In The Wreckage: A Tale of Two Brothers (3 page)

They hoisted the hay aboard and Faro told the fishermen to row back without them. “We’ll get the last boat,” he said. They clambered up a rope ladder, Conall with the bag slung over his shoulder. Rufus wriggled, whimpering. Conall hushed the dog softly.
 

Argent told them to move the hay to the bottom deck, ordered one of the sailors to show them the way, then stomped off, shouting about stays and buntlines, lifts and leeches, yelling to the men scrambling in the rigging.

Conall looked up at the masts and the bewildering web of lines and cables, ropes and sails. The tallest mast must have been a hundred and fifty feet high. The last of the fuel on Shetland had run dry long ago and the small fishing boats had been converted to sail power. But no one had tried to build a larger sail ship, one that could cross the ocean. From the muddle of masts and ropes, he could see why. It was a task beyond them.
 

Faro pushed him in the back. “Get on with it.”
 

Conall picked up a sack and followed Faro towards the back of the ship where a sailor waited, waving his hands in the air in annoyance. “Throw them,” he said. The boys dropped the sacks which thumped onto the deck below. As they clambered down, a deep animal groaning filled the confined space. A cow. Then more noises. Pigs and sheep. Conall reached the bottom of the steps and stood on the lower deck in a narrow hallway, with rooms on either side. The noises came from the stern, along the corridor. The ship smelt like a floating farmyard.

“Down there.” The sailor pointed to a narrow gap. A ladder led into the gloom of the hold at the bottom of the ship. They threw the sacks down and climbed after them. “Sacks at the stern, away from the fuel barrels. You know your way now,” yelled the sailor.
 

The hold was cramped and dingy, barely high enough to stand. Around the steps, metal barrels had been secured to the sides of the ship by a chain. In the centre of the room stood a diesel engine, cold, quiet and lifeless. Beyond the engine, boxes of supplies had been stored next to a stack of hay. Faro clambered past the engine and told Conall to hand through the sacks. Conall put his bag on the deck, opening it up to check on Rufus.
 

“Give me that,” Faro said. He took the bag and stored it behind the hay.
 

Conall craned his neck to peer round and check on the dog. If they were ordered off the boat, Rufus would be alone down here. But there was no way to carry the bag up and down those stairs while lugging sacks of hay on his back. “Stay there boy. I’ll be back, I promise.”

Faro jabbed him in the chest, pointing back towards the steps.

“We need water.” He whispered the words, unsure how far his voice would travel in the boat. “And food. What will we eat?”

“Worry about that when we’ve sailed,” Faro said.
 

Two more row-boats arrived from shore laden with sacks. The boys spent an hour moving them down to the hold, as the row-boats returned again and again with more supplies. Finally the last of the hay arrived and there were only three sacks left on deck. The row-boat bobbed on the water, manned by a different crew, men unaware that Conall and Faro were on board.

The boys each grabbed a sack. Faro went first. Conall paused, looking around the ship. The sailors were busy, shouting orders, stowing supplies, getting the ship ready. No one noticed them. A boat headed out from shore and Conall recognised the captain sitting at the front.
 

Conall mouthed a silent farewell to the town of Lerwick and his hilltop lookout, then slipped down the steps, following Faro into the hold. “I say we wait here.”
 

“What about the last sack?”
 

“If we go back, they might notice. The row-boat was leaving, I’m sure of it.”
 

They stacked the hay sacks around themselves, building a den where they could hide. Conall let Rufus out of the bag but held him close, listening to the sounds of the ship, and the sailors making her ready. His heart pounded. They were heading into the unknown. He’d miss the island, the views across the headlands, the oceans, the dawns and sunsets. But Shetland had never felt like home. They’d never been accepted by the locals, who had enough troubles of their own without looking after orphans dumped on their doorstep.
 

Jonah’s shouts from on deck mingled with the banging of the captain’s row-boat against the hull. Conall held his breath at the sound of footsteps on the ladder down to the hold. A man muttered in the gloom, tinkering with the engine. It throbbed into life but even the thrum of the engine close by couldn’t drown out the clanging of the anchor chain being hauled in. Gently, almost imperceptibly,
The Arkady
began to move.
 

It wouldn’t take long to clear the Sound, the thin channel of water between the Shetland mainland and the Isle of Bressay. Then the crew would put out the sail, to save the precious fuel. Rufus clawed at the sacking impatiently. Conall gripped him, holding his sides, imploring the dog to stay silent. He sensed Faro next to him tensing in anger. But the man by the engine hadn’t heard. The engineer kept muttering to himself, while up above they heard the sailors rushing around on deck, pulling on ropes, barking commands, winding winches and tugging at the sails. A shout came from above and the man in the gloom slowed the engine until it stopped. His footsteps receded upwards. A light clicked off, and they were alone in the dark.
 

≈≈≈≈

The rocking of the ship increased as they pulled away from the inland waters into the north Atlantic swell. Conall and Faro lay motionless in the darkness of the hold, surrounded by the jumble of sails, cables and ropes, tools and supplies. Above them animals shuffled and stamped, heavy hooves clonking on the wooden deck.

Conall’s mouth was dry and he longed for water. He hadn’t eaten since leaving the inn. Where would they find food? They’d have to sneak around the cramped ship somehow, even though every available space was used for storage or living quarters.
 

“How far to Svalbard? How long will it take?”
 

“Ten days, twenty, I don’t know” Faro said. “Depends how often they stop. They’ll head for Norway, work their way up the coast. They’ll need to stock up again I guess, hay and fresh water.”
 

Once darkness fell they slipped out from behind the sacks, barefoot to reduce the sound of their feet on the decking. They crept along the length of the ship in pitch blackness, arms in front of their faces, feeling for obstacles. Any sound on this ship might carry. Sailors could be sleeping above their heads, only inches away.
 

They squeezed past the engine towards the steps at the rear. On the middle deck they emerged into a dim light. Electric lamps cast enough glow to move more freely. “A battery, or a generator,” Faro whispered. “Wind power, maybe.”
 

Faro led the way past cabins on either side, a workshop and a washroom, until they came to an open area the full width of the ship. A shelf of books stood at one end, and a table with a chess board, packs of cards. Faro crossed the room slowly, put his ear against the door and listened, then eased it open.
 

As Conall stepped through the door the smell of animals and dung, food and straw intensified, a deep, earthy scent, pungent in the enclosed room. He felt the heat of the animals, their presence in the dark, sleeping but stirring, aware that someone was in their space. A calf shuffled off to his left. There was no light except the faint glow of the moon through portholes. He put his hand on Faro’s shoulder and followed him into the centre of the room. It took a few moments, but his eyes got used to the darkness. The calf was standing up, watching them. He moved closer, counted seven calves in all, half grown. No adult cows. He moved the pens, counting lambs, piglets, young goats.
 

“Easier to transport,” Faro whispered. “Young ones live longer, take up less room.”
 

At the far side of the room they found an enclosure that was home to chickens and a rooster, ducks, and seven geese. Conall climbed in and took four chicken eggs. As he clambered out, he heard Faro rustling through bags. “Carrots,” Faro said, “for the pigs. Better than nothing.”
 

Conall showed him the eggs. “We’ve no way to cook them.”
 

“Eat them raw.”

They each cracked an egg and swallowed it down. The gloopy white of it slithered down his throat and Conall almost coughed and retched.
 

“Not that bad,” Faro said. He cracked a second and gulped it down. Conall followed suit. It was food. “Is there water?”
 

“There’s a barrel here, fed by a pipe from up on deck. Rainwater,” Faro said. “It’ll be all right.” He opened the tap, put his mouth underneath and slurped the water as it splashed across his face. Conall scooped up handfuls of it and brought it to his lips. It tasted clean but musty. “Where’d they get all this stuff?” Conall ran his hand down the side of the barrel, examining the texture. He’d seen plastics before, remnants of the old world that survived on Shetland, but it was scarce. Irreplaceable.
 

“Mainland I guess, lots more of it there,” Faro said. Conall examined more bags in the corner of the room but found only feed pellets and rotting vegetables no human would touch. He opened boxes and crates, pressing his hands inside, and brought out potatoes, carrots and turnips neatly stowed. A smaller wooden box had been filled with neat rows of seeds. “They’ve got everything to set up a farm,” he said. “It doesn’t seem fair to take them, they’ve gone to all this trouble.”
 

“We need proper food,” Faro said. “Kitchen must be on the top deck. Most of the cabins too.”
 

“We’d never reach it,” Conall said, “not without being seen.”
 

Above their heads the wood creaked as someone walked along the deck. Conall froze, barely breathing. Had they been heard? What would the sailors do when they found they had stowaways on board? They’d never stay hidden for ten days or more, not on a ship so cramped and crowded.

“Back to the hold,” Faro whispered. “There’ll be a watch on the top deck.”
 

The boys tiptoed towards the door, nearly there when they heard footsteps heading straight for them. Conall retreated into the darkness of the room. He found himself standing hard against the cow pen, a calf nuzzling his hand with its wet nose.
 

They waited, silent. The door swung open. A hand fumbled for a switch. The light flickered and took, dim and yellowed but enough to leave them exposed, clearly visible.
 

A girl, the one Conall had seen on deck, stepped into the room. She saw them, froze, and opened her mouth about to scream.
 

Faro tensed beside him, as if about to rush the girl. Madness. There was no way to silence or threaten her. Conall put his hands together in front of his face in a gesture of supplication, a prayer for mercy, his expression imploring the girl not to yell out. “Please, don’t give us away.”
 

The girl laughed. Too loud. “You’re stowaways. Now this ship really does have everything.”

Faro put his finger over his lips, asking her to be quiet.
 

“I should tell my father. When did you get on board?”
 

“A few hours ago,” Faro whispered, “at Lerwick.”
 

“You were on the row-boat,” she said, “helping with the hay. No wonder you were so helpful. I’m surprised Jonah didn’t stop you. It’s not like him to fall for a trick like that.”
 

Conall stepped out from behind Faro. “I guess he knows all the tricks.”

“He invented them,” she said.
 

Conall looked the girl over. Her thin, angular face would be pretty enough in daylight, but in the dim, yellow glow it appeared etched and ghostly. He felt something kick hard in his guts and knew it had nothing to do with raw eggs.
 

“Help us,” Faro said. “We’re looking for our parents.”
 

She gave him a look, as if she didn’t believe a word.
 

Conall glanced at Faro. His voice sounded wrong, as if he didn’t believe it himself. “We’ve been stuck on Shetland ten years. They travelled north.”
 

“Left you behind?”
 

“We don’t know. One day they were gone.”
 

“The day a ship sailed for Svalbard,” Faro said.
 

“It was a mix up.”
 

“Or something.”
 

The girl looked at her feet. “My father’ll kill me. He’s bound to find you in the end.”
 

Conall stepped closer to the girl. “Don’t give us away. We won’t say anything, we’ll keep it secret. If we make it to Norway, they can put us ashore. If they find us out here…”

“Jonah’ll throw you to the fishes,” she said. “Or feed you to the pigs.”
 

For an instant, Conall thought she meant it. Then he saw a smile flicker across her face. “All right,” she said. “But you can’t hide in here. We check on the animals every hour.”
 

“We’re in the hold,” Faro said.
 

“Best place,” she said. “Stay there.”
 

“We need food and water, for my dog, too.”
 

“You brought a dog? What kind? What’s his name? Jonah’ll throw him overboard. All right, I’ll do what I can. Get back down there, I have to check the animals and report. Don’t come up here, they’ll see you for sure. And don’t steal our eggs.”
 

Faro touched the girl’s arm in thanks, and gestured for Conall to lead the way.
 

When they got back to the hold and had settled in behind the sacks, Rufus licked Conall’s hands, tasting the remains of raw egg.
 

“She was all right,” Faro said, his voice low but confident and self-assured. “I think I might enjoy this voyage.”