Pleasure Island [The Chronicles of Lidir] (16 page)

'Quickly! Come with me!' He turned and scuttled up the stairs so fast that Anya could scarcely keep pace, then he stopped at the final landing before the deck and pointed to the darkness of a narrow corridor on the forward side of the stairs. 'This leads to the prow,' he said. 'Hide in here. I'll come for you when it's safe.'

The passage was so low that she had to crawl. The smell was musty. It was very dark - what little light there was, her body blocked. After twelve feet or so, the area widened and the ceiling lifted. The space was still enclosed but she could feel a breeze. Before her was blackness and to the right was a wide ledge with many empty sacks. She drew the sacks around her, for she was cold now as well as wet, and sat in the corner, listening to the breeze funnelling from below and the water lapping against the hull. After a while, she realised there was light, a faint horizontal rectangle to the right, several feet above her head. She stood up. Behind her and above her shoulders was a ledge. Gaining footholds in the corner, she climbed up and banged her head on the ceiling. The space up here was extensive, but low, only three feet from floor to ceiling. But she crawled across to the light, which was only a few inches deep. And now she could see the mountains, black against the dark blue of the twilight sky. The ship was moving steadily parallel to the shore. She felt safer here, in this hiding place. She moved some sacks up, made a bed, but did not sleep: wrapped in sacks, she watched the mountains sliding slowly past. She had much to think about in the quietness - the reef, the wreck; the ship was broken, but what about the men who sailed her? Could her lover have survived? And this place, it seemed a vast land - it looked empty. It gave her hope. She could lose herself in a land such as this, if she could but reach it.

There was a sudden splash followed by a continuous grinding sound through the fabric of the ship. Anya gave a start and bumped her head on the ceiling. But now her hiding place was filled with daylight. She peered warily over the ledge. Below the second ledge, a large hole funnelled downwards and a great rope hawser stretched tightly down its middle and disappeared through an opening about two feet wide in the side of the ship. The rope shuddered and came to a stop. The ship had anchored. Anya crawled across and looked through the narrow light. The sun was to her left, still ahead of the ship, so they must have sailed round the island in the night. And what she had felt yesterday was true - this place was beautiful.

It was early morning, but the landscape already had a warmth; a thin haze hung about the shoulders of the hills, which stood back, much more distant than they had appeared last night and less precipitous from this side. The ship stood in a small bay. The water was clear blue and beyond it was a band of bright yellow sand which, to the right, formed a curving bank extending into the bay. Behind the sand was the green of the forest, open at first then denser in the distance and lush, pervasive green, but with small islands of intense colour - many reds and yellows of flower-clad trees extending up the hill-slopes. Even the tops of the mountains were clothed in green. But the place seemed silent and deserted.

Anya looked at that view for a long time. Then she heard banging sounds on the side. A longboat appeared, bearing eight men rowing briskly for the shore. How she wished she were aboard it. She watched it reach the sand and the men drag it ashore, then head towards the trees. It had not taken long for the boat to cover the distance and the water was calm. She ought to be able to swim to shore. She left her vantage point again and slipped to the ledge below. Looking up, she saw that the hawser disappeared into darkness. Below was the well with sloping sides draining to the hole that the rope passed through. She could easily fit through that hole. But the drop to it frightened her; she would have to lean too far out in order to reach the rope. She could jump across to it, but then what would happen on the other side of the hull, with the drop into the water? If it were too far, she would have burned her boats and never be able to reach the ledge again, even if she managed to climb back up the rope. Either she would have to wait for Ratchitt or she would have to find another way.

She crept back along the low passageway and waited near the entrance. At first it was quiet. She was about to leave the safety of the darkness when she heard voices down below, then squealing sounds as if an animal was being strangled. Then she saw them heading up the stairs. Travix had Ratchitt by the ear. 'But I don't know where she is,' he wailed. 'I haven't seen her anywhere.'

'Don't lie to me, Ratchitt. Kasger told me what you said, so we'll just keep checking each of your little hidey-holes until we find her. And when we do ...' There was another squeal.

Anya banged her head in her wild rush back down the corridor. At the ledge, she only just managed to stop herself falling head first into the drop. The rope was her only escape; it seemed a very long way out and it angled away from her and down. She stood up fully, balancing giddily on the edge. When she stretched up on her toes, the rope seemed closer, but still too far and she felt even more unsteady when she reached. She lost her nerve and backed away, knowing she would have to jump. She kept advancing, but quailing when the rope retreated each time she neared the edge, then backing away again and wringing her hands in defeat. Wild horses could not have driven her to make that jump. Yet the echo of a woman's voice in the tunnel behind her was more than enough propulsion. Anya drew a deep breath, ran three steps and flung herself into the void.

She caught the rope in her hands but missed it with her feet and, on the back swing, with the sudden pull of her body weight, she couldn't hold on. Her fingers slipped and she plummeted into the pit. Her body bounced then jammed beneath the rope. Her right ankle had twisted underneath her and her shoulder had slammed against the sloping wall. But there was no time to think about hurts. The voices were very close. She pushed her feet through the portal, trying to feel for the rope on the outside, but her feet couldn't touch it. In desperation she turned, slid through and hung. The anchor rope was in front of her as she faced the ship; it angled sharply underneath. As she reached for it with her feet, her hands gave way and she fell backwards, arms outstretched, and the water hit her with a vicious smack. Bright shapes all around her scattered and she was enveloped, drifting downwards, in a heavy opalescent world of shimmering, bubble-filled dusty turquoise. The bright shapes slowed and became fish about the anchor rope. The water was warm. Yellow patches slowly danced across the sand ripples on the sea floor. She drifted up beneath the overhang and held on to the rope. She was sure her ribs were broken. But she was exhilarated. She had escaped.

Anya waited until she had regained her breath, then swam until she could see along the side of the ship. There was no sign of any activity, but she was too low down to be able to see anyone who might be at the rail. And if she were spotted swimming ashore, they would only need to send another boat, or alert the men on shore. She decided to risk it; there was nothing to lose. But she set off forwards along the line of the prow, hoping that in this direction, there would be less chance of being seen. The ship receded quickly at first. When she tired, she floated - the water was calm - then set off again, gradually veering shorewards. Nobody followed. Perhaps everyone's attention was still taken by the search. She smiled to herself - the first smile for a long time - and drifted. Sometimes, she would drift face down and watch the fish darting beneath her above the yellow sand, which rose ever nearer as the water shallowed. Once, in the distance, she saw a dark fin stretched like a lateen sail sweeping gracefully above the water, though she never saw the fish attached to this fin. She wondered if it might be a flying fish; she had heard that such fish existed.

As Anya floated to the shore, she heard cries. She turned and looked towards the ship, but could see nobody. The cries came again, to her right, from where the boat had landed. It must be the men shouting to each other but she could not see them. She found her feet and waded ashore, keeping low, creeping across the wet sand and hiding in a hollow at the margin of the bushes. The sand here was not like river sand. It felt very warm and dry; it was a strange substance indeed, made of tiny coloured grains, but flowing like liquid through her fingers and sticking like dust to her calves and feet. Yet it was not a dust that would leave you muddy when you wiped it free. And once your leg was dry it would not stick but would flow across it and tickle. There were bits of shell in it. When Anya squeezed the sand, it suddenly locked hard and squeaked. The last of the water on her skin had collected into oily salted droplets. She sat back and allowed her eyes to close while the warm air currents drifted heavily in the well of sand to caress her body and make the tiny oily droplets disappear.

This place was truly beautiful. She had never imagined such a place could have existed. Trees with curving slender trunks bellied out above the sand; their long leaves rustled lazily in the breeze. She listened to the waves breaking gently on the shore, then sizzling as they swelled on to the hot dry sand. Behind her, she could hear many different bird calls as if the treetops were alive. And she could smell the rich and varied perfumes of the flowers mingling with the warm breeze from the sea. Now that her skin was dry, it felt tight. Small white crystals spangled in the fine hairs of her arms; the sand flowed through her toes. When she dug her hand into it, it felt cool below the surface. Then her fingers touched something hard. She brushed the sand away and saw that the surface she had touched was wood - the grain was clear - but it was cut and shaped wood. She cleared a larger area. The wood curved everywhere just below the surface of the sand and it was dished. Then she realised it was the remains of a small boat. Its upper planks had been worn away, leaving only the belly of the hull embedded in the sand to form the hollow in which she lay. She found a rowlock, then her hand touched something soft. Part of a coat projected from the sand. She shivered when she saw the buttons. The cloth had a dark stain - was it blood? Afraid to dig any deeper, Anya backed away, half crawling out of the hollow and moving towards the trees.

Then she caught a glimpse of movement. She hid. Four sailors ran down the beach, short of breath, shouting, racing for the boat. One of them stumbled and let out a belly-churning scream as if terrified he might be left behind as the boat was pushed into the waves. His companions did not wait, but he managed to reach the water's edge and fling himself headlong into the surf. He was dragged, clinging on to the side, until they had made some distance from the shore. Only then did the boat slow while his crewmates drew the man aboard.

There had been eight men on the boat originally, Anya was sure. Where were the other four? Why had their mates been in such a hurry? What did the half-buried boat mean? Did it contain a body?

Though the smells and the sounds were still the same and the sand was still warm beneath her hands and feet as she crouched down even further, though the bush she hid behind was decked with lush red flowers, suddenly this place did not seem quite so attractive as before. Her eyes were fixed on the point ahead where the men had emerged from the trees. Then she heard a cry. Someone was leaping through the bushes, but parallel with the beach and heading straight for her. There was no time to get out of the way as the young sailor, his eyes wild with fear, jumped over her crouched form then rolled, picked himself up and carried on running. His bare foot had touched her shoulder, yet so intent was he on getting away from whatever was chasing him that it was as if he had not seen her. There were more crashing sounds through the bushes, sharp whistles, soft cries - signals between his pursuers, Anya knew. They would never ignore her. She jumped to her feet and began running as fast as she possibly could in the direction the man had taken. She saw a shape behind her, flowing swiftly, before something lashed round her left ankle and she toppled to the sand.

She pulled, but it was no good; her foot was held fast by the tendril of a whip. A knee pressed into her back and pinned her belly to the sand. Her arms were quickly pulled behind her and bound at the wrists. She heard the handle of the whip being knocked into the sand. Then she was turned over. Above her stood a woman, bronzed and lissom, completely nude apart from a thin skin belt around her middle and a ropework thong sheathed in gold wire which was knotted about her upper arm. Anya's eyes widened, but her captor seemed astonished, for she gasped and momentarily backed away, then stood there looking by turns anxiously over her shoulder then frowning at Anya and muttering or singing something under her breath. Anya did not understand her words, if they were words, for she might have been humming a tune. There was a low bird-whistle and another woman appeared. She too seemed very surprised indeed. It was as if they had never seen another woman and now were afraid to approach. They murmured to each other without ever taking their eyes from Anya. The new arrival, presumably deciding that Anya, however unexpected, was not a threat, replaced her knife in her belt. But Anya was not untied. She lay on her back looking up at the two. They had no belly hair and the skin between their thighs was painted in a pattern of lines and dots.

'Niri ...' whispered Anya, for even apart from these markings, they were very like Niri - dark-haired and dark-eyed, though much longer limbed and with their hair tied back in a tail. At the mention of the name, the two women immediately stopped talking. Their mouths fell open; they understood. Perhaps they knew Niri. 'Niri,' Anya said again, more loudly, though her voice was shaking. The women looked at each other, then one began to giggle. The other tried to speak to Anya but couldn't complete what she was saying without laughing. Then she tried to whistle - there must be others about, Anya realised - but again, the whistle failed and erupted as a giggle as the smooth bronze belly shuddered uncontrollably. Anya now recalled the strange circumstances in which Niri had been made to cry her name and suddenly she turned crimson with embarrassment. What had she allowed herself to say?