Magnus Fin and the Selkie Secret by Janis Mackay Page B

– now look at you! I’ve been so normal all morning my head hurts.”
    But normal seemed the last thing on Tarkin’s mind. “You really think she’ll find them?” he asked, still gazing into the water.
    Fin shrugged. “She might. Look, come on Tark. We’ve got ten minutes. I’m in the good books and I want to stay there. We made a pact, remember? Mission Act Normal? We’ve got a secret to guard.”
    But Tarkin seemed unable to move. He couldn’t pull his eyes away from the very place the pearls had fallen into the water.
    Fin knew what was coming.
    “See if you can find them, Fin. Please?”
    It would waste precious time to argue, and there was something about Tarkin’s pleading expression that made Fin agree. In a flash he pulled off his school clothes then, wearing nothing but his boxer shorts, he dived into the sea.
    He was struck by how still everything was under the water. Even the long fronds of sea grass hung motionless. He cast his eyes around. Something glinted. He was in luck. He reached forward to pluck the pearls – only they weren’t pearls but the round staring eyes of a small fish. The indignant fish darted away. Fin pulled back strands of seaweed and probed down amongst bright yellow sponges. He tugged at dead men’s fingers and ran his hands over the sand. Crabs scuttled out from under dark stones. Fish circled him. Magnus Fin stretched his arms along slimy ledges and barnacledcrevices near the rock. He twisted and turned, eagerly searching for anything pearl-like. Though he swept his arms through the water, no bubbles rose up. Something was not right. There was no tide, no current. In such conditions the pearls should be lying where they fell – in the sand, under the lip of rock. But they weren’t. Search as he might, they weren’t there. So maybe Tarkin was right? Maybe his mermaid had taken them?
    Barely two minutes had passed when Magnus Fin hoisted himself up onto the rock and shook himself dry. Tarkin gave him Frank’s yellow scarf to rub his hair with. “Sorry, Tark – no pearl necklace. I looked everywhere.”
    “So she got my present then?” His voice brightened. “She got the necklace?”
    Fin pulled on his trousers, stuffed his socks into his pockets then stuck his feet into his shoes. “Yeah, I think she got it.”
    They were halfway up the road when the bell started to ring. Running uphill was a lot harder than running downhill. By the time they reached the wall that skirted the playground the bell sounded its last note. They leapt over the stone wall, raced across the playground and made it into the classroom in the nick of time.
    “You are late, Tarkin,” said Mr Sargent, pointing to the clock on the classroom wall. “Two hours to be precise. What’s your excuse?”
    “I had to give something to someone – honest, sir – I can’t say too much about it, but believe me, it was extremely important. And if you don’t mind, sir, it’s personal. I’d rather not speak about it if that’s alright with you.”
    There was something about the way Tarkin put his hand to his heart, said sir and spoke so earnestly that caused Mr Sargent to say nothing more on the matter. Sometimes he couldn’t understand these children at all. And sometimes, it was better to believe them – even if what they said sounded mighty unusual. So he took a deep breath, nodded, then asked his American pupil – in Gaelic – “ Ciamar a tha sibh ? ”
    And the boy with the long blond hair, the shark’s tooth necklace, two silver earrings in one ear and a damp yellow scarf looped around his neck, answered in his American accent with a Scottish twang, “ Tha gu math, tapadh leibh! ”
     
    It was later that evening that Mr Sargent, in a local restaurant with some of his golfing buddies, after a sherry too many, mentioned his unusual pupils. Some of the golfing friends had brought along other friends who were up on holiday and Mr Sargent was in a talkative mood. The visitors listened