by Lexi Rees
‘So can we get out at the end?’ I ask.
‘Dunno,’ she says. ‘It might surprise you, but what with all that swimming, I’ve never been this way before. Let’s hope it’s open.’
‘Fingers crossed,’ I say.
‘Did you know, they found the remains of loads of bodies from the eleventh century in the River Fleet when they were excavating in the 1990s? They’d been decapitated,’ Pippin says with morbid glee.
‘Thanks for that information,’ I say. ‘Really reassuring.’
We trudge along, the silence only interrupted by squelches and belches from the oozing mud.
Faint rays of daylight start to filter along the underground canal. It’s not exactly a relief as I can now see what we are wading through. Gross.
Pippin stops. ‘Oh no,’ she says, pointing ahead. ‘Look, the exit. It’s blocked.’
She’s right. An iron grill blocks the tunnel, a sluice gate. We peer through the grill. The tunnel we’re in ends about half way up the embankment wall. A few metres below us, the River Thames rushes past. Blackfriars Bridge stands to the left. So near, and yet so far.
I shake the grill in frustration. It wobbles. It’s loose. I shake it harder. Several of the wall fixings are heavily rusted. Pippin grabs the bars and starts to shake it too. In a cloud of cement dust and rust, one of the fixings gives way. Thank goodness for poor maintenance. The harder we shake, the more noise we make. Surely someone will hear us but, even if they knew where we had gone after we dived into the water, the traffic thundering along Victoria Embankment above us drowns it out.
The final bolt shakes loose. The grating starts to fall. I let go, catching the back of Pippin’s dress as the weight nearly pulls her over the edge. It crashes into the water below, and is carried a few metres by the current before sinking out of sight. We lean out of the hole and look down at the river below.
‘Yippee! Swimming time!’ Pippin says, leaping into the water.
‘Wait,’ I say, too late.
She bobs up and down in the water. ‘Come on,’ she calls up to me. ‘It’s lovely once you’re in.’
The current is much stronger than I expected and I’m swept downstream swiftly.
I scan the water for Pippin. She waves cheerily at me.
‘Isn’t this the best adventure?’ She does a few effortless strokes of front crawl and joins me. How can an Earth Wanderer be so comfortable in the water?
High stone embankments on both sides of the river imprison us in the water. It’s impossible to climb out. This was a mistake.
The current whisks us under Blackfriars Bridge and towards the Old Millennium Bridge.
‘Did you know they used to call that the “wobbly bridge” when they built it?’ says my cheerful tour guide. ‘It wobbled in the wind so badly they had to fix it right after they built it.’
Southwark Bridge and Cannon Street Bridge pass in a flash as we’re swept beneath their arches.
‘That’s London Bridge, and that’s Tower Bridge,’ Pippin says, pointing them out. ‘There’s a really funny story about them, do you want to hear it?’
‘You’re going to tell me anyway, aren’t you?’ I say.
‘It’s a good one.’
‘Go on then.’
‘Apparently, way back in 1968, a rich tourist bought London Bridge, that’s the plain brick one over there.’ She points it out again. ‘People say he thought he was buying the fancy Tower Bridge, which would have been way cooler. He didn’t realise the mistake until it was too late, and he’d taken it all the way back to his own country, brick by brick. Obviously, London built that new bridge as a replacement.’
‘No way,’ I say, staring up at the two enormous bridges as we’re dragged under them. ‘That can’t be true.’
Exhaustion takes over and Pippin stops talking.
‘Don’t try to swim,’ I say. ‘Just float with the current. We need to save our strength.’
Through the murky twilight, I catch sight of a familiar shape. I blink hard twice. The Alcina! Our boat cruises gently down the middle of the river towards us. As it gets closer, I see Lisana at the helm. I tread water and wave my arms frantically.
Lisana doesn’t know we’re in the water. Worse, in the dark we’re practically invisible. She’s heading straight for us. I start to panic. She can’t see us. She’s going to sail straight over us.
I yell at her. I don’t care if someone hears us. The moon emerges from behind a cloud. It shines on the river, turning the dark water into liquid silver. We’re caught in the light, like a rabbit in headlights. It’s now or never. If she doesn’t see us in the moonlight now, the current will sweep us right past the boat. ‘Help,’ we scream.
Suddenly, Lisana runs to the side of the boat and leans over. Then she runs back to the helm. Did she see us? Is she coming for us? The boat turns sideways. Wind spills out of the sails and the boat slows down. I breathe a sigh of relief. Lisana pulls alongside us.
‘What are you doing in the water?’ she asks.
‘Long story. I’ll explain later. Help us get out will you,’ I say. ‘It’s freezing.’
She ties a rope to a cleat and throws the free end over the side. Pippin and I scramble up. After its dunk in the river, I realise her thin dress isn’t grey, it’s pale pink.
Pippin hangs over the side of the boat and vomits. She must have swallowed more of the rank river water than I thought. Round her neck, a necklace with a charm on it swings loose. She quickly tucks it back out of sight.
Pippin stares at Lisana, wrinkling her nose. ‘Who’s she?’
‘A friend,’ I say.
‘She doesn’t look very friendly.’
‘I know, but you can’t judge someone by how they look.’
‘Lisana, why are you here?’ I ask, changing the topic. ‘You were supposed to stay in the marina.’
‘I was watching you,’ she reminds me. ‘Been watching you for years, you know, but it’s so much easier now we’re connected.’
I recall the pain I felt when she read my mind in the hut. ‘But I didn’t feel you inside my head this time?’
‘Didn’t need to dig so deep. Your emotions were bubbling just beneath the surface. Saw you clear as crystal. Saw you were in a spot of bother. Thought I could lend a hand,’ Lisana says. ‘Your Dad said I had to stay on the boat. And I have. He didn’t say the boat had to stay still though, did he?’
‘You’re right, technically,’ I laugh. ‘Although I doubt Dad will agree. I’m glad you rescued us, but I don’t think Dad will be so pleased that you moved the boat.’
‘Ah well, I can’t help that. Anyway, where is he? And where’s Aria?’
‘We got separated,’ I admit. ‘But we found Isolda. Aria’s with her. They said they’d find Dad and meet us back at the boat. At the marina, that is, not here.’
‘Better head back to the marina now then,’ she says. ‘I don’t want to get in trouble.’ She looks at Pippin, ‘Who’s the kid?’
‘Pippin. Her dad works for Sir Waldred.’
‘Don’t like Sir Waldred,’ Pippin adds, screwing up her face in disgust.
‘The kid has good judgement,’ Lisana says, sticking her hand out to Pippin. ‘Pleasure to meet you.’ Pippin grasps her hand and shakes it vigorously.
Navigation lights are too risky to use, so we glide along the river in the pitch-dark. I tell Lisana everything that happened in the Strand Station: about seeing Sir Waldred, and finding Isolda, and how the walrus cloak helped us escape.
‘Knew it would be useful,’ she says, looking smug.
Overcoat man slithers out of the shadows and approaches Lisana, ‘Saved your mooring, ma’am.’ He nods at Lisana. ‘Just like you asked.’
The marina guards don’t question our comings and goings as we silently slip back into the same berth we were in earlier.
; Lisana plucks a coin from a leather pouch tied to her belt and tosses it to him. He snatches it out of the air, sniffs it, and fades back into the shadows. Lisana flicks her hair and spins to face us. ‘Stop gawping and get some rest.’ She settles herself into a corner of the cockpit to watch for Dad.
Pippin hunts around, digs out an old sail cloth from one of the lockers, and builds a nest for herself, snuggling down as if it was a feather bed. She hums a cheerful tune that sounds vaguely like What shall we do with the drunken sailor and is sound asleep within minutes.
I wake to the sound of footsteps on the deck. Lisana paces up and down, peering into the weak daylight. ‘We need to go,’ she says. ‘We can’t wait for them any longer.’
‘Ten more minutes,’ I beg. ‘They promised they’d make it.’
‘Ten minutes. No more,’ she says. ‘With or without them, we must deliver the relic safely.’
The sun peeps over the horizon. Lisana casts off the lines and we slip silently from our berth. The marina guards barely glance at us.
They haven’t made it. They must have been caught. Helpless, I watch. It’s too late. Tears splash down my cheeks.
‘They’ll be fine,’ Pippin says. ‘Isolda knows loads of people here. They’ll look out for her.’
I nod.
As we pull out of the berth and into the channel, the rising sun illuminates three running figures. I rush to the bow. Blinking the tears away, I see that two are tall and one is much smaller. It’s them.
They sprint along the harbour wall. ‘Wait for us!’ they shout.
Rough stone grates the side of the boat as we pull alongside, but I don’t care about the damage. They made it.
They jump on board and we turn into the channel just as the sun leaps into the sky.
‘We thought they’d caught you,’ I say.
‘No chance,’ Isolda says.
‘But how did you get back to the boat so quickly?’ Dad asks.
‘It was Lisana, she rescued us.’
‘Lisana, you were supposed to stay with the boat.’
‘I did! Never left it for a second.’ Lisana grins and winks at me, ‘but I didn’t want to miss out on all the fun.’
‘You can explain that later,’ Dad says. He looks at the crowd on deck and smiles. ‘We have a proper crew now. All hands on deck. Set the sails. We need to get out to sea as quickly as we can. They’ll be searching the river for us.’
SIXTEEN
Ruins
Sailing along the estuary, we keep watch for the trackers. The huge flood gates at the mouth of the River Thames loom ahead of us. A group of workers are at the controls. Shouts carry across the water, ‘Hurry up, lads. Get those gates closed, now.’
Once the gates close, we’ll be caught like a fox in a trap. Retreat is not an option with the trackers on our heels so we press forward.
One of the workers spots us coming up the river. He points, shouting, ‘That’s them! That’s the boat!’
Huge metal plates start to slice the river in two as the flood gates judder into action.
The workers let out a cheer, ‘Good work, lads. We got them. They won’t make it through the gates in time.’
Dad adjusts the sails to catch more of the wind and our speed increases. The gates continue to grind closer together.
Isolda chants something and I feel the wind gathering around us, pushing us forward. It might just be enough.
‘That’s it. I can’t make any more,’ Isolda cries as the wind drops again. ‘I haven’t done this in years. I’m out of practice.’
‘We’re not going to make it. Tack. Turn around,’ Aria shouts.
Dad doesn’t change course. ‘Hold on,’ he shouts, bringing the boat even closer to the wind. The Alcina heels over steeply to the side.
The gears pound relentlessly, like a drumbeat marking progress. My body tenses as I urge the boat onwards. With millimetres to spare, the Alcina glides into the open sea and the gates slam closed behind us.
Workers line the shore, shaking their fists at us and cursing. I don’t envy whoever must report back to Sir Waldred that we escaped.
It’s not over though. A jet-ship appears on the horizon.
Aria tugs at my sleeve, ‘Finn, save us! Use your powers.’
I close my eyes and let the image of a grey mist form in my mind. I stretch out my arms, my palms face down towards the sea, and slowly draw them upwards above my head.
‘Yes,’ Aria cries.
I open my eyes. Thick mist surrounds the boat, cloaking us from prying eyes. I stick out my tongue and taste it; it’s salty.
Protected by the mist, we sail on. The roar of the jet-ship engines gets louder. We freeze to the spot. Will they spot us? Then starts to fade. They missed us by metres. We glide on in silence.
Now and then I hear voices from other boats, lost in the mist. Then they too fade into the distance as we slip silently past.
Boats become less frequent as we travel further north. The air gets colder, and the wind gets sharper. I let the mist evaporate although we keep a constant watch for the trackers. The sea darkens to a hard steel-grey colour, just like in my vision. We pull on our furs for warmth, hugging them close. The icy wind claws at us, cutting right to the bone. Isolda lends Lisana a thick black bear-skin coat. It hangs down to the ground, covering her bare feet.
I listen to the sea life. There are no dolphins this far north, just strange, rough sea creatures. Even the fish seem tougher, fiercer. I can’t understand them; it’s like they’re speaking a foreign language.
The days pass slowly. Hour after hour, I sit in the crow’s nest, keeping watch for the trackers. My breath comes out in icy smoke rings.
Early one morning, just as the first rays of sunlight crack the sky, I spot someone creep onto deck. I blink, squinting in the half-light, trying to see. It’s Aria. What is she doing so secretively?
She tucks herself into a corner at the stern of the boat, hidden from the others, but not from my perch at the top of the mast.
I watch as she clasps her hands together then draws them apart. She pauses for a moment, then pretends to throw something into sea. Over and over again.
I slide down one of the ropes and dangle silently a few metres above her head. From here I can see more clearly. Between her hands there’s a faint shape. For a moment, as she pulls her hands apart, it expands to fill the space. But then, just before she throws it into the sea, it disappears.
The wind catches me and I spin on the rope. I reach out and grab the mast with one of my hands to steady myself. A coin tumbles from my pocket. As if in slow motion, I watch it turning through the air. It lands on the deck with a small plunk. Aria spins round.
‘Finn, what are you doing hanging off that rope?’ she asks. ‘Are you spying on me?’
I jump down onto the deck.
‘No. I mean, yes. But what on earth are you doing?’
‘None of your business,’ she says, turning as red as a beetroot.
‘I know what you’re doing,’ I say. ‘You’re practising your Air-Rider skills. Show me what you can do.’
‘No, I’m not ready,’ she says. ‘It doesn’t work.’
‘Well, I saw most of it anyway, so you might as well,’ I say.
Aria stands up in front of me and clasps her hands again. As she draws them apart, I realise the shape between them is moving. It’s a tiny whirlwind. My jaw drops. ‘That’s so cool,’ I say.
‘Thanks, but I can’t sustain it for long. Look,’ she says, opening her hands. With a puff of wind, it dissolves. ‘It’s hopeless, I keep practising and practising but I just can’t do it.’
‘Have you been coming up on deck this early every morning and practising?’ I ask.
‘Yes. Ever since we left New London. The blood-magic feels stronger. I thought I was ready, but I can’t control it.
You can create tidal waves and sea-mists, and Pippin told me how you escaped through that flooded tunnel.’
‘But you made the wind that knocked the bikers off the cliff?’
‘I know, but that just happened. I didn’t do it on purpose. I want to learn how to control my powers. How to use them properly so I can impress Mum and Dad, and you.’
‘Aria, you don’t need to impress us. You’re amazing. You’re kind and clever and strong. You’re just not old enough to use your powers properly yet. Look at me. I haven’t even started my training yet and I’m older than you. At least you’ve started.’
‘Thanks,’ she says. ‘Dad says you’ll find a teacher at the castle.’
‘That’s what the stall-keeper in Izmarli said when I bought the pirrfu charm. How did he know?’
‘I don’t know, but I’d like to see that stall again. He might have a hyrshu air-charm,’ Aria says. ‘Then I’d feel like I was ready to become an Air-Rider.’
‘I have a feeling you will find one anyway,’ I say, wrapping my arm around her. ‘Or it will find you.’
‘Thanks. I’d like to be alone for a bit, please.’ She turns her back on me and resumes her practice.
That evening, we sit on deck, wrapped in our furs, clutching mugs of steaming hot cocoa. Isolda tells us how she and Morgan hid the relic on Izmarli together many years ago to protect it from Sir Waldred.
‘After you were born, Finn,’ she says, ‘everything changed. The elders wouldn’t let her see you. Over the years, her hatred for the elders festered and grew. She came to see the relic as a tool to punish them.’
‘So why didn’t she take it? She knew where it was, after all you put it there together.’
‘She tried. She went back to get it, but there’d been an earthquake and the cave had changed. New cracks and crevices had formed. It wasn’t where we left it. She accused me of stealing it, but I didn’t.’