Read Online Sky Run by Alex Shearer - Free Book Online

sky-fish.
    Oh, you can feed them raw titbits, that’s fine, that’s no problem at all. But cooked – that’s different.
    I suppose that sky-fish are kind of cannibals really. If a fish eats a fish then it’s eating its own species – which makes it a cannibal, right? Fish are predators. But when they eat each other, they eat each other raw. They don’t get the griddle out, or put the oven on to warm up, as they leaf through the recipe books.
    The little sky-fish are no problem when you throw them scraps, raw or cooked. They turn up in their reeling shoals and gulp down what you’ve tossed over the side. Then they maybe hang around a while to see if there’s any more forthcoming, and when there isn’t, they scoot off.
    It’s the bigger fish that are the trouble. Not that we knew that then. Maybe Peggy did, and she forgot to tell us. But if a big fish gets the taste for cooked food, it doesn’t go away. It hangs around wanting more. And there’s one fish in particular that’s very fond of a little variety to its diet. It’s the sky-shark. And of all the varieties of sky-shark, the worst is the Great Blue. It’s got teeth like chisels, and jaws that can snap a mast in half.
    But we weren’t thinking of anything like that as Martin scraped the cooked leftovers out of the boat and let them float away, as the little sky-fish got the scent of them and gave chase.
    I carried the plates and bowls down below and got on with the washing-up. I took my time and did a thorough job and put everything back in its place – as you have to keep a boat shipshape or everything’ll be under your feet.
    I was just admiring my handiwork and thinking how tidy the galley looked, when the boat suddenly rocked, as if we’d bashed into a jetty, or collided with some massive piece of driftwood.
    â€˜What the –! Martin! What are you
doing
up there?’
    When there’s trouble, and when you have a younger brother, your first instinct is to assume that he’s the one responsible for it. And you’re generally right.
    â€˜Martin! What have you
done
?’
    I hurried out of the galley and clambered up on deck. The first thing I saw was Martin, standing like he’d been turned to stone; the second thing I saw was Peggy, staring like she’d never seen anything to compare to this before, not in all her one hundred and twenty years.
    The third thing I saw was a creature about half the size of the boat, hovering no more than a couple of metres above the deck; its side-fins pulsating like the wings of some gigantic hummingbird. It had the blackest, beadiest eyes I had ever seen, and from its open mouth dripped beads of what had to be saliva, falling from teeth that had tips like razors and were the size of swords.
    â€˜What the – what is
that
?’
    Well, I knew what it was, but it wasn’t a definition I was after, more a reason for its being there.
    â€˜Martin –’
    â€˜I wouldn’t come any nearer if I were you, Gemma …’
    â€˜Peggy … ?’
    â€˜Gemma – just move really slowly and get over towards the mast and see if you can pick up that boathook – but slowly …’
    â€˜OK … I …’
    I started to move, and
very
slowly.
    â€˜What does it want?’ I said.
    â€˜It wants more,’ Martin said. ‘I think. More leftovers.’
    â€˜So give it some and it might go away.’
    â€˜There aren’t any.’
    I was halfway across the deck. The two black beads of those eyes swivelled towards me.
    â€˜Don’t move, Gemma. Just stop a while.’
    Which wasn’t easy, as my every instinct was to run. Not that there was anywhere to run to.
    â€˜When it realises there’s no more leftovers, it might go,’ I said, with a sort of hopeful naivety.
    â€˜I don’t think so, Gem,’ Peggy said. ‘I think it’s got the taste now.’
    â€˜Taste