Stormdragons

Chapter 9

Joe and Clare walked quickly along the beach. The moon bathed them in a sickly yellow light. It helped them to see where they were going but Joe didn't like it. He felt the moon was spotlighting them.

They made a strange-looking pair. Despite being several years younger, Joe was as tall than his sister and his bony shoulders were considerably broader than hers. Yet it was Clare who moved with more poise and athletic grace. Her body language was more forceful and self-confident, and it was she who carried the rucksack.

In fact, the farther they moved away from the lighthouse, the more Joe's courage seeped away. Wreckers' Edge rose before them like a monstrous jawbone rising out of the mouth of the sea. The rocks were broken teeth; the top a flattened ridge of bone, rubbed smooth and raw by the wind and the scouring of rain and spray.

On that very spot smugglers had waited, smoking long-stemmed pipes and drinking rum. Their grizzled faces had glimmered in the light of lanterns cunningly arranged to mimic harbour lights. Out at sea, storm-tossed sailors would have seen the lights and thought themselves safe, discovering too late that they had been lured onto the jagged rocks.

Joe thought of Madame Lefevre. She was as cold-blooded as any smuggler.

Clare turned to him and whispered.

'How are you feeling?'

'Fine,'

'Another few minutes.'

'Yes.'

They walked on. The strip of sand grew narrower and narrower. The shadow of the cliff engulfed them.

Joe was tried to remember where the smuggler's track started. Back at the bungalow they had agreed that he knew the track best, so he should lead. Now he was less sure. He looked hard at the cliff, searching for clues. Finally, he saw it: a narrow band of grass that zig-zagged through boulders and shale. It was the smugglers' track. He was sure of it.

'We're here,' he said.

'Are you sure?' asked Clare

'Yeah, I think so.'

'Great. Do you want the big torch?'

'I'll carry it. But I won't use it unless I have to.'

Clare handed him the flashlight. Joe jammed it into his belt. Then he filled his pockets with stones.

'Ammunition,' he said.

'Good idea,' said Clare.

She handed him a biscuit bar and they ate together in silence. Joe listened hard for unusual noises but all he could hear was the rhythmic lapping of the sea.

Clare smiled and tapped him on the leg.

'Right, let's get going, shall we?' she said unable to hide the excitement in her voice.

Joe stepped up onto the path. He was concentrating so much that he hardly felt scared. Clare was relying on him and he was determined not to let her down. Okay, so he'd never climbed the path in the dark before, but the smugglers had managed it and they would have been carrying barrels of brandy, or bales of lace or tobacco.

They moved carefully and their shadows moved alongside them. In some places they had grass under their feet, in others shale. Several times Joe had to pause, peering hard into the gloom before picking out the direction of the path. Once they had to retrace their steps. But they kept gaining height and Joe was sure they were on the right track.

Clare tapped Joe on the shoulder. She gave him a thumbs-up sign and pointed at the sky.

'We're in luck, Joe. The weather's changing. We're going to get some cloud cover.'