CHAPTER 6
EXPLORING THE RUINS
It had been a clear and sunny morning, but by late afternoon dark, heavy clouds filled the sky from horizon to horizon. When night came, icy fog rolled over Port Isabel as might be expected in the deaths of winter. The temperature rapidly dropped and frost powdered the shiny black cobblestones. The seasons were battling for supremacy and winter was refusing to give way to spring without a fight. By ten o’clock at night it was so cold that only those with good reason were outdoors. At Town Square, shadows flickered in the spaces between the sentinel streetlamps and even the coal-bright Heat Tree seemed diminished and gloomy.
Reginald Elephant was numb with grief and an abiding sense of desolation. He had entered the burnt out museum with no other purpose than to be alone with his thoughts for a time. He had failed his friends in every conceivable way and he couldn’t think of way to save them.
There wasn’t much room to move about in the ruins. Charred timber beams from the roof and blocks of heavy stone from a collapsed wall lay around him. The wreckage of crushed and blackened museum exhibits, still dripping from yesterday’s rain, sat sadly in puddles of muddy ash. Very little could be salvaged and the extent of destruction was heartbreaking. He had spent much of his adult life painstakingly preparing, preserving and protecting thousands of artefacts that now lay burned, melted or crushed beyond recognition. His successor would have to start from scratch. Fortunately, the melting glaciers were revealing ancient artefacts at an ever increasing rate so it wouldn’t take long to restock the museum. Curating the artefacts was the time-consuming part. Grouping them meaningfully, naming them, dating them and explaining their function was the work of a lifetime. It was like trying to do a hundred jigsaw puzzles where half the pieces had been lost and the other half were mixed together.
Reginald wrapped his trunk around a timber beam and lifted it gently aside. Glass smashed somewhere nearby.
He stepped over part of a skeleton mingled with shards of glass and tangled wire. It was once part of the Animal Intelligence Mystery exhibit that had challenged visitors to consider their own origins. The exhibit compared the skeletons of modern day animals with others of the same species but thousands of years older. Most modern day animals were much bigger than their ancestors and had huge brain pans. No one was able to explain how such a change was possible. The fossil record suggested the change had occurred to all animals simultaneously. He couldn’t believe that was chance or some blind force of nature.
Stanley Horse was somewhere in the dark ruins too, still with Elizabeth. He could hear them moving about and whispering. They had been trailing him all afternoon and seemed genuinely worried about him. They were good animals and he didn’t want them to worry. He just needed to be alone with his grief for a while. He had lost so much. In three days, his school, museum and best friend Harry had been taken from him and the Mayor—a friend and an animal he had greatly admired—had been exposed as a cannibal. Stanley had surprised him gnawing on the bones of some poor, dead animal. Power had a way of corrupting everyone it touched and carnivorous instincts ran deep but the Mayor should have behaved better and there was no excuse for such a lapse. The Town Councillors had asked Stanley and him to keep secret their knowledge until they were able to confirm the truth and decide what to do. They had readily agreed as it was news that neither of them wanted to share anyway. Soon, all would know and the great lion would be held to account for his terrible crimes and made to reveal the names and number of his victims. It would be a blow to many, as it was to Reginald, to learn of the Mayor’s betrayal.
Reginald squeezed through a gap between two towering display cases. One was no more than a buckled iron frame; the other was mostly intact, though the facing glass pane was cleanly cracked top to bottom. Peering through the glass he could just make out in silhouette the life sized models of an ancient human family. Many hundreds of hours had been spent combining in this model all that was known about the humans who had lived during the Machine Age. Their strange clothing, the way they stood tall with knees slightly bent, their flat faces and intelligent eyes had been pieced together from archaeological data. Now that he had met a human for himself, he could see that the faces were not quite right; they were too monkey-like. Flossy didn’t have hair under her chin, her ears were pear-shaped and didn’t stick out like a chimp’s, and her nose was pointy with nostrils underneath. Not that it mattered anymore now that the museum was gone. Besides, there was hardly any point in having a museum exhibit to educate the public on what humans might have once looked like when one walked freely amongst them.
At least Flossy would be safe, and Larry. They would have searched the Interloper and finding no pirates would now be on their way home. When they got back he would help them hatch a rescue plan for the others. With Flossy’s help and a bit of luck there was still hope that everything could be made right again.
He made his way past another exhibit. This one had housed colourful miniature figurines believed to be house gods worshiped by ancient humans. A blackened beam had fallen across the display case crushing it almost completely flat. Hundreds of little figurines lay scattered in the ice slush at Reginald’s feet. They were made from a tough but soft material that would bend but not break. Many of the figurines were like animals but with exaggerated features as if the craftsman who had made them had never seen the real thing. One had a comically large nose; another overly long limbs. Some wore human-styled clothing or held inexplicable objects that resembled sports equipment or weapons—it was not clear which. Almost all were smiling cheerfully and were labelled with strange phrases such as ‘Made in China’, ‘Not suitable for children under 5 years of age’, and ‘McDonalds®’. Theories abounded on how these objects were used and why so many different types were made. He had even read one theorist who proposed the figurines were not house gods but toys given to human children at ‘fast food’ restaurants. Though, there was little evidence this was true.
He waded through a puddle and stopped under the towering Cylinder House exhibit at the centre of the museum. The three leg-blades of the Cylinder House were so long he could pass under without bumping his head. Fallen rubble lay all around and even though the fire had been hot enough to buckle iron, its remarkable bright silver surface had not even been tarnished. From certain angles, the Cylinder House looked like a metal sword fish standing on its tail. Lines of small round bumps rose from the bottom of the cylinder to a mast standing high above. A faint outline near the top may have once may have been a door but was now sealed so tight it had become one with the surrounding metal and couldn’t be opened. He had once read an account written by owls describing all the ways they had tried, and failed, to get inside. Of course, there was always a chance it was solid throughout but it made a hollow, clanging noise when hit so he didn’t think so.
No one knew why the ancient humans had built a house in this form. Neither was it known from what wonderful metal it was made or how it had survived the ice intact for so many thousands of years. Some researches believed that it pre-dated Machine Age humans and was made instead by some greater progenitor species. Others believed that fire could be made to stream out from below and push it up into the sky all the way to the moon. These theories had always sounded fanciful to Reginald.
He passed under the Cylinder House and pushed through a gap in the scattered rubble beyond. Something nearby crashed loudly to the floor, something else smashed but it was too dark to see what.
‘Are you… are you okay, Reginald?’ Stanley asked anxiously from somewhere nearby.
‘As well as could be expected under the circumstances, my friend,’ Reginald replied. ‘You two should go back out. It’s not safe in here.’
‘We don’t mind,’ said Elizabeth crisply. She was with Stanley, he could hear her moving about in the dark. ‘It’s interesting in here. There are things lying about that I never noticed with they were in their cases.’
‘Why, why not come out, Reginald,’ Stanley stammered. ‘L
et’s go to the Stinging Nettle and order some bails of fresh hay and one of those barrels of hot chocolate you like. It’s too dark to see anything now. Why not wait until morning when every, everyone’s a bit more clear?’
This was good advice and the thought of fresh hay and hot chocolate made Reginald’s stomach rumble. He hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast and like many left behind had toiled through the night to have Port Isabel’s makeshift navy ready for dawn departure. The plan to use two fleets had seemed like such a good one, and fool proof. But no one had guessed that Pirate Pratt was after the Serendipity all along. He just waited in Thompsons Forest until the Serendipity was ready and then took her by surprise. The dog sure was intelligent. But it was more than that: he had intelligence; that is, someone was feeding him information about what the town was planning. But who would knowingly help pirates? It didn’t make sense.
‘Why don’t the two of you go over and save a window booth? I’ll join you in a little while. There’s just something I want to recover first,’ said Reginald. He walked carefully across a fallen section of wall, which sagged under his weight.
‘Oh, that’s alright, Reginald. We’re happy, w-w-we’re happy to wait. What are you looking for anyway? We could, we could help.’ Stanley emerged from behind the buckled frame of a display case. Somehow the skeleton of an ancient horse still stood within, foot raised and head high as if it had been frozen mid-step. Stanley faced the skeleton, grinning. ‘Maybe you should join, join us for supper too. You’re all skin and bone.’
Elizabeth giggled as she came up beside Stanley. The two horses were black with soot. Even in the gloom, Reginald could see that that Stanley’s burn was serious. It was shiny pink and weeping. He had taken a shortcut through Razor Reef—a long line of Heat Trees that stood between Thompsons Creek and Port Isabel—, nearly dying in the process, to bring help to Reginald who would stop the pirates from escaping. But even he wasn’t fast enough.
A worried expression crossed Elizabeth’s face as she looked up at Reginald. ‘Someone should see to those wounds, Mr Elephant. Your ear is torn and I think you need stiches.’
‘I’m fine thank you, Nurse Elizabeth. Elephants heal fast and I assure you these are only surface wounds. They look worse than they are.’
Elizabeth looked unconvinced.
‘Really, they don’t bother me,’ said Reginald. ‘I’ve always been thick skinned you see. Come’s with the species. You should see to Stanley, though. His burns look far more serious than my few scratches. If they’re not treated they’ll become infected and the scarring will be worse.’
Elizabeth nudged Stanley’s nose affectionately. ‘You see, silly. I said you should see a doctor.’
‘It’s, it’s n-n-nothing, Elizabeth,’ said Stanley.
‘Is there a special secret hero school for males?’ Elizabeth asked.
Stanley looked puzzled.
‘Well, the worse the injury the less you complain. But if any of you gets a cold, the world’s ending!’ Elizabeth said, laughing. ‘You all seem to have it backwards. Maybe there’s a secret handbook given at birth or some initiation right us females aren’t privy to. Or maybe your nerves are around the wrong way so that pain feels pleasant and… ’
Stanley frowned. ‘When have I ever… ever… ever… ACHOO! complained about having a cold?’
Elizabeth laughed and bumped into Stanley so that he staggered sideways. ‘Hey, I’m injured,’ he complained, grinning.
‘Do you still want to help?’ Reginald asked the two horses when they had stopped laughing.
‘Sure, what can we do?’ asked Elizabeth. She left Stanley’s side and came up level with the big elephant.
‘If I lift up this rafter, do you think you two can drag that out of the way?’ Reginald pointed to a large iron dish strung with rope. The dish was once filled with oil. When lit and suspended from above it would give off light for hours. It hadn’t been used often because it also gave off great plumes of black smoke.
Stanley approached. ‘Are you up to it?’
‘Easy!’ Without waiting for Stanley she grabbed hold of the rope with her mouth and pulled.
‘Hold your horses,’ said Stanley, laughing.
Reginald wrapped his trunk around the rafter and heaved. Holding on with bright teeth, the two young horses strained at the rope until the iron dish slid slowly from the pile and crashed to the floor with a loud clatter. Reginald lowered the blackened rafter and stepped over into the shadows beyond. ‘Coming?’ he called over his shoulder.
Stanley and Elizabeth were the first to arrive after Reginald’s blockade failed to stop the Serendipity leaving Thompsons Creek. Dappled sunlight danced in the shadows as he lay under the mosquito-shade of a spreading beech tree. The severed towrope was still attached to the harness he wore and he was alone and splattered head-to-foot in mud and blood. At first, the two horses thought he was dead.
When Reginald became aware of Stanley and Elizabeth they were staring at him, not knowing what to do or say. Stanley was slick with perspiration, Elizabeth too. He realised they must have galloped all the way from town along the river. Stanley’s mane was matted and singed and there was a great pink welt running from his shoulder all the way down one leg. He learned later that Stanley had taken a shortcut through Razor Reef where he had been badly burned. Stanley was a remarkable horse.
The crew of the Happy Trader arrived later. Only then did Reginald manage to stand unaided. The bulbous ship had been washed downstream ahead of the Serendipity eventually grounding on a muddy sandbank in a tangle of branches. By the time the crew had secured her and made their way back to Thompsons Creek, Stanley’s recruits had arrived from town, most armed with makeshift weapons. It was quite a crowd. It might even have even been enough had they arrived sooner. But they were too late. Aided by the Rio Grande’s swift current, the Serendipity was already in the Gulf and well out of reach.
A little further up Thompsons Creek, Stanley’s would-be army liberated a number of animals from Harry’s work shed. The doors had been barricaded by a heavy wagon. Other animals they untied, removing gags from their mouths and fetters from their feet. Those freed told of a highly coordinated surprise attack in broad daylight. Apparently the black boar had fought back but was quickly overpowered and forced to ‘walk the plank’. He had landed with a splash in the dank waters of Thompsons Creek, dogs yelping with amusement and jumping about like black ants on a disturbed nest. Apart from the boar, there were few among them able to put up any real resistance. Most of the animals assigned to the Serendipity were not natural fighters. If they’d been able to fight they would have sailed with the Hammer. Reginald was devastated to learn that little Elsie Sloth had been separated from her father and taken by the pirates. They said her father had fought like a wildcat but a sloth is no match for a pack of pirate dogs, as Reginald well knew from painful, personal experience. He hoped Sally Sloth was on the Serendipity too and that Elise was with her or at least in Harry’s care. Harry would know what to do.
On their way back to town, Stanley had told him how he had found the Mayor feeding in the basement, his mane dripping with blood. Reginald wouldn’t have believed it if the dapple-grey horse hadn’t looked so shell-shocked.
Once the heavy light dish was out of the way, Reginald could make out a relatively clear path leading directly to his old office at the very back of the museum. The old oak door was half burnt through and hanging from one hinge. Dressed stone blocks lay scattered in muddy puddles like giant dice. Nobody had been this deep into the museum since the fire.
He made his way carefully over the uneven floor and pushed aside the remains of the door. ‘I’m going into my office,’ he said over his shoulder.
‘Are you sure it’s safe?’ asked Elizabeth with sweet concern.
‘It looks clear enough, but you two should hang back until I’m sure. I won’t be long.’
Squeezing past rubble, Reginald made
his way into what was left of his office. The large desk, at which he had spent thousands of hours teasing apart mysteries only to find more mysteries hidden beneath, was gone. Even its metal frame had buckled in the fierce heat of the fire. Precious uncatalogued artefacts were strewn about on the floor. Some had melted, other were buried or crushed by fallen masonry and the shattered remains of slate roof tiles.
What the fire hadn’t burned, rain had ruined. There was no roof now and it had rained steadily for the whole day following the fire. He stood toenail deep in a puddle of grimy black water and parchment pulp looking at the wall that once held hundreds of neatly organised scrolls. The shelf was gone and the iron scroll cores lay where they had fallen at the base of the wall. Without parchment or end caps they looked like oversized knitting needles.
Reginald swayed gently as he contemplated how he felt knowing there was nothing left of a lifetime of labour. Knowledge was such a fleeting thing; vast ideas accumulated over centuries could be erased in an instant by a wayward spark.
Stanley squeezed in beside him. ‘Are you, are you okay?’ he asked.
‘What do you notice about those scroll cores?’ asked Reginald.
Stanley stared where Reginald gestured. ‘You mean those metal pins? They’re a bit hard, hard to see in the dark but I’m sure you could use them again. Shall I, I…’ One eye twitched as he tried to say ‘I’. Unable to get past his stutter, he moved to pick up the pins.
Reginald stopped him. ‘What do you notice about their position, their orientation?’
Staley looked more closely. ‘They’re all lined up pointing at the, at the wall, in a row.’
‘Why are they pointing at the wall, Stanley? Why aren’t they scattered all about like everything else.’
‘I suppose it’s just the way, the way they fell.’
‘Unlikely, don’t you think?’
Elizabeth squeezed in on the other side of Reginald. ‘They remind me of iron filings near a magnet,’ she said.
‘Ah,’ said Reginald. ‘You must have been paying attention in science class. Yes, you’re correct. They’re all lined up as if they are being influenced by a powerful magnetic field centred behind that wall.’ He pointed with his trunk.
Stanley looked around to get his bearings. ‘But there’s nothing behind that wall, the museum just goes into the hillside here. Behind that wall is just, it’s just earth and rock.’
‘And a big magnet,’ said Elizabeth.
‘Are either of you a little curious about what’s behind that wall?’ asked Reginald.
The two horses nodded eagerly.
‘Do you still want to call it a night and sup at the Stinging Nettle?’
The horses shook their heads.
‘Good. Then let’s get some light in here and some tools and knock down that wall,’ said Reginald with renewed vigour. ‘Perhaps something of this awful day might be salvaged after all.’