The Blue Last (49 page)

Gemma shoved him back inside her coat to shut him up. Then she got her bearings: the boat was closer to the one bank than the other. It was much closer to the Big Ben side than it was to the Southwark Cathedral side. There was one bridge fairly close; she did not know its name. Benny had shown her pictures of the next one down, and she knew it was Waterloo Bridge. Around the curve of the river was Big Ben. So she knew where she was, pretty much.

Glad the boat was still, or the river was, she walked all around the deck, which didn't take long. There were benches with plastic cushions built in on both sides; the place where you drove the boat was toward the front. That's where the wheel was, with glass all around like a windshield that the captain could look through to see where he was going. She would never be able to figure out how to drive it. Anyway, the boat was anchored. Over there she saw what looked like a dock. And beyond the dock, a big squarish house. So the boat probably belonged to that house and the dock was for the boat. Maybe it was too big to pull up there, so it anchored here.

Richard was getting ready to tell her to swim for it, she bet, so before he could, she said, “I can't swim!”

“
Don't mope or you'll never—”
came the muffled words from inside.

“I don't mope!” Gemma closed her eyes, hoping if she didn't give her mind any new sights to see it would be better able to concentrate on her problem. Wait a minute! Her eyes snapped open. There had to be a way to get from the bank—the dock—to the boat. It was somebody's boat and if that person could get to it, then there had to be a way.

“Good good good good!”
Richard cried.

But if that was the only boat . . . ? Gemma walked around the deck again slowly, peering over the side. A smaller boat, a rowboat it looked like, was tied to the side of the big boat. She wondered if it was okay, if it had any leaks in it, but if it had, it would already have sunk, wouldn't it?

She shrank back. But I can't get down there—

“I'm only nine. How can I—?”

“Oh, for God's sake! Get me out of here and
I'll
find a rope!”
Gemma took Richard out from under her coat and held him in front of her. While she walked, she turned him different ways so that he could inspect the deck. Slowly around the deck they walked.

Not only was there a coil of rope, but it appeared to be tied, sturdily tied, to a short pole. She stuffed Richard back inside her coat (while he was still barking orders), picked up the rope and dragged it back to the part of the deck just above the rowboat. It was plenty long. She let the end down, played the rope out to the rowboat. Then she put all her weight into it and yanked hard to see if back there the rope held to the pole. Yes! Only, how was she to move the oars. She could never handle two, one on each side.

“Shut up, Richard! You don't know
every
thing!”

At that moment, something in Gemma switched off and something else switched on. It was no longer a question of would she drown in the Thames, but whether she was smarter than the two women who had stuck her out here. She ran to the flat door and stumbled down the staircase. She yanked out drawers in the little kitchen and tossed stuff out—useless silverware, scissors, plastic things—things in the drawers were all anyhow—knives, bottle caps, string. She finally came to a large spatula and it made her think of the way Mrs. MacLeish made omelettes. She would draw the cooked egg back with the spatula and the uncooked would run around it. Like water around an oar. Well, it was better than nothing. Among the rest of the utensils she found a big ladle. That would have to do.

She stopped, sat down on one of the beds and chewed the inside of her cheek, thinking. Then she remembered the rolls of coins that had rolled under the bed and got down and tried to fish them out, but couldn't reach. With her other hand she groped on top of the bed and found the ladle. With it, she got the two rolls out. Then she looked at the utensils that had landed on the floor and picked up a paring knife.

She sat up and took Richard out. “I hate to do this . . .”

“What? What
?
No knives!”

“It won't hurt. Much. Be quiet.” She removed his clothes, turned him over and with the knife, carefully pried the stitches out along the back seam. Oh! There were protests! Then she removed half of the stuffing and replaced it with the two rolls of coins. She didn't have anything to sew him up again, so she bound him tightly together with the string. She went over the seam again and made sure the string would hold. She shoved his clothes into one coat pocket and the stuffing into the other. Then she collected the spatula and ladle and hurried up the steps.

 

 

 

Sparky sneezed. It was explosive and set him down on his rump. He sneezed again and shook his head as if to render it sneeze free. He trotted over to the place in the courtyard where, in the spring, tulips grew. Whatever had been there was stone cold dead. Then he inspected a planter usually filled with primroses. It wasn't now. He looked around but saw nothing else.

Sparky enjoyed coming to this house; he liked the forecourt. It was pleasant to sniff around in. In the distance, Big Ben sounded whatever hour it was. Sparky could count up to four. Why he could do this was a mystery to him, but for some reason the boy had taught him this trick, which had to do with the street and filling the hat with coins. You'd think he could remember the name of the boy who'd saved him from a dust bin life, but what did names matter? If you could tell you were being summoned by look and gesture, why was the name important? He wasn't even sure what his own name was. Big Benny. Sparky loved that.

He could remember the woman, even by name. This was rare for him to do, but then she had been rare. Where had she gone? He drooped; it made him sad.

Then he sneezed.

 

 

 

The rope had held and Gemma was in the boat, rocking. The boat felt less substantial than it had appeared when she'd been looking down on it. She patted her coat just to make sure Richard was still there, although she knew he was from the extra weight. Slowly and carefully, Gemma turned around in the boat. She faced the land she was heading for and put the spatula in the water. Then she tried to put the ladle in and realized she couldn't do both because her arms weren't long enough. It didn't work, anyway, for they were too small to push back enough water for the boat to move. “How stupid I am!” she said aloud.

“Be quiet!”

She wrenched the oar from its lock, shoved the end against the boat and pushed the rowboat away. One oar could be managed if she used both hands; she'd never have been able to row with two of them. She tried this and found the boat wouldn't go straight with just one, so she moved it from side to side. The boat moved forward, and though she couldn't go fast, she could see the house over there and the dock inch closer.

If her hands had been free, Gemma would have clapped. As it was, she settled for telling Richard, “You're not the only one that's smart.”

His answer was muffled, but not complimentary.

 

 

 

Bluebells.

That was what he smelled; that was what made him sneeze. It got stronger as he sniffed his way around the side of the house. He was baffled; that smell shouldn't be here, but back there where the girl lived with the bluebells he'd brought her. (Jimmy? Janie? Jemima?) Was she here? Had she been here?

He sniffed along the dock. He hated being this close to water. His head came up for he sensed something. Right at the end of the dock, he looked out over the river and saw a little rowboat moving his way. He paced back and forth, back and forth.

Then he saw her and barked.

 

 

 

Gemma could hardly believe it when she heard a dog. Why would a dog be running back and forth on the dock, pulsing with barks—?

“Sparky!”

 

 

 

The boat bumped against the dock and turned around. Sparky looked over the edge. The dock was too high for the girl (Jimmy? Jeanna?) to reach. In a minute, a rope tied to something landed on the dock. Was it that damned doll? It was tied to the end of the rope. He got his teeth around the doll; there was a lot of slack, but he clamped down and pulled the rope up on the dock.

Gemma thought, how would he know what to do with the rope? He was only a dog, for heaven's sake. Yes, but a very smart one. She wanted him to wrap the rope around something, anything that would take it. One of the pilings would do it. She only needed a little purchase so she could climb up. The distance wasn't much. As she looked at the pilings, she saw a second rowboat drifting in and out from under the dock, only this one had a motor attached to it. It wasn't very securely tied. Gemma imagined Maisie Tynedale must have been in a big hurry to leave.

 

 

 

When all of the slack was taken up, Sparky still held the doll (which was pretty heavy) in his mouth and looked around. He dragged the doll and the rope over to a piling and had just enough room to maneuver the rope around and around again. After she tugged at it and it held, she started climbing.

Sparky bounced about, completely giddy when Jimmy managed to heave herself up, hand over hand, onto the dock.

“Sparky!” Gemma grabbed him and squeezed him to her chest until he could only
just
breathe. He could do without this part of it.

She untied Richard. Remarkably, he was still the same; he hadn't even gotten wet. She was checking to see if the string still held, when she heard the car.

Both of them heard the car.

The car pulled into the forecourt, slammed its door, left its engine running and its headlights on. Gemma knew it was them, or one of them, either Kitty or Maisie. One of them had brought her here. She had expected it, but she was still afraid. Even if she could have jumped down into the boat, there was no time to do it.

The woman came toward them bathed in the glare of the headlights. But when she got to the dock, she stopped, stunned. It was Maisie. Her eyes, looking at Gemma, were immense. “My God! How on earth—?”

Gemma got down to Sparky's level. “Go, Sparky!”

Sparky jumped. He had never really
gone
before, and now he saw his chance. He plummeted toward Maisie, grabbed her ankle and let himself be shaken and shaken, yelled at to get off, get off. Cursed. Good.

Clutching Richard, Gemma watched. “Get her down, Sparky, get her head down!” Gemma moved nearer to them.

Sparky let go of the ankle and sprang up to Maisie's forearm. To dislodge the dog, she had to bend down, get her head down—

Gemma rushed at her just as Sparky had, pulled her own arm back and with every single ounce of strength left to her, brought Richard down on Maisie's head. Giving a small exhalation of breath, Maisie slumped on the boards with a dull thud.

That was Richard. Gemma thought he'd earned the right, so she hauled off and brought the doll down on Maisie's head again. Then for good measure, hit her once more. Gemma would have liked to kill her, to roll her off the dock and let her drown.

But she didn't; they left her lying there.

S
parky led; Gemma followed. All she knew was this was along the Thames, but she had no idea where Swan Lane was, a name they'd just passed. He seemed to know exactly where he was going and stopped every so often to make sure she was right there behind him.

At one point a car stopped, just pulled up to the curb and the driver leaned across as far as he could and said, “Want a lift, love. I'm just on my way to—”

Gemma never found out where because Sparky hurled himself against the car door, mere inches from the nose of this person making his offer.

“Bloody hell!” the man yelled, jerking away from the window, then stalling the engine out when he tried to accelerate, and Sparky, all the while like a pole vaulter, snarling and launching himself at the car. It made Gemma laugh. The man finally got out like the devils in hell were at his heels.

Gemma skipped along as if this were a walk in Kensington Gardens. She hadn't felt like skipping in a long time, but now she did. She wished she could throw herself, as Sparky had done, up against things and scare them and make them run away. But then she'd have to have Sparky's bark and Sparky's bite to do that.