CHAPTER 5
EARLIER THAT DAY
Earlier that day, before Port Isabel East Junior School was blown up by a well-placed cannonball, and before Harry Possum and Larry Monkey set off after the Interloper to teach the pirates a well-deserved lesson, Harry’s day had begun like any other, except that it was unseasonably warm. There were few clouds, these were scattered, and the morning sun made the air shimmer brightly. The night frost had melted quickly leaving dew drops beading every surface, and then they too were gone. A gentle but gusty breeze blew in from the sea, unsure of where it was heading but determined to drive back winter and usher in spring.
It was almost 10 o’clock when Harry opened the picket gate, padded up the short gravel path lined with rose bushes and stopped at the stairs leading up to the raised porch framing the old schoolhouse. Behind him was a gnarly, old oak tree with skeletal branches bearing the buds of spring and a few overeager leafs.
‘Is your teacher in?’ Harry asked a young chimpanzee with big, pink ears that poked out and a bald, flat face.
The chimp nodded without taking his eyes from Harry.
‘Then why aren’t you in class?’
The chimp blinked and scratched but said nothing. He was sitting on his haunches by the heavy wooden door, as if waiting for someone.
Harry smiled good-naturedly, climbed the stairs and knocked sharply on the door. It was wide enough to admit Reginald Elephant, the school’s teacher.
Nobody answered.
‘Round the back?’ Harry asked.
The chimp didn’t answer, or show he’d understood. But his eyes were intelligent.
‘Come on then, let’s go find Mr Elephant.’
The schoolhouse was an oversized cottage surrounded on three sides by a covered deck, wide enough for classes to be held outside in the warmer months. It was an old building, but lovingly maintained. South facing windows, usually open, let sunlight and ocean air into the classrooms. Through one of these Harry could see rows of empty desks, inkwells, writing tablets and open textbooks. The blackboard at the front was covered with illegible writing and a few hastily drawn diagrams of what might be sea monsters. Evidently, school was out.
Larry followed silently as Harry walked along the deck, around the corner and down a short flight of stairs.
‘I’m Harry, by way,’ he said over his shoulder.
Larry didn’t reply.
‘You don’t talk much, do you?’
The narrow path beside the schoolhouse was cast in shadow by a tall fence. Herringbone ferns, enjoying the damp and shady conditions, filled every gap. Moss grew in the corners.
Port Isabel East Junior School was on the poorer side of town. Most of the students’ parents fished for a living or worked as day labourers on the farms in the plains across the river, a short ferryboat ride away. Despite this, the school had a reputation for providing a good, practical education. Reginald Elephant had once told Harry that no disadvantage of birth would prevent any of his students achieving their full academic potential. Indeed, many went on to further studies.
There was a large grassy yard behind the schoolhouse. In the yard was a rusty swing set, a water tank on an old wooden stand and a large well-kept vegetable garden. In the middle of the garden a big, grey elephant was busily hammering a garden stake into the soft earth with a mallet. This was the school’s principal and its only teacher; a hobby-horticulturalist particularly proud of his turnips; amateur ice-archaeologist of times past; part-time curator at the Museum of Ancient Antiquities; once serving member of Town Council; but much more importantly, this was Reginald Elephant, Harry’s friend.
‘Reginald!’ called Harry, waving.
Reginald turned and, careful not to crush the newly planted spinach, stepped from the garden. He put down the mallet and raised his trunk in friendship.
‘Harry! It’s been too long. You never visit, you never write!’ he said, rumbling warmly as Harry approached.
‘Have you lost your students?’ Harry asked, laughing.
‘They’re out in the dunes collecting specimens for natural science. I’m surprised you didn’t see them on the way in if you’ve just arrived from Thompsons Creek. They’ll come back covered in sand claiming they didn’t go sand-surfing or summersaulting or whatever it is they do when they’re not in school.’ He looked up at the fluffy white clouds scuttling across the blue expanse of sky. ‘Such a glorious day! I couldn’t bear watching them gaze forlornly out the window wishing they were somewhere else while I droned on about algebra or the Machine Age or some such boringness. It didn’t seem at all fair to my young charges. This is the best weather we’ve had in six months and they need to stretch their limbs as much as their minds.’
Harry smiled. ‘I wish my teachers had felt the same.’ He looked up at Reginald and tilted his head. ‘If you have time, I could really use your help today. I’m ready to erect the Serendipity’s remaining mast. Once up, I can begin rigging and then the final fit out.’
‘Ah,’ nodded Reginald profoundly, his big eyes sparkling. ‘Is that what you’ve called the little rowboat you’ve been building? You must be close if you’ve named her. It’s a good name, Serendipity. To discover treasure when you’re looking for something else. That’s what it means. It comes from an ancient Persian fairy tale, did you know?’
‘Persian?’ Harry asked. He knew Reginald was fond of stories and enjoyed sharing them with others at every opportunity.
‘Persia was a mythical land, even before the Machine Age. There were powerful magicians, genies in lamps and tiny people no bigger than your paw, if you can believe it.’ Reginald looked over Harry’s shoulder. ‘Is that you skulking back there, Larry? Come forth mine fine, young simian.’
The small, black chimp looked blankly at his teacher.
‘Have you ever read The Three Princes of Serendip, Larry?’ asked Reginald, eyes shining. ‘It’s a fairy tale, from the House of Human. I have a copy and you are very welcome to borrow it. You enjoy fairy tales don’t you? I know you do. This one has people running about on two legs. They only have fur only on top of their heads. Bald-faced monkeys, the writer would have us believe; humans. Preposterous, wonderful and very ancient.’
‘It’s about humans?’ asked Harry.
‘Yes, and written by them even before the Machine Age began, we think,’ replied Reginald.
‘Have you ever met one?’
‘A human? No. They’re probably extinct like so many other animals since the ice closed in.’
‘I can’t believe it. Weren’t they meant to be as smart as owls?’
‘Smarter, so it’s said. Some academics I knew back in Twin Rivers believed they had even learned to fly without wings, and that they built machines that could think like people.’
Harry turned to Larry. ‘I haven’t been properly introduced to this young monkey. His name is Larry, you say?’
‘Oh, I am forgetting myself,’ said Reginald. ‘Of course you don’t know one another. It’s just that I was caught up with the pleasure of seeing you again, Harry. It must be months since you last popped in.’ He cleared his throat with a formal cough and with a flourish of his trunk said: ‘This is Larry Monkey. Larry, this is one of my best friends, Harry Possum the shipwright, sailor and would-be explorer of the world yet unknown.’
Larry stood straight when Reginald mentioned Harry being a ‘would-be explorer’.
Noticing Larry’s interest, Reginald added: ‘Larry’s something of a sailor himself, so I am told. He’s also one of my brightest students, though you wouldn’t know it as it’s so hard to get a word out of him. Isn’t that right, Larry?’
Larry switched his attention between Reginald and Harry, his eyes round and curious. He didn’t say a word.
‘Thinks much, talks little does our Larry. Smart as a tack, though. And very good with numbers.’ Reginald laughed warmly, remembering. ‘Sometimes I return to class and find my blackboard notes corrected, or some formula completed. Comes up with things that even I have
to look up, a bit embarrassing in front of the other students, I should say! Sometimes I think I should be sitting at a desk and Larry up front.’
Reginald twisted about. ‘Little Elsie Sloth’s round here somewhere too. Her mum had to run an errand.’
As if on cue, a tiny sloth emerged from behind a stand of cucumber vines. Her saucer eyes were black and her pelt was white like the first snows. She held, in long black claws, a bunch of tiny purple flowers ripped roughly from the ground, soil still attached to the roots.
‘Elfeez fowers,’ she said, smiling proudly.
‘Say hello to Mr Possum, Elsie,’ said Reginald, affection warm in his voice.
‘Ha-wee,’ Elsie said carefully, testing each sound. She extended the flowers to Harry in friendship.
Harry stepped forward, smiling as he reached out.
‘So Harry, you’re ready to raise the Serendipity’s remaining mast,’ said Reginald. ‘I would be happy…’
Boom!
Harry turned seaward. ‘That sounded like cannon fire,’ he said.
There was a whistling noise that grew louder as it dropped rapidly in pitch.
Harry threw himself at Elsie to protect her as schoolhouse exploded behind him.