The Salt-Stained Book (Strong Winds Trilogy 1)

by Julia Jones

  The birthday dedication was on the first page. On the reverse side Gregory Palmer, ‘Captain John’, had written a list of ships in which he’d served. He had careful handwriting that began childish and matured with every entry: Corky, Ceres, Snowdrop, Barnacle Goose, Sea Thrift, Oystercatcher ... The list had only reached halfway down the page when the writer had made his final entry: HMS Sparrow (1945).

  He couldn’t have been very old when he died, thought Donny. He ran his finger over the dry white watermark that the sea had left. He felt the swollen and buckled boards. This book was disfigured, permanently scarred by that event.

  Suddenly he didn’t want to read any more.

  Saturday, September 23rd

  The vicarage felt really peaceful with only him and Anna and little Vicky there.

  They ate plums and made dream-catchers. The silky material Anna’d blagged from the textile department to make their warning flags was red and black and gold – exactly the Man U colours that Liam wanted. Anna helped him make beads by twirling long triangles of plain paper round a thin pencil then gluing and colouring them. Donny decorated them with players’ initials. Wayne Rooney and David Beckham might as well do their bit towards keeping Liam’s bad feelings away.

  Then he began plaiting Vicky a friendship bracelet but she was so much more interested in chewing it that he had to plait longer and longer to prevent it being classed as a Choking Hazard.

  “I’d like to make you something,” he said to Anna. “But it seems silly when you’re so much better at making things than me.”

  “It’s no big deal,” she replied firmly. “I’m not treating it like you’re going off for ever. All you’ve got to do is get down that river, meet up with Gold Dragon and make sure she doesn’t get copped by Flint. Then you just charm the sea boots off her, extract your mother and get me my Internet access back. Okay?”

  “Um, yeah, okay – since you put it like that. Sounds a total doddle. But I’m not coming back to live here whatever happens. So I need to say goodbye to the other kids. I like Luke and Liam and Vicky – whatever their Dad’s done.”

  “They can’t keep secrets, you know. They’re useless. They get muddled and blab it all out.”

  “I’ll tell it in a story then. No-one’ll notice if that gets muddled and they can add bits if they like.”

  So he finished Treasure Island that last Saturday night with an unscripted addition in which Jim Hawkins came back and went off and had other voyages. And came back again. Like it was Treasure Island II and Treasure Island III.

  Then he presented the Man U concoction to Liam and told Luke that he was giving him his own dream-catcher that Anna had made. “Because I might need to be like Jim Hawkins and have to sail away and rescue Ben Gunn. So I could do with you taking care of this special thing for me till I come back.”

  “With a sea chest and a wooden leg.”

  “Yeah, that’s about it!”

  “So I have Vicky as my Treasure in the day and keep the dream-catcher safe at night?”

  “And it keeps you safe as well. Like Liam’s does ...”

  Donny said his final good night and was slipping out of the boys’ room, privately congratulating himself on his child- management techniques, when Luke called after him. “But you won’t really, will you, Donny, you won’t really go away? I like it now you’re here.”

  “Um, well, you see, Lukey, I might have to. I’m hoping that my great aunt’s going to come but I don’t know.”

  “What’s a great aunt?”

  “She’s my family. That’s all I’ve got except my mum. No brothers and sisters like you have.”

  “We could be your family! Even Anna likes you and she doesn’t usually like anyone.”

  “But I don’t think Gerald and Wendy and the Welfare people want that.”

  “Then I hate them even more.”

  “Mmm, me too. So I thought I might go on an adventure for a bit. That’s why I need you to look after things.”

  “How long till I can have an adventure?” The younger boy’s voice was full of yearning.

  Donny wished then that he was staying. He could have taken Luke and Liam sailing. They could all have got into Lively Lady, like the Swallows and Amazons kids – or Gregory Palmer’s brother and sisters with their made-up names. Okay, so they probably couldn’t have camped out on an island in a lake but at least they could have gone for a picnic or rowed across the river to dig worms.

  “Dunno. Sometimes adventures just happen. When Anna and I were at Xanthe and Maggi’s club last weekend there was a fat man with a pointy boat that was mean like a shark. He was horrible and gross and tried to frighten Maggi and Anna. And his name was Flint, same as the pirate in the story! So we sung fifteen men on a dead man’s chest.”

  “Yo, ho, ho and a bottle of rum!” came unexpectedly from Liam’s bed.

  “That’s right, Li, that’s how it went. Then, down the river on Thursday, Xanthe and I saw an old three-masted schooner with nobody anywhere near her. So we called her the forgotten Hispaniola. It’s as if Treasure Island is happening all round us.”

  “But we’re not in it,” said Luke after a moment’s thought

  “One day you will be. We all will.”

  “Even Vicky?”

  “Yeah, why not! She’s our Treasure so she’d better come along. Now you settle to sleep, both of you, and think up some plans and one day we’ll all get together and do them.”

  “You promise?”

  Donny gulped and mentally crossed his fingers. Then he mentally uncrossed them.

  “Yes, I do. I just don’t definitely promise when.”

  Once again he reached the door and once again a voice called after him.

  “Um, Donny ...” This time it was Liam.

  “Yes, Li?” Donny tried not to sound impatient.

  “I want you to have something.” The little boy was sitting up looking in a shoebox beside his bed. Donny went over and waited until he’d made his choice. “I want you to have this.”

  ‘This’ was a Euro 2004 fridge magnet, probably out of a cereal packet.

  “It’s a medal. It’s well wicked. It’s one of my best things.”

  “Wow,” said Donny. “Thanks, mate. That’s really awesome.”

  “And it still sticks,” said Liam, giving his treasure one last look before handing it to Donny and snuggling down determinedly.

  “Thanks,” said Donny again. “Night Li, night Luke.” And this time he was gone, not feeling quite so sure of himself.

  He sat up late, reading both his books.

  The happy ending of Swallows and Amazons left him depressed – all those children waving goodbye to one another and making plans for next year. He noticed that there were other books in the same series so they must have had a next year – and a year after that, probably. He couldn’t even see into next week.

  Their mum and the baby came strolling down the field to meet the children when they came sailing home.

  Fat chance of that!

  Donny sighed. Whatever Granny had been trying to explain, whatever secret she was trying to share, he hadn’t got it.

  Then he had another look at Sailing, Joshua’s recommended read. What was it with adults and their special books?

  He turned to a chapter on sailing theory but his brain refused to grapple with the technicalities of leeway, lateral resistance, griping and weather-helm. So he started flicking through, looking at diagrams without understanding them. Until he came to a section of miscellaneous hints and several paragraphs of instruction concerning ‘the Management of Open Boats in a Heavy Sea’.

  Donny read the ensuing pages with mounting horror. Even launching a rowing boat from a beach was hazardous, apparently. The author spared nothing in his description of the previously unsuspected perils of broaching to, foundering, capsizing, swamping, being thrown end over end in heavy surf. “In this way,” he warned his readers, sternly, “many lives are annually lost.”

  Donny shut Sailing wit
h a snap. “Will all this happen to me?” he wondered. Gregory Palmer – ‘Captain John’ – had died. His book seemed stained with blood, not salt. Dry, white blood.

  The bedroom light was still on and the thin covers were actually quite warm but Donny shivered.

  Down, breathless, down into darkness, crushed by the weight of the icy sea ...

  The room went black and Donny’s chest began to hurt. There was an unbearable pressure building up at the back of his mouth and nose but he didn’t dare breathe because he dreaded that first gush of freezing water filling his airways, smothering his lungs. His stomach began to hurt. There were red flashes behind his eyes. He couldn’t bear it – he was waving, kicking, fighting, desperate to break back to the surface.

  Donny opened his eyes, panting and bewildered. He’d been holding his breath. Stupid or what! He shoved Sailing away as if it carried a curse. “Well, there’s one thing I can do,” he thought. “If I don’t go to sea, I can’t drown.”

  But he could drown in the river too; he could have drowned on that reservoir – ‘Gitche Gumee’ as he’d so blithely named it. Donny’s hands went clammy as he remembered how confidently he’d set out in the little Optimist that first day, how recklessly he’d endangered the child as well as himself. He wouldn’t be doing that again! Not now he realised how perilous it was and how much knowledge he didn’t know.

  Granny had been quite right. He should keep away from water.

  They all should.

  Donny pulled the pillow over his head as he hadn’t done for years. He’d get his dream-catcher back from Luke tomorrow and make the younger boy a new one. He’d have plenty of time because he wasn’t going anywhere. Not by water anyway.

  Lively Lady would be okay. She could sit on the beach at Pin Mill near the old lady’s house until he got the Ribieros to bring their car and tow her back to the dinghy-park. He would relax, stay safe. Maybe he’d play a bit of football with the kids.

  If Great Aunt Ellen turned up, she could fetch him from school.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Dinghies in the Dark

  Nancy stood up and pushed at the bottom with an oar. John put the lantern down on the forward thwart. He wanted to use both hands and all his strength. Swallow slid off. John got a knee to the gunwale and gave a last kick to the shore. They were afloat. And at that moment there was the sharp crack of a rifle away to the south, a crash and tinkle of broken glass and the lantern toppled down from the thwart and went out.

  (from Peter Duck by Arthur Ransome)

  Sunday, September 24th

  As the pale light of early morning crept across the bleak vicarage bedroom, Donny’s first instinct was to get up, take both his books and go.

  Go now. Leave. Before he could change his mind again.

  In his emotional panic of the previous night he’d forgotten that he wasn’t taking Lively Lady down the river for fun. This was a rescue mission.

  His dream had sent him a message. You could know things through dreams, Skye had said.

  It had been dark and he was John Walker – the real ‘John Walker’ – and he’d been rowing John Walker’s dinghy, Swallow. There’d been a girl called Nancy, a rifle shot, the crash and tinkle of broken glass. They’d rescued a fat man from an unknown shore

  “Now do you understand?” said Nancy.

  Not really – but he got the gist. ‘Nancy’ was an Amazon. Like Xanthe? Everything else was muddled – except that his Great Aunt Ellen was in danger. She needed him.

  And so did Skye.

  And after that he wanted to help Anna.

  Donny hoped that none of his friends would ever know how close he’d come to bottling out. How could he have thought he could have faced Maggi and Xanthe if he’d just left their dinghy on the beach? Gutless or what? There was minimal risk involved in sailing a well-maintained and well-equipped dinghy, like Lively Lady, down the River Orwell in good conditions. He’d done it once already. This wasn’t the Arctic Sea. They were not at war.

  Donny stomped about the room picking things up and shoving them in his rucksack. He was going to take the new swimming shorts he’d been allowed to buy. Then he realised,, just in time, that their absence could give away that he was heading for water. Logical thinking! Anna would be proud of him.

  After that he crept downstairs, filched two plastic bags from Gerald’s recycling system and wrapped them carefully around his books. Even if he got completely soaked there would be no more white bloodstains.

  Okay. Captain Palmer was dead. And that was very sad.

  But most old books must have belonged to people who were dead. All those classics of Granny’s – Hiawatha, Treasure Island, Peter Pan – all the kids who’d read them when they first came out: they’d all be dead by now.

  Granny was dead as well. Nothing to do with water.

  If he was too scared to sail Lively Lady down to the harbour, he’d have to stick close to the riverbank and paddle. Like Mole in The Wind in the Willows.

  If he woke Anna, she could disable the alarm for him.

  But once he’d got everything properly packed and waterproof, Donny realised that he couldn’t set off immediately. If he woke Anna he’d most likely wake Vicky – which would wake everyone. Even if it didn’t, leaving now would give Gerald and Wendy – or Flint and Toxic – all day to search for him. Wait until tonight and his absence mightn’t be noticed until Monday morning – Monday, September 25th. The day Great Aunt Ellen had promised to arrive.

  By then his warning flags would be flying.

  And after that? He had no idea.

  That Sunday was the slowest day. Only Liam had agreed to go to church so the Family Activity that afternoon was two hours in the village recreation ground. Even Anna was made to come. Liam soon got fed up with their lack of football skill and went off to play with a ferociously energetic group of youngsters, all wearing logo-ed team strips. Donny, Luke and Anna took turns to swing Vicky and then sat on a bench practising some of the knots and splices from Sailing’s photocopied pages.

  Gerald, who was supervising, got quite interested. It bought out the buried Boy Scout in him and he reminisced contentedly about campfires and woggles, while Luke devised ever more fiendish bondage systems – for the man in the shark-boat, for the whole of the SS and for Blind Pew too.

  Gerald never listened properly to anything Luke said. Unfortunately even he couldn’t avoid making the connection when a furious Flint came hammering on the vicarage door shortly after tea to complain that his powerboat had been vandalised.

  “Is that the fat man? The one who tried to frighten Anna?” Luke asked loudly, as Gerald explained that the children had been in the park with him all afternoon and under the care of a Social Service-approved home help whilst he had attended church in the morning.

  “And yesterday?”

  “The older two were in the village hall from lunchtime assisting my wife with the decorations and at home here during the morning looking after the baby. My wife’s the vicar, you know. We take regular advice from Education Welfare.”

  “Where were you, sir?”

  “I was ... elsewhere. With two of the younger children.”

  “Visiting day in Her Majesty’s nick, was it? In fact you’ve very little idea what this big lad might have been up to, either yesterday morning or today.”

  “I haven’t been anywhere near your boat. Not since I saw you driving it last weekend.”

  “Is he the one with a boat like a shark? The mean one? Donny – is he?” Luke wouldn’t be denied.

  Donny couldn’t help grinning though he guessed it would be disastrous. “Could well be – but it’s not very polite to make personal comments in front of people.”

  Flint seemed likely to explode. “Very helpful, thank you. Shark-boat eh? You’re coming down to the Station with me, my boy. Now, march!”

  Donny turned to Gerald. “I’ve not done anything to his boat. I’m not going. Why should I?”

  Gerald was at a loss, torn betwe
en his wish to justify the reliability of his child-minding arrangements and his in-built habit of deferring to authority. He stuttered and dithered.

  Anna, who’d vanished immediately she spotted the policeman, reappeared at that moment, bringing Rev. Wendy with her.

  Donny would never be more grateful for Wendy’s slow carefulness and her boring adherence to procedures.

  “I’m sorry, officer,” she said, when Flint had repeated his angry demand, “but you haven’t brought anyone with you. John’s a minor and therefore it would be incorrect for you to take him to a police station unescorted. I’m on my way to Evensong and my husband has all the other children to supervise. So, until one of us is available to accompany you, or until you can provide an alternative escort, I’m afraid John must remain here. There’s probably a duty social worker you could contact. I assume you have the necessary paperwork?”

  Obviously Flint hadn’t. He returned to his car and sat there in the drive making telephone calls.

  Wendy shook her head sadly as she collected her cassock and car keys. “This is very disappointing, John. Very disappointing indeed.”

  Donny’s gratitude imploded. He turned on her. “Sorry. Are you deaf?” That was an insult he never normally used. “I said that I’ve never touched his boat. I’ve never even been near it. You like rules. What about innocent until proved guilty, huh?”

  There was more that he could have added but he didn’t have the time. He turned and ran upstairs to his room, vaulting the safety-gate. A moment later he heard Wendy drive away.

  His rucksack was packed and so was the bosun’s bag. He’d even written a note for Anna to give Mr McMullen next morning. He dropped his bags out of the window down to the flowerbed but couldn’t see how he could follow them himself. All the long bits of rope were on Lively Lady.

  He didn’t want to risk the hall with Gerald still flapping around. Couldn’t think how he was going to get out of the drive with Flint parked there in his fat black car.

  Except that Anna would surely organise a diversion.

  He went down a floor to Luke and Liam’s room. Sheets, duvet covers. That was the classic method. He could do the knots. Set the boys a good example. They’d enjoy having to haul all their bed-linen back through the window when Gerald had shooed them upstairs.