The Mystery of the Lake

The Source

P

aul had always wanted his own boat, ever since reading about the Swallows and Amazons, and all their adventures on the water. Despite the fact he had no experience, he felt he was already a master mariner. Those children had made it seem so easy, and he wanted to have adventures too. No matter that the books were written many years ago; sailing was still sailing, and he was determined to do it.

His elder brother, Graham, had been on a course with the sea scouts, and returned full of enthusiasm. Paul would have joined there and then, but to his disappointment, at the tender age of 11, he had been too young. As an alternative, he decided to get a boat of his own, and started reading adverts in the local papers. He had been horrified by the prices of vessels of any shape or size, but he religiously saved his birthday and Christmas money, and even collected dropped coins off the school playing field, to boost his income. One day, he would own his own ship.

The day had eventually arrived, or so he thought. He rushed back from school on that fateful Thursday, to scan the adverts in the local free paper, as he always did. The delivery boy barely had time to push it through the letterbox, before Paul was thumbing through the classified section. And there it was, the announcement:

Neglected Mirror, in need of care, attention and loving owner, £80.

Now, the idea of loving a bit of glass, unless you were particularly fond of yourself, or a participant in a reality show, would seem a little strange, but Paul immediately knew what it was—a sailing dinghy, about three metres long, and made of wood. Above all, this was exactly what he had been waiting for: a bargain. He did not think it strange that there was no telephone number, only an address.

Going out, Mum, he shouted, grabbed his savings, and started to make for his bike, where he had left it, neatly abandoned, in the centre of the lawn.

No you’re not... not until you’ve done your homework, anyway. His mother was firm, if a little caked in flour from the baking she was doing.

"But it’s the boat—the one I’ve been saving up for..."

"I don’t care if it’s the Titanic, and you’re the only one with the key to the lifejacket locker, you are not going out until you’ve done your study."

The next hour was agonising, as Paul tried to concentrate on drawing five different kinds of leaf from the garden. The end result resembled one of those puzzles, where you have to find out which tangled piece of string is joined to which balloon and, although he did not know it at the time, was guaranteed to get him a C-Minus from the science teacher the following day. But, finished it eventually was, and he was off on his bike, without giving his mother a chance to feed him, do up his shoelaces, or anything else unnecessary like that.

The address in the advert led him up a narrow back street near the sailing club. He screeched to a halt at the peeling green door of an old cottage, the very same time that another boy rushed up, breathless, from the other direction.

You here about the boat? The boy spoke politely, and seemed older than his size indicated.

Paul nodded, dumbly.

We might as well see it. I’m Terry White, by the way. Paul nodded again, already feeling his prize was lost. How could he compete with this other lad, who was dressed more smartly than he was, spoke more nicely, and obviously had much more money? Terry knocked loudly (he did everything loudly, as Paul was later to find out).

There was a shuffling sound from inside, and the door creaked open. Both boys recoiled in horror, as a face peered suspiciously out at them; a face that looked even older than Paul’s grandfather, a face deeply tanned, and lined with the marks of time.

What a clock, he thought, unkindly.

Terry recovered first. We’ve come about the boat, he said, smartly. We may have to bid for it. I think we’re both interested... er, if it’s still available, that is, he added, a little more meekly.

You haven’t seen her, yet. ’Scuse me. The old man turned away, and coughed heavily. He turned back to them, and gave a cracked smile. Come on through; she’s in the back garden.

He stood back, and the boys stared past him, into a dark and musty hallway, that smelt of pipe smoke, and worse. Paul flinched. Memories came of advice he had been given: never trust strangers, do not accept sweets or anything simply labelled ‘meat’, and on no account, go into their houses or cars; in fact, never even talk to them, and if they try to talk to you, kick them in the shins, and run for it. An irrational image of being walled up alive, in a cellar full of bird-eating spiders and scorpions, made him shudder; he backed off, but Terry was already in the hall.

Come on then, boy, he shouted. Do you want to see this boat, or not?

Shut the door behind you, and come along, added the old man.

Terry followed him as he disappeared through a door at the end of the hall. Paul was left alone. He was desperate to see the boat, but not to risk life and limb. He thought about running, but then realised that if anything happened to this other boy, he would never forgive himself for not being there. He choked back the fear, and followed his rival into a grease-encrusted kitchen.

The back door was already open, and he could hear the old man’s thick cough, but not Terry’s voice. Had his rival already been murdered, and Paul was next? He shuddered, as his shoes clicked on the sticky surface, and scurried out into the fresh air, to what had once been a garden—the old man had called it a garden, but it was now more of a jungle. He caught up with the others. Thankfully, Terry looked very much alive, and was now chattering with the old man, telling him about his sailing experience and school work, and the rest of his life. Their host was listening politely, as he forced his way through the undergrowth. The immediate danger over, Paul now was getting visions of men on elephants charging down on him, and colourful developing-world tribes-people with blowpipes, poisoned darts, and dinner plates in their lips. The other two didn’t seem too bothered about native attack, so he decided it might be safe, and joined them on the newly beaten track.

I don’t get out as much as I used to, grated the old man, but I think she’s down there somewhere. He pointed with his stick, and then used it to beat back more branches. A faded yellow hull appeared in the deep foliage. Ah, there she is. I knew she was still here. He gave a guffaw, followed by a thick cough. The sails should be in the shed... now where did I put the shed?

There was no sign of any structure in the garden, but eventually Terry solved that mystery, by falling over what remained of it. There was a sound of soft, splintering wood, as his foot sank into a wall.

Oh good, you’ve found it, said the old man, nonplussed at the ruin his hut had become. What was left of the hut had totally collapsed, leaving little but a pile of rotting wood. However, in the centre was a promising bulge. Can you get in to that? The man coughed again, and fished a curved smoking pipe out of his pocket. I’m too old to do any more of that sort of thing. He proceeded to stuff the pipe full of tobacco from an ancient-looking pouch. Off you go, then. He struck a match and sucked noisily through the stem.

Come on you, boy. Terry dragged Paul’s attention away from this fascinating ritual, and started to pull at the fragile planks. Help me. What was your name, again?

Er... Hopkins, Paul Hopkins. He coughed as smoke from the pipe drifted in the still air.

Come on, then, ‘Er-Hopkins-Paul-Hopkins-cough-cough’, said Terry. Help me with this, why don’t you.

Paul hurried to join in, slightly puzzled by Terry’s words. It was much later he discovered that his new friend had recently been watching Humphrey Bogart movies with his mother, and was not actually doing impressions of Yoda from Star-Wars.

The boys heaved together on the remains of something that might have once been a door. The wood was so decayed, that it crumbled away as they pulled, and they peeled the splinters off a dented copper trunk, green with oxidation.

In there should be all the bits; see what you think. The old man gave a long, hacking cough, more suitable for January, than a warm spring evening, and then blew a jet of smoke into a mist of midges, amusing themselves in deciding which of the boys to bite first. Pull it out.

Paul sent an inquiring glance at Terry, who nodded to him. Yes, go on. The boys grabbed a handle each. Together now—heave. The chest came free, with a creaking, and a groaning, and a splintering sound.

Open it, open it, the old man encouraged, I want to see if everything’s still okay. Pull that clasp there.

Terry prized the catch open, and heaved at the lid. It opened surprisingly easily, in a cloud of musty dust. Paul joined him, peering at a jumble of ropes, and bits of other material. This looks good, said Terry, fingering a piece of canvas. Take the other end.

They dragged out a large sail. It had been neatly folded and seemed intact, but very creased. The ropes however had rotted, and were frayed and weak, although it looked like there were some new ones in a cellophane bag under the sail. The old man sadly regarded the pile they dragged out. I had forgotten how long it was since I last sailed, he said. Time goes so quickly, now.

Put that back, Paul. Can we have a look at the boat?

Of course.

Terry went all round the buried craft, inspecting it minutely, and clearing foliage as he went. He knocked on the panels, grunted when he found some parts, tutted, and clicked his tongue at others. Paul watched glumly, and awaited the verdict, as he tried to get the sail folded up again.

There are some rotten bits, said Terry, eventually, but it might be seaworthy, once repaired and painted up.

The old man was leaning on the garden wall, and absently watching him. Paul shut the chest, and joined them. He felt miserable; he knew he had lost the boat already. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, and gloomily watched Terry’s final examination.

She seems adequate, the boy said, eventually. You said £80 in the advert? Would you accept any less, because there’s a lot of work to do?

The old man’s eyes flicked from one boy to the other, watching their reactions. A twinkle appeared in his eye. I can see you both want the boat, don’t you? The boys nodded: one eagerly, one glumly. Tell you what, he said, I’m sorry she’s in such a mess, but I think she’s still sound. Terry nodded, thoughtfully, and will float again with a bit of care. Are both of you prepared to give it a try? Again, Terry nodded. Paul shrugged, all but given up. I will sell it for £50... Terry smiled, and Paul gave a gasp of dismay. He had come to terms with losing the boat, but now it was being sold cheaper than he expected.

The old man continued ...but only on condition you become joint owners. How does that sound? Like Nancy and Peggy, eh?

What? Paul suddenly felt giddy. "Nancy and... You know about Swallows and Amazons?"

What, you too? said Terry, looking at Paul with amazement. You’ve read the books?

All of them, said Paul. I’ve got the whole set.

"Not sure if I have. I had to wait for new ones to come out, said the old man. Brought up on them, I was; sailing in my blood. I remember how it was in those days... more than fifty years ago... his face went blank, but then he shook himself. Anyway, if you have any doubts, look at the name of the boat."

Terry immediately went to the stern, and rubbed away at the transom. He revealed corroded letters on a brass plate. O R I N O C O, he spelled out. "Orinoco; what a great name for a boat"

"Built her myself, from a kit, and I couldn’t call her Amazon, like in the stories, could I? The man grinned at them, showing teeth suffering long neglect. I’ve spent many happy hours in this little tub. It’s right that she should sail again. Anyway, I think she’ll be too much for only one of you to do up, unless you can get your parents to help, and I wouldn’t wish that on them..."

My mum’s divorced, said Terry, firmly, but it’s a great idea for the two of us to go into partnership.

My dad has to work away a lot, said Paul, glad to be back in the deal, I don’t see him much, either. The renovations will be all on us.

The old man clapped his hands. Then it’s settled. I’ll throw in what’s left of the sails, the chest, that’s very old, you know, and might be worth some money... in more ways than one, he winked, mysteriously, and the launching trolley. You can use the rest of what you’ve both saved up to buy new parts, sheets, paint, varnish; that sort of thing. He paused for another coughing fit. Do we have a deal?

The boys looked at each other, and then Terry gripped Paul’s hand. Welcome aboard, partner, he said.

Paul smiled, for the first time that evening.

Very good, said the old man, as they each handed over half of the agreed money. "You’ve made a good choice, there. Now, if you have another dig in the shed, there may be some tools to cut through the bushes. If you can clear a way to the back gate, you can get Orinoco out to the street, to take home. He paused and snapped his fingers. Just thought; there is something else you might need. Carry on here, and I’ll bring it out for you."

He shuffled away towards the house, leaving a trail of pipe smoke and choking midges in his wake.

The boys discovered a bow saw, and a bill hook in the ruins of the shed, and started to cut a path to free their prize from the jungle. They almost forgot the old man as they worked, but then Paul noticed they were still alone. Where did he go? he asked his new partner.

I expect he’s done a runner, now he’s got his money. Terry paused to wipe sweat off his forehead. Perhaps the boat is more of a wreck than it looks, and we’ve been ripped off.

Oh, don’t say that. He seemed such a nice old man.

Worst kind, said Terry. I expect he’s calling the police right now, to say we’re stealing his boat.

Paul started making frantic hand signals, and pointing, but Terry ignored him. I knew we couldn’t trust him. He’s probably a mad axe murderer, and has the remains of all his victims buried under this very shed. Lucky I’m armed... He jumped as a cough sounded, in his ear. Oh.

Aye, if you can find my mad axe under that lot, I could go and murder it. He puffed a cloud of smoke at Terry, and the midges gave up altogether.

Oh my god, I’m sorry. Terry coughed, and stared apologetically into the ancient face. I didn’t mean it; I was getting carried away.

Or, rather than that, I could give you my sailing manual. The old man cleared his throat, and proffered a leather-bound book, held closed by a brass clasp. This might help you get started.

Paul took the manual from the gnarled hand. You are very kind, he said. We will look after it, and let you have it back when we’ve learnt.

The old man pursed his lips, You keep it. I know you’re the right new owners for my best little ship ever.

Treasure?

S

tanding in the street behind the old man’s house, Paul looked worriedly from his new partner, to the boat, and then his bike, and finally, the pile of rigging strewn about it all.

What’s up? Terry regarded him, head on one side.

I hadn't thought what we do, once we got the boat. How are we going to get it home? Where are we going to put it? And because we are joint owners, who should look after it?

"Where were you planning to keep it, assuming you bought it yourself?"

I hadn’t thought that far.

I had. We’ve got a garage, close to the road. We could store it in there.

Would you? So we take it to your place? Terry nodded. And what about the stuff, and my bike...

Pile them on top. I’ll fix them with those new ropes.

Will they all fit? We can’t leave anything behind.

We won’t. Terry sounded unsure. We can’t.

Their burden was twice as heavy as it should have been, carrying the trunk, oars, and various other paraphernalia, along with Paul’s bike. Miraculously the tyres on the trolley were still good, although a bit soft, but the wheel bearings were stiff, and only started to free once they headed downhill.

This is so difficult, said Paul. Are we nearly there yet? I have to be home before dark.

Still some distance, said Terry. We might need a miracle. Shame I’ve left my phone at home.

I haven’t got one. Mum says I'm too young.

So does mine, but I nicked my sister’s old one... talking about sisters... BJ I’m actually glad to see you for once.

A small blonde girl was striding up to them. There you are, Terry, she said. Mother rang from work. She’s going to be late, and asked where you were. I said I thought you’d been abducted by pikeys. She told me to stop being silly, and go and look for you. I said I would see if I could get a good price... but here you are, unsold it seems, and with a charabanc in tow. Is it heavy?

We really would appreciate some help.

And who’s this? She regarded Paul, rather as she would have done something stuck on her shoe.

He’s called Er-Paul, said Terry, and he’s my first mate, and part owner of the sea-ship, Orinoco."

About time you got some mates of your own age. If you weren’t such a know-it-all, you’d have more.

You know what I mean, Big Sis.

BJ put her hands on her hips and regarded their prize. So, this is it, the boat you’ve been saving up for? No doubt you’ve been ripped off.

Have a look, then, if that’s what you think.

The boys waited while BJ walked all round their new acquisition, giving it a full inspection.

Which end is the bow? she asked, eventually.

Here of course, said Terry haughtily.

Looks like the back, to me, she said, equally haughtily. Is it supposed to be flat, or have you crashed it already?

Course it is! Haven’t you ever seen a Mirror before? That’s what makes them special and distinctive.

It looks a bit silly. The front should be pointy, like the proper boats we used to sail in.

You’ll see, when we get her patched up.

Perhaps. You said you needed help?

The boys nodded enthusiastically.

Shame. I’m not dressed for manual labour. You carry on. I’ll watch out for danger, cars, stray dogs, and runaway trains, going round the hill.

You’re so useful, muttered Terry, sarcastically.

Someone’s got to make decisions, she said. Where are you planning to keep it?

I thought perhaps the garage...

Oh dear. Oh dear, oh dear. Mother’s not going to like that! You know how she doesn’t like to use it for anything other than the car.

When did she ever? protested her brother. She always says she’s going right out again, so it isn’t worth putting the car away.

It would be just your luck that she’ll want to, tonight.

It’s going in there.

Paul saw Terry’s