Daughter of the Deep(44)

Jupiter climbs onto the couch. He stares at the screen intently as an older British woman with perfect blond helmet-hair holds forth on the perils of pie crusts.

‘I remember this episode,’ Gem says. ‘Season three. They make fruit tarts.’

I raise an eyebrow.

‘What?’ Gem demands. ‘It’s good TV.’

Jupiter must understand some English. He studies Gem with obvious approval, then pats the cushion next to him. Gem, not wanting to offend the chef with the large fangs, joins him on the couch.

Luca chuckles. ‘Made a friend already. Good! Jupiter has watched each episode at least twenty times. I suppose it would be annoying if he didn’t re-create the recipes for us.’

Nelinha points at the orangutan, then the screen, then the orangutan. ‘So this is your lasagne guy …’ Suddenly she doesn’t sound anxious for dinner.

‘He’s much more than the lasagne guy,’ Luca assures her. ‘He can make almost anything! He keeps trying to make me his sous chef, but I’m afraid the oven is one machine I cannot master.’

‘And … he’s an orangutan.’ Nelinha mentions this delicately, as if Luca might not have noticed.

‘Of course!’ Luca agrees. ‘There has always been a Jupiter at Harding-Pencroft.’

Luca’s words are almost exactly what Ester said about Top. With a sudden shock, I remember that there was an orangutan in The Mysterious Island, too. Another Jupiter. This Jupiter must be his … What? Clone? Twentieth great-grand-monkey? Apparently, the Jupiters have evolved to the point where they can now communicate in fluent sign language and cook soufflés.

Luca turns to me, his brow furrowing with concern. ‘Now, my dear, perhaps you should tell us why you are here. We weren’t expecting your brother for another four years. We weren’t expecting you … well, at all. Something must have gone very wrong.’

I’m sure he doesn’t mean the words to hurt. They do anyway.

I grew up in Dev’s shadow. Mostly I was okay with that. My parents were loving and accepting, but they had some very old-fashioned ideas about their firstborn son carrying on the family legacy. I was happy to let Dev be their Chosen One. It freed me to do whatever I wanted with my life – or so I thought.

Now there’s a Dev-size void in the world and no way I can fill it. Luca and Ophelia weren’t planning on me being here, maybe ever. My presence is a sign that something terrible has happened.

I need to tell Luca the bad news: Dev is dead. Harding-Pencroft is gone.

My vocal cords refuse to make a sound.

I’m saved from answering when Ophelia returns from the sickbay. She marches over to us with Ester, Top and Rhys Morrow at her heels. Ester’s face is puffy and red from crying. Rhys plays counsellor, whispering to her in a reassuring tone.

‘Pancreatic cancer,’ Ophelia tells me. Her gaze is as steely as her hair and her glasses. ‘Theodosius was a fool.’

My ribcage tightens. ‘Was?’

‘No, no, he’s still alive. Your friend Franklin is administering one of our experimental treatments right now. I just meant Theodosius should’ve sought medical help months ago. What was he thinking, coming out here in his condition with a crew of freshmen?’

She scowls at me, waiting for answers I don’t have.

Top pads over to the couch. He sniffs Jupiter’s toes. Jupiter just looks down at the dog, pulls a cookie from the pocket of his apron and gives it to Top. Another friendship secured.

‘I …’ My voice falters. I’ve been trying to hold myself together for three days. I can’t break down now, not in front of my whole crew.

Gem gets up from the couch. He and Nelinha both gravitate to me, as if sensing that I need backup.

‘How about we sit and talk?’ Gem suggests to our hosts, gesturing to the dining table. His calm tone reminds me that Sharks are trained to be diplomats as well as soldiers.

‘Good idea,’ Nelinha says. That makes twice this week she has publicly agreed with Gem, which probably means doomsday is nigh. ‘The rest of the crew can secure the Varuna, maybe get themselves cleaned up. Right, Ana?’

I nod, grateful for the help. It’s better than me dissolving into ugly sobbing.

‘You could all use showers,’ Ophelia concedes.

I guess after three days at sea, rationing our fresh water, the twenty of us don’t smell so great.

Ophelia makes a clicking sound at the side of her mouth, like she’s encouraging a horse. Two mechanical dragonflies buzz into the room and hover at her shoulders.

‘The drones will show your crew the facilities,’ she says. ‘They’ll also keep any naughty children from straying into restricted areas and getting themselves killed.’

‘I’ll get the espresso and biscotti.’ Luca’s smile turns fragile, as if he suspects it might break under the weight of our story. ‘I have a feeling we might need a pre-dinner pick-me-up.’





It never gets easier, talking about what happened to Harding-Pencroft.

When I explain how my brother died, I feel like I’m collecting ashes from his funeral pyre, clawing through the hot cinders of his life with my bare hands.

Gem and Nelinha sit on either side of me. Ester, still quietly sniffling, sits on Nelinha’s right. I don’t know if Ester is crying because of Dr Hewett’s condition, or the loss of the school, or the scary new place and new people she is having to deal with. All are solid reasons.