Search for the Sunlight

According to his wood watch, it was 3:20a.m. when Basil was awakened with a start.

The distant rumbling that they had all heard only a few hours earlier, was almost deafening now and, like a ship in a storm, the wok was being buffeted violently.

Basil rubbed the sleep from his eyes and peered out over the side of the vessel. To his horror, the previously calm sea had become a raging torrent of white water rapids and the wok, the only thing between them and the underworld was being battered and shaken by the fast flowing current.

Missing jagged rocks and boulders by fractions, the vessel bobbed and weaved through a narrow cataract and, as it sped out of control on its unstoppable journey, it began to spin round and round, like the floor in the witches’ chamber.

Directly ahead, a vast column of thick black smoke and fire towered high into the air. Basil tried to wake the others, but there was no response. Could this be it? He wondered. Could this be the end of time itself? And what if Harry was right? What if they were about to fall off the edge of the world?

No sooner had the notion entered his head than the wok began to accelerate. The resulting force knocked Basil to the floor and with an almighty WOOSH! the vessel took off like a clay pigeon before tumbling downwards into the abyss…

The intolerable noise and the sensation of weightlessness as they fell wakened Brian and Sherlock. Brian scrambled to his feet and grabbed the first solid object to hand which just happened to be Basil’s leg.

“What’s happening?” he screamed, with a look of sheer panic in his eyes.

“I don’t know,” Basil cried out. “Just hold on tight. I suspect we’ll find out in a minute!”

Remarkably, Harry and Herbert were still fast asleep. They had consumed far too much ‘Red Road Reserve’ and now, oblivious to the events that were unfolding around them, they both remained blissfully unconscious.

The wok continued on its downward spiral for what seemed like an eternity and as it fell, the most bizarre thoughts raced through the cat’s mind. Not thoughts of remorse for nasty unkind things he’d done to mice and small invertebrates in the past, or sadness for those he would leave behind should their inevitable landing kill him outright, but practical thoughts, at least practical for a cat, like would he land on his feet when they hit whatever lay below? Or, on impact would his fur be forced in the wrong direction, with such savagery, that it would never lie flat again?

Suffice to say, these were questions that would be answered in the fullness of time!

Assuming charge of health and safety, Sherlock ordered Basil and the cat to take up the crash position while he tried to waken Harry and Herbert. But it was too late!

With a back breaking jolt and an ear splitting SPLASH! missing large rocks and boulders by fractions, the vessel came to a crushing halt on the frothing surface of an enormous, turbulent pool beneath the giant falls.

A moment of limbo ensued as the wok decelerated rapidly on impact, subjecting the winded occupants to the most intense G-force imaginable. Seconds later, the process was reversed when, like an inflated marker buoy released from the depths of the ocean, the vessel was propelled upwards again and shot out of the water with such ferocity that the passengers, and all their belongings, were thrown out in every direction.

The last remaining fragments of Smelly Brian’s nine lives flashed before him as he somersaulted through the air and tumbled down again into the deep, dark, foaming water.

“Help! I’m a cat, and cats can’t swim!” he gurgled.

At first Basil thought that Brian was fooling about, but this was no time for jokes and, as he disappeared beneath the surface for a second time, it became clear that his cries for assistance were genuine.

Without concern for his own safety, Basil dived under to help his feline friend back to the surface. With all his strength, he grabbed the drowning mog by the tail and swam away from the cascading falls, towards the stony shore on the opposite bank.

On the way he passed Herbert. He was clinging onto his lapsack for dear life and bobbing up and down like a cork on the surface of the turbulent water.

“Lend a hand, old boy!” Basil cried out, “This cat’s too soggy to manage on my own.”

The dead weight of the saturated creature, combined with the strong under current was dragging them both down.

Recognising his companions’ distress, Herbert let go of his lapsack and swam to their aid.

Despite showing no real aquatic style, he reached his goal and held Brian’s head out of the water, just enough for him to breathe, while Basil dragged the sodden creature up onto the shingle beach and loosened his collar.

Sherlock and Harry were not strong swimmers either, but supported by their buoyant lapsacks, they were able to reach the swamped wok which, in spite of their outrageous descent, had miraculously remained afloat. But only just.

In order to keep the weight to a minimum, they discarded their lapsacks and with nautical skills normally only associated with seasoned bargemen and timeserved mariners, they navigated the partially submerged vessel towards the stony shore.

On their arrival, they found Basil and Herbert trying desperately to revive the waterlogged cat. Basil moved him into the recovery position while Herbert dismantled the fruit pump and altered the valve to reverse action. Moments later, having successfully re-assembled the delicate spring mechanism and diaphragm, he stuck the nozzle down Brian’s throat and began to pump.

The poorly maintained apparatus squeaked and groaned and at first it didn’t appear to do much. Had he inserted the valve properly? he wondered, but with no time to check - for the cat had stopped breathing now - he simply pumped as fast as he could until, in a fit of coughing and spluttering, Brian opened his eyes and sat up.

“Oh my days,” he groaned, “I thought I was a gonner just then. I owe you both my last life!” he cried, exhaling a loud breath and lots of peaty brown water.

“Thank you,” he gasped and with that, his eyes rolled back in his head and he passed out.

At least he was still alive…

With everyone accounted, Sherlock set about recovering their lapsacks from the water with a long stick. Harry collected some wet drift wood from amongst the giant boulders and with unrivalled skill, and a generous helping of blue marshmelon spirit, he successfully lit a fire.

Time passed slowly, and not a moment too soon Harry produced five large mugs of steaming sweet maple and catnip tea, a recovery blend, which he passed to each of his friends for their immediate consumption.

Above the deafening roar of the giant falls, Basil thought he could hear the indecipherable sound of angry voices. On first impression, the voices appeared to be arguing and shouting. But as he listened more carefully, he concluded that it was probably nothing more than a combination of the babbling, fast flowing river and his own overactive imagination. Satisfied with his theory, he chose to ignore the noise and returned to his tea.

Eager to find out where they were, Sherlock began searching through the saturated contents of Herbert’s lapsack for the map. He’d put it there earlier and, when he eventually found it, hidden amongst some smelly socks and wet pants, he opened it out onto a large flat stone and set about checking their position. Could this be the source of the mighty Gogo River, he wondered?

Struggling to see the soggy document in the poor light, it soon became apparent that most of the reference points and grid lines disappeared off the page. He turned the map over and began to examine the other side, but there was nothing there either. It would seem that this Hellish place, at which they had arrived, had either been erased from the map intentionally or did not infact exist at all! They were hopelessly lost…