16: Comino

It was lovely out on the water, with clear skies and a warm sun beating down on us as the heat of the day increased. I let my arm dangle over the side of the boat and felt the cool water slip between my fingers. The outboard engine throbbed and ahead I could see the island, rising pale and clear out of the haze that was forming over the surface of the sea.

I stared at those cream-coloured cliffs. There were caves there. Caves I hoped I would never have to see.

And I couldn’t stop thinking about that fisherman back on Malta. Half of me wished I had stayed behind to talk. He knew my parents – knew a side of them I never had – had seen them after they had already gone from my life.

But Robert was still alive. Maybe. I couldn’t help the dead, but perhaps I could help him. And if there was someone on this island who could tell me what this was all about then I had to know. Robert would want me to find out the truth, wouldn’t he? What was it we had found in that cave? And why did MEXA want it so badly?

I squinted at the boats coming and going over the flat, calm water and fingered the postcard in my pocket. I knew by heart the cheery message my mother had written on the back:

“We’re going to visit this old church tomorrow – Dad wants to look at some dusty old scrolls. Wish you could have come with us. All my love, Mum.”

I was here now, but they were dead. Were these scrolls the answer? Was this what they came here for?

Gracie eased back on the throttle. The island was getting nearer.

She steered us into a rocky inlet, killed the engine and jumped onto the ledge we had pulled up alongside. It was a perfect landing place. Hidden from view. Only someone standing on the cliff right above us would know we were here.

“Good spot, Gracie.” I said as I secured the boat, double checking my knots. I touched Kris’s rock, which made a fairly obvious bulge under my T-shirt, and smoothed it down.

Maybe here we would find some answers.

We started to scramble up the rocky path. It was already hot and I was starting to sweat as I reached the cliff top. The rock up here had been cut into a patchwork of saltpans, some filled with water and others with dried white salt. The sun beat down on the top of my head and glared back at me off the limestone. I lowered the brim of my hat to help shield my eyes.

The cave where it had happened must be near here. Maybe it was right underneath us? I tried to put the thought out of my mind, but it kept creeping back.

Think of something else. Think about getting the monks to talk to us.

The monastery was just ahead.

It wasn’t as large as I had expected: a few stone buildings, one clearly a church, surrounded by a limestone wall. It had been built using the same stone that made up the island, causing it to blend into the landscape.

I pulled out the postcard and shivered. My parents had sent me a picture of the island where they were going to die. And now I was following them. But following them to what?

We started to pick our way across the saltpans. Soon they gave way to scrubby ground and as we drew nearer we passed patches of tomatoes and melons flourishing in the sunshine.

When we reached the walls of St Publius’s I stopped, staring up at the pale stone facade. It was too high to climb.

“There must be a way in.”

Gracie nodded. “Probably round the other side.”

We started to track along the wall. At last we came to a large wooden door where a dusty road led away down the hill towards a group of buildings which, according to the guidebook, were a hotel and desalination plant. The place seemed deserted, but there was a bell pull hanging alongside.

I gave it a tug and the sound of a bell echoed behind the walls.

“Nobody home?” said Gracie after a couple of minutes.

“Probably at prayers.” I reached out to ring again, but at that moment a hatch in the door slid open and a face peered out at us and started talking rapidly in Maltese.

“Do you speak English?” Gracie asked.

“Yes, I do. What are you doing here? What do you want?” His tone was gruff and unwelcoming.

“We need to speak to the abbot,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “Please.”

“You can’t.”

“But it’s really important.”

“Go away.” The hatch slammed shut.

“I’ll ring it again,” said Gracie. She reached out, but I stayed her hand.

“Let’s look around a bit more.”

We followed the wall until we had done a full circuit of St Publius’s. There were no other entrances.

But this time, as we reached the vegetable gardens, there were monks. They were dressed in brown robes and they were tending their plots. They didn’t look up, but I’m pretty certain that they knew we were there. I walked up to one of them and he acted as if he couldn’t see me.

“Hello,” I said after a couple of minutes. He didn’t respond. I felt a bit foolish, as if I was talking to empty space. I took a deep breath.

“We would very much like to talk to the abbot.”

No answer.

“It’s my uncle, you see. He’s been captured and we think the abbot may be able to help us.”

He turned away from me and continued hoeing.

“Your monastery is the only lead we have.”

Silence, apart from the scrape scrape scrape of his hoe in the dusty earth.

Maybe I should try a different tack.

“Did some people come to see you? A man and a woman, to see some scrolls?” This time, yes, a flick of his eyes and a stiffening in his shoulders.

All of a sudden, I felt cold. I was right. There was something more to my parents’ death.

By now Gracie was beside me.

“Let me try,” she whispered.

“No…” But she had already walked past me to put her hand on the monk’s shoulder.

The monk spun round and his hoe clattered to the ground. He glared at her.

“Let go of me,” he said.

She held up her hands and stepped back. “OK. But we just want to see the abbot.”

“You can’t,” he spat.

He picked up his hoe, holding it like a weapon, and pointed it towards her.

“Leave this place.”

Gracie backed into me and I stumbled and fell, sprawling on the dusty ground, the smell of crushed tomato plants all around me.

Gracie gave a little squeal. She put her hands over her mouth as I sat up, rubbing the back of my head where it had bumped on the ground.

Gracie and the monk were both staring at me. No, not at me, at my neck – at something around my neck.

I looked down.

Kris’s rock had flopped out from my T-shirt as I fell and now it was lying on my chest in full view.

I grabbed it and tucked it out of sight.

The monk squatted on the dry ground beside me. He picked up my hat, dusted it down and handed it to me.

“You have the key.” His voice was soft.

“Key?” I touched the object, now safe beneath cotton. It didn’t look much like a key to me.

The monk straightened up and offered me his hand. He pulled me to my feet.

“I think you’d both better come with me.”