Free Crossing To Paradise by Kevin Crossley-Holland Page B

no less broad leading to Sandwich, and the sea.
    The pilgrims reached Sandwich in the blue hour. And standing, without knowing it, where Arthur had first stood eighteen months before, Gatty tasted the salt-sharp air. Nest dismounted and came and huddled close to her. So did Snout. Then all the others. Except for Nakin, not one of them had ever seen the sea before. Wave-dance; water-music. The whole world of it!
    Gatty threw up her arms, and reached out, and hurrahed. Followed by the others, she ran down across the beach to the many-tongued sea.

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    Gatty couldn’t find her footing. She couldn’t even stand still. She lurched; she took one step forward and had to take several more to regain her balance; she tripped over her own feet.
    The air—it was seething and so bright. Piercing saltspray! The wind bellowing and neighing! Gatty couldn’t bring herself to climb down the ladder into the dark hold, where most of the pilgrims and other passengers were sheltering.
    The boat bucked and bucketed and Gatty half-ran, half-slid right across the deck. To save herself from smacking into the port railing and, who knows, being catapulted into the boiling sea, she grabbed hold of the keel of the little skiff lying on its side, lashed to the deck. Then she saw two people were sitting on the other side of it, completely protected from the wind and the spray, and when Gatty pressed her ear against the boards, she could hear them talking.
    â€œâ€¦Gatty.”
    â€œI know!”
    â€œGatty! That’s what she is. Cattish!”
    â€œI know!”
    â€œSo sly. And spiteful.”
    Gatty squeezed the keel. She tried to crush it between her fingers. Why, she thought. What have I done? I’m not spiteful.
    â€œShe’s always complaining.” That was Nakin. Gatty was sure it was. “How many times have you told her?”
    â€œI know!” wailed the other voice for the third time, and Gatty knew it was Lady Gwyneth’s.
    â€œI told you! You shouldn’t have brought her. Listen! I’ve a plan…” Nakin lowered his voice, and, although Gatty flattened one ear against the wooden boards, she couldn’t make out what he was saying.
    Gatty thought her fingertips were going to burst. She thought her heart was going to burst. She sat down and pulled herself backwards across the weeping deck, away from the skiff, away from the hateful words.
    Spiteful…How can they say that? What plan? Gatty gnawed her lower lip until it bled. I don’t belong with the likes of Lady Gwyneth and Nakin, she thought. I never will.
    Gatty lurched round and round the deck, and then flopped down by a coil of thick rope. But as soon as she did so, she realized she had sat in a pool of pitch. The balls of both her hands stuck to it; the heels of her sandals stuck to it; the seat of her gown was glued to it.
    Miserably, Gatty levered herself onto her feet and bunched up her cloak and screwed round to look at it.
    At this moment, arm in arm to stop themselves from slipping and sliding, Nest and Austin staggered towards her.
    â€œWhat are you doing?” Nest called out. “Admiring yourself?”
    Gatty dropped her gown and splayed her hands like a cat. They were black and shining.
    â€œYuch!” yelled Nest.
    Austin smiled grimly, and the little dark pupils of his eyes were keen as skewers. “Half-pink, half-black,” he observed. “You’re a devil-in-the-making.”
    â€œAs black as Mansel’s dog!” added Nest.
    Gatty stared at her hands; then she inspected her sandals. “I known worse,” she said.
    â€œLook at your gown!” said Nest. “It won’t wash out, you know.”
    â€œYou must cut the pitch out,” Austin told her. “Like a heretic’s tongue.”
    Hearing this, the sea opened its mouth and vomited over the deck. Austin and Nest were swept back beyond the wheelhouse; Gatty was thrown into the pool of pitch again.
    But then