X-Isle (31 page)

His voice was calmer than usual, more polite, and Baz could see why. Isaac wasn’t alone. A little group of people had followed him in through the entrance – a woman and two girls.

“Here we are, then,” said Isaac. “It’s pretty basic, but we can make you comfortable.”

The trio put down the holdalls they were carrying and looked about them. Their very presence was so bewildering, so utterly unexpected, that it took Baz a long moment to realize that he knew one of the girls. Or rather, he knew who she was. Tall, fair-haired, pretty, dressed in a blue denim skirt, white T-shirt and sandals: Nadine Wilmslow, the girl from downstairs in the building where he’d last lived! 
Nadine Wilmslow?
 What was she... how could 
she
 be here? Baz’s gaze must have been so fixed that it couldn’t go unnoticed. At any rate Nadine looked at him, held his eyes for a second before turning away. There had been no sign of recognition.

The woman, perhaps the girls’ mother, said, “I’m sure it’ll be fine, Mr. Eck. Thank you.” She was fair like the girls, professional-looking somehow in a navy-blue tracksuit. Not the sort of woman who would be shipped across on the notorious Ladies’ Days, Baz thought. So why 
were
 they here?

“Good,” said Isaac. “Right – you, lad.” He pointed to Ray. “Take our guests up to their room, show them where everything is. Help them with their bags, and then you can come back for the other mattress. And you, Cookie, go down to the jetty and get the rest of their things off the boat. You’ll find some equipment in the cabin locker. Bring it all up.”

Baz began to move, but he was hesitant and uncertain, Isaac’s instructions still not having had a chance to sink in properly. Ray brushed past him, stooping to pick up one of the holdalls, and Baz noticed that the younger girl was staring at him, frowning. She tipped her head sideways, as if to get a better look at Ray’s face.

“He might need some help,” the woman was saying. “Some of the equipment’s rather heavy.”

“No trouble,” said Isaac. “Cookie – get someone from the sort room to give you a hand. You’ll be cooking for eight tonight, by the way.”

“Eight? All right.”

Baz started to walk towards the entrance, then remembered that he was supposed to get help from the sort room, so he turned round again. Ray was standing upright now, a bag in each hand. He flicked the hair off his forehead. And then Baz saw the expression on the younger girl’s face. Her eyebrows shot up and her mouth simply fell open – a look of complete astonishment. And yet she said nothing. In fact she seemed to deliberately and quickly look the other way. Why? Had there been some signal from Ray? Did the two of them know each other?

“What’s the problem?” Isaac was becoming impatient.

“Nothing,” said Baz. He went off to the sort room.

By the time he came out again, accompanied by Gene, the corridor was empty.

It was strange being on the 
Cormorant
 with none of the capos or crew overseeing them. Baz and Gene felt they ought to be making the most of the opportunity, but they’d taken a look around and could find nothing worth pocketing. And Baz, still in his white coat, had no pockets in any case.

“We could nick the boat,” he said, “if we had the keys.”

“Yeah, and then what? Sail off to the Bahamas? Don’t s’pose there 
are
 any Bahamas anymore. Anyway, there’s a disabler thing on it. A bit that they take away. The keys are no good without that.” Gene was crouching down and examining the engine that powered the winch. “Couldn’t even hot-wire it.”

“What’re you doing?” said Baz.

“Nothing, really. Just checking this out. I did a bit of work on this motor when the winch was first rigged up. Come on. We’d better get back.”

They gathered up a couple of black canvas bags, smaller and slimmer than holdalls, but heavy nonetheless. It felt as though these contained equipment of some sort rather than clothes. There was also a large flat-packed object on wheels, a bit like a suitcase, with an extending handle to pull it along.

“So is that the lot?” said Gene.

“Oh – Isaac said there was stuff in the locker as well.”

The big wooden locker was built into the side of the cabin – the same locker that Baz and Ray had sat upon while waiting for the boat to leave the mainland. Gene lifted up the lid.

It was a much deeper space than it appeared from the outside, the floor sunk some way below deck level. A couple of aluminum cases lay amongst a tangle of ropes and other assorted rubbish – old fishing lines and big lead weights.

“S’pose it must be those things.” Gene swung his legs over the side of the locker and jumped in.

“Sling ’em up to me, then,” said Baz.

But Gene’s attention had been drawn by something else. “Whoa – look at that,” he said. “There’s a trapdoor.” At the rear of the locker well was a square trapdoor with a ring handle mounted into the floor. Gene picked at the metal ring, raised the trapdoor and peered down. “Yeah. It’s so you can get at the bilge pump. I can see the stopcocks.” He looked down into the dark hole a little longer, then closed the trap again. “Hm.”

“Come on,” said Baz. “It stinks in here.”

“Tell you what, though...” Gene hoisted the cases over the lip of the locker and clambered out. “Just gimme a moment.” He stepped through the doorway and took another look at the winch, walking around the tripod construction, glancing back towards the wheelhouse once or twice, as if measuring the distance. “Yeah... this could be good. This could be perfect.”

“What are you on about?” Baz watched from the cabin doorway as Gene crouched down and ran his fingertips over the grooved decking.

“The boat.” Gene looked up at Baz, his dark curly hair falling across his eyes. “If we ever 
could
 build a bomb – I mean, if we really had to – then this’d be the place for it. Here on the boat. In that locker. Maybe even get something down through the trap and into the bilges. Perfect. We could blow ’em out of the water, the whole friggin’ lot of ’em in one go. Just like Ray said.”

Baz turned round and looked at the locker again, a dark shape in the gloom of the wheelhouse. “Blimey...”

“The thing is, though’ – Gene stood up and gazed blankly out to sea – ‘I 
still
 got no idea what the gas and air mixture’s supposed to be, to make methane explode. The proper formula. And I got no way of finding out. It could be ten to one, could be fifty-fifty. Could be anything.”

“Bring back the internet,” murmured Baz.

“Yeah, right.”

Then Baz thought of something. He waited for a moment before speaking, savoring the feeling of power, anticipating the look he was about to bring to Gene’s face. “So,” he said, “would a few chemistry books be any good to you? Like maybe a whole library shelf full of them?”

The woman who had arrived earlier in the day was a dentist. A makeshift surgery had been set up in the dining area, and as Baz went about his afternoon chores, he found excuses to pass through here several times and observe what was happening.

What had looked like a suitcase on wheels turned out to be a folding table or couch. It had chrome legs, and a base that was padded in white plastic material. One by one the divers took turns to lie upon the couch as they had their teeth checked by the dentist lady. It was strange to see the great burly men looking so vulnerable.

“That’s going to have to come out, Mr. Moko.”

“Ahh!” Moko struggled to sit up, but the dentist put a hand on his chest and pushed him down again.

“Yes, I’m afraid it will hurt a bit. Sorry.”

Baz hurried into the safety of the kitchen to hide his sniggers, delighted to see the mighty Moko on the receiving end for a change.

But now he’d better get serious and start thinking about cooking – and cooking for eight, at that. Eight! Baz took one of the recipe books from the stack beside the microwave and began thumbing through it, looking for inspiration. Why did so many recipes call for potatoes, and cheese, and onions, and all the things he didn’t have?

“Er... Cookie?”

The kitchen door opened, and Nadine Wilmslow stood there. The fact of her being on the island was still such a shock that Baz didn’t know how to cope with it. He was too astonished to do anything but stare.

“All right if I come in?” Nadine didn’t wait for an answer but came in anyway, letting the door swing to behind her. She’d swapped her denim skirt for a pair of pink jeans, and looked altogether amazingly fresh and clean. “Only we brought over half a dozen eggs, and Mr. Eck said to give them to you.”

“Uh?”

Mr. Eck? Half a dozen eggs? This was just too weird to be really happening.

“Oh. Um...” Baz had found his voice. Just about. “Er... OK. Thanks.” How stupid he sounded. And how stupid he must look, in his shorts, and his split trainers, and his oversized white jacket.

“What are you making?” Nadine smiled at him and came closer. She was clutching a carrier bag, rolled over at the top.

Baz put down his recipe book and tried to pull himself together. “Well... I haven’t made up my mind yet.”

“Oh. And is this your job, then? Is that why they call you Cookie?”

“They don’t call me Cookie.” Baz felt that he had to make this much clear, at least. “Nobody calls me Cookie, except the divers. My name’s Baz.”

“Oh. Sorry. Mine’s Nadine.”

“Yeah, I know. I’ve seen you before. I... we... used to live upstairs from you. In Canal Street.”

“
No!
 Really? What – not in the Brindley building?” The girl laid her carrier bag on the worktop.

“Yeah. Me and my dad. I saw you most days...”

“Seriously? How amazing!” Nadine opened her green-brown eyes extra wide. “We just moved out a while back, and went over to Golthwaite. But are you sure it was me? It was a big building – loads of people lived there. Plenty of other girls...”

“No, it was definitely you.”

And Baz could see that Nadine wasn’t in any serious doubt that he might have mistaken her for someone else. She looked like a girl who was used to being noticed. Her blonde hair was loosely scrunched up into a high ponytail, but so casually perfect that it must have required a mirror. And her clothes weren’t just clean, they were uncreased. Almost like they’d been ironed.

“So...” She stood back slightly, as if trying to place him. “Would you have been wearing your white jacket then?”

“This? No, course not. They only make me wear this stupid thing for working in the kitchen.”

“Oh, but it’s so 
sweet
. Makes you look like a proper chef.” And to Baz’s horror, Nadine reached out with both hands and straightened his grubby lapels, her lips pursed as she took in the effect. Baz could do nothing but stand there and endure the indignity.

“Er... so you’ve brought some eggs then.” It wasn’t what he wanted to say, but it gave him an opportunity to pull away.

“Yes. A little present. Preacher John’s been so kind...”

Kind? Preacher John? Baz couldn’t swallow that idea at all. “So, what... what’re you doing here? I mean, I can see your mum’s a dentist, but—”

“She’s not our mum. We call her Aunt Etta, although she’s not really even our aunt. She’s our dad’s cousin. She’s been looking after Steffie and me ever since... well, you know...”

“Oh. So... Steffie. That’s your sister?” Baz remembered the way the younger girl had stared at Ray. “I think maybe she knows my friend Ray,” he said. “The guy that took your bags up.”

“Mmm... wouldn’t have thought so. Let’s make sure these eggs have survived, then.”

Nadine began to unroll the top of the carrier bag.

“So your aunt’s a dentist... but why are 
you
 here?”

“Preacher John invited us!” Nadine began to take the eggs out of the bag, placing them on the work surface, one by one. “He sent a message – a letter. He said that he wanted Aunt Etta to come to the island for a few days and give all his workers a check-up, but Aunt Etta sent a message back saying she couldn’t leave me and Steffie by ourselves. And so then Preacher John invited all of us! He said that me and Steffie could come to the island too, so that we could be with Aunt Etta. He sent the boat over specially! We couldn’t believe it, ’cos girls aren’t usually allowed here, are they? So, what’s he like?”

“Who?” Baz was getting a bit lost.

“Preacher John, of course. We’ve never met him. Everybody says he’s like a guru – or a saint from the Bible or something. Anyway’ – Nadine carried right on talking – ‘Aunt Etta jumped at it. It’s given her some extra work, and for me and Steffie it was like we’d be coming away on a real holiday.” Nadine looked at Baz, and her hazel eyes seemed to cloud over. “We were so excited about seeing the place again. But now—”

“What do you mean,” said Baz, “seeing the place again? You couldn’t have been on the boat before.”

“No. Me and Steffie went to school here. Tab Hill High. It was a girls’ school.” Nadine’s voice brightened. “Tell you what, though, it’s still a lot better than back on the mainland. We’ve got our own room here, and proper mattresses... toilets all to ourselves – can’t believe that. You know what I hope?” She lowered her voice. “I hope their teeth are so bad we get to stay here for a month!”

Was she nuts? Couldn’t this idiot girl see what a hellhole she’d landed in, and what these men were really like?

“Were you ever around on trading days?” Baz said. “You know, when the boat came over to the mainland at Linley? Did you ever go down and watch?”

“No. We’d have liked to, ’cos it seemed like it might be fun, but Aunt Etta would never let us. Too many Teefers about. Aunt Etta said the Ecks were a good family, just trying to run their business and keep people fed, but the Teefers – they could get nasty. Best to keep away. It was one of the reasons we moved, the Teefers.”

So Nadine had never seen the Ecks in action, by the sound of it. They were just a jolly sailor crew as far as she was concerned. Baz thought of Preacher John tossing the rabbits onto the altar fire, of Enoch, crushed beneath that same altar slab... the disappearance of Cookie... Taps...

But Nadine knew nothing of these things. She’d turned up in her pink jeans and white blouse like a tourist, ready for a holiday, eager to see how the natives lived.