He was already drenched from the driving rain. It took him some time to reach the beach. While he knew this village like the back of his hand, it was extremely difficult to see where he was going in this weather, and the wind had carried him off his feet several more times. The glass panes of the little lantern had already cracked, and he kept it close to him to protect the flame. In the distance sat the hull of the rowboat. But only one. The others were gone, snatched away by the grasping tide. Lightning crackled overhead, and the thunder shook him to his bones. All he could taste was seawater as it blew across the beach and onto his gritted teeth. The waves were getting closer and closer to the hull of the boat. Soon, they’d engulf it completely, and the girl would either be smashed against the rowboat or pulled out to the sea. Robin waited for the waters to recede, then flung himself onto the beach. As he did, he hoped May really was under the boat, or he risked being trapped himself.
Wet sand clung to his boots and the bottom of his soaking-wet overcoat as he struggled towards it. Finally, he reached the rotting rowboat and threw himself behind it. He almost frightened the poor girl to death. The rain pounding on the hull of the rowboat was deafening, and water poured in where clumps of wood had rotted away. May had been crouched there, with her hands over her ears. She recognised him and hugged him immediately. He wanted to rest for a moment, but the lightning was becoming more frequent, and if anything, the rain was getting even heavier. The high winds and howling rain made it pointless to talk. He gestured to her that they had to leave, but she was frightened. He took his cap from off his head and plonked it on hers. It was much too big, of course, and she giggled as she pushed it up over her eyes. Robin ran his hand through what remained of his hair. He gave her his biggest, most reassuring smile, and his kindly, rubbery face, slightly sticking-out ears and single little tuft of white hair made her giggle again. He held her dainty, cold hand as gently as he could for fear of crushing it, and then together they took a deep breath and launched themselves into the storm.
He gathered her up in his arms and began to trudge back through the wet sand. It was slow going, first across the sand where they had to stop and brace themselves against waves trying with all their might to pull them away to a watery grave and then on the slippery cobbled road. The moment he set one heavy boot on the stones, he slid forward. Panicked, he flailed about, trying to steady himself, but he still came crashing down painfully on one knee. He set May Bell down, using his massive frame to shield her from the high winds that would have undoubtedly swept her off her feet. Given the number of times he’d fallen on the way to the boat, he worried about injuring her if it happened again. Cracking her head against the stones or having his hefty bulk land on top of her would undoubtedly do her an injury. He shouted in vain to be heard over the growling winds, but she understood nonetheless. She stuck close to him, the whole time hugging his waist—or at least some of it—with one hand, and kept his cap in place on her head with the other. He watched the boiling clouds dash overhead. Rainfall caused the swell to disappear into a murky, misty haze. Waves surged through the sky as clouds gathered on the sea.
“The sea is upside down…” he said, unheard.
May pulled the cap low so it covered her face entirely. Robin knew this meant she wouldn’t be able to see anything other than her own feet, but it didn’t matter—all she had to do was stay by his side. He tried to cover her with his overcoat, but it made it impossible for her to walk. The weak lantern light was all they had to guide their return, aside from the lightning, and Robin struggled to protect it. They stopped in the same places he had on his way there, catching their breath and steeling themselves for the next leg of the journey. The lights of the Moth & Moon flickered in the distance.
This part would be the hardest, he thought. The open courtyard leading to the door was battered by all manner of flying rubble, from branches and leaves to bits of rope, shingles, and splinters of wood. It was there Robin had slipped the most on his way to find May, and now the winds were even more ferocious. The air was filling with more and more debris, becoming more and more treacherous. He needed something to protect the girl, some way to shield her and himself. It was then he spotted a curved chunk of wood with a piece of rope tied to it. It was being slowly blown across the ground by the high winds. It clattered as it dug into the deep recesses between the cobblestones. From behind the row of sheds, Robin reached out with his long leg and trapped a piece of the rope underfoot. He dragged it towards himself, pulling the wood along with it. It took a few goes to bring it within his grasp, whereupon he hoisted it up and tied it to his arm, reasoning it would make a good shield against the objects whipping through the air. Only after he secured it to his arm did it dawn on him where the wood had come from.
The crimson paint, flaking in places. It was unmistakable. He was using a piece of his dear little boat as a shield. She must have been smashed to pieces in the storm. In a moment of panic, he looked towards the dock, frantically scanning for signs his boat was still afloat. Finding none, he shook his head to put the thought out of his mind and focused on the job at hand. He knew the large surface would make it harder to fight against the wind, but he had no choice. A gust of wind lifted the lantern from his hand and extinguished the flame. They watched as it rattled away into the darkness. They no longer needed it, as there was plenty of light coming from the Moth & Moon. Robin placed May between himself and the shield and together they strode out from behind the shed and into the fray. This was even slower going. The wind tried its best to tear the shield from Robin’s arm. It attacked straight on, pulled at it from all sides, pummelled it with stones and branches and slate, but to no avail. He held his course and strode onwards. For one last time, his beloved Bucca’s Call would protect him from the elements and see him safely home.
They were a few yards from the door when it was swung open by Edwin. Protected, slightly, by the awning around the outside of the building, several men had gathered, holding one another by the arms and forming a human chain out into the storm, calling noiselessly to Robin and his tiny companion as the thunder boomed overhead. Grabbing the sodden sleeve of his overcoat, Edwin gave a signal and the men pulled them all inside, then slammed the door shut behind them. The girl—who was soaking wet and caked with sand—had been too frightened to cry up to that point, but now she ran to her mother and wept. Robin leaned against a wall, relieved as the family reunion took place. May and her mother, Louisa, were by Henry’s side now, hugging and tearful and relieved beyond words. Henry’s leg was raised on a stool, and he flinched whenever one of the other villagers in the crowded inn accidentally brushed against him.
Robin ached all over. Edwin put his hand on his friend’s shoulder and congratulated him. Robin just smiled, and then his eyes rolled back in his head as he sank to the floor, unconscious.
Chapter Seven
WHEN MORWENNA WHITEWATER returned from the privy, she found the crowd abuzz with talk of May Bell’s return.
“What have I missed?” she asked a passerby.
Sylvia Farriner pushed her way between the widow and the person she was speaking to and drew herself up to her full height.
“That blundering simpleton you’re so fond of brought the girl back, safe and sound.”
She was a head taller than Morwenna, but Morwenna wasn’t easily intimidated. She looked Sylvia in the eye and adjusted her cane, striking it on the cold floor.
“I knew he’d find her,” Morwenna said proudly.
“Well, the girl is safe and sound. Pity the same can’t be said for him,” Sylvia said as she picked some dirt from beneath her riven fingernails.
Morwenna’s bravado faltered and she blinked hard.
“What does that mean? What’s happened to him?”
“I’m afraid the strain was too much for the brute’s heart, and he collapsed, just over there,” Sylvia said, pointing out the exact spot with theatrical relish and mocking concern.
“The men have taken him upstairs,” came a rasp
y voice from behind her.
The tweed golem that was Mrs. Hanniti Kind came to Morwenna’s aid, flanked by the substantial form of Mrs. Caddy. Sylvia was well able to take them all on, but it seemed she’d gotten the reaction she had wanted from Morwenna and so she turned and slithered away.
Morwenna shuffled her way upstairs as quickly as her short, dumpy legs and rickety hips would take her, and found Sylvia’s son standing outside the closed room door.
“Where is he? Where’s Robin?” she demanded.
“He’s in there,” Edwin replied, “Mr. Bounsell, Mr. Blackwall, and I put him to bed. Doctor Greenaway is in there now, giving him the once-over. He asked me to wait out here.”
Morwenna looked at him, sniffed derisively, then marched straight into the room. Dr. Greenaway—a well-dressed, bemonocled man whose enormous bushy grey moustache curled up extravagantly at either end—had pulled the bedclothes down to his patient’s waist and was listening to Robin’s breathing.
He spluttered and jumped at the intrusion. “I thought I said to wait outside,” he said abruptly.
“Giss on! That’s all well and good for the local baker, but I should be here. How is he? What’s wrong? Robin? Robin, are you awake?” she called as she pushed past the rotund physician.
When she saw the fisherman lying in bed on his back, pale and unmoving, she turned white as a sheet and staggered backwards. For a split second, it seemed as if he was perfectly still, and her heart jumped into her throat. Then his chest rose very slowly and lowered again. Dr. Greenaway hooked his thumbs into his braces, drew himself up to his full height and addressed her.
“Mrs. Whitewater, he’s sleeping. He overexerted himself and got a bump on his head when he fell, but he’ll be fine. He just needs rest. Lots of rest.”
With that, the doctor excused himself and went back downstairs. Morwenna shut the door behind him, much to the surprise of Edwin who had been about to enter. She sat down on the little chair by the bed and fixed the bedclothes back over Robin’s broad, smooth chest. She tucked the sheets in, making sure he was nice and warm, and then she fixed what was left of his hair with her hand. She sat there for a time as he slept, thankful it wasn’t anything too serious.
“You silly fool,” she whispered to him. “You’re not as young as you used to be. Why didn’t you let someone else go and look for the girl. You could have… You nearly…”
She stopped herself there and straightened her back. Hands resting firmly on her cane, she sniffed the tears away and adjusted her shawl. Then she leaned in close and said, “You’re all I have left. Wake up soon, Robin.”
There was a knock on the door and she called for it to be opened. Edwin poked his head in and asked if he might enter. Morwenna, in her infinite grace, allowed it.
Edwin started the fire in the hearth on the other side of the room and brought in chairs to hang Robin’s wet clothes on.
“You go on back downstairs, Mrs. Whitewater,” he said, “I’ll stay here and keep an eye on him.”
“You don’t have to. I’ll watch him,” Morwenna said.
“No, it’s fine. I want to be here, Mrs. Whitewater. He would do the same for me,” Edwin replied.
“Very well, but if you’re going to stay, it’s Morwenna, please.”
She studied the baker carefully while the raging winds rattled the shutters. His brow was creased and his green eyes—his mother’s eyes—narrowed in concern. They were set a little too far apart for her liking, but they sparkled enough for her to overlook it. All in all, he was quite a good-looking man, she thought, and had an affable face with a square jaw and dimpled chin. His hair was much too short, of course—what kind of man crops it so short you can see his scalp, she wondered. But then it was receding and so she supposed it didn’t really matter one way or the other. She remembered him as a child, with a mop of bright, shiny, copper hair. While he might share her hair and eye colour, there wasn’t a trace of his mother’s spite in him.
After a while sitting in silence, Edwin began to reminisce.
“We’ve known each other since we were boys,” he said. “Though we were never friends when we were young. He was closer to my brother’s age, anyway. My parents didn’t like Ambrose or me associating with him.”
“Hmm, yes, I know. I’ve had more than one run-in with your mother over the years. She got it into her head that Robin was a bad influence. Afraid he was going to turn out like his father.”
“She can be a bit…of a handful,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “She has never been an easy person to like, but when Ambrose died, it changed her. Every quirk, every vein of malice, every frayed nerve seemed…amplified, somehow. Exaggerated. Ambrose’s wife took their two young sons—my nephews—and moved to Blackrabbit Island. Hester hated my mother. Always did. She couldn’t wait to get away from her, always felt like she was trying to… I don’t know… control the boys, I suppose? Turn them against their mother. I suppose she’s partially the reason why I have to run the bakery alone. Anyway, I’m glad I didn’t listen to her. Robin’s been a good friend to me in recent years.”
“He speaks very highly of you. It’s no secret that he doesn’t have many friends in this village. He said you were a great help to him after Duncan left,” Morwenna said.
She knew Edwin and Robin had become close shortly before Duncan moved to the village, and she began to wonder if perhaps there was more to it than friendship. “Duncan was a nice lad. A bit quiet at times—a bit moody, maybe—but he always treated Robin well.”
Duncan might well be thirty-nine years old now, but he’d always be a lad to her.
“Broke his heart when he left. He would hardly talk about him. He’d go out on that boat of his from dawn ’til dusk, wouldn’t speak to a soul. It was the same when his dad died. It’s a shame he and Duncan couldn’t work out their difficulties.”
“Do you know what happened between them?” Edwin asked.
Morwenna looked at him somewhat suspiciously. Her little brow furrowed and her eyes became sharper.
“No. Not really. He wouldn’t tell me. I assumed you knew?”
Edwin shook his head. “It’s odd to see him without his cap, isn’t it? Lying there without it, it doesn’t even really look like him.”
Robin had a big, round face with hooded blue eyes—now closed, of course—and slight, uncoloured lips. His cheeks bore some light scratches from his rescue of May Bell. Double-chinned and bull-necked, he was mostly bald and sprouted only a single little tuft of white hair above his forehead, which his cap normally covered while resting on his small, protruding ears. While some might struggle to describe him as handsome, most everyone would agree he looked gentle, even kind. Despite his size and lumbering stature, he seemed somehow innocent. He smiled a lot; he was good-natured and friendly to everyone. Morwenna always wondered how he managed to be that way. Many people in this town barely tolerated him, all because of his father, and she doubted she could be so magnanimous in that position.
“We have a mutual friend, and we were all in a big group one night at the Moth & Moon and I mentioned I’d never learned to sail,” Edwin said.
“Really!” Morwenna exclaimed.
Even she knew her way around a boat. Edwin laughed.
“I know, it’s daft. All my life in this village, but I never learned how to sail properly. Someone else had always done it for me, my father usually or my brother. Anyway, Robin offered to take me out in Bucca’s Call for a few lessons. At first I thought he was just being polite, but he insisted, so a few afternoons that summer, we went out into the bay and he showed me the ropes, taught me the different kind of knots. He was very patient with me. Well, he’s patient with everyone, isn’t he? Despite how they treat him. I suppose it’s something you have to be, to be a fisherman. All that time spent at sea, waiting for fish to bite, or whatever.”
“Hmm, yes, but some people can be patient to a fault,” Morwenna said.
“True enough. I said to him—I might know my way around
an oven and dough, but around ropes and sails, I’m all fingers and thumbs.” He laughed gently. “After a few lessons, we found that we got on really well, and that was that, really. When my brother passed away a few months later, Robin was there for me.”
“It was very sudden; the whole village was rocked by his passing. It must have been very hard on you,” Morwenna said, watching the baker intently. His gaze never left Robin.
“It was. I found myself an only child and in charge of running a whole bakery. My brother, well, he was my rock. He was the dependable, sensible one. Most of the time, anyway. When he was here, I could just, well, I didn’t have to grow up, I suppose. I could just let him take care of things. When he was gone, I was so lost, so overwhelmed by everything. I still feel like I’m running to catch up to him. Robin helped me through it all. It’s funny how you can know someone your whole life and then one day, you just see them in a whole new light.”
“Yes,” said Morwenna, “isn’t it just.”
Chapter Eight
ROBIN AWOKE SEVERAL hours later. The first thing he saw was Edwin sitting on a small chair by the fireplace.
“’ello, Edwin. What ’appened?” Robin asked wearily.
Edwin bolted to his feet. There was an unmistakable look of relief on his face. “You passed out. Too much exertion, I suppose. Once we untied that makeshift shield of yours, we brought you up here. Which wasn’t easy, mind, you’re even heavier than you look.” He laughed softly, nervously. “Doctor Greenaway gave you the once-over. He says you’ll be fine. But you need to rest.”
Robin smiled. “The girl, is she…?”
“Still upset, but she’ll be fine now. Thanks to you.”
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