X-Isle

by Steve Augarde

  “So is that the lot?” said Gene.

  “Oh – Isaac said there was stuff in the locker as well.”

  The big wooden locker was built into the side of the cabin – the same locker that Baz and Ray had sat upon while waiting for the boat to leave the mainland. Gene lifted up the lid.

  It was a much deeper space than it appeared from the outside, the floor sunk some way below deck level. A couple of aluminum cases lay amongst a tangle of ropes and other assorted rubbish – old fishing lines and big lead weights.

  “S’pose it must be those things.” Gene swung his legs over the side of the locker and jumped in.

  “Sling ’em up to me, then,” said Baz.

  But Gene’s attention had been drawn by something else. “Whoa – look at that,” he said. “There’s a trapdoor.” At the rear of the locker well was a square trapdoor with a ring handle mounted into the floor. Gene picked at the metal ring, raised the trapdoor and peered down. “Yeah. It’s so you can get at the bilge pump. I can see the stopcocks.” He looked down into the dark hole a little longer, then closed the trap again. “Hm.”

  “Come on,” said Baz. “It stinks in here.”

  “Tell you what, though...” Gene hoisted the cases over the lip of the locker and clambered out. “Just gimme a moment.” He stepped through the doorway and took another look at the winch, walking around the tripod construction, glancing back towards the wheelhouse once or twice, as if measuring the distance. “Yeah... this could be good. This could be perfect.”

  “What are you on about?” Baz watched from the cabin doorway as Gene crouched down and ran his fingertips over the grooved decking.

  “The boat.” Gene looked up at Baz, his dark curly hair falling across his eyes. “If we ever could build a bomb – I mean, if we really had to – then this’d be the place for it. Here on the boat. In that locker. Maybe even get something down through the trap and into the bilges. Perfect. We could blow ’em out of the water, the whole friggin’ lot of ’em in one go. Just like Ray said.”

  Baz turned round and looked at the locker again, a dark shape in the gloom of the wheelhouse. “Blimey...”

  “The thing is, though’ – Gene stood up and gazed blankly out to sea – ‘I still got no idea what the gas and air mixture’s supposed to be, to make methane explode. The proper formula. And I got no way of finding out. It could be ten to one, could be fifty-fifty. Could be anything.”

  “Bring back the internet,” murmured Baz.

  “Yeah, right.”

  Then Baz thought of something. He waited for a moment before speaking, savoring the feeling of power, anticipating the look he was about to bring to Gene’s face. “So,” he said, “would a few chemistry books be any good to you? Like maybe a whole library shelf full of them?”

  The woman who had arrived earlier in the day was a dentist. A makeshift surgery had been set up in the dining area, and as Baz went about his afternoon chores, he found excuses to pass through here several times and observe what was happening.

  What had looked like a suitcase on wheels turned out to be a folding table or couch. It had chrome legs, and a base that was padded in white plastic material. One by one the divers took turns to lie upon the couch as they had their teeth checked by the dentist lady. It was strange to see the great burly men looking so vulnerable.

  “That’s going to have to come out, Mr. Moko.”

  “Ahh!” Moko struggled to sit up, but the dentist put a hand on his chest and pushed him down again.

  “Yes, I’m afraid it will hurt a bit. Sorry.”

  Baz hurried into the safety of the kitchen to hide his sniggers, delighted to see the mighty Moko on the receiving end for a change.

  But now he’d better get serious and start thinking about cooking – and cooking for eight, at that. Eight! Baz took one of the recipe books from the stack beside the microwave and began thumbing through it, looking for inspiration. Why did so many recipes call for potatoes, and cheese, and onions, and all the things he didn’t have?

  “Er... Cookie?”

  The kitchen door opened, and Nadine Wilmslow stood there. The fact of her being on the island was still such a shock that Baz didn’t know how to cope with it. He was too astonished to do anything but stare.

  “All right if I come in?” Nadine didn’t wait for an answer but came in anyway, letting the door swing to behind her. She’d swapped her denim skirt for a pair of pink jeans, and looked altogether amazingly fresh and clean. “Only we brought over half a dozen eggs, and Mr. Eck said to give them to you.”

  “Uh?”

  Mr. Eck? Half a dozen eggs? This was just too weird to be really happening.

  “Oh. Um...” Baz had found his voice. Just about. “Er... OK. Thanks.” How stupid he sounded. And how stupid he must look, in his shorts, and his split trainers, and his oversized white jacket.

  “What are you making?” Nadine smiled at him and came closer. She was clutching a carrier bag, rolled over at the top.

  Baz put down his recipe book and tried to pull himself together. “Well... I haven’t made up my mind yet.”

  “Oh. And is this your job, then? Is that why they call you Cookie?”

  “They don’t call me Cookie.” Baz felt that he had to make this much clear, at least. “Nobody calls me Cookie, except the divers. My name’s Baz.”

  “Oh. Sorry. Mine’s Nadine.”

  “Yeah, I know. I’ve seen you before. I... we... used to live upstairs from you. In Canal Street.”

  “No! Really? What – not in the Brindley building?” The girl laid her carrier bag on the worktop.

  “Yeah. Me and my dad. I saw you most days...”

  “Seriously? How amazing!” Nadine opened her green-brown eyes extra wide. “We just moved out a while back, and went over to Golthwaite. But are you sure it was me? It was a big building – loads of people lived there. Plenty of other girls...”

  “No, it was definitely you.”

  And Baz could see that Nadine wasn’t in any serious doubt that he might have mistaken her for someone else. She looked like a girl who was used to being noticed. Her blonde hair was loosely scrunched up into a high ponytail, but so casually perfect that it must have required a mirror. And her clothes weren’t just clean, they were uncreased. Almost like they’d been ironed.

  “So...” She stood back slightly, as if trying to place him. “Would you have been wearing your white jacket then?”

  “This? No, course not. They only make me wear this stupid thing for working in the kitchen.”

  “Oh, but it’s so sweet. Makes you look like a proper chef.” And to Baz’s horror, Nadine reached out with both hands and straightened his grubby lapels, her lips pursed as she took in the effect. Baz could do nothing but stand there and endure the indignity.

  “Er... so you’ve brought some eggs then.” It wasn’t what he wanted to say, but it gave him an opportunity to pull away.

  “Yes. A little present. Preacher John’s been so kind...”

  Kind? Preacher John? Baz couldn’t swallow that idea at all. “So, what... what’re you doing here? I mean, I can see your mum’s a dentist, but—”

  “She’s not our mum. We call her Aunt Etta, although she’s not really even our aunt. She’s our dad’s cousin. She’s been looking after Steffie and me ever since... well, you know...”

  “Oh. So... Steffie. That’s your sister?” Baz remembered the way the younger girl had stared at Ray. “I think maybe she knows my friend Ray,” he said. “The guy that took your bags up.”

  “Mmm... wouldn’t have thought so. Let’s make sure these eggs have survived, then.”

  Nadine began to unroll the top of the carrier bag.

  “So your aunt’s a dentist... but why are you here?”

  “Preacher John invited us!” Nadine began to take the eggs out of the bag, placing them on the work surface, one by one. “He sent a message – a letter. He said that he wanted Aunt Etta to come to the island for a few days and give all his work
ers a check-up, but Aunt Etta sent a message back saying she couldn’t leave me and Steffie by ourselves. And so then Preacher John invited all of us! He said that me and Steffie could come to the island too, so that we could be with Aunt Etta. He sent the boat over specially! We couldn’t believe it, ’cos girls aren’t usually allowed here, are they? So, what’s he like?”

  “Who?” Baz was getting a bit lost.

  “Preacher John, of course. We’ve never met him. Everybody says he’s like a guru – or a saint from the Bible or something. Anyway’ – Nadine carried right on talking – ‘Aunt Etta jumped at it. It’s given her some extra work, and for me and Steffie it was like we’d be coming away on a real holiday.” Nadine looked at Baz, and her hazel eyes seemed to cloud over. “We were so excited about seeing the place again. But now—”

  “What do you mean,” said Baz, “seeing the place again? You couldn’t have been on the boat before.”

  “No. Me and Steffie went to school here. Tab Hill High. It was a girls’ school.” Nadine’s voice brightened. “Tell you what, though, it’s still a lot better than back on the mainland. We’ve got our own room here, and proper mattresses... toilets all to ourselves – can’t believe that. You know what I hope?” She lowered her voice. “I hope their teeth are so bad we get to stay here for a month!”

  Was she nuts? Couldn’t this idiot girl see what a hellhole she’d landed in, and what these men were really like?

  “Were you ever around on trading days?” Baz said. “You know, when the boat came over to the mainland at Linley? Did you ever go down and watch?”

  “No. We’d have liked to, ’cos it seemed like it might be fun, but Aunt Etta would never let us. Too many Teefers about. Aunt Etta said the Ecks were a good family, just trying to run their business and keep people fed, but the Teefers – they could get nasty. Best to keep away. It was one of the reasons we moved, the Teefers.”

  So Nadine had never seen the Ecks in action, by the sound of it. They were just a jolly sailor crew as far as she was concerned. Baz thought of Preacher John tossing the rabbits onto the altar fire, of Enoch, crushed beneath that same altar slab... the disappearance of Cookie... Taps...

  But Nadine knew nothing of these things. She’d turned up in her pink jeans and white blouse like a tourist, ready for a holiday, eager to see how the natives lived.

  And now she was continuing that tour, poking around the kitchen, delighted with all that she found.

  “Oh, is this your little cooker? How sweet. And how amazing to have electricity – can I make a cup of tea?”

  “Er... well, I ought to be thinking about cooking.” Baz looked doubtfully at the eggs. These were a real bonus, but how was he going to stretch six eggs between eight people?

  “OK. Can I help?” Nadine had drifted down to the far end of the room, and her voice was less distinct. “What’s this then? All you need is her. What does that mean?”

  “Huh?”

  “On this metal cupboard thing. All you need is her, it says.”

  Baz wandered down to take a look. He seldom had any reason to be in this part of the room, the defunct gas cooking ranges being of no interest to him. Nadine was standing in front of a tall metal cabinet, and she was right: scrawled across the two doors were the words... Awkward fingermarks in the dust.

  “Did you start to write a poem or something? Who’s it for – your girlfriend?”

  “What? I didn’t write it!” Baz was indignant. “Nothing to do with me.”

  “So what’s in there?”

  “Dunno. Just pots and pans, I think.” Baz had a vague memory of Cookie showing him where all the bigger utensils were kept. Was it Cookie who had written the words on the door? Why?

  He grabbed the cabinet door handles and pulled. The doors opened with a judder, and yes, the inner shelves were stacked with large metal cooking pots – some of them very large indeed. Here was all the paraphernalia necessary for mass catering: deep metal trays with carrying handles at either end, round pans that fitted one inside the other, sieves, colanders, cheese graters. On the bottom shelf was a truly massive pot, a veritable cauldron of heavy-duty stainless steel, and resting against it stood a complicated-looking lid. The lid had big clamping devices all around the edge of it, and a gauge mounted on top – a bit like the gauge Baz had seen on the air-compressor in the hut where the diesel was kept. “Nothing here,” he said, “so I dunno what all that’s about.”

  Nadine had already lost interest. She was fiddling with the knobs on one of the big gas ranges.

  “Hard to remember what it was like,” she said, “when stuff like this all worked.”

  “Yeah.” Baz started to close the doors of the cabinet – but then he noticed something tucked between the huge cooking vessel and the lid. A piece of paper? He stooped to pick it up, and found that it was a half-page torn from a recipe book. A pudding recipe – Bombe Surprise. Ingredients: 6 meringues... 250ml double cream... what was that doing in there?

  Baz looked at it for a moment, then shrugged and screwed it up. Not a recipe he was ever likely to have any use for. He pushed the doors of the cabinet closed.

  All you need is her. The dusty fingermarks relayed their puzzling message to him once again. All you need is her. All you need is... here? Could that be what it meant?

  It had to be Cookie who’d written these words. The fingermarks were too fresh for it to have been anyone else. All you need is here. Had Cookie been trying to leave him a message? But what was here? The huge cooking vessel... the torn recipe page... ‘Bombe Surprise’...

  Baz opened the doors again. Oh my God... He felt the back of his neck tingle as he understood. He’d finally got it. The thing they’d been looking for was right here – in this very cabinet – and Cookie had led them to it. That big cauldron with the clamp-down lid. Baz remembered then that Cookie had whispered something to him, the night before he was taken away. Baz... got something to show you...

  And this was that something. But there had been no time to explain, no time for Cookie to even finish writing his message. He’d tried to help them, even though they’d all treated him so badly. Poor Cookie.

  “We could make kedgeree.” Nadine was back down at the other end of the room, looking through a recipe book.

  “What?”

  “Kedgeree. It’s dead easy. Rice, smoked fish and hard-boiled eggs. Got any kippers?”

  Baz couldn’t help but laugh. Kippers? This had to be the weirdest day ever.

  “Er, don’t know. Might have something in a tin.” He searched through the food cabinet, and he was still smiling when he brought a large flat tin of kipper fillets over to where Nadine was standing. She’d put a pan of water on the two-ring cooker, and was getting ready to boil the eggs. Taking over the operation, just like that.

  “You look cheerful all of a sudden,” she said. “Suits you.”

  “Well... maybe things are looking up.”

  “Really? Is that since I got here, then?” Nadine gave him a sideways glance, her tongue pressing against the inside of her cheek, her eyebrows raised.

  Was she flirting with him?

  “That’s right,” he said. “Ever since you got here. You and the eggs.”

  Nadine pushed out her lower lip in an expression of mock-ruefulness. “Well, that’s put me in my place,” she said.

  Yeah. This was definitely the weirdest day ever.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  “Sounds like it’s a pressure cooker,” said Gene. “Gotta be. Wow – I’d never have thought of that. How deep is it? D’you reckon the big Coke bottles’d stand in there upright, with the lid on?”

  Baz pulled on his white jacket, getting ready for the morning’s work, and tried to recall the size of the metal container. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure they would.”

  “Great. Maybe we’re in business then. OK, two things. Number one: can you get me the lid? Just the lid, so I can take a look at it? And number two: can you see if there’s anything on the casing that tells you how big
it is? Like, how many litres it holds.”

  “Er... I can try,” said Baz. “The lid’s huge, though. Don’t know how I’m gonna smuggle it out of the kitchen.”

  But within a couple of hours he’d managed it. The dental surgery was in morning session, but Amos was the only one there apart from the dentist – and Amos seemed to have plenty of other things on his mind, judging by the noise he was making. Baz was able to hurry out of the kitchen with the heavy lid tucked under his left arm and partially out of view. He got itsafely to the slob room and hid it in the jakes before scurrying back to the kitchen.

  Later that evening the boys gathered in the washroom to inspect their prize.

  “Wow, that’s some piece of kit.” Gene knelt on the floor and lifted the edge of the lid.

  “So what is it?” said Amit. “How does it work? What’s that clock thing on the top?”

  “It’s a pressure gauge,” said Gene. “See, the lid bolts down onto the pot – that’s what all these clamp things are for: to make it totally airtight. Then the food in there’s cooked under steam pressure. There’s a safety valve on top – this thing here. Releases the steam if the pressure inside gets too high. Have to have one of those or the thing’d explode.”

  “But that’s what we want it to do, isn’t it – explode?”

  “Yeah, we do. So we’re gonna take that safety valve out and block up the hole. In fact... .” Gene turned the lid over. “Yeah, I reckon I can get the valve out and put the spark plug in there instead...”

  “Huh?”

  “OK.” Gene seemed to realize that he was going to have to explain properly. “This is just the same as that little rocket toy I made, yeah? No different. The gas is in the container, and the spark plug is fitted in the lid. Then we clamp the lid down. Make the plug spark, the gas explodes, and whoosh – up she goes. I mean, I’m gonna have to think about it a bit more, but that’s basically it.”

  “And we’re gonna put it on the boat?” said Ray.

  “Well, I dunno. But it’s the best plan we got. We’d never do it like you reckoned, Ray. Trying to get ’em all gathered round the thing and then let it off – that wouldn’t work. But if we could blow a hole in the side of the boat while Isaac’s lot are all out on it... see what I mean?”