water, Alistair kicked down until he saw a fissure in the rock. It was smaller than he'd expected, about as wide and high as his outstretched arms.

As he kicked toward the surface, he was starting to comprehend just how dangerous their swim was going to be. Once they entered that tunnel, there'd be no turning back. And how did they know it really was a tunnel and not just a dead end? Just from a stupid song and a story of Other Bill's? Was he really going to risk his life, and Slippers
Pink's, on such flimsy evidence? Then he thought of his parents, of four long years in a prison cell. He looked at Slippers Pink, at the trepidation on her face. Was she having second thoughts? But Slippers just said, “Billy Mac's moved off pretty smartly.” Turning, Alistair saw the little fishing boat had already departed, leaving them stranded by the rock, a long way from shore. “So either way we've got a swim ahead of us,” Slippers continued. “Shall we give this tunnel a try?”

Alistair was by now so apprehensive he couldn't even speak, just nodded once.

“Take a deep breath,” Slippers advised, “and hold it for as long as you can before letting it out very slowly. Try to make that breath last. And stay close.” She looked both determined and resigned as she inhaled slowly and deeply, then slid beneath the surface.

Alistair breathed in, feeling his lungs expand, then dived down.

The first thing Alistair noticed as he followed Slippers Pink into the tunnel was the silence. The roar of the waves, which had been a constant soundtrack the last few days, abruptly ceased. The second thing he noticed was that visibility was limited in the murky light; he could only just make out the indistinct form of Slippers Pink swimming ahead of him.

He moved his arms and legs in a steady rhythm, and when he felt his lungs start to burn he let out a trickle of air, trying to ignore how his heart was beginning to knock in his chest. The tunnel was longer than he'd expected,
and he started to grow anxious. How much farther could it be? As he became aware of the air pushing out of his lungs he simultaneously became aware of the heaviness of his limbs in the water, which felt thick now, as if it was resisting his effort to move through it. The walls of the tunnel seemed to be closing in, to be physically squeezing the air out of him, and he thought the murky light was dimming. He tried to keep panic at bay, tried to keep swimming steadily, tried to hold on to the last of the oxygen in his lungs, fixed his eyes on Slippers Pink. . . . But where was she? For through the gloom Alistair saw that the tunnel forked—and he had no idea which way Slippers Pink had gone! But there was no time to think, he had to keep moving, he was out of air, desperate to breathe, and he thought he saw a glow in the left-hand fork, perhaps it was the surface, air, he needed air. There was nothing steady about his movements now; Alistair was frantic, hands clawing at the water. Why wasn't the tunnel ending? What if he had taken the wrong fork and the tunnel didn't end? Several times he jerked his head up convulsively, as if to surface, only to hit the roof of the tunnel and be reminded that there was no way out but forward. If there was a way out. The salt water was stinging his eyes, his chest was aching with pressure, heart pounding, pulse racing, head feeling light, eyes filled with light. . . .

As his head broke the surface, Alistair drew a huge breath, and was almost overwhelmed by dizziness from the rush of oxygen into his bursting lungs. For a few
seconds he thought of nothing but his next breath, gulping at the air gratefully as if each inhalation might be his last. His limbs were trembling, though whether from exertion or relief he couldn't tell. The panic he had felt in the tunnel still felt very fresh—but he was alive!

Treading water as his breathing steadied, he looked around. He was in the center of a small pool, one of a series of pools strung together like pearls across an expanse of dark, slippery rock. Blocking his view of the shore was an uneven jumble of rocky peaks and crumbling cliffs, silhouetted against the sky like a ragged row of teeth. He'd made it! He was on the far side of Atticus Island! He looked around for Slippers. At first he couldn't see her, and his heart began to beat quickly again. What if she had taken the wrong tunnel? Then he spotted her several meters away, standing with her hands on her hips in shallow water in the shadow of an overhanging rock. Her almond fur was all slick from the water, but her brow was furrowed with anxiety as she gazed intently into the rock pool in front of her.

“Slippers,” he called.

She looked up, and a huge smile spread across her face. Alistair couldn't help smiling back.

“Did you take the left fork?” she asked, hurrying over, and when Alistair nodded she said, “I took the right fork. That explains why you've come up in a different place to me.”

“I didn't know which way you'd gone,” he told her, saying nothing of the terror he had experienced.

But she must have understood something of what he had gone through, because her face clouded over. “I've cursed myself a thousand times in the last couple of minutes,” she confessed. “When I got to the fork I could see a faint glow from the right-hand tunnel and presumed that must be the one to take—and it wasn't till I'd entered it that I realized you mightn't have seen which way I'd gone, because I'd be blocking the light. But there was no room to turn back, I had to go on, not knowing if you were still behind me or if. . . .” She broke off, and Alistair realized that she had been no less terrified than he. Imagine if she had reached his parents only to have to tell them that their son had . . . Alistair shook his head to dispel the image of himself drowning in the tunnel.