Journey to the River Sea

But when they reached the harbour there was no boat to hire and no one to help them. It was midday; everyone had gone home for lunch, and for the afternoon sleep which followed it.

‘Well, we shall have to steal one,’ said Miss Minton.

Then they saw a boat they knew. The Carters’ launch; the spinach-coloured boat without a name. Gonzales had brought it down after the fire to sell and help clear Mr Carter’s debts.

‘No one will miss it for a few days,’ said Miss Minton. ‘And if they do, it doesn’t matter.’ She looked at the professor. ‘Can you manage her?’

‘I expect so,’ said Professor Glastonberry. He sighed, but he didn’t try to stop her. It would have been like trying to stop an avalanche. ‘There seems to be enough wood stacked up for now.’

Miss Minton had already picked up her skirts and jumped aboard. Now she took up the boathook and waited while the professor fed the furnace with wood and the engine spluttered slowly into life.

‘If we find Maia,’ said Miss Minton as they set off, ‘I swear I’ll give this boat a proper name.’

The journey they took up the Negro and into the Agarapi river was very different from the dreamy voyage Finn and Maia had made the week before.

‘Faster – can’t we go faster?’ Miss Minton kept saying.

When their supply of wood ran low, she jumped ashore, grasping the machete which Furo had left with the other tools, and slashed her way through the undergrowth as though she had been born with a knife in her hand.

Everything she had forbidden her pupils to do, she did herself – thinking gloomy thoughts, going off into black daydreams. One minute she thought that Maia had died in the fire, and the child seen on the Arabella was an Indian girl to whom Finn had given a ride. The next minute she thought that it had been Maia, but that she had now drowned, or had reached the Xanti who had killed her.

‘You couldn’t blame them if they’d turned savage,’ she said, ‘the way some of the tribes have been treated.’

‘Yara was a very gentle soul,’ said the professor. ‘Finn’s mother.’

‘That was then,’ said Miss Minton.

The professor left her alone and gave his mind to the boat. The launch was larger and faster than the Arabella, but this only meant that she needed more wood. He had taken off his shirt; his chest was covered in smuts, his face was crimson from the heat, but he pushed the boat on like a mad magician.

But when Miss Minton tried to make him sail on through the night he put his foot down.

‘It’s dangerous and foolish,’ he said. ‘If we run aground we’ll never get her off.’

So Miss Minton lay down in the cabin and the professor lay down on the deck and as soon as the first light came, Miss Minton made black coffee so strong that it almost took the roof off their mouths – and then they were off again.

‘I was an idiot,’ she said, sitting in the stern with her hand on the tiller. ‘I should have stayed with Henry Hartington who pushed puppies through the wire mesh of tennis courts. Or Lavinia Freemantle who plucked the wings off butterflies. Goodness knows, I’ve had enough awful children to look after. But Maia ...’

They saw things the professor would have loved to stop for: a deserted humming bird nest with two eggs no bigger than peas, a scarlet orchid which was new to him – but Miss Minton could not bear him to halt the boat. Even if a giant sloth with long red hair had come lumbering down to the water’s edge, she would have insisted on going on.

But he did not let everything pass.

‘Do you have to go on calling me Professor Glastonberry?’ he complained when they had travelled for three days.

Miss Minton was steering, looking for signs of sandbanks or submerged rocks.

‘I don’t know your Christian name,’ she said.

The professor blushed. ‘It’s Neville,’ he admitted.

Miss Minton turned to look at him – oil-stained, unshaven, dripping with sweat – and woke up to what he was doing for her.

‘What’s wrong with Neville?’ she said.

After that she became calmer and more sensible. She opened some of the tins they had brought and made proper meals. She even allowed herself to see the beauty of the river and remembered how once she had hoped to make a living as a naturalist.

‘You won’t lose your job because of this?’ she asked. ‘Coming away so suddenly?’

The professor shrugged.

‘Probably not. But if I do it doesn’t matter much. I’d have to retire anyway in a couple of years and I have a bit of money saved.’ He put another log of wood into the firebox. ‘I used to go on trips with Taverner sometimes. I could make a living like this ... it’s not just collecting – people pay good money now to be shown the wildlife.’ He stared out over the water. ‘It was what I meant to do when I came out here, but my wife didn’t care for travelling.’

They turned into the Agarapi and soon afterwards saw a great snake, endlessly long, rustling through the leaves and dropping down into the dark water.

‘An anaconda,’ said the professor.

‘Is it dangerous?’ asked Miss Minton.