The Cloud Leopard's Daughter

by Deborah Challinor

  The dragon came closer and closer, hovering above them, filling the air with heat and soot. Tahi screamed out, ‘Run, Amber, run!’ but she just stood there staring up at the huge creature, apparently mesmerised by its shining scales, massive beating wings and emerald eyes. He tried to move towards her but his feet were melting into the ground and now his hair and skin were catching alight.

  Amber, though, wasn’t on fire. She stood in a circle untouched by flame and still the dragon descended until a scaly claw reached down and snatched her up; with a thunderous flapping of wings and a swirl of smoke and searing heat, the thing turned and disappeared up into the sky.

  ‘No!’ Tahi screamed after it. ‘No!’ Then he fell face first onto the suddenly cold ground as darkness crept over him.

  He lay there for days – or was it only seconds? – until a voice told him to get up.

  ‘Mama?’

  ‘You cannot lie there forever, child.’

  He rolled over and sat up. His mother appeared as she always did when she came to him: a neat-figured sixteen-year-old girl with black hair to her waist and beautiful dark eyes. It was strange to think that he was already seven years older than she would ever be. This time, though, she was wearing the feathered kahuhuruhuru that Aria Te Kainga-Mataa had lent him on his wedding day.

  ‘The taniwha took Amber, Mama.’

  ‘Well, then, get her back.’

  He stood up, relieved to discover that his feet were no longer melted. ‘I don’t know how,’ he admitted, ashamed because now she would think her father had raised a heahea.

  ‘Do not be a fool, child. Follow them.’

  He winced. She did think he was being an idiot. ‘But he’s a powerful taniwha. I’m just a seaman.’

  She came to him and touched his cheek with a hand that felt like ice on a winter puddle. ‘You are not “just” a seaman. You are my son, the mokopuna of Haunui and Hareta, and the descendant of countless esteemed rangatira. You have friends and you have the sight. You can do anything you wish to do, so do not whinge.’

  He put his hand over hers and it went right through so that he felt the skin of his own face. ‘But a taniwha, mama!’

  ‘You must ask the cat for help. The cat will help you.’

  She started to fade. He opened his mouth to beg her not to go, but now he was flat on his back again, utterly unable to move, and the words wouldn’t come out. Try as he might all he could manage was the faintest exhalation of air. He wanted to shout out for her, for Amber, for anyone, but he couldn’t even move a finger, never mind make a noise. His mind was racing but his body was as unresponsive as a corpse’s.

  Was he dying?

  Was he already dead?

  But if he was, surely he wouldn’t still be breathing? He stilled his lungs, feeling his blood pound in his head, and moments later he awoke. He reached out a hand, felt Amber sleeping peacefully beside him, and almost wept with relief.

  *

  The following day Tahi sat down with Israel in the lee of the cabin and asked if they could talk.

  ‘What about?’

  ‘Dunno, really,’ Tahi replied, though he did.

  Israel pulled up his knees to make a little shelter, stuffed tobacco into his pipe, lit it and drew hard. ‘Who d’you think’s on that ship?’ he asked, jerking his head towards the Katipo’s stern.

  ‘Rian says it’s Wong Kai’s men.’ Tahi didn’t smoke, so, for something to do, he picked at a small hole in his trousers.

  ‘Might not be, but.’

  ‘Who else would it be? Who else knows we’re headed for Hong Kong?’

  ‘Could be just anyone going the same way,’ Israel said.

  ‘They’re sticking pretty close if they are.’ Tahi glanced into Israel’s eyes, then looked away again. ‘Do you really think so?’

  ‘Nah. I think it’s Wong Kai’s men.’

  They sat in silence for a few minutes. Finally Tahi said, ‘It’s a bit strange.’

  ‘What is?’

  ‘Being married.’

  Israel didn’t reply. Tahi wanted to see what his face was doing but thought it better not to look. ‘I’m used to being by myself, especially at night, and now . . . I’m not.’ God, that hadn’t come out the way he’d meant it to. ‘I mean, it’s good, but it’s strange.’

  ‘Having to spend your nights in bed with a gorgeous girl like Amber? Sounds like torture.’

  Tahi did look then. A cheeky grin spread across Israel’s face and he elbowed Tahi in the ribs, quite hard.

  Relieved, Tahi said, ‘No, it’s not quite that bad.’ And then felt deeply disloyal to Amber.

  Israel laughed. ‘Look, I said at the wedding you’re a lucky bastard, and I meant it. She’s a lovely girl and you’ve always wanted her, haven’t you? I’m happy for you. For both of you.’

  ‘She thought – we thought – you were a bit quiet. Now, I mean.’

  ‘Just giving you time to get used to being married.’ Israel sucked the life out of his pipe again. ‘Don’t worry, it’ll wear off.’

  ‘I was worried you might be . . . well, I don’t know.’

  ‘Jealous? Bugger off. I couldn’t be happier. You’re me best mate even if you have gone and got yourself hitched’

  Hawk shouted out then for help trimming a sail.

  Tahi got to his feet. Israel looked up at him and for a moment Tahi stared down at his bronze hair, greenish eyes and the golden hairs on his bare arms.

  ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘You are.’

  *

  The crew observed the mystery ship tailing them day after day as they sailed up towards New Guinea and between the southernmost tip of the long skinny isle of New Ireland and Bougainville Island, north-west of the Solomon chain. Keeping sight of her was easy while the weather remained clement, but once they moved beyond the relative shelter of land they met the full force of the Pacific Ocean. In one respect conditions were favourable as both the current and south-east trade winds were assisting them in the right direction, however typhoon season in the tropics was also imminent.

  One morning, as they were sailing north-west through the Philippine Sea, Gideon interrupted Rian at the mess table and, in his perfect English, calmly advised that the wind was picking up and that a bank of sinister black clouds was amassed on the horizon.

  ‘North, or west?’ Rian asked.

  ‘Nor-west.’

  ‘Bugger.’

  Bugger was right, Kitty thought. A typhoon coming straight in off the open sea could be terribly vicious.

  ‘Can we make it to land before it hits?’ Rian asked. ‘How far away are we?’

  ‘I do not think so,’ Gideon replied. ‘Neither does Hawk.’

  Rian stuffed a piece of bacon into his mouth and followed Gideon up the companion ladder.

  Kitty glanced at Amber, who said, ‘I’m going up for a look, too.’

  ‘I’ll be up in a minute,’ Kitty said.

  She was both frightened and exhilarated by the awful, wild power of storms at sea. The Katipo was well built and sturdy, and Rian a very capable captain, but she was frequently astonished, not to mention extremely thankful, by the fact that whenever filthy weather descended upon them, they always popped out the other side of it relatively unscathed.

  Gathering up an armful of breakfast dishes she carried them into the galley. ‘You should probably put the stove out, Pierre. Gideon says there’s a typhoon coming.’ Just as she finished saying it she noticed that the stove door stood open and the flames had already been doused.

  ‘I know, chérie, I can feel her.’ Looking crestfallen, Pierre pointed to a tray of half-baked buns. ‘Look at my sweet rolls, they be ruined. By the time the storm passes the yeast will be over and done with and there will be no rising!’

  How typical of Pierre to be more upset by a spoilt batch of buns, Kitty thought, than a dirty great typhoon bearing down on them. ‘Do you need a hand to secure everything in here?’ she asked.

  ‘I be fine. Just see to the cats, eh? Tell Rian I b
e on deck shortly.’

  Kitty went in search of Samson and Delilah, found them in her and Rian’s cabin, and shut them in. Then she ventured up on deck, grabbing at her hair as the wind whipped it wildly around her head. Overhead the sails snapped and billowed. The air, smelling of salt and metal, was warm and heavy with the threat of rain, and though the Philippine Islands were somewhere off to port, there were no birds at all in the ragged, yellowing sky. On the horizon, at a distance of about three miles, towered a colossal wall of steel-grey cloud.

  The ship lurched in response to a sudden swell, and Kitty grabbed for the rail. As though the sea heaving was the signal for the turmoil to begin, the wind roared across them with a noise like a steam locomotive at full power and a fat raindrop drove into her cheek. She felt like she’d been shot. Within seconds the rain was pelting down.

  ‘Get below,’ Rian shouted. ‘Take Amber.’

  Still gripping the rail, Kitty glanced around the deck, noting that the crew had already battened everything down. She didn’t want to go below, too fascinated – mesmerised, almost – by the approaching storm. But she did grab Amber’s arm and urge her towards the cabin door, where they crouched.

  ‘I said get below!’ Rian bellowed at them before he turned back to the crew, ordering, ‘Box off! Now!’

  Kitty watched as the crew struggled to set the sails, attempting to turn the stern of the ship into the storm. They didn’t need to be told what to do, of course, being as skilled and experienced as Rian, but someone had to be in charge. It was how a well-run ship operated.

  ‘Brace up all the lower yards then go free!’

  Kitty knew he’d be heading for land in an attempt to outrun the storm. She stood to peep over the cabin roof in the hope of glimpsing the islands that lay to the west, but saw nothing but a wall of driving rain and almost had her hair torn off by the wind. Swearing and ducking down again, she grabbed at Amber as the ship listed heavily and they both slid on their knees across the drenched deck, stopping only when they collided with the bulwark. Kitty winced as a long scratch on her calf seeped blood through a rip in her trousers. Seeing the expression on Rian’s face as he started towards them, she indicated to Amber that perhaps they really should go below.

  Rian lost his footing, coming to a crashing halt on his arse several feet away. ‘For fuck’s sake!’ he roared, his face scarlet. ‘Get below!’

  Kitty nodded and crawled towards the cabin door, but before she and Amber reached it came a noise, audible even above the pounding rain and shrieking wind, that froze her blood; the unmistakable sound of the belly of the large main course sail tearing. She whipped her head around in time to see the mizzen course go as well, and then the fore course, which was very odd. A few seconds later, the spanker at the bow tore apart. The wind roared through the new gaps and the Katipo’s speed dropped dramatically.

  Scrambling to his feet Rian bellowed, ‘Take in the lot! We’ll go bare.’

  Kitty knew, as she wrestled with the cabin door and stepped carefully onto the companion ladder, he had no choice, if he wanted to save the remaining sails. They would just have to bob wildly about wherever the typhoon took them and pray it wouldn’t be to the bottom of the sea.

  Amber slammed the door shut behind her and came down the ladder backwards. They were both utterly drenched.

  She sat at the mess table, her feet braced wide for balance, wringing out her hair. ‘Pa’s going bare poles,’ she said, her voice raised almost to a shout over the creaking and groaning of the Katipo’s beleaguered timbers.

  ‘It’s safest,’ Kitty replied as she inspected the scratch on her leg. She’d survive. And going bare was safest, in theory.

  ‘We look like drowned rats.’ Amber gasped. ‘Oh Christ, where are the cats?’

  ‘Shut in our cabin.’

  Staggering across the room like a drunk, Amber shoved open her parents’ cabin door and peered into the gloom. ‘I can’t see them.’

  Kitty joined her, holding onto the wall for stability. She couldn’t either, though she could certainly smell cat shit, the poor, frightened little beggars. Rian wasn’t going to be pleased. She got down on her knees and peered under the bed, and there they were, huddling together in the farthest corner, two pairs of eyes gleaming out at her. ‘Come on, chickens, out you come.’

  No, they were staying where they were. She didn’t blame them. ‘Where have they shat?’

  ‘Don’t know,’ Amber replied. ‘Let’s worry about that later.’

  They shut the door on the cats and retreated to the mess table, feet hooked around bench legs to stop themselves from sliding and hands gripping the edge of the worn table top.

  After a few minutes Amber said tentatively, ‘I hope they’re all right up there.’

  ‘Try not to fret, love. They’ll be down as soon as the sails are furled. We’ve been through this before.’

  Amber nodded. The cabin around them clanked, grated and squealed as though in mortal pain. Eventually she said, ‘I know.’

  They settled in to wait.

  *

  The typhoon passed after about an hour, leaving the sky the colour of an aquamarine, with only ragged streamers of white cloud following the storm inland. Kitty felt faintly sorry for whichever unlucky Philippine settlements it might strike, but any such sentiment was dwarfed by her immense relief at the fact that the Katipo was still afloat and everyone aboard. You so often heard stories about crew getting washed overboard during storms and she dreaded it one day happening to them. The sails had sustained extensive damage, however, which couldn’t be repaired on board, and the most convenient ports where new sails could be reliably purchased were Manila and Cebu, the Philippine archipelago’s oldest city. Manila would have been the preferred option as it was due north, towards China, but it lay in ruins, having been razed by an earthquake four months earlier.

  ‘It’s a fair distance out of our way,’ Rian said.

  ‘It is,’ Hawk replied. ‘But we will not be going anywhere at all if we do not replace the sails.’

  Mick unrolled the charts depicting the Philippine Islands and pointed with a blunt finger. ‘We’re here. If we sail through the San Bernardino Strait then straight down the middle here past the Visayas, we can duck into Cebu that way. It’s all sheltered, so it is.’

  Rian said, ‘If it’s sheltered there won’t be enough wind to get us there, not with half our sails missing.’

  Hawk stuck his own finger on the map. ‘The winds come from this direction once you get past Biliran Island. There will be enough, this time of year. And we are not missing half of our sails.’

  Pointing himself, Rian asked, ‘Aren’t you forgetting Mactan Island? It’s like the doldrums going through the channel there.’

  Now there were fingers everywhere.

  ‘So?’ Mick shrugged. ‘We’ll tack ourselves silly, or pay someone for a tow if we have to.’

  Hawk said, ‘Mick is right, Rian.’

  Rian burst out, ‘Look, I just don’t want to stop in Cebu, all right? I don’t want to stop at all.’

  Kitty asked, ‘Why not?’

  ‘We do not have a choice,’ Hawk said.

  Cocking his thumb Rian jabbed it over his shoulder. ‘Had you not noticed?’

  ‘Yes,’ Hawk replied.

  All four turned to look at the ship sitting out on the horizon. Mick swore.

  ‘I was hoping the typhoon might have dealt to them,’ Rian said, ‘but apparently not.’

  Hawk remarked calmly, ‘We cannot voyage in open sea with three sails missing. You know that. We must replace them.’

  ‘They’ll follow us in,’ Rian said. ‘I don’t want them anywhere near us.’

  ‘We do not even know who “they” are.’

  ‘I’ve a damn good idea. And I hate Cebu. It’s full of Spanish Catholics.’

  Mick laughed. ‘They do own the Philippines.’

  ‘Like the English own Ireland?’

  That shut Mick up.

  Kitty liked Cebu.
She’d liked Manila, too. So many of the buildings there had been beautiful – grand churches and lovely elegant mansions with iron lacework as pretty and as delicate as the mantillas and shawls the Spanish women wore. But now, by all accounts, the famous Walled City was nothing more than a great pile of dust and rubble.

  ‘How long will it take to buy new sails?’ she asked

  ‘No time at all to buy ’em,’ Mick said, ‘but we’ll need half a day to rig the buggers. We could be there overnight.’ He looked at Hawk for confirmation.

  Hawk nodded. ‘One night ashore at the most.’

  Rian sighed. ‘One night, then.’

  Kitty said, ‘Good. We need to give the cabins and everything in them a good airing. They’re dripping.’

  No ship was completely watertight above the Plimsoll line, and the rain and high seas of the typhoon had poured in through cracks in the decks and soaked everything below.

  ‘We’re not leaving the ship unattended,’ Rian said quickly.

  ‘I didn’t say we should,’ Kitty replied. Honestly, sometimes Rian must think she was really stupid. ‘But the bedding’s wet, all of it. And some of our clothes. I think we should find a hotel for a night.’

  ‘Gideon can stay aboard,’ Rian said. ‘And you, Mick.’

  Mick opened his mouth, then shut it again.

  Throughout the entire discussion, from the corner of her eye, Kitty had been watching Tahi. First he’d climbed the fore mast and had a good poke around at its torn sail, then gone up the mizzen, and now he was descending from the main mast.

  Wiping his rope-greased hands on his trousers he approached Rian. ‘I think the sails that ripped were tampered with.’

  Rian scowled at him. ‘What?’

  ‘It looks to me as though the canvas has been cut with a knife in places and weakened.’

  ‘Sabotage? All four of them?’

  Tahi nodded. ‘Maybe not the spanker. That might just have failed because the others did.’

  ‘The Chinese we saw on the wharf,’ Hawk said flatly. ‘I knew they’d been aboard.’

  ‘Wong Kai’s men,’ Rian muttered.

  ‘But they couldn’t have known a typhoon would hit us,’ Mick said.