by Robert Lamb
‘Do you believe everything you read?’
‘But Craig, this rope—and the water?’
They waded out to look at where the rope led. They followed the winding rope into the distance with their eyes.
‘Cindy, we must have started the rope pulling last night when we leaned the bar against the sail and the lightning struck it.’
‘How?’
‘Because that started the sails turning.’
‘You mean it’s our fault?’ Craig nodded. ‘Then we’re to blame for all the water disappearing?’
‘And for all the fish and the fishermen who might be dead.’
‘Dead? Oh no! Craig, no!’
‘If we’re responsible then we’ve got to do something.’
‘You’re the one who disobeyed Father in the first place. Besides, what can we do?’
‘We have to find out where the water has gone and try to get it back, or tell someone who can.’
‘But Craig, how can we tell someone? We don’t know how to get home and there doesn’t seem to be anyone on this island.’
‘Maybe not, but we can find out where the water has gone.’
‘How?’
‘By following the rope to see where it leads.’
‘But the rope may just lead in the direction of the plug. There’s so much rope here it may be miles and miles from where the water has gone.’
‘Maybe, but suppose it is miles and miles, we still are responsible.’
Cindy shook her head back and forth as if saying ‘No,’ but what came out of her mouth was ‘Yes.’ She often did this when she didn’t want to admit something.
‘Besides’—Craig smiled trying to cheer her up—‘we don’t know which way home is, so this may be the best direction. You go down to the boat to see if there’s anything left. I’ll go back to the windmill and see if there’s anything we should take.’
Inside Craig found only some straw and string which might be useful for fires. He looked up through the tangled rope and saw that the stairs led to a little room hanging out from the wall. He remembered this from the bulge on the outside. He began climbing slowly for the stairs were weak and sagged towards the middle of the building. The railing was missing in places, and at one point Craig had to hold on to the wall to keep the steps from swaying with his weight.
Halfway up the stairs, he was almost dizzy from going around, and looking down only made it worse. Just in front of him there was a missing step. Through the space he could see the pools of water below and he thought of going back. But if he was not afraid of the trip to the plug, how could he be afraid here? He jumped over the dangerous space, feeling the stairs sway as he landed.
Through cracks in the wall he could see a view of the mud outside and his sister standing on the rocks far below.
Cindy cautiously went up to look in the boat spiked on a rock like a fish in the air. Craig continued up the narrow stairs.
As Craig approached the room at the top, he saw the door was broken from its hinges. The smell of liquor was heavy in the air. The room was triangular with a great pole running up through the middle to the roof. Except for a messy bed and a chair there was little to see but rows and rows and rows of empty liquor bottles. Craig saw a metal plate on the wall with the same spoked wheel on it he had seen over the doors of the windmill and below the giant sea horse on the roof. He also saw a metal harpoon and a captain’s hat on the wall. And, like strange insects all over the walls, hanging from every nail and wooden beam, he saw fish hooks. So delicate and complicated was each hook’s design they might have been jewellery, he thought.
The only other useful things he found were a candle under the bed standing in an inch of dust and cobwebs, and a knife stuck in a crevice in the stone wall.
‘Is anybody here?’ Craig called. But he was sure there was no one. He thought for a long time whether he should take the candle and the knife, and finally decided that it wasn’t stealing if he borrowed them and then returned them.
He put them both in his pocket with the hooks and began to go down the stairs. He was not as afraid of the missing stair this time, or of the swaying steps and railing, as round and round he went down.
Reaching the bottom just as Cindy was coming through the door, he heard a chirp. Looking up they saw a tiny seagull flutter madly down on top of Craig’s head.
Craig was so startled he dropped the knife and candle, and his eyes rose trying to look up through his head to see the tiny bird. The splash of the candle and the knife in the puddle hit the bird and he flapped furiously up to the platform above.
Cindy was laughing. ‘Well, he scared you all right.’
Their bare feet made marks on the steps and a funny sound.
They found the bird balancing dangerously on a fold of canvas between two pools. ‘He must be hungry,’ announced Cindy, and she took a small piece of cheese she had found in the boat and held it near its beak. It opened its beak and pecked.
Cindy had not been allowed to have any pets at home since a year ago when she let her horse go. The horse had told her he wanted to be free.
‘Can we take the bird with us, Craig?’
‘Cindy, he’s just a baby. He couldn’t fly.’
‘But I’d carry him. He’s not heavy. Please?’
‘What, is he telling you he wants to come along?’ Craig teased.
‘That was different.’
‘We’ll let him decide.’ They watched the tiny bird quiver under their stare. ‘What’s the matter, doesn’t this one talk?’
Cindy offered another piece of cheese and the bird, with a great hop, landed on her head.
‘I won. Too bad.’
Craig made a sour face. ‘Spill out the water from this canvas. We may need it to sleep out on the mud.’
‘A very good idea,’ teased Cindy, feeding the bird above her head. ‘What did you find up there?’
‘Oh, nothing.’
‘I saw you bring something down.’
‘Oh, just a room with lots of old things: harpoons, liquor, knives, and stuff. But I did find these.’
‘Do you think we ought to take them?’
‘Yes. I thought about it and it’s not really stealing. We’ve borrowed them.’
‘You’ve already stolen them, you mean. Got a pencil?’
‘No, have you?’
‘With all that stuff in your belt you don’t have a pencil?’
‘I already told you, no.’
‘Well, carve a note with your knife.’
Craig glared at her for such a good idea. Why didn’t he think of it. Cindy was sure she was a genius. And she thought Craig was far too dumb to understand her, or to realize she was unique. He certainly didn’t show the proper respect due to one of such great intelligence. He did not even believe her secret dreams.
‘I’m an insomniac,’ Cindy would tell people; which is not really a maniac but someone who can’t sleep.
‘She’s the Spook,’ Craig would tease. And Spook she was stuck with. Craig thought she was babyish and was pleased that Cindy did not know the first thing about rackets or spying. In fact she did not know about anything but dreams, which made her very silly indeed. Aside from watching her sleepwalk, joking was the only pleasure he could see in having a sister. Why couldn’t he have had a brother? Things were so unfair.
Craig stomped down the stairs to fish around in the clear water on the floor till he found the candle and the knife he had brought from the room above.
‘Try carving on the bottom step,’ called Cindy as she finished wrapping up the canvas on the upper platform.
Craig went over to the third step and thought for a second before he began carving.
CRAIG & CINDY BORROWED YOUR KNIFE, CANDLE & CANVAS. DONT WORRY WE WILL RETURN THEM.
The letters were not clear, for the knife was rusty and the last words became smaller as he reached the end of the step.
‘Think they’ll see it?’ asked Craig.
‘Yes but they won’t be a
ble to read that last bit.’
Craig’s eyes rose to the ceiling as he shook his head, looking as if he were appealing to heaven for a new sister, or brother.
‘Did you get the food from the boat?’
‘Yes, but there’s not much.’ They looked at each other, both understanding what that meant. Craig carried the bundle as they left the mill and walked across the bright rocks, to their shoes and socks.
Suddenly they both stopped short.
The stared at the strangest footprint they had ever seen.
Chapter 3
The Journey Begins
‘Which is the front, Craig?’
‘Don’t know, could be both.’
‘Well, I hope we don’t meet it, whatever it is. It must be bigger than an elephant.’
‘Much bigger, an elephant’s foot is only like this—’ Craig held his arms out in a circle.
‘Come on. We’d better hurry, Craig. These prints look fresh and we should start along the rope before it gets back and finds we’ve taken its things.’
They walked over the shells and pebbles around the cliffs till they reached the place where the rope hung down below them, way down and over the cliffs. They followed the rope and soon reached a level place before the steep cliffs. This flat ledge was muddy. The seagull tried to walk on top of the rope, but it was still wet and slimy, so he flew up to Cindy’s head.
‘Craig, let’s call him Windmill.’
‘Who?’ Craig asked, not listening but studying the rope.
‘The seagull. Oh, you’re not listening. You must listen.’
The mud here was very soft and their footprints filled up again a moment after they had passed. Soon they reached the cliff edge and saw that the rope was too muddy to slide down just yet.
‘Let’s have something to eat before we start,’ said Craig, laying the bundle down and starting to sit, having already decided.
‘No, back by that rock.’ It frightened Cindy when Craig dangled his legs over the side of the cliff.
She marched back to the rock. Craig laughed and came over to where she had opened the package of cheese. He broke the wet bread and put it on the rocks to dry.
‘Cindy,’ Craig asked alarmed, ‘did you find my special knife?’
Cindy, between munches, pulled out a rusted pile of metal pieces. ‘I meant to tell you. It’s all in bits.’
Craig picked up the different parts which yesterday had been a beautiful knife with thirteen blades including scissors, He squeezed the scissors which closed with a scraping squeak. Craig shook his head sadly, and undid the army cartridge belt his uncle had given him. He felt over the sandy-coloured bulging pockets. The belt’s buckle gleamed in Cindy’s eyes and she laughed for she remembered this belt was full of nasty old rubbish.
Craig gave her a stab with his eyes. He undid the snap on each pocket and laid the contents down on the rock. The pile was unhappily small and contained nothing edible or useful as far as Cindy could see. Out of the pockets came rubber bands, elastoplast, aspirin, a tiny book of morse code and sign language, a reflecting mirror with a clear cross in the centre, a compass with a bent needle that made north curve around, and a map of the world. Craig opened the last pocket proudly, but his face dropped when he pulled out a few soggy cigarettes.
‘You know you’re not allowed to …’
‘Be quiet, Spook. They’re no good anyway.’
Craig suddenly remembered something and pulled out two large marbles. He looked quite smug as he put the round, clinking coils of colour into Cindy’s hands.
‘Marbles, that’s the silliest thing I …’
Craig quickly took them from her hands.
‘Why do you waste your time on your junky collections? Map collection; tools, stamps, coin collections, and all those boxes of old stuff back home. Just junk!’ Cindy munched her cheese.
Craig smiled in a superior way, not minding her as he took one of the marbles and twisted it until it unscrewed in half. Inside was a pile of tiny matches.
‘Dry,’ said Craig, handing them to Cindy, who with her mouth full, had stopped chewing. She would have laughed again at these tiny matches, but this was perhaps the only useful thing they had.
‘Craig, where do you think the rope will lead?’
‘To the plug, I hope.’
‘No, not that.’ Cindy shook her head. ‘I mean what about the strange windmill and the plug, it’s like a mystery.’
‘I don’t know, Cindy, we might never get back, or we might get sucked down in the mud or fall into a hole.’
‘Don’t be so mean, Craig. Where do you think, really?’
‘Cindy, I wish I knew. I’m sorry I got you into this trouble! It’s my fault, honestly!’ Craig really was sorry. They both looked out over the wide, muddy land, munching their cheese.
‘We have some cream crackers,’ Cindy said, as she turned to get them from the bundle, only to find Windmill pecking at the crumbs. ‘Well, we had some.’
The rope was drying so quickly that they could see it turn from a dark brown to a light grey almost before their eyes. Windmill was already standing on the rope looking over the edge, as if leading them on.
‘Let’s go,’ called Craig, tying his bundle on his back with some string. ‘You’d better tie your bundle round your waist. You’ll need both hands to hold on to the rope. I’ll go first, so watch me. It’s just like a fireman’s pole—like this,’ and he slipped over the edge. ‘You wrap your legs round the rope and your arms, and don’t look down. Just look at the wall so you won’t get scared. There are some ledges you can rest on when you’re tired.’
But Cindy didn’t move. The lacy gold patterns of the streams in the valley wobbled before her eyes. ‘It’ll hold. It’s as thick as your arms stretched around. I bet your arms can’t even reach around.’
Cindy tied her bundle round her waist as if in a dream. The mud on the rope felt cold and it was only dry on the surface. She closed her eyes, but could still feel the mud ooze between her fingers, as she held on tight and ever so slowly lowered herself over the edge. She felt the slime covering her clothes and a piece of mud fell on her face. The rope swayed.
It was an age till she finally opened her eyes. The cliffs high above were grey and green where seaweed trees hung over.
‘That seaweed up there looks like tired horses,’ called Cindy. Craig laughed.
‘Can they talk?’
Cindy had dropped so much mud on Craig’s hair that it was not light any more but green-brown and stringy.
‘You look like a water rat, Craig.’
Craig strained his neck to look up. ‘And you’re a mouse.’
‘My fingers hurt and they’re getting all red.’
‘I know, mine too. But we have to get to the bottom.’
‘I know. I just wanted you to know it’s very hard.’
The rope was green-tinted and smelled. It became very slippery with strings of seaweed tangled around it. Cindy stretched her feet to the rock wall to stand on crevices and cracks and ledges, to keep from sliding too fast. It was fun swinging from one rock to another.
‘Cindy, don’t do that swinging. We might fall.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Cindy called down to her brother. ‘I didn’t think about that. But it’s very hard for me to hold on.’
But she obeyed her older brother and stopped standing on the ledges and kicking off from each step.
Soon her hands began to hurt terribly and the rope burnt her legs. Mud slid freely between her fingers, and suddenly she felt her hands slip down over little pieces of seaweed. She lost her grip.
She slid slowly at first till her hands burned horribly, and she could not hang on at all.
‘Craig!’ she shouted. But it was too late. She felt herself fall on top of him and the bundle tied around her waist came loose and clattered down the cliff until it ‘smacked’ far below.
Craig had smoothed the mud before Cindy began to slide, since he was below her, so she was going very fast when
she fell on top of him. She fell so hard, Craig slipped as well, for he had not heard her shout. He had been thinking of the bird whose little feet were in his hair tickling him, when suddenly thump he was falling. He held on tight, ever so tight, but they were both sliding.
Faster, then faster.
‘Quick,’ cried Craig. ‘Tighten your hands.’
‘I can’t.’
‘Try, Cindy. I can’t hold on much longer. Tighten your hands and kick out for the ledge.’
They both kicked and their feet hit the rocks, but they were going too fast to stop. Craig saw the mud below slide in a blur as he fell. Then: wham!
The landscape stopped. All was clear. They were much lower.
Craig crouched on a ledge with Cindy on his shoulders, piggyback. His legs ached terribly from the fall. Windmill fluttered round them with a few feathers floating to the mud.
‘Cindy, are you all right?’
‘Yes,’ answered Cindy very weakly, as he bent to let her off.
On the ledge there were two inches of mud and when they sat up they were covered in it. Windmill was so heavy with mud he fell to the ledge unable to fly, his legs out of sight. Flapping his wings furiously he rose an inch, splattering mud all over them. They were all a funny sight and Cindy laughed despite her aches.
It was some time later, after they had continued down the rope with no mishaps that they began to swing as they neared the bottom. Windmill had to fly zigzag to keep up with them.
Craig saw that at the bottom the rope disappeared into a few seaweed trees. ‘We’ll have to land in those trees.’ Finally he stepped onto a seaweed branch at the top of a tree.
‘It feels more springy than a real—I mean—an earth tree.’
‘Careful, Craig, you’ll fall off.’
They climbed down through the branches, dripping soft moss. Under the trees the soft mud was like soup. Craig held on to the bottom branch and jumped. He sank up to his waist under the shadowy leaves and wet branches.
‘O.K. now, Cindy. It’s safe.’
Cindy took two big steps on the branch and jumped.
Up to their waists in blackness, except for patches of light beyond them, they waded under the tunnel of seaweed hanging like fins of jelly, and plastic-like flowers.