Fire in the Sea

by Myke Bartlett

  Every shop was in darkness along the highway, even those open for business. An announcement had gone out that morning, banning the unnecessary use of electricity. The state’s power supply was straining under the demands of a million air-conditioners as Perth wilted.

  The Royal Perth Yacht Club was a twenty-minute drive from the coast, on a fork in the Swan River. From here, the brown waters went three ways: tracing the freeway south, winding east past the Perth city centre, and curling back west towards the harbour at Fremantle. There was no breeze, but the place was still busy with middle-aged men in striped polo shirts and white cotton caps, twanging ropes and spraying down the decks. Nobody was letting the still evening stop them. A few already had beer bottles in stubby holders, preparing to set off.

  Kimberley met Sadie with air kisses. ‘It’s so cool of you to come,’ she trilled, taking Sadie by the arm. ‘I told Tom, these things are seriously boring. Although, there’s this guy who works in the sheds here who has the most awesome six pack. It’s not even a six pack, it’s like a fifteen pack or something. I don’t know what you’d call it.’

  ‘A keg?’

  Kimberley looked at Sadie as if for the first time. ‘You’re funny,’ she said.

  This unusual friendliness on the part of her cousin surprised Sadie, but she soon understood. Kimberley wanted gossip. She pulled Sadie up the jetty steps, leaving Tom on dry land.

  ‘So,’ she whispered, ‘is he hot?’

  ‘Is who hot?’

  ‘I suppose he’s kind of alternative, yeah? Wears op-shop clothes and listens to all that weird music you always have on? He must be a bit hot Sades. You wouldn’t get in so much trouble otherwise.’

  Kimberley had never called her Sades in her life. ‘Who said I was in trouble?’

  ‘Everybody knows. Have you even been on Facebook this week?’

  Luckily, Sadie’s uncle, Steven, spotted them then and gave her a wave.

  ‘Kim, go tell your mother to get her backside off her barstool and onto the boat. We’re leaving in exactly four minutes and I don’t want her complaining that I forgot her again.’

  ‘Why do I have to go? I was just over there.’

  ‘Because she’s not answering her phone and because I keep a roof over your head. Quick smart.’

  Kimberley’s shoulders sank and she began to slouch back to shore. Then a better idea occurred to her. ‘Heather,’ she shrieked at her black-clad twin sister, who was making a slow path up the steps. ‘Dad says you have to go get Mum out of the bar. We’re leaving in four minutes exactly.’

  ‘Ugh.’ Heather groaned and slunk back towards the clubhouse.

  Within ten minutes, a small flotilla of yachts drifted out across the bay, their engines murmuring. A few hundred metres from shore, they turned off the motors and waited, as if hoping to lure in a breeze. Sunset warmed the glass towers of the city and polished the brown river until it shone. Headlights glowed on the far shores. A returning ferry sliced a path between flashing buoys, but Sadie had the impression that nothing was going anywhere. Still, she was glad she had come now. Above her head, sails hung loose as bed sheets forgotten on a clothesline. Here, the world had stopped.

  Tom was at the stern with a beer, pulling whichever rope Steven suggested. He seemed to know his stuff, but there was little for him, or anyone else, to do.

  Sadie sat at the bow with her legs dangling over the edge. She had once seen dolphins here, ten kilometres inland, and there were stories of lost sharks circling sailboarders.

  Kimberley came to sit beside her with a Diet Coke. She glanced towards the stern. ‘Come on then, did you?’

  Sadie looked up, blinking. ‘Did I what?’

  Kimberley’s eyes flared. ‘Mum said they found the two of you in that old house. That’s why you were there, wasn’t it? Come on, you can tell me. Did you do it?’

  ‘Bloody hell.’ Sadie tugged her arm free. ‘You really have no idea what you’re talking about. It’s nothing like that. I mean, it wasn’t anything like that.’

  ‘It’s okay.’ Kimberley was whispering now. ‘We’ve all done it. Well, I mean, not all of us, sure. Heather’s still waiting for her vampire. Look, I’m really happy for you, everyone thought you were a lezzo. Or, you know, frigid.’

  Sadie opened her mouth to argue, but then closed it again. She didn’t know where to start. Was it that simple, that cheap and tacky? Had she trusted Jake for no better reason than he set her hormones bubbling? And what about now that she knew what he was? Surely she couldn’t still care for him, for a killer?

  It was almost a relief when someone started screaming.

  The woman screaming stood on the spacious stern of a particularly grand vessel, gripping an empty platter. Tiny pastries were scattered on the deck. A wan figure in chain mail clambered aboard the yacht.

  Sadie’s uncle cupped a hand against the low sun to get a better view. ‘What the bloody hell’s going on? Where did he come from?’

  Then, from the yacht behind them, came the sounds of men shouting. Another intruder in rotting finery had climbed aboard. Two men were trying to wrestle him to the floor. Voices came clearly through the still evening air.

  ‘Make a citizen’s arrest! Make a citizen’s arrest!’

  ‘Just hit the bugger!’

  ‘Get your phone out, someone should be filming this!’

  Another boat had been boarded. Its attacker shot up from the river and landed heavily on the deck. He casually knocked a burly man overboard.

  Then, another! And another! The skipper took a swing at his opponent with a wine bottle, but the intruder leapt aside and skittered up the mast. Then he pounced, sending the skipper and his wife sprawling over the railing. Similar scuffles were breaking out on all of the boats. Twenty furious bodies bobbed in the bay.

  Sadie’s uncle dropped his beer as his own yacht shook. Sadie’s knees collapsed and she fell to the deck. Pulling herself back up on to her feet, she could see the figure in his tarnished armour. His skin was blue and puckered and his long hair was matted with seaweed and salt. His mouth dropped open in a war cry—howling in rage and delight.

  Sadie’s uncle charged at the man, yelling in terror. The Drowner didn’t shift, but his chest swelled and Sadie knew what was coming next. A fierce jet of water and bile hit Steven square in the chest, lifting him from his feet and thrusting him overboard. Tom stepped forward, but Sadie grabbed him and shoved him downstairs into the cabin.

  ‘What on earth is going on out there?’ Margot asked, sipping her white wine. ‘It sounds like one of those terrible party boats.’

  ‘There are men,’ Tom gabbled, ‘coming out of the water.’

  ‘Oh, not more swimming? Give them a few beers and they’re teenagers again.’

  Sadie didn’t have time to explain. She needed a weapon. ‘Margot, the flares, where are they?’

  ‘How should I know? Ask your uncle.’

  ‘Uncle Steven’s gone overboard,’ Sadie said flatly.

  Margot tutted. ‘They never grow up.’

  Tom was opening cupboards in the cabin kitchen.

  ‘There are some cheeses in the fridge, if you’re hungry,’ Margot said, returning to the magazine open on her lap. ‘And sushi.’

  The boat rocked to starboard and Heather looked up, unplugging one of her earphones. ‘Is that Kim messing about?’

  Sadie and Tom looked at each other in panic. Kimberley was still out there on the deck, and she wasn’t alone. Heavy boots thudded overhead.

  ‘Hurry up!’ Sadie yelled at Tom. He pulled another drawer from the kitchen cabinet.

  Heather frowned, annoyed by all this fuss. ‘What are you after?’

  ‘The flares,’ Sadie told her. ‘Doesn’t every boat have flares?’

  ‘Oh, them,’ Heather said blandly. ‘They’re in that
thing.’ She gestured to the orange box above the sink.

  Sadie ran across and pulled the box from the wall. Inside she found a whistle, a compass, two lifejackets and, yes, four flares. Two of the tubes were yellow, and two red. She threw one of each to Tom, who began grappling with the strings.

  ‘Am I signalling for help?’ he asked.

  ‘No,’ Sadie said, picking up the remaining flares, ‘we’re fighting for our lives.’

  Margot lowered her wine glass. ‘Sadie, Tom, darlings, I really don’t think you should be messing about with those.’

  Another great howl came from the stern and there, at the top of the stairs, was the Drowner who had washed Steven away.

  Margot peered up at him. ‘Heather, that’s not one of your friends, is it?’

  ‘Tom, do it!’ Sadie screamed. ‘Do it now!’

  Tom thrust the flare away from him, towards the stairs, and yanked the cord. There was a deafening bang and the cabin filled with smoke. Heather and Margot coughed and spluttered. Sadie’s eyes were streaming. Squinting through the acrid haze, she could make out the lettering on the side of the yellow flare in her hand: SMOKE. She threw it aside and fumbled with the red tube. The dark shape of the figure was halfway down the stairs. Her fingers found the pull cord and she thrust it in his direction, but she hesitated. In the thickening, choking smoke, it was impossible to be sure she had the flare facing away from herself. If she didn’t, she was about to be blinded in a searing shower of sparks.

  The Drowner was nearly at the foot of the stairs. Sadie’s eyes were streaming and her chest burned.

  She tore at the cord. Nothing happened. There was a little fizzle and spark, no more impressive than a birthday sparkler. Then the tube kicked in her hand and a cascade of crimson light erupted, turning the thick smoke a brilliant pink.

  A horrified shriek came from the direction of the stairs.

  Sadie charged forward, holding the flare out in front of her, and the shape retreated up the stairs, clawing at the light. Hearing the Drowner crash into the water, she hurried up onto the deck. Already the flare was beginning to gutter; its sparks were thinning and losing enthusiasm. But her efforts didn’t go unnoticed. A cry went out and was quickly passed from vessel to vessel: the flares, get the damn flares! Within a minute, jets of crimson lit every deck, as the sailors repelled their howling attackers.

  Still, Sadie wasn’t done. There was another Drowner at the prow. He was a tall, lithe creature, with ragged armour loose around wiry limbs. He had one arm crooked around Kimberley’s neck and a blue-skinned hand clasped across her mouth. As Sadie turned her sparking weapon towards him, he hissed through his rotting teeth.

  ‘Let her go,’ Sadie insisted, wishing her voice was firmer. She edged on along the railings.

  Kimberley was paralysed by fear.

  The Drowner’s eyes narrowed and his mouth opened. With her free hand, Sadie braced herself against the rail, ready for a blast of seawater. Instead, the shouts from the other yachts faded away. All she could hear was the rustle of the water against the hull and the distant call of seagulls. Somewhere, a wave was unfolding across a shore, taking its time, luxuriating. The song was the most seductive she had ever heard. It reminded her of the beauty of the water, its irresistible depths and darknesses. Nothing else seemed important. She looked at the flare in her hand and couldn’t remember what it was doing there. She tossed it overboard and it sizzled away to nothing.

  As the Drowner’s song continued, Sadie felt her legs move, carrying her towards him. Part of her was all terror, willing herself to stop. The rest of her wanted to be taken.

  ‘Sadie! Get out of the way!’

  It was Tom, she knew, but most of her didn’t care. She was going with the Drowner, down into the dark waters. Then, a searing streak of crimson fire tore past her. Tom had lit his red flare, bringing the Drowner’s song to an abrupt end.

  Sadie clung dizzily to the rail as Tom edged forward, waving the flare about. Her head was heavy, tipping forward on her weak neck, and she sank to her knees.

  A loud splash spattered her with river water. Tom was standing over her. He had thrown the flare overboard and was grabbing her by the shoulders with both hands.

  ‘Sades, Sades, are you okay?’

  Sadie managed a nod. She was aware of calm returning to the bay, as the Drowners retreated into the water. Had they been driven back by the sailors? No, maybe that wasn’t it. Maybe they had taken what they had come for. Slowly, fearfully, Sadie twisted her head towards the yacht’s prow.

  All that was left on the deck were wet footprints.

  ‘It took her, Sades. That thing took Kimberley.’

  Nearby, Sadie could hear a yacht fire up its engine.

  ‘We’ll get her back,’ she slurred, every word an effort. She flapped an arm in Tom’s direction. ‘We need to get Jake.’

  15

  JACOB’S WAY

  The journey back to the jetty was intolerably slow. Sadie paced the deck as her uncle brought the boat around. He was soaked through, but otherwise unharmed. Burping up river water, his face glowed with fury and he didn’t dare look at anyone.

  Margot sobbed in the kitchen. So did Heather. Tom stood by, occasionally laying a hand on someone’s shoulder and then removing it again.

  There were few injuries among the other sailors, although the paramedics waiting on the pier treated almost everyone for shock. Nobody else had gone missing; those thrown overboard were all safely pulled back on deck. Everyone except Kimberley.

  Sadie knew it wasn’t her cousin the Drowners wanted. They had come for her.

  The police wanted details, but no one seemed too sure what had happened.

  ‘Kids,’ someone said, ‘just kids mucking about.’

  A white-haired gent shook his head. ‘Ask me, they looked Japanese.’

  As soon as they were docked, Sadie hurried down into the kitchen and tugged at Tom’s elbow. ‘Come on,’ she said. ‘You’re driving.’

  Margot looked up. Her face was bloated. ‘Driving? Driving where? You can’t just leave. Kimberley’s gone!’ This last word was wrought across a dozen syllables. It only ended with Margot’s head dropping to the table-top.

  ‘She’s right,’ Tom said. ‘I mean, you know, there’s the police and stuff.’

  ‘They can’t do anything,’ Sadie told him. ‘We can. Get your car keys.’

  There were faces and voices Tom had learned not to argue with. Sadie was using both. As they left, Heather stood up. Her cheeks were streaked with mascara. She tried to speak but said nothing.

  Nobody stopped them as they walked along the jetty and back to shore. Just in case anyone tried, Sadie wore her best look of distress, keeping her shoulders stiff and her hands in front of her, as if she was about to collapse in tears at any moment. It wasn’t that hard, she only needed to listen to the ugly thought tugging at her gut. This is all your fault, it said.

  Turning his key in the ignition, Tom looked across at her. ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘I don’t know, a pizza? No, idiot. We’re going to get Jake.’

  Tom was more patient than ever. ‘Yeah, I worked that much out. But, I mean, he’s back with his mum. Where’s that?’

  ‘He’s not going to be there. You didn’t see him at the police station, he seriously didn’t recognise that woman. There’s no way he’s going to be staying with her. He’ll be at Ocean Street.’

  With his hand on the handbrake, Tom paused. ‘You don’t think she’s dead, do you?’

  ‘No, I don’t. I think they wanted a hostage. I think they want to trade her for something. Something they think Jake has.’

  ‘Okay. So how long have we got to get her back?’

  Sadie was trying not to think about it. She put her hand on Tom’s. ‘Please Tom, just drive.’

&n
bsp; There was a light on at the back of the Ocean Street house. As Sadie and Tom hurried up the path, a curtain twitched and the light went out. Still, the front door fell open as Sadie knocked on the glass.

  She raised her chin, and called up the stairs.

  ‘Jake, it’s Sadie. You’ve got to help us.’

  There was movement upstairs, but no one answered.

  ‘The Drowners came back. They’ve taken Kimberley. Jake, don’t muck about, we need your help.’

  As they edged inside, the front door slammed shut. A man appeared behind them, his features lost in streetlight silhouette. He had the physique of a bouncer and he was holding a cricket bat, which he slapped meaningfully across his free palm.

  ‘You made a mistake,’ he said. ‘Coming here.’

  Sadie held her ground. ‘I need to speak to Jake,’ she insisted. ‘Jake Freeman. I’m a friend of his.’

  ‘Jacob Freeman is dead.’

  ‘Yeah right. I think we both know that’s not totally true.’

  A young woman appeared from the kitchen, at the other end of the hall. She was holding a baby to her shoulder. ‘She doesn’t look like a murderer to me, Aaron,’ she said.

  ‘Excuse our Aaron,’ another voice said from the top of the stairs. ‘It seems our little group is being hunted down and killed, so we’re all feeling a tad jumpy.’

  A light went on overhead, giving Sadie a clear view of the tall woman descending the stairs. She wore a long-sleeved, black dress that contrasted neatly with her crisp bob of white hair.

  ‘Who are you?’ Sadie asked.

  ‘My name is Agatha Penglis. You have already met Aaron, and this is Maud. You must be Sadie Miller.’ Arriving at the bottom step, Agatha held out her hand, but Sadie ignored it.

  ‘Where’s Jake?’

  Agatha reclaimed her hand. ‘Jacob is in hiding while he finds the relic.’

  ‘You’re all like him, aren’t you?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘You’re all killers.’

  ‘Erm, Sades,’ Tom tapped her left elbow. ‘Don’t go into one, hey?’

  Agatha’s neat smile remained in place. She was probably in her early sixties, and she moved with the grace of a ballerina. She looked at Tom and reached for his bandaged side.