CHAPTER FIVE
The Mud Skipper Skips
Rachel sipped on her piping hot cup of tea; its steam rose high into the air as the doldrums descended across the waterpark.
Behind her and with a sack of coal over his shoulder, Larry climbed down a corroded set of metal stairs and let out a groan as he dumped the last sack onto the jetty. He wiped his brow with an oily rag, blew his nose on it and shoved it back into his pocket.
Catching his breath, he caught Rachel’s eye. ‘Have you thanked Suzy for saving your life?’ he grinned.
‘Thank you, Suzy,’ she said, raising her teacup as if she was about to toast the bride and groom. ‘Thanks for saving my mum’s life and mine.’
Only the constant lapping of waves greeted her eardrums.
‘Suzy’s the silent type, but she appreciates your sentiment,’ said Larry with an air of merriment.
‘She’s a diamond,’ said Rachel, but she meant every word of it as she stared at the stumpy black painted steamboat in front of her. ‘Shanghai Suzy’s quite an unusual name for a boat – how did she come by it?’
Larry warmed to her question. ‘Now there’s the rub,’ he said, lost in thought as he thought about his reply. ‘Well, at one time, Suzy belonged to Professor Shire, but he lost her in a race – no, hang on, my memory’s been a bit foggy of late. Right, come to think of it, I’m pretty sure Thomas lost her in a game of cards. It’s all a bit hazy, but the Mud Skipper ended up with Suzy, and she renamed it after herself and her home.’
‘Isn’t it bad luck to change a boat’s name?’ Rachel offered.
‘Oh, it is,’ replied Larry, ‘but only to those seafarers who believe in such ridiculous notions.’
‘How did Suzy end up in your hands –?’ Rachel began.
‘HEY – ARE YOU TWO COMING ABOARD?’ boomed Lydia.
Larry grimaced. ‘JUST THE COAL TO COME ON BOARD, MY DEAR,’ he bellowed back with equal zeal. ‘OK, Rachel – let’s get these sacks of coal put away before Lydia bends my ear again.’
The onshore breeze picked up, but Rachel wasn’t the least bit chilly as she helped Larry drag the sacks of coal along the gangplank and into the hold. He closed the hold’s wooden cover and handed her a modestly clean rag for her dirty hands, but she was pleased to hand it back.
Rachel’s stomach gurgled then growled with hunger.
Larry smiled, smacked his hands together and said, ‘I think someone needs a spot of lunch before we set sail.’
‘I better go and see Mum and ask her if she wouldn’t mind me eating my sandwiches now,’ Rachel said, and her stomach growled even louder.
Larry appeared horrified at her culinary suggestion. ‘Sandwiches – sandwiches,’ he protested vehemently. ‘We’ll have none of that talk on board my boat,’ he added wildly and patted his belly. ‘What we need is a right royal fry up. I’ll get Suzy underway, and Lydia will see us right.’
‘I thought you’ve already had your lunch, Larry?’ Rachel remarked, unable to hide the smirk that had sprouted across her face. ‘Cold curdled soup – if I’m not mistaken,’ she added light-heartedly.
‘It was curdled all right,’ he retorted, ‘and that homemade nettle and pea soup still haven’t finished curdling in my stomach. Now, a healthy dose of sausage, eggs, bacon and fried bread should put that to bed…’
Rachel left Larry to his chores; however, every now and then, he would regale her with basic nautical terms: Port, Starboard, Aft, Forward, Foc’sle, Derrick, Bluff Bow, Flotsam, and Jetsam and so it went on.
With his work all done and dusted, Larry let out a long yawn and said, ‘Right, time to get Suzy underway.’
Rachel followed him to the back of the boat, and he gave her a quick tour of Suzy’s aft. Sandwiched between the square wheelhouse and the hold, the red and black banded funnel lay at a slight angle above the engine room. Housed below the wheelhouse, the cramped crew quarters contained bunk beds, a table and a blackened stove, where an ornately crafted Chinese kettle had just come to the boil.
Rachel looked surprised: Larry certainly had the gift of the gab, as he had persuaded her mother that a full breakfast would prevent her from being seasick. He gave her a wink and dashed into the engine room to stoke the dwindling fire. With another fresh piping hot cup of tea in her hand, Rachel made her way back onto the deck and felt the wind pick up.
Suzy’s twin engines spluttered into life. A charcoal-grey cloud of smoke shot out of her single funnel. The wooden deck shook violently as the pistons kicked in, but they soon settled down as they built up speed.
Rachel shuffled her way across the hold’s cover and sat cross-legged at its exact centre. Her fingers almost crushed the teacup with nervous apprehension as the jetty swiftly fell away from sight. Only the single mast and derrick blocked her vista of the vast freshwater lake. As the Suzy continued to pick up speed, Rachel hadn’t felt the least bit seasick; however, the funnel’s puffing noises made her want to nod off to sleep.
Larry joined Rachel on top of the hold. ‘Lydia’s busy gossiping to your mother at the moment,’ he told her and handed her a chipped porcelain plate, stacked high with sandwiches dripping with greasy fat.
‘Larry, I thought you said you hated sandwiches?’ Rachel chuckled, grabbing the napkins off him before they blew away in the brisk wind.
‘Ah,’ he replied, cautiously parting his sandwich. ‘Now, it takes a rare skill to jam a full English breakfast between two pieces of fried bread.’
With her hunger pangs screaming for food, Rachel watched Larry mimicking her posture, and he sat crossed-legged right beside her. They said nothing as they tucked into their fatty food. With the meal done and dusted, Larry pointed out some of the lake’s abundant sea life:
‘Look over there – just beyond Suzy’s stern… there’s a dry-boned beanie diving for fish. Now, over to port, we have a pair of giggling gannets – very rare nowadays. Well, bless my soul – there’s a fluther of gimballed jellyfish bobbing about on our bow wave…’
Suzy steamed ahead.
‘I think I’ll go and see where my mum’s gotten to,’ Rachel told Larry.
Larry looked over his shoulder. ‘Oh, she’s a bit on the busy side at the moment,’ he snorted, ‘but she’s having a whale of a time steering Suzy.’
Rachel whipped her head around and stared up at the wheelhouse, looking stunned as her mother stood at the helm with the steering wheel grasped firmly in her hands. Managing a smile, her mother gave her an excited wave as she steamed just that little bit closer to the mainland.
‘B-but – but m-my mum hasn’t even passed her driving test yet,’ stammered Rachel, looking stunned as her mother forged further ahead. ‘Larry – she’s failed it eleven times, and you’re letting her steer Suzy?’
‘Don’t worry,’ he said calmly, ‘Lydia’s keeping a close eye on her –’
Lydia’s svelte figure stood before them. Blotches of greasy food and smudges of coal smothered her red lobster printed apron that billowed in the cool breeze like a ship’s spinnaker.
‘You’ve left Lorraine alone – steering Suzy?’ asked Larry flabbergasted.
‘Oh, she’s perfectly fine,’ replied Lydia dismissively, her long auburn hair thrashing aimlessly behind her. ‘Lorraine’s a natural at the helm.’
‘Why aren’t we heading towards the island?’ Rachel asked.
‘Lorraine’s taking Suzy the long way round,’ Lydia replied.
‘You mean the tourists’ route,’ added Larry hotly.
‘It’s only ten minutes out of our way, Larry,’ Lydia told him huffily. ‘Anyway, Lorraine wanted to give Rachel a tour of the lake before we set foot on the island,’ she added and handed Rachel a grubby sou’wester hat. ‘Now, I don’t want you getting sunburn on this trip – so I found this fisherman’s hat in one of the old trunks. I’m pretty sure it will fit you.’
‘The colour matches your cute button nose,’ Larry chuckled.
‘Well, I just love the colour,’ smiled Rachel and plonked the pink sou’wester hat on top of her head, letting Lydia fiddle and fumble with the thin grey straps that whipped back and forth in the blustery breeze.
‘Perfect fit,’ said Lydia gleefully. ‘It could have been made for you.’
‘It must have belonged to a girl,’ Rachel insisted, ‘as I can’t see any fisherman going to work wearing this pretty colour.’
‘I dunno – they’re a funny lot around here,’ Larry scoffed.
BRRRRRRRRRRR!
Suzy’s constipated foghorn blurted out once more.
Rachel glanced up at the wheelhouse; her mother beamed back at her, and with a hearty but stern grin, she spun the wheel so hard to starboard, discomforting creaks, groans and moans rumbled throughout the boat’s decking, protesting against the handling of the boat by its overzealous captain who now stared dead ahead with resolute determination.
Shire’s Island loomed closer, and Suzy drew nearer to the expanse of ruddy-coloured mud that glistened in the scorching sunlight.
‘What on earth’s Lorraine playing at?’ Lydia snapped.
‘She’s – s-she’s s-speeding up!’ Larry stammered, looking stunned as plumes of dirty smoke belched out of the funnel at a frightening rate.
The funnel’s rough rasping noise competed with the waves crashing against the bow. Lydia waved her arms at Lorraine to stop, but Suzy stayed on course and sped onwards towards the encroaching mudflats.
‘My mum’s gone stark raving mad,’ Rachel muttered.
‘I’ll go and stop her,’ Lydia yelled and shot towards the wheelhouse.
‘She’s coming in way too fast,’ Larry cried, but as he attempted to get up, Suzy veered so violently to port, he lost his footing, and he fell onto his side – smashing plates as he went down. His arms floundered, and he rolled across the hold’s cover, crashing onto the juddering deck.
Suzy went to starboard and then back to port so fast, he couldn’t get his sea legs no matter how hard he tried.
Rachel didn’t like it, either, so in one swift – and surprising – move, she leapt off the hold and landed squarely on her feet right next to him.
‘I don’t feel too good,’ Larry moaned as she helped him back onto his unsteady legs. ‘I – I think I’m going to be sick,’ he added lightheadedly, his sickly face the colour of his unappetising lunchtime soup.
Suzy zigzagged across the shimmering lake.
Groaning gears grated on Rachel’s teeth. Suzy jolted twice and then shuddered thrice – and rocked from side to side.
‘What’s happening to Suzy?’ Rachel asked Larry, jumping out of her skin in shock as the twin keels dropped into the water with a thunderous splash, spraying everyone with a mist of bitterly cold freshwater.
Suzy slowed down.
Larry’s face filled with joy. His face turned a healthy shade of pink as he clapped his hands excitedly, and at the top of his voice and above the hullabaloo, he shouted, ‘WE’RE ABOUT TO SKIP ACROSS THE MUD!’
Seconds later, Suzy’s steam engine died.
Larry cheered and whooped. Rachel, however, fought to stay on her feet, and her knees buckled as the bow of the boat smashed into the mud.
The frantic roar of ratcheting gears and cogs echoed all around them. Massive chunks of slimy brown mud cartwheeled overhead, but by blind luck or design, not a sliver of it came on board. With the lake aft of them, Suzy tacked up the embankment for at least another mile before coming to a graceful and perfect stop right beside an old neglected wooden pier.
Suzy’s gears and cogs wound down and fell silent.
Rachel couldn’t believe what her mother had just done (and her mother’s driving instructor, Mr Cross, wouldn’t have believed it, either.)
‘Marks out of ten?’ Lorraine called out from the bottom rung of the wheelhouse ladder. ‘Not bad parking if I do say so myself,’ she added and walked towards them with Lydia by her side, who couldn’t stop grinning.
‘Eleven out of ten,’ Larry cheered back.
Rachel went up to her mother and said, ‘That was incredible, Mum.’
Lorraine managed a cheeky smile. ‘So, Rachel – I take it there won’t be any more funny remarks about the local wildlife running for cover when I’m out driving with Mr Cross?’ she said frivolously.
‘Oh, you heard that did you?’ she said sheepishly, her face flushing with embarrassment. ‘Well, Dad laughed as well,’ she added quickly, attempting to put part of the blame on her father, who really should have set an example for his only child.
‘How did you get Suzy to drop her keels?’ Larry asked Lorraine. ‘I was led to believe the gearing mechanism was damaged beyond repair.’
Lorraine went strangely quiet. ‘Um – Suzy told me,’ she replied with a nervous laugh and reached into her handbag.
They exchanged worried glances as she rummaged.
‘I asked her about the strange compass – and then suddenly, a book fell from the shelves above me and into my hands,’ added Lorraine hotly.
‘Now, strike me down with a bowling ball,’ Larry exclaimed in astonishment. ‘I haven’t seen that book in years.’
Lorraine placed the book into Larry’s twitching fingers. With a deep intake of breath, he opened the battered book with Rachel leaning in close, but her face scrunched up as a nasty whiff of stale mildew wafted up her nostrils, and she had to stifle the start of a sneeze.
Disregarding the half-ripped blank pages at the beginning of the book, Larry skimmed through the rest of the pages whose immaculate handwritten words adorned every page; however, in contrast, scrawling scarlet lines of crossed-writing embellished the first chapter heading.
Larry looked up from the book, still grinning from ear to ear. ‘This is Professor Shire’s book all right – I thought I recognised the cover and Thomas’ neat handwriting,’ he explained, thumbing through the other crinkled pages. ‘It’s his notes for the Mud Skipper – for Suzy.’
‘Look at page twelve,’ Lorraine told him assertively. ‘I followed the instructions to the letter, flipped a couple of switches on the dashboard and bashed the compass three times like it said, and the keels fell down.’
‘I see what you mean,’ Larry enthused, placing the book into Rachel’s patient outstretched hands. ‘I wonder who wrote the crossed-writing,’ he added with a thoughtful but curious undertone.
Rachel stared at the writing. At first, she thought her grandmother had penned the untidy scrawl, but by the writer’s shaky slant, it occurred to her the handwriting appeared hurried, almost desperate, and a shiver ran down her spine as she read the prose out for all to hear:
‘Beyond the oceans of the Remorrah, The Scarlet Lady drifts alone. Broken by time’s eternal curse, she withers not. Unanchored by fate, the chains weigh heavy on her heart as eternity beckons.’
An uncomfortable eerie silence lingered as they digested the odd haunting words. Rachel decided to keep what little she knew about the Remorrah and The Scarlet Lady to herself (at least for now).
‘Well, I know one thing’s for sure,’ said Larry. ‘The Scarlet Lady hasn’t drifted on any ocean in a very long time.’
‘How d’you know that?’ Rachel quizzed him.
Larry chuckled and stepped to one side. Lydia groaned but grinned.
‘Rachel – may I present…’ Larry said theatrically, bowing and then grabbing one end of a bulky green tarpaulin, ‘The Scarlet Lady.’
Rachel felt as cold as ice as Larry yanked at the obstinate tarpaulin. Her heightened senses cascaded through her body and danger seeped in through every pore on her pale skin.
‘Damn thing’s stuck on…’ Larry muttered under his breath and gave the tarpaulin an almighty tug.
Rachel acted instinctively. Her eyesight blurred as her shoes took flight, and before she knew it, she had rugby-tackled Larry into a pile of lobster baskets just as an almighty crashing noise reached her ears.
Winded, dazed and somewhat confused as he caught his breath, Larry stared at Rachel through a set of wooden bars. Unhurt by her rash action, she went to pull him out of his predicament, but she felt a pair of hands pulling her up and back onto her trembling legs.
‘Rachel – are you all right?’ Lorraine asked.
‘I think so,’ she replied shakily, but her body throbbed excruciatingly.
Lydia wrenched the lobster basket off Larry’s head. ‘Larry would have been killed if it wasn’t for your quick thinking, Rachel.’
Rachel gave them a confused look, but realisation soon dawned on her as her eyes followed the trail of splintered wood that lay across the deck. Partly covered with a ripped tarpaulin, an old clinker rowing boat rolled gently from side to side, held aloft by a single rope pulley. Right above and behind the wheelhouse, a black smoke-stained sign said:
LIFEBOAT: PLEASE KEEP EXITS CLEAR
Rachel took in the boat’s weathered hull; a dull brass nameplate clung onto the wood with just a couple of corroded rivets and a piece of gum. The Scarlet Lady now had a gaping hole in its side from the untimely fall.
Lydia pulled Larry to his feet.
Larry faced filled with gratitude. ‘Now, it’s my turn to thank you for saving my life,’ he told Rachel humbly, but he gave her a funny look. ‘How on earth did you know the rope pulley was going to break?’
‘Her exceptional hearing would be my guess,’ Lorraine interjected with a broad smile. ‘That’s why she’s so good at eavesdropping.’
‘Well, Rachel – I’ve never seen reflexes like yours before,’ said Larry, sounding impressed. ‘With speed like that, I’ll wager you’re the fastest athlete at school?’ he added admiringly.
Lorraine let out a stunted cough. ‘Rachel’s never been interested in school sports,’ she told Larry flatly. ‘Mind you, after what I’ve just seen, I think she should enter Plums’ Egg and Spoon race.’
Rachel’s jaw plummeted. ‘You can’t be serious, Mum,’ she told her.
Lorraine’s face took on a devilish demeanour. ‘You’ll be eleven by then, and anyway, someone needs to wipe that insufferable smug smile off Mrs Asquith-Wells’ pompous face,’ she added snidely. ‘Her daughter, Penelope, hasn’t lost a single Egg and Spoon race yet.’
Rachel sighed. She knew all too well, she had inherited her father’s acumen for sport, and as those fledgeling weeks at Plums had flown by, it had been evident to her sporting coach that Miss Rachel Cook had no athletic abilities, whatsoever. Her coach had finally abandoned her with a medicine ball, so at least she could scrape a pass in the subject.
Larry stepped towards the listing lifeboat. ‘Sorry, old girl,’ he said apologetically. ‘That’s a nasty gash you have there.’
‘Can you fix The Scarlet Lady?’ Rachel asked him.
‘No,’ said Larry glumly, ‘and she’s going to need a ship’s carpenter to fix that gaping hole in her side –’
They all jumped backwards in alarm: a hefty pile of broken bric-a-brac, blankets and old lifejackets fell through the newly made hole of the lifeboat. Dinner plates spun but soon broke into smithereens, and pitiful squeaking noises arose from within the folds of the blanketed wool.
Lydia edged forwards and knelt down beside lumpiest blanket that wriggled about; she unfolded the musty wool and smiled: two bundles of black fluff made their appearance and poked their inquisitive heads out.
‘Now then, would you take a look at that,’ Larry chortled. ‘Looks like we have a couple of stowaways on board.’
‘These kittens only look a few days old,’ said Lydia pensively. ‘I bet their mother’s out looking for them right now.’
‘They must be older than that,’ Rachel told Lydia, kneeling down beside her. ‘Look – their eyes are just beginning to open – oh, one of the kittens’ ears is missing!’
‘Can you see any blood? Maybe it’s been injured,’ Larry suggested.
‘I can’t tell with all the fuzzy fur,’ Rachel replied and slowly reached her hand out towards the kittens. The one-eared kitten hesitated for a moment, but it meowed and rubbed her hand with its head. The other kitten, however, hissed and spat back at her; it slowly crept back, cowered down and glared back at her with venomous, unblinking eyes.
With a gentle touch, Rachel swept the one-eared kitten into her arms, but the other cat hunkered down and growled threateningly at her, its scowling face full of rising spite and fury. The one-eared kitten purred away as she rubbed under its chin, but she couldn’t see any signs of injury, so she gathered the kitten was born without a right ear.
‘So, what are we going to do with these two, love,’ Larry asked Lydia.
‘Well, you’re going to put the lifeboat back together as best you can,’ she told him firmly, ‘and then we’re going to put the kittens back into the blanket, and hopefully their mother will come looking for them when we get Suzy back to port.’
‘And if not,’ Larry hinted.
‘Then, we’ll have to find them a new home,’ Lydia replied.
‘Mum – d’you think we could give Flotsam a home if its mother doesn’t turn up?’ asked Rachel cajolingly, smiling down at the contented kitten as it purred even louder on hearing its newly appointed name.
Lorraine hadn’t heard her: lost in thought, she had stooped down to retrieve the remains of a shattered plate that had landed at her feet. Now filthy from the engrained dust, her once elegant ruby painted fingernails slowly arranged the largest pieces of chipped China into the palm of her hand, and she suddenly let out a muffled cry of pain.
‘Mum – what’s the matter?’
Lorraine hid the shattered plate, ‘Oh, everything’s fine – I just have some dust in my eyes – that’s all – now, what’s this about a kitten?’