Journey to the River Sea

They talked of Clovis often and it was Finn, now, who wondered if they had been fair to him. ‘He’s either shut up in that awful place or he’s confessed and been thrown out.’

‘Well at least he’s in England and that’s what he wanted.’

But she could see that to Finn, who was afraid of nothing else, Westwood was still a dread.

‘And if he’s been thrown out, it will all start again, I suppose,’ he said. ‘More crows. More hiding.’

‘Well, they won’t find us here,’ said Maia.

They were anchored between two islands in a kind of cave made by the overhanging branches of a pono tree. A pair of otters had been diving round the boat; the frogs set up their evening croaking.

It had been a magical day; they had seen a family of terrapins sunning themselves, and a pair of harpy eagles. There’d been a gentle following breeze to help them, and the rain that sometimes came down even in the dry season had held off.

‘You know you said you used to wake up every morning in the lagoon when your father was alive and think, ‘‘Here I am, where I want to be.’’ Well, that’s how I feel when I wake up on the Arabella.’

Maia did not care whether they found the Xanti or not. It was not about arriving for her, it was about the journey. Even the sadness about Minty deserting her had gone.

For Finn, who had almost kidnapped her, there were moments of anxiety. He should have told someone that Maia was safe, instead of taking her away without a word, but gradually he stopped worrying and gave himself up to the journey.

And if Maia knew deep down that she would not be allowed to sail away for ever up the rivers of the Amazon, she managed to forget it. She sang as she worked and when Finn whistled Blow the Wind Southerly, she smiled, because she had been wrong to be cross with the wind. The wind had brought him back, and she was content.

And when Finn complained at the end of a day that they had not come very far, she said, ‘What does it matter? We’ve got all the time in the world.’

Which is not always a clever thing to say.

Chapter Twenty-One

Miss Minton was staying at the Keminskys’. She had lost everything in the fire except her trunk of books, but with her butterfly money she bought the few things she needed. Because the Keminskys had been kind to her, she was determined to do her duty, so each morning she taught Olga and helped the countess with her letters.

The rest of the day she searched for Maia.

It was now a week since Maia had vanished. Miss Minton had always been thin, but now she looked like a walking skeleton. When she passed through the streets people turned to look at her anguished face.

The Carters’ servants – Tapi, Furo and the others – had not returned. When they had news of the fire, Old Lila had fallen ill with a raging fever, certain that they had killed Maia by leaving her, and they had gone further into the forest to search for a medicine man who could cure her.

But Miss Minton went to talk to the Indians living along the river bank and by the docks; she searched the ruins of the bungalow again and again. She questioned the river patrols, and the people who came in on the ships, in case Maia had lost her memory and wandered off.

Many people helped her. The Keminskys – Sergei in particular – the chief of police, the Haltmanns, Madame Duchamp from the dancing class and the children who worked with her. In the short time she had been in the Amazon, Maia had made many friends.

But the person who stopped Minty losing her reason was Professor Glastonberry. Every morning he left the museum in charge of his assistant and searched for clues.

The professor alone was certain that Maia was not dead.

‘There are almost always ... remains,’ he said, ‘when someone burns to death.’

‘You mean ... bones ... or ... teeth?’ asked Miss Minton.

‘That’s what I mean,’ said the professor firmly.

He worked with the chief of police, and the count, he spent hours at the docks, and at least twice a day he came back to see that Miss Minton had eaten something, or even slept.

But when a week had passed, Miss Minton gave up hope. She had as good as killed Maia by deserting her. Now she must cable Mr Murray and tell him that Maia was dead.

She had put on her hat to go to the post office when the Keminskys’ maid showed in the professor.

As soon as she saw his face, Miss Minton reached for a chair.

‘Is there—’ she began.

‘Yes, there is news. A man in a trading canoe on the Agarapi saw the Arabella. And he was certain that two children were aboard.’

Miss Minton looked round the Keminskys’ drawing room as though she would find there the powerful boat she needed, ready and waiting.

‘I must go at once,’ she said.

‘We must go at once,’ said the professor.

The countess begged her to wait for her husband’s return. ‘He could find you a good boat and a crew.’

But waiting was something that Miss Minton could not do.

‘I’m going to buy some supplies and a few things Maia might need,’ she said to the professor. ‘I’ll meet you at the docks in an hour.’