CHAPTER 9
A STROLL ALONG THE RIVERBANK
Straining every muscle, Reginald and Stanley dragged the Happy Trader up the Rio Grande. The wind and river current, made stronger by the rain upriver and the outgoing tide, pummelled the bulbous ship threatening to drag them into the river should they lose their footing on the muddy path. The two friends had stumbled countless times. Once they were dragged down the riverbank a hundred yards before Reginald managed to jam himself against a tree stump. Stanley was covered in mud. Mud splatter covered Reginald’s own legs and belly too. They were bruised, batted and exhausted but far from ready to give up. At their current rate of progress they were still half-an-hour from the opening to Thompsons Creek. It had taken much longer than Reginald had estimated not because he and Stanley weren’t strong enough but because the uneven and muddy path had prevented a sure footing.
Stanley slipped again but quickly regained his footing.
‘You okay there, Stanley?’ asked Reginald. He tested his own footing and strained powerfully against his towrope.
Stanley was breathless. ‘I’ve been meaning… m-m-meaning to get new shoes. These ones are wearing thin. How, how are you?’
‘Apart from being convinced that this is all a colossal waste of time and worrying myself sick that the delay will spell disaster for Flossy and Larry, I’m just dandy.’
‘At least it’s sunny,’ said Stanley. His leg muscles were bulging with the effort of pulling and his coat was slick with foam. ‘I don’t think we could have done it if it was raining.’
Reginald leaned into his harness to give Stanley some slack. ‘True. I suppose we should be grateful the path isn’t underwater.’
‘Do you think, d-d-do you think they’re okay?’ Stanley asked, stuttering.
‘Flossy and her big hammer? I’m sure of it. They’ll be on their way back now with a much relieved Harry and Sally safely aboard. Pirate Pratt will be in the brig or on the run. It’s hard to imagine what could go wrong. She’ll have outnumbered them three to one and surprised them. They won’t have expected such a rapid and powerful punch. Port Isabel’s always cowered before them.’
His words were as much for his benefit as for Stanley’s for he was worried that something had indeed gone gravely wrong. He couldn’t guess what or how, but he had a feeling they had all overlooked something crucial; that there was a flaw in Iscariot Snake’s clever plan, something they hadn’t considered.
‘I hope you’re right. Dogs are tricky and don’t fight fair. I learnt that the hard way.’ Stanley looked out over the swollen, fast moving river. The ground was level on the other side and it was possible to see for miles across the pastures and fields. ‘At least we won’t be b-b-bothered by them up here.’ Stanley went down the bank a little to avoid a big puddle. ‘Once Harry’s back, I guess you’ll be… you’ll be on your way north. That’s right, isn’t it?’
Reginald came to a sudden halt. The rope attached to his harness stayed taut. On the other end, in the middle of the river, the crew of the Happy Trader would be wondering if something was wrong.
‘What, what is it?’ asked Stanley. He looked around, alarmed.
‘It was something you just said. That there are no pirates here.’
‘What about it?’
‘Stanley, why are there no pirates here?’ He turned to look at the dapple-grey horse.
‘What do you mean?’
‘This is the one place we would never look.’
‘But there’s nothing here, just farmland and forest. Pirates live at s-s-sea, not up rivers.’
‘True, but it would be a good place to hide, don’t you think?’ said Reginald. ‘Why didn’t we consider the possibility? We all just assumed Pratt would be in the Gulf. What if he isn’t? Plans fail when assumptions aren’t adequately tested.’
‘I, I, I...’ Stanley said, his words locking up. He concentrated on finding a good foothold on the muddy path. ‘I don’t think they’d be hiding upriver. They’ll be out at the wreck at Kidney Reef, just like Mr Snake said.’
‘I suppose you’re right,’ said Reginald, sighing. ‘I suppose pirates aren’t the kind that hides.’ He leaned into his harness again and pulled, straps creaking under the strain. It was always hard to get started after they had stopped.
The two animals were quiet for a while as they concentrated on towing the Happy Trader and negotiating the muddy path. On the bank rising above them, freesias and jonquils danced in dappled sunlight under skeletal sycamore trees blistering with the green buds of spring. The fast moving river beside them was cut through with veins of silver. Sunshine was everywhere.
‘So what do you… d-d-do you think you’ll find out there; in the North, I mean?’ Stanley asked with grinding teeth and straining muscles. His coat was matted with perspiration.
‘I think you need a break and a good bath,’ said Reginald, looking Stanley over. ‘And when was the last time you combed that mane of yours?’
‘I think I can make it to the creek. Then it will get easier. And my mane’s always getting tangled. Mum says it’s extra thick and wiry. But I just work on farms so it doesn’t really matter. It’s not as if I need to win any beauty contests or anything. And I’m used to the m-m-mud. You should see me when I’ve been ploughing fields in the rain. You wouldn’t recognise me.’
Reginald looked back at the Happy Trader. They were keeping the bulbous ship in the middle of the river where it would be deepest. A few apes were standing at the railing looking down into the swirling waters. There was no sign of Assam Tortoise even though he was supposed to be in command. He had been hauled aboard like cargo before the ship disembarked but then just disappeared. No one had been able to find him.
‘Initially I’ll walk north, into the Wilds, then on to Twin Rivers,’ said Reginald. ‘I went to university there and I haven’t been back in all the years since.’
‘Do you, d-d-do you have friends there?’
‘No, probably not.’
Stanley looked confused by his answer but he didn’t explain. Some things in the past were better left in the past. Some burdens were his alone to carry. He looked down at the tattoo on the trip of his trunk and remembered, sadness washing over him.
‘From Twin Rivers I plan on following the Rio Grande all the way to its source. It’s just a fast flowing creek that high up. When I reach the Northern Escarpment I’ll turn west and travel overland until I reach the Sierra Madre Oriental.’
‘What’s that?’ asked Stanley, breathless.
‘The Sierra Madre Oriental is the ancient name for the string of mountains running a thousand miles north-south. Most people think they’re impassable, like the Northern Escarpment that runs across the top of the world. But I think there’s a way through.’
‘Why?’ Stanley sounded intrigued.
‘When I was still a calf, before I had come to Twin Rivers, I met a trader—a horse like you, actually, but a little older—who had tried to cross the mountain range.’
‘Wow, a horse! Did he, d-d-did he make it?’
Reginald rumbled as he smiled. Stanley was fascinated by anything involving a test of strength or stamina. ‘No. He was forced to return when the weather turned against him. It’s unpredictable that high up. He said he met a herd of wild horses in the foothills a hundred miles or so directly west of Twin Rivers. They’d shown him a mountain pass, so he said. I’m hoping to find them or others and ask them to show me the pass too.’
‘And then try, try to get through?’ There was awe in Stanley’s voice.
‘Well, it’s been fifty years since I met the trader. Every year since, the weather has been a little warmer, the snow and ice a little less. I think there might be a way through. We’re at the end of winter now so if I leave soon I’ll have six months to attempt the crossing before winter comes round again.’
‘What are you looking for? What do you think you’ll find?’
Reginald laughed. ‘I have so many questions I don’t even know where to begin, Stanley!’
The trees ahead were sparse on the riverbank and they walked into sunshine. The path ahead was stony and dry. ‘The obvious one is: where did the owls go? Two hundred and twenty years ago they were a vibrant part of our community and they were Port Isabel’s founding House. They practically wrote our constitution. Until then, herbivore and carnivore were in a state of perpetual war; a war centuries old. They brought law and order and prosperity. We’ve yet to find another town like ours, where animals of every ilk live and work together peacefully. Towns like Treehaven, where Harry comes from, and Twin Rivers, are monospecies towns—if you overlook the tourists—where only one House lives. Port Isabel is—and uniquely I believe, certainly in the known world—a polyspecies town; that is, a town made up from the animals of many Houses. Then one morning two hundred and twenty years back, our ancestors woke up and there were no owls. They had disappeared overnight without saying goodbye or leaving any trace of where they had gone, or why.’
Stanley turned to Reginald, his brow puzzled. ‘Maybe they left because their work was done. Maybe they, m-m-maybe they went away to make a new town, to help other animals.’
‘Yes, that’s one theory, one of many. But why not tell us? Why suddenly leave. It doesn’t make sense. And how did they leave without being noticed? There would have been hundreds of them, a thousand even. And if they were going on a long journey they would have taken things. Nothing was taken, nothing disturbed. Everything was exactly the same the morning after except that the owls had gone. The records from those times are quite clear. People searched for them, for some trace. None was ever found. It was soon after they left that the Troubles began. Animals began to disappear without any apparent rhyme or reason. Later they became known as the Lost Ones. Every decade or so since there have been reports of animals unaccountably disappearing; every decade for two hundred and twenty years. I want to discover where they went, who was responsible and why they were taken.’
‘You don’t think it was pirates?’
‘No, I don’t,’ said Reginald with conviction. ‘What reason would they have? Besides, the disappearances usually happened in and around town, not at sea. Pirates are seafarers, not town dwellers. And they’re hardly discrete. When they attack there is no doubt who is responsible. The disappearances always happen at night when most animals are asleep, or in lonely places where no one can see. Not really a pirate’s style, is it?’
The two animals trudged on for a while without speaking. It was easier now that the path was dry and stony. The air was still and the late winter sun was warm. Clouds were high and scattered in a pale blue sky. The wide river beside them was silent, clear and untroubled. The path ahead was straight and wide.
Soon they came to a small reef of Heat Trees growing amongst the rocks on the riverbank. The tips of their leafless branches were glowing red like coals and the surrounding earth was scorched so that nothing grew.
Reginald gestured towards the small reef with his trunk. ‘And there’s also that mystery.’
‘Heat Trees? But why are, why are they a m-m-mys, m-m-m?’
‘A mystery?’
Stanley nodded.
‘Have you not noticed they are unlike any other plant? In fact, I don’t think they’re alive at all. Yet they grow. What are they? How do they grow? They’re more like a crystal but they grow like a coral; slowly with branches and no leaves. How are they hot above and cold below? Their roots grow deep into the ground. No one knows how deep. I think they bring the heat up somehow from bottom to top.’
‘Is it true they stop us from freezing in all the ice and snow?’ asked Stanley.
‘Yes, I think so. Without them, animals wouldn’t have survived the Ice Age. The glaciers in the North are held back by a great reef of Heat Trees running east-west for a thousand miles, as if they were planted there deliberately for that purpose. Did you know they even grow under the ocean, warming the water? Without them, the Gulf would be brim full of icebergs. I think they were created to protect us; created by animals far cleverer than us to help us survive.’
‘Was it, was it the owls?’
‘No, even smarter than owls. And long ago. Perhaps even thousands of years ago when the world was warmer. In ancient times, during the Machine Age, I think,’ said Reginald.
‘Is it true what they say about back then, that there wasn’t any ice?’
‘Did you ever visit my museum, Stanley?’
‘Yes, lots of times last, last summer…’ Stanley turned away, suddenly embarrassed.
‘Oh, I see. I had forgotten Elizabeth Horse worked at the museum during school holidays,’ said Reginald, chuckling. ‘Love is a “many splendored thing”, or so said a famous Machine Age poet I once read.’
Stanley was silent as he strained against his towrope.
‘So it wasn’t some insatiable appetite for ancient history that drew you in to my little museum,’ said Reginald slyly. ‘And it wasn’t a deep and abiding fascination for strange and beautiful artefacts made by a civilisation far greater than our own.’ Reginald smiled warmly at the young, dapple-grey horse. ‘Yes, Elizabeth is a pretty filly, or so I’m told. It’s hard to imagine, I grant, but that I was once a young bull elephant myself, and on the prowl, just like you.’
‘I remember all the machines… m-m-machines and other things,’ said Stanley, changing the subject.
‘Good! So Elizabeth didn’t defeat my all my efforts as educator and curator.’ Reginald laughed. ‘They were all recovered from the ice,’ he said, switching to a more sober tone. ‘As the glaciers have retreated, hidden treasures have been revealed. Artefacts, thousands of years old have been discovered lying amongst the rocks at their icy feet. They tell of a time when the world was warmer and animals had a greater knowledge of science than we do now. Machines have been found too. In most cases we don’t know what the machines did or how they worked. We don’t even know what they were made from. Everything we can make would have rotted, been crushed by the ice or rusted. There are also the ruins of buildings, ancient towns with long straight roads and underground tunnels. I want to know who lived in these places and where they went.’
Reginald fell silent to catch his breath as he pulled. They were making better time now and it wouldn’t be long before they reached the mouth of Thompsons Creek. Elephant and horse trudged over a rise and round a bend.
‘Then there’s the matter of—please excuse the expression—Randoms as they’re called, perhaps unfairly. Did you ever wonder how one species can give birth to another? People just accept it because it’s always been so. But biologically speaking it doesn’t make sense and I don’t think it was always like it is now.’
‘Is this, is this it?’ asked Stanley, looking ahead.
The path veered away from the river. Straight ahead were the murky, slow-moving waters of Thompsons Creek. Their side of the creek was choked by water reeds, mangroves grew thickly on the other. A dead tree lay half-buried in the mud at the creek’s narrow opening that looked just wide enough to allow the Happy Trader to pass. Reginald hoped it was deep enough.
‘Welcome to beautiful mosquito-infested Thompsons Creek!’ said Reginald. The path beside the creek was narrow and rocky. Overhanging trees created a shadowy tunnel.
Behind them, the crew of the Happy Trader were swinging the bulbous ship into position so it lined up with the deepest part of the channel. Even with the water high after rain, it would be a difficult manoeuvre. If it wasn’t done carefully, the Happy Trader would be snagged in the reeds or grounded on a sand bank. A chimp lowered a rod from the ship’s prow into the swirling waters. It was for sounding; measuring the channel’s depth.
‘Do you remember the skull exhibit?’ asked Reginald while they waited for a signal from the Happy Trader to proceed up the creek. Once the ship was out of the Rio Grande’s fast flowing waters their job would be much easier.
‘Yes, they were all lined up. There were small and large skulls next to each other; same animal but with a differently sized, a different sized skull.
’ Stanley’s tail swished at the first mosquitos to find them.
‘Yes, sometime in prehistory, probably a thousand years ago or more, the skulls of all animals suddenly grew larger.’ He moved to keep his towrope tight. ‘Nobody has been able to explain how or why. Presumably, it was to hold a larger brain.’ Reginald flapped his ears. Mosquitos always went for the skin under his eyes. It was thinnest there.
‘So, all the animals suddenly got smarter?’ asked the dapple-grey horse.
‘Yes. Well, no, not all. Fish didn’t change. They are the same as always. All land animals with a body big enough to support a larger brain got a larger brain. Those with a smaller body got a bigger one and a bigger brain. Why? How? Who did it? No one can say. I’ve collected artefacts, carefully read all the ancient texts we have and ponded these questions my whole adult life, to no avail. I’m no closer to an answer. There’s one thing for sure though…’
Stanley faced him and waited.
The big, grey elephant turned and faced Stanley. ‘That is, I won’t learn any more sitting in my study poring over manuscripts or squinting through microscopes. It’s time to get out from behind my desk and…’
Reginald suddenly fell silent, dumbfounded.
Stanley spun about to see what had silenced Reginald. The eyes of both animals grew wide with surprise. A cloud passed in front of the sun, deepening the shadows. The swarm of buzzing mosquitos thickened around them. The Happy Trader entered the creek’s mouth and both animals staggered as the heavy ropes behind them fell slack. There, before them, gliding serenely down Thompsons Creek, was the Serendipity. Long poles were extended either side to keep the sleek Clipper Ship centred as the creek’s gentle current carried her forward. Her sails were reefed and everything was shiny and new. An angry boar with flaring tusks and a scar on the side of its snout was the ship’s new masthead.
Reginald’s first thought was that the black boar had finally seen reason and decided not to wait for them any longer. Then he heard growls and barks.
A terrible realisation hit him: the pirates had the Serendipity!