Adventure 2016

Chapter 2: under the pier

Jenny's grandma took them ice skating every year. There was a temporary outdoor rink in front of the Pavilion for six weeks or so around Christmas. Jenny didn't look forward to it; she wasn't a natural skater like her older sisters. And now she was 10 she didn't feel like she could spend the whole time pushing a stabiliser-penguin around the infant's area.

They took the bus into town just after dark. Mum, dad, Isabel, Charlotte and Jenny. Grandma met them at the entrance to the rink, tickets already collected and in her hand.

"Come on you lot," she urged. "The session's about to start and you're all so slow at getting your skates on."

Even with added deliberate slowness, Jenny managed to get her skates on in time for the ice to be opened. She wobbled over the rubber mats and stepped cautiously onto the ice. For once it was cold enough for the ice to stay frozen on its own. It felt extra hard under the metal blades, and for a moment Jenny was comfortably stable, both skates supporting her with ease. Then an older girl brushed past her and another. Tiny movements of her feet were amplified through the skates and any grip she might have had disappeared. She swung her arms wildly, grasping for the side, which had drifted dangerously far away, but caught her dad's arm instead. He maneuvered her to the edge where she clung to the wooden barrier. For the next hour she made sure she always had at least one hand on the barrier.

When the session was over, Isabel and Charlotte wanted to go again. So did mum and dad. And of course grandma did. Jenny did not. Dad said he'd sit out with her, but she told him not to be silly -- she'd be fine sipping a hot chocolate in the warm of the bar next to the rink. He didn't need convincing and Jenny felt slightly uneasy about the half lie. She really didn't want to skate again -- but she wasn't going to sit in the bar with a drink either.

As soon as her family were on the ice, Jenny walked quickly out of the rink. It was less than a ten minute walk to the pier and Jenny half jogged to keep warm. She crossed the seafront road and felt unease again. This time not a feeling of guilt, but of excitement and a little healthy fear. What had forced the starlings from their roost? Her watch said 19:07. To be back for the end of the session, she would need to leave no later than 19:53.

The entrance of the pier was bright and gaudy and people teemed through it and gathered around it. Jenny went around them to the right and down some stairs. She cut left onto the top of the beach, pebbles shifting and crunching under her feet. Now she was was almost underneath the iron and wood structure. It was dark, but not deserted. People were bunched here and there, though none of them were right under the pier. She walked forward until the wooden boardwalks of the pier were right over her head albeit 30 feet up.

It was hard to see anything at all up there. Some light filtered its way through the boards but slipped right past the nooks and crannies where the starling should be perched. Jenny was prepared, she pulled out a small torch. Small, cheap and Chinese and very, very bright. She shone it around the iron girders and stanchions, ledges and perches but there was nothing there to see.

She wandered down toward the sea. It was a calm day and the waves were small. She examined every column and support that held the great pier up, but found nothing. It was now 19:38. She had fifteen minutes left.

Back toward the top of the beach, right up against the metal fence that guarded the disused arches under the promenade and entrance to the pier, was a large scaffolding tower. It was covered in a dark tarpaulin, and over to the side furthest from the stairs. Perhaps they were doing some work on the pier that disturbed the birds?

She trudged across the pebbles to the base of scaffolding and inspected it. Up close it seemed less organised and structured, more random and jumbled, as if it had been thrown together in haste. Or perhaps it had part-collapsed and was waiting to be dismantled. She squeezed almost right around the back of it, looking for a gap in the tarp, when she heard the voice.

"Where'd they go then?" it said, in a high, almost piratey lilt. It was no more than a few metres in front of the scaffold.

The reply was a noise like a muffled "I don't know" but with none of the words actually escaping.

Jenny's excitement changed abruptly into bad fear and near panic. She didn't move.

"We were supposed to keep people away from 'is majesty's marquee. You should'n 'ave made me go doughnut-raiding. Though they were good and tasty. I'm sure I saw someone poking around. If I catch 'em they'll be in trouble with me and 'is majesty. And that's not good. Let's keep patrollin' and no more doughnuts!"

There followed a sound similar to walking on pebbles, only gentler and quieter. It was close, and moved away and then came back. Guards patrolling the scaffolding. Jenny stayed silent, hidden by a fold in the tarp. She didn't want to move at all. Long moments passed and the patrol kept passing louder then fading away. But never disappearing completely. She risked a small movement, a look at her watch. 19.50. Three minutes before she had to leave.

A huge dark shadow swept overhead. Jenny felt the scaffold shudder and creak under immense strain. The guard's footsteps stopped. She readied herself to make a run for it. But a loud rasping voice boomed out before she could take a step.

"Where's my supper! Groat! Where is it? And what's that smell? Filthy humans! I thought I asked you to guard my chambers!"

"Yes, your arch-majesty," Groat's voice was guard on patrol. "Supper will be coming soon. The raiders are due back within the hour. And there's been no humans near. We've seen to that."

The scaffolding shook again, and then sighed as if a huge weight had been lifted. A second later Jenny heard and felt the stony beach as if an elephant had leapt from the pier and landed on the other side of the scaffolding.

"I can smell 'em!" the voice boomed. "They're near. I know it. And where's my supper?"

Jenny heard a heavy footstep, then another. They were coming towards her. She held her breath and squeezed back against the tarp.

There was a flurry of activity. The beating of wings from above, and a definite caw of a seagull. The footsteps stopped and retreated.

"What is it?" the loud voice asked - less angry now.

A new voice, (deep and burly Brighton) "Sir, your majesty, Archduke Crackwing, my lord, master Crackwing, my --"

"Yes, yes! Get on with it before I lose my patience," Archduke Crackwing said.

"It's King Pigeon, he's making a play on the old pier. He wants to send you a message. Show you his power here."

"He does, does he?" Archduke Crackwing's voice boomed again. "I'll show him! I've not joined my nephew here to play games. Brighton will be mine, and King Pigeon will be my servant, or I'll drown him in the salty seas! Follow me soldiers, follow me!"

More beating of wings followed, and Jenny leaned out from behind the tarp. She caught sight of a huge creature, surrounded by smaller creatures. The smaller ones had tiny helmets on, and swords dangling from belts. Or at least that's what they might have been wearing, if they hadn't been seagulls. They were flying towards the West Pier.

Jenny didn't need any more encouragement. She ran from behind the tarp all the way back to the Pavilion. Through the sliding doors she could see her mum and dad looking around anxiously. Her grandma was talking to an attendant. Jenny checked her watch - it was 8:10. She was late.

She quickly ducked into the toilets and tried to breathe calmly. Then she stepped out and walked over to her family.

"Hi guys," she said nonchalantly. "Are we ready to go?"