Secrets of Selkie Bay (14 page)

I pulled on the back of Ione's shirt, halting her progress into the tunnel. “What if we are just people, Ione? What if, because Da's not a selkie, we aren't, either? I mean, don't you think if we were going to change into seals, we'd know it by now?” I spoke slowly, choosing words carefully. I didn't want to upset her, but I was one-thousand-percent sure there were no sealskins at the end of that tunnel.

Ione gave me a look like I was crazy and disappeared into the little cave without answering. I knew I shouldn't let her go and that I was being a very careless guardian, but I was tired and, well, sometimes a person just gets tired of always being in charge.

In a few seconds, Ione was backing out of the small cave. “Cordie, look at this!” She pulled out something dusty and brown and for a moment, the air got stuck in my throat. However, it was not a sealskin, but a worn leather bag with a rusted latch on the top. Henry dutifully followed her.

“It's like a tunnel in there, then it opens up. But look! I wonder what's in this.”

As she unlatched the bag, I wondered something different.
Who put it there? And why?

“Oh, biscuits! I love you!” Ione pulled a tin of biscuits from the bag to her lips and gave it a loud kiss. “I would marry you, biscuits!” She pried the lid off the familiar-looking tin. Seal Biscuits
,
the store in town. Of course. There were some chocolate biscuits and some that were just shortbread.

I don't think I'd ever seen Neevy so excited. She threw her arms about and made noises that were a cross between a snort and a squeal. I put a biscuit in her chubby hand and she gnawed on it happily.

I would not be lying if I said those biscuits were the best I'd ever had in my life, even if they were crumbly, stale, and tasted like old paper.

We munched happily as the wind whipped around our legs. I felt a sprinkle or two, but maybe that would be all there was of the rain. Sometimes winds brought heavy rains to Selkie Bay, and sometimes they petered out into nothing.

Neevy dropped some of her biscuit and Henry sniffed it, but didn't touch it. Ione swooped in, claiming the five-second rule, and gobbled it up. We were so distracted by the biscuits and the sputter of rain, we didn't even think about what else might be in the bag.

Our thoughts must have crossed in the air between us at the same time, for Ione handed me the tin and continued to search the bag. “Oh, look! There's a lighter! We can have a fire. And some packages of dried fruit, but they are brown and gross. Eww! I think this is a blanket, but it is very thin. And … hmm … what do you think a person would use this for, Cordie?”

Ione drew a long, ancient-looking spiked club from the depths of the bag.

The biscuit turned to sand in my mouth.

I knew whose bag it was.

And I had a pretty good guess why it was on the isle of the selkies.

 

The Puffer Fish Arrives

L
ITTLE HENRY WAS SQUIRMING AND BARKING,
just as the wind picked up. I took the club from Ione and stuffed it back in the bag. “Don't ever touch this, Ione. Promise me. It's a bad thing.”

She nodded, as Henry seemed further agitated.

“Something's got him riled. We should go and check on the others,” she said, trying to hold him, but he wanted to get there on his own. He quickly scurried ahead. I gathered up Neevy and we ran to catch up. We overtook him in a few strides since running is faster than scuttling along.

The sky was becoming fiercely dark. The clouds swirled, large and puffy.

“The babies are all gone! Cordie, where are the babies?”

I surveyed the empty beach, searching for telltale bobbing heads in the waves. There were none.

“Well, probably Mum took them out to catch some dinner before the rain comes. That makes sense, doesn't it?”

I hoped it made sense.

I hoped she was okay.

And the babies, too. I hoped they were all okay.

“That's not what's supposed to happen. Remember the story? You should. You're the one who told it to me. The babies should be on the island during the storm so they don't get separated. Or scared.”

Shaking my head noncommittally and shrugging at the same time, since I couldn't remember what I'd made up, I trudged down the beach to where we'd been using the
Dreaming Lass
as a windbreak. Another gust of wind came, blowing the sand and shells, releasing the money I'd set out to dry in a whirlwind of cash. “Ione, grab what you can!” I cried, but the money taunted and teased us, refusing to be caught.

I twirled around, Neevy in one arm, trying to catch a bill that floated just above my head with the other, when a gravelly voice chuckled and said, “Isn't that the way it is with Sullivans and money? Always chasing what they can't catch.”

Mr. Doyle stood taller than I remembered, in black wading boots that went past his knees.

“What are you doing here?” I asked. “How did you get here? Where's your boat?”

“I might ask you the same,” he said. “But I can see the
Dreaming Lass
sitting right there, such as it is. And my boat is past the rocks over there.” He pointed to the large black rocks that were just to the north of the beach. He must have cut the motor before he got too close to the island or we'd have heard it.

“I see you've found my bag.” He took a step closer and I was a little scared.

“I knew it was yours.”

“So it would seem.” He took another step closer and I saw
A Child's Book of Selkies
flapping in his hand. “And you've found some treasure, I see.” He plucked a bill from the air.

“Give it back. It's not the island's treasure. It's our money. I brought it here.”

“I don't believe it. Why would anyone bring money with them when they were hunting treasure? Most likely it's mine, buried here by my wife.”

“Your wife, the
selkie
?” I said in a smart-mouth kind of way. I'd have been in trouble with Mum for using such a tone.

“Didn't I say as much?”

Ione walked over then, Henry in back of her, hiding behind her legs. “You said there was no island here, Mr. Doyle. You said the map was wrong. Why did you say the map was wrong if you'd already been here?”

“I lied.”

It was then that he noticed Henry.

He gasped, dropping to his knees on the sand. “Saints preserve us,” he said.

Ione stepped to the side so Henry was in full view.

A Child's Book of Selkies
fell from the old man's fingertips and tumbled with a thud onto the sand. The jolt released the ancient pages from the tattered cover and they began to blow about in the wind and down to shore. Mr. Doyle was mumbling prayers or something, with his hands folded, but not closing his eyes like the folks did at Mass. He kept looking right at Henry.

And even though it was windy and cloudy and I could barely see it, I was pretty sure there was a tear rolling down his face.

Three seals came in from the water. I thought they were Betty, Charlie, and Oisin, but I couldn't be sure. They joined Henry, who had waddled in front of Ione, creating a barrier, silky and gray, between us and Mr. Doyle.

“Do you know what these are?” Mr. Doyle asked in a shaky voice.

“Selkies,” said Ione with confidence. “Of course.”

“No they aren't. They aren't selkies. Don't you know anything? They aren't selkies and they shouldn't be here.” He was shaking his head.

“Of course they should. This is their island.”

Ione had all the answers.

Mr. Doyle wiped his eyes and focused them again on Henry.

“No. These are pixie seals. And they shouldn't be here,” he said for the second time.

“Why not, Mr. Doyle? Why shouldn't the pixie seals be here?” I fairly shouted to be heard over the wind, but even without it I'd have yelled, anyway. I didn't like that he'd showed up here. And I didn't like that he'd stolen my book. And I didn't like that he was crying.

“Because pixie seals are gone from here. Gone. I ought to know.” He swallowed, then looked me in the eye hard, like he was daring me not to believe him. “I clubbed the last one years ago. Heaven help me.” Mr. Doyle was sobbing now. “I clubbed the very last one.”

 

Better Than Treasure

H
E TOLD US ABOUT
how he was forced by his father to do horrible things. We sat in the large cave, hiding from the wind. When I looked at Henry, Betty, Charlie, and Oisin, I hated Mr. Doyle. But when I looked at Mr. Doyle himself, crying like a baby, I couldn't hate him as much.

Maybe sometimes we all do things we later wish we hadn't.

Ione was less forgiving.

“I can't believe you clubbed baby seals,” she said, her eyes so black and dark and full of venom I would have thought she was putting a curse on him.

“It was a different time,” he said.

Ione snorted and continued to pet Henry, whose head was lying in her lap. Neevy was sleeping, too, in my lap. And Mr. Doyle sat across from us, never taking his eyes from the three seals that separated us.

“And when the seals were gone, my father thought he'd won. Even the fact that his leg—which he broke running away from the black seal—had healed poorly could not diminish his victory. He'd kept the seals away from the bay. But alas, the fishing was never very good again.”

I remembered the story he'd told me in his shop and I thought about my da's research project, searching for the missing pixie seals. He thought the boat traffic had driven the seals away. Instead, the poor things had been hunted and slaughtered.

And yet, here they were.

“And the nightmares never ceased,” Mr. Doyle continued. “I did lots of wishing, praying, and crying into the sea, hoping to bring back what I'd killed.” He glanced up at me, then down again. “Things don't always come back just because we want them to.”

He told us then about his wife, Pegeen, and how she'd had the look of the selkies his father had warned him about, but he couldn't keep himself away from her. And how, almost thirteen years to the day that they'd met, she vanished with all of his money.

Thirteen years.

“I can see you're doing the math, Cordelia. Yes, your mum lived in Selkie Bay for exactly thirteen years before she left.”

“Doesn't prove anything,” I said quietly.

A few more of the seals had swum up and now were huddled near the entrance of the cave. But the black one wasn't there. A sick knot formed in my stomach.

“It is the strangest thing, all of these seals. It's like seeing ghosts.” He reached out to touch one, Betty, but she barked at him and he quickly withdrew his hand. “Real enough, I suppose.”

We were quiet then; the only noise was the whistling of the wind outside.

“Why did you steal our book? And how?” Ione asked, breaking the stillness of the cave.

“You were too busy looking for that seal at the dock and lying about not going anywhere that you didn't even notice. And I needed to see the map again. I might have known where the island was, but not the treasure. I've searched before.” He pointed to his brown bag. “But not for years. There was never a trace of a treasure or a seal. Not a trace.”

“Why did you have a club, then? Were you planning to use it?”

Mr. Doyle looked shocked. “Oh no! Never again in all my days would I use such a thing. I brought it here … because I couldn't stand the sight of it. Because … when it sat in my closet at home, I could still hear the cries of the seal mums as we…”

Mr. Doyle didn't finish. I don't think either Ione or I wanted him to.

“And did the book tell you where the treasure was?” I asked, changing the subject.

He looked at the silver silken creatures around us. “No. You yourself know the book doesn't reveal the true secrets of the island.” He put out his hand again, this time palm up, and placed it under Betty's nose. She sniffed it, then nuzzled his hand. He petted her head and almost smiled through a new crop of tears. “But maybe some things are worth more than treasure.”

 

Porridge Is Boring

M
R. DOYLE WAS STILL SNIFFLING
when he said he needed to go check on his boat, so I wrapped Neevy in a cozy blanket rescued from the bottom of the bag, plunked her in a drowsy Ione's lap, and followed him. Maybe he wanted to have a good cry in peace. Maybe he thought it would make him feel better. I knew it wouldn't, though. I cried enough when Mum first left I could have written a book on crying, bigger and thicker than any selkie book. It never made me feel any better. Not one bit.

The raindrops were tiny, but there were so many of them, like a curtain of rain.

“Where is it?” I asked.

“My boat? Behind those rocks.” He pulled out a crumpled handkerchief, blew his nose loudly, then pointed to some rocks not too far past the beach.

“I don't see it.”

“It's there. Probably just hidden.” He waded out in his long boots, into the swirling foam.

“Are you sure?” I asked.

“Course I am sure. I know where I anchored my own boat,” he grumbled over his shoulder, still going toward the rocks.

“Well, if your boat is over there, whose boat do you suppose
that
is?” For there, riding on the waves far to the right of where Mr. Doyle was walking, was an old polluter of a boat, drifting farther and farther away, off into the sunset like the end of an old movie.

I could have sworn I saw six or seven little silver heads following in its wake, as if to see it off.

I thought he'd be mad, but he just mumbled, “Well, good riddance to you, you rusted-out pail of barnacles!” He caught me watching him and muttered, “What are you looking at?”

I shrugged.