Devil's Rock Part 4

'She's been hanging around the last few days. Never seen her before. If you're makin' us a cuppa, you can give her a dollop of milk.'

Zaki took the hint, put the kettle on and poured some milk into a cleanish plastic bowl for the cat, then, seeing the dog looking jealous, made a fuss of her until, satisfied that she was still loved, she went to lie down in her box under the workbench.

When the tea was made, Zaki and Grandad settled themselves on the dusty camp chairs that lived in one corner of the shed.

'See your father's allowin' you to neglect your edification again,' said Grandad. 'What's your mother going to say?'

Zaki studied the steam rising from his tea. He wished his grandfather hadn't raised the subject of his mother.

'Does she know about your arm?'

'Don't think so,' said Zaki. 'She didn't phone at the weekend.'

'Couldn't you phone her?'

'Dad says she's really busy and we shouldn't worry her.'

Grandad frowned. 'So, when's she comin' home?'

'Don't know. She says soon, but she says it's difficult to know when.'

He felt that what his mother was doing wasn't fair. She shouldn't have stayed away so long. 'This job in Switzerland is just temporary,' she'd said. Temporary. That was only a short time, wasn't it? That's what he'd thought. That's how they'd made it sound. Now, whenever he tried to talk to his father he'd say something like 'We did all discuss it before your mum took the job', as though they'd offered him a choice like 'Do you want your mum to go away or not?' Well, n.o.body had ever asked him that.

'Expect you miss her, don't you?' said Grandad.

'There aren't any jobs like that here in Devon,' said Zaki, feeling compelled by family loyalty to defend his parents. 'Dad says it's an opportunity. They had to borrow a lot to buy number forty-three and this'll put us back on our feet.'

'Been quite a long time, though,' said Grandad.

It had been a long time. It had been much too long for Zaki.

The cat jumped up on to Zaki's lap, almost spilling his tea.

'That cat's taken to you,' said Grandad.

Zaki seized the chance to change the subject.

'You know the Orme . . .' he began.

'I ought to, number of times I've been in there.'

'Did you ever hear about a cave or a smugglers' pa.s.sage, or anything like that?'

'Why do you ask?

'I just thought, since smugglers used the river, you know there might be one.'

'There was somethin'.' Grandad took a pencil from his s.h.i.+rt pocket and stirred his tea thoughtfully. He took another sip from his mug. 'Did you sugar this?'

Zaki nodded.

'Could've been sweeter.'

'About the Orme,' Zaki prompted.

'There was a lot of smugglin' went on . . .'

'And?'

'Excise turned a blind eye to most of it. I'm talkin' maybe a hundred and fifty, two hundred year ago. Course it still goes on today.'

'And the cave?'

'I'm comin' to that. Would you like a biscuit?'

'Thanks.'

Grandad fetched the biscuits, blew the dust off the packet and offered them to Zaki, who took two.

'There was a man named Maunder, so the story goes time of my great-great-grandfather. This Maunder wasn't from round this way, but 'e was the ringleader. Led the others on, so to speak, from smugglin' to wreckin'. There was always wrecks on this coast, plenty of 'em. Did you ever consider why they called that great stone off the Orme Devil's Rock? Some say it's because in a certain light you can see the devil's face in it. But I never seen a face. More likely it's on account of the number of souls it's taken to h.e.l.l. It's an easy thing, if you're runnin' from a storm on a black night, to mistake one harbour entrance for another and plenty of skippers mistook the Devil for the Mew Stone and turned into the Orme thinkin' they was off the mouth of the Yealm, especially when some fiend lit a beacon to mislead 'em.

'What came ash.o.r.e from a wreck was considered property of they that found it. They was meant to pay duty on salvage but n.o.body took too much notice of that, it was the landowners, not excise, caused the problems for the wreckers. The landowners laid claim to anything that washed up on their foresh.o.r.e and the land around the Orme was owned, at that time, by a family called Stapleton, and Robert Stapleton took exception to Maunder and his gang clearin' out the wrecks on his property.'

Grandad dipped his biscuit in his tea and Zaki stroked the cat while he waited for him to continue.

'Grandad?'

'Hold your horses, boy I'm tryin' to call to mind what happened next.'

Grandad nodded slowly as though agreeing with an invisible storyteller.

'It seems Stapleton and Maunder fought for a bit, but then they joins forces and it's hard to say which of 'em was more evil. Seafarers have a natural loyalty to other seafarers, but Maunder's lot took to killin' any poor soul, seaman or pa.s.senger, who survived a wreck and the bodies was buried in Stapleton's fields. That's why n.o.body will farm the land by the Orme. They're afraid of turning up bodies when they're ploughin'.'

'What about the cave?'

'Well, villains'll always fall out, won't they? And Maunder and Stapleton were no exception. They say Maunder dug a secret hidey-hole somewhere thereabouts so he'd get most of the plunder hidden before Stapleton could arrive at the wreck.'

'Does anyone know where it is?'

'Not as far I know. Maunder disappeared killed by Stapleton most likely. Then Stapleton handed the rest o' the gang over to the authorities. The men were hanged and the women an' children were transported.

'What happened to Stapleton?'

'Lost the family estate gambling. Maybe he found Maunder's hidey-hole, maybe 'e didn't.'

'So you never saw this cave when you were on the fis.h.i.+ng boats?'

'No, none of us ever saw it. Maunder and the others, they all lived a long time ago remember, and it's probably all just an old yarn.'

'Do you think it's just a story?'

'Maybe yes, maybe no.'

'Did you ever look for the cave?'

'No I did not. And neither should you.'

'Why not?'

'What's buried is best left buried, boy, that's why not.'

'But what if someone . . . Ow!' Zaki was going to say 'found it by mistake', but just at that moment the cat on his lap dug her claws into his leg.

His grandfather was looking at him hard and he realised that, if he continued, the old man would guess, perhaps had already guessed, that he'd found the cave.

'Would there be treasure, do you think?' asked Zaki, trying to make it sound like idle curiosity.

'Shouldn't think so. The cargoes those days was mostly food, wool, some wine and spirits p'rhaps nothing of much value by today's standards. Maunder would have sold it as quick as he could.'

Zaki was certain there was more to the story than his grandfather was telling, but he couldn't press it any further without admitting that he'd found the cave and, in doing so, breaking his promise to the mysterious girl who'd pulled him to safety. It was a problem. Zaki decided to change the subject. He'd get his grandfather talking about the wreckers another time.

'Has anyone bought Queen of the Dart Queen of the Dart yet?' The yet?' The Queen of the Dart Queen of the Dart was a motor yacht that Grandad had restored and for which he was hoping to find a buyer, but no one had shown any interest. It was becoming a family joke. was a motor yacht that Grandad had restored and for which he was hoping to find a buyer, but no one had shown any interest. It was becoming a family joke.

'Not yet. Why? You thinkin' of buying her?'

'Me?!' exclaimed Zaki in mock horror. 'You know I only like boats with sails.'

'Sensible lad. Wish I'd never taken that boat on. Looks like I'm stuck with her.'

Grandad eased himself out of his chair and took the mugs to rinse in the paint-spattered sink.

'Well, best be getting on. Can't spend the whole afternoon chatting. You goin' to be any use to me with that shoulder?'

'What do you need to do?'

'I was hopin' to get some planks on the bottom of that rowing boat.'

Zaki spent the rest of the afternoon helping his grandfather as best he could. They said little to each other, concentrating on what needed to be done, but Grandad would pause occasionally to straighten his back and praise the virtues of wooden craft. 'Did you know the Vikings built their longboats this way?' he asked when the first plank was in place, and then, half an hour later, 'Light and strong, light and strong, that's the advantage of a boat like this.'

Watching the easy skill with which the old man handled the tools and materials, Zaki wondered how long it took to learn to be a boatbuilder. Could he join his grandad when he was old enough to leave school and one day take over the boat shed? After all, he shared his grandad's name, Isaac Luxton, even if everyone did call him Zaki. Maybe one day he would be Isaac Luxton, boatbuilder.

At a quarter to six, Grandad downed tools, hung up his ap.r.o.n and shut the back door of the shed. Jenna recognised the signs and went to stand, wagging her tail, by the front door. When the door was opened, the cat made a dash past the dog and seemed to disappear.

'Is your dad picking you up, or am I expected to drive you home?' asked Grandad.

'You know Dad.'

'In yer get.'

Zaki let Jenna into the back of the car before getting in the front.

'If you put the radio on, we might catch the s.h.i.+pping forecast,' said Grandad as he started the motor. The forecast with its litany of place names Forties, Cromarty, Forth, Tyne, Dogger, Fisher, German Bight seemed to Zaki to belong to Grandad in the same way as the smell of wood and varnish, and, as Zaki watched him steer the old Volvo through the twisting lanes above Batson Creek, he could imagine him at the wheel of a trawler battling its way through a force 8 gale in sea areas Fastnet, Shannon or Rockall.

Grandad pulled up in front of the house in Moor Lane.

'I'll not stop, the ol' dog'll be wantin' her dinner.'

'Thanks for the lift, Grandad.'

'Watch that arm, boy.'

As the car pulled away, Zaki was astonished to see the grey cat waiting by the gate. She must have sneaked into the car, thought Zaki. How else could she have got here?

The cat followed him into the house, and immediately made herself at home in the kitchen.

'Where'd that cat come from?' asked Michael, who was spreading a thick layer of peanut b.u.t.ter on to a piece of toast.

'Grandad's.'

'Grandad doesn't have a cat.'

'You asked me where it came from, not whose it was.'

'All right, smart a.r.s.e, whose is it?'

'I don't know, do I.'

'Well, I don't know what Dad's going to say.'

'Isn't he home yet?'

'Not yet.'

'I'm starving.'

'Make yourself some toast, that's what I'm doing.'

'But I've got a bad arm.'

'Aw, diddums! All right have this piece. I suppose I can make myself another!'

'Thanks, Michael. You're a pal.'

'Yeah, aren't I.'

Zaki waited to see if Michael would say anything about the first day of school but, having made another piece of toast, Michael headed upstairs. His bedroom door slammed and soon Zaki heard him playing his guitar. He had begun mixing ba.s.s runs in with the strummed rhythms and, although he would never say it to his brother, Zaki had to admit Michael's playing was sounding surprisingly good.