Devil's Rock (8 page)

The warmth now flooded through the rest of his body, and as it spread it brought a delicious drowsiness, forcing him to sink down among the sailbags. He heard music and singing, chatter and laughter – faces crowded around him and he retreated deep into himself, where he hid for a long time, until he heard one voice, more persistent that the rest, saying, ‘Zaki! Zaki!’

Anusha was there! She was in the cabin! She was shutting the drawers, closing the cupboard.

‘Zaki, get up! She’s coming back! Get up! Get up!’

Zaki struggled back to consciousness. It was like climbing up from the bottom of a deep well.

‘I lost her. She just disappeared, so I ran back here. Then I saw her coming down the road. If we go out now, she’ll see us. What are we going to do?’

Zaki scrambled to his feet. He felt dizzy but there was no time to lose. Quickly, he went to the main hatch, retrieved the washboards and, from the inside, slotted them into place, then slid the hatch cover shut.

‘You’ve trapped us! She’s sure to come in here!’

‘Quick, into the forward cabin and shut the door. Perhaps we can get out of the forehatch while she stows things in the saloon.’

It was a desperate plan but Zaki could think of no alternative except trying to explain to the girl why he had been searching her boat, and he didn’t fancy doing that.

No sooner had they shut themselves in the forward cabin than they heard the girl jump lightly down on to the deck. They waited, huddled among the sailbags, listening, trying to guess what she was doing. They heard the main hatch slide open and then her footsteps on the stairs. There was the thump of the now full rucksack being dropped on the cabin floor and then she went back up on deck. There was no time to get the forehatch open and make their escape. Zaki and Anusha exchanged anxious glances and Anusha pulled a face. They could hear the girl’s bare feet padding about above them and the creak of rigging.

‘What’s she doing?’ whispered Anusha.

‘She’s putting the main up.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘It means she’s getting ready to leave.’

Sure enough, the footsteps went quiet for a moment and were followed by the sound of ropes being tossed from the shore on to the deck.

‘She’s casting off!’ hissed Zaki.

‘So, what now?’

‘Maybe she’s not going far. It’s a bit late to be setting out to sea and she’s towing the dinghy. Could just be going to anchor in deeper water down the estuary.’

‘Great! So we’ll be stuck in the middle of the harbour!’

‘I think she left someone in Salcombe. She might stop at the ferry wharf to pick them up.’

‘And if she doesn’t?’

Zaki shrugged.

There was a soft thud as the girl landed back onboard and they could feel the boat heel gently to the wind as it swung away from the dockside.

Zaki pictured what was happening above him: the girl pushing off and hurrying back to the helm. There was the splash of a rope dropping into the water and the sound of it being hauled aboard. She’d have her hands full right now, managing the sail and steering through the moored boats.

‘Can you swim?’ asked Zaki.

‘Oh my God! You’re not serious?’ Anusha saw that he was. So she said, ‘Yes,’ and then added, ‘if I have to.’

‘Sorry,’ said Zaki. ‘Sorry I got you into this.’

Anusha gave a little toss of her head that seemed to say, ‘I must have been mad.’

The wind was light.
Curlew
was running down the estuary in almost total silence, the only sound the lap of little ripples against her bow. Zaki and Anusha no longer dared risk even whispered conversation. Minutes passed slowly and the boat continued steadily on. Zaki’s faith in his theory that the girl would stop when she reached Salcombe began to fade. He gathered his courage and got to his feet. He would go and speak to her, try to explain. But before he could open the door the boat tipped suddenly and he was thrown across the cabin, jarring his injured shoulder.

‘What’s happening?’ Anusha’s eyes were wide.

‘She’s turned into the wind. Shhh! If she’s going to anchor, she’ll have to come on to the foredeck.’

Now the boat was full of noise: sails flapped, shaking the rigging, blocks rattled, ropes beat against the deck, every sound amplified down in the cabin. Footsteps overhead were followed by the splash of the anchor and the clatter of the anchor chain. The beating sails quietened as they were lowered and furled. The footsteps retreated back to the stern and then Zaki heard the girl descend into the cabin. His eyes met Anusha’s and they both held their breaths. Zaki willed Anusha not to move; her knuckles were white as she gripped a sailbag. They could hear the girl moving about in the saloon. What was she doing? Would she come forward? At last, she went back on deck and closed the main hatch. There was a pause and then the distinctive rattle of oars in rowlocks followed by the splash . . . splash . . . splash of the girl rowing steadily away in the dinghy.

‘She’s gone,’ breathed Zaki.

‘Ohhh! Thank goodness!’ groaned Anusha, slowly unfolding herself from her cramped seat on the sailbag.

Zaki eased the forehatch open, enough to see out.
Curlew
was anchored amongst the local moorings on the East Portlemouth side of the harbour. Zaki could see the girl rowing across to the quayside.

‘She’s either going ashore, or to pick someone up. Either way, we’ve got at least quarter of an hour,’ said Zaki.

‘Let’s get out of here,’ urged Anusha, stepping into the saloon.

‘Wait! There’s her logbooks. I’ve read bits of them already. They’ll maybe tell us where’s she’s been, what she’s been doing.’

‘Are you crazy? We can’t hang about reading stuff! Anyway, she’s not going to have written “I just killed so-and-so, and stuck the body in this cave”, is she? Not unless she’s completely bonkers!’

Anusha was already sliding back the cover of the main hatch. Zaki hesitated then opened the port-side locker. There were the logbooks. He already knew, or thought he knew that she wasn’t their author. He took down the one that looked the oldest and flipped through it quickly. The handwriting was still the same, although a little less regular; there were crossings out and corrections, notes written in the margins. Then he saw the date of an entry. It was impossible! That entry was dated 1908.

‘Now what are you doing?’ called Anusha.

Zaki closed the locker. In the saloon he found an empty carrier bag. He dropped the logbook into it and followed Anusha up on deck. ‘Keep your head down,’ warned Zaki. ‘She might still see us.’

They crouched in the cockpit.

‘What’s that?’ demanded Anusha.

‘One of the logs.’

‘What? You mean you’re going to steal it?’

‘Yes,’ said Zaki simply.

Anusha let out a low groan. ‘Well, how are we going to get off here, anyway?’

It was a good question. It was fifty metres at least to the shore and the girl had the dinghy. Of course they could swim, but it was a ten-mile walk back to the main road from East Portlemouth, it was already getting dark and Zaki wasn’t sure how well he could swim with his injured shoulder. He looked around, hoping for inspiration. His eyes fell on the familiar shape of
Morveren
tied to her mooring a little to starboard and about six boat-lengths away. If they could get to
Morveren
, they could use the sailing dinghy that was stored upside down on her deck to get across to Salcombe.

‘I’ve got an idea,’ said Zaki. ‘You see that yacht there? That’s our boat. If we can get to her, we can get ashore.’

‘So we still have to swim,’ said Anusha gloomily.

‘No, we have to let out the anchor chain,’ said Zaki.

The ebb tide was running quite fast, with the anchor chain let right out, they could use the flow of the tide over the rudder to swing
Curlew
across to
Morveren
. At least, that was Zaki’s theory.

They waited until the solitary rower reached the pontoon and then allowed her a few more minutes to tie up her dinghy and go ashore.

‘Come on,’ Zaki said, ‘I’ll need a hand.’

Up on the bow, Zaki opened the hatch over the chainlocker; most of the chain was already out, but there looked to be a good length of anchor rope after the chain. Zaki wished he had two good arms; Anusha would have to do most of the work and
Curlew
was a heavy boat. He explained what needed to be done and together they began to pay out the anchor, easing
Curlew
back on the tide until she was lying just forward of
Morveren
. Zaki peered into the chainlocker; they were almost out of rope. ‘Hold her there,’ said Zaki, ‘I’m going see if I can steer her across.’

He went back to the cockpit and unlashed the tiller, then pushed it over to port.
Curlew
began to swing to starboard.

‘Let her out slowly!’ called Zaki.

Anusha let out more rope.

‘There’s not much left!’ she called.

Curlew
’s stern was now level with
Morveren
’s bow and three metres to starboard.

‘That’s all the rope – and I can’t hold it much longer!’

Zaki lashed the tiller to port and leapt to the foredeck to help Anusha tie off the anchor rope.

Morveren
was tantalisingly close, but still just out of reach.

‘I’m going to try something,’ said Zaki. ‘If I get the boats close enough, can you see if you can get on to
Morveren
?’

‘I’ll try,’ said Anusha.

Zaki untied the tiller. He put the helm over to starboard and
Curlew
‘sailed’ on the tide away from
Morveren
. When he judged she would go no further, he put the helm over to port and she swung back towards the other boat, gathering momentum like the weight on a pendulum – closer – closer – closer . . .

‘Now!’ shouted Zaki.

Anusha flung herself from the stern of
Curlew
and landed with her stomach across
Morveren
’s bowsprit, where she hung precariously, arms and head dangling one side, legs dangling the other as
Curlew
swung away.

‘Owww!’ She kicked and wriggled until she got one leg over the spar. She sat up grinning and gave Zaki a thumbs-up, then scrambled back to
Morveren
’s foredeck.

Zaki repeated the manoeuvre and this time, as the gap closed, he tossed a rope to Anusha. With a line across, it was an easy matter to pull the boats together so that they could cross with ease from one to the other. Zaki joined Anusha on
Morveren
. They unlashed the sailing dinghy from
Morveren
’s deck, turned it over and heaved it into the water. They’d have to row; the sails were locked up in the cabin. Zaki dropped the oars into the dinghy and tied it to
Curlew
’s stern. Now came the most tiring part of the whole job, to haul
Curlew
back up her anchor rope against the ebb tide, but the thought that the girl might return at any time spurred them on and fifteen exhausting minutes later they had
Curlew
back where she had started.

Time to abandon ship. They closed up the hatches and climbed into the dinghy. Zaki tucked the pilfered logbook under the dinghy’s seat. It was twenty-five to six by Zaki’s watch; they should have just enough time to row across to his grandad’s shed before he packed up for the night. Row? There was a flaw in his plan – how could he row with one arm?

‘Can you row?’ he asked hopefully.

‘Not very . . . Well, I’ve never tried,’ came the reply.

Zaki made room for Anusha on the centre seat.

‘You take one oar; I’ll take the other. Just try to keep in time.’ Zaki cast off.

At first, they tended to go round in circles, and the ebb tide threatened to carry them out to sea. On two occasions Anusha missed the water altogether with her oar and fell backwards into the bottom of the dinghy, after which she got a terrible fit of the giggles, but eventually they settled into a steady rhythm and pulled away from the moored boats. Zaki kept them on a diagonal course, aiming up the estuary to allow for the strong current that sucked at the yellow buoys in mid-channel.

‘You’re doing great,’ encouraged Zaki.

‘Don’t distract me,’ came the sharp response.

After which they rowed in silence until Anusha asked, ‘Did you see that cat?’

‘What cat?’

‘There was a cat on the boat when I came looking for you.’

‘On
Curlew
?’

‘Yes. I thought it must belong on board but it was gone when we got out of the cabin.’

Zaki’s oar dug too deep and he lost the rhythm. ‘What was it like?’ he asked, but he knew the answer.

‘Grey. It was sitting at the back of the boat. Almost like it was on guard.’