X-Isle

by Steve Augarde

Ray didn’t reply. Instead he reached in amongst the tins and boxes, and pulled out a packet of some sort.

  “Ray!” Baz was getting annoyed. “What’re you playing at? Put that back and get over here.”

  Ray closed the cupboard door, but he still had hold of whatever he’d taken from the cupboard. He walked over to where Baz was crouching and dropped the packet into the cooking pot.

  “That’s mine,” he said – the first words he’d spoken in over an hour. “Wages, OK?”

  “Wages?” Baz stared down into the pot, saw the reflection of cellophane in the dim yellow light. It was a packet of pasta quills. Unopened. “How do you mean, wages? That’s no good to you here. You can’t spend it – can’t even eat it. What the hell’s the matter with you?”

  “Just shut up and don’t ask questions. They’re my wages. Now come on.” Ray stooped forward and grabbed one of the handles of the massive pot. “Let’s go.”

  “Ray—”

  “You wanna make something of it?” Ray’s mouth barely moved as he spoke. His face was rigid, eyes furiously determined.

  Baz let it go. “No.”

  “Then shut up.”

  Baz grasped the other handle of the pressure cooker, and together they hurried out of the kitchen and down the corridor, bearing their heavy cargo between them. When they got to the slob room they found that Gene was still awake.

  “Hey – is that it? Did you get it?” His voice was an excited whisper in the darkness.

  “Yeah.”

  “Brilliant. Stick it in the jakes, then. We’ll take a look at it tomorrow.”

  They put the pressure cooker in the second cubicle. Ray reached down, took his packet of pasta and left the washroom without another word.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Dressed in scruffy jeans and T-shirts, hair tied back, their pale faces washed clean of make-up, the group of women who were gathered in the corridor next morning bore little resemblance to the gorgeous beings of the night before. The performance was over. Props and costumes had been packed away into holdalls, along with the bawdy jokes and raucous laughter, and now the players were silently awaiting their transport.

  Baz and Ray had been detailed to carry bags and belongings to the jetty, and this took a couple of journeys. On the second trip the women followed them down, accompanied by two of the divers. Luke and Moko had turned up, having been given the job of ferrying the ladies back to the mainland, by the look of it. Nobody spoke.

  Standing beside the pile of luggage, Baz waited for further instructions. The gangplanks were already in place, bridging the gap between the rocky slope of the jetty and the salvage boat. Ray stood looking out to sea, as uncommunicative as he’d been the night before. He was muffled up in a hoodie, his hands stuffed into the pouch pocket, even though the morning was warm. Maybe he had a cold or something.

  Moko and Luke were first across the gangplank, their combined weight causing the boat to rock gently in the water. The instant their backs were turned to the shore, Ray stooped towards the collection of holdalls. He withdrew a hand from the pouch of his jacket, and quickly thrust it into the half-open top of one of the bags – a secretive and surreptitious movement. Baz couldn’t see whether something was being taken from the bag or placed inside it, but he instinctively stepped forward in an attempt to shield Ray from view.

  Both men were in the boat now, Moko heading towards the wheelhouse, Luke remaining by the gunwale. The women picked up their belongings and gingerly began to cross the gangplank. Luke offered no steadying hand, and each of them had to jump down into the boat unaided.

  “Fire her up, Moko!” Luke’s voice was a rough croak, the expression on his face sour. He looked like a man who had been dragged too early from his bed.

  Baz watched the last of the women cross the gangplank. He recognized her as the one who had been with Isaac the night before – the dark-haired lady who had worn the Hawaiian dress, with an artificial flower behind her ear. She was tiny. Her shoulders, painfully thin beneath the fabric of her yellow T-shirt, seemed hardly capable of bearing the weight of the two bags she carried.

  And it was one of those bags, Baz realized, that Ray had tampered with. What was that all about? He looked again at the dark-haired lady, Isaac’s woman, her face visible now as she found a place on the transom bench beside her companions. Ba-dub, ba-dub, ba-dubdubdubdub. The diesel engine thudded into life. Then Luke was shouting.

  “Oi – wake up, you two. Get that soddin’ gangplank away!”

  Baz and Ray scrambled down the rocky slope of the jetty and hauled at the planks.

  “Right, cast off!” Another rough command from Luke. Baz dropped his plank and ran to the bow end of the boat. He unhitched the rope from its iron ring, and saw Ray do the same down at the stern. The engine revved and the salvage boat began to pull away from the jetty, churning up the waters into a grey froth that slapped greasily at the concrete blocks.

  Huddled in a group around the stern sat the four women, their faces pinched and unsmiling, eyes staring blankly ahead. But then, as the boat swung to starboard, the woman in the yellow T-shirt altered her position slightly. She looked over her shoulder towards Ray, and although her expression didn’t change, she made a curious little gesture in his direction, placing a forefinger beneath her chin and tilting her head up.

  And still it took another moment before Baz understood. The woman was Ray’s mum. It was the yellow T-shirt that finally reminded him of where he’d seen her before: standing on the bowling green with Ray on her shoulders, waving a packet of cornflakes...

  Ray wouldn’t talk about it. On the way back up to the school building Baz said, “Sorry, Ray. I didn’t know.” But there was no reply, and so Baz tried one more time. “What was that you put in her bag?”

  “Her wages. What do you think?” Ray quickened his pace so that he was walking slightly ahead of Baz, his face hidden inside the hood of his jacket.

  Wages? It took Baz another moment to realize what Ray had meant. The pasta...

  The day didn’t improve. When Baz got back to the dining area, he found Isaac surveying the wreckage of the previous evening – dirty plates and glasses and bottles still littering the table – and he knew that he was in trouble.

  “What’s all this crap?” The skipper was obviously in a foul mood. Before Baz could reply Isaac swept an arm over the table and sent glass and crockery scattering in all directions. Baz flinched as a spinning wine bottle cracked against his bare shin, the last of its contents slewing out in a pinkish arc across the sticky carpet tiles.

  “Now get it cleared up! I don’t pay you to slope off to your pit while there’s still work to be done. On your hands and knees, boy, and pick up every bit.” And as Baz crouched down, fearful of cutting himself on the broken glass, Isaac walked past him, pausing in his stride to deliberately grind a shattered plate of half-eaten curry into the floor with his boot heel.

  Baz spent the rest of the day trying to catch up on his other chores. To make matters worse, the divers decided to eat early that evening. Baz was unprepared, and the meal that he served up was nothing more than a hurriedly thrown together mess of corned beef and rice. He wheeled the trolley into the dining area and found that he had a plate too many. Moko was missing.

  When Baz returned from delivering Preacher John’s food, the three brothers were discussing the subject of Moko.

  “What the hell was he thinking?” Amos was leaning forward at the table, questioning Luke.

  “God knows.” Luke shook his head. “One minute he was on deck, calm as you like. Next minute – soon as the gangplank was down – he was off. Shoved the women out of the way and made a run for it. By the time I realized what was happening, he’d gone. Never came back.”

  The men sat in silence for a few moments as Baz distributed the food.

  “So he was all right up until then?” said Amos.

  Luke thought about it. “Bit quiet, I s’pose. But then he never says anything anyway, so it’s hard to tell. He l
ooked pretty miserable last night, though. Anybody else notice that? In fact he’s been a bit off for a day or two now.”

  “Don’t think he liked the old man’s trick with the rabbits much,” said Amos.

  “Who, Moko?” said Luke. “He’s done a lot worse than that in his time. And with bigger things than rabbits – if you know what I mean. Bit late in the day to start losing his bottle.”

  “Maybe he decided he’d had enough,” said Isaac.

  “What are you saying? That he was right? You reckon maybe it was against his religion, sacrificing little bunnies? The bloke went soft on us. He’s left us in a ruddy hole, I know that much. We need four on the boat for diving.”

  Baz retreated from the table and took up his place by the kitchen door.

  “Soddin’ hell.” Amos stared at his plate in disgust. “What’s this muck? Wish we hadn’t got rid of the other kid now. At least the fat creep could make a decent hash.”

  “Maybe we could do with another change of cook,” said Luke.

  Isaac looked across at Baz. “Maybe you’re right. In fact maybe we need to have a general shake-up while we’re about it. There’s at least three or four we could do with getting rid of. Too big, some of ’em – it’s time we got it sorted.”

  Baz felt a cold lurch in his stomach. He kept staring straight ahead.

  “Better talk to the old man, then,” said Amos.

  “Hey – I don’t have to ask his permission over every little detail,” Isaac muttered. “And I don’t have to keep dancing to his tune either.”

  “No?” Amos sounded unconvinced. “That’ll be a first, then. I wouldn’t fancy taking him on. And I don’t see you doing it either.”

  “Yeah, well. Maybe there’s a few other things round here I’m thinking of changing...” Isaac’s voice tailed off, as though he’d intended to say more and then thought better of it.

  Baz listened, trying to get some spit into the dryness of his mouth. Boys were about to be got rid of – at least half of them shipped back to the mainland! And just like Cookie they might never get there...

  “Seen the water today?” Luke moved on to another subject. “I was looking at it when me and Moko took the women over – Jesus, I still can’t believe he’s done a runner... But that line of blue has moved closer. I mean, it’s gone back a bit since last weekend, but not as far back as the week before. That means it’s gradually shifting towards us. There’s gotta be a tide out there – slow tide coming this way.”

  “Yeah, it’s working,” said Amos. “And so the old man’s been proved right. We’ve been here nearly two years now, and this is the first sign of any clear water. And when does it start to happen? The very day he makes a proper sacrifice to God. You can’t argue with it.”

  Isaac looked the other way and snorted. “It would have happened in any case, you idiots.”

  “So when does he say we can take a look out there?” Luke was still talking about diving. “I’m getting fed up with hanging around.”

  “Soon as the water clears above Skelmersley, he told me,” said Amos. “It could be deeper over that way than it is here, and we don’t know the area. Can’t risk fooling around till we can see what we’re doing down there. We have to wait for his say-so. Wait for the signs. Anyway, it’s Sunday tomorrow, and the old man’s got another service planned. Yeah. Special service. Special offer. This week only.” Amos chuckled and raised his glass. “Here’s hoping his prayers are answered.”

  “Oh, give it a rest.” Isaac seemed agitated. “You sound like you really believe his crap. We used to have a proper business here. A proper business. And I didn’t care what I had to do when it was just business. But now it’s all this ruddy nonsense. The old man’s losing it.” He stood up as though to bring the conversation to a close.

  But then Amos said something more. “We’re in this together, Isaac, or we’re not in it at all. And I’m with the old man. For better or worse we’ve done everything he’s told us to. And it’s working. So what’s your problem? You can’t go against him – nobody can. And you can’t back out now, or do a runner like Moko. Not just over a couple of bleedin’ rabbits.”

  “I couldn’t give a toss about rabbits,” said Isaac. “But I can see where this is going – and it’s bloody insane. Worse than that, it’s a waste of time.”

  Amos shrugged. “Hey, you’re the one that brings ’em over here for him. Don’t forget that.”

  Brings who over here? Baz didn’t understand what was being said.

  “Listen” – Isaac turned to go – ‘he can chuck rabbits on a bonfire by the crate load for all I care, and chuck himself on as well. But when it comes to... the other things... and all this waiting around for “signs”... we’re wasting time, is what we’re doing. Losing trade and wasting time. Gah – I’ve had enough of it.” He stormed off.

  The two younger brothers, Luke and Amos, remained for a while.

  “I’m starting to wonder about him,” said Amos. “He’s not gonna try something stupid, is he?”

  “Nah. He’s all yak. Isaac knows who’s boss around here.”

  Baz had been so rushed that he’d not yet had time to take any food up to Nadine and Steffie. Once Luke and Amos had left the table he grabbed a couple of cans of beans from the kitchen and hurried upstairs to the next floor.

  The door of the art room was open, and he saw that the two girls were sitting at the window, staring out at the dying day. They turned their heads towards him as he came in.

  “Sorry,” he said. “Couldn’t get away till now. I’ve brought you some food, though. Here.” He crossed the room and put the cans of beans on the windowsill.

  “Thanks,” said Nadine. “We’re starving.” She looked at the cans. “Still on rations then, are we?”

  “I’ve been told to give you what everyone else gets.” The words came out more defensively than Baz had intended, and so he added, “But I’ll see if I can smuggle something extra next time.”

  “It’s OK.” Nadine smiled at him. “It’s not your fault. And anyway, it won’t be for much longer. Aunt Etta’ll be coming back over on Monday, and we’re gonna tell her what’s been going on – how we’ve been treated. Stuck up here like prisoners... getting yelled at by those horrible men if we so much as show our faces. What have we done wrong? That’s what we want to know. Why’s everything changed? And what’s happened to Preacher John? We haven’t even seen him yet. I can’t believe that he even knows about this. But anyway, we’ve had enough. We’re going home as soon as we can.”

  “Yeah,” said Steffie. “And that lot are gonna get a right earful once Aunt Etta gets back. She’s fierce when she wants to be.”

  “Listen...” Baz scratched his head as he sought for the right words. “Um... I don’t wanna scare you... but I’m not so sure she’s coming back. Your aunt, I mean. See, I’m wondering if maybe Preacher John planned it this way. Planned it just to get you here...”

  “What?” Nadine didn’t react with alarm, just puzzlement. “Why would he do that?”

  Her face was half in shadow as the evening light fell across it, bright sparkles in the corners of her eyes. She looked more beautiful than ever. Baz simply couldn’t tell her what he was thinking – it was too awful, too shocking. A special offer, Amos had said. A very special service. And Isaac had brought these girls over on Preacher John’s orders...

  “Oh, I dunno.” Baz back-pedaled, tried to keep his voice from shaking. “I’ve probably got it all wrong. Yeah, I’m probably wrong. But you got no idea what these guys are really like. And Preacher John’s the worst of the lot. So just... just try and keep out of the way, that’s all.” He’d only added to the girls’ confusion, he knew that, but he could say no more. Not yet. “Here...” He searched his pockets. “I brought you a couple of proper spoons.”

  When he got back to the slob room, he found that the others had been waiting for him.

  “Hey, he’s here! Come on, Baz. We’re gonna do it!” Amit grabbed his arm.

&nbs
p; “What?” Baz looked with bewilderment at the excited faces around him.

  “We’re gonna build the bomb! Tonight’s the night!”

  “Yesss!” Jubo and Robbie were jumping about, hardly able to contain themselves. Baz, dragged from the darkness of his own thoughts, felt as though he’d entered a noisy playground. He wanted to tell the boys everything he’d learned today, but saw that it would have to wait. He allowed himself to be hustled down to the jakes, where Gene and Ray were already kneeling among assorted bottles and explosives. The ragged curtain had been tied back, so that light from the main room spilled across the tiled floor, and in the middle of that floor stood the huge pressure cooker, with its lid propped up against it.

  “Good. You’re back.” Gene grinned up at him, and even in his face Baz could see a kind of childish excitement – a kid with a new toy.

  “Right, gentlemen. Let us begin.” Gene picked up one of the big Coke bottles. “We’ve only got about twenty minutes before Hutchinson’s s’posed to turn up, so we’re gonna have to take it in turns to keep a lookout. Coupla minutes each. Go on, Jube, take first watch.”

  “No way, man,” said Jubo. “I’s stayin’ here.”

  Gene sighed. “I don’t care who goes first, but I’m not starting till we’ve got a lookout.”

  “Well, OK.” Jubo gave in. “But two minutes, and another guy better show.” He disappeared through the doorway.

  “Right,” said Gene. “First we’re gonna get the water out of the bottles.” He tipped the Coke bottle upside down. “Tear me off a bit of gaffer tape, Ray, like I told you. OK?”

  “Yeah.” Ray had a roll of black plastic tape at the ready.

  Gene picked up a wine cork that lay on the floor. There was a needle sticking out of it.

  He pierced the upside-down plastic bottle, as near to the cap as he could, then gently began to squeeze the bottle. A thin stream of liquid leaked out, fine as a miniature water pistol. Gene kept up a steady pressure and said, “Gimme the bit of tape, Ray. Here, on my thumb.” As the last drops of water turned to spray, Gene quickly pressed the scrap of black tape over the hole.