Stormdragons

Chapter 20

Clare woke early and lay awake worrying about Joe. For a week now she had told herself that he was still alive. At times she had almost convinced herself that it was true. But she felt a million miles away from Falscombe and no closer to knowing what had happened. How much longer could she go on before her heart broke and she gave way to grief.

She worried too about Spud and Mac. She'd promised to tell them the truth about where they were. How would they react? What would she tell them about their chances of ever seeing home?

And, despite trying not to, she thought about Mehmed. She found that she missed his good sense and his quiet charm. If she was honest with herself, she also missed the glances of curiosity and admiration he had given her. Perhaps she had jumped to conclusions about the purchase in the alley. Perhaps she had pried into a part of his life she had no right to know about.

Finally, exhausted from worrying, she fell into a fitful doze on the itchy straw.

Later, when she got up to wash, Spud and Mac were already standing over the bucket and splashing water over their face.

'Good morning, boys. Big day today. How did you sleep?'

'Terrible. Spud was snoring like a tractor,' said Mac.

'It weren't me. It were that man with the smelly feet,' said Spud.

Clare smiled. As long as Spud and Mac had each other to argue with, they were never too depressed. She went into the stable to check on the donkey. The animal was there, all right, as patient and long-suffering as ever, but its old, moth-eaten rug was missing. Someone must have stolen it.

'You'd have to be a pretty desperate sort of person to steal a flea-bitten rug from a donkey's back,' thought Clare. 'We'll have to watch the bicycles and skateboards more closely.'

She and the boys ate their breakfast sitting on the quay. They treated themselves to figs, bananas and bread with dates and walnuts, all washed down with small cups of hot, strong coffee.

'Hey, there's something going on over there,' remarked Mac pointing to a gaggle of people on the side of the dock.

Mac was right. A small crowd was gathering beside a long, black ship that had berthed very close to the quay itself.

'See that ramming beak. It's one of those warships that were out in the bay,' said Spud.

Clare looked to the horizon. Sure enough, where yesterday there had been five ships, now there were only four.

'Let's find out what's happened,' said Clare.

They walked across and eased their way through the crowd until they were standing no more than a few metres from the ship. A man was waving his arms about and shouting. He was dressed in purple silk. A beautiful ostrich feather was pinned to his turban by a ruby. A line of shame-faced sailors stood before him.

'This is outrageous! You will all be punished heavily for your incompetence.'

The ship's Captain attempted to reply.

'We fought them tooth and nail, Admiral, but there were too many of them,' he said.

'So how come there was no noise, no wounds, no blood! How come you are all still alive!' shouted the Admiral, voice breaking with rage.

'They used sorcery,' said a wizened sailor.

The crowd drew its collective breath at the word. The Admiral turned to one of the other sailors.

'And you, why did you not see what was going on under your very nose?' he demanded.

The sailor went white in the face and stammered out a reply.