It took Larry three dives to free the Golden Turtle. On the third dive, frowning with concentration and nearly out of breath, he was finally able to unhook the turtle’s remaining flipper. The ship’s vale dropped away under its own weight leaving the turtle floating mid-water. Strangely, it didn’t sink into the dark depths or rise to the shimmering surface. It just floated as if held in place by an invisible hand.
Larry broke the surface, took a deep breath and dived again.
The turtle had turned while he was above and now faced him. Its eyes were circles within circles and its metallic face was devoid of all emotion. It seemed to be looking but not seeing.
Larry stared at the creature, wondering.
One of its golden flippers pushed down so that it turned. Then it began to swim away.
Larry swam after it. Chimpanzees were not usually very good swimmers but Larry had spent his whole life in or near the sea. He was convinced his parents were out there somewhere, held hostage by pirates or marooned on some island. When the time came to rescue them he was determined to be ready. He had first taught himself to swim, then to sail, then to navigate by stars and sextant. These skills would be important when the time came to find them and bring them home.
In the gloom, the Golden Turtle glinted brightly. It was moving away from the wreck but following the shadowy reef wall rather than heading out to sea. It swam slowly and had risen so it was just below the surface.
When Larry took his next breath he looked back the way he had come. He could no longer see the wreck, just swirling fog. The ocean was quiet and still.
Back under again he pushed down and pulled alongside the Golden Turtle. It swam with a mechanical rhythm as if it would never tire; tick, tick, tick, like the owls’ clock at the museum. It showed no interest in him or any sign it knew he was following.
He swam over the turtle and looked down. Its shell was shaped like a large oval shield made of close fitting squares of golden armour plate. It was freckled with barnacles, like those on the hull of a poorly maintained ship. Four paddle-like flippers protruded, one from each corner. These were golden too but moved like flesh and muscle, curving into the water and flexing on the backward stroke. Its eyes were strange. They were formed of concentric golden circles that moved and dilated like living eyes. Its neck was short and its tail was stumpy.
Larry broke the surface. The turtle appeared to be searching for something so Larry treaded water and hung back to watch. He was cold and tired but too curious to break off. He wanted to know what the turtle was doing.
The turtle stopped and lifted its head from the water when it reached a stand of kelp waving darkly in the dark water. Its golden eyes seemed to grow wide as if it was gathering more light from above. Continuing to tread water, Larry looked up too but all he could see was swirling fog. The eyes of nocturnal animals like Harry Possum’s grew larger to see better at night. Harry wore sunglasses during the day because otherwise it was too bright. He wondered if this was also true of Golden Turtles.
The Golden Turtle was unnaturally still in the water and it looked up for a long time, like it was watching and waiting or working something out. The sea lapped quietly against its golden shell and the dark kelp swayed around it in the gentle swell. It seemed more like a thing that had been made than a living thing. It moved like a machine but he had never seen a machine look and act so much like a living creature. Maybe it was an incredibly complex machine made to look like a turtle. But if so, who had made it and why? Did the owls make it? And who repaired it when it broke down? On a school excursion he had seen a music box that made music all by itself. It was powered by a tensioned spring that was tightened by turning a key. As the spring unwound, a cylinder peppered with spikes rolled against a metal comb made from tines of different lengths. Each tine, no thicker than a piece of straw, made a different note when plucked by a spike. A clever arrangement of spikes turned the notes into music. Mr Elephant had said the owls had copied the device from an ancient design. Perhaps they made the turtle too. He was sorry the owls were gone.
The Golden Turtle began swimming again, this time along the surface. Larry swam beside it, rising and falling in the swell. It stopped when it reached the place where the kelp was thickest, a dark mass swaying in the dark water. The turtle opened its beaklike mouth and took a bite. It chewed blankly but did not appear to swallow.
Larry had heard of Golden Turtles from the old sailors coming and going from Gateway Quay. They always had time to tell stories of their adventures at sea to a young and curious chimp. He enjoyed hearing the stories in the same way he enjoyed hearing about mermaids and strange lands were the rocks talked. Part of him would long to hear more, the other part knew it was all silly nonsense made up to entertain or convey some moral lesson. Golden Turtles were said to be common in the Gulf and so they sometimes became tangled in fishing nets. It was said that to touch a Golden Turtle would bring good luck but to interfere with one in any way would be disastrous. He had once been told a story of a foolish fisherman, a grizzly bear, who had tried to pry one open as one would pry open an oyster shell. He broke two knives in the attempt before raising a sledge hammer above his head. However, before he had a chance to strike, the Golden Turtle began to scream. If all the musical instruments in Port Isabel were gathered together and played the same note under the great dome in the Hall of Greeting then even that would not compare with the noise that issued from the Golden Turtle—so went the story. The grizzly bear stumbled aside and dropped the sledge hammer onto his foot. Howling with pain, paws over his ears to block the noise, he rolled over the rail and plunged into the glassy, green sea. Even underwater the noise was unbearable. Soon it began to rise and fall in pitch with increasing speed. The low notes tossed the water into frenzy, the high notes drilled into his ears until he thought they would burst. As he treaded water, the bear chanced a desperate glance at his boat, now some distance away. It shook until its edges blurred and with horror he watched it fall apart. The small cabin imploded in a shower of shredded timber. The mast blew apart and fell to the deck amidst a tangle of ropes. Then, with an audible crack, the hull split clean across the middle and the waters rushed in. Boat and turtle quickly sank into the depths leaving the bear clinging to floating wreckage. He was rescued later that day by a passing fishing boat.
Watching the turtle quietly chewing kelp made it difficult for Larry to believe it was capable of such destruction. Still, there was enough detail in the story to suggest it was at least wrapped around a kernel of truth. And he was the first to admit there were many mysteries in the world that would support even stranger stories. So, he wouldn’t interfere with the Golden Turtle or try to hurt it in any way but he might just touch it in case the touch brought him a little good luck. He could use a little good luck.
Larry reached out and touched the Golden Turtle. Its shell was cold and hard like metal. He pulled himself forward and ran a finger between the plates on its shell. The barnacles were thicker lower down as if it usually coasted along the surface.
Bubbles burst to the surface next to Larry and the Golden Turtle began to sink. Without thinking, Larry took a deep breath and held on tight. The turtle dived deep and swam rapidly towards the reef wall, its flippers beating the water like the paddles of an oar. The rapid pressure change hurt Larry’s ears and he had to give up some of his air as his lungs painfully swelled. Even with his eyes open wide he couldn’t see very far. The light of a full moon wouldn’t reach through the thick fog above to the inky depths below. He was blind and becoming blinder.
Just as Larry was about to let go and swim back to the surface he saw a dim rectangle of blue light in the wall of the reef. It hovered alone in the dark growing larger and brighter as they approached. He was almost out of breath but the strange light transfixed him. It was an opening, too symmetrical to be natural and strangely blue-lit.
He kicked to speed the turtle’s progress, lungs aching for air.