The Forgotten Map. Cameron Stelzer

      The crew shuffled nervously and turned away.

      The Captain began to speak, ‘I …’ but his voice trailed off.

      Wentworth felt an icy chill of dread creep up his tail.

      ‘N-no,’ he stuttered, trying to hold back the tears. ‘They’re not … they can’t be … tell me you rescued them too. Please.’

      He looked desperately around the room. No one answered. No one returned his gaze.

      Finally the Captain spoke. ‘We tried to get to the boat but the wind and rain drove us apart. After Fred lost sight of them, we had no way of knowing where they had gone. When the wind died down we searched. We searched all night in the rain. We searched for the next two days while you slept but we found nothing … I’m sorry.’

      Wentworth felt empty and helpless. He wished he hadn’t blacked out. He wished he was there to help.

      ‘I could have found them,’ he said quietly. ‘I know their voices. I would have heard them through the rain.’

      The Captain shook his head. ‘There’s nothing you could have done, especially after your ordeal.’ He pointed to a navy blue shirt draped over a chair. It was Wentworth’s shirt. The entire right sleeve had been ripped off. ‘You escaped death by a whisker, you know?’

      Wentworth knew he was lucky. But what was the good of luck if everything he cared about was gone?

      ‘What about the island?’ he asked with a glimmer of hope. ‘Did you search the island – the one with the circus tents? There was no time to pull them down. Maybe my parents went back?’

      ‘We searched the island,’ the Captain said grimly. ‘The tents were torn to shreds. There was no one there. There was no one on any of the islands …’

      The room was silent once more.

      Wentworth felt his tail work itself into a knot. He longed to be under the ocean again in that dark place where there was nothing to see and nothing to feel. He closed his eyes and tried to take himself there. But instead of blackness, all he could picture were the smiling faces of his parents and sister. There was no escape.

      He slowly opened his eyes. Horace was staring down at him with a confused expression on his face.

      ‘What is it?’ Wentworth whispered.

      Horace glanced at the Captain and then looked back at Wentworth.

      ‘What the Captain has told you is true,’ he said cautiously, ‘but that doesn’t mean your family is dead …’

      ‘Horace,’ the Captain said gruffly. ‘Is this really necessary? You were there. You know what happens on the Cyclone Sea.’

      ‘Let him speak,’ Wentworth pleaded. ‘I want to hear it.’

      ‘Very well,’ the Captain sighed. ‘But Horace, I don’t want one of your fantasy stories – no false hopes, only the truth.’

      Horace nodded and whispered to Wentworth, ‘Do you remember what happened on the night you were rescued?’

      ‘Yes,’ Wentworth replied.

      ‘Everything?’

      ‘Well, until I blacked out.’

      ‘Go on.’

      ‘We were on the island,’ Wentworth recalled, ‘setting up the tents for the circus. That’s what we do. My father makes the tents and all the costumes – he’s a sailmaker. My mother and I help out and my sister watches. We went ahead in my father’s new boat to set up before the performers arrived.

      ‘Just before dark we saw the clouds. We’ve been in plenty of storms before, but until the gulls arrived we had no idea it was a cyclone. There was no shelter on the island and the gulls said we had time to reach the bigger islands before the cyclone. But gulls fly faster than we can sail …

      ‘When the storm hit, we lost our sail. It’s a strong boat – I helped my father build it. But so much water was coming over the side … and then we saw your ship … I went overboard … you rescued me … someone was shouting –’

      ‘What did you hear?’ Horace whispered.

      ‘It was the Captain,’ Wentworth said. ‘I heard him promise something –’ He looked at the Captain. ‘What did you promise?’

      The Captain hesitated and Horace spoke for him.

      ‘Before your father disappeared into the storm he yelled: Promise you’ll take care of him, ‘til we cross paths again …’ Horace paused. ‘Your father believed he would see you again. Isn’t that a reason for some hope?’

      ‘Cyclones don’t care about promises or hope,’ Pete hissed. ‘It’s cruel to lead him on.’

      ‘But those were his father’s words,’ Horace argued.

      Wentworth looked at Horace with a puzzled expression. ‘They’re not my father’s words …’

      ‘But,’ Horace cut in, ‘I heard it with my own ears, I swear I did – we all did. I’m not a liar.’

      ‘Let him finish,’ the Captain growled. ‘No one’s calling you a liar.’

      Wentworth took a deep breath. ‘My father may have spoken those words, but they belong to my great-grandfather.’

      ‘Your great-grandfather?’ Horace repeated in confusion.

      Wentworth tried to explain. ‘My great-grandfather Anso was an explorer who owned an entire fleet of ships. Whenever he left a ship in the care of an officer he would use the words: Promise you’ll take care of her, ‘til we cross paths again. The officer had a duty to protect the ship like it was his own child and Anso had a duty to return from his adventures and collect her.’

      ‘I see,’ Horace said, ‘This isn’t just a promise, it’s a pledge.’

      ‘But what does this mean for him?’ Fred asked, pointing a huge furry finger at Wentworth.

      As Wentworth searched his mind for an answer, a whirlwind of hopeless thoughts rushed through his head: give up … they’re gone … the pledge is for nothing. He felt the knot in his tail tighten.

      The crew looked down at him expectantly but Wentworth lacked the courage to meet their gaze. He lowered his eyes until they came to rest on the ripped shirt. At first all he saw was a cruel reminder of that terrible night. But as he stared at the torn sleeve, the dark thoughts in his head began to fade. Instead of seeing a tattered item of clothing, he saw a story of survival.

      A distant memory floated into his mind and he absentmindedly slid his paw to the top of his chest. His trembling fingers felt the shape of a gold pendant. His parents had given it to him when he was a young boy. He thought he’d lost it in the cyclone; but the pendant, like its wearer, had survived, and it was hanging where it belonged – close to his heart.

      He ran his finger over its smooth surface and reflected on its design. It was an anchor: the steadfast symbol of hope.

      If I can survive a cyclone and nearly die, he told himself, then surely my family can survive …

      The knot in his tail began to loosen. He looked up at Fred.

      ‘What this means,’ Wentworth said slowly, ‘is that I need to have hope that my family are still alive, and that my father, like my grandfather, will one day fulfil his side of the promise and find his way back to me.’

      Horace smiled, Fred patted Wentworth on the shoulder and Smudge clapped his little hands.

      ‘This promise means something else, you know,’ Pete muttered to the Captain. ‘It means that until we find this circus boy’s family we’re stuck with him.’

      The Captain sighed. ‘Yes, I suppose you’re right, Pete. I made a promise and I have a duty