The Mystery of the Solar Wind Read online



  The Mystery of

  The Solar Wind

  Lyz Russo

  Table of Contents

  Acknowledgements5

  0 - Dublin7

  1 - The Solar Wind12

  2 - Stabilizers18

  3 - Port Hamilton26

  4 - Undertow38

  5 - Abandoned48

  6 - Federi’s Amends58

  7 - Old Sherman70

  8 - The Donegals’ trial80

  9 - Stalling in Plymouth90

  10 - Panama102

  11 - Lake Gatun

  12 - Storm121

  13 - Terror of the Pacific135

  14 - Hey, ho, ho144

  15 - Atuona153

  16 - High Stakes160

  17 - Savage Wolf171

  18 - Donegal Magic180

  19 - Three-toes190

  20 - Treasure197

  21 - Traitor205

  22 - Old Leather213

  23 - Bloodshed223

  24 - Rodriguez235

  25 - Flamenco247

  26 - Betrayal261

  27 - Federi273

  28 - Wrecks283

  29 - Ailyss295

  30 - Ailyss’ Trial308

  31 - Verdict321

  The National Hymn of Southern Free329

  The Solar Wind sails on:330

  The Assassin (The Solar Wind II)330

  The Solar Wind III: Freedom Fighter330

  The Solar Wind IV: Raider!330

  The Solar Wind V: The Morrigan331

  P’kaboo Publishers

  South Africa

  2009

  www.pkaboo.net

  First published online 2008

  First Paperback Edition 2009

  Revised Edition 2015

  Copyright © Lyz Russo, 2008

  [email protected]

  Cover design: Aludar8

  Original cover designed by Kamino Creative

  ISBN 978-0-620-46593-9

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the author.

 

  Acknowledgements

  The crew and I would like to thank the following people:

  Iain, my husband, co-creator and best critic, for listening to every scene as it was written, devising large parts of the plot with me, doing a lot of the research, and reviewing every last edit with me. Iain, you are amazing.

  My friend and graphic designer Riana Louw from Kamino Creative, for making this project a reality. My editor Les Noble, himself a yachtsman, for his endless patience with a landlubber who thought she could write about a sailing vessel. Henning Botha from Aludar 8 for the new cover.

  My wonderful family who supports me through this process in every way, and my friends’ encouragement.

  And especially to my children for being so patient with Mom!

  This story is for you, Robin, Ray and Meggi.

 

  0 - Dublin

  31 March 2116, 5:30 am

  Running. No: Scurrying, like rats, cutting corners, slipping and scrambling through the half-dark of the dank storm drainage system of the old harbour town. Her older brother chasing her on from behind, her younger one scouting ahead, furtively checking each corner before they reached it, to make sure it was clear.

  In a twisted way she was glad that she had cropped her hair short into an extreme brush cut, because the glorious red mane of curls she still had yesterday would have been in a hopeless mess by now. Her face, hands and clothes were streaked with mud, reeking of rat droppings and cat urine. She clung to her violin case and Ronan’s guitar bag, as he had more than enough to carry with his Clarsach and the heavy backpack.

  Shawn, who was lugging the pipes under his arm as he peered around bends, beckoned for them to proceed. The next corner was clear. They ought to be right under the old promenade by now, and they had to be careful, because their tunnel was half visible to the streets from here, through fairly large storm drains. Dawn hadn’t finished breaking yet. Breaking what, she thought dismally. Breaking her whole life, everything she’d ever cherished. Breaking her childhood off with a deadly finality.

  It had taken both Ronan and Shawney to get her pulled away from Mother’s body, her hands still covered in blood. What insanity was this? Why not leave her there, to die too when the Unicate came knocking on the door?

  Lying low at Mrs Flanagan’s had been gruelling; but not as bad as spending the night down here in the drains. And as for the reaction of relatives, yesterday morning – she didn’t even want to go there. And through it all she couldn’t get the blood off her hands. What was driving her by now, was nothing but primal fear.

  “Here!” Shawney’s signal was barely more than a whisper. She allowed Ronan to push past her, and found a way to hold the Clarsach for him too as he helped Shawn work on that manhole lid. They battled with it a bit. Rain and mud had sucked it into place and it was a struggle loosening it, but suddenly it lifted, and they pushed it aside.

  All three waited and listened with bated breath, ready to bolt back into the depths of the storm drain system if they had to. Things seemed really silent up there. Ronan made a step ladder with his hands for Shawn, who put his foot into it and pushed himself up, peering out of the manhole.

  “Coast’s clear,” he whispered down to his two sibs. Ronan boosted him up, then handed the instruments up to him. It was a tight fit for the Clarsach; but this square manhole was one they had tested before. Life for a young Dublin musician could be perilous at night.

  “C’mon, Pae!” came Shawn’s optimistic invitation.

  She shook her head, unable to face the scant daylight.

  “Sis, we’ve been there,” said Ronan, almost threateningly.

  Paean Donegal backed down and accepted the burglar-lift up to ground level from her older brother. Once she was out, she turned around and took the backpack from him. It took her and Shawn’s joint efforts to get that heavy pack lifted out.

  She lay down on the pavement and extended a hand down for Ronan; Shawn did the same on the other side of the manhole. Ronan grabbed both hands at the wrist in a mountaineer’s grip and hauled himself out of the sewers, kicking against the crumbling stepladder none of them had dared to use.

  All three pushed the lid back into place and stared at each other. So far so good; they were at the docks. They scanned the surrounds. Those uniforms could come breaking out of any alley, at any moment. They were not safe anywhere in plain sight.

  An unkempt-looking character was idly leaning against a lamp post, watching them. It looked like a wild man, long black frizzy hair tied down around the head with a bandanna. One thing this person was decidedly not: Any kind of Unicate. There was something... he somehow looked like a sea person to Paean. On a hunch she stormed at the man.

  “Sir, sir, please – are you a sailor?”

  Gypsy eyes stretched wide in surprise as he took in her filthy appearance. He studied her intensely, making her wonder whether it had been a mistake talking to him at all. If he alerted the harbour guard?

  “Looking for a ship to stow away?” he asked eventually with an unreadable grin.

  “No, sir! We want to work! We’re hard workers, have been all our lives.” She hoped desperately he’d accept that. She was fifteen – work was only legal once you were sixteen. But he didn’t look like the type that would care.

  Critical dark eyes noted the instruments.

  “Musicians, huh? Shukar! This way, shey.”


  “Paean, what are you doing?” hissed Shawn.

  “Getting us a job,” she replied. “On a ship.”

  “She’s right, Shawn, move!” urged Ronan.

  The wild man led the way, along the docks to a beautiful white tall ship lying at anchor. Paean noticed that he moved like a predator; a feral cat or a burglar. But damn, the three of them didn’t exactly arrive smelling of roses, either.

  The name on the side of the two-master sailing ship, she noted as they approached, was the ‘San Diego’. And the figurehead was a mermaid... its eyes seemed to follow them.

  *