Treasures of the Deep

by Andrew McGahan

  ‘For some years I merely wandered the coast of the Kingdoms, pausing here and there for a month or for six in this seaside village or that, earning my keep as a fisherman, until at last I fetched up in Shallow Bay. The folk here were reluctant at first to have a known madman in their midst. But I proved a quiet and respectable guest, so they let me be. Later I was even welcomed, for I happened, during a storm, to save the life of one of the town elders, who had been caught out upon the sea in his boat. No one else dared launch to save him, but I went out, for even all these years later I have not lost the skills of seafaring that the Fish imparted to me during our long ordeal.

  ‘So I have lived a quiet life here, for ninety long years now, on top of what was already a long life. I have aged more slowly than I should, that is obvious. Some lingering effect of the Fish’s immortality still resides in my veins, so that even though my two hundredth year is not so far away now, I might pass, as you can see, for a hale man of seventy and no more. The villagers here note it, of course, and they wonder how it can be. But as I keep to myself and cause no one any trouble, they are content to let the mystery lie.

  ‘Indeed, for the most part, over the decades, I have escaped the notoriety of my crazy tale. Yes, people used to seek me out in the early years, some for amusement’s sake, some out of historical curiosity, and some – the worst – came because they were the family or descendants of those who disappeared with Dow and Nell, hoping against rational hope that maybe I could give them news of their lost beloved and kin. But all of them went away unsatisfied, for I had little to say to the amusement seekers, no facts to give the historians, and no comfort to offer the bereaved. And at last the numbers of visitors dwindled, until, as I said, for more than twenty years now, I have been left alone.

  ‘Until you came, that is.’ Here the old man gave Lucy an unexpectedly hard, evaluating look, as if suddenly he suspected her of something. Then he sighed once more. ‘And I suspect that yet again Fate is intervening in my affairs. For why else would you come now, just when I have been thinking about all these things, and wondering if I should write it all down for posterity. And why else would it be a girl who came?’

  ‘Why does it matter that I’m a girl?’ Lucy asked.

  ‘Because of Nell’s last prophecy, that’s why.’

  ‘But what was it? What did she say?’

  Rolly Fish cocked an ear suddenly to the storm. ‘Listen, it’s dying down a little out there, don’t you think?’

  ‘Tell me!’ demanded Lucy.

  The old man laughed. ‘Very well. This is what Ignella of the Cave told me, word for word, as I remember it at least. She said, Long ago, Dow and I made a bargain with the Sunken, whose realm is this inner Waist of the World. When Dow came to take me away, they would not suffer the loss of their treasured prize. But, as I had befriended them by that time, they did agree to let us depart at whiles, to go sailing in the open world, as long as we swore to set foot on no other shore and to make no home in any other place, but to always return and abide here on this island. This we have done, year after year, and in return for our loyalty to them, the Sunken have promised us a great boon, and it is this: when humanity once again returns to the Barrier, and attempts to pass through in their ships, the Sunken will not harass or kill them, but will let them pass through unharmed. This I begged of them, and this is why Dow and I have held to the covenant.

  ‘For humanity will return to the Barrier, of that I have no doubt, though I will not live to see it. The north and south half of the worlds must and will be reunited one day, Fate has decreed it. And the fleet that will be first to return here, the first ships to breach the Barrier since our own, will be captained by a woman, a woman destined for greatness. And this is why I say to you that the Maelstrom is yours now only on loan. You will hold it in trust for another who will come to you one day. A girl. A girl who will be the first of her kind in the Kingdoms, who will defy and change all the old customs, for she will do what I could not do all those years ago, when I dreamed of going to sea.

  ‘And when she comes to you, homeless and alone, your role, before you die, will be to take her in and to teach her of sailing, and to pass the Maelstrom on to her, for she will be the last of its many owners.

  ‘So said Nell to me that day,’ the old man breathed, coming out of his memory to look at Lucy. ‘And now here you are. A young woman come who wants nothing more than to be a sailor upon the sea.’

  Lucy stared back. All her childhood she had dreamed of something like this, to be told that she was special, that she was linked in some fantastical way to her heroes Dow and Nell. But now that it was here, now that it was true, all she felt was a sudden terror, as if the hand of Fate, reaching out to mark her forehead, was no hand at all, but an icy, blood-soaked claw.

  ‘No,’ she whispered.

  Rolly Fish’s smile was almost pitying. ‘I’m afraid it hardly matters whether you agree or not, once things like this are set in motion. Who knows that better than I do, after all that I’ve seen?’

  ‘But—’

  He raised a hand to stop her. ‘Oh, you’re the one Nell was talking about, I can feel that as sure as I know the sun will come up each day. An orphan girl, alone in the world – of course it’s you. And that means my job now is to teach you to sail before I die, and that the Maelstrom is to pass to you when I’m gone – though it seems you are destined for bigger craft in the future, and for a life somewhat more exalted than that of a fisherman.’

  Lucy’s thoughts were a whirl of wonder and dread. A woman captain from the Kingdoms, daring to cross the Barrier Doldrums? And it would be her? How could that be? Never in her wildest imaginings had she conjured such thoughts. And then there was the Maelstrom. ‘You mean you have it still?’ she asked. ‘Dow’s own boat? After all this time? It’s still fit for sailing?’

  ‘Why, of course. You must have seen it on your way to my door. You would have walked right past it, down on the little beach.’

  Lucy was amazed anew. She had indeed glimpsed a boat drawn up on the little beach. But to think that it was the famous Maelstrom!

  Rolly Fish yawned suddenly and stretched his arms, his eyes once more cocked to the ceiling. ‘Yes, I do believe the storm is over the worst. And we’ve talked right through the night, it seems. Dawn can be no more than an hour off.’ He glanced to Lucy with a wry smile. ‘Shall we go down and take a look at your boat right now? There’ll be light enough already.’

  Surprised, Lucy turned a belated ear to the weather. The rain had stopped, she realised – she had the feeling it had ceased some time ago, without her noticing – and even the whistle of the wind and the thud of the surf through the stone floor were less than they had been.

  The old man was already up, not waiting for a reply. ‘Here, you can take my old sea coat for warmth. It’ll be too big for you, for now anyway, but it’s still proof against the wind and the water, and you’ll grow into it. I have my own, a newer one, not even five years seasoned yet.’

  Lucy shrugged on the coat he handed her. It was much too large, and unpleasantly oily to the touch on the outside, but it was warm for all that. Then, everything a rush, she followed her host out through the door.

  It all seemed to be dead night at first, and still wild and windy. But no, looking to the sky Lucy could see that the blackness was lifting in the east, and that the clouds overhead were breaking up to show a last few faint stars. But out here the roar of the surf from across the spit was louder.

  The old man was walking away down the path, and she hurried after him. ‘We’ll put you up at the inn for now,’ he was saying. ‘Carly there is a decent woman, she’ll look after you, and I’ll take care of the tariff. There’s no room for you at my place, and anyway, people would talk, a young girl like you living with an old man like me. And there’ll be enough talk as it is, when I announce that I’m taking on a girl as my apprentice, against all custom and law. But then what else would anyone expect from a madman? They’ll get used to it. After
that, of course, it’ll be up to you to prove yourself. Time will tell, but I don’t doubt Nell knew of what she spoke, and that the sea is in your blood.’

  He had taken the turn in the path that led down to the little beach secreted between the boulders. Even here, sheltered behind the spit, the wind was blowing strong, and sizable waves were driving in from the harbour and crashing onto the shoal. But waiting there, drawn up safe from the foam and wrack, was the fishing boat that Lucy had spied earlier.

  She studied it now in awe. It was not, she noted, quite like any of the fishing boats that she had watched from her window of old in Westhaven, plying the busy waters of the port. Its dark timbers and clinker-built hull had a foreign and old-fashioned look somehow. But then, of course, if it really was the Maelstrom, then indeed it was old, and it had not been built here to a Kingdoms’ design, it had been built in faraway New Island.

  But was it truly the Maelstrom?

  Rolly Fish pointed wordlessly, and there on the bow Lucy saw it – a swirling pattern cut roughly into the timbers, the markings so ancient that they were encased deep within the hull’s sheath of nicre.

  A whirlpool.

  A chill ran through her, the talon of Fate once more brushing her cheek in a freezing caress. Yes, anyone could draw a whirlpool, Rolly Fish himself could have done it, long ago. But there was no doubt left in her.

  Real. It was all real.

  ‘Shall we head out for a sail?’ the old man smiled.

  She started. ‘Now? But …’ And she stared about at the darkness and the fleeting clouds and the gusting of the wind.

  ‘Oh, it’s rough yet, yes, I know,’ said Rolly Fish offhandedly. ‘But if I recall the tale aright, didn’t your hero Dow Amber set out on his first sail on a morning such as this? And that was in the Rip of New Island’s famous Claw, home to the great whirlpool. There is no such danger here. The sea is roused, yes, as I say. But how better to test if you have a sailor’s blood or not?

  Lucy gazed out at the harbour. Waves of several feet in height were seething back and forth across the confined waters. But beyond the curve of the spit she could glimpse, in the grey light, a section of the open coast beyond, and there great rolling breakers were crashing ceaselessly against the shore, frothing white, and all the ocean behind seemed to be in tumult.

  Fear chilled her further. But there was something else too, something deep within and aching, something undefinable and insatiable, that beheld the grey, heaving sea, and wanted it. Wanted it at any price.

  ‘Yes,’ she said.

  The old man laughed. ‘Oh, you’re her all right. Well, help me shove off. This old boat is lighter than it looks, but I won’t lie, I’ve been finding it a chore these last few years, launching it all on my own.’

  He took a grip and bent his shoulder to one side of the boat, nodding that Lucy should take the other side. She did so.

  ‘Ready?’ he asked her, and for a third time Lucy felt a cold touch upon her: the weight of the deeper question. Was she truly ready? For all that would follow from this moment, even unto the ends of the earth?

  She nodded, unable to say it aloud.

  ‘Heave to, then,’ said Rolly Fish.

  They heaved. After a moment’s resistance the Maelstrom stirred and slid across the stones. And it was true, Lucy marvelled, the boat slipped more easily than she had expected, almost as if it was eager.

  Down the shingle they went, and so to the water. A wave rolled in and crashed against the bow. Spray slapped hard and cold across her face, and Lucy shook her head, laughing, awake to the glorious day.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Andrew McGahan was born in Dalby, Queensland, and died in Victoria in 2019 at age fifty-two. He was one of Australia’s finest fiction writers. His first novel, Praise, won the 1992 Australian/Vogel Literary Award. The White Earth won the 2004 Miles Franklin Literary Award, the Commonwealth Writers’ Prize, The Age Book of the Year and The Courier Mail Book of the Year Award. In 2009 Andrew was shortlisted for the Manning Clark House National Cultural Awards for his contribution to Australian literature.

  The Coming of the Whirlpool, book one in the Ship Kings series, was shortlisted for an Indie Award, an ABIA, an Aurealis Award, a Golden Inky and a 2012 CBC award. The Voyage of the Unquiet Ice was Highly Commended in the 2012 Fellowship of Australian Writers National Literary Awards – Christina Stead Award, a 2013 CBC Notable Book and shortlisted for the Queensland Literary Awards. Ocean of the Dead was a CBCA Notable Book.

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