He turned to me with mischievous, sparkly eyes. “Do you think,” he said, “that there will be violent objections if I put in a request for a detour? I want to get a closer look at the castle.”
Before I could say anything, he asked Honey and Mamoru if we could drive towards the castle.
“Don’t be bloody stupid,” Honey said. “We can’t miss our boat again.”
“Isn’t this trip meant to be a holiday?” Peter said.
“I’m sorry,” said Mamoru. “I am myself interested to see Kellie’s Castle, but we need to get to Tanjong Acheh quickly. There is only one boat a day to the islands. It makes the crossing at a specific time in the day.”
“Can’t we just pay someone to take us there? We don’t need to travel with the masses, do we?”
“That is what we are doing,” Honey said.
“A boat specially for us?” I said.
Honey nodded.
“I assumed we’d be on a ferry. Don’t other people go to the Seven Maidens?” Peter asked. “I thought it might be like Eastbourne in the summer.”
“The Seven Maidens are not well known,” said Mamoru. “Their beauty is, however, legendary.” He turned around to face us, and, I thought, looked directly at me.
“Wonderful. Yet another myth,” said Peter. “We haven’t a clue what’s in store for us.” He sank back into his seat.
“It was worth asking,” I said, reverting to a whisper.
He did not seem remotely perturbed by the rejection of his request. “It’s always worth asking.” He laughed.
We turned back to look at the castle but it had disappeared. “Where is it?” Peter said. “I could have sworn it was just there, in the dip below that hill.”
“No it wasn’t, it was over there,” I said. I could not tell where anything was anymore. The castle had vanished from our sight, and we continued to drive on.
The jungle gave way to tawny, parched grassland and coconut trees. Streams of murky, brackish water cut across the road, and we went over wooden bridges that trembled under the weight of the car. We drew into Tanjong Acheh late in the afternoon. The collection of wooden huts and fishermen’s shacks that formed the town stretched a few hundred yards along the coast. We slowed to walking pace, the car’s engine rattling unhappily. On either side of the street, the shacks appeared empty. Their windows and doors were shut, giving the impression of a town long deserted. One house bore a painted sign on its façade. The words were faded, bleached by the sun and salt, but I could discern from the outline of a bottle and the remains of “Fraser & Neave” that it must once have been the coffee shop where the local population congregated for cold drinks in the afternoon and coffee in the evening. I listened for the sound of children’s laughter, dogs barking, or chickens squabbling, but I heard nothing.
“Do you think everyone’s asleep?” Peter said, checking his watch. “A bit late in the day for a siesta, isn’t it?”
“It’s a fishing village,” Honey said. “They’re probably out to sea.”
“Even the women?” I asked.
Johnny said, “In places like these — poor rural areas — women have to work too. There are many female fishermen.”
“Yes, I have seen them,” Mamoru said. “However, I thought that fishing boats went out to sea in the evening. They usually arrive home in the mornings, unload their catch, and then rest during the day. One can see them dotting the coastline at dawn. In a small bay such as this, their lights resemble fireflies in a jar.”
“You’ve been around a bit, haven’t you?” Peter said. “Very observant too, I must say.”
Mamoru laughed. “I’m simply a tourist,” he said, “with an academic’s eye.”
“Yes,” said Peter, “an academic’s eye.”
“That is why I find it somewhat puzzling that the boats are not here at this time of the day,” Mamoru said. “Perhaps fishermen’s routines and practises vary from place to place. The tide may behave differently here.”
“I don’t know why, but I got the impression you’ve been here before,” Peter said.
“No,” Mamoru said, turning around to look at him. “I have not.”
The road curved to a stop at a broken-down pier. A single boat bobbed gently by the jetty. It was a large boat, forty feet long perhaps, with a cabin built on its deck. Its hull, once bright green, was clad in cracked, peeling paint; a dried-out tangle of netting stretched along one side of the deck.
“There she is,” Honey said.
“What, that wreck?” Peter said, his voice rising an octave.
“Well, there isn’t another bloody boat around, is there?” Honey snapped.
We got out of the car and stood looking at the boat.
“Where’s our ferryman?” Peter demanded. “Please tell me we’re not going to attempt this stygian crossing ourselves.”
“For goodness’ sake, be quiet. The owner of this boat is meant to be here,” Honey said. “We’ve made arrangements for him to take us to the Seven Maidens. He’s obviously been delayed. He’ll be here sooner or later, I expect.”
“You made the arrangements, did you?” said Peter. “Congratulations on a job well done. If you think we’re willing to entrust our lives to a drunken maniac on a sinking tin like that, think again.”
