Take Your Last Breath. Lauren Child

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      The discussion had gone on well into the early hours, and it was almost time for Ruby to be up and ready for school. The two of them sat at the table and, over eggs and toast and maple syrup, discussed the Spectrum briefing.

      ‘So what thoughts are jangling in that teenage mind of yours kid?’ asked Hitch, pouring coffee, his fifth of the day.

      Ruby sucked hard on the curly straw that stuck out of her peach and cranberry juice blend. When the glass was emptied and the straw had begun to make an ill-mannered gurgling sound, she looked up.

      ‘Huh? You say something?’

      ‘You clean your ears out lately kid? I was saying, do you believe Trilby’s death was accidental?’

      ‘Maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t,’ said Ruby. ‘The question is, do I think the marine activity and the confused shipping are connected to his death?’

      ‘That’s the question?’ said Hitch.

      ‘Yes. I think it could be a mistake to assume that they are, but on the other hand one thing could be triggering the other. What if there is one thing going on, which is man-made, and another that is a consequence of the man-made?’

      ‘So… connected but not intentionally?’ said Hitch.

      ‘Yeah, let’s say someone is interfering with the shipping radar and signals somehow, perhaps with a low-frequency signal, a sound to block sound. The idea being to disrupt the shipping, I guess, but I don’t know why. Anyway, this in turn is sending the sealife crazy, which results in Trilby getting killed, for example by some electric eel thing. The seagulls coming inland en masse, dolphins swimming into the harbour – all because of sound.’

      Hitch nodded. ‘It’s certainly a theory. I have no idea if it’s a good one, but it’s a theory.’

      ‘It could mean that Trilby’s death, though accidental, was actually the consequence of something bigger,’ said Ruby. ‘Something sinister. So I guess what I am suggesting is, yes, in a way his death could be an accident, nothing sinister. But in a way it perhaps wasn’t and is.’

      Hitch raised an eyebrow. ‘I’m barely following.’

      Ruby looked at him like he was a few blocks short of a load.

      ‘Maybe you need another cup of coffee or three,’ she said.

      ‘Maybe.’ He took another slurp. ‘And the whispering?’

      ‘I don’t know.’ She was thinking, trying to tunnel down to some lost thought, but whatever it was, was lurking deep in the furthest depths of her mind and she could not reach it so she just said, ‘Could be entirely imagined of course.’

      ‘Yes,’ said Hitch. ‘One person says they’ve heard something – then a whole lot more people imagine that they’ve heard the same thing.’

      ‘Yeah, happens all the time,’ said Ruby, nodding. ‘People are very suggestible.’

      ‘It’s true,’ said Hitch. ‘I mean if I start mentioning the words jelly and donut, do you find yourself kind of yearning for one?’

      Ruby gave him a look. ‘You got one?’

      He shook his head. ‘So what do you think – did those people hear the whispering or not?’ asked Hitch. ‘That little Redfort brain must be thinking something. You have any kind of gut feeling on this?’

      Ruby looked at him, straight in the eye. ‘My brain is telling me I should be asleep, but my stomach is telling me that I sure could do with a jelly donut and a glass of banana milk.’

      ‘Well, let’s make it happen kid.’

      Mrs Gruemeister’s dog

      Pookie was barking…

      In fact he had been barking for quite some time, but everyone aboard had chosen to ignore him, it being 5.46am.

      ‘Probably seagulls,’ murmured Mr Gruemeister, pulling the blankets over his head. ‘That dog will bark at any little thing.’

      ‘I’ve tried my darnedest to train him,’ sighed Mrs Gruemeister. ‘Only bark at intruders, that’s what I taught him, but he doesn’t listen.’

      In cabin 4A, Brant Redfort sat up in bed, yawned and rubbed his eyes. He switched on the radio, but to his great disappointment the only station he could get any reception on was one playing the most awful music. In fact he wondered to himself if it was music at all.

      ‘What is that dreadful noise?’ moaned Sabina. ‘Sounds like violins having the most vivid of disagreements.’

      Brant switched it off in disgust. He had been looking for a pleasant sound to block out the barking dog, but it wasn’t going to happen.

      ‘I can’t take much more of this yapping,’ he said. ‘How about an early breakfast up on deck honey?’

      ‘Good idea Brant. That bow-wow is beginning to give me the most dreadful headache. Honestly, you’d think they would have raised him better. Can you imagine if Ruby yelped like that?’

      ‘Well, no honey, but then she isn’t a dog.’

      ‘But you know what I mean Brant.’

      ‘Sure I do honey; Ruby is a far better daughter than Pookie would ever be.’

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