Chapter 6- Always Use the Correct Coast Code
Huddled behind a pile of rubble to shelter from the wind and the ravaging seagulls, Edwin still couldn’t believe it. There was no way in a million years that Bryony would want to spend five minutes, let alone one whole week, on a place like the Isle of Lost Souls.
Yet she had voted to stay. That had made it two votes all. But because (according to Bill) they were doing ‘first past the post’ and not ‘proportional representation’, that meant they had to remain on the island. And if that was democracy, Edwin thought it was little wonder the country was in such a state.
Pleased with the outcome of the vote, Bill had constructed a shelter, using their luggage as bricks. On the plus side the building was quite stable, but on the negative side only one person could fit inside it at any given time.
Impressed by his own handiwork, Bill had then announced he was going to cook supper. Apparently he had read a book that told him how to light a fire using a couple of twigs and his own breath, and he assured everyone he would have a healthy blaze going in under six hours. Bill hadn’t divulged what he intended to cook on the fire, but the bleak surroundings had robbed Edwin of anything resembling an appetite.
Mum had gone looking for firewood, and had asked Edwin to see if he could locate Bryony, who had been conspicuous by her absence. Bryony had sloped off on her own, well over an hour ago, and Edwin hadn’t seen his stepsister since. He knew she was up to something, and he guessed it probably involved the Wychetts Key. Perhaps she had transported herself off the island? As much as Edwin hated the idea of Bryony using the magic, at least it meant she couldn’t use it against him if she wasn’t here. He hadn’t felt inclined to look too hard for her, so had settled down for a rest whilst he pondered his sorry plight.
Edwin looked at the wonky sign on the shore, and shuddered as he read the faded words: “You Will Never Leave.”
He wondered if those words might prove right. He felt isolated, marooned, like a prisoner in exile…
This had to be the worst holiday of his life. Even worse than that week with Auntie Kath in Blackpool when he had been sick on the roller coaster, before it had even started. Even worse than that week camping in the New Forest when it had rained every day, and he’d accidentally burned a hole in the tent with the primus stove when trying to dry his underpants. Even worse than that cycling tour of Norfolk when he had misread the map and led Mum into a sheep dip (which wouldn’t have been so bad if there weren’t already sheep in it).
Yes, this was worse than all of those combined.
Another seagull dived close to Edwin, screeching angrily as it passed. Edwin’s gaze followed the bird as it swept low across the sea, and then he caught sight of something in the water. It was a boat, just like the one they had used to reach the island. In fact, thought Edwin, it looked exactly like the one they had used to reach the island.
Edwin didn’t have any binoculars with him, but he could tell there was no one in the vessel. He stood up and ran down to the beach, dodging swooping seagulls as he hared towards the point where their boat had been moored. And when he got there, his worst fears were realised: the boat had gone!
Bill had tethered the boat to a convenient rock. The rope was still tied round the rock, but the loose end was frayed, as though it had been cut. On closer inspection Edwin realised the rope hadn’t been cut, more like chewed.
But how… who…?
Edwin gazed out to sea again, watching their only means of escape floating helplessly away. And then he spotted something else bobbing in the water, much smaller than a boat, and closer to shore. It looked like a bottle. And, if he wasn’t mistaken, there was something inside it.
Edwin was pondering what the something might be when a plume of water shot out of the sea, lifting the bottle and hurling it at him. Edwin caught the bottle instinctively, and received a severe soaking for his troubles.
Gasping and spluttering, Edwin wiped cold salty water from his eyes before examining the bottle. There was a label on the side, with writing on it. The ink had gone a bit blurry, but he could make out what looked like a name and address:
URGENT DELIVERY
FAO: MASTER E PLATT
ISLE OF LOST SOULS
LS1 2ECH
Edwin gasped with astonishment; the bottle was for him!
He tilted the bottle forwards and peered through the glass. There was definitely something inside. Something small and brown. Something that moved…
Edwin jumped and let go of the bottle, which smashed as it struck the ground.
The small brown something sat amongst the shattered bottle remains, and stared at Edwin with a pair of black button eyes.
“Did you have to do that?” asked Stubby, his tone even more indignant than usual. “I’ve had an uncomfortable enough journey as it is, without you throwing me about.”
“You…” Edwin couldn’t believe his eyes. “How did you get here?”
“I would have thought that was obvious,” said Stubby. “I posted myself in a bottle.”
“But how did you end up here?” Confused, Edwin shook his ginger head. “People put messages in bottles all the time, but the sea could take them anywhere in the world.”
“That’s because they never put an address on the bottle,” said Stubby. “How is the sea supposed to know where to post the bottle if there’s no delivery information? Honestly, some people…”
Edwin gawped. “You mean the sea brought you here?”
Stubby nodded. “Sea Mail is more reliable than Air Mail, as long as you remember to use the correct Coast Code. Anyway, it doesn’t really matter how I got here. The important thing is why I have come.”
“I was going to ask that,” said Edwin “I didn’t think you wanted to come with us on holiday.”
“If truth be told,” revealed Stubby, “hooking up with you on holiday was a lower priority on my To Do list than snorkelling in a bucket of piranha infested pigs-swill wearing concrete water-wings. However, I never like to see less intelligent creatures fall prey to their own stupidity, so here I am.”
“Thanks,” said Edwin. “I think. So what’s the problem?”
Stubby crept closer, and lowered his voice to a whisper. “After you left the cottage, I was doing a spot of recycling…”
Edwin nodded. “You mean chewing up bits of paper?”
“As I said, recycling. And I came across the receipt from the travel agents your stepfather booked the holiday with. And there I saw it, in black and white, the words ‘Isle of Lost Souls’.”
“If only Bill had actually read the receipt,” pondered Edwin, “then he would have realised he’d booked a holiday on the wrong island.”
“It’s the wrong island all right,” hissed Stubby, glancing from left to right. “In fact, he couldn’t have picked a more wrong island if he’d tried. We have to leave immediately.”
“I’d like nothing better,” agreed Edwin. “But our boat has been set adrift.”
Stubby tutted and shook his head. “But what about the Wychetts Key? You can use it to transport yourselves home.”
“Bryony’s got it,” sighed Edwin. “But I don’t know where she…” His voice trailed off as he heard a strange noise accompanying the sound of howling wind and shrieking seagulls. It was another sort of howling and shrieking, but even harder on the ears.
Edwin couldn’t be sure, but it sounded like a voice.
Bryony!
“She’s in trouble,” gasped Edwin, scooping Stubby up from the ground. “We’ve got to find her!”
Wychetts and the Key to Magic Page 7