Changeling's Island: Chapter Eight

    Being woken up the next day was hard enough. He’d have slept until midday if he’d been allowed to. He really didn’t care if the cow needed milking.

    Unfortunately, the cow did, by its bellowing. And his grandmother had decided he had to do it.

    He resented that. He resented her holding his money a lot more. “Where did you come by this?” she asked.

    “It’s mine!” She must have gone through his pockets while he was asleep!

    “And how did you come by it?” she asked, not showing any signs of giving it to him.

    “Mr. McKay gave it to me for working on the boat. I told you I did that. Anyway, it’s got nothing to do with you,” he said crossly.

    “You’re in my care. It’s got everything to do with me,” she said grimly. “Well, follower, does he speak true?”

    She wasn’t even talking to him, daft old bat.

    And then she handed it back to him. “See you put it safe. That’s a lot of money to be taking from a man who did you a kindness. And the cow needs milking.”

    “I don’t want to milk the cow.”

    “It’s not what you want. She needs to be milked and her udder is sore. You’re hurting her, and the calf, with her crying. What has she done to you? I don’t want to make your breakfast but it needs doing. And breakfast needs milk.”

    So Tim had gotten up and put the money in his pocket again. He wasn’t leaving it here. How could she go through his stuff? What did she think he was? A thief? A shamed part of himself said “probably” and knew that he had been one. He had just been lucky. He looked at the room, the non-working laptop, at his island prison outside the window, where the cow was bellowing. Sort of lucky. He was sore and his hands were stiff. But the cow was glad to see him. She had big soft eyes, with long eyelashes.

    He was still resentful. Still angry, even if he had to be calm and gentle with the cow; you had to be, milking. He didn’t want to be here, milking a cow. He couldn’t hate the cow. The bull-calf was another matter, maybe, if it didn’t shut up. McKay had said there were always jobs to be done. Well, he’d do them. Do the jobs, earn money that he’d have to find some way of keeping his crazy grandmother from knowing about, giving him a rough time about. He’d worked really hard for that money. If he got enough he could use it to buy a plane ticket out of here. His mother wouldn’t actually turn him out again if he showed up at home, would she? And there were plenty of schools that weren’t St. Dominic’s. Otherwise, well, he could get a job…on a boat or something. He knew he couldn’t really until he was sixteen. But he could tell them he was. Deep down he knew that wouldn’t actually work. It was just a cool dream. But he wanted to have that escape possible, the minute that he could. Or…if the story of what happened in Melbourne all came out at school, or something. Anyway, it might take him until he was sixteen to save the money up. He didn’t know what the flights off the island cost. He just knew it was a lot. He’d have to find out. Meanwhile, he’d just have to pretend to be cooperating. Being good.

    He didn’t feel good.

    Still, he worked on the farm that day and went meekly off to school on Monday. He had to admit it wasn’t actually bad at school among the zombies-of-the-island. He could almost have been enjoying it a lot more than St. Dominic’s, if it hadn’t been for the worry that they’d find out about why he’d left there. It was just such a different world here. They would never understand why he’d done…stuff. Tagging. And the shoplifting thing. They were all just so…good. Well, not really good, but not the same kind of not-good. The sort of dangerous side to Hailey that had attracted him just wasn’t there, in any of them.

    At first he kept the money in his pocket. But he was worried about losing it, as he didn’t have a wallet, and he wasn’t going to spend any of the money on buying that. Mum could have sent him pocket money at least. It wasn’t fair.

    He found a little Ziploc bag at school. It had probably had had some kid’s lunch treat in it. He didn’t care. It was clean and was better than nothing. He kept it under his pillow at night, and in his pocket during the daytime.

    He was getting along better with Molly, too. They shared the bus trip, and they were the oldest ones, on for the longest. Only two of the littlies came from farther out than they did. Molly read on the bus when they’d let her. She was popular with the two kids from Killiekrankie, and with Troy and Samantha Burke. She had looked after most of them. “Babysitting is my pocket money. The B&B doesn’t make as much as Dad thought it would, and there is only so much computer work going. Mum’s been cleaning holiday houses to help. I felt bad after I heard them talking about it. It was awful. Besides, like, I want a new computer. I was collecting nautilus shells to sell before, but I’ve only found three, and no perfect ones.”

    They ended up talking about computers because it was easier than talking about money. “My laptop is on the blue screen of death,” said Tim gloomily.

    “Let me give it to my dad,” she’d offered. “He fixes them. Well, he swears at them a lot.”

    So he’d brought it in and given it to her.

    It came back the next day, which was Thursday. “My dad says how anyone had so many things unplugged in a laptop that still had all its seals intact is a mystery to him. He reconnected your power supply. There was nothing else wrong with it, besides an old battery.”

    “Wow. Thanks! Yeah, it doesn’t hold a charge for long,” admitted Tim. “But now I can at least plug it in and play a game on the weekend. My gran doesn’t even have TV. She listens to ABC on this old radio.”

    “We get really bad TV reception anyway. So are you going to the show tomorrow?” she asked.

    “No. What show?”

    She stared at him like he’d turned green. “You really mean you don’t know? It’s the Flinders Island Show. Everyone goes. There are, like, art competitions and veggies and wool, and there are a load of stalls from off-island selling things.” She colored slightly. “I’ve got a painting entered in the landscape section. Mum bought me the painting stuff out of her cleaning money.” She giggled. “Dad wanted to enter his broccoli, but it all started flowering. He’s not much good at gardening really. Great with computers, but he wants to grow veggies.” She bit her lip. “I could ask my parents if they could give you a lift. You can’t miss it. It only happens once a year.”

    “I could ask my grandmother. But she’ll probably say no.”

    “Well, if she doesn’t…look, I’ll phone if they say it’s okay. Or get my mum to call. That might be easier. They always like to interfere anyway.”

    “Well, she’ll say no. But thanks. Have you finished the Wheel of Time books?”

    She nodded. “It’s just brilliant how he put it all together. He must have planned it all before he even started.”

    “I kind of lost it at book six…”

    And they got involved in talking about books, until they arrived at school.

    Tim wondered, that day, how he’d missed knowing about the Island Show. No one did much work, and he heard quite a lot about it.

    And to his surprise, Molly’s father phoned Nan. And she said he could go. She even gave him five dollars from the tin box under her bed. Tim saw her pulling it out as he walked past.

    Tim’s first take on the Island Show had been dismay. Five dollars to get in! He hadn’t known there was going to be an entry charge, and all the money he could get was for getting off the island…and then Molly’s mum had paid it for him so casually, while he was still feeling the blood rush to his face.

    He gritted his teeth. Dug in his pocket. Nan obviously hadn’t been anywhere for so long that she still thought five dollars was a fortune. He’d planned to put it with the rest of his money. Just look around. He held out the note. “Here’s mine.”

    “Oh, don’t worry about it,” Mrs. Symons said.

    Like he didn’t know they were scratching the bottom of the barrel a bit to survive. “No. I must. Really.”

    “Call it payback for…for keeping me calm on the plane,” said Molly.

    Tim had been getting quite good at reading her voice. She understood his embarrassment, and that was worse. “Thank you,” he said, awkward and gruff.

    It was odd walking across to the buildings from the car park. Tim realized he wasn’t used to…the sound of so many people. Yeah, the kids made a noise on the playground at school. But other than the teachers and Nan, and Mally and McKay, he hadn’t really heard a bunch of adults talking since he left Melbourne. Noisy mob, he thought, smiling to himself at his own reaction. Compared to Sandring Mall, which he’d never even thought of as noisy.

    “Hi, Tim!”

    It was one of the younger kids from school. He thought Tim was smiling at him. Huh. Tim started to scowl, and then changed his mind. “Er. Hi.”

    The kid didn’t notice. “Have you seen those big ball thingies you can get into? They’re so cool! Yeah, Mom. I’m coming.”

    The last part wasn’t addressed to Tim, and the kid ran off. But it was just the start. Everyone greeted them. And half of them stopped to talk. They all seemed to know who he was, and several of them asked after his nan. They hadn’t even gotten halfway to the big old sheds that everyone was heading for. Their familiarity left Tim feeling even more uncomfortable. And yet…no one treated him like dog mess under their shoes. “Takes a long time to get anywhere,” he said, after the fourth stop.

    “It’s strange, knowing everyone,” nodded Molly, understanding. “I felt like I was getting inspected at Customs at first. I didn’t like it much, but you get used to it.”

    “I guess.” He’d realized that in two weeks he’d gotten used to quiet, to the noises of the bush on the farm. He’d never thought that would happen.

    “And then when you go back to Melbourne and greet people and they look at you like you’re about to mug them,” she giggled. “Daddy nearly caused a couple of crashes, waving at cars over there.”

    They’d arrived at the door to the first big shed. The Lions Club — so the sign read, were frying donuts. And the smell of hot oil, the hiss and pop of frying, and the prickle of cinnamon took him back. He blinked. He hadn’t realized how sharply smells could poke your memories out from where they were hiding. He hadn’t even liked the movies, but Hailey had.

    And as if it had all been some kind of magic spell, there she was. Looking bored, with that expression that Tim had learned meant he should avoid her…if he could. But he’d never been able to. “Uh. Hi, Hailey.”

    Her expression changed. She smiled. The same teasing smile that had made him take that DVD and hide it under his jacket. That had made him try that spiff. And, just then, he’d have done it all again.

    Except…she wasn’t smiling at him. She was smiling at the big guy with the tattoo on his shoulder and the earring who was sauntering through the door, his jeans fashionably low. She walked past Tim, as if he wasn’t there. “Hi, Justin. Daddy flew me over for the show…” They walked off.

    Tim knew then that it wasn’t enough just to get together the money to leave the island. He needed to do more. He just wasn’t sure what.

    In the vast and misty halls under Cnoc Meadha, where the rules of time and space are quite different, King Finvarra’s host feast, drink, dance. Sometimes they will ride and sometimes they will hunt. Sometimes they will fight too. To the high ones of the Aos Sí, this is life. Sometimes in their timelessness it palls a little. They will intrude on the human world. Humans are amusing to them, in the way humans find pet monkeys amusing. Monkeys that could be enchanted.

    It is a rare human that finds the charms of the hollow lands of the Aos Sí pall on them. But then, their lives are short.

    Áed did not miss it much. But then the feasting, womanizing and finery were not for the lesser spirits such as Áed. They were bred to work, much as sheepdogs are, and while the great ones could weave glamour and work spells of power in the underworld, Áed liked the change and the challenge out here, and even the weakness of his master. Given a choice, Áed would remain in the wind and wild of the world above.

    Few humans, though, once the magic of Faerie had touched them, were strong enough to make that choice.

    Molly had met Hailey Burke before, introduced by the delusion that some adults had that because you were both girls who were not too far apart in age, and who lived near to each other out in the Whoop-Whoop, you’d naturally be the best of friends. It had been dislike at first sight from Molly’s point of view. They had almost nothing in common. Molly had decided Hailey was a horrible little airhead who had never read a book in her life, but was a faithful follower of fashion and celebrities. By the way they’d never met up again, it seemed Hailey hadn’t liked her either.

    Watching Tim’s reaction to meeting her here, and Hailey ignoring him, just made her feel sorry for Tim and want to slap Hailey. He just looked like such a hurt puppy. But he had seriously bad taste.

    They’d walked around the photographs and painting and embroidery. He’d emerged from his dismals enough to tell her that he really loved her sea picture, and his gran’s veg would lick anything they had here.

    But she could see that his mind, and his heart, was elsewhere.

    It was pretty irritating, really.

    When Tim got back to the house, his grandmother was out somewhere. He was glad of that. He was glad of the silence of the farm. He didn’t want anyone. He didn’t want to talk either. He’d done that. Made polite conversation. Molly’s parents were okay. A bit weird, and asking far too many questions about his family. He didn’t have a clue how long there had been Ryans on the island. What did it matter, really?

    At least they’d stayed off questions about his mother and father. Or too much about Melbourne.

    He sat disconsolately on his bed for a bit. Then thought he might as well play some computer games. His head was too all over the place to read. What he really wanted to do was to go fishing or to do something exciting…but he’d play a game or two. Starcraft just didn’t grab him right now. He had a CD of stupid old first-person shooter games in his bag that he’d been given for his birthday by his mother, who didn’t understand games and had found these really cheap. A couple of them were quite good, even if they weren’t new. That might do.

    He took the old Spiderman II bag down from on top of the cupboard. Feeling for the CD, he found his passport instead.

    He’d forgotten that he’d taken that.

    He sat and stared at it for a long time.

    That might be far enough, if they didn’t just send him back.

    Only it would cost a fortune.

    And right now he only had thirty-five dollars.

    Thirty dollars he’d worked for. Five dollars Gran had taken from her tin box, and he hadn’t spent. Like she could only give him five dollars!

    And now Hailey was ignoring him. And she’d probably tell everyone he was a thief. Like Gran thought he was, when she found the money in his pockets. What had she been doing in his pockets anyway? A reasonable part of his mind said, probably emptying them before she washed your jeans. He ignored it. If she could look in his stuff and take, he could look in hers. If she thought he was a thief, he might as well be one.

    He went to her room and pulled the small old tin box from under the neatly made bed. He had a big twinge of “you shouldn’t be doing this,” but he did it anyway. The box wasn’t even locked. He put it on the bed and opened it.

    Thousands of dollars did not spill out. There was a thin little sheaf, mostly of five-dollar notes, on top of a pile of slightly yellowed envelopes. During the week, in conversation, he’d fished from Molly the cost of a flight to Melbourne. Without even counting the money Tim knew that it wasn’t enough. The paper clip holding the notes together was rusty and old.

    Tim picked up one of the envelopes, the top one. It was addressed to Mary Ryan, care of Whitemark Post Office. It had been carefully opened.

    Feeling decidedly uncomfortable…but now that he’d come this far, Tim took out what was inside. It was just a letter, the folds cracking slightly.

    In spite of himself Tim couldn’t help but read part of the first page. It was very neat, round-lettered upright writing, as if written by someone trying very hard, who hadn’t done a lot of writing:

    “My Darling Mary,

    Here in Saigon it is so hot and sticky it’s hard to breathe. I miss the Island and the Cuckoo’s Nest nearly as badly as I miss you and my boy, my love. I just hope you’ve got enough money for…”

    Tim stopped reading, put the letter carefully back in the envelope. On the back in the same big, round hand was the sender’s address. It started with “Private JM Ryan” and a number. Shaking himself and feeling creeped out and guilty, Tim carefully put it back, and put the box under the bed again.

    He went back to his room, chewing his bottom lip. That must be from, like, fifty years ago, and she still kept it.

    The phone started ringing. It didn’t do that much. Tim went and answered it. It was McKay. “Hello, Tim. Sorry, not going to sea, but do you want some more work on the boat?”

    Tim heard the kitchen door open. It was obviously his grandmother back, and he did stammer somewhat, thinking what could have happened if she’d come back two minutes earlier. “Uh, yes, I…I have to ask my grandmother. She’s just come in.”

    “It’ll be about three hours tomorrow afternoon.”

    So Tim held his hand in front of the mouthpiece, and asked. His grandmother nodded. “There’s a bit of work on the farm to do, a bit of fencing, but I can manage. I have, all these years.”

    “It’s only in the afternoon. If you get me up early, I’ll do it.” Even as he said it, Tim thought he was crazy. Early? He was offering to get up early. But he was still feeling guilty.

    It did get a hint of a wintery smile from the old woman. “Go. I’ll cut yer lunch.”

    So Tim confirmed, arranged a time to be at the corner, as his grandmother made a pot of tea.

    “So how was yer show?” she asked, pouring the tea. “I used to go every year, but I haven’t for twenty years now.”

    “You should. Your veggies would win, hands down.” Tim stuck his hand in his pocket and pulled out the five-dollar note. “I didn’t spend it.”

    She didn’t take it. “I gave it to yer to have some money to spend there. Buy some stuff.”

    Tim shrugged. How could he explain that most things cost more than five dollars unless he wanted food or junk, and that anyway he had been hoarding it…and that having looked in her little tin box…he couldn’t keep it now. “I just looked at things. I…I didn’t want to waste money. And I’m earning some money.”

    His grandmother took the note. “You’re a different boy to yer father. I’ll put it back with the emergency fund then. My John always said I must put a bit there for a rainy day. Money does seem a bit tight, Tim. Stock prices have been terrible.”

    Tim blinked a bit at this. Several of the kids in his grade were farmers’ or farmworkers’ children, and beef prices had been mentioned. It sounded like a lot of money to him. “I’m sorry.”

    She shrugged. “We’ll manage. This is our place. Been through tough times before. Yer granddad’s family were some of the first people to farm on the island.”

    “Molly’s dad asked.”

    “There’s a lot of history here, some of it best forgotten,” said his grandmother, in a way that said parts of it were best not asked about. “But yer belong here. This is yer place. Now we need to move them sheep.”

    No, it wasn’t his place. His place was Melbourne, thought Tim. A place where you didn’t spend hours chasing sheep through the bush. But at least the next day he’d get out, earn some more money.

    Better yet, the next day after McKay had picked him up, he was sweeping out the sawdust inside the boat’s new structures, when he came across an old bag, about the size of his fist. It was a neat leather pouch with a drawstring. He’d almost swear it had just appeared among the sawdust and shavings, but it must have been lying under something. There were a couple of coins in it — black and green…but that was with age.

    He showed it to McKay. “Right. I wonder how long that’s been there. It’s someone’s little change pouch, I reckon. What’s the date on the coins? Must be before the 1966 changeover.”

    Tim peered. “The black one is 1945. The other…It’s quite worn. Nineteen thirty-something.”

    “Right. Well, it’s been around a while! Nice little oilskin bag, too. It’s a real sailor’s thing. Quite a find for you. Wish I was that lucky.”

    Tim held it out to him. “It’s your boat.”

    McKay shook his head. “It’s some long dead fisherman’s lost property, and you may as well have it. You found it, after all. I was working there yesterday. If I’d cleaned up after myself, I would have found it. So, there you go. A start to your fortune. Your first piece of silver. I think it’s probably worth about five dollars by now.”

    “Wow. Thanks!”

    Tim hung the oilskin bag from a piece of old hand-line cord around his neck, and added the rest of the money into it, in the Ziploc.

    Áed had found the old pouch and its coins between two floor planks. It had been dropped there when the board had been nailed on, and no human could reach it. He understood his master wanted money. Why he was collecting paper, though, was beyond him. Real wealth was copper, or silver, or gold.

    His master was still largely unaware of the sprite of air and darkness that was loyal to him. But he’d taken to the old ways and courtesies taught by his grandmother. And sometimes he blinked as if he almost saw Áed, but refused to believe what he saw. That was quite a common problem for humans.