Black Waters (Strong Winds Series Book 5)

by Julia Jones

  “Ahhhh,” said Gareth.

  There was a silence. Then he sighed. “If you’re all at the end of the line in a village like Flinthammock, there’s things you might decide it’d be better if you didn’t know. That-a-ways you can still say a civil good morning to folk or accept if they want to buy you a pint in the pub.”

  “You’re all one big happy family, then?”

  So far she’d been struggling to find anyone who seemed even normally affectionate, except possibly the cat.

  And Kelly-Jane, she was good. But godssakes, Siri was lost! They should all be out searching for her. Not sitting here, eating chips.

  “We rub along, most of us,” Gareth was frowning as he answered her question. “The main thing you need to know about Uncle Eli and Auntie Iris is that he’s a Farran and she’s a Gold and it weren’t never a love match to start with.”

  If only she knew that Siri was okay she might try to talk to Gareth. Tell him what Iris had said about Eli. Maybe she needed to play it back first? Sort it out a bit better in her head.

  “Yeah, except that you and Martha are Farrans (I think) and Dominic’s surname is Gold but he and Martha seem okay together.”

  “She’s a good girl, is Martha. And she’s always been fond of Dom. Pity he’s her cousin really. Though he don’t deserve her. Thing is, in a place like Flinthammock you can have a feud that’s run so long it’s turned into a tradition. Farrans and Golds don’t get on. End of story. That’s what it were like when we grew up. Martha wants to make it different.”

  “It doesn’t make any sense to me,” said Xanthe.

  “It’s probably a neighbour thing. Next-door villages fight each other and so do next-door families. Next-door countries do too – if you’re thinking wars. Usually no one can quite remember what started the trouble except, in the case of the Farrans and the Golds, it was the building and the owning of a fishing smack.”

  “Igraine?”

  “However did you come ter know that?”

  “It doesn’t matter. I’m sorry I interrupted.”

  “It were the Golds who had her built. Golds always had a bit more of adventure about them. Sometimes they got rich for a while: other times they was flat broke. The Farrans were close, they hung on tight as barnacles and they kept their money tight as well. I won’t say that either of them was necessarily admirable.”

  “What did they do?”

  “Fishin’, mainly. That made for rivalry. You’d want to know where the others had found their catch and you wouldn’t want them to know where you’d found yours. You didn’t show a light at night – no more than you could help anyways.”

  “That’s dangerous.”

  “Of course it were but those old fishermen had great night vision. You should have seen my Uncle Eli. Or my dad. But even with a smack like the Igraine, it weren’t necessarily profitable. Rumour had it that the Golds had put too much into having her built and that they’d needed to start supplementing their income with a little light smuggling.”

  It never took long before someone started telling you smugglers’ tales in these East Coast villages.

  “That’s old history,” said Xanthe. “And it’s so not important. We should be out there helping to find Siri.”

  “Siri?”

  “She’s one of the kids that I’m teaching on the lightship. She sails like a bird. It’s like she’s a complete natural but she can’t speak and I don’t know why. And now she’s gone missing.”

  “That’s bad. Martha said they had a problem but she ain’t allowed to talk a lot about her work.”

  “Would it be okay if I rung Godwyn? It’s not that I’m not interested in the Igraine and smuggling and all that…”

  “Call ’em up lass, settle your mind.”

  “I don’t know what those kids are doing on there.”

  “No more do I.”

  “Oh.” She’d hoped he might have told her something. “I’ll ring Dominic.”

  It was Martha who answered and she had no news. Suddenly Xanthe felt completely appalled that she’d been guzzling while Siri was lost.

  “I want to look for her,” she said to Gareth.

  “Course yer do. I’ll bide here and I’ve got me phone with me though I don’t advertise the fact. You can take my number and I’ll have yourn.”

  “I don’t know where I’ll start.”

  “Follow yer instincts, lass. She loved the sailing, you say. Well, you love it too. Imagine it’s you there, cooped up on the lightship of a summer’s arternoon and the river’s a-calling to yer…”

  Yes, Xanthe could do that.

  Chapter Eleven

  Miranda

  Wednesday May 29, lw 0600 hw 1220 lw 1820 hw 0034

  Xanthe went straight back down the river wall where she’d been that afternoon. She called Martha to say what she was doing but she didn’t bother stopping at Godwyn. Martha had told her that Jonjo and Dominic were mainly watching the exit roads. Local police were out too.

  Follow yer instincts.

  Everything in her – if she was Siri – would be leading away from the creek and the lightship and the houses and the businesses. Siri could have slipped out from Godwyn and crossed the Broad Marsh saltings. She could have gone for miles, picking her way around the reaching, fingering inlets.

  But Xanthe didn’t think Siri would have gone that way. She’d been frightened of the saltings. All the kids had. They were too complex, too ensnaring.

  “Hi Siri!” she shouted into the quiet evening, “Wait for me!”

  She ran along the marsh wall, heading towards the river, just as she had done earlier. There was a pony in among the grazing cattle, a white pony. It flung up its head, ears pricked and alert in response to her shout. Some of the ducks scuttered as if they were about to fly up, then decided not to bother. She passed Fritha, moored off the end of the Fisherman’s Hard. The dinghy had tried to swing with the flood in the narrow channel and had stuck on the mud’s edge.

  Xanthe ran on. She was getting a stitch. She began to wish she hadn’t eaten all that supper. The wall turned right-handed, 90 degrees when it reached the Blackwater. If you carried on along the wall you would be going upstream.

  Xanthe stopped. If Siri had gone that way she could have travelled miles – past Oveseye and Goldenhind, all the way to Fishling. Maybe this was hopeless.

  There was a pillbox on the corner. A much more obvious in-your-face structure than the one she’d photographed this morning. This one jutted from the wall, positioned to defend access both to the Flete and the northern shore of the river. Some one had chalked a big CND disarmament slogan on it. Maybe it had been a protest against the power station? Maybe it was those peace campers? Xanthe would protest against anything even remotely connected with that ‘Commander of the Saxon Shore’ – but it probably wasn’t.

  She climbed onto the top of the pillbox and stood staring in all directions. There were a few late sailors coming back into the river with the flood and a distant motor launch emerging from the inlet beside the power station. The cranes were still working over there. Did they carry on all night? The light was low across the water. She wished she had binoculars.

  “Siri?” she shouted, but without much hope. Some white birds flew up from the long, shallow spit that reached down towards the sea and formed the outer edge of Flinthammock Flete, separating it from the main river.

  “Siri!” she called again, turning to look up along the length of wall that stretched upstream. She could see all the way to the first of the small inlets where her map told her there had once been a pier. Beyond that, and looking down the length of the Blackwater, was the bleak outline of a tower, dark against the setting sun.

  No child in sight.

  Xanthe climbed down and walked carefully round the outside of the pillbox. If you had wanted to be somewhere you could watch the ri
ver in secret, this would be a good place to be.

  “Siri?” she spoke quietly now, “Siri, are you here?”

  There was a place on the outer edge where the dry grass was flat and where the afternoon sun would have been warm and where Xanthe herself might have sat if she had been a silent ten-year-old tormented by feelings which she couldn’t express.

  The motor launch was rounding Shinglehead Spit and cruising quietly up the Flete.

  This pillbox had a wider opening. Xanthe leaned through as far as she could go, which wasn’t far. She tried to use a torch but she couldn’t reach in to see what the torch might be showing.

  “Siri, please, if you’re here, please come out. It’s Xanthe, your sailing teacher. We can go sailing again. Every day, I promise.”

  But there was no movement, no sound and why would Siri squeeze herself into that small, smelly space?

  Follow your instincts, Gareth had said. They had brought her along this edge of the Flete and towards the river where Xanthe herself had gone. But not into the pillbox.

  She hadn’t asked Martha when exactly Siri had gone. It must have been some time after lunch if the boys were in the sail lofts and Siri and Kelly-Jane had been left.

  So where was Kelly-Jane in all of this? Not well, Martha had said. Maybe she had fallen asleep. Then, if Siri had left quite soon after, and if she’d followed the way that Xanthe herself had

  led – if – if – if – then she could have been here, crouched against the outside wall, watching, while Xanthe had been out on the river in Fritha.

  If she had been here, sheltered by the pillbox, pale arms wrapped around her skinny legs, head hunched down between her shoulders, motionless as a nesting bird, she would have seen Xanthe and the dinghy return to the Flete and to Fisherman’s Hard, even if she hadn’t seen her go.

  And Fritha had stuck when she had swung to the flood.

  Xanthe left the pillbox with a gasp of relief and set off running back along the wall to the hard. Siri must be hiding in the dinghy now, weighing her down very, very slightly.

  Thank heaven the kid hadn’t tried to go anywhere. All Xanthe had to do now was persuade her to come out. She could maybe offer to let Siri sail them both back up the creek to Godwyn?

  She wouldn’t have noticed the motor launch at all if it hadn’t been so extreme. Impeccably varnished, probably old, definitely fast. It had the longest foredeck Xanthe had ever seen. Miranda. Good name for such an amazing-looking boat.

  The launch had passed her several moments earlier, sliding quietly up the Flete. But Xanthe wasn’t all that interested in classic motor launches, not tonight anyway.

  She changed her mind when she saw Miranda humming lazily back. Towing Fritha.

  It was the wannabe Viking at the wheel.

  “No,” she shouted. “No, you can’t have her!”

  His surname was Gold: he was Dominic’s relation. Fritha was his and he was repossessing her.

  It’s obvious you don’t appreciate what has been entrusted to you…You should never have been allowed to sail that dinghy.

  That’s what he’d said. But Dominic had said…something else. Which somehow didn’t seem to fit?

  The Firefly so didn’t matter: the point was that he was stealing Siri.

  “Hey, Commander Gold!”

  Miranda turned away from Xanthe as the Flete swung eastwards towards the main river and the sea.

  “Commander Gold! Stop! Please.”

  Miranda was towing faster now. She and Fritha were disappearing steadily into the dusk. Xanthe was running to keep her in sight. She was pulling her mobile out and calling Dominic.

  “Hi, Martha! That’s still you? Siri’s being hijacked but it’s a mistake. It’s Fritha’s owner and he’s towing her towards the river.”

  “Fritha?”

  “You know, the Firefly…that I sailed this afternoon? I mean maybe that’s okay – maybe he wants her back, whatever. It’s all cool with me. My point is that I’m certain Siri’s hiding on board and I’m stuck here on the wall. I’ve shouted but he’s not listening. We need the RIB.”

  There was hesitation at the other end. Martha was great but maybe she wasn’t quick?

  “Martha, I know you’ve got the others to look after and I know I could be wrong. But please. Get K-J to keep them safe. It’s getting dark.”

  “But…”

  “Siri will be frightened. Please!”

  “Okay. I’m totally confused but okay, Xanthe, I’m on it. You keep watching.”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  “What’s he using to tow with?” Martha still sounded uncertain.

  “Some sort of uber-launch. She’s called Miranda.”

  “Miranda! Oh shit! Artie Gold! I’m there Xanthe, I’m there!”

  The Commander and his launch rounded the point and began forging their way up the river. Up, not across. That was good. And they were towing Fritha on their starboard side and it was cramping their speed.

  Xanthe was running and twisting and watching them all of the time. She was straining her eyes through the gloom and she was texting Martha as she went.

  She saw the small person slip over the side. She watched her begin doggy-paddling for the shore with her pale face up-turned and the smallest trace of phosphorescence trailing like chiffon behind her.

  Siri wasn’t a strong swimmer. Once she was away from the safety of Fritha the shore would seem a long way off. The hijacker hadn’t noticed her – he was continuing steadily on his way – but Siri would soon begin to feel the pull of the tide and the salt splashing in her mouth and her eyes and her legs might already be tired and her small white paws would be doing their best but their best might not be quite enough.

  Xanthe’s phone was back in its waterproof case and she was in the river swimming fast towards the little girl. She could hear the Project RIB approaching but she didn’t even look. Just kept her eyes on the small white face and the silvery gleam in the river.

  “Okay Siri. You’re okay now,” she said as she reached the child.

  Siri stretched her cold hands to Xanthe’s shoulders and clung on tight.

  By the time they were in their depth and wading, Martha had challenged the Commander and he’d dumped the dinghy and was hydroplaning towards Oveseye.

  But the two girls weren’t looking that way. They were trudging out of the shallows and towards the wall. The mud tugged at their tired feet and small tussocks of marsh grass stubbed their toes and tried to trip them.

  Xanthe put her arm around Siri. “I have to tell you straight off that I’m sorry. I should have stayed with you this afternoon. I should have understood what it had meant. That was a bad mistake. But can you tell me if there’s anything else? Is anyone unkind to you on Godwyn?”

  She felt Siri’s headshake like a shiver in the rushes.

  “You’re okay to come back there now? I won’t force you if you’re not.”

  Her nod as slight as a water-skimmer’s footfall.

  Xanthe felt her mobile starting to vibrate.

  “I’ve got the dinghy but Siri’s not on board.” Martha sounded desolate.

  “I am so sorry, Martha. I should have called. Siri’s not there because she’s here with me. Can you get in close enough to give us a lift home?”

  Iris was long asleep and Gareth was nodding over a newspaper. He’d taken off his shoes and put his feet up. You could see he wasn’t really reading. Joe was a perfect circle of soft blackness, with his eyes tight shut and his small pink nose pushed against his own underwbelly and covered by his strong front leg.

  His head came up when Xanthe walked in. Gareth blinked and grunted. Then the cat hopped down and Gareth groped around for the newspaper, which he’d dropped.

  “I found her,” Xanthe told them.

  “Didn’t expect yer’d have come back if yer hadn’t.�
� Gareth’s speech was a bit slurry. “And she were presumably alright? I’d best be off. Early start tomorrow. It was an early one today an’ all.”

  “What’s your job?” She forgot she’d only just met him this evening.

  “Oysterman. It ain’t a bad way of life but there’s times when it gets a bit long. Eli used to help me out. Poor grumpy old git.”

  “Get on arright with Fritha, did you?” he asked as he was leaving.

  “Fritha?”

  “Little old Firefly. Cousin Dominic said you needed some’at to sail and he wouldn’t let you take one of his.”

  “Fritha’s yours? OMG, that is such a relief.”

  “Whose did you think she were?”

  “I can’t believe I even thought anything! I love her. She’s magic.”

  “A-course she is. I’ll tell you her story someday. Tell you about the Igraine an’ all.”

  He left by the back door and Xanthe locked it after him. Then she went upstairs and fell into bed. He said as he reckoned you’d understand why the dinghy was for you. She’d identified the voice now but she still didn’t understand what Gareth had meant.

  As of this moment, it totally didn’t seem to matter.

  Chapter Twelve

  Whales and Beetles

  Thursday May 30, lw 0634 hw 1256 lw 1856 hw 0111

  Martha woke her with milky coffee and brioche. You could see she was Gareth’s sister when you knew. She had wavy dark hair and red cheeks, was wearing jeans and a dark blue polo shirt with the Project logo. So why wasn’t she in her office on board Godwyn?

  “I’m sorry,” Xanthe said, “I wasn’t expecting room service. I must have slept though my alarm. Is everything okay? Iris? Siri? And have you noticed that their names work backwards?”

  Martha looked a bit surprised. Then she laughed.

  “Probably not the only backwards things around here. Gareth called in last night, after he left you. He and I had a bit of a go at Dom. Told him that you shouldn’t be up here on your own. That it’s our job as family and if we can’t look after her we should get carers in.”