The Sands of Shark Island

  Badger, Ben and Thomas painstakingly followed what Mr Rigger had done, holding their breath to see if they had done it correctly. They had, but it had taken them a long time and they knew that when you needed to tie a bowline at sea you might not have much time to do it. Yet with practice it would come to them, and they hoped that by the end of the voyage Mr Rigger would be proud of how quickly they could tie their knots.

  Everybody enjoyed working with knots and they all looked forward to the knot competition that would be held a few days before they made landfall in Antigua, the island that was to be their first port of call in the Caribbean. This competition was held every time the Tobermory crossed an ocean, and it was always hotly contested. There were two prizes: one went to the person who tied a series of knots correctly and more quickly than anybody else, and the other went to the deck that did best overall. On the last long voyage the winners had been Upper Deck, which meant that the person who had stepped forward to receive the prize was none other than William Edward Hardtack, as Head Prefect of that deck.

  “It was awful,” Badger told Ben. “We all had to stand there and see Hardtack holding up the trophy and smirking. He was so pleased with himself.”

  “Just watching it,” said Poppy, “was enough to make me feel sick.”

  “Do you think Upper Deck are going to win again?” asked Ben.

  Poppy shrugged. “Who knows? I’m going to do my best to make sure that Middle Deck wins, but you can never be sure.”

  Ben was thoughtful. He had been working hard at his knots, but he was not sure how proficient he could become in the time. He would do his best, but he was worried about letting the whole deck down if he got things wrong. And it was so easy, he felt, to get things wrong when there were so many twists and turns in even the simplest knot.

  Badger sensed his friend’s concern. “Don’t worry,” he said. “A competition is only a competition – and it doesn’t really matter if Upper Deck wins.”

  “No,” said Ben, trying to convince himself. “It doesn’t.”

  They looked at one another, and Ben laughed. “Although …” he began.

  Badger finished the sentence for him. “Although I really hope they don’t.”

  On the morning of the competition Ben and Badger were up early. Out on deck they had only the few bleary-eyed members of the night’s last watch for company. These were the people who had been on duty in the hours before dawn, sailing the ship through the darkness. They would soon be replaced by a fresh watch, although that would not happen until after breakfast.

  The two boys sat at the edge of the deck, their feet over the side. If they leaned forward they could see the water slipping past. But they were not there to look at the sea, they were there to practise their knots. As the sun rose over the horizon like a huge red ball lifting itself out of the water, they tied and re-tied their practice rope, rehearsing the steps needed to make the perfect bowline, the most reliable cleat hitch, the most effective sheet bend. These are the knots that sailors need every day, and learning them was an important part of a Tobermory education.

  Ben and Badger tested each other, making sure that every knot was faultless. Then, using Ben’s wrist-watch, they timed themselves. Ben could tie a bowline in eight seconds; Badger could do a cleat hitch in three. And a round turn and two half hitches – a very useful knot for tying boats to mooring posts – took neither of them much more than twenty seconds. They were just as quick with other knots too.

  “I think we’ve practised enough,” said Badger eventually. “I could tie these knots in my sleep, I think!”

  Ben agreed. He had just finished tying a bowline with his eyes shut – an important exercise, as there are times when you might have to tie a knot in the dark. But there comes a point when to practise more just makes you begin to doubt what you’ve learned, and so he too thought it time to stop.

  They went down below to wash. Then, once everybody had finished their breakfast, Mr Rigger summoned them on deck for the competition.

  “Pay attention, everybody,” he began. “In a minute we will issue you all with fifteen pieces of string. Take good care of these, because if you lose any they will not be replaced. Then you will each receive a piece of paper on which you will find the names of fifteen knots. You are to tie these knots, using the string with which you’ve been issued. Is that clear?”

  There was a general nodding of heads.

  “The moment you finish your knots,” said Mr Rigger, “report immediately to Matron or Miss Worsfold, who will be standing here beside me. Show them your knots and they will enter the time on their record sheet. In that way we’ll know who takes how long to do the test.” He looked out over the sea of heads. “Is that clear too?”

  Again everybody nodded.

  “So,” said Mr Rigger, “find a place to sit and you will be given your string and the exam sheet. But don’t start to tie anything until I blow my whistle.”

  Ben, Badger and Thomas all sat together on the foredeck, while Poppy, Fee, Tanya and Angela found a place near the main mast. They all received their string and their test sheet, and waited nervously for Mr Rigger’s whistle. That came at last, and everybody began to tie knots as fast as they possibly could. Most people started with the easy knots – the cleat hitch and the sheet bend – but some tackled the more complicated knots right at the beginning.

  Ben had tied seven knots when he heard Geoffrey Shark shout. “Finished!” came the triumphant cry, as the boy leapt to his feet and ran across the deck to Matron. And then, only a few seconds later, William Edward Hardtack did exactly the same thing, followed a few moments later by Maximilian Flubber.

  Badger glanced at Ben. “How can they be finished?” he hissed. “I’ve only done eight.”

  Ben was too busy to think carefully about a reply, and what came out was automatic. “They’ve cheated,” he said. “They must have.”

  “I bet you’re right,” said Thomas Seagrape. “Nobody could tie knots so quickly – not even Mr Rigger.”

  Matron entered the name of each of the boys in her notebook, along with the time. Then she passed the knots to Mr Rigger for inspection. He looked doubtful at first but as he checked each knot he nodded his approval. “Correct,” he muttered. “And this one too – correct. Correct. Correct.”

  As their handiwork was approved, Hardtack and his friends stood with their arms folded, smirking with self-satisfaction.

  “It makes me feel sick to see this,” said Thomas.

  “Me too,” agreed Badger. “Something’s wrong here – something just doesn’t add up.”

  When time was up, Mr Rigger clapped his hands and everybody handed in their knots, finished or not. Scores were then allocated, and Mr Rigger, assisted by Miss Worsfold and Matron, added them up.

  There was silence as Mr Rigger announced the results. “The individual winners,” he said, “are as follows: in first place, William Edward Hardtack.”

  There was complete silence for a moment. Then Geoffrey Shark and Maximilian Flubber cheered. This led to a few half-hearted cheers from the rest of the members of Upper Deck, although it was clear that their hearts were not in it.

  “Second place,” said Mr Rigger, “goes to Geoffrey Shark, also of Upper Deck. And third place to Maximilian Flubber. Well done, boys – it means that the overall winner is Upper Deck. A very creditable performance, I must say.”

  “Incredible performance,” whispered Badger. “Unbelievable, in fact, in the sense of being beyond belief.”

  Ben smiled wryly. “Do you think people get pleasure out of winning something when they’ve cheated? Do you think you can actually feel good if you’ve won something dishonestly?”

  Badger thought about this. “I suppose it depends on what you’re like inside,” he said at last. “If you’re rotten inside, then I think you might be quite pleased to have won – even if you’ve cheated.”

  The competition over, everybody began to disperse. And that was when Thomas made his discovery. He was sta
nding at the edge of the deck when he suddenly bent down to examine something that had caught his attention. He thought for a few moments and then beckoned his friends over to join him.

  “Found something?” asked Badger.

  Thomas indicated that they should all huddle together so as to be able to talk without being noticed. “Look at this,” he said, holding out his hand.

  “It’s string,” said Badger. “Just like the string we used for the knot test.”

  “That’s exactly what it is,” said Thomas. “Look, let’s count the pieces.”

  Carefully separating each piece of string, Thomas began the count, finishing with “… forty-three, forty-four …” He reached the final piece. “Forty-five.”

  He looked at his friends and repeated the number. “Forty-five.”

  Ben frowned. Thomas evidently thought this number was significant, but he couldn’t see why.

  “Three fifteens are?” said Thomas.

  “Forty-five,” answered Badger.

  “And how many knots did we have to tie?” asked Thomas.

  “Fifteen,” said Ben. And then it dawned on him. “Oh …” He drew in his breath. “Who was standing here during the test?”

  Thomas nodded. “Hardtack and Co. They were right here, exactly where I found the string. They must have dropped them.”

  Badger let out a low whistle. “So that’s how they did it,” he said. “They must have tied all the knots in advance, brought them along with them, then just not used the pieces of string that were handed out for the test.”

  “The cheats!” hissed Thomas. “The great big, sneaky, dishonest, low-down cheats!”

  Ben wondered what they could do.

  “Tell Mr Rigger,” suggested Badger.

  Thomas thought that this was the right thing to do. “We’ll show him the string,” he said. “That’s our proof.”

  They found Mr Rigger in the staffroom, drinking a cup of tea along with Matron and Miss Worsfold.

  “So what do we have here?” enquired Mr Rigger. “A deputation?”

  “We’d like to talk about the knot competition,” said Thomas.

  Mr Rigger smiled. “I hope you enjoyed it,” he said.

  Badger intervened. “Yes, we did, sir, but …” He trailed off.

  Mr Rigger looked concerned. “But what?”

  “But we don’t think it was fair,” said Ben.

  Mr Rigger glanced at Matron and Miss Worsfold. “But we were all watching very carefully, weren’t we, ladies? It didn’t seem unfair to us.”

  Matron shook her head. “All above board, I’d say.”

  Mr Rigger turned back to face the boys. “You’ll have to explain, I think.”

  Thomas stepped forward. He held out the bundle of string. “We found this,” he said.

  Mr Rigger looked at the string with a puzzled expression. “This is string,” he said.

  “We found it where Hardtack and his friends had been standing,” he said.

  This did not help Mr Rigger. “Well?” he said.

  “I think they cheated, sir,” chipped in Badger.

  Mr Rigger looked at Badger severely. “That’s a very serious allegation,” he said. “Tell me why you think that.”

  Badger explained their theory. When he had finished, Mr Rigger looked thoughtful and stroked his moustache, which was always a sign that he was thinking very hard. At length he spoke. “Possible,” he said. “It’s just possible, but …” He hesitated. “But I’m afraid that we just don’t have any proof.”

  “We have the string,” blurted out Thomas.

  Mr Rigger shook his head. “That’s not enough,” he said. “That could have been dropped by anybody.”

  The boys looked at one another. It was always the same when it came to the misdeeds of Hardtack and his gang. Proof – there was never enough proof, and as a result he and his friends got away with everything.

  It was Matron who spoke next. “I think Mr Rigger is right,” she said. “But I must say it gives me no pleasure to say so.”

  “And I feel the same,” said Miss Worsfold. “Sorry, boys.”

  Ben, Badger and Thomas all felt disappointed as they walked back to the companionway that led to their deck. As they did so, they heard a voice calling them. “Hey, you!”

  They turned round. William Edward Hardtack had appeared from round a corner, and behind him were standing Geoffrey Shark and Maximilian Flubber.

  “Yes?” asked Thomas.

  “What were you doing in the staffroom?” challenged Hartack. “Telling tales?”

  “Mind your own business,” retorted Badger.

  Hardtack took a step forward. “But it is my business, Stripey. It’s very much my business if people like you go in there ...” He gestured towards the staffroom door before continuing, “… to tell lies about other people.”

  Badger laughed. “Lies? You’re the one who should know all about that, Hardtack.”

  “You hear that?” said Geoffrey Shark. “You hear that, Tacky? That creep is calling you a liar.”

  “I heard it,” said Hardtack. “I heard it, Geoff.”

  He was about to say something more but he was interrupted. The staffroom door had opened and Mr Rigger came out, followed by Matron and Miss Worsfold. There was an immediate change in Hardtack’s manner.

  “Oh, good evening, Mr Rigger,” he said, his voice dripping with insincerity. “And good evening, Matron and Miss Worsfold.”

  The teachers looked at him and acknowledged his greeting, although none of them seemed too pleased to see him.

  “Let’s go,” said Badger. “No point in staying around here.”

  And with that they walked off. They all felt a strong sense of disappointment. Witnessing an act of dishonesty can be unpleasant; you feel somehow disappointed, somehow saddened. And you may hope – hope very much – that somebody will come and put things right. But sometimes nobody comes.

  In Green Island Bay

  It was Ben who heard the voices first. He was still asleep in his hammock, but had just entered that strange state between deep sleep and wakefulness – that time when your eyes are still closed but you are vaguely aware of what is happening around you. You may still be dreaming, though, and Ben was. He was back in Tobermory, he thought, standing on the harbour wall, and there was a talking seagull – which proved that it really was a dream. The seagull was trying to tell him something, but Ben was having trouble making out exactly what it was. And then a dog came – a strange, spotted dog – and chased the seagull away.

  As the voices grew louder, the dream faded, and when he opened his eyes he saw that he was in his cabin, not on the harbour wall at Tobermory, and that there, opposite him, was Badger in his hammock, one arm hanging lazily down as if he was about to pick something up off the cabin floor.

  “Badge?” said Ben. “Badge, did you hear something?”

  From Badger’s side of the cabin there came a strange noise. It could have been a word, or it could just have been the sort of grunt that says I’m still asleep. But then the sound of voices drifted down again from the deck above, and both boys half-sat up in their hammocks. (You can only half-sit up in a hammock, as if you try to sit up straight you wobble and can end up on the floor.)

  “What was that?” asked Badger, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

  “It’s morning,” replied Ben, noticing the faint light coming through their porthole. “And that sounds like the night watch shouting.”

  “Perhaps it’s just because their watch is over,” said Badger.

  But the pitch of the shouting grew higher, and the boys realised that something important must be happening up above. And then in a moment they heard what it was. “Land!” shouted a voice quite clearly now. “Land ahoy!”

  Ben and Badger wasted no time. For the last few days the whole school had known they were drawing near to the Caribbean, and at last they had arrived. At some point in the night they must have crossed that invisible boundary where the North Atlantic Ocea
n became the Caribbean. And the land that somebody had spotted would be Antigua, the island that was their first destination. It was a great moment and the boys wanted to be on deck to share in it.

  And so did everybody else. By the time Ben and Badger had thrown on their clothes and raced up the companionway, the deck was filled with people, some in their day uniforms, others still in their pyjamas and dressing gowns. Everybody was crowding at the railings, straining their eyes to see the distant smudge on the horizon that was Antigua.

  Ben and Badger found themselves standing near Poppy and Fee.

  “I thought we’d arrive this morning,” said Poppy. “I was looking at the charts yesterday and I worked out how far we had to go.”

  Poppy was particularly good at navigation. She liked using the dividers on the charts to measure distances; she loved rotating the clear plastic compass that allowed her to measure angles; she took great pleasure in poring over all the printed symbols that meant rocks and shipwrecks and lighthouses.

  “I can’t wait,” said Fee. “I can’t wait to anchor in …” She tried to remember exactly where they were going. If Poppy was particularly good at navigation and at remembering places, Fee was the opposite.

  “In Green Island Bay,” said Ben. “That’s where the Captain said we were going.”

  “I’ve seen a photograph of it,” said Poppy. “It’s a great place to anchor. You can swim with turtles and go kitesurfing, if you like. And there’s a small harbour nearby with some houses and a shop.”

  The wind was strong. It was a warm wind, though – not the sort of wind that makes you want to be inside. It was the kind of wind that caresses your face with its salty fingers and then blows through your hair in a friendly way. It was a wind that could carry a sailing ship smoothly and quickly over the waves, and that is exactly what it did now. With every minute that passed, the tiny blob on the horizon got bigger. Soon they could make out cliffs, and hills behind them. Then the hills became better defined, and they could see trees and buildings, presumably houses, but which were still just tiny white dots at this distance.