The Island of Whispers Read online

  Charlie decided to break the stalemate. He stooped down, snatched up a heavy chunk of masonry and hurled it in the direction of the concealed rat. The stone seemed to skiff across the debris before thudding into the opposite wall of the monastery. The rat sprang up, streaked across Charlie’s left and disappeared through a gap in the base of the wall.

  Charlie shuddered for just an instant. The rat was enormous, a monster. He picked up another large piece of stone and headed out to the point of the island. The two men up above watched him go. They looked at each other, baffled, and then shrugged and returned to their work.

  Fat One pushed himself along the last few feet of the tunnel. He was in great pain. There was still a long way to go. Through the tunnel. Across the rocks. Into the sea. If he could just reach the water’s edge, he would let the sea swallow him up, soothe this searing pain. They wouldn’t follow him. He would be safe. He would soon join the others. But he had to move faster; he had to stay ahead of the Protectors.

  He bolted out of the tunnel, back into the swirling grey day, and almost collided into the feet of the Two-Legs. The Two-Legs stood with its back to the tunnel mouth; a great, dripping giant with its arm raised and poised to strike. Trapped between the Protectors and this monster, Fat One knew that there was only one way to go. With a gasp of agony, he twisted round and began to scramble up the slope towards the monastery. His blood spattered on to the slippery rocks, but was quickly washed away by the pounding rain.

  The Two-Legs completed its search of the south side of the point. Then it turned slowly to the north, head bowed, scanning the rocks, the arm still outstretched and menacing. The Protectors shrank back into the tunnel. They had seen the giant’s evil white face and the great rock clutched in its massive fist.

  He knew that he had made a terrible mistake. He had been so close to the entrance tunnel, only a few steps from home. But the attack by the Two-Legs had panicked him. He should have stayed in the monastery. Now he was out in the open, cringing among the rocks, further than ever from the underworld. The Two-Legs was here searching for him, ready to attack again.

  Digger tried to stop his body from shaking and to regain control of his breathing. He had to concentrate on getting back to the monastery. He raised his head very slightly and peeked over the rocks. He could see the Two-Legs turning, its gaze sweeping the ground. Then he saw Fat One scuttling up towards him. The young Watcher seemed to be in pain. The whole of his left side was covered with blood. Where had he come from? Was the Two-Legs pursuing him, too?

  As if trying to beckon to his comrade, Digger raised his head higher. He saw the rock before it hit him, a fleeting glimpse of something dark and solid. The impact lifted him off the ground. A sharp, blinding flash filled his head.

  Charlie gave out a yelp of victory as he rushed up the slope. The rat was stretched out on its side, motionless. Thick blood was seeping from the wound in its head and spreading quickly across the wet ground. Charlie nudged the rat with the toe of his shoe. The rat didn’t move. Its small, dark eyes continued to stare lifelessly into the rain. Charlie grinned, bent down and lifted the rat by its tail. He held the corpse at arm’s length, feeling the weight, admiring his trophy.

  ‘Ya beauty,’ he murmured.

  It is a monster, he thought. As big as a cat. But there must be others like it. As big as this one. Maybe a whole colony of them. The grin disappeared quickly. There was a frown on his face now. He glanced behind him. Where were they hiding? Were they lurking among the rocks? Watching him? The cold, grey island seemed suddenly more hostile. The sounds of the storm grew sinister, full of whispers, full of unknown menace. He could feel their eyes on him, following his movements. He had a vision of hordes of furry black vermin streaming down from the ruins, closing in on him.

  Still clutching the rat by its tail, Charlie began to move back to the jetty, his eyes darting constantly among the rocks. His pace quickened as he got nearer the boat. He would never admit to it afterwards, but his legs were shaking uncontrollably.

  – o –

  – Chapter Thirty –

  Twisted Foot could barely keep his head above the water. His eyes were almost completely closed against the stinging spray, and he couldn’t feel the rest of his body. He was utterly exhausted now, but he knew that he must be very close.

  A huge wave rose up in front of him. He didn’t attempt to fight it. The wave swept him up, engulfed him in its spume and then spat him out again like unwanted jetsam, dashing his body back into the cold, murky sea.

  Twisted Foot’s head re-appeared above the surface. Water gushed from his mouth and ears. He was choking, sucking for air. He was clinging to something soft and slimy. But it felt solid underneath. Hard rock! He had reached the giant’s foot.

  He climbed higher until he left the seaweed behind and there was only rock under his claws. The waves leapt up in pursuit, anxious to reclaim him. He climbed another few feet, reached the top of the pillar and then hauled his aching body over the edge. He lay there panting, his eyes closed blissfully, the pounding of the sea still deafening in his ears. Safe.

  There were four such circular granite pillars under this section of the bridge; each sunk deep into the River Forth and rising several feet above the surface like a giant steppingstone; each supporting a convergence of massive steel stanchions and arches from high above. The tops of the pillars formed the corners of a square. Inside the square, the seawater slapped and gurgled darkly.

  When Twisted Foot opened his eyes, he saw the small, sleek form of Slayer crawling up to join him. The slave-King was shivering and panting loudly, but otherwise unscathed. The others came quickly behind him, each clambering up from the seaweed to find a space on the narrow ledge round the top of the pillar. They huddled together, seeking each other’s warmth; a tightly packed semicircle of wet, shivering bodies.

  Only Timid One was left in the water. She had fallen behind the others halfway through the journey, as if her strength and willpower had suddenly deserted her. Now a wave was picking her up and dashing her against the pillar. She clung to the trailing seaweed for some moments, looking up helplessly at her companions. Then she seemed just to let go, to yield to the hungry sea. The waves claimed her back, quickly sweeping her away from the bridge and out into the estuary. Her head vanished below the water and didn’t rise again.

  The others stared silently at the sea for a while, their eyes fixed on the spot where Timid One had disappeared. They hadn’t been able to help her. Now they were too exhausted even to mourn her death.

  The storm continued to rage around them, its fury unabated. The wind cut into their bodies. The driving rain added to their misery. From time to time, a frothing wave would curl up and crash against the pillar to remind them of Timid One’s icy fate. At least we’re safe for the time being, Twisted Foot thought. We’ll rest here until darkness comes, he decided, and then continue our journey. He gazed up into the belly of the giant at the intricate network of crisscrossing spars. The first obstacle had been overcome. He sensed that the next obstacle would be no less dangerous.

  His thoughts were interrupted by the sudden wails which came from Bone-Cruncher and her youngsters.

  ‘Fat One!’ Bone-Cruncher cried. ‘Fat One isn’t here!’

  The others peered along the ledge, searching to their left and right. Then they stared down into the sea, as if expecting Fat One to emerge suddenly from the waves.

  Small Face’s voice came almost like a whisper.

  ‘I ... I th-think ...’ he stuttered, ‘he w-went b-back to the underworld ... f-for Sh-Sharp Claws ...’

  Twisted Foot’s heart sank. He looked across to the island. His gaze travelled along the point, past the ruins of the monastery and up to the crest. There was no movement. Even the creature on the high ground had stopped flapping. A train was thundering overhead. The giant shook, and Twisted Foot along with it.

  Tall waves crashed across the little boat’s prow as it veered to starboard and headed back to the Hawes Pier.
Inside the cabin, the three occupants were still cold and dripping from their experiences on the island. As on the journey out, the young men from the exhibition company clung grimly to the rail under the windscreen. Their task had been completed successfully. The fireworks display was safe.

  Charlie’s hair was still plastered to his head. His sodden, crumpled trousers stuck uncomfortably to his legs. He lit a cigarette and glanced at his passengers. The Thompson Twins without moustaches, he thought mischievously. The young men returned his glance. They had seen him raking among the rubble in the middle of the storm. Looking for ghosts probably. They thought he was crazy.

  Charlie was grinning now. Still staring straight ahead, he said:

  ‘You remember my wee joke aboot the rats?’

  The men looked at him, but said nothing.

  ‘Well, boys,’ Charlie continued.

  He left the cigarette dangling from his lips, reached down to a little cupboard on his right and pulled out the dead rat by the tail. He held up the corpse so that the rat’s glazed eyes were level with his own.

  ‘What d’you think o’ this beauty?’ he asked.

  The young men blanched. One of them swore softly. The other began to gag. Charlie brayed with laughter. They thought that he sounded remarkably like a hyena.

  – o –

  Part Four:

  Inside the Giant

  – Chapter Thirty-One –

  It was the sudden brightness that woke Twisted Foot. When he opened his eyes, he could see the sun facing him. It was away in the distance, peeping above the horizon, sending out its first rays to light up the estuary. The rays were washing over him and his companions, warming their damp bodies.

  Twisted Foot felt the coldness and tiredness begin to lift from him. It had been a long ordeal up here on the narrow ledge. All through the dark hours the storm had raged. They had dared not move from the ledge, lest the wind snatched them away and plunged them into the frothing waters below or lest they slipped on the giant’s dripping surface and slithered down to their deaths. They had stayed huddled together, shivering, waiting for the storm to break. And when it finally did, all they wanted to do was close their eyes and sleep.

  He looked around at the others. They were all still asleep. He would have to rouse them. They had escaped from that accursed society over there, but they were out in the open here, exposed for all to see. Daylight or not, they would have to continue their journey soon or risk discovery by the Two-Legs.

  He lingered for a few moments longer. He wanted to savour the warmth of the sun. Everything was so quiet, so peaceful now. Even the waters had ceased their constant turmoil to lay flat and placid, reflecting the light. He had witnessed this scene – the awakening of the world above – many times before when he came to the end of those long, lonely watches in the darkness. He knew that the tranquillity wouldn’t last, though. The vessels of the Two-Legs would appear beside them soon. And the Two-Legs creatures would begin to rush back and forth through the belly of the giant. It occurred to him that he still hadn’t heard the first of those creatures; it usually accompanied the appearance of each new day’s light. He didn’t know why this day should be any different.

  After many hours of shrieks and squeals and growls and dying gurgles, quiet had also returned to the underworld. From his perch at the head of the pool, One Eye surveyed the aftermath of the battle in the Common lair. The floor of the lair was strewn with corpses. Although there were many Scavengers among the corpses, there were also many warriors and she-rats and youngsters from the Outer Circle. The carnage had been even worse on the platform in the centre of the lair, where the bodies of the Rulers were now piled, one on top of the other, almost all with their bellies split open. A few Scavengers still prowled around the bodies, gnawing at the spilled entrails, but most had gone, having already gorged themselves on Inner Circle flesh; tired, sated and thirsty, they had returned to their own lair, where they could quench their thirsts and sleep.

  One Eye was pleased with himself for having had the presence of mind to guide the members of his lair to this narrow entrance to the pool. By making a stand here, the Hunters had not only denied the Scavengers access to the pool, but had also blocked their means of escape to the outside world. He was equally pleased with the performance of his warriors; they had successfully withstood wave after wave of attacks. Some warriors had been slain, of course, but most were still there beside him, alert, ready for the next onslaught. Behind them, sleeping fitfully round the edge of the pool, were their mates and youngsters. He turned to regard the sleeping forms. Safe for the time being, he nodded. Not like the Watchers. Having observed the slaves wander freely into and out of the Watchers’ lair, he could only presume that they had all perished. They were a useless lot anyway, he muttered to himself; their presence in the underworld wouldn’t be missed.

  He returned his gaze to the Common lair. Directly across from him was the mouth of the tunnel leading to the Protectors’ lair. His comrades over there had also fought bravely. They, too, had beaten back the slaves to protect their own mates and young, as well as what was left of the Inner Circle. He nodded again. It wouldn’t be long before the Hunters and Protectors joined forces to regain control of the underworld. Together, they would drive the remaining slaves back into their dungeon, and they would ensure that none could ever escape from the dungeon again. That was the plan. All they were waiting for now was the order from Long Snout to begin the assault.

  He had heard the details of the plan direct from the mouth of the Chamberlain himself. When he saw that the battle was ebbing, that the Scavengers were growing tired, he had gone immediately to the world above, struggling through the wind and rain to reach the sacred tunnel and make contact with the survivors in the Protectors’ lair. Long Snout had been there; unbowed by the revolt, angry, defiant, as imposing as ever, the old Chamberlain was confident that, when it came, their counterattack would defeat the slaves. But first he wanted the surviving warriors to rest up, tend their wounds and regain their strength. In the meantime, there were other important matters to be considered. During the battle, the Two Legs had returned to the world above, their presence bringing to a halt the Protectors’ pursuit of those wretched, young traitors. According to the Protectors, one of the Two Legs had killed a warrior. Its victim was a decrepit, worthless Watcher, but a warrior nevertheless. Although the Two Legs had departed in their vessel long ago, the Chamberlain was convinced that they would be back once more. With the traitors still at large, he also feared that that next visit could lead to discovery of the underworld and the destruction of their society. That was why the Protectors now permanently guarded the sacred tunnel from the outside. And it was why he, as Chief Hunter, had agreed to take on responsibility for watching over the rest of the outside world. Torn Coat, his most trusted lieutenant, was up there at this moment, with orders to go direct to the sacred tunnel to report any unusual activity.

  One Eye yawned. Now it was just a case of waiting for the signal from Long Snout. He was tired. His only eye felt heavy. Perhaps he would also doze for a little while.

  It had been many Cycles since he had ventured out on the world above, but when he heard the report from Broken Tail he had felt the necessity to come up here and witness the spectacle for himself. He was still blinking in the brightness, still gasping at the sharpness of the air, when he saw them. They were clustered around the top of one of the giant’s feet: a bedraggled, sorry-looking bunch. From where he stood just outside the entrance to the sacred tunnel, he could make out the cripple from the Watchers’ lair and the cripple’s long-eared collaborator. The smaller, muscular one alongside the cripple must be the slave-King, he growled; Broken Tail had said that he was there. There was no sign of the fat traitor, though. The Protectors who chased him out of the underworld bragged that they had dealt him a mortal blow. Perhaps his corpse was somewhere among the rocks. Or perhaps he had drowned when he tried to swim across to the giant. No matter. It was the cripple he wanted. It wa
s the cripple who was to blame for all of this. It was the cripple who would pay! As soon as he could spare them, as soon as this business with the Scavengers was over, he would pick out his best Protectors. Their job would be to find the cripple and bring him back. The traitor’s punishment would be special, unprecedented!

  Unable to contain his anger, Long Snout was growling and snarling so loudly now that he didn’t hear the approach of the Two-Legs vessel. Torn Coat’s sudden appearance at his side alerted him to the danger.

  ‘Go back!’ he hissed at Torn Coat. ‘Let me know what the Two Legs get up to this time!’

  ‘Pah!’ he hissed again as he swept past the guard to return to the underworld.

  – o –

  – Chapter Thirty-Two –

  As predicted by the weathermen, the Big Day had arrived in a blaze of sunshine and blue sky. Out of the storm that had raged for a whole day and a whole night, there emerged a bright, fresh autumn morning of the kind that are common in the east of Scotland. As soon as it was light, the organisers of the Big Day hurriedly reviewed the impact on their arrangements of the storm and the terrible deluge that had accompanied it. Not unexpectedly, parts of some of the fields which they had designated as temporary car and bus parks were still waterlogged, and frantic efforts were being made to drain the excess water. However, judging from the number of vehicles that were already converging on the fields, a bit of boggy land was not going to deter sightseers. That difficulty over parking aside, everything appeared to be still intact to cater for the estimated influx of at least a million visitors to the area.