Silver Fin

  It was best not to think about it. He should just get on and do it. He slid back into the water and paddled over to the tunnel entrance.

  There was really nothing to it, he told himself, it was a piece of cake. There was nothing that could go wrong – except getting stuck in the tunnel and drowning, or possibly being eaten by eels.

  Nothing to it.

  Slowly he filled his lungs to their fullest capacity then plunged beneath the surface and into the mouth of the tunnel.

  He sculled along, arms outstretched, feet kicking up and down, his clothes bouncing along behind him. For a little while he moved quickly, but then he felt rock on one side of him. The tunnel was narrowing. Never mind, he could always grab hold of it and pull himself along, which meant he could go faster. And he had to go faster – his lungs were already beginning to burn as they filled with the poisonous carbon dioxide being produced by his overworked body. He had to hold on to his breath for as long as he could, though, to extract as much of the precious oxygen as he was able and to maintain a certain level of buoyancy. But the pressure of the water was also crushing his lungs, and he knew he would have to release that pressure soon.

  A little further on, the tunnel narrowed still more, so that its walls were brushing against him on both sides. Please, please don’t become so narrow that I can’t squeeze through. And please, please don’t cut me with any sharp stones.

  He couldn’t risk bleeding.

  How long had he been down here now? Maybe thirty seconds. Maybe only twenty. It was impossible to tell. He just had to keep groping his way forward through the utter blackness.

  He became aware of little tugs and pulls at the bundles of clothing, and then he felt something press against him, not something hard like rock, but something soft and slimy and alive. An eel. Then another. They were down here in the tunnel with him. It was their tunnel. He imagined them all around him, their inquisitive snouts sliding out of holes in the rock, tasting the water, tasting him. Was he cut? He had no way of knowing; his body was numbed and growing number by the second. Not so numb that he couldn’t feel another eel, though, as it slithered up his leg and nipped his belly with a sucking mouth. He twisted in the water and shook it loose.

  He mustn’t panic. He must keep moving.

  Come on, eels, show me the way out. Lead me out of this trap.

  The pain in his lungs was growing unbearable and he let out a few bubbles. It felt a little better, but he knew that he didn’t have much oxygen left.

  A larger eel now slid along the entire length of his body, feeling him with its wide snout. A second one twisted round his left ankle and, as he stretched a hand forward, it fell on a fat, slippery body that wriggled out from under his fingers and, with a powerful swipe of its tail, shot away down the tunnel.

  The eels had distracted James for a moment, and now he realised with a shock that he had arrived at a section of the tunnel that was only just wide enough for him to squeeze through. If he went any further, there would be no turning back; he would only be able to go forward. Forward into what? Into a tunnel that could narrow down to a few inches for all he knew. And he’d be stuck there – unable to go backwards or forward, with no breath left, surrounded by the waiting eels.

  Would they wait until he was dead before they started feeding? Or would they begin while he was still alive?

  Don’t think about that. Just make up your mind.

  Forward into the unknown? Or back into that dark cave?

  He’d wasted so much time thinking, he wasn’t even sure that he would have enough breath now to get all the way back to where he’d started. Especially as he would have to move backwards, pushing with his hands, because there was no question of turning round.

  The longer he hesitated, the less time he had, and the inquisitive eels were growing bolder by the minute, nudging him, smelling him, rubbing their long bodies against him…

  What the hell.

  Every insane decision he’d taken so far had paid off: going down the branch of the pine tree, swinging on to the wall, climbing down the well shaft, dropping into the pool… He had to trust in his own crazy guardian angel.

  He let out another bubble of air and pulled himself into the gap, which scraped him on all sides, grazing his spine. But – thank God – he could still go forward, wriggling like an eel himself, pushing with knees and elbows, crawling with his fingertips along the rock. He was going to make it. He’d made the right choice. He let out the last of his breath and squirmed forward, racing against time, his blood singing in his ears, his head wanting to explode, his lungs full of acid.

  And then he stopped.

  He could go no further.

  What was it?

  One of the bundles had got caught behind him. He jerked his hips to try and free it. Come on! Come on! He couldn’t get a hand back to untie his belt. He wormed his body backwards to give the bundle some slack, then jerked forward again. He’d done it. He was free. He was moving again.

  No. His fingers felt something. Solid rock.

  He’d come to a dead end.

  It couldn’t be! To have come this far, to have risked so much. His guardian angel had let him down, and now she was laughing at him. ‘See how I teased you? How I offered you escape? But you can’t escape. All I really have for you is a lonely death.’

  James was losing consciousness. Mad thoughts were playing in his mind. He opened his eyes. The sun was blazing in a deep-blue sky, palm trees threw ragged shadows on to the white sand of a beach. What was going on? Of course – it was only a picture. And next to it he could see his picture of King George…

  He was back in his room at Eton.

  But that couldn’t be.

  He shook his head.

  Which was real, which was the dream? Yes – a dream, it had to be. This was all just a dream. He was in his bed at Eton, asleep, this couldn’t be happening in real life, could it? It was too awful.

  And then he saw his Uncle Max’s face, smiling at him.

  He wasn’t at Eton, he was at the cottage, and Max was telling him one of his stories, but now he looked angry.

  ‘James!’ he yelled, and the sound came from far, far away. ‘Go on. Don’t give up.’

  ‘Give up what?’

  Oh yes… The rock, the tunnel, he was underwater…

  Freezing black water.

  But what could he do?

  Nothing.

  Don’t be stupid. Don’t give in.

  He felt his way forward again. It was still solid rock; there was still no way out of here, and no air to go back. There was nothing he could do but lie here. Yes, just lie here. It would all be all right. He could sleep. All he had to do was open his mouth and breathe in a mouthful of water, fill his lungs with it and it would all be over… They said that the pain of breathing in water was less than the pain of having empty lungs…

  ‘James!’

  Who was that? He turned to look, spun round and saw a dim light… above him! There was a way out above him. How stupid! He had never looked up. He pushed off from the floor of the tunnel, drifted slowly upwards until, yes, he could see the moon and stars, and…

  Air.

  Blessed, fresh air.

  He was out. He was free. He filled his lungs, which hurt like the devil and made him cough agonisingly, but it didn’t matter, he was out.

  Painfully slowly, feeling as if he would sink at any moment, he swam to the bank, where he crawled out and was violently sick. The sodden bundles of clothes were tangled with writhing eels, but he didn’t care, they were just eels. They flopped back into the water as he lay there on the grass, panting and shivering.

  Four hours earlier, propping himself up with the aid of an old broomstick, Kelly had made it safely through the rubbish dump to the cellar in the tumbledown building, where he had deduced that he had broken his ankle. He’d strapped it up with some strips of canvas that he’d cut from an old tarpaulin and then he made a splint out of some pieces of broken packing case. Then he sat wit
h his back against the wall, clutching a knife, ready for anything.

  He had no idea how long he’d been here, drifting in and out of consciousness, fighting the pain in his leg. He had water, at least, and some food, but he wasn’t sure how much longer he could last.

  The he heard a sound. Someone was coming, he heard the trapdoor creak open. He tensed. He’d been in some tight spots before, but this wasn’t his territory. Never mind, nobody was going to take Red Kelly without a fight. He clutched his penknife in one hand and the broomstick in the other and tried to see who it was in the dark.

  ‘Kelly?’

  It was James.

  Kelly had never been happier to hear anyone’s voice in his life.

  ‘Down here, mate.’ He switched on his torch and was surprised to see a bedraggled, sopping, half-naked figure, carrying two bundles of wet clothes, his body grazed and bruised, his hair tangled and filthy.

  ‘Bloody hell, what happened to you?’

  ‘It’s a long story,’ said James as he closed the trapdoor. ‘I’ll tell you while we get ready. We’ve got to get out of here, Red. It’s only a matter of time before Hellebore comes after us. So far, he doesn’t know about you or this hiding place, but he’ll be bound to look.’

  As James struggled back into his wet things, he told Kelly all that had happened. Kelly was amazed and kept stopping James and getting him to repeat what he had said, hardly able to believe him, while keeping up a constant stream of interjections – ‘You’re kidding me… never…’ and other phrases too obscene to repeat.

  James’s clothes were cold and clammy and they stuck to him annoyingly, but at last he was ready – or as ready as he could ever hope to be.

  ‘So what about you, then?’ he said, staring at Red. ‘Can you walk?’

  ‘I’ve no bloody choice, have I?’ said Kelly hoarsely. ‘I can hop at least, and I’ve got me stick, but you’re going to have to help me.’

  ‘Of course…’ James took a deep breath and looked at Kelly hopefully. ‘Have you thought of a plan?’

  ‘A plan of sorts…’ Kelly paused, and struggled to his feet. ‘What it boils down to, Jimmy, me lad, is we go out the same way we come in.’

  ‘You mean, in the back of a lorry?’ said James.

  ‘No,’ said Kelly. ‘In the front.’

  ‘The front?’ James struggled to understand.

  ‘From what you tell me,’ said Kelly, leaning on James’s damp shoulder for support, ‘it’s not dawn yet. So it must be five o’clock at the latest. There won’t be anyone about. If we wait and try to hide out in the back of a lorry, it’ll be too late, someone’ll sound the alarm and they’ll be swarming all over the place looking for us. Also, we don’t know what lorries are going to be going out when.’

  ‘I know,’ said James. ‘But I still don’t follow you –’

  Kelly interrupted him. ‘The gates’ll be guarded all day and night, but one of them big lorries could smash through them, no trouble.’

  ‘Yes, but who’s going to drive?’ James felt dizzy and sat down, his head spinning.

  ‘Well, it’s not me, is it, Sherlock?’ said Kelly. ‘With this leg.’

  ‘But I’ve only ever driven my uncle’s car. I can’t drive a lorry,’ James protested.

  ‘You’re going to have to try,’ snapped Kelly.

  ‘Won’t they follow us?’

  ‘Not if we nobble the other trucks. It won’t stop them for good, but it might just give us the time we need to get to Keithly before them.’

  ‘I don’t know…’

  ‘If you’ve got a better plan I’d like to hear it, mate,’ said Kelly forcefully. ‘I can’t walk, you can’t fly, but a lorry drives pretty much like a car. It’s just bigger an’ heavier, that’s all.’

  James thought for a moment, then his body was hit by another wave of heat and his mind fizzed.

  ‘OK,’ he said, jumping up, his eyes wild. ‘Let’s do it!’

  ‘Oh, bloody hell,’ said Kelly. ‘I was hoping you was going to talk me out of it.’

  25

  Sure as the Sunrise

  Apart from the lone figure dozing by the gate, the compound was deserted; all the other men were sleeping soundly in their bunks.

  There was a faint glimmer of brightness in the sky and most of the floodlights had been switched off. James and Kelly skirted round the edge of the yard and, as quietly as possible, entered the first of the two sheds where the vehicles were parked. Kelly had his arm across James’s shoulders for support and the two of them were worn out. Red sat down on a pile of sacks and got his breath back. His clothes were soaked with sweat and he was evidently in some pain.

  ‘Now what?’ said James.

  ‘You still got your knife?’

  ‘It’s in my heel.’

  ‘Well, there’s a lorry, and there’s its tyres, so what are you waiting for?’

  James grinned, got out his knife and set to. The sound of air hissing out of the ruined tyres was music to his ears, and it was very satisfying watching the lorry tip over and sink down as they deflated. Kelly worked with relish too, cutting wires, removing sparking plugs, slashing fuel lines.

  It was a tense but exhilarating few minutes. James kept thinking that somebody would come in and find them, but they managed to sabotage every vehicle in the shed without being detected. There was a very strong smell of petrol and spilled oil, and James hoped that it wouldn’t alert the sleeping guard.

  ‘Why don’t we start a fire?’ suggested Kelly, a wicked glint in his eye. ‘That’d really give them something to think about.’

  ‘No,’ said James. ‘Too risky. It might get out of hand before we’re safely away. Come on.’

  They checked that the coast was still clear and moved into the second shed, where they carried on puncturing tyres, ripping out engine parts, blocking up exhausts with oily rags and generally wrecking Hellebore’s transport. They couldn’t be sure that there were no other vehicles elsewhere in the castle grounds, but all the ones they’d found were well and truly out of action. One they left alone, however, a big Albion lorry with a full tank of petrol. On the radiator was the familiar sunburst badge and the legend ‘Sure as the Sunrise’.

  ‘She’d better be,’ whispered Kelly as James climbed inside and checked the controls. Everything was bigger than in the car, but basically it looked the same. He just hoped he had the strength to control it. He remembered his fantasy about Jack climbing the beanstalk into the giant’s castle. Well, this was the giant’s car all right.

  He helped Kelly up.

  ‘Ready?’ James said. ‘Once I start this engine, they’re going to hear us.’

  ‘Let ’em,’ said Kelly, and James fired her up, pushing the accelerator right down to the floor. She roared and rattled, shaking the two boys on the seat. James glanced over at Kelly.

  Kelly gave the thumbs-up. ‘Go on,’ he said, and James released the brake. For a moment nothing happened and James almost panicked before he realised that the Albion’s controls were much heavier than Max’s car’s and he had to be brutal with the pedals, leaning on them with all his weight. At last the lorry jerked forward, bumping out of the shed and across the cobbles of the yard towards the gates.

  James floored the accelerator and the sleeping guard was startled into action by the noise. He raced towards them, gesticulating wildly with his arms, but James didn’t let up and at the last moment the man dived out of the way with a yelp of fright.

  The tall, wooden gates were getting nearer and nearer and James wondered whether they were going fast enough to batter their way through.

  Well, there was only one way to find out. ‘Hold tight!’ James yelled, and closed his eyes. They hit the gates with a terrific bang. Splintered wood whipped across the bonnet and rattled against the windscreen, but the gates fell away and they were through. The lorry had barely slowed down at all and the second set of gates gave in just as easily, although the windscreen was badly cracked by a large lump of flying timber.


  ‘Yahoo!’ yelled Kelly, and he leant out of his window to wave his fist triumphantly at the receding compound. ‘See you later, you mugs!’

  The engine whined and jerked, missing a beat. The boys were thrown forward in their seats and Kelly looked anxiously at James.

  ‘Is she all right?’

  ‘Yes, sorry, wrong gear.’ James got the lorry back under control and they howled off down the road.

  Driving the Albion was similar to driving his uncle’s car, except it was so much bigger and heavier. James had to be very careful on the corners to stop the thing tipping over or veering out of control. It took all his strength to turn the huge steering wheel and he seemed to have to wrench it endlessly round and round in order to steer through even the gentlest of bends.

  But the further they went, the more confident he became. He loosened his grip on the wheel and relaxed his tense muscles. He couldn’t relax too much, however, as the road was deeply rutted and the lorry bounced along uncomfortably, shaking the teeth in his skull.

  The lorry’s engine was big and powerful, but not fast, and the road to Keithly was by no means direct; it meandered over the moors, along the way connecting various tiny villages that were little more than clusters of one or two houses, most of which were abandoned and falling into ruin.

  ‘A life on the open road, eh, Jimmy boy?’ said Kelly, putting his feet up and settling back into his seat with his hands behind his head.

  ‘Don’t get cocky,’ said James. ‘We’re not clear yet. Even if we do make it to Keithly, we’ve still got to convince Sergeant White that we’re telling the truth; and who’s he going to believe, two boys who’ve stolen a lorry or Lord Randolph Hellebore, monarch of all he surveys?’

  ‘Well, Fatty White only has to go up to the castle and take a look around for himself.’

  ‘What’ll he see? Eels in tanks? Some big pigs? A few scientists doing some obscure research? Randolph can blind him with science for as long as he likes.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, all right,’ said Kelly grumpily.

  ‘And that’s provided we actually make it into Keithly,’ James went on. ‘What if Randolph telephones ahead? Calls somebody in Keithly? We could be trapped on the road.’