The Tide of Terror

by Stuart G. Yates

  “You said you could fix him,” he spat, his voice sounding raw, close to breaking. “You said he was going to be all right.”

  Jenny, aghast, shook her head slowly, “No, I…I said I'd try and see what the problem was. Lawrence, we need to…”

  But Lawrence wasn't listening. He'd put his face into Charley's neck and cried uncontrollably.

  Lawrence's mum, whose name was Claire, placed a hot cup of tea in front of Jenny, then sat down opposite her. “I'm sorry he spoke to you like that – he's so upset,” she said. “That dog is everything to him.”

  Jenny nodded, “I understand. And I'm sorry if I gave him any false hope.”

  “You didn't. Do you think…” She propped her chin on her hand, looking gloomy, “Do you think Charley might die?”

  Jenny thought for a moment, picking her words carefully, no wishing to upset anyone. “That's difficult to say…dogs are pretty tough; they're designed to root around and find out stuff with their tongues. A tongue for a dog is like a hand for a human being, that's how they feel…but occasionally they sniff and lick things that they shouldn't. If it's poison, then it's usually been put down deliberately, disguised amongst food – which dogs simply can't resist.”

  “But why would someone want to poison Charley? It just doesn't make any sense.”

  “Has he been anywhere, anywhere unusual?”

  “Not that I know of. Lawrence always takes him on the same route, through the back of town and down towards the beach. He used to take him to the park, but some of the other boys used to cause trouble. No one ever goes to the beach, certainly not at this time of year.”

  “So…” Jenny shook her head, slowly sipping her tea. “The only real thing that has happened out of the ordinary is…”

  “That boat.”

  “The coracle. Was there anything there, anything that Charley ate or licked…a dead animal perhaps, or some rubbish dumped there?”

  “There was the pendant.”

  They both turned towards the voice to see Lawrence standing in the doorway. He had stopped crying, but he still looked shattered, his eyes black-rimmed, hair a tumbled mess.

  “But that wouldn't…” Jenny thought for another moment. “Did you touch it?”

  “No. The other lady did, but nothing happened. It was only a jewel.”

  “So Charley didn't lick it?”

  Lawrence frowned, thinking hard. “I think he might have done…” he pressed his fingers into his eyes, “I can't remember.”

  Claire quickly went over to her son and put her arms around him as he started to cry again. She kissed him on the top of the head. “It's all right, Lawrence. It's going to be all right. Charley will be fine.”

  He pushed her away sharply, suddenly tense. “No he won't! I wish I'd never found that boat, or that pendant. He was fine before that.”

  “But Lawrence,” implored Claire, her voice soft and gentle, “it's only an old boat…”

  “I remember now,” he said, dragging the back of his hand across his nose, “Charley did lick it. He licked the pendant.”

  * * *

  Jenny telephoned Mark, using Claire's landline. He was in the office and he answered almost at once.

  “Have you taken that pendant out of its bag?” she asked straight away.

  “What? Jenny, are you okay, you sound—”

  “Mark – have you taken the pendant out of its bag?”

  “Er…no. no, I haven't. Why, what's wrong?”

  “I think it's smothered with something, some sort of poison. Charley licked it and now he's dangerously ill. Mark, he might die.”

  “Charley?”

  “The dog, Lawrence's dog! Mark, wake up, try and concentrate. Charley licked the pendant and now he's ill. We have to have it analysed.”

  “It's being analysed, as we speak. By the British Museum.”

  She groaned, putting her head in her hand. “It might be dangerous, Mark. You have to warn them.”

  “Okay…but they are experts.”

  “Yeah, at archaeology! It needs to be tested for poison.”

  “But it's hundreds of years old – any poison would have long deteriorated. Are you sure?”

  “How can I be sure? But we have to check. If the experts at the museum touch it and they become ill…Just phone them, let them know. It won't slow them down, and it might save them from a few days of throwing up.”

  It was Charley that threw up, however, twice more whilst Jenny remained at the house. After the second time, feeling very sorry for himself, he shuffled over to his bed and lay down with a deep, prolonged sigh. His eyes were dull and lifeless and he fell asleep within a few seconds. Lawrence sat next to him, gently caressing his head. He had hardly left his side since the dog had become ill.

  “You've done all you can,” said Claire, standing in the doorway with Jenny. “You go home now. If there's any change, I'll ring you. If that's okay.”

  “Of course.” Jenny wrote her number down on a scrap of paper and handed it over. “Anytime, especially if he deteriorates.”

  Claire smiled briefly and led Jenny down the hallway. “He's so upset. I don't think I've ever seen him like this.”

  “Boys and their dogs…It's true what they say, every boy should have a dog.”

  “Even one that's sick…I hope he'll recover. I don't know what Lawrence would do if anything…You know, if Charley…”

  She let the words hang in the air. There was no need to say any more – both knew the implication. Jenny nodded and went out into the cold, dull day. It reflected her mood. No sooner had she left the island than sadness raised its ugly head once more. And not just sadness, mystery as well. Mark's words had to be true – how could something as old as that pendant still be covered in an active poison? And yet…

  A new thought came to her, one that she found a little disturbing.

  What if someone else had dug up the pendant before Charley had sniffed it out? Dug it up, covered it in poison, and put it back beneath the sand?

  But that would be a deliberate act. A carefully prepared plan to poison someone. But not Charley, or even Lawrence. Someone else, someone who visited that beach regularly.

  As she walked back to her flat, she had the awful feeling that this was only the beginning of something much more terrible than anyone could possibly imagine.

  Chapter Six

  During the following day, Mark received word from the British Museum concerning the pendant. Confirming that it was early medieval, made around eleven hundred and fifty, the Museum also reported that residues of belladonna and arsenic clung to the surface. Not enough to kill an adult, but certainly enough to cause someone, like a child, or a dog, extreme problems.

  “Belladonna?” Jenny sat in Mark's office as he read the report from his computer screen.

  “That's what they say. It doesn't say how much they found, but I suppose any amount could be dangerous.”

  “Belladonna has been used for centuries,” said Donna from behind a piled up stack of paper on her desk. She'd been working on some finds discovered recently down near Parkgate, to do with smuggling from the early nineteenth century. “It was thought of as being a cure for all sorts of things, from headaches to excessive sweating.”

  Mark pulled a face. Jenny leaned forward, interested. “But I always thought it was a poison?”

  “Oh it is,” returned Donna. “In its pure form; its fruit is deadly. It was usually the leaf that was made into potions.”

  “And they worked?”

  “Sometimes. But it was never thought of as being a cure-all. And, of course, accidents could happen. There were also side effects, light-headedness, dry throat, that sort of thing.”

  Mark looked again at his screen. “Arsenic is more worrying, of course.”

  “Well…” Donna stood up and crossed over to the kettle, swilling it around to test if it had enough water inside. Satisfied, she plugged it in and switched it on. “Arsenic is only really dangerous over a prolonged period, inge
sted in large amounts. It accumulates in the body, and that's when it becomes harmful.”

  “So…” Jenny chewed at her lip, “A small amount, it wouldn't cause Charley, or anyone else for that matter, to be sick?”

  “It might. Vomiting is one of the effects. But it wouldn't cause him to die. I'm not an expert,” she looked meaningfully towards Jenny, her mouth slightly upturned in a sort of mocking half-smile, “but I doubt if he'll be ill for anything more than a day or two.”

  “So why put the stuff on the pendant?” Mark shook his head, seemingly not aware of the little duel playing out between the two women, “Perhaps just to cause mischief…but why…and how would anyone know that Charley and Lawrence would stop at that exact spot and dig around until they found the pendant?”

  “Unless it wasn't meant for them.” Jenny leaned over and wrote something down on a piece of paper and pushed it over towards Mark. He glanced at it, frowned, then gave a little laugh.

  “How do you mean?” he asked, turning over the paper so no one else could see.

  “It's too much of a coincidence,” continued Jenny, “Someone smears poison on a pendant, buries it under the sand, in the vague hope that Lawrence will come along, with his dog, and unearth it?” She shook her head, “No, if someone wanted to poison Charley, they would have left something in his backyard or closer to his house. This was meant for someone else.”

  “Who?”

  Jenny shrugged, “Who knows. Perhaps…” She screwed her face up, then shook her head decisively.

  “What?”

  “No, it's just a mad idea, nothing really worth considering.”

  “Well, you've got our attention now, so you may as well tell us.”

  Jenny looked from Mark to Donna – who was appeared distinctly bored – and blew out a long breath, “What if the pendant was covered with poison when it was buried, back in the eleven hundreds? What if it was actually meant for someone else at that time?”

  At that precise moment, from nowhere, the door to the office crashed open and a rush of wind blasted its way through the room, sending papers and anything else not tied down, into a mini-whirlwind of mad confusion. Mark shot up and went to the door, slamming it shut, pressing himself against it, breathing hard. The two women were on their knees gathering up the papers strewn all over the place.

  “What the hell was that?” asked Mark, sweeping away a lock of dishevelled hair from his face. The gusts still buffeted against the door, pressing inwards.

  “Wind, Mark.” Donna sounded angry and impatient, “It took me ages to get all of this in order.”

  Jenny, on her knees, looked up, “We'll help you to get it all back together.”

  Donna pulled a face, “No thanks. I'll manage.”

  Jenny stood, without another word, and went over to the window, peering out into the street. “This is weird.”

  Mark came up alongside her. Their shoulders were touching. “What is?”

  “Look at that man, walking along the quayside.” She pointed and Mark saw him too. Tall, jacket thrown over his shoulder, strolling along.

  Mark said, “Looks like Dan Mitchell, one of the last diver's mates there is left around here.”

  “What do you notice about him?”

  “Eh? I don't understand.”

  “There's no wind, Mark. It's a normal, calm day.”

  Even Donna came over at that and joined them. All three looked out. It was true what Jenny had said. There was no hint of any wind blowing anywhere at all.

  Later, Jenny called in on Lawrence and his mum. Charley, curled up in his basket, barely raised his head when she stooped down and played with his ear. She took a quick look at his gums, which were still pale.

  “He was sick once more after you left,” said Claire, standing in the kitchen doorway, with Lawrence next to her, his arms around her waist. He looked awful, as if he hadn't slept. “But, nothing since then.”

  “Has he eaten anything?”

  “No. But he took a few sips of water. He doesn't seem interested in his food.”

  “He's going to die,” said Lawrence, his voice sounding very afraid.

  “No he isn't,” said Jenny and stood up. “But, I think we should get him to the vet. This morning.” She held up her hand, “Don't worry about the bill. I might be able to swing something,” she smiled. “It's worth a try anyway.”

  The vet, whose name was Gordon Merchant, gave Jenny a beaming smile when she told him where she had done her veterinary training. “Ah…Alderney! I've been there a few times myself.”

  “Really?” Jenny winked at Lawrence and Claire, standing there in the little surgery. “Lovely place isn't it?”

  “Beautiful.” Merchant ran his hands across Charley's stomach. “Is he your dog?”

  “Yes,” Jenny lied, smiling still. “I'm staying with Claire, my good friend, and her son. Charley here, he picked up something on the beach. After that he became quite ill.”

  “Sick? Vomiting?”

  “Yes. All the usual signs.”

  “Well…I could run some blood tests, but usually, after twenty-four hours…I don't think it's life threatening, but I'll give him a little shot of something to perk him up.” He smiled, “On the house.”

  Everyone smiled after that.

  In the car on the way home, Lawrence sat alongside Charley in the back. The dog watched the road streaking by through the window, his tongue lolling out, tail swishing.

  “It's best to keep him indoors for a couple more days,” said Jenny. “Don't rush things. He's better now, but as soon as that dose of vitamins wears off, he might become drowsy again.”

  “I'm so grateful to you, Jenny. Poor Lawrence would have been beside himself if anything had happened…” Claire let the words drift off, as she wiped a little tear from her face.

  “Look, why don't you take my little dog for a walk?” Jenny turned in her seat to look at Lawrence. “She hasn't been out much these past few days. You could take her down to the beach if you like, she used to love that back on the island.”

  “Are you sure?” said Lawrence, transformed, his face cheery and happy once more as a great beaming smile almost split his jaw in half.

  “Yes – just as long as you don't go digging up any more ancient remains.”

  Chapter Seven

  Originally they had planned to take Scruffy into the park, but Lawrence was curious about the beach and, in particular, what had happened to the site where he'd discovered the coracle. Somewhat reluctantly, Jenny had finally agreed.

  It was a still day, a weak sun barely able to break through the grey clouds, and the beach was deserted. The stretch of sand they strolled along was an unattractive black and even the water was a dull, iron-grey colour. “This is nothing like Alderney,” said Jenny distantly. “There, the water is crystal clear, almost Mediterranean. It may have been icy cold, even on a summer's day, but it was clean. Not like this.”

  “It's not as bad as it was,” said Lawrence. “The River Mersey has seen huge improvements in the quality of its water, but it'll be a long time before it's a holiday destination again.”

  They came upon the cordoned off site, Jenny eying it with some trepidation. Although most of the remains had been carefully transported away to be specially treated and examined, the thought of more poison set her teeth on edge. Carefully, she guided Lawrence away after he had scraped around the sand for a few minutes.

  “You'd never think anything had ever been here,” he said, sounding disappointed.

  “No, well they had to work fast I suppose. Once exposed, the wood would have rotted.”

  “What will happen to it all?”

  “I've no idea – you'll have to ask Mark.”

  “You like him, don't you.”

  Jenny gaped at Lawrence and gave a shocked laugh, “What? How do you mean?”

  Lawrence shrugged. His statement seemed natural, not meant to shock or annoy. Absently, he picked up a stone and tried to skim it across the river's surface, but it
simply plopped beneath the waves. He sighed, “I never was much good at that. Can you skim?”

  Jenny, seizing the chance to steer the conversation away from Mark, was happy to keep Lawrence's mind on stones and skimming, “Absolutely.” She quickly picked up a flat piece of shale and loosed it out across the water. It skimmed three times before disappearing.

  Lawrence whistled softly, “Pretty good. Who taught you, your dad?”

  Jenny furrowed her brows. “He did actually. Years and years ago, when I was about six, I think. He showed me how to throw using my shoulder, not my elbow. I always used to hurt myself when I tried to throw something really far, but after he showed me how to do it properly, I never hurt myself again.”

  “Wish I had a dad,” said Lawrence very quietly. His mood seemed to change and Jenny watched him carefully, suddenly feeling quite sorry for this young man whom she had only just met. Over the past few days, he'd had to sit and watch his dog going through agony and now, on this dismal and depressing stretch of sand, he looked more miserable than ever. Jenny gently laid a hand on his shoulder. He turned to look at her and forced a smile. Scruffy was running around their legs, desperate to be let off the lead. “Why not let her have a run around. I'm sure she'll be okay.”