Magnus Fin and the Moonlight Mission (10 page)

I am rowing on the sea. I am rowing on the moonlit sea.

Maybe it was the white shining face of the moon. Maybe it was the rhythmic slap and slosh of water against the hull of the boat. Or maybe it was the mesmerising lull of the chanting going round and round in his head, but to look at Tarkin you’d think he was in some kind of trance. His pale blue eyes stared ahead. The silvery moonlight fell upon half of his face, plunging the other half in shadow. His long thin arms pulled the oars back and forth, cutting into the water and sluicing through it, though whether the boat moved or not was hard to tell.

I am rowing on the sea. I am rowing on the moonlit sea.

He forgot about toffee. He forgot even about his mermaid. He forgot about the lurking danger of sharks or killer whales. The image of his best friend Magnus Fin floated into his mind.
I am rowing on the moonlit sea.

Deep down in the stinking fridge dump new words suddenly penetrated Fin’s thumping headache:
I am rowing on the moonlit sea.

Magnus Fin jolted up. He banged his head on the fridge behind him. Hope leapt into his throat.

It came again:
I am rowing on the moonlit sea.
Even in Magnus Fin’s frantic state he could make out the slight
rise and fall of an American accent. It could only be Tarkin!

Again Fin struggled to push the fridge off his foot but it refused to budge. The creature seemed to have retreated back to its fridge.

In agony Fin tried to focus his thoughts.
Help me, Tarkin! Help me! I’m down here. Help!

To communicate this way you had to picture strongly the person you were trying to get through to. Fin imagined Tarkin’s pale blue eyes, his gangly limbs, his long fair hair, his shark’s tooth necklace, his wide smile.

Help me! I’m down here. I’m stuck under a fridge. Oh help!

Aquella slept soundly. She hadn’t slept deeply like this since coming ashore five months earlier. She was back under the sea in the protective cosy pelt of her seal skin. She twisted, plunged and spun. She tumbled in the clear waters. She bared her sharp teeth and scooped up fresh salmon. She flicked her tail fins lazily back and forth. She turned swift somersaults with her brother. Or she hauled herself up onto a warm rock and basked in the sun. She was back with her selkie family, and in that deep sleep between moonlight and sand she had never felt happier.

In the distance the winkle picker walked along the beach path, swinging his empty pail. With the tide out and the moon full he could forage for hours. He had a torch which he shone now and then to check his way, though it was hardly needed on such a clear night. If he wondered about the small boat out at sea he didn’t show it. Once down at the skerries he set to work, bending to pluck whelks from the rocks. As he worked, his song lilted over the stones:

Out at sea Tarkin’s pale blue eyes grew wide as dinner plates. His face turned white. His mouth fell open though still no words dropped from his mute mouth. His head buzzed. A voice was in his head and it wasn’t his! It had a Scottish accent:
Help me! I’m stuck under a fridge!

Tarkin shook his head. He pinched himself but still the voice went on:
Help me!
Panicking he clutched the oars and peered over the side of the boat. He could see nothing. With trembling fingers he hauled in one oar and grabbed the torch. He flashed it over one side, then the other. There was nothing down there – nothing but water. His heart flapped like a trapped bird in a box. But still the anxious words came, jabbing into his head:
Help me. Tarkin. Help!

It was the thought-speak. Somehow Magnus Fin’s mind had broken through into Tarkin’s. This was it! He was needed at long last. He hadn’t stolen Frank’s boat and risked his life just to practise rowing. Tarkin pinched himself awake. He snatched a deep breath to calm himself down. “This is it, Tark!” He slapped his legs, whipping up his sense of adventure and courage. “The moment you’ve been waiting for. Oh man. What a blast. Fin needs you. Don’t blow it, Tark. Don’t blow it!”

He heaved the oars into the boat and waited for instructions. Having another person’s thoughts inside
your head was weird, scary even, but Tarkin tried hard to stay focused.
I’m here, buddy,
he thought, as loud and clear as he could.
I’m on the sea. Over and out!

If Magnus Fin hadn’t been prisoner under a fridge at the bottom of the sea he might have laughed at Tarkin’s “over and out”. A tiny smile broke over Fin’s anxious face. The relief of making contact. Fin recalled seeing Tarkin’s boat when he had jumped from the black rock. The boat had a winch. Maybe, just maybe, Tarkin could winch him up? But then what about the creature? He couldn’t just leave him in this dump, could he?

You picking me up, buddy?
It was Tarkin, somewhere up there on the sea, ready and waiting.

Lower the winch, Tark!
Fin struggled to form his thoughts. Could Tarkin stay focused enough to receive them? He had to act fast.
Follow my thoughts, Tarkin. You’re close by. I’ll tell you when to stop. Then lower the winch. Please, Tarkin, you’ve got to get me out of here!

The winch, Fin knew, had a hook on the end for winching up creels. If luck was on his side it might, just might, drop on target so Fin could grab it. Then it could lift him out. He’d have to push the fridge over with every last ounce of strength. He didn’t want to break his leg.
Come on, Tarkin, hurry!

Fin groaned. Something told him it would be easier to find a needle in a haystack than for Tarkin to drop the hook down through the water to exactly where Fin could reach up and grab it. But Tarkin was good at getting those funfair lobster-claw machines to pick up toys and sweets. It just might work. There was no plan B – it had to work.

On my way, buddy. Hang in there. Tarkin’s on his way. Roger Dodger, over and out!

The excitement and thrill of being needed at last was stronger than any fear about being alone at night upon the sea. Tarkin dipped the oars back into the water and strained to receive his friend’s guiding thoughts.
This way. Keep going. You’re close.

It was like one of those hot and cold games he and Fin played on the beach. Sometimes Fin’s thoughts faded away until all Tarkin could hear was a faint whispering. Then back they came, in signal.
You’re close now, Tark.
He kept rowing, occasionally glancing nervously over his shoulder as the craggy outline of the cliffs grew further and further away.

Tarkin was straining to catch Fin’s thoughts so much that he could just make out a distant fiddle tune. He recognised it as a song they’d been learning at school, “Hey Johnnie Cope Are Ye Walking Yet?” He thought of the ceilidh, and his mother and Frank. “And are your drums a-beating yet?” And what would Frank say if he knew where Tarkin was now?

Fin? Magnus Fin? Hey – where are you? Drat! Blast!
Tarkin cursed in his mind. In thinking about the ceilidh he’d lost contact with Magnus Fin.

Fin? Hey Fin?
But it was no good. The signal was dead. Tarkin struggled to focus his mind, to push out thoughts of a red-faced and very disappointed
stepfather
and a tear-stained mother.

Magnus Fin,
he called in his thoughts, as loudly as he could.
Magnus Fin? Sorry, buddy, I lost you. Where are you?
But the lonely sea slapping the hull of the boat was the only reply. And Tarkin was now a very long way from land. 

The green-eyed creature of the dump slept in fitful snatches. Now, awake again, he went back to banging fridge doors. He banged so furiously he made underwater waves. Wedged miserably under his wretched prison Magnus Fin felt the force of water push him forwards then back. He could do nothing but flop back and forth like a rag doll. He felt sick and remembered the huge helpings of shepherd’s pie he had eaten – when? It felt like days ago, though putting his hand over his belly he still felt full. The creature, now drumming madly, had managed to speak to him once. Even if it was only one word. Could it manage again? Tarkin, his rescuer, it seemed, had gone. Fin, with one hand on his belly and the other clutching his
moon-stone,
called out in his selkie thoughts,
Fridge drummer? Please help me get out. My leg’s really sore. Please?

The banging stopped. Fin grabbed the opportunity and called again,
You are strong. You can push this fridge off me. Please. I won’t hurt you. Please!

Then he waited. He held his breath. He hardly dared lift his head.

The creature made a move. Fin felt a swell of water. Slowly he lifted his head. He heard scampering splashing sounds. He heard the grate of metal. He dared to peer out above his fridge. The green-eyed creature
was clambering towards him over the freezers and storage tanks in a slow, lumbering fashion. It banged its slimy fist and shook its bush of hair.

Yes,
Fin called again.
That’s right – push the fridge. This one. Let me out! Please!

The thing stretched out a seaweed-covered arm. The arm trembled. The curled horned nails scraped the side of the very fridge Magnus Fin was trapped under.

Yes!
Fin went on, his whole body shaking,
Yes – go on – push it off me – go on
…

Crash! A booming thumped through the canyon. The waters heaved. The creature squealed and was flung, juddering backwards with the almighty force.

Hey! It’s me, buddy! I heard you. Lost signal for a bit but we’re back in contact. I’m bringing her down. Rescue party on its way! Roger Dodger, over and out!

The hook on the end of the winch plunged down through the water. The trembling creature crouched behind a rusting tank. It stared, terrified, as the black claw plummeted down through the water and clanged against the very fridge it had been ready to thrust aside.

The boom made by the winch-hook felt like a hammer on Magnus Fin’s skull. His trapped leg throbbed, his heart pounded, but he had caught Tarkin’s thoughts. Here was the rescue he’d given up hope for. And there, swinging and swirling through the murky waters, was the winch. Never had a hook looked so glorious. Magnus Fin struggled to form thought-speak.
Over to the right, Tark, move it over here, I can’t reach it
…

Back and forth like a pendulum the hook swung above the piled-up junk. It lurched, catching strands of seaweed. It dangled enticingly above Fin’s head.
He stretched up but his aching groping fingers found only water. Fin cried out as the hook swung off in the opposite direction.

A bit to the left now, Tark, just a bit.
Again he tried to reach it. The tantalising hook hovered only inches from his stretching fingers. But it swung away again. Fin groaned. He couldn’t believe it. So near and so far!

Tarkin. Back a bit. Come on, Tark. You can do it!

But maybe Tarkin wasn’t sure of his left and right because now the hook splashed away.

Come on, Tark! Come on! Back the other way. Try again!

From behind the rusty tank, the creature watched. Three times the hook swung close to Magnus Fin. Three times he missed. The creature watched the hook jerk up, down, then fade off into the murky water. It was beginning to understand.

The creature sprang out from behind the storage tank and swam furiously through the polluted water. It took hold of the dangling rope and dragged it towards the prisoner.

Fin saw the hook. It dangled close – so close. He strained every muscle to reach towards it. He groaned. One more inch he stretched, and at long last his fingers clasped the rough wonderful touch of iron. Had he not been in such pain he would have cried out for joy.

Bringing you up, buddy!

Fin braced himself against the jerking motion. With his free leg he tried to kick the fridge off him, but it was a big industrial fridge. It didn’t move. Fin tried to pull the hook down. Maybe the hook could topple the fridge? But there was no time. Tarkin was already reeling him up.

Wait, Tarkin. Not yet. Don’t pull me up yet!

Frantically Fin tried again to kick the fridge over. But again the creature seemed to understand. It lunged forwards and with one almighty heave, sent Fin’s
fridge-prison
tumbling, tumbling.

Magnus Fin was free! In the next instant he was floating up through the water. Below him the creature lifted its seaweed arms and stared. Its wild body and piercing eyes grew smaller and smaller as Fin, dangling from the hook, was lifted higher and higher.

Magnus Fin spun slowly up and up, until the dump was a dim blur and the fridge monster swallowed into the liquid darkness like a bad dream.

Tarkin, so excited he thought he would faint, wound up the winch rope. The closer the weight rose to the surface the lighter it became, but even so, it was hard work. He puffed. He panted. With aching arms he wound the handle. Gaping over the side he could see the dark shape of Magnus Fin’s head under the water. Tarkin secured the winch handle, crying out as he did so, “I gotcha, buddy! Oh man, oh man! I gotcha!”

Magnus Fin clung to the hook with both hands now. Seasickness had never bothered him but the jerking and jolting of the winch churned his stomach and turned his knees to jelly. His leg throbbed. Surely he was close to the surface by now? More thoughts slammed into Fin’s mind. He needed to get to Miranda – fast. If he left the water now could he re-enter the magical world of the selkies? To find Miranda, to tell her he had found the source of the sickness, to bring her his baby tooth and Neptune’s healing herbs, he had to remain in the selkie world. What now?

“I gotcha, buddy. Come on up. Wow! That was the most exciting thing I ever did!”

Fin had to think fast. He couldn’t leave the water. And what about the poor creature down there? By this time Fin could see moonlight threading through the water. Any second now he’d break the surface. He couldn’t get in the boat; he had to get to Miranda.

“Sorry, Fin, I ate all the candies.”

Fin’s head burst upwards. He shook his hair and a fountain of water splashed Tarkin in the face. But Fin kept his body underwater.

“Hey! Thanks,” he shouted. “Wow! Well done, Tarkin. That was brilliant. It was really horrible being stuck down there. Tark?”

Tarkin was puffing, panting and rubbing his arms, but with a huge smile on his face. “No – ouch – no worries, man. It – it was – easy.”

“Hey! Hey, Tarkin?” Fin called up from the water.

“Yeah?”

“Your voice! It’s back.”

In the effort and excitement Tarkin hadn’t noticed. Now he yelled for joy and rocked the boat so much he almost fell overboard.

Fin, treading water and circling his arms called out, “Is there a net stuffed under the seat?”

“A what?”

“A net. Quick, Tark. It’s not over yet. I need a net.”

Tarkin bent down and shone his torch under the seat. “Wow! Cool,” he shouted, “a net! And would you believe it? A can of diesel too!” He whistled as he dragged the net out. “Hey, Fin – no offence buddy – but you stink!”

“Thanks, Tarkin. Look, just throw me the net, will you? I can’t leave the water. Not yet. I’m going to bring you something – I mean, someone.” Fin wondered just how he was going to capture the wild “someone”. The last thing he wanted to do was go back to that dump, but there was something in the way the mad creature had helped him, and hugged him, that meant he couldn’t just leave it down there.

“Listen! When I bring it, I mean him, up, I’ll wrap him in a net, OK? Then you have to go, Tark, go like the wind to the beach by the cave. Take him to Aquella. I have to find Miranda.”

“OK, I’m ready. Like, who have you found down there? Is he a selkie?”

“I’m not sure, Tarkin, just keep him in the net and take him to Aquella.” Fin hoped Aquella would be able to cope with the creature. Aquella could cope with most things and it seemed to know her. Precious seconds were ticking by. Fin wrapped his hand over his
moon-stone.
“Have you got an anchor in there, Tark?”

“You think I got a travelling shop here, buddy?” Tarkin laughed as he looked around. It was obvious he didn’t know if there was an anchor or not. He shone his torch and sure enough, there it was under the bench, a small rusty thing on the end of a coiled rope.

“Great! OK, Tark. Drop it over the side. I don’t want to lose you.” And with the net bunched under one arm, Magnus Fin lowered himself beneath the water.

“Bye, buddy. Good luck,” Tarkin shouted, but Fin didn’t hear him.

Fin flipped upside down and kicked back his heels for all he was worth. Down through the water he swam, the very way he’d come just moments before, dangling on the end of a hook. He shone his torch-light eyes through the murky sea. Easily this time he found the round rocky crater where the dumped fridges lay, stacked higgledy-piggledy like plastic monsters.

Everything was silent in the dump. The brown and stinking water, like a stagnant pond, barely moved. The creature was hiding somewhere. Magnus Fin scanned the crater, searching for bubbles that would give away its whereabouts. But all was still, like a watery graveyard. Slowly Fin paddled, gently flipping his webbed feet. Under his elbow he clutched the net.

As he swam the brown liquid wove around his body,
snaking up his nostrils and sidling into his ears. Magnus Fin struggled not to be sick. The poison in the canyon dimmed his thoughts and hurt his head. He had to act fast. He couldn’t use another strand of seaweed, could he? He wanted to keep it for Miranda. The thought of his ailing grandmother gripped him with a sense of urgency. He had no time to lose. He stretched his arms through the water and felt slime coat the back of his hands. Frantically he scanned the dump. Where
was
the wild creature?

The deeper Fin dropped into the canyon the thicker the pollution. His head throbbed. His eyelids shut. There was nothing else for it – he would have to use another strand of Neptune’s seaweed.
You’ll have my baby tooth, Miranda,
he thought as he fumbled to unclasp his locket. If he didn’t work fast he’d be as mad as the thing he had come to rescue. Quickly he drew out one more strand. This time he ate it. Instantly the drowsiness and stinging fled. Neptune’s seaweed was powerful.

Swiftly now he swept his torch-light eyes over the tops of the fridges, freezers and tanks. The only way to capture the creature would be to catch it unawares. Just then Magnus Fin heard a tiny grunt. He drew back among seaweed and listened. The grunt changed to a whimper. Fin peered out from between two rubbery fronds and there it was just below him, crouched behind a huge fridge pulling limpets from its arm, making grunting, crunching, smacking noises as it ate. He had to hurry. From what he had seen these limpets gave it strength.

Fin swam down. The creature, so absorbed in its dinner, wasn’t aware of the boy in a wetsuit hovering
above it.
Right, Fin, three – two – one – go!
He kicked his feet. He plunged down. He loosened the net and dropped it over the creature, over its hair, over its seaweed-strewn body. It screamed in astonishment. It kicked and thrashed out, tangling itself in the net. The water frothed and churned. In a flash Fin yanked at the rope, which tightened the net in an instant, trapping the terrified creature inside.

Magnus Fin kicked his heels and heaved himself upwards, dragging the net and its squirming, screaming prisoner. For every two strokes up, the creature dragged him one stroke back. Just when Fin thought his whole body would break in two with the effort, he spied the white line of the anchor rope. He lunged out and grasped it. With one hand tugging the net and the other hand and two webbed feet clinging on to the anchor rope, Magnus Fin made his slow, aching way to the surface.

Up on the boat, because of all the pulling on the anchor rope, Tarkin was being flung this way and that. Groaning, he clung to the sides of the boat.

“Steady, Fin,” Tarkin cried out, feeling sick and scared. “I can’t swim remember. Whoa! Steady!”