her mum and little sister round St Mary’s Loch in the Borders last summer, but rowing a boat with a centaur in it would be harder work.
Sheila called from the jetty, as Helen got into a slow steady rhythm, “Will you be alright, Helen?”
“I’m fine. But Yann’s not getting any pudding if he wants me to row him back!”
Because she was rowing, Helen was facing the stern, the back of the boat. So she was looking at where they had been rather than where they were going, though she could hardly see the lights of the campsite past Yann’s huge bulk. “You’re just too heavy !”
“Nonsense. The water is supporting my weight, all you’re doing is moving us along. If you can pull me up a cliff, human girl, you can row me over the water.”
When Helen took a break, she twisted round to see the dark island ahead of them, outlined against the black sky. Eilan nan MacCodrum was like a tipped-over slice of cake on the water: high cliffs at one end, sloping down to a beach at the other.
Helen started rowing again, wishing that her friend Sapphire was here to fly them all from shore to island. But the dragon couldn’t leave her Borders home until she had shed her old skin, so Helen would have to get used to being a taxi service this weekend.
“Stop splashing me, Helen!” said Lavender, perched on the side of the boat. “You’re getting my dress wet!”
“I’m rowing as smoothly as I can.”
“Stop it!” Lavender squealed again. “Who’s doing that?”
Then a voice called:
“We will stop the splash in time,
When you top our verse in rhyme.”
Helen stopped rowing. All the fabled beasts looked frantically around, Yann’s movements making the boat wobble.
The voice had come from the sea.
Chapter 8
Lavender lit the air above the boat with shaky lightballs from the end of her wand.
The boat was surrounded by a ring of people, bobbing in the sea. Their wet heads and upper bodies were dark and shiny in the magical light.
“Finish our rhymes, or we soak you!” said the nearest boy in a cheerful voice.
They all swam forward and grasped the edge of the boat, one at the bow, one at the stern, and four on each side, rocking it slightly. Then they chanted:
“A human, a horse, a firebird, a fairy,
A strange group to be crossing the seas.”
There was a pause.
“Finish the verse, or we’ll soak you,” repeated the smiling boy, hanging on beside the port-side rowlock to Helen’s right.
“Finish the verse, or we’ll sink you!” said the boy at the bow, behind Helen. They all chanted again:
“A human, a horse, a firebird, a fairy,
A strange group to be crossing the seas.”
Yann’s deep voice continued:
“This mixed magic boatload might make you wary,
But we’re friends, so let us past, please.”
“Perfect!” said the boy to Helen’s right. “Now we need three more verses for the other three in the boat.”
Helen whispered to Yann, “Who are they? What should we do?”
Yann replied, clearly and openly, “Helen, meet the blue loons, the sons of the blue men of the Minch. This tribe have a nasty habit of drowning people who can’t create poetry up to their low standards of doggerel, but don’t worry. I can make up rhymes for most words except orange and silver.”
“But a poetic pony isn’t enough,” called a boy near the stern. “You all have to answer or we won’t let you past. Can the lilac blossom rhyme?
“The bright green sea doesn’t need flowers,
No petals of pink, purple or red.”
Lavender answered in her high voice:
“I’ll be gone in a couple of hours,
Fast asleep in my dry flower bed.”
The smiling boy said, “Rhyming and punning! Well done!” But they didn’t stop their uncomfortable rocking of the boat.
“Your turn now, ugly ducking,” said another blue loon, on the starboard side.
Helen gasped. How could Catesby complete a rhyme, when he didn’t speak English?
“It won’t be easy, but to save your friends,
You must rhyme, even though you
Sheila called from the jetty, as Helen got into a slow steady rhythm, “Will you be alright, Helen?”
“I’m fine. But Yann’s not getting any pudding if he wants me to row him back!”
Because she was rowing, Helen was facing the stern, the back of the boat. So she was looking at where they had been rather than where they were going, though she could hardly see the lights of the campsite past Yann’s huge bulk. “You’re just too heavy !”
“Nonsense. The water is supporting my weight, all you’re doing is moving us along. If you can pull me up a cliff, human girl, you can row me over the water.”
When Helen took a break, she twisted round to see the dark island ahead of them, outlined against the black sky. Eilan nan MacCodrum was like a tipped-over slice of cake on the water: high cliffs at one end, sloping down to a beach at the other.
Helen started rowing again, wishing that her friend Sapphire was here to fly them all from shore to island. But the dragon couldn’t leave her Borders home until she had shed her old skin, so Helen would have to get used to being a taxi service this weekend.
“Stop splashing me, Helen!” said Lavender, perched on the side of the boat. “You’re getting my dress wet!”
“I’m rowing as smoothly as I can.”
“Stop it!” Lavender squealed again. “Who’s doing that?”
Then a voice called:
“We will stop the splash in time,
When you top our verse in rhyme.”
Helen stopped rowing. All the fabled beasts looked frantically around, Yann’s movements making the boat wobble.
The voice had come from the sea.
Chapter 8
Lavender lit the air above the boat with shaky lightballs from the end of her wand.
The boat was surrounded by a ring of people, bobbing in the sea. Their wet heads and upper bodies were dark and shiny in the magical light.
“Finish our rhymes, or we soak you!” said the nearest boy in a cheerful voice.
They all swam forward and grasped the edge of the boat, one at the bow, one at the stern, and four on each side, rocking it slightly. Then they chanted:
“A human, a horse, a firebird, a fairy,
A strange group to be crossing the seas.”
There was a pause.
“Finish the verse, or we’ll soak you,” repeated the smiling boy, hanging on beside the port-side rowlock to Helen’s right.
“Finish the verse, or we’ll sink you!” said the boy at the bow, behind Helen. They all chanted again:
“A human, a horse, a firebird, a fairy,
A strange group to be crossing the seas.”
Yann’s deep voice continued:
“This mixed magic boatload might make you wary,
But we’re friends, so let us past, please.”
“Perfect!” said the boy to Helen’s right. “Now we need three more verses for the other three in the boat.”
Helen whispered to Yann, “Who are they? What should we do?”
Yann replied, clearly and openly, “Helen, meet the blue loons, the sons of the blue men of the Minch. This tribe have a nasty habit of drowning people who can’t create poetry up to their low standards of doggerel, but don’t worry. I can make up rhymes for most words except orange and silver.”
“But a poetic pony isn’t enough,” called a boy near the stern. “You all have to answer or we won’t let you past. Can the lilac blossom rhyme?
“The bright green sea doesn’t need flowers,
No petals of pink, purple or red.”
Lavender answered in her high voice:
“I’ll be gone in a couple of hours,
Fast asleep in my dry flower bed.”
The smiling boy said, “Rhyming and punning! Well done!” But they didn’t stop their uncomfortable rocking of the boat.
“Your turn now, ugly ducking,” said another blue loon, on the starboard side.
Helen gasped. How could Catesby complete a rhyme, when he didn’t speak English?
“It won’t be easy, but to save your friends,
You must rhyme, even though you
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