A few times a year, maybe. If there’s a letter and I’m passing, I’ll take it. I’ll be calling by sometimes when I’m at the fishing. Sometimes I’ll be taking a bit of extra fish.’
‘Otherwise they do their own fishing?’
‘They do,’ said Finn, and added presently. ‘They’ll be putting out baulks – long lines, that is – when it’s fair weather. Plenty of cod offshore – callig – ling – they’ll be getting that.’
The island drew nearer. The lines of rock were tilted at an angle of thirty degrees or so, as if the island was a layered cake slowly sliding off a tilted plate. Archie wondered if the layers below extended right across the sea bed. If only one could look down into the sea as through a glass … but the waters kept their secrets, and it was hard to see how it could ever be otherwise.
A cloud of birds hung over the island, and as they got closer they could see that they were ceaselessly circling round it.
‘Puffins,’ said Ben.
‘Tommy Noddies – Ellan Bride puffins,’ corrected Finn. ‘It was always the Tommy Noddies on Ellan Bride, and Manx puffins on the Calf. But back when my father was a boy, there were long-tails got ashore from a wreck on the Calf, and there’s not hardly no puffins to be found on the Calf these days at all, for all they would be getting a good living out of them for many a year before that.’ Finn glanced at the surf breaking over the Chickens. ‘Wind’s freshening. I’m hoping we’ll be making a landing, for all.’
‘You think we might not?’ Archie broke in sharply.
‘We mightn’t be getting into Giau y Vaatey. Or if we are getting in, I mightn’t be getting out again. I was hoping the wind wouldn’t be freshening. It’s too late with the tide now to be putting you ashore on the slabs.’
Archie bit his lip. But there was no point saying anything. The very wind that had brought them here so easily might now be their undoing. Having got so far, it would be maddening to have to go all the way back, beating into the wind. Nothing he could do about it. Nothing anyone could do about it, but wait and see.
There were puffins in the water, and puffins flying past the boat, some with beaks full of little fish. If it wasn’t for the tower at the top of the hill the island could have been primeval; the rocks and the birds belonged to … what? … the third day of Creation? The fourth? But now it was the sixth at least, because when Archie looked up he could see the lighthouse tower.
A crack appeared in the northern cliffs. They passed a stack with a pinpoint of light in its heart that gradually grew until the stack turned into an arch, and they could see the sea shining on the other side. Beyond the stack was a fissure full of tumbled boulders, and the dark mouth of a cave. Sea and sky were suddenly full of birds. A wild clamour rose from the crack, and a plume of kittiwakes, far more graceful than the puffins, soared above the headland, riding the air currents. A thin ribbon of white fringed the rocks ahead. A scatter of rounded boulders suddenly turned into seals, which humped their way down to the water and dived in a series of neat splashes. A minute later half a dozen heads surfaced close to the boat, watching the new arrivals with dark, dog-like eyes.
‘If you’ll be taking the second pair of oars, Master Benjamin. Juan, stand by the sail!’
The boat rounded the point, and immediately a gentler coastline opened up before them. A colony of shags watched the boat uneasily as it slipped past their skerry, then one by one the birds shambled into flight, or flopped into the sea to emerge yards away.
Now they could see the long green back of the land. The light tower wasn’t built on the very highest point: a little rocky knoll rose before it, but the fifteen-foot tower out-topped the summit. A line of low cliffs ran, parallel to the shore, from the highest point of the island down to the northern promontory. Below the cliffs green turf sloped to the sea. They saw the line of a turf-covered dyke above first a small sandy beach, and then a bigger one. A rowing boat lay on the beach. ‘That’s good enough, they’ll be getting her pulled up right now,’ said Finn. ‘The two of them, just – they couldn’t always be managing it. But there’s the boy now. That’ll be helping.’ Finn Watterson glanced up and looked Archie straight in the eye for the first time. ‘The boy’s been brought up to it, sir. His Granddad it was, was the first keeper. The family’s been brought up to it, is what I’m wanting to say. Everyone wouldn’t be wanting that life, but they’ve been brought up to it, you see. All of them.’
Abruptly Finn shifted his gaze as they passed the beach. ‘Ready, boy. Now!’ The sail came down in a series of jerks. Ben and Juan unshipped the oars. ‘Keep her going as she is.’ Finn was standing at the tiller, scanning the rocks. ‘That’s the landing place, you see? All right, we’ll be taking a look.’
White water was breaking on the rocks at the entrance to a narrow giau. The water in the inlet looked smooth and green, but there were sharp waves breaking on the shingle. The yawl rocked in the swell where the sea began to funnel in. The oars dipped. ‘As she is! Keep her as she is. Let’s be taking a look … Ay, we’ll be getting in all right … it’s whether we’ll be getting out again …’
Archie stopped himself biting his knuckles. No point worrying, or willing them to go in. It was Finn’s decision, and Archie’s job to abide by it. It might be days before they got so near again. Finn was looking out to sea again, testing the wind.
‘Right, we’re going in! Soon as we’re alongside, you two get ashore. I’ll be offloading the things – fast! All right! Hard a-starboard! Master Ben, take the painter. Juan, don’t be shipping your oars. We’ll need to be rowing out fast. All right, Master Buchanan: you’re seeing that black rock up above there? And the streak of white across the cliff below it? We’re lining ’em up, right? Ready then! Now!’
Seaweed-covered rocks guarded the dark giau. Shags nested on the rocky sides; they jabbed the air menacingly as the yawl slid in on the top of a wave. The tide was at its lowest, and the rocks were thick with seaweed. Between the fronds there were patches of barnacles and baby mussels where boots could get a grip. A yard to go – Ben stood ready on the gunwale. He glanced up, and saw three figures above him on the rock, silhouetted black shapes with the sun behind them. All female – the solid outlines of their dresses made them look as if they’d grown out of the shadowed rocks – but each one a different size. Just for a second they seemed tall and menacing, dark shadows between him and the sun.
The next wave rose. Ben threw the painter ashore, and the tallest woman caught it and tied it to a rusty iron ring in the rock. The boat fell back and rose again. Ben leapt ashore with the next wave. Then Archie jumped too, and landed on the rock beside him.
CHAPTER 11
THROUGH THE CLOSED SHUTTERS THE SUN MADE STRIPED patterns against the bedroom wall. Between the shutter and the glass a trapped bee buzzed and buzzed against the pane. The wind murmured in the chimney, rustling the dried-out rushes in the grate. Mally’s truckle bed was made, the flowered coverlet pulled up over the pillow. The floor had been swept, the rag rug freshly shaken. Lucy’s print gown and petticoat lay across the rocking chair, where the cat had made itself a comfortable nest out of them, and curled up on top. The framed text above the bed was embroidered in blue and white, with a border of forget-me-nots in matching threads: This is the day which the Lord hath made. We rejoice and be glad in it (Psalm 118:24)
Lucy lay sprawled across the bed in her nightgown, half-covered by the sheet. She wore no nightcap, and she’d thrown off the blanket. She was sound asleep, having gone to bed as usual after noonday dinner, and no dreams had come to trouble her.
There
