by Alex Shearer
‘Yes. Sky-fish. Sky-jellies in particular.’
‘Oh dear …’
There were six of the sky-whales. It wasn’t difficult for them to avoid the mines. A flick of a fin, and they were past. The trouble came when the lead whale got hungry, opened his jaws, swallowed down what he thought was one sky-jelly, and then gulped down another. Then he carried on flying, and they were all coming towards us. And the big whale had two sky-mines inside him.
‘Oh no … oh no …’
Alain took evasive action, steering around more of the mines, but the whales kept coming. Then, without so much as a blink, the lead whale simply exploded, and there were bits of meat and blubber raining down everywhere, all over the sky and the boat and the deck.
‘Oh, that is gross … that is –’
‘All over my sandals!’
‘Gemma, you don’t need to worry about your sandals right now,’ Peggy said. ‘When we’re out of this minefield you can worry about them.’
‘That is … disgusting …’
It wasn’t too pretty, I had to admit. I saw that Angelica was frantically polishing her glasses, so I guess she’d got hit by the exploding whale too. As for the other whales in the pod, they just flew on, oblivious, like they hadn’t noticed one of their number was no longer with them.
‘They’re thinning the mines …’
They were too. We were through the middle of the minefield and coming out of the other side.
‘Starboard. Three coming up!’
We all rushed to starboard and fended the mines away from the hull. I used the broom gently this time. The mines lazily floated off.
Then finally – and I guess it had taken little more than an hour – we were through. The mines were behind us, and there they stayed, grim reminders of some long-forgotten war or inter-island dispute. The mines outlived the wars and went on fighting them, and inflicted punishments for old enmities on perfectly innocent strangers.
‘Do you know what the war was about, Peggy?’ I asked.
‘All I know is there’s always one on somewhere,’ she said. ‘And everyone says how terrible they are, and how this latest war is the war to end all wars, and how everyone ought to learn from it, and then they go and have another anyhow, like they never learned anything.’
‘Maybe they never got educated at City Island,’ I said.
But she shook her head.
‘When it comes to warring,’ she said, ‘the only difference education has is it makes you better at it, more’s the pity. You think just stupid people fight wars? The generals, the colonels, the admirals, the commanders – educated, every one of them. You know how long it takes to train a professional fighter? They’re educated people. If I were you, I wouldn’t put too much faith in education when it comes to keeping the peace.’
‘Peggy, do you want to take the wheel now?’
We’d forgotten about Alain and hadn’t even thanked him. He looked exhausted.
We told him how great he was – Gemma especially. I saw that, like the rest of us, he was pretty dirty and covered in bits of blubber and didn’t smell too good. But then, when you’ve got a sky-whale exploding in the vicinity, what can you expect?
So when I spotted the sign before anyone else did, I was pretty pleased with myself, and gave myself full marks for observation. Because you can have a basin wash on a boat like ours, like I said, but a proper shower and laundry and a meal other than sky-fish are just impossibilities and like mirages in the sun.
But there it was, right ahead of us, with ten or more boats moored up at its jetty: The Inter Island Motel and Skyway Services. Prop: J. P. Procrustes. Food, accommodation, showers, laundry.
I went straight into badgering mode.
‘Peggy! Look! Can we stop and get a shower and something different to eat? And maybe sleep in proper beds for a night? Can we? It’d be so nice to have a shower, wouldn’t it, and get all these … well … bits off us.’
‘Can you read the room rate?’ she said. ‘My eyes aren’t so good.’
‘Says eight Units a room. But we can share. We don’t need a room each. And we could have a meal too. A not-fish meal. Can we, Peggy? Can we afford it? Can we?’
‘I guess …’
‘And it looks all right, or all those other boats wouldn’t be there, would they?’
‘I guess not. Seems to be popular. But then there’s not exactly much by way of choice in the area. Only motel we’ve seen so far in the whole, wide sky.’
‘But it’s got to be OK. Can we go there? Can we?’
‘Well, it would be nice to get a good, long, hot shower and wash these clothes …’
And I could tell that though none of the others was saying much, they’d have appreciated a nice long shower too.
‘It must be OK if there’s other boats there,’ I said again, and that kind of clinched it. Peggy was persuaded.
But I was wrong about that – about the place being OK, just because it looked popular. Seriously wrong. Conclusions are things you should go ambling towards; you shouldn’t go jumping to them. But I didn’t know that at the time.
No. Just because a place looks busy, that doesn’t mean it’s anywhere you want to be. Appearances can be deceptive, as we were about to find out.
14
motel
GEMMA TELLING YOU THE FACTS ONCE MORE:
Yes, well, so that was all thanks to Martin and his big mouth and wonderful ideas yet again.
Looking before you leap was never his strong point, as he was to prove once more. It’s not that he’s ever short of suggestions. He’s had some classic ones. Like, ‘Let’s jump off the headland here, Gemmy. I can sky-swim this, no trouble!’ And that nearly had us both killed, with him getting into difficulties and thrashing about with all the grace and buoyancy of a dead sky-walrus, and me just about able to keep him afloat and get him back onto solid ground. Even I didn’t tell Peggy about that one.
And it wasn’t just the motel, to be honest. He’d been getting on my nerves for quite some time, ever since we had the bad fortune to run into that rat-skinner and took Miss Speckles on board. (Least that was how I thought of her, but I kept the nickname to myself.) Not that I had anything against Angelica – she was very friendly and very nice. It was Mr Lovesick who was the pain in the nether regions.
I mean, I know Peggy said it was high time we got ourselves to City Island, and not just for the self-improvement but for the socialising’s sake too. She said if we weren’t careful we’d end up feral – which meant, according to her small but well-thumbed dictionary, that we’d end up as domestic creatures gone wild and impossible to tame or to let into the house without putting papers and litter trays down first and locking up the biscuits.
‘You won’t know how to relate to people, not anyone of your own age. And old Ben Harley’s no role model, I can tell you that. You need to meet young people and know what’s going on with them.’
And I could see the truth and value of that, and I could understand that as Martin had never seen any other girl apart from me (and sisters plainly don’t count) since he was too small to even know what a girl was, then meeting one might come as a surprise. But I hadn’t expected him to actually start drooling. And when I saw him with Miss Speckles, and when I saw Botcher the sky-cat with a bowl of food, it was hard to tell the difference between them, except that maybe Botcher dribbled less.
Martin just followed her around the boat like she had him on a piece of string, and it was, ‘Angelica, shall we do the cooking together?’ and ‘Angelica, shall we share this watch and both stay awake and then I’ll stay awake for your watch too?’ Or, worst of all, it was, ‘Angelica, have you got any more rat-skinning stories that you haven’t told me yet?’
And there the poor girl was, racking her brains for old rat-hunting yarns to keep him happy, and they got more and more unbelievable and far-fetched as we went along, and everyone could see it apart from Martin, who was swallowing them down like they’d been cooked on toas
t. I did feel quite sorry for Angelica, and knew she was only making them up for his sake. But when we got to the one where she was swallowed whole by a sky-rat and her dad had to pull her out by sticking his arm down the creature’s throat and getting her by the hair – well, I thought, even Martin isn’t going to fall for this one.
But no. He just nodded like it was something straight from the pages of A History of the Sky Island Peoples and as true as the sun shining. I just didn’t know where all this rat-skinning was going to end. It was hard to keep a straight face sometimes. But finally Angelica put a full stop to it when Martin was on at her to tell him just one more.
‘I really think I’ve told you them all, Martin,’ she said.
‘There must be one you haven’t told me,’ he said. But you could tell she was suffering from creative burnout and liar’s block (which is no doubt like writer’s block; liars and writers – so Peggy says – being pretty much the same thing, and if you have an aptitude for one, then you may well have a knack for the other). But Angelica plainly didn’t want to tell even one more rat-skinning tale.
‘No, I’m sorry, Martin. But why don’t you tell me about you, and living on Peggy’s island?’
‘Nothing ever happened,’ he said.
‘Martin,’ I said, ‘tell her about the Barbaroons, when they nearly carried you off to sell you – not that they’d have got much, mind.’
‘They tried to kidnap you?’ Angelica said, all big eyes behind her glasses. She could be as cute as peas sometimes.
‘It wasn’t that interesting,’ Martin said.
‘No, go on.’
So he told her. And one story led to another, and just listening to him made me realise that even on a tiny island miles from anywhere civilised, you can have an interesting life. Even a fascinating one, when it comes to recounting it, though it didn’t seem so special at the time.
Anyway, so there we were, sailing into the Inter Island Motel and Skyway Services. Prop: J. P. Procrustes. There were pictures up in black and white, silhouettes of rice bowls and chopsticks and one of a bed and another of a shower nozzle flowing, so even if you couldn’t read you could still get the message that here was everything weary travellers needed to get the grime and sweat off themselves and the weight off their feet and to have a good tuck in.
‘I’m getting a burger,’ Martin said.
‘They don’t do burgers,’ Peggy said.
‘They do. There’s a picture of one.
‘Is that a burger? I thought that meant there was a capstan to tie your boat up at,’ Peggy said.
‘Ha, ha,’ Martin said.
‘What’s a burger?’ Alain asked.
But that’s the kind of world it is. Nobody knows everything. Sometimes even experience proves nothing.
We tied up with the other boats.
‘See, popular place,’ Martin said again, like he just couldn’t stop with the bragging and the being proved right.
‘So you keep saying,’ I told him.
‘Can you smell cooking?’
‘No,’ I said.
‘I can smell the burgers.’
‘In your dreams.’
We walked across the pontoons and up onto land. Then we followed the path to the reception. For a place with so many boats at its moorings, there didn’t seem to be a lot of people about. Or any, come to that.
‘Where are they all?’
‘In their rooms, sleeping.’
‘I wonder who runs the place?’
‘Ring the bell.’
‘Think they’ll have any rooms left? They might be full.’
‘Ring the bell again, please, Gemma.’
‘I’ll do it!’
‘Ring it, Martin. Not smash it.’
‘Yeah, all right, Gemma, keep your hair on. I didn’t ring it that hard, did I, Angelica?’
‘Well, I didn’t think it was that loud, Martin.’
(It really did make you sick.)
‘Anyone coming?’
‘Here’s someone now.’
A woman appeared behind the reception desk. She was formidable-looking, with brawny arms and a tattoo on one of them, of a dagger stabbing a heart and a serpent coiled around it. But she was friendly enough, if gruff.
‘Howdy.’
‘Hi,’ Peggy said.
‘Help you?’
‘We’d like to freshen up, maybe stay a while, do some laundry, get a shower and a meal – do you have any rooms?’
The woman indicated the key board and all the hooked room keys hanging there.
‘You can take your pick.’
‘Oh, good. We just thought you might be full.’
‘Why’d you think that?’
‘The sky-boats tied up at the jetty out there.’
‘Oh, them. No. We ain’t full.’ And she gave no further explanation. ‘How many rooms are you wanting?’
‘Well, the boys can share, and Gemma and Angelica too, and a room for me.’
‘Three rooms, one night, twenty-four ICUs, cash appreciated, in advance.’
‘Eh … OK. Fine.’ And Peggy got her wallet out. ‘You’ve got laundry facilities?’
‘Down at the end of the block.’
‘Showers?’
‘In the rooms. You’ll be wanting to eat?’
‘I think we will.’
‘Meat or fish? The meat we have to get out of the freezer to thaw, so some notice helps. Fish is fresh.’
‘Can I have a burger?’
‘Sure, young man. We’ll get that out of the freezer for you.’
Peggy handed over the money and the woman gave her the keys.
‘You manage your own luggage? Don’t look like you’ve got much. Or shall I call Mr Procrustes to carry it for you?’
‘We can manage.’
‘Going far?’
‘City Island.’
‘Right. Expecting you there, are they?’
‘Kind of.’
‘And people at home to miss you too, I guess?’
‘No, not really,’ Martin blurted out, before I could shut him up. I didn’t like this woman. She asked some funny questions. What did she want to know if there was anyone to miss us for?
‘OK, well, make yourselves at home,’ Mrs Procrustes – I assumed that was who she was – said. ‘I’ll go and get the meat out the freezer.’
‘Where do you get it from, by the way?’ Peggy asked. ‘I’ve not seen meat in – well – twenty turnings or more. I mean, old world livestock, that’s so rare – and expensive.’
‘Mr Procrustes knows the people to get it from,’ she said, and then clammed up, like it was some trade secret.
‘OK. Then let’s get freshened up, shall we?’ Peggy said, taking the keys and doling them out.
‘You know, you all don’t smell so good,’ Mrs Procrustes said. ‘And there’s bits of fish or something on you.’
‘We realise,’ Peggy said. ‘It’s why we want the laundry and shower.’
‘What happened? You smell like a whale exploded.’
‘Something like that,’ Peggy said.
‘Then you carry on. When do you want to eat?’
‘Couple of hours’ time suit everyone?’ Peggy asked.
It seemed to. So we went to our rooms.
15
frozen dinners, chilled meals
GEMMA CONTINUING HERE:
Miss Speckles was OK really. It was the first time I’d talked to her properly on her own, but she was fine to share a room with.
‘My brother annoying you, Angelica?’ I said. ‘I can speak to him, if he is.’
‘No,’ she said. ‘He doesn’t annoy me at all.’
‘Not even with the rat-skinning stories? I thought you might be feeling the pressure.’
‘No, really. I don’t mind. In fact, I quite like him.’
So there you are. Just when you think there’s no surprises left in the world, some girl tells you that she likes your brother.
I wondered what he and Alain were ta
lking about across the corridor in their room. Martin was probably putting the squeeze on him to relate a few crossbow-firing stories, or floating-sky-mine stories, or being-press-ganged-into-the-army stories. I just hoped Alain would tell him the truth and frighten any notions out of him of one day being a soldier himself.
‘Beds aren’t very big, are they?’ Angelica said.
I tried mine out.
‘No. Bit short.’
‘Maybe they might change them.’
‘Could mention it.’
‘But then you curl up when you sleep.’
‘You want the shower first, Angelica?’
‘No, you go.’
So I did. Then she did. Then we put on some clean clothes and took the mucky stuff to the laundry area, where we found the others.
‘I’ve still not seen anybody else,’ Martin said. ‘Have you, Alain?’
‘No, no one.’
‘Where are all the owners of the boats?’
‘Sleeping?’
‘But none of the other rooms seem occupied.’
‘Stretching their legs?’
‘Maybe. But all of them? And it’s not that big an island. You’d think we’d see somebody.’
We got our clothes washed and hung them out in the sun. They dried fast, long before the time we’d agreed to eat.
‘I really can smell those burgers now,’ Martin said.
‘You’ve been smelling burgers since you were born,’ I told him.
‘That and your far—’
But Peggy managed to stop him.
‘That’s enough, Martin. Thank you very much.’
‘I’m going exploring,’ Martin said. ‘You coming, Angelica?’
He would have asked me once. But I was happy to stay with the grown-ups.
‘OK.’
Off they went together.
‘Don’t be late for dinner.’
Peggy said she was going to rest. I walked on with Alain round the coast. We all went rolling and waddling. We’d been sailing too long and hadn’t got the knack of the land again yet. We ran into Mrs Procrustes, who was there on the headland, throwing garbage into the sky.
‘It all falls into the sun,’ she said. ‘So it’s not littering.’