mud. Lungs jus’ full up an’—” She made a graphic choking noise, rolling her eyes up into her head. “You dead.”
“I thought it might mean that,” I sighed. “Well, that’s where the city is, so there you go.”
Lola gasped. “Miss, bad duppy live in dat city!!”
“This entire island is full of bad duppy. Jamaica is practically built on dead people’s bones! But we need to find Bri— erm, Beau Bexford, before something terrible happens.”
My friend started to protest.
“Listen, Lola,” I said firmly, “as I see it, you’ve got three choices. Go back to Fruitful Vale and be beaten to death. Stay in Port Royal and wind up entertaining pervy pirates for a living. Euw !” I pulled a disgusted face. “Or, groovy Option Three, to join forces with the weird white girl, and set off to find your boy Beau, and see what happens next.”
After a while Lola looked up, her eyes dark with worry. “You tink Massa in danger?”
I nodded, pressing my hand against my chest. “I can feel it.”
Lola nodded. “Mi feel it too.” She leaned closer. “Las’ night mi hear dat pirate girl tell Massa dey sail round di coast to a place where hill country start.”
“Ooh, Lola!” I teased. “I thought you were asleep!”
She gave a sly giggle. “Hear more tings dat way.”
“Can you remember what the place was called?”
Lola shook her head ruefully. “It drop outa mi head.”
I had a sudden flash of inspiration. Angels have brilliant photographic memories, plus Mr Allbright makes us play angelic observation games all the time. True, I’d never had to do this exercise under pressure, but if I could at least remember the name of this place, we’d have a helpful landmark for the starting point of our journey.
I shut my eyes, trying to recreate the bloodstained map fragments in my mind’s eye. It worked. I could see the coastline with total clarity. Unfortunately I had no idea which landmark was the crucial one. I was on the verge of panicking when, for absolutely no reason, song lyrics floated up from the bottom of my mind. A song Lola had once put on tape for me, for when I needed a boost: Sisters are Doing it for Themselves. I mentally scanned along the Jamaican coastline, and there it was!
“Three Sisters,” I said abruptly. “Three Sisters Cave.”
Lola clapped. “Dat di one!”
Lola and I went back to our room. We couldn’t exactly tell anyone the real reason we needed to go to Three Sisters Cave, so we cooked up a story about how my childhood sweetheart was waiting for me on the beach nearby. I know it sounds a bit dodgy, but people married really young in those days.
It took ages to make the wording of my tale of True Love seem convincingly natural, but finally we were ready to check out.
Before we went back out into the real world, I wanted to make something totally clear.
“Everyone out there will assume you’re my slave,” I said.
Lola quickly lowered her eyes. “Yes, miss.”
“Stuff ‘yes miss’!” I said fiercely. ‘“Yes miss’, is banned for ever. My point is, you and I know different. From now on we’re partners.” Lola opened her mouth.
“Partners,” I repeated firmly. I gave one last glance around our room. “Don’t you want your herbs?” I said in surprise.
Lola had left her withered collection of poisonous plants on the bed.
She just shook her head.
I gave a nervous laugh. “Does that mean you’ve stopped wanting to poison me?”
My friend shook her head again. “Mi nah poison you, girl-chile.”
I was genuinely touched. “Really?”
Lola’s eyes glinted. “Where we goin’, dey got alligators!”
We went down to the docks and asked around for a boat to take us to Three Sisters Cave. Every person we spoke to looked blank and passed us on to someone else. Off we’d trudge to another sleazy waterfront location and I’d tell our story again.
It got really boring hearing myself repeat the exact same thing over and over. After a while, Lola
“I thought it might mean that,” I sighed. “Well, that’s where the city is, so there you go.”
Lola gasped. “Miss, bad duppy live in dat city!!”
“This entire island is full of bad duppy. Jamaica is practically built on dead people’s bones! But we need to find Bri— erm, Beau Bexford, before something terrible happens.”
My friend started to protest.
“Listen, Lola,” I said firmly, “as I see it, you’ve got three choices. Go back to Fruitful Vale and be beaten to death. Stay in Port Royal and wind up entertaining pervy pirates for a living. Euw !” I pulled a disgusted face. “Or, groovy Option Three, to join forces with the weird white girl, and set off to find your boy Beau, and see what happens next.”
After a while Lola looked up, her eyes dark with worry. “You tink Massa in danger?”
I nodded, pressing my hand against my chest. “I can feel it.”
Lola nodded. “Mi feel it too.” She leaned closer. “Las’ night mi hear dat pirate girl tell Massa dey sail round di coast to a place where hill country start.”
“Ooh, Lola!” I teased. “I thought you were asleep!”
She gave a sly giggle. “Hear more tings dat way.”
“Can you remember what the place was called?”
Lola shook her head ruefully. “It drop outa mi head.”
I had a sudden flash of inspiration. Angels have brilliant photographic memories, plus Mr Allbright makes us play angelic observation games all the time. True, I’d never had to do this exercise under pressure, but if I could at least remember the name of this place, we’d have a helpful landmark for the starting point of our journey.
I shut my eyes, trying to recreate the bloodstained map fragments in my mind’s eye. It worked. I could see the coastline with total clarity. Unfortunately I had no idea which landmark was the crucial one. I was on the verge of panicking when, for absolutely no reason, song lyrics floated up from the bottom of my mind. A song Lola had once put on tape for me, for when I needed a boost: Sisters are Doing it for Themselves. I mentally scanned along the Jamaican coastline, and there it was!
“Three Sisters,” I said abruptly. “Three Sisters Cave.”
Lola clapped. “Dat di one!”
Lola and I went back to our room. We couldn’t exactly tell anyone the real reason we needed to go to Three Sisters Cave, so we cooked up a story about how my childhood sweetheart was waiting for me on the beach nearby. I know it sounds a bit dodgy, but people married really young in those days.
It took ages to make the wording of my tale of True Love seem convincingly natural, but finally we were ready to check out.
Before we went back out into the real world, I wanted to make something totally clear.
“Everyone out there will assume you’re my slave,” I said.
Lola quickly lowered her eyes. “Yes, miss.”
“Stuff ‘yes miss’!” I said fiercely. ‘“Yes miss’, is banned for ever. My point is, you and I know different. From now on we’re partners.” Lola opened her mouth.
“Partners,” I repeated firmly. I gave one last glance around our room. “Don’t you want your herbs?” I said in surprise.
Lola had left her withered collection of poisonous plants on the bed.
She just shook her head.
I gave a nervous laugh. “Does that mean you’ve stopped wanting to poison me?”
My friend shook her head again. “Mi nah poison you, girl-chile.”
I was genuinely touched. “Really?”
Lola’s eyes glinted. “Where we goin’, dey got alligators!”
We went down to the docks and asked around for a boat to take us to Three Sisters Cave. Every person we spoke to looked blank and passed us on to someone else. Off we’d trudge to another sleazy waterfront location and I’d tell our story again.
It got really boring hearing myself repeat the exact same thing over and over. After a while, Lola
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