I fear I rather moped this morning, until we went out to Casino Island for a rather fine session at the Dance classes, where we are learning some more advanced interpretations. I had seen strange categories of dancing advertised, and wondered what a “satirical” hula might look like.  Now I know!

            In our own routines, I found myself putting a lot more energy into the moves, feeling rather frustrated after yesterday (Jirry being called away after half an hour by the rest of his film team for some urgent scene-shifting.)  Maria was looking rather aghast at trying to keep up, though Helen and Molly seemed to be enjoying the change of pace.  We were highly commended by our instructor, who assures us that if we can keep it up for the big dance challenge next month, we should be in with a good chance.

            For a change, we had late passes to stay and watch one of the contests after class – Miss Wildford was there to watch, and waved us farewell as evening fell, leaving us to return to Market Square Plaza and the water-taxis home. The four of us were heading towards the main docks there when Molly’s ears pricked up, as she heard sounds of trouble. Sprinting round the corner, we saw one of the oldest docks closed for repairs – and a young Native lady, struggling with a bag-snatcher, a rather scruffy-looking ferret in a blue sailor’s jacket.

            I confess that I should have taken a second to confer on tactics with my friends, but as Maria would say, I “saw red” and left them behind.  The bag-snatcher turned to lunge at me, and I noticed he was rather bigger and far more muscled than I had thought – and I was obviously blocking his escape.

            Dear Diary – I’m not sure whether to be proud of myself or not. He came right at me on the edge of the dock, just as in self-defence classes. I dived low as he lunged, grabbing his knife arm and almost felt our lessons kicking in as I jackknifed upright and threw him, still grabbing his arm. He went flying towards the edge of the dock – as I threw myself down to pin his arm right on the edge with my full weight as the rest of him headed for the drop.  I heard and felt things beneath me snap and give way as I rolled off to complete the move and he plunged twenty feet into the low-tide mud below.

            Well! Of all people, Molly was the one who had dived into the nearest telephone booth and called the Police – without of course saying who she was (we have noticed the Police here are rather prejudiced against her family.) In five minutes two constables had arrived, fished the assailant out of the mud and handcuffed him to a stretcher, as they took statements from all of us.

            When I had stopped panting, I introduced us to the Native lady we had rescued. She is a type I had not seen before, slender with rather canine ears but a very long banded tail – her fur elsewhere being gray and nicely patterned with almost rectangular brown patches. She introduced herself as Nuala, and thanked us all profusely – she has a Native accent, though with something else in the background.

            We had to leave urgently, as the time limit on our Passes was almost up, and water taxis are less frequent after dark.  I did not really want to have to explain to Miss Devinski that we were “assisting the Police with their enquiries” again, after being locked up myself once already.

            Straight back to Songmark with hardly a minute to spare before the compound closed for the night (several of the third-years were on duty, but they show no mercy to first-years caught breaking the rules.) 

20th May 1935

Dear Diary – do our Tutors know Everything that happens on these islands the minute after? At any rate, Miss Devinski had heard everything about last night’s adventures – and summoned me straight after breakfast for a “quiet word.” Oh my. She awarded me ten points for chivalry, ten for good use of self-defence skills – and minus a hundred for lack of planning and common sense.  Our dorm suddenly sinks to the bottom of the ratings.  Miss Devinski rather rubbed it in by commenting that she was fining me twice as much as she would have Molly for doing the same, as I should not only know better, but should be setting an example as head of my dorm. Ow. Or as Prudence Akroyd puts it so inelegantly, “Ow with knobs on!”

            I can see what she means, but I think it jolly unfair. Still – I had to tell Molly, Helen and Maria the bad news, and they rallied round splendidly, Maria especially. We are “sentenced” to five hours a week extra self-defence drill, for a month, an hour every day before breakfast – our Tutors’ comment being that if I insist in getting into fights, I should be very certain I can win them. That was not the idea at all!

            Not surprisingly, Beryl has formed an instant attachment to us, and is asking what our next “raid” is going to be. I have tried explaining things to her, but she just winks and taps her snout slyly. She has been really quite restrained so far, despite the struggles with Missy K that tend to end up with Beryl being thoroughly sat on (physically as well as morally.)  Beryl has offered to teach me all sorts of dirty tricks, which I will not be requiring – and anyway, I doubt there is any such thing as the “Cheltenham Death Grip.”

            Beryl is not joining the Church parties today, as the Religion section of her application form she tells us she cheerfully filled in as “Recidivist”, a religion I confess I had not heard of.  Maria thinks it is giving the game away just a little, to inquire not what religion the churches we attend have, but whether any of them have lead roofs.

            Anyway – out to Casino Island today, my ears still smarting from the severe telling-off,  but determined to make the most of our opportunities. The sermon was an interesting one, the parable of the Farmer’s wife and the travelling salesman, and indeed it is a pity Beryl is not here to appreciate it. Reverend Bingham tries so very hard to make his lessons interesting, but I fear he is mostly preaching to the converted.

            Leaving the church I had a surprise – though Jirry was absent putting up sound stages on Main Island, his two sisters Saimmi and Moeli were waiting for me, the first time in months I had met them. In fact, I have never seen them near the Euro churches before, although their brothers are regular members of the congregation. Moeli is looking exceedingly rounded, and tells me she is expecting next month. She seems very happy at the prospect, and hugged me most affectionately.

            Saimmi had a quiet word with our tutor Miss Pelton, who somewhat grudgingly granted me an extra half-hour. Jirry’s sisters steered me to a very nice leafy arbour looking out over South Island, and we had a decidedly – interesting talk. It seems that Jirry mentioned our problem to his sisters, but as he sees me every Sunday in church, cannot think of a way round it. Saimmi, being a junior priestess of the local Religion, has her own ideas about that.

            Saimmi suggests that I try the outer part of her traditions, which should not conflict much with my usual Sunday worship – though she hints that the inner core of it would need rather more radical adjustments. She mentions there is a gallery in the Museum of Anthropomorphology that is labelled somewhat deceptively, in that the Natives and Tourists are not quite seeing the same thing when they look at the same exhibits.

            I took quite some time deciding – but after all, Jirry goes to both Religions, and even back home in Barsetshire there are many fascinating country festivals that do not feature in any official Church calendar. Some of them, by odd coincidence, even seem to be on the same dates as the Spontoonie ones. At any rate, just learning about their folklore and traditions should be perfectly all right, and even in the inner core of the religion I doubt folk throw sacrifices into volcanoes these days (though I am happier knowing that there are no active volcanoes for several hundred miles.)

            I waved farewell to the Hoele’toemi girls, who suggested I keep my new lessons a surprise for Jirry – and it is no means guaranteed that I will be accepted, so it would be a pity to disappoint him should I fail.

            I was heading down to the docks in something of a hurry, not really looking where I was going, when I bumped into a Native gentleman – Mr. Sapohatan, whom I had last seen the day Soppy Forsythe departed us in such a hurry. Quite a coincidence, certainly. He was polite as ever, and congratulated me on capturing a much-hunted criminal in such a decisive manner, and helping out Miss Rachorska. I must have looked rather blank at that name, until he mentioned it was the long-tailed girl I had helped out.

            I had to point out that I was in a hurry – but Mr. Sapohatan mentioned he was heading to Eastern Island anyway, and hailed us a water-taxi. Oddly enough, one came right away, despite three groups of tourists in front of us on the dock furiously waving sheaves of money trying to attract the boatmen’s attention.

             It was the second mysterious and rather cryptic conversation in an hour, as he complemented me on my excellent training. He added that “Crusher” O’Hanrahan would not be extorting money from anyone else for a long time to come – apart from the lengthy jail sentence, there is the matter of compound arm fractures and multiple dislocations, plus a broken jaw from hitting the jetty on the way down. Oh dear.

             I apologised for my over-enthusiasm, but Mr. Sapohatan laughingly waved that aside. Looking at me square on, he informed me very seriously that the Island’s prosperity rested on keeping a good reputation, and that the Police were just the most obvious means they used. In fact, he intimated that there were some “little jobs” that he would be grateful if I might help with, suited to my qualifications and entirely legal.

            We were getting close to Eastern Island by that time, and naturally I told him I could hardly give him a yes or no answer right away. He nodded assent, and handed me a card with simply a Post Box number on it, oddly enough without any other address – and intimated that anything sent to him in the local post would reach him First Class if not sooner.

            (Later) I pulled Helen aside when we were running the shower, and told her of my afternoon’s adventures. Helen looked rather worried – but admitted that it could be a good sign if the Authorities want to use our talents.  As long as they are talking, she says, they at least can be warning us to stay clear of any danger areas. (Dangerous for us, that is.)
 

21st May 1935

Back in the cockpit, the first flights since before Easter! The weather was scorching, and we almost boiled away in our flight suits as we pre-flighted our aircraft. Just to irritate us further, Miss Pelton gave us all a quiz about how long a take-off run we would need in the heat (it is ninety-three in the shade today, and on the runway there is no shade.)

            With the back seat laden with water ballast, I took more than four hundred yards to “unstick”, feeling the engine labouring as if it was panting for breath like the rest of us. Happily, there were fierce thermals at the edge of the runway, and once airborne I was soon in the cooler air at a thousand feet. Sophie D’artagnan was right behind me and we joined formation with Madelene X – both of them being canines, their ears and tongues hanging out in the slipstream with evident enjoyment. Most unladylike.

            Our flight plan called for us to fly three circuits of the island in a “Vic” of three, but apart from keeping clear of the commercial seaplane takeoff areas, did not exactly specify how far to go. So I took us down to a hundred feet and did a low-level run of Sacred Island, slowing right down for a good look as we skimmed the trees. Fascinating! Although from afar it looks like nothing but densely packed jungle, there are ancient-looking stone buildings buried in the trees, one of them right on the summit of the island. It looks like the natural stone of the island, being improbably huge to have been carried there, with formidable-looking Tikis surrounding it. More are spaced out along the beach on the Eastern side, hidden from the rest of the island chain.

            Still – appearing too interested might cause even more unwelcome questions to be asked than usual, so we climbed back on course and completed our flight plan. I rather doubt Madelene X would give me a minute’s peace if she knew what I have planned – effectively, talking with Missionaries from the native religion. She really hates that sort of idea.

            Madelene X soon had her own troubles, as she had unfastened her flying helmet to let her ears blow free, and it blew off while we were still over the water!  Not the sort of item one can buy off the shelf, as she has a longer muzzle than most canines, and needs hand-fitting. Moral of tale – if one has protection available one should use it, or sorely regret it.

            Much shaking of heads and a ticking-off from our Tutors, though being banned from flying till a suitable replacement is air-freighted over here is far greater punishment for Madelene. She is decidedly ordering in a spare helmet on the same order, and is fuming as she looks at the delivery schedules (four days from Rain Island even if it was a stock item!)

            Indeed, our Tutors, though very up-to-date, do rather rule us with what they call in scripture a “rod of iron.” Back home, old McCardle did the same with the other servants, though even he moves with the times. (Actually, he bent so many rods of iron in the course of his duties that Father arranged an upgrade. He now rules with a rod of chrome-manganese steel.)

22nd May, 1934

Out to Casino Island, with the rest of the class. Our Tutors took us around the Museum of Anthropomorphology, although it was not timetabled. Still, there is a new exhibit hall just opened this tourist season, and we are all very keen to see it. Except Missy K, who affects to be bored stiff with the whole thing.

            We saw the famous Fire Crystal, and had its fascinating story related to us. Beryl was looking at it with rather round eyes – until Molly elbowed her rather sharply in the ribs and pointed out that a “rock” like that is known all over the world, and would be totally impossible to “fence”.  Plus there is the story of what happened to the last four people to steal it – not legend this, but attested by rather graphic newspaper reports exhibited next to the case as deterrent.

            I kept my eyes open more than usual, as we looked around the new exhibit hall, on “Myths and Legends of the Islands.” A very curious place. There were photographs showing the legendary mer-folk, with dolphin-like rear ends instead of legs, and showing “convincing proof” of them in sensational newspaper articles. The Museum had obtained the negatives of some of the pictures, and had clear illustrations pointing out in detail how they were faked. One of the displays had pictures of the film set of “Water Babes” showing just how the very convincing special effects were achieved.

            Very odd indeed. Although the photographs on display certainly were forged, I have definitely seen something around these islands that was very real. Most of the tourists will be sure to go away from this exhibition convinced that anything they see is another film company shooting on location. There were special-effect Merfolk models on display, of various species, that companies had left behind on completing the films (as Helen points out, if she was a film director she would have no use for a Merfolk model back in Texas, and air freighting life-sized models home would be expensive.)

            Coming out of the museum, I heard a friendly hail, and spotted Nuala and a well-dressed older Euro lady, who she introduced as her mother, the Countess Rachorska. Adopted, I should have thought – having enquired, I judge Nuala is an Asian linsang, and her mother is a definite silver-grey Russian wolf.  The countess was very grateful for our help, and indeed invited my dorm round to dine with her this Saturday – our Tutor agreeing.

            Well! Although acquiring Beryl may not have raised the tone of things this term, being invited to meet nobility should certainly do the trick.  One wonders why the Countess settled here and not on Vostok with the rest of her exiled country folk – by all accounts there is a regular Court set up there, and even their equivalent to small country squires are funded and pensioned.

            (Later). I was chatting with our third-year friends Noota and Erica after supper, as they had heard of our dockside encounter and know the Countess and Nuala.  Erica is of course a wolf herself, and told me a very strange and shocking tale. The generally known story is that Countess Rachorska fled Russia with the Bolshevists in hot pursuit, and left Vladivostok with only what she wore and had in her pockets. Presumably the boat was aiming for Vostok, but was sunk by pirates in mid-ocean, and the Countess was their captive on one of the islands for nearly a year before making her escape. Arriving in Spontoon in 1918, she took up needlework to support herself – and in a few months Nuala as well.

            Oh my – I had actually noticed that Nuala’s ears do look very wolf-like, and her fur is wolf-grey despite the patterning. That would explain why the Countess never rejoined fashionable Society on Vostok – by all accounts their Nobility is exceedingly fussy on matters of pedigree, and would not be at all happy to have Nuala around. Having Cossack forebears seems to be perfectly acceptable, but I doubt that any percentage of China Sea Pirate would be acceptable over there, regardless of the – circumstances.

            Noota looked rather wistful, and mentioned that the Countess now runs the biggest silk and satin dressmakers on the island, and provides a lot of the film costumes and showgirl’s outfits for the more sophisticated shows. She hints that some of it is rather “interesting” – but well out of her price range.

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