crew.’ He pointed beside him to the pencil rat. ‘This is our Quartermaster, Pencil Leg Pete, who has graciously given up his cabin for your recovery.’
Pencil Leg Pete gave Wentworth a less-than-impressed look.
The Captain continued, ‘To my left is Hook Hand Horace. Don’t let his lack of height deceive you. He is our Master Gunner and, how can I say this nicely … our most entertaining character!’
Horace saluted Wentworth with his hook and Wentworth nodded politely.
The Captain turned to the girl in the eye patch.
‘This is Ruby Rat, my beloved niece and the ship’s Boatswain. She keeps our sails taut, our flag flying high, and our deck in shipshape order.’
Ruby flashed Wentworth a proud smile. Wentworth tried not to blush.
‘Next to Ruby,’ the Captain said, ‘is of course our famous pastry chef, Fish Eye Fred. I don’t need to explain his name to you, but I’ll tell you this: he has better vision in that eye than the rest of us put together.’
‘Hello,’ Fred said shyly. ‘I’m Fred. What’s your name?’
Wentworth brushed the untidy fur from his eyes.
‘I’m Wentworth. Wentworth Winterbottom. I’m, err … delighted to meet you all.’
The blowfly jumped up and down on the bed trying to grab Wentworth’s attention.
‘Sorry,’ the Captain apologised. ‘We can’t forget Smudge, our loyal mascot and world class lookout.’
Smudge held out a tiny arm to Wentworth and Wentworth shook it hesitantly.
‘Don’t worry,’ Horace said, ‘Smudge is pretty clean for a fly.’
Wentworth tried to sit up.
‘Where are my parents?’ he asked. ‘And my sister Anna? Is she okay?’
The crew shuffled nervously and turned away.
The Captain began to speak, ‘I …’ but his voice trailed off.
Wentworth felt an icy chill of dread creep up his tail.
‘N-no,’ he stuttered, trying to hold back the tears. ‘They’re not … they can’t be … tell me you rescued them too. Please.’
He looked desperately around the room. No one answered. No one returned his gaze.
Finally the Captain spoke. ‘We tried to get to the boat but the wind and rain drove us apart. After Fred lost sight of them, we had no way of knowing where they had gone. When the wind died down we searched. We searched all night in the rain. We searched for the next two days while you slept but we found nothing … I’m sorry.’
Wentworth felt empty and helpless. He wished he hadn’t blacked out. He wished he was there to help.
‘I could have found them,’ he said quietly. ‘I know their voices. I would have heard them through the rain.’
The Captain shook his head. ‘There’s nothing you could have done, especially after your ordeal.’ He pointed to a navy blue shirt draped over a chair. It was Wentworth’s shirt. The entire right sleeve had been ripped off. ‘You escaped death by a whisker, you know?’
Wentworth knew he was lucky. But what was the good of luck if everything he cared about was gone?
‘What about the island?’ he asked with a glimmer of hope. ‘Did you search the island – the one with the circus tents? There was no time to pull them down. Maybe my parents went back?’
‘We searched the island,’ the Captain said grimly. ‘The tents were torn to shreds. There was no one there. There was no one on any of the islands …’
The room was silent once more.
Wentworth felt his tail work itself into a knot. He longed to be under the ocean again in that dark place where there was nothing to see and nothing to feel. He closed his eyes and tried to take himself there. But instead of blackness, all he could picture were the smiling faces of his parents and sister. There was no escape.
He slowly opened his eyes. Horace was staring down at him with a confused expression on his face.
‘What is it?’ Wentworth whispered.
Horace glanced at the Captain and then looked back at Wentworth.
‘What the Captain has told you is true,’ he said cautiously, ‘but that doesn’t mean your family is dead …’
‘Horace,’ the Captain said gruffly. ‘Is this really necessary? You were there. You know what happens on the Cyclone Sea.’
‘Let him speak,’ Wentworth pleaded. ‘I want to hear it.’
‘Very well,’ the Captain sighed. ‘But Horace, I don’t want one of your fantasy stories – no false hopes, only the truth.’
Horace nodded and whispered to Wentworth, ‘Do you remember what happened on the night you were rescued?’
‘Yes,’ Wentworth replied.
‘Everything?’
‘Well, until I blacked out.’
‘Go on.’
‘We were on the island,’ Wentworth recalled, ‘setting up the tents for the circus. That’s what we do. My father makes the tents and all the costumes – he’s a sailmaker. My mother and I help out and my sister watches. We went ahead in my father’s new boat to set up before the performers arrived.
‘Just before dark we saw the clouds. We’ve been in plenty of storms before, but until the gulls arrived we had no idea it was a cyclone. There was no shelter on the island and the gulls said we had time to reach the bigger islands before the cyclone. But gulls fly faster than we can sail …
‘When the storm hit, we lost our sail. It’s a strong boat – I helped my father build it. But so much water was coming over the side … and then we saw your ship … I went overboard … you rescued me … someone was shouting –’
‘What did you hear?’ Horace whispered.
‘It was the Captain,’ Wentworth said. ‘I heard him promise something –’ He looked at the Captain. ‘What did you promise?’
The Captain hesitated and Horace spoke for him.
‘Before your father disappeared into the storm he yelled: Promise you’ll take care of him, ‘til we cross paths again …’ Horace paused. ‘Your father believed he would see you again. Isn’t that a reason for some hope?’
‘Cyclones don’t care about
