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COPYRIGHT INFORMATION
The Dragon Raft
Copyright © 2010 by Rory Barnes
Published by Wildside Press LLC
www.wildsidebooks.com
DEDICATION
For Annie and the boyos
and those old
St Kilda afternoons
CHAPTER ONE
About an hour after dawn the raft began to break up. The storm had frayed the ropes holding the empty oil drums and now two of the ropes snapped completely. The drum they’d been holding floated away. We were one drum down, seven to go. I watched the escaped drum for half a minute but soon lost sight of it amongst the raging waves. The raft sank lower in the water. Not that this made much difference. All night the waves had been washing over the deck. At some point in the darkness the wind had ripped the sail from the mast and now there was nothing but a thin streamer of tarpaulin flapping and cracking like a gun. It didn’t matter, the force of the wind on the bare mast was enough to drive us along at a fair pace. In the dawn light I could make out the dark mass of the mainland to the east. The coast wasn’t that far away, but to get there I’d have to turn the raft side-on to the wind and waves: suicide. We were simply at the mercy of the gale and the tide. Luckily we were being driven south, straight towards Kangaroo Island. It was just a matter of hoping and praying that the raft didn’t totally fall apart before we got there.
* * * * * * *
The drunken yachtie stirred in the little cabin (if you could call the three-sided wooden crate a cabin). He pushed himself out onto the deck. He looked like a drowned dog, I don’t suppose I looked any better myself. I reckoned he wasn’t drunk anymore. He had been completely sozzled when I’d pulled him from the water in the middle of the night. Now he was probably just hung-over, wet, cold and hungry.
“Hi,” I shouted above the wind.
“G’day, kid,” he shouted back.
The yachtie bumped himself across the deck to where I was sitting with the almost useless rudder in my hand. “Where are we?” he said.
“I reckon we’re on course for Kangaroo Island,” I said.
“Give me a go at steering,” he said. “You look stuffed.”
“There’s not much steering to do,” I said. “We’ve just got to go where the wind takes us.”
“The wind will take us south,” the yachtie said. “But as soon as we get level with Backstairs Passage the current will take us east.”
“Hell,” I said. “We might miss the Island completely.”
“If that happens, we’ll make for The Pages,” he said.
“We’ll just go with the flow,” I said.
* * * * * * *
I’d never seen The Pages myself although I knew what they were. I’d looked at them on the map in the tackle and bait shop often enough. They were three rocks sticking up in the middle of Backstairs Passage. You couldn’t call them islands. They were just rocks, although the biggest one had a small lighthouse on it. We’d be safer on one of The Pages than on the raft, but only just. I untied the safety rope from around my waist and passed it to the yachtie.
“You’d better anchor yourself,” I said.
“Don’t worry, mate,” he said. “I’m not going to fall in the drink again.” And he took the rope and tied it round his waist. “Anyway,” he said, “what’s your name?”
“Wal,” I said.
“Jim,” he said. We shook hands.
“Thanks for the rescue, Wal. Where’s your mate?”
“What mate?” I said.
“Last time I saw you sailing around on this thing, there was another kid with you. Red hair.”
“That was Billy,” I said. “I reckon he’s home in bed.”
“So, what were you doing—all by yourself—charging around the Gulf in the middle of the night on a damned raft?”
“It’s a long story,” I said. “Tell you later.” And I crawled across the sopping deck to the “cabin”. I crawled into the crate and rested my head against the rough wood and fell asleep immediately.
* * * * * * *
The first time I saw Billy he was in the playground trying to do a slam dunk. I didn’t know his name at the time, he was just this kid who kept running up to the hoop, bouncing the ball as he went, and then jumping as high as he could, the ball in his right hand, his left hand reaching for the hoop. He didn’t even manage to touch the hoop, came nowhere near it. This was hardly surprising, the kid wasn’t very tall. After his last failed attempt he turned to me, a bit out of breath, and yelled, “Hey, Wal, come over here and give me a leg up.”
It was the first time anybody at the school had called me by my name. I was a bit startled. I supposed the guy must be in my class.
I’d only started at the school that morning. After Mum had filled in all the forms and gone home, the deputy principal had walked me across the deserted playground to my new classroom and handed me over to Mr. Groves, my new class teacher. There’d been a maths lesson in progress. Mr. Groves had just introduced me to the class, shown me to my desk and gone on with the lesson. Mr. Groves had seemed a reasonable sort of teacher—he’d been able to explain stuff. I could understand what he was saying—always a help with a teacher. Then it was recess time. I’d gone out into the playground with everybody else and just wandered around by myself. I’m an old hand at new schools. This one was my seventh. It’s not that I get thrown out of them or anything—my family just keeps moving about. Anyway, I wandered around not talking to anybody until the guy I came to know as Billy asked me for a leg up.
I walked over to him. He was a short kid with red hair and freckles. “I’m too short,” he said.
“You can’t help that,” I said.
“Give us a boost.”
I put my hands together, lacing my fingers. Billy put one foot in my hands and jumped. To help him along I pulled upwards as hard as I could. Billy flew through the air, grabbed the hoop, slam dunked the ball and let out a yell of triumph. The ball bounced on the asphalt, I grabbed it. Billy hung in the air, swaying like a chimpanzee. He turned his head to me and said, “I’m Billy.”
“G’day, Billy” I said.
Billy got both hands on the hoop and went for a chin up. The hoop wasn’t quite up to the job, it started to bend slowly. Then something snapped with a loud crack and the hoop collapsed completely. Billy let go and dropped down to the ground. Some other kids came up and stood and looked. The hoop was now pointing almost straight down at the ground. Both of the little supporting struts had snapped where they had been welded onto the hoop. It was stuffed.
“They
