Because my memory of that day had never properly returned to me, I could only imagine, rather than relive, the events of that morning, but it occurred to me that Captain Kerans’ wife might have been right. Perhaps it was a miracle that I was still here, even with me being so blessed on the lives front.
But what now? I was suddenly anxious for the next thing to happen. The sooner the parade was over, the ship repaired, and I had ‘passed muster’ in the thing called quarantine, the sooner we’d be reunited and back at sea again.
I could hear noises floating up to me; perhaps the crew were being assembled. Perhaps the parade through the streets of Plymouth was about to begin. I hopped up onto the captain’s bunk and across to peer out of the scuttle, from where I had at least a partial view of events down on the quay.
There were indeed lots of things happening below me. Crowds moving along, opening up a route, the crew beginning to get into position, the cameras still popping, a marching band playing, flags waving everywhere, all of it so good to see. The air of joy and celebration was almost palpable – but at the same time, the sense of leaving, of my friends leaving me, was acute. I could hardly bear to watch as they marched away from me.
I turned away. I would take refuge in sleep, I decided. Take advantage of the peace and quiet and have forty winks. Since I was shut in here – itself peculiar, but I tried not to think about it – the captain’s bunk, even minus its covers, would do nicely.
I’m not sure what made me pad back over to the scuttle then. The sound of the parade was growing fainter and fainter, so I’m not sure what instinct led me back for one last look. But it did, and I saw something on the quayside that made my blood run cold.
It was a man walking towards the Amethyst, carrying a cage.
Chapter 22
He was clad in a brown coat, and wore a hat of a type I hadn’t seen before. I didn’t take my eyes off him till he disappeared beneath me, up the gangway.
I knew I must be brave – hadn’t Jack promised they would all come and visit me? But the cage was such a scary thing – such an unexpected horror – that I stayed where I was, still transfixed by the sight of it, long after I couldn’t see it any more.
A cage. They were actually going to put me in a cage? It was almost too overwhelming to contemplate. Was this my immediate future? To be trapped in a cage? To become one of those wretched souls I’d seen in the Hong Kong markets, doomed to see out their days trapped behind bamboo bars? Was that what quarantine was going to be? A place where animals were held prisoner? For as long as it took them to pass muster with the powers that be? I wished so much that I could work out what that meant.
It was soon enough to send me into a flat spin of panic. I jumped down from the captain’s bunk and hid away under it, squeezing into the scant space between the bed base and floor. Here I tried to think. Should I try to keep hidden? Would that be best? There were so many places and spaces to choose from, after all; so many secret nooks where no one bar the rats would be able to find me. But the idea seemed futile, even as I thought it, because what would be the point? The Amethyst was fast becoming a cold, empty vessel, with almost everyone I knew and loved already gone from it, all away down the wet streets, proud and happy. And without my friends, would I really be any better off than in quarantine? No, I wouldn’t. Given that the Amethyst was now to go to a repair dock, which I knew was the plan, it would make it all the harder to be reunited with them. I’d have to scavenge for food again, leave the ship, live off my wits – become a stray again, in fact, which was the last thing I wanted. No. Despite the cage, I must, I must, be brave.
So when the door opened, revealing the captain’s wife and the man in the brown coat, I squeezed back out again and allowed him to take me. When he put me in the cage – which smelled of something alien and bitter and immediately made me gag – I didn’t even hiss at him. I was an able seacat, and I had to be strong now.
We left the ship just as the sound of the parade melted away altogether, and the few remaining well-wishers peeled away too. The sky was still dark as if dusk was falling soon, though it wasn’t even close. As the man carried me down the gangway I had to concentrate hard not to panic, putting all my energies into trying to keep my balance as the cage, with me in it, jiggled and swung at his side, and thumped against the side of his leg.
‘You’ll be fine,’ he said. ‘There, there,’ he said. ‘There’s a good boy,’ he said. I was reassured that he said all this not unkindly. But then he opened the back of his van, filling my nose with foul, confusing odours, placed the cage inside, then shut me in the dark. ‘Go to sleep now, little fellow,’ he said as he shut the door behind me. I knew I wouldn’t.
The journey was long. Oh, so long. As long as one of Jack’s watches. And with nothing to look at bar a glimpse of darkening sky through the little square scuttle, I could only retreat into my thoughts. I was taken back to my first days aboard the Amethyst immediately: the same wobbly weakness, the same nagging queasiness. I had travelled what must have been thousands of miles across the ocean, and, apart from those first days when I struggled to keep my feet where my brain said the deck was, I hadn’t felt sick like this before.
It was such a long journey that at one point we stopped. The man came to ‘see’ to me – or so he told me – to give me a small bowl of water and a cuddle, standing on a grassy strip at the side of a busy road.
He put me back in then. Shut the cage door, which was made of the same wire as the rest of it, then disappeared out of sight, the back doors of the van still hanging open. I stared out into the half-light, feeling perplexed and morose and unsettled, with the cars thundering past, kicking up spray. I decided I hated roads just as much as I ever had.
I must have slept then, because I woke with a start, hearing a noise. Light flooded in. A bright light, like a searchlight, which dazzled and confused me. A light not like the moon – too close, too bright, too startling – radiating down from above and making rods of the raindrops which were falling steadily and thickly on the ground.
‘Come on, lad,’ said a new voice. Then, ‘Thanks. You must be exhausted. This flipping weather. Cats and dogs, eh?’ This to the man, who’d come back into view again. A high voice. Soft and welcoming. A woman’s. ‘Long old trip. Still, you’re here now. Shall I make you a cuppa? Let’s get him in and then I’ll go and put the kettle on.’
It was the woman who carried me, cooing in gentle, friendly tones. I tried to feel reassured by it, shaking the sleep from my head, as the cage was borne steadily – carefully, gently – up a path, lined with more grass, to a large wooden door.
‘There,’ she said as we reached it, speaking down to me in the cage. ‘Our precious cargo delivered. We’re so excited to have you! Everyone’s so looking forward to meeting you. But first something to eat, yes? Poor mite. You must be hungry. And bewildered too, I’ll bet. You must be wondering what on earth’s going on, eh? But there’s nothing to be afraid of.’ She set the cage down on a table. Then her face loomed. A round face. A pale face. A friendly face. I couldn’t stop shaking, even so.