The Narwhal nodded. “As I said — I wanted you to be in possession of as much knowledge before making this decision as possible.”
Tupper nodded. It was surely a simple decision then: whether to live or die.
“But Narwhal,” said a voice, horribly familiar. “You haven’t given him all the facts.”
The Cruel Tide had joined them, the two creatures of the ocean hovering on either side of Tupper like angels.
“No, I suspected you would want to tell him this bit,” said the Narwhal.
“What bit?” asked Tupper. “What else can there possibly be?”
“When the ship sank, you were dreaming, Tupper,” grinned the Cruel Tide. “After Deeks had left, you simply drifted back off to sleep...”
“No! No, I couldn’t have!” Tupper was horrified by this accusation, that he could have failed Mr Deeks so promptly.
“Oh, but you did. You fell back asleep, picked up your dream right where you’d left off. And you carried on dreaming — even as the ship tore itself apart below and men came screaming and rushing about. You just kept on sleeping. Even when the cold water began to lap at your toes and embraced you, you never stirred. Do you remember what you were dreaming about, Edmund Harris Tuppington?”
“I was dreaming about food,” blushed Tupper. “Lovely, hot, delicious food. The sort I haven’t had in so long. But it wasn’t just about that.”
“Who else was with you at the table?” whispered the Cruel Tide.
“Mother... and father... and he was well and she was happy.” Tupper smiled at the memory. “They were laughing, at something funny someone had said — maybe it was even me. Father chuckled so merrily, then took another sip of red wine. Mother put a napkin to her lips in embarrassment at giggling whilst eating. Their hands reached out across the table and their fingers locked. We were happy again... all of us.”
“Don’t you wish that that dream could just carry on forever, Edmund Harris Tuppington? If you choose to stay slumbering, then I promise that it would never come to an end, that wonderful reverie of yours. You would spend the rest of eternity just digging into those wonderful roast potatoes soaked in gravy, followed by mouthful after mouthful of steak, cooked to perfection. And all the while, you and your mother and father would be united and happy — so very, very happy. You would never have to wake up to the reality of your father’s illness, never have to scrub another deck or fear another beating. No more pain. No more hardship.”
Tupper’s eyes moved to the Narwhal who nodded slowly in confirmation that all of this was true.
“That does sound good,” admitted Tupper and the Cruel Tide’s grin widened. “But what about all the other men aboard?”
“You won’t care, Tupper! They’ll all just fade away from your mind, irrelevant.”
Tupper looked down once more. The shapes below him were almost completely vanished in the gloom, along with their faces and their names. He could easily believe that in another heartbeat they would be completely erased to him.
“Tupper, just as the Cruel Tide has made to you her argument,” said the Narwhal now. “There is one more thing I want you to see before you make your decision.”
“Oh, please show me no more memories, Narwhal — I have already seen enough.”
“This will not be the past this time, Tupper.”
Somewhere, hidden amongst the branches, some strange breed of bird chirped.
* * *
The sky went on forever, streaked ever so delicately with clouds, but otherwise a solid gradient of rosy pink and vivid blue. The air was chill and fresh upon Tupper’s skin. In the long, dry grass about his feet, crickets chirped, and hidden in the wide, impossibly endless forest before him, birdlife sang in melodies both beautiful and unknown to him.
“This is Canada, Tupper. Newfoundland. The destination of the Windermere,” said the Narwhal.
Tupper breathed in the fresh air, its taste musty and sweet. Somewhere, a fire was burning. His limbs and his body almost felt lighter here, stripped of fear and expectation. It seemed as if here, in this wild unknown, anything could be possible.
“It’s just how I imagined it,” said Tupper, feeling the rough sensation of the grass beneath his bare soles. His trouser legs were rolled up, boots strung over his shoulder carelessly.
“That’s because this is exactly what this is,” said the Narwhal. “What you are seeing is not the future — no one can see that. This is the Newfoundland that you have hoped and dreamed of since leaving home. This is the prize you strove towards as you felt the burning of the midday sun across your neck, or as you scaled the rigging, hoping desperately not to lose your nerve or your footing. This is what you’ve been hoping for, Tupper. If you reach your destination, I can’t promise it will look or feel anything like this, but... isn’t it worth getting there just to find out?”
Tupper considered this. From a nearby twig, a butterfly took flight on creamy wings, disappearing off into the world. Canada might be nothing like this — it might be an empty land, stripped of all its potential by savages and war. But what if it was only half as good as this vision before him now?
“How do you know what’s in my mind, Narwhal?” Tupper asked. “How do you know any of this?”
“I don’t,” the creature replied with a wink. “But, I am a being of light and water, just as the Cruel Tide is. All we can ever truly hope to show you is reflections of yourself, rippling across our surfaces, refracted to our own purposes. That is why the Cruel Tide appears as the thing that unsettles you the most about the oceans.”
“The seaweed,” Tupper answered with a shudder. “Is all of this just in my mind then?”
“Would it matter if it was?”
Tupper pondered on this for a while.
* * *
“So have you made your decision, Edmund Harris Tuppington?” asked the Cruel Tide. “Just the chance of happiness... or a guarantee.”
Tupper looked from the Cruel Tide to the Narwhal. Two beings, divine and mysterious, yet somehow the true power in this matter lay with him, a mere boy.
He thought of poor Nicolas Kelso, wailing as he was belted for a crime he was innocent of.
He thought of his mother, throwing her good china plates at his father; the sound of them shattering, almost drowned out by her yelling.
He thought of Mr Deeks, telling him the silly little stories to remember how to tie various knots correctly.
He thought of the unkind names and jibes the older sailors threw at him, day after day.
He thought of way the tip of the waves turned golden as the sun rose over the horizon each morning.
“I think I’m ready,” said Tupper.
“Very well,” said the Narwhal. “You will have only a few seconds to act, Tupper. You will hear from neither of us again.”
* * *
Roast potatoes, skins extra crispy, but still fluffy and buttery in the centre. A steak thick enough to need a good half hour’s chewing, swimming in a small pool of thick, sticky gravy and its own blood. Stacks of fresh beans and carrots on the side, a knob of butter slowly melting over them.
Tupper was dreaming of food again.
Father continue to laugh. His belly rubbed against the table, causing the china and silverware to tinkle. He reached for another mouthful of wine, leaving his lips stained red and all the more comical as he continued to chuckle.
Mother put a napkin to her lips, her cheeks a healthy, rosy glow. For a moment, she managed to recompose herself before being consumed by the giggles once more and having to fan a hand against her beautiful, flushed face.
Tupper looked from parent to parent, his heart comfortable and content.
“Mother, father,” he said. “I need you to know something — I love you both very much.”
They paused and smiled warmly back at him.
“If I make it to Newfoundland, I swear the first thing I’ll do is write to you and let you know that I am safe and well.”
“Edmund, whatever
are you talking about?” said mother.
The plates of hot food continued to steam deliciously before them.
“Come now,” joined father. “Let us forget this silliness and finish our food before it grows cold.”
Tupper folded his cutlery and got to his feet. “I miss you both so much. Good bye.”
* * *
The night air had a bitter sting, yet it was also almost refreshing. Tupper gulped down huge mouthfuls of air as if he had not been able to do so for hours. His pulse still raced. Quickly, he inspected the hourglass beside him — still a few grains remained. He wiped the sleep from his eyes and got to his feet.
“All is well ah trust, scratch,” came the familiar voice of Mr Deeks.
“Indeed, sir,” Tupper paused as the final grain of sand slipped from the top half of the glass to the bottom and he struck the bell — twice then twice more. “All is well, Mr Deeks.”
“Glad to hear it,” Mr Deeks smiled and set about to continue on his way, then turned back. “Ah’ve been meanin’ to talk with ye, scratch.”
“It could wait until the morning if you prefer, Mr Deeks,” replied Tupper, not waiting to sound too desperate to get rid of the man. He didn’t know how long the window would be between discovering Black and O’Leary’s plot, and not.
“How are ye settlin’ in on the Windermere then?” Deeks continued, and made himself comfortable against the capstan. “Ah was younger than you are now, when ah first came to sea. The first one’s tough. An’ the second an’ the third. But it’ll get easier. The body an’ the mind quickly grows accustomed to the nature ah this life.”
“I hope so sir,” said Tupper. Why wasn’t the man leaving?
“The sea’s a strange mistress, young Tupper... but methinks ye might ‘ave already learned that?”
“I’ve learned a lot of things since coming aboard sir, good and bad. But I’m doing fine — really I am. You don’t need to worry about me.”
“Worried? Who said ah was worried?” Deeks winked. “Aye, ye’ll do just fine, scratch.”
The petty officer ruffled Tupper’s hair and set off once more. A cold panic had settled upon Tupper however. He’d awoken in time and rung the bell at exactly the correct moment, yet Deeks’ progress had still been delayed. Would he still go below deck and hear the dropping of stolen keys? Had all of this been for nothing? Then a thought came to Tupper — perhaps now the only solution would be to delay Mr Deeks for longer.
“Mr Deeks!” said Tupper, and the man turned back, an eyebrow raised. “There’s something I should tell you, sir.”
“An’ what would that be exactly?”
“My name’s not really Tupper.”
Deeks gave a short snort of amusement at this. “Did think that to be ah strange mother’s choice for her child. Cruel almost.”
“You misunderstand. My real name is Tuppington, Edmund Tuppington. My father is the Third Earl of Crookford. I ran away from home.”
Mr Deeks returned to his perch on the capstan. “Edmund... Tupper... whoever ye want to be. Do ye really think yer the first to ‘ave done such a thing? I knew there was somethin’ about ye the first time ah laid eyes on ye. None of it matter’s a jolt though. Back home, ye could be the King of Africa for all ah care. Here, yer a junior midshipman an’ that’s all that matters. Ye do as yer telled, scrub the decks, climb the rigging an’ we’ll all be happy.”
Tupper let out a long sigh of relief. It had felt good to finally admit his secret to someone. He had considered telling Kelso on a number of occasions, but worried it might alienate him from his friend who openly admitted to having been born to a chambermaid and without any guess as to who his father might be.
“Oh and scratch, don’t be stealin’ any more puddin’ either,” said Mr Deeks. Prickles shot up Tupper’s spine, but the petty officer just chuckled at this and tapped his nose. “Another four days or so of sailing once this wind picks up, an’ we’ll make land. The ship’ll stay in harbour fer a week least, so it’s likely you an’ yer friend’ll get to go ashore and get yourselves into trouble there instead.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Tupper.
“Fer what?”
“Just for being there, and for listening.”
“Ah listenin’s easy,” Mr Deeks answered, getting up to leave now. “Any old fool can listen.”
Tupper watched as Deeks wandered off, heading to the prow to check up on Radley before retiring to bed. Somehow Tupper knew he had done enough now, that Black and O’Leary had already raided the powder room, or perhaps thought better of it. Either way, he didn’t mind, as longer as Deeks and Kelso and all the rest were safe.
Tupper crossed to the rail and gazed out over the waves. No wet trails across the deck this time, which was a relief. He inhaled the ocean air deeply and felt more at peace than he had in a long time. From somewhere below, there came a short splash and Tupper looked down. All he saw though was a ring of ripples on the surface of the water and a flash of silver.
THE PASSING
The gentle lapping of the oars as they dipped in and out of the water, creaking against their rests, was the only sound for miles around as the old man and the boy made their way out across the water. The little rowing boat cast out wide ripples into the reflections of the still skies above, steely and pale.
“Where are we going?” Josh asked his granpa sitting opposite, the man pulling forwards then back against the oars with practiced ease.
“Yonder,” replied granpa with a nod. Josh turned to see they were approaching a tiny island rising from the centre of the lake. No, not a lake, Josh remembered. A loch, granpa had said. Loch Arben. Josh wondered if it was all loches that held ancient monsters or just Loch Ness.
Josh was never really sure about how he felt coming to stay with grannie and granpa up in their little croft in the middle of nowhere — further north even than Inverness, and that was a long way. On one hand he missed all his chums, thinking enviously of how they would be spending their summer holidays playing football and getting into all sorts of mischief without him. Grannie and granpa had no telly, and worse no computer, so Josh had to resort to playing on his Nintendo DS till the battery ran out and he would pester granpa to let him use a power socket to charge it back up again, being told instead to go read a book. But somehow he also enjoyed staying up in that tiny stone house that always smelled of soot and honey, huddling up by the wood burner and listening to grannie tell funny, old tales. And at night it was so dark outside, so completely quiet, that Josh could pretend he was an explorer in deep space. There was something about the landscape up there as well — Josh couldn’t put it into words, but he just felt more at ease once the hills and mountains had started to rise up about him. Their heathery slopes didn’t care how he dressed or what he did or didn’t say; the trees and the rivers bore no interest in his Facebook updates or grades at school. They merely existed, just as they always had, and therefore, so could he.
“Ye know,” started granpa. “When ah was no much older than you are now, mah own granpa brought me to Loch Arben an’ took me out on a wee boat, jus’ like this one. In those days there weren’t no internets or tee vee. Weren’t many cars or machines neither, no’ up ‘ere. Was jus’ us an’ the land back then.”
On one of the far shores, a heron jumped up from amongst the roots and reeds, taking flight with a grace unbefitting its size. It passed silently overhead and out of sight.
Granpa continued: “We have a tradition in this family ye see, a sort ah test to prove that we’re worthy ah living on this land. Ah did it, me father did it an’ his father an’ his father an’ so on.”
“What is this test?” Josh asked nervously.
“Ah’m gonna drop ye off on that wee island... an’ then ah’ll come back for ye in the morn.”
Josh turned to look at the nearing island again, at its steep banks and shadowy branches, then back at granpa. The old man’s expression, with its thick gravelly beard and creases deeper than Josh could have imagi
ned possible, gave nothing away.
“You’re going to leave me alone there all night?” said Josh. “But it’ll be freezing! What will I eat? Where will I go to the toilet?”
“Wouldn’t be a test if it was easy now would it?” granpa replied.
Josh bit his lip and started planning — at least he’d worn his fleece and waterproof. First thing he’d do would be to scour the island and be sure there was nothing else on there with him, nothing to unsettle him in the gloom of night. Then he’d gather branches and make a little shelter to protect himself from the wind. Maybe he’d be able to knock some rocks together and start a fire like they did in movies? He’d have to go without food probably, but how hard could that be? What about something to drink though — was the loch water okay? Probably best not to risk it.
A short bump told Josh they had arrived at the island. He looked up at its slopes, thick with moss and fallen needles. It smelled earthy and damp.
“Ready?” granpa asked.
Josh wanted to say no, to stamp his feet and demand that granpa stop being so cruel and take him back to shore. But he didn’t. He didn’t want to seem like a baby, didn’t want to fail his legacy, and besides, if all these ancestors of his had managed it, then why couldn’t be? Maybe it’d even be good for him.
Carefully, Josh clambered out of the boat and onto the island. The air suddenly felt slightly chillier. His legs felt like they might give up at any second. He turned to face granpa and watch as the old man rowed away.
“Now, ah’m gonna say to you, the exact same words mah granpa said to me, aw those years ago, when ah stood where you do now,” announced granpa, resting himself against the oars for a moment, then cracking into a wide, rosy grin. “He said: Ah’m only kiddin’!”
Josh let out a sound that was part laugh, part scream as he watched the old man begin rocking back and forth with wicked merriment.
“So you’re saying I don’t have to stay on the island?” said Josh, getting back into the boat.