CHAPTER NINE
Lands End, Cornwall (Southwestern England), late September, The Grayson Pub
Blonde David Dunlop shaded his blue eyes with his pudgy four year old hand. He was standing near Zawn Reeth, a gully forming part of the seaside cliffs which surrounded his home. His mother was forever explaining to him that he needed to be careful around Zawn Reeth, for the gully wended its way down the cliff to the sea.
Right now, David was in what his mother called a pickle. He had borrowed, unbeknownst to his mother, the handheld telescope that his father owned. David was tall for his age (at 24 months, he'd stood 40 inches tall and his American born mother was proud of telling him he would stand about six foot six as an adult).
Now, looking through the purloined telescope, David thought he saw somebody out on Wolf Rock, where a lighthouse had been built last century because the sailors hated the rock with a vegeance. He also thought he heard a humming sound but that might have been the wind. He knew Wolf Rock had been named because when the wind blew around the rock formation, the resulting noise was said to sound like wolves howling.
David knew the sailors hated Wolf Rock, because his daddy ran a pub and the sailors who came in were always talking about Wolf Rock and the deep waters which surrounded it. The rock was especially dangerous with storm surges and sometimes his mummy had to take David into the back room because she said the sailors' language got too bad for his ears ("little pitchers have big ears" was the phrase his mum used).
He wasn't sure if he saw somebody on Wolf Rock--he was only four, and at four, he wasn't too sure about most things. And besides, Wolf Rock was almost thirteen kilometers out to sea and at four, he knew thirteen kilometers out to sea was a long way out. But the Wolf Rock Lighthouse was white, and the rocks were brown, and David thought he saw a big something black lying on top of the rocks, right next to the lighthouse.
And David had been out to Wolf Rock and the Scilly Isles dozens of times in his short life, and he knew that the big something black was assuredly not a puffin.
He shivered and realized there were four things he was sure of: he was hungry, he was cold, the storm surge tide was coming in and when his mum found out he'd purloined the telescope, David would be in trouble.
He knew he could easily rectify two of those things simply by going into the pub and asking his mum for something to eat. The fire would warm him.
But he couldn't do anything about the tide. He would have to brave the punishment coming to him for taking the telescope; he had been told not to take the telescope.
David decided to keep his vigil on Zawn Reeth for a while longer. He was trying to decide if there really was somebody--somebody dressed in black--on Wolf Rock. He kept up his vigil because as he had noted a moment before, the tide was coming in, and the sailors always said that the tide and Wolf Rock created a bitch.
He didn't know what a bitch was, but he knew that the somebody who was on Wolf Rock would be in a real pickle soon, as his mummy said. By now, he was quite sure there was somebody on the Wolf Rock. There had to be somebody there, for as he had reasoned earlier, the lighthouse was white, the rocks brown, and there was a large black object lying on top of the rock, near the lighthouse.
David's father Daniel kept a boat, which sometimes carried people out to the Scilly Isles if the people had missed the ferry from Penzance. David often went along on these trips, having taken to the sea from a very early age.
Daniel also went on rescue missions out to Wolf Rock, for many a ship had been wrecked in the deep, treacherous water and at times there were survivors. Being the closest sailor to Wolf Rock, Daniel would be the first to reach the survivors and bring them back to the Grayson Pub.
David's blue eyes through the telescope saw a gull circling Wolf Rock then glide down to land near the black someone that David was now sure he saw through the purloined telescope.
He made his decision. "Muuummmmyyy!" he called as he turned around and ran as fast as his four year old legs could carry him to the pub.
"Mummy! Mummy! Come quick! Somebody's out on Wolf Rock!" he called as he ran into the pub. The lone sailor and customer in the pub turned and watched David with interest.
His mother, a petite woman but strong willed and a female version of her son, answered, "What's that, sweetie?" as she looked up from behind the pub's counter.
"Mummy! Somebody's out on Wolf Rock! And the tide's coming in!"
"David, you took the telescope didn't you?" She held out her hand for the telescope. David surrendered it.
"Yes, mummy, but," but his mother stopped him.
"We'll talk punishment later, young man. There's no one out on Wolf Rock, David," she finished firmly.
"But there is, mummy! I saw him!"
"How do you know it's a him?" his mother asked drily, pouring half a cup of tea and filling the rest of the cup with milk. "Here, sweetie. You're cold. Sit down and drink your tea."
"No! Somebody's out on Wolf Rock!" David protested but his mother had taken him by the hand, quite firmly, and led David to a small table in the far corner. This was David's usual table. He screwed up his face to cry but his mother stopped him.
"Stop snivelling, David. It's just your imagination. Wolf Rock is nearly thirteen kilometers out to sea."
"But mummy!"
"No protestations from you, young man!"
"But," and David was again cut off by his mother.
"One more word out of you, and your punishment will be doubled!" she said firmly, shaking her forefinger at David.
David didn't say anything but tears filled his big blue eyes. His mother helped him into the chair and went back to get his cup of tea. She brought it and set it down in front of him then went back behind the counter.
The sailor spoke softly to his mother. "It wouldn't hurt to take a look, ma'am." He was American, like herself, Martha thought. "The tide is coming in, and that rock's a bitch."
Martha started to open her mouth, then she shut it. It was no use trying to teach men to not speak like that in front of David. "Don't have the time to go out." she said by way of refusal.
"I'll be willing to take the boat out and look. I know how to sail at night. Just leave a light on," the sailor said, gathering up his things. "We sailors look out for each other and if your boy's word is true, well then, we'll have saved a life. Too much life being lost as it is, ma'am."
Martha looked at him. He really was going to take a boat out to Wolf Rock. And all because her highly imaginative little boy had said he'd seen somebody through the purloined telescope. But on the other hand, with the war, business had dropped off. Saving a life was a good thing and the sailor was correct: too much life had been taken already.
"All right. Boat's down Zawn Reeth."
"Thank you, ma'am," the sailor said, putting on a thick pea jacket, and going out the door.
"Yeaaaa!" David said. "Can I go along, mummy? Please?" he was jumping up and down, forgetting he was to be punished for taking the telescope. He was wearing his pea jacket as if he'd been expecting to go along. When had he changed into his pea jacket? Martha wondered.
"Please? I've been out on the boat before," David tried to entreat his mother with his huge blue eyes. "Sometimes we take people out near Wolf Rock to get their picture taken," he finished.
"Caught in a pickle, aren't I, David?" Martha said, smiling and forgetting David's transgression.
Her four year old son was correct: at times, especially near sunset, some people wanted to go to Wolf Rock and have their pictures taken as the sun was sinking on the horizon. The storm surge was coming in and if his story was true, then anyone on Wolf Rock wouldn't survive the night.
"Mummy! We have to hurry!"
She looked at her son, still jumping up and down. "All right, you can go," but David was out the pub's door by the time she finished her sentence.
"Fast, that one," she said. Walking to the door, she looked out. The wind was cooling rapidly and the sun was just touching the horizon. She shaded her eyes, and looked towards Wolf Rock.
The sailor had unmoored the boat. He helped David get in and then he set the boat off. David turned and waved at his mother standing on the cliff.
Martha went back into the pub. If David's story was true, then the man would be chilled to the bone and needing hot tea and food. She put on a pot of stew, took out a large potato from the oven. Thinking it over, she took out another large potato. Then she put on another pot of water to boil for tea.
As the food was warming, she went upstairs to the second floor. She and her husband's pub, like many in England, also functioned as a very small hotel and The Grayson Pub had six rooms to let. Walking into the biggest room, she drew a hot bath and put out a couple of thick towels.
The bath was drawn, steaming hot, when she'd finished laying out the towels and turning down the bedding. She went back downstairs to wait. A little preparedness never hurt.
_____________________________________
Wolf Rock Lighthouse, along the ferry route to St Mary's in the Scilly Islands, nearest to Land's End, Cornwall, late September, 1940
The waves from the English Channel met the brine of the Atlantic Ocean. Water swelled up to a height of three feet and rushed towards the shore on the horizon. Although the warming Gulf Stream passed Land's End about fifty five kilometers offshore to the west, the late September water temperature was bitterly cold.
The deep water met the steep side of the rock and sprayed the black clad man sprawled facedown on the rock. His arms were crossed over each other and his head rested on top of his left hand.
A gull circling overhead landed near the body and squawked a greeting, hoping for a handout. He was hungry and many times in the summer the tall two legged humans had fed it when he'd called a greeting to them. The man didn't move, and he didn't blink an eye when the water washed up around his face.
The gull cocked its head sideways when it heard a humming sound and a soft voice speaking in a language the gull could almost understand. But the words were too faint to it to understand what was being said, so the gull concentrated its attention on the human.
It was an unusual sight to see a human unresponsive, for usually humans don't lie face down near a waterline, especially with a storm surge. The gull thought that perhaps the human was sleeping and needed something to wake it up, so he hopped a few hops and landed on the human's back, near the human's upturned ear. The gull cried loudly.
And then it watched the human for a response.
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Beachfront home near Lizard Point, Cornwall, late September 1940
"You alive?" the voice said rather loudly. Martin moaned and tried to cover his ears.
"Easy," the voice said, softer now. "'Ow you feeling?"
Martin tried to sit up but failed. "I. I. Don't know. Feeling bad."
"I would say so. You got a deep cut across your fore'ead. I stitched it up right tight and you'll be fine once you get a cuppa in you," the voice said. Martin's head cleared and he saw the owner and gender of the voice: a woman in her early forties was tending a teapot on the stove.
"You're English. Like me," she said. "Tea will be up in a few minutes. I've done up some toast as well. Don't think you're up to a Cornish tea with all that water that came from your stomach," she finished, and took the teapot off the low gas flame. Throwing a handful of into the pot, she set it in a tea caddy.
"No. I don't think I can handle a Cornish cream tea. Toast will do just fine. I swallowed a lot of sea water," Martin replied.
"Aye, bad storm out there. Just swept down all of a sudden. But that's English weather. What do you know? I forgot to introduce myself. "Ida Dunham."
"Martin Wilkes. From London."
Ida sucked in her breath. "London's 'ad a difficult time these past weeks. Thousands dead. Sixteen London rail stations and three rail lines knocked out of service though I 'eard through the grapevine that Puffing Billy's still up and running," she chattered as she fixed Martin's cup of tea. "Out here, we like to walk."
Martin paled. "There's no train service to London?" How were he and Ardeth supposed to get to London? "Ardeth! Where's Ardeth!"
"Calm down, lad. Who's Ardeth?"
"He's the man I was on the boat with. Where is he?" Panic flooded Martin's stomach and twisted it. Hot bile rose up in Martin's throat and he automatically rolled over on his side, opened his mouth and out poured a thick, long stream of water.
"That should make you feel better," Ida remarked as she took a thick rag, dropped it onto the water. Martin and Ida watched the rag soak up the water, and Ida picked the rag up, walked over and dropped it into her washing bin.
Martin lay back on the pillow. "I need to find Ardeth."
"What's e' look like?"
"Tall man, dressed all in black."
Ida tsked. "No one else washed up on the shore out there. You were the only one. Perhaps he washed ashore somewhere else. I can work the phone for you later and call round." She handed Martin a cup of tea. "It's brewed weak so you don't upchuck it," she said.
Martin paled but he accepted the tea. "Thank you. I would like to know if he's been washed ashore."
He leaned back against the fluffy pillow and sipped his tea. Although he was distressed, he didn't think Ardeth had died. Martin thought he felt a thrumming that connected his and Ardeth's souls and Martin thought the ceremony to transfer the Bracelet of Lostris from himself to Ardeth had bonded their souls.
He had had confidence in the Daughter of the Waters and true to her name, she had guided the two men down the suddenly full wadi, depositing them only half a day's hike from Tripoli. He was still awed by his talk with his deceased mother; and he vowed to make an offering to the God Imhotep, who had arranged the meeting.
During their half a day's journey to Tripoli, Martin had both been badly sunburned and had been awed at the majestic red sandstone of the Hamadah al-Hamra--the Red Desert. When the two travelers had reached the Tripoli souks near dusk, the stall owners were already weaving stories about the extreme temperature.
In Wau en Namus, Ardeth had loaned him the black robe and Ardeth's own skin had deepened to a bronze tone which brought out the blue tattoos on Ardeth's face. The wild fig trees that Ardeth had promised grew in the Libyan desert provided a meal and a few scattered desert succulent plants had provided their scant--but life sustaining--supply of water until they reached Tripoli and the souks, the outdoor markets where the two men could buy food and water.
Now Martin had seen enough water to last him two more lifetimes. As he sipped the hot tea laced liberally with sugar, he could sense the thrumming from the Bracelet. The two things he had to figure out were how to get to London and where to find Ardeth.
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Wolf Rock, along the Penzance ferry route to St Mary's, Scilly Islands, nearest to Land's End, Cornwall, late September, 1940
The prone man was unresponsive to his calls. Thinking the nonresponsiveness strange, the gull fluffed his feathers out then hunched his head closer to his shoulders as if the posture would enable him to think better.
He wondered what to do. His flock-mates had deserted their home stretch of the beach, so he was alone. After the storm, he'd decided to practice flying and had chosen to fly to the rock formation some ways from the shore. He was a young gull--hatched just that spring--and he wasn't at all sure how to handle this situation.
The juvenile gull studied the man. He thought he detected the skin around the two holes flapping ever so slightly. He walked closer to the man's face for a better look. Was the man breathing? Is that how they breathed--with those two holes in the soft beak? He thought for a moment. He himself breathed through two holes at the top of his beak, at least that's what his flock-mates told him during their noisy playtime.
He flipped his head a few times. Making his decision, he slowly stretched his neck until his beak nearly touched the man's soft beak. He opened his own beak then bit down firmly.
"Yeeeeeooowwwwww!" the man suddenly responded, opening his eyes and raising his hand to bat at the air around his nose. His actions startled the gull, who squawked and skip-hopped a few steps backward, then jumped to the rock beside the man.
He ruffled his feathers but he'd accomplished his objective of seeing if the man was alive, and the gull was feeling a flush of pride.
The man sat up and shook his head. He looked at the gull. "Was that you who bit me? I'm afraid I'm not very tasty. Sorry." He looked around, seeing nothing but water and the lighthouse behind him. The lighthouse didn't appear to offer much shelter, which, in Ardeth's opinion, was not a good omen.
The gull called a greeting and the man smiled. "Sorry. I don't have any food. I bet that's what you're after, isn't it? I would offer something if I were home, for the Tuareg welcome visitors with aragaiga. That's green tea to you, young fellow! But it seems that I appear to be stranded."
The gull squawked and flew upwards into the air. He circled twice around the lighthouse and then headed back towards land.
Ardeth's eyes followed the gull, and then noticed a pale white smudge heading towards him. "Help, just when I need help, it arrives. Thank the Gods," Ardeth said aloud, smiling, pulling his wet robe around him. The Tuareg wove their robes with care for at times the Saharan weather could be capricious and the nighttimes temperatures would sometimes dip to well below freezing.
Standing with his face towards the chilly winds as he waited for the ghostly smudge of a boat to reach the rock, Ardeth wondered how long he'd lain insensate. His muscles ached from a long swim, and he remembered fighting the swelling seas in his attempt to reach the white lighthouse he'd somehow known was standing on the outcrop of rock.
He dimly remembered trying to scale the sides of the cliff he was standing on and he remembered he kept falling. Undoubtedly he would be bruised but he didn't stop to think about any injuries now.
Ardeth reached under his robe to see if the Bracelet of Lostris was still there. But he hadn't needed to check. He could feel the thrumming of Power emanating from the Bracelet.
As he waited to be rescued, worry creased his forehead: why hadn't the Bracelet helped him and Martin escape the freak wave?
Lands End, Cornwall (Southwestern England), late September, The Grayson Pub
Blonde David Dunlop shaded his blue eyes with his pudgy four year old hand. He was standing near Zawn Reeth, a gully forming part of the seaside cliffs which surrounded his home. His mother was forever explaining to him that he needed to be careful around Zawn Reeth, for the gully wended its way down the cliff to the sea.
Right now, David was in what his mother called a pickle. He had borrowed, unbeknownst to his mother, the handheld telescope that his father owned. David was tall for his age (at 24 months, he'd stood 40 inches tall and his American born mother was proud of telling him he would stand about six foot six as an adult).
Now, looking through the purloined telescope, David thought he saw somebody out on Wolf Rock, where a lighthouse had been built last century because the sailors hated the rock with a vegeance. He also thought he heard a humming sound but that might have been the wind. He knew Wolf Rock had been named because when the wind blew around the rock formation, the resulting noise was said to sound like wolves howling.
David knew the sailors hated Wolf Rock, because his daddy ran a pub and the sailors who came in were always talking about Wolf Rock and the deep waters which surrounded it. The rock was especially dangerous with storm surges and sometimes his mummy had to take David into the back room because she said the sailors' language got too bad for his ears ("little pitchers have big ears" was the phrase his mum used).
He wasn't sure if he saw somebody on Wolf Rock--he was only four, and at four, he wasn't too sure about most things. And besides, Wolf Rock was almost thirteen kilometers out to sea and at four, he knew thirteen kilometers out to sea was a long way out. But the Wolf Rock Lighthouse was white, and the rocks were brown, and David thought he saw a big something black lying on top of the rocks, right next to the lighthouse.
And David had been out to Wolf Rock and the Scilly Isles dozens of times in his short life, and he knew that the big something black was assuredly not a puffin.
He shivered and realized there were four things he was sure of: he was hungry, he was cold, the storm surge tide was coming in and when his mum found out he'd purloined the telescope, David would be in trouble.
He knew he could easily rectify two of those things simply by going into the pub and asking his mum for something to eat. The fire would warm him.
But he couldn't do anything about the tide. He would have to brave the punishment coming to him for taking the telescope; he had been told not to take the telescope.
David decided to keep his vigil on Zawn Reeth for a while longer. He was trying to decide if there really was somebody--somebody dressed in black--on Wolf Rock. He kept up his vigil because as he had noted a moment before, the tide was coming in, and the sailors always said that the tide and Wolf Rock created a bitch.
He didn't know what a bitch was, but he knew that the somebody who was on Wolf Rock would be in a real pickle soon, as his mummy said. By now, he was quite sure there was somebody on the Wolf Rock. There had to be somebody there, for as he had reasoned earlier, the lighthouse was white, the rocks brown, and there was a large black object lying on top of the rock, near the lighthouse.
David's father Daniel kept a boat, which sometimes carried people out to the Scilly Isles if the people had missed the ferry from Penzance. David often went along on these trips, having taken to the sea from a very early age.
Daniel also went on rescue missions out to Wolf Rock, for many a ship had been wrecked in the deep, treacherous water and at times there were survivors. Being the closest sailor to Wolf Rock, Daniel would be the first to reach the survivors and bring them back to the Grayson Pub.
David's blue eyes through the telescope saw a gull circling Wolf Rock then glide down to land near the black someone that David was now sure he saw through the purloined telescope.
He made his decision. "Muuummmmyyy!" he called as he turned around and ran as fast as his four year old legs could carry him to the pub.
"Mummy! Mummy! Come quick! Somebody's out on Wolf Rock!" he called as he ran into the pub. The lone sailor and customer in the pub turned and watched David with interest.
His mother, a petite woman but strong willed and a female version of her son, answered, "What's that, sweetie?" as she looked up from behind the pub's counter.
"Mummy! Somebody's out on Wolf Rock! And the tide's coming in!"
"David, you took the telescope didn't you?" She held out her hand for the telescope. David surrendered it.
"Yes, mummy, but," but his mother stopped him.
"We'll talk punishment later, young man. There's no one out on Wolf Rock, David," she finished firmly.
"But there is, mummy! I saw him!"
"How do you know it's a him?" his mother asked drily, pouring half a cup of tea and filling the rest of the cup with milk. "Here, sweetie. You're cold. Sit down and drink your tea."
"No! Somebody's out on Wolf Rock!" David protested but his mother had taken him by the hand, quite firmly, and led David to a small table in the far corner. This was David's usual table. He screwed up his face to cry but his mother stopped him.
"Stop snivelling, David. It's just your imagination. Wolf Rock is nearly thirteen kilometers out to sea."
"But mummy!"
"No protestations from you, young man!"
"But," and David was again cut off by his mother.
"One more word out of you, and your punishment will be doubled!" she said firmly, shaking her forefinger at David.
David didn't say anything but tears filled his big blue eyes. His mother helped him into the chair and went back to get his cup of tea. She brought it and set it down in front of him then went back behind the counter.
The sailor spoke softly to his mother. "It wouldn't hurt to take a look, ma'am." He was American, like herself, Martha thought. "The tide is coming in, and that rock's a bitch."
Martha started to open her mouth, then she shut it. It was no use trying to teach men to not speak like that in front of David. "Don't have the time to go out." she said by way of refusal.
"I'll be willing to take the boat out and look. I know how to sail at night. Just leave a light on," the sailor said, gathering up his things. "We sailors look out for each other and if your boy's word is true, well then, we'll have saved a life. Too much life being lost as it is, ma'am."
Martha looked at him. He really was going to take a boat out to Wolf Rock. And all because her highly imaginative little boy had said he'd seen somebody through the purloined telescope. But on the other hand, with the war, business had dropped off. Saving a life was a good thing and the sailor was correct: too much life had been taken already.
"All right. Boat's down Zawn Reeth."
"Thank you, ma'am," the sailor said, putting on a thick pea jacket, and going out the door.
"Yeaaaa!" David said. "Can I go along, mummy? Please?" he was jumping up and down, forgetting he was to be punished for taking the telescope. He was wearing his pea jacket as if he'd been expecting to go along. When had he changed into his pea jacket? Martha wondered.
"Please? I've been out on the boat before," David tried to entreat his mother with his huge blue eyes. "Sometimes we take people out near Wolf Rock to get their picture taken," he finished.
"Caught in a pickle, aren't I, David?" Martha said, smiling and forgetting David's transgression.
Her four year old son was correct: at times, especially near sunset, some people wanted to go to Wolf Rock and have their pictures taken as the sun was sinking on the horizon. The storm surge was coming in and if his story was true, then anyone on Wolf Rock wouldn't survive the night.
"Mummy! We have to hurry!"
She looked at her son, still jumping up and down. "All right, you can go," but David was out the pub's door by the time she finished her sentence.
"Fast, that one," she said. Walking to the door, she looked out. The wind was cooling rapidly and the sun was just touching the horizon. She shaded her eyes, and looked towards Wolf Rock.
The sailor had unmoored the boat. He helped David get in and then he set the boat off. David turned and waved at his mother standing on the cliff.
Martha went back into the pub. If David's story was true, then the man would be chilled to the bone and needing hot tea and food. She put on a pot of stew, took out a large potato from the oven. Thinking it over, she took out another large potato. Then she put on another pot of water to boil for tea.
As the food was warming, she went upstairs to the second floor. She and her husband's pub, like many in England, also functioned as a very small hotel and The Grayson Pub had six rooms to let. Walking into the biggest room, she drew a hot bath and put out a couple of thick towels.
The bath was drawn, steaming hot, when she'd finished laying out the towels and turning down the bedding. She went back downstairs to wait. A little preparedness never hurt.
_____________________________________
Wolf Rock Lighthouse, along the ferry route to St Mary's in the Scilly Islands, nearest to Land's End, Cornwall, late September, 1940
The waves from the English Channel met the brine of the Atlantic Ocean. Water swelled up to a height of three feet and rushed towards the shore on the horizon. Although the warming Gulf Stream passed Land's End about fifty five kilometers offshore to the west, the late September water temperature was bitterly cold.
The deep water met the steep side of the rock and sprayed the black clad man sprawled facedown on the rock. His arms were crossed over each other and his head rested on top of his left hand.
A gull circling overhead landed near the body and squawked a greeting, hoping for a handout. He was hungry and many times in the summer the tall two legged humans had fed it when he'd called a greeting to them. The man didn't move, and he didn't blink an eye when the water washed up around his face.
The gull cocked its head sideways when it heard a humming sound and a soft voice speaking in a language the gull could almost understand. But the words were too faint to it to understand what was being said, so the gull concentrated its attention on the human.
It was an unusual sight to see a human unresponsive, for usually humans don't lie face down near a waterline, especially with a storm surge. The gull thought that perhaps the human was sleeping and needed something to wake it up, so he hopped a few hops and landed on the human's back, near the human's upturned ear. The gull cried loudly.
And then it watched the human for a response.
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Beachfront home near Lizard Point, Cornwall, late September 1940
"You alive?" the voice said rather loudly. Martin moaned and tried to cover his ears.
"Easy," the voice said, softer now. "'Ow you feeling?"
Martin tried to sit up but failed. "I. I. Don't know. Feeling bad."
"I would say so. You got a deep cut across your fore'ead. I stitched it up right tight and you'll be fine once you get a cuppa in you," the voice said. Martin's head cleared and he saw the owner and gender of the voice: a woman in her early forties was tending a teapot on the stove.
"You're English. Like me," she said. "Tea will be up in a few minutes. I've done up some toast as well. Don't think you're up to a Cornish tea with all that water that came from your stomach," she finished, and took the teapot off the low gas flame. Throwing a handful of into the pot, she set it in a tea caddy.
"No. I don't think I can handle a Cornish cream tea. Toast will do just fine. I swallowed a lot of sea water," Martin replied.
"Aye, bad storm out there. Just swept down all of a sudden. But that's English weather. What do you know? I forgot to introduce myself. "Ida Dunham."
"Martin Wilkes. From London."
Ida sucked in her breath. "London's 'ad a difficult time these past weeks. Thousands dead. Sixteen London rail stations and three rail lines knocked out of service though I 'eard through the grapevine that Puffing Billy's still up and running," she chattered as she fixed Martin's cup of tea. "Out here, we like to walk."
Martin paled. "There's no train service to London?" How were he and Ardeth supposed to get to London? "Ardeth! Where's Ardeth!"
"Calm down, lad. Who's Ardeth?"
"He's the man I was on the boat with. Where is he?" Panic flooded Martin's stomach and twisted it. Hot bile rose up in Martin's throat and he automatically rolled over on his side, opened his mouth and out poured a thick, long stream of water.
"That should make you feel better," Ida remarked as she took a thick rag, dropped it onto the water. Martin and Ida watched the rag soak up the water, and Ida picked the rag up, walked over and dropped it into her washing bin.
Martin lay back on the pillow. "I need to find Ardeth."
"What's e' look like?"
"Tall man, dressed all in black."
Ida tsked. "No one else washed up on the shore out there. You were the only one. Perhaps he washed ashore somewhere else. I can work the phone for you later and call round." She handed Martin a cup of tea. "It's brewed weak so you don't upchuck it," she said.
Martin paled but he accepted the tea. "Thank you. I would like to know if he's been washed ashore."
He leaned back against the fluffy pillow and sipped his tea. Although he was distressed, he didn't think Ardeth had died. Martin thought he felt a thrumming that connected his and Ardeth's souls and Martin thought the ceremony to transfer the Bracelet of Lostris from himself to Ardeth had bonded their souls.
He had had confidence in the Daughter of the Waters and true to her name, she had guided the two men down the suddenly full wadi, depositing them only half a day's hike from Tripoli. He was still awed by his talk with his deceased mother; and he vowed to make an offering to the God Imhotep, who had arranged the meeting.
During their half a day's journey to Tripoli, Martin had both been badly sunburned and had been awed at the majestic red sandstone of the Hamadah al-Hamra--the Red Desert. When the two travelers had reached the Tripoli souks near dusk, the stall owners were already weaving stories about the extreme temperature.
In Wau en Namus, Ardeth had loaned him the black robe and Ardeth's own skin had deepened to a bronze tone which brought out the blue tattoos on Ardeth's face. The wild fig trees that Ardeth had promised grew in the Libyan desert provided a meal and a few scattered desert succulent plants had provided their scant--but life sustaining--supply of water until they reached Tripoli and the souks, the outdoor markets where the two men could buy food and water.
Now Martin had seen enough water to last him two more lifetimes. As he sipped the hot tea laced liberally with sugar, he could sense the thrumming from the Bracelet. The two things he had to figure out were how to get to London and where to find Ardeth.
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Wolf Rock, along the Penzance ferry route to St Mary's, Scilly Islands, nearest to Land's End, Cornwall, late September, 1940
The prone man was unresponsive to his calls. Thinking the nonresponsiveness strange, the gull fluffed his feathers out then hunched his head closer to his shoulders as if the posture would enable him to think better.
He wondered what to do. His flock-mates had deserted their home stretch of the beach, so he was alone. After the storm, he'd decided to practice flying and had chosen to fly to the rock formation some ways from the shore. He was a young gull--hatched just that spring--and he wasn't at all sure how to handle this situation.
The juvenile gull studied the man. He thought he detected the skin around the two holes flapping ever so slightly. He walked closer to the man's face for a better look. Was the man breathing? Is that how they breathed--with those two holes in the soft beak? He thought for a moment. He himself breathed through two holes at the top of his beak, at least that's what his flock-mates told him during their noisy playtime.
He flipped his head a few times. Making his decision, he slowly stretched his neck until his beak nearly touched the man's soft beak. He opened his own beak then bit down firmly.
"Yeeeeeooowwwwww!" the man suddenly responded, opening his eyes and raising his hand to bat at the air around his nose. His actions startled the gull, who squawked and skip-hopped a few steps backward, then jumped to the rock beside the man.
He ruffled his feathers but he'd accomplished his objective of seeing if the man was alive, and the gull was feeling a flush of pride.
The man sat up and shook his head. He looked at the gull. "Was that you who bit me? I'm afraid I'm not very tasty. Sorry." He looked around, seeing nothing but water and the lighthouse behind him. The lighthouse didn't appear to offer much shelter, which, in Ardeth's opinion, was not a good omen.
The gull called a greeting and the man smiled. "Sorry. I don't have any food. I bet that's what you're after, isn't it? I would offer something if I were home, for the Tuareg welcome visitors with aragaiga. That's green tea to you, young fellow! But it seems that I appear to be stranded."
The gull squawked and flew upwards into the air. He circled twice around the lighthouse and then headed back towards land.
Ardeth's eyes followed the gull, and then noticed a pale white smudge heading towards him. "Help, just when I need help, it arrives. Thank the Gods," Ardeth said aloud, smiling, pulling his wet robe around him. The Tuareg wove their robes with care for at times the Saharan weather could be capricious and the nighttimes temperatures would sometimes dip to well below freezing.
Standing with his face towards the chilly winds as he waited for the ghostly smudge of a boat to reach the rock, Ardeth wondered how long he'd lain insensate. His muscles ached from a long swim, and he remembered fighting the swelling seas in his attempt to reach the white lighthouse he'd somehow known was standing on the outcrop of rock.
He dimly remembered trying to scale the sides of the cliff he was standing on and he remembered he kept falling. Undoubtedly he would be bruised but he didn't stop to think about any injuries now.
Ardeth reached under his robe to see if the Bracelet of Lostris was still there. But he hadn't needed to check. He could feel the thrumming of Power emanating from the Bracelet.
As he waited to be rescued, worry creased his forehead: why hadn't the Bracelet helped him and Martin escape the freak wave?
