19: Tourists

The tour guide moved on though the ruins and the tourists followed. I made sure I kept close in amongst them. Her voice droned. This was a temple and that was a house, but it all looked the same to me: rectangular spaces enclosed by crumbling, low stone walls.

I tried my best to slow my breathing and relax – to blend with the group. But I was sure they could all see how on edge I was.

“Time to return to the boat.” The tour guide raised her voice so that the stragglers would hear. I breathed a sigh of relief and glanced quickly round. No sign of pursuit.

The tourists drifted back towards the path, leisurely chatting about this and that. I moved with them. They were quite a large group, but I still felt conspicuous.

I kept looking around for Gracie. Was she lying in wait for me somewhere? Or perhaps she had gone to call MEXA for back-up.

“Hi,” said a voice beside me. I looked round. A boy had fallen into step alongside and was smiling at me from beneath the rim of his baseball cap. His face was a mass of freckles.

“Hi.” I quickened my pace, but he kept level with me.

“I’m Luke. I’m glad we’re going back. That was starting to get boring.”

I didn’t answer and looked back towards the ruins instead. Something moved in the distance and I peered against the glare of the sun, reflected off white limestone. But it wasn’t Gracie, or a MEXA agent. It was just a group of monks walking among the rocks and scrub.

“When did you get here?” said Luke. “Were you with the party that arrived last night?”

I nodded. It seemed safest to agree. In an odd way, he reminded me of Isaac, and I felt a weird pang at the thought.

“Well, then,” Luke continued. “I guess if you’ve only just arrived, you’ve not had a real chance to explore. I could show you around the hotel when we get back if you like.”

“Maybe,” I said, glancing back over my shoulder. Was I imagining it or were the monks following us?

“What do you make of them, then?” said Luke. He was looking back, too.

“Yeah, weird.”

“I didn’t know there were monks living on this island.” He held up his hand to shield his eyes.

“There’s a monastery,” I said. “Weren’t you listening earlier?” I gave him a broad smile, but inside I was trembling. They were after the key. I reached up and touched it, still safe under my T-shirt.

Luke laughed. “I guess I wasn’t. What’s your name?”

“Danni.”

“Well, Danni, I think I’ll show you the swimming pool first. It’s got a really good water slide.”

I didn’t bother to answer him. We rounded a corner and the path dropped down into a rocky cove that formed a natural harbour. The boat was waiting – a typical tourist boat, rows of seats beneath a yellow awning.

I gave Luke the slip as we joined the boat, ducking down round the back of the wheelhouse. Nobody seemed to have noticed me, but I could see Luke walking up and down between the rows of seats, a puzzled expression in his eyes. The throb of the engine changed its tone and the tour guide was helping to untie the ropes.

“Wait there!” called a voice from the shore.

The monks were approaching us along the dusty track. I hadn’t realised they’d got so close. Some of the passengers looked round.

“Can I help you?” said the tour guide.

“There’s a girl with you, in an orange hat. She’s to come with us.”

An uneasy silence fell, the tourists watching their guide. She unfastened the final rope. “I don’t know who you are, but I think you’d better leave.”

“This is our island,” the monk said.

“That’s as maybe, but I have a duty of care towards my passengers,” said the guide. “And anyway. How do I know that you’re real monks at all? You could be bandits or pirates.”

The monk looked as if he was about to speak, but then he paused and raised both hands.

“All right, we’ll go.” They started to back away.

And then I saw it: the boat driver tucking a sub-machine gun away in the wheelhouse. So the tour boat was armed. But then, that was hardly a surprise. The seas could be a dangerous place these days; piracy was rife, and a boatload of tourists was easy pickings.

As we pulled away from the shore, I looked back. The monks were standing side by side on the shore, their heads bowed, their hands pressed together in prayer. One of them raised his arm towards me, as if giving a blessing – or a curse. I shivered.

The tour guide walked up the aisle between the seats, counting heads. Then she moved away to talk to some of the passengers. There was a buzz of chatter among them.

I slipped round and took a seat near the back, beside an elderly man with white whiskers who droned on about life before the seas started rising. I smiled as I listened. Much of what he was saying echoed what Robert had told me on our journey to Greenland, and as I listened I tried to imagine Robert there with me. But the empty ache came back with renewed intensity, so instead I tried to focus on the old man’s words and imagine a Europe falling apart as the seas came in. I could almost see the coastal cities as the flood waters breached their defences, and the lines of refugees heading for higher ground. And I thought of MEXA, growing in power bit by bit as governments fell.

“Is that boat following us?” the old man asked.

I looked round. Gracie? Or worse? But it seemed to be keeping its distance. The old man shrugged and continued his reminiscences. Nobody else seemed to notice. I pretended to listen to his stories, but all the time I was watching that boat.

The coast of Malta drew closer. I could see the villages, half flooded, water lapping at the walls of the houses. We turned towards the harbour. It was the same harbour we had left that morning, but now it looked so different. All I could see was danger.

I had to get away, but I didn’t know how.

MEXA would be watching for me, waiting for me to make a move. They wouldn’t be in any hurry. After all, where could I possibly go?

The tour guide was trapped by an elderly couple who clearly hadn’t thought much of the day’s adventure. She kept nodding and apologising and never noticed me as I slipped ashore behind her.

I started to walk along the jetty, past the small boats. They were bright colours and a few of them had eyes painted on their bows. I couldn’t get rid of the feeling that they were watching me.

Maybe I should just run now: sprint for all I was worth and hope I could find somewhere to hide before MEXA could catch me. The tourists were strung out along the harbour side, looking at the boats and stopping to take photographs. I quickened my pace.

Then someone grabbed my arm.

I gasped and spun round.

The old fisherman I had met that morning was looking at me from beneath whiskery eyebrows.

“Danni,” he said. “You must come with me, now. I can help you.”

“I-” I faltered and looked round.

“Please, Danni. That island you went to – it’s dangerous. You should never have gone.”

“How do you...?”

“Because I took your parents there the day they died.”

“Danni!”

Luke was walking towards me along the harbour side, waving and grinning. The boat that had followed us was just turning into the harbour.

I needed to disappear – and fast – and this man had known my parents. Maybe, just maybe, I could trust him. I didn’t feel like I had much choice.

I let the fisherman pull me away. He led me off, into a cafe and out the back. In the cobbled street behind, we started to run.