Attica - By Garry Kilworth Page 0,101

boots. It was much more comfortable to sail in his shorts and bare feet only. He piled his clothes in the little cabin they had built in the middle of the raft, which kept his food dry. There was a bed in there, a canvas camping cot they had found, and several other home comforts. From the map Jordy had shown him it appeared to be several days’ sailing to the far side of the tank. Comforts would be needed.

Though the bortrekker had never made the voyage he had spoken with others who had, and had given Alex instructions.

‘You follow this star pattern, as the skylights appear over the horizon one by one, bearing in mind that this constellation here must always remain on your right shoulder, and this one here on your left. If you sail between those two groups of skylights, you can’t go wrong. Then there’s the swell, which always comes from the near left corner of the tank. It will carry you naturally to your destination, but beware of a maelstrom …’

‘Maelstrom?’ Alex had repeated.

‘Um – a whirlpool. A huge whirlpool, somewhere in the centre of the tank. It’s a drain hole that serves the pipes which lead to all the smaller tanks of the attic. It’s about a mile wide and if you get sucked in, you’ve had it, so keep a sharp look-out. Watch out, too, for obstructions – hidden underwater reefs and shoals you can’t see when you’re level with the surface. The way to spot them is to study the dust clouds above the lake. They’ll reflect what’s below them, to a degree. So you’ll expect to see dark shadows on the dust clouds, in among the golden specks.’

‘What are these reefs and shoals?’

‘Oh, clusters of pipes, mostly, and there’ll be moving stuff – flotsam and jetsam – junk thrown in by irresponsible vandals. Just keep your eyes open and you should be all right.’

Alex said, ‘Thanks,’ and, feeling slightly facetious asked, ‘No giant squids or submarines?’

‘Ah, as to those, if you run into one, pray like mad.’

Alex’s face fell.

The bortrekker’s own face creased as if someone had screwed it up like a piece of paper. ‘Got you,’ he said. ‘No, no squids or submarines but – but there is a monster of a kind in there, now that you mention it.’

‘Ah, you won’t get me a second time!’ said Alex, wagging his finger.

‘No, this is serious. There’s a sort of blanket creature – huge, bigger than a football pitch, it’s the only way I can describe it – which rises up with large waves and falls on to unsuspecting craft, enveloping them. I don’t know how to tell you to avoid it. Again just keep your eyes open. It enfolds ships whole and sinks with them to the bottom of the tank.’

‘Oh heck – what is it then? A live thing?’

‘It looks like green blanket-weed but it’s not a vegetable. It’s wholly animal. It’s developed an instinct, a killer’s mind. With a sharklike predator’s intellect, but a thinking mind nonetheless. It floats, imitating the water’s surface, and strikes along with the rearing waves which crash over the sailing vessels. The good news is there’s only one of them. Any new blanket-weed creatures which come about are quickly swallowed by this monster and become part of it. That’s why it’s so big.’

A lump formed in Alex’s throat.

‘Where’s it come from? I mean, how did it come about?’

‘It’s an ancient prehistoric beast, which has grown from live organisms in the tank. Minute one-celled creatures which have sought each other out and locked together for defence against larger eaters and have themselves become a feared predator. That’s all any of us are, after all – a mass of single cells – tiger, cobra, man, whatever. Any live being. This amorphous mass, which we in the attic call the Loving Flounder, will enfold you in its winglike form and drag you down, there to digest you whole.’

Alex had swallowed hard after this warning.

‘Loving Flounder – that’s a strange thing to call a horrible beast.’

‘It loves you to death.’

So, there was much to think about while he steered his makeshift craft over the surface of the tank’s water. Navigation, monsters, gales. On the first night he witnessed one of those electrical dust storms they had seen when on dry Attican boards. Entrancing, but also dangerous. Lightning flashed down around Alex and the waves were roused to turmoil by the atmospheric disturbances. If the Loving Flounder came

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