Gold of the Gods (7 page)

Beck watched her grimace as the slimy
goo slithered down her throat.

'
Buen apetito!
' he said.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Beck gazed listlessly down into the glassy
stillness. It was late afternoon at the end of
their first day at sea and the wind had
dropped. The sail of the
Bella Señora
hung
lifeless from the mast, looking ominously
like a bed sheet once more.

After their five-star breakfast of raw fish
washed down with eyeball fluid and blood,
Beck had produced a little magic. A few teaspoons
of dew had collected overnight in
the folds at the bottom of the sail and the
crew had gratefully dampened their lips and
wiped away the taste of fish.

The fish livers had dried quickly in the
sun and they had smeared their exposed
skin with the thick droplets of oil that oozed
to the surface. For a while the breeze had
cooled their skin but the sun's brutal glare
was beginning to take its toll. The twins lay
dozing in the shadow of the mast. Marco
cradled a tin can which he had spotted
floating in the water and had managed to
pluck from the waves as they sailed by.
Inside lay the guts of the flying fish in a
putrefying mass.

Beck smiled. Marco was learning fast.
Gone now was the disgust of just a few
hours before. Anything that could help
them survive was precious. Including the
fish guts. But Beck's throat felt parched and
hunger was beginning to gnaw at his
stomach. The water looked so pure and cool
and tempting. He let his hand dangle for a
while in the silky stillness, longing to feel its
coolness on his lips.

But somewhere deep inside, alarm bells
were ringing. That way only madness lay.
Throughout history shipwrecked sailors had
been unable to resist the temptation to
drink sea water and had quickly gone
insane.

A grisly thought sprang into Beck's mind.
He remembered the day Uncle Al had taken
him to the Louvre, the famous art gallery in
Paris. The
Mona Lisa
, with its crowds of
jostling tourists, had not interested him.
Instead he sat for nearly an hour, staring at
a huge canvas that covered almost the entire
wall of one of the gallery's other rooms.

It was a painting called
The Wreck of the
Medusa
by the artist Géricault. Uncle Al
told him the real-life story. A French ship
had been wrecked in a storm and some of
the crew had escaped on a raft. After several
weeks at sea the crew had become so
desperate and hungry, they began to eat
each other.

He looked over to where Christina lay
curled up, her leg stretched invitingly
towards him. Beck raised his eyes to the
heavens and laughed out loud. 'I must not
eat Christina's leg,' he chanted. And then
repeated it three times, as if he were back at
school, writing out lines in detention for
Mrs Armington. 'But parrots are just fine,'
he added, suddenly jumping to his feet and
making a mock charge at Ringo, who
hopped around the deck, screeching loudly
and flapping his wings in alarm.

The commotion shook the twins out of
their stupor. Marco groaned and crawled
towards the side of the raft, saying he was
about to throw up. Grabbing his arm so his
palm was facing upwards, Beck pressed his
thumb hard into the veins in the centre of
Marco's wrist. Marco's shoulders slumped
and he felt the muscles in the pit of his
stomach relax. The desire to vomit slowly
lifted.

'How did you do that, Beck?' asked
Marco, amazed.

'It's an old acupuncture technique my
mum taught me,' said Beck. 'It's best not to
be sick if you can possibly help it. You'll lose
so much body fluid, and you know what
that means.'

'More eyeballs,' said Christina. 'Yum,
yum!' She yawned and shook her head, her
earrings flashing in the bright sunlight. She
looked up to see Beck staring intently at her.

'I think I've got it,' he said.

'Aye, aye, skip,' said Marco, who was now
feeling better and was looking at Beck
curiously. 'But we haven't!'

'Your earrings, Christina. Give me your
earrings.'

Christina spun her head out of the way as
Beck made a grab for her ears. 'What are
you doing?' shouted Marco. 'You've been
drinking the sea water, haven't you?' A short
scuffle broke out as Marco leaped to protect
his sister, the strength in the boy's skinny
frame taking Beck by surprise.

'Fish hooks, loco,' hissed Beck. 'Your
sister is wearing a pair of fish hooks in her
ears. We need food. But she doesn't need to
look pretty. And if you do that again, you'll
capsize the raft.'

Marco loosened his grip and Beck
wondered whether the boy realized how
easily he could have tossed him aside. But
Marco was showing signs of stress and now
was not the time for Beck to show off his
skills as a junior judo champion.

As Christina reached for the lobes of her
ears, Beck could see tears welling up in
her eyes. 'I'm sorry,' he said quietly. 'But we
need food. Unless we eat some fish, the fish
will soon be eating us.'

Dropping her head to first one side and
then the other, she removed the earrings
with deft flicks of her wrist. 'I'm beginning
to hate you,
Inglés
,' she said. 'Mum gave me
these as a present after she came back from
a trip to Brazil.' She dropped them into
Beck's outstretched palm. 'And I expect
them back with a fish supper attached.'

Beck sat down with his back to the mast
as Marco took over the tiller. The wind was
beginning to get up again and the sun
was dropping lower in the sky as evening
drew on. Working away at the soft metal
with the blade of the machete, he had soon
fashioned a pair of fish hooks. He held them
up for the twins to inspect.

'All very clever, skip,' said Marco. 'But we
don't have any fishing tackle.'

'That's where you're wrong,' said Beck,
untying the laces of his trainers.

But Christina wasn't listening. She was
jumping up and down, pointing at the
water in front of the raft. 'Look! Look! Over
there!'

Beck peered down into the depths. Dark
shapes were zigzagging at high speed around
the raft. Like fleeting shadows, they moved
so fast that they were gone as quickly as he
could focus on them. Christina let out a cry
of delight as one broke through the surface,
arching into the air ahead of them. It was
followed by another and then another, until
they were surrounded by leaping creatures
like acrobats at a circus.

'Dolphins,' laughed Marco as arcs of
water droplets from their smooth white
underbellies sparkled in the evening sun.
The twins had seen dolphins in aquariums,
jumping through hoops as a trainer threw
fish into their mouths. But this was the first
time they had encountered them at sea.

Their spirits soared as the dolphins
soared and spun in an intricate dance.
Christina gasped again as a mother with two
babies pirouetted through the air, turning
somersaults before plunging back into the
water.

'
Bailemos, bailemos
. Let's dance, let's
dance,' she shouted, doing a little jig across
the desk.

'This beats synchronized swimming any
day.' Marco's eyes were alight. 'They're just
so graceful.'

'Look, look. She's smiling at us,'
Christina said in delight as the mother
dolphin leaped through the air once again.
And then suddenly, like the sun disappearing
behind clouds, they were gone.
Christina crumpled to the deck, not knowing
whether to laugh or cry.

'Why did they have to go so quickly?' she
cried as Marco put his arm around her and
they slumped in a deflated heap against the
mast.

But Beck wasn't listening. He was staring
out to sea, his eyes making a slow sweep of
the water around them. Sensing that something
was seriously wrong, the twins sat bolt
upright, following Beck's gaze.

And then Marco saw it. It felt like a knife
had been plunged into the pit of his
stomach. A sinister black triangle like
the sail of a miniature pirate ship was
slicing through the water around the boat.

No one spoke. There was no need.

The
Bella Señora
was being circled by a
shark.

CHAPTER NINE

The twins watched, mesmerized. The black
fin was slicing through the surface of the
water like the blade of a knife through cling-film.
With idle flicks of its huge tail, it
cruised ominously just below the surface of
the water; the evil silkiness was so different
from the arching playfulness of the dolphins
just a few minutes before.

But Beck's gaze had shifted. No wonder
the shark had shown up. A river of red goo
was dribbling over the side of the raft.
During the encounter with the dolphins,
the tin can with the fish guts had been
knocked over. Talk about a red rag to a bull,
thought Beck. More like a tin of tuna to a
starving cat.

His mind raced. He knew only too well
what a shark could do to a raft like the
Bella
Señora
. Memories of his father flashed
through his mind. They had been fishing on
Australia's Great Barrier Reef, taking time
out from a Green Force mission. Throwing
Beck a knowing look, his father had poured
blood from a bucket of fish guts into the
sea. Within minutes, three tiger sharks were
circling the boat.

Beck had learned some sobering facts
about shark behaviour that day. Lesson
One: tiger sharks can smell a single drop of
blood in an Olympic-sized swimming pool.
Lesson Two: they can swim at speeds of up
to forty miles an hour. Beck had worked it
out. That was faster than he could manage
flat out downhill on a racing bike.

Grabbing the can, he turned it upright
and wedged it against the mast before
shovelling in as much of the bloody slop as
he could before it slipped back out through
his fingers. 'Probably best if the rest of the
family don't join the party,' he said, wiping
the slime from his hand on his shirt. 'Those
fish guts make great bait, but a tiger shark
wasn't quite what I had in mind. But we've
got to keep still. The more we move around,
the more excited that shark's going to get. If
we're lucky, it might lose interest and leave
us alone.'

But the shark was showing no signs of
losing interest. The telltale trail of blood
had clearly come from this fragile pile of
sticks above him and he had an empty
stomach that needed filling. Christina
clutched at Marco in terror. The fin was
charging straight towards the raft. The
creature's wedge-shaped snout had flipped
over on one side and for an instant she was
staring straight into its glassy eye.

Beck winced in relief as, at the last
moment, the shark dived under the raft
before reappearing again on the far side.
Like a guard circling the perimeter of a
prison camp, it continued its patrol, every
now and then making sudden, unexpected
darts towards them. By now the twins' faces
were fixed in horror. With their arms
wrapped around the mast in a vice-like grip,
they were mumbling something Beck could
not hear. Christina dropped her head and
made the sign of the cross.

The impact, when it came, took the
crew of the
Bella Señora
completely by
surprise. The deck flexed, lifting them
high into the air as the shark's nose
smashed into the balsa logs beneath. In a
blind panic, they rolled towards opposite
sides of the raft while the mast shuddered
and shook. Ringo was nowhere to be
seen.

Grabbing at the mast to steady himself,
Beck leaped to his feet. 'That was just a
mock charge. If he charges us again, he'll
sink the raft. Chrissy, Marco – we've only
got one chance.' Even Beck was struggling
to stay calm.

The shark was coming round again now,
but this time it had tightened its circle and
was no more than seven or eight metres
away. 'Untie one of the vines from the sail.'
Beck's eyes were fixed like searchlights on
the fin, tracking its every move. 'It doesn't
matter which one. Just untie it. Now.' His
voice was taut with urgency.

Rigid with fear, Marco and Christina
worked in tandem like zombies. Their eyes
stared straight ahead of them, unable to take
in what was happening. With trembling
fingers, they dragged the vine from where
they had so carefully threaded it through
the sheet and around the bamboo frame of
the mast when they built the raft.

Marco cursed. 'Why did we tie this so
tightly? It just won't come free.'

Beck was holding the tiller with one hand
as he stood on the edge of the raft, watching
the ever-decreasing circuit of the shark's fin
through the waves. 'Quick, guys. Quick,
quick.' His voice was quieter and calmer
now. He knew the twins were doing everything
they could as fast as was humanly
possible.

'Done it!' shouted Marco at last, sweat
pouring from his face.

Beck had removed the machete from its
sheath and was holding it in his hand,
mouthing encouragement to himself as if he
were preparing for a race. A look of calm
determination spread over his face. He
knew for certain that he only had one
chance and he was not about to blow it
now.

As Marco fed him the vine, Beck looped
one end through the metal ring that
dangled from the handle of the machete. As
his fingers danced around one another, he
mouthed the famous scouts' mantra: '
Up
through the hole. Round the tree. Back down
the hole
.' He could tie the sailor's famous
bowline knot in his sleep, but never before
had he needed it like he needed it now.

Pulling the knot tight, Beck glanced at
the shark again. 'Tie the other end to the
mast,' he hissed through clenched teeth.
'Clove hitch is best. But anything, anything
will do so long as it holds. If we lose the
machete, we're done for.'

Then the shark charged. Like a torpedo,
it was coming straight for the raft. Christina
screamed as Beck threw himself across the
deck. Rows of jagged razor teeth were now
clearly visible above the surface of the water.
To the twins on the far side of the raft, Beck
looked as if he were about to be swallowed
whole by the shark's jaws, its teeth framing
the outline of his body like a trophy on a
game hunter's wall.

For an instant Beck stood rooted to the
spot. His right arm held the machete high
over one shoulder as every muscle in his
body flexed beneath his skin. Then, with a
sudden flick, he sent the blade of the
machete circling through the air like a
boomerang whistling towards its prey.

To Marco, the scene unfolded like the
slo-mo replay of a winning shot in the final
moments of a World Cup final. The flashing
steel of the blade spun through the air
with a
whop, whop, whop
sound before
slicing through the creature's head and
eye. A livid red line opened up along the side
of its head and a jet of blood spurted high
in the air.

Then the shark's snout crashed down into
the water, just missing the side of the raft.
The impact sent a wave pounding over the
deck, catapulting the far side of the raft into
the air. For the third time in as many
minutes, the crew clung to the mast for
their lives.

As the shark's head came to rest near the
side of the raft, it looked for a moment as if
it were smiling at them in surprise. The flow
of blood was soon a gushing torrent and the
water around the raft turned scarlet. Its tail
flapping wildly, the creature shuddered as
the life force drained out of it like air from
a burst tyre. At last the snout dropped
slowly below the surface of the waves and
the carcass slumped onto its side, the jaws
hanging limply open.

With a determined grimace, Beck
plunged the machete further into the
creature's brain. Unable to believe
the danger was finally over, Marco and
Christina still clung to the mast. Beck
punched the air in triumph. His face and
arms spattered in blood, he sank down onto
the deck as the creature floated lifeless
beside the raft.

For a few moments no one spoke. The
sail flapped loosely in the breeze. Then,
without warning, Beck sat bolt upright,
muttering to himself as if in trance. 'Cut it
free. Cut it free. If we don't cut it free now,
every other shark in the sea will be around
us like flies.'

Pulling himself back onto his feet, Beck
tugged at the handle of the machete,
desperately trying to free it from where it
was buried deep in the side of the shark's
head. But try as he might, he was unable to
pull it out. Marco let go of the mast, and
together the two boys tugged at the handle
with all their might.

Then, with one final heave and a sickening
sucking noise like a boot coming free
from a bog, the blade finally came loose and
the boys staggered back across the deck,
dripping with blood. Christina grabbed the
tiller as the shark and the raft slowly drifted
apart.

The battle for the
Bella Señora
was over.