Magnus Fin and the Moonlight Mission by Janis Mackay

Author:Janis Mackay
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 9780863158919
Publisher: Floris Books
Published: 2011-10-19T21:00:00+00:00

Chapter 23

Tarkin was glad the engine had cut out. He couldn’t imagine now why he’d panicked. The engine had been noisy and dirty. It was more tranquil without it. He loved the slapping, low swishing sounds his oars made every time he dipped them into the sea. He loved the way the small boat glided through the water with every pull of the oars. And it was him, Tarkin, making the boat move, with his muscles, his back, his strength.

The only pity was the sweets were gone. He’d wolfed back the toffees, hardly tasting them. Nerves, that’s what all that fast chewing earlier was about. He didn’t feel nervous now. The moon glinted on the water and from far in the distance he could hear music coming from the village hall. Tarkin grinned, imagining his mother and Frank trying to do a Gay Gordons.

He rowed a bit and daydreamed a bit. He felt a river of sweat trickle down his spine. It might be November but Tarkin didn’t feel cold. His life jacket was warm, plus three fleeces, not to mention the vigorous activity of rowing itself. He had heard about people on rowing machines at the gym. Now here he was, rowing for real, on the North Sea no less. His hands were slippery with sweat but he didn’t dare let go of the oars. He’d seen films where people let go of oars and in seconds the oars were gone and the people goners. No, Tarkin was hanging on, and every now and then glancing over his shoulder. The coastline was closer; he was sure it was. All he had to do was keep the boat more or less near the rocks; not so near he’d smash against them, but near enough that Magnus Fin would be able to find him.

Where was Fin anyway? At least five, even ten minutes had passed. That could feel like days, weeks even, under the sea. Tarkin glanced over the edge of the boat but he could only see one person down there and that was his own silvery reflection. In his mind he repeated the words of his Native American chant, Eagle feather, white and pure, guide him, guide him.

Tarkin’s mind started wandering to the mermaid he had seen back home in the Yukon, far west of where he was now. It was three years since that beautiful magical head had risen from the freezing lake. Tarkin remembered it like it was yesterday. It had only been a fleeting glimpse, but his dad had said he’d see her again. The water slapped against the hull of the boat. The gentle rocking motion soothed him. Maybe, if he thought really hard, he’d see her again. Tarkin’s eyes shone. Magnus Fin had told him that’s how magic creatures talk to each other. Fin called it “thought-speak”. Tarkin concentrated hard on his thinking.

It’s me, Tarkin, he began. And if it’s possible for thoughts to be loud and slow, Tarkin’s thoughts were. I am in a boat, in Scotland.

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