Andrea Höst - And All the Stars

"Directly left, Maddie," breathed the night. "It’s only a metre or so, so take one step forward, then kneel and pass me your bags."

Nash whispered similar instructions to Pan from the next slip over. Obedient to Noi’s command, Madeleine stepped, knelt, and held out the food bag, then her overstuffed backpack, and by the time that was done she was more sure of what was in front of her, could just make out Noi, Fisher and Min. Then it was a matter of lowering herself, guided firmly by Noi, until she was sitting in the back of a small boat, shivering more from nerves than the chill lifting from the water.

"Put this on."

A bulky shape with confusing straps. Madeleine fumbled it over her head, and found parts which clicked together. By the time this was done, the moon was no more than a fading memory.

"All clear," Noi said, a fraction louder.

"Lift off."

There was a gurgle of water to accompany Nash’s response, and then another as Noi pushed the boat away from the dock, and Fisher and Min used their oars to prod them out the rest of the way.

Rowing lessons had been the highlight of the wait for moonset. Boats made of couch cushions, and brooms for oars, with Nash patiently drilling them with the motions despite the spurts of giggles born of a long night’s tension. Madeleine felt little urge to laugh now, as they eased clear of the slip and began to turn, with water making blooping noises off the oars, and a faint creak from the oarlocks. Unlikely to be heard no matter how well sound carried over water, but she still stared back over her shoulder at the long bulk of the Wharf, searching for movement. There would be no outrunning anything in a dinghy, but sailing at night with a crew of total amateurs would have been suicidal, and any engine a trumpet call in the hushed city, so no-one had been able to argue against using the small boats. Nash had been confident that the trip could be made well before dawn, even with inexperienced rowers, and there was little chance of them being spotted so long as they kept away from the shore.

As they picked up speed, passing the North Building, Madeleine began to relax. There was nothing but parkland on their left, and a long gap to the navy base on the far side of the Wharf. The Bay had few sources of light, and they were leaving those behind, scudding along beneath a cloak of stars, invisible.

"Destination: North Pole," Noi muttered, and squeezed Madeleine’s hand.

Webcams had ruled out other choices. Circular Quay seemed to be a hive of Moth activity, while a beach cam had provided glimpses of smaller craft moving near Watson’s Bay, making it clear that a speedboat dash past the headlands and out of the Harbour would not merely be a matter of avoiding two very large, weapon-festooned ships. Finally, representing the uninfected portion of Australia, some isolation-suited reporters had settled down with long-range cameras to watch Greens stationed at roadblocks, broadcasting through the night and incidentally making it even harder for free Blues to sneak out of the city. So the Musketeers were gambling on refrigerating themselves.

Three hours till dawn. Four kilometres to row. Sydney’s city heart was shaped like a partially unfolded fan, with the Spire in Hyde Park located on the lower right edge of the narrower southern end. Woolloomooloo Bay sat just east of the fan’s top right stretch of parkland, and they were aiming to row out of the Bay and curve around the cove-notched upper edge, keeping to a central point between the north and south shore until they’d passed beneath the Harbour Bridge and could turn down the western side of the fan to the newly-developed waterfront area called Barangaroo.

It had seemed a vast distance when they were poring over maps, but caught up in the sensation of floating through blackness, Madeleine found their arrival in the open water of the harbour came disconcertingly quickly, their narrowed view opening up to the shimmering golden sweep of the North Shore. Constellations of abandoned apartment blocks, and suburban nebulae: terrestrial stars which spun and bobbed as the dinghies hit the swell outside the shelter of the bay.

Facing the wrong direction to appreciate the vista, Fisher said: "The current’s not too bad. Tell me when we reach the turn point."

The turn point was halfway to a small island called Fort Denison, helpfully furnished with a squat lighthouse. When Noi gave the word, Fisher and Min backed their oars, slowing forward motion.

In the relative quiet which followed, they could clearly make out the creak and splosh of the second dinghy, and Noi called softly: "Duk-duk! Duk-duk!" A nonsense sound, their chosen signal to try to orient the two boats in the dark. Their theory was that the noise could be mistaken for a bird, and Madeleine supposed it was mildly less obvious than "Over here!", but it did sound silly, and Emily’s stifled giggle in response came to them clearly over the shush of the ocean.

Nash and Pan succeeded in following the sound, and Madeleine’s straining eyes caught the shape of them just before a thin, wet rope smacked her in the face. She managed to catch it, and with a small amount of manoeuvring the two boats were soon side-by-side, temporarily lashed together.

"Any sign?" Nash asked, serious, but with a measure of exultation lighting his voice. Desperate and dangerous as this might be, the Harbour was transcendent.

"No movement to the west," Fisher replied.

Noi had the binoculars, and was peering as far down to the Harbour entrance as the angle would permit. "I think those lights belong to one of the big ships," she said. "It must have moved in from the Heads, but doesn’t seem to be coming any closer. You four fine to go on after a couple of minutes' rest, or do you want to try swapping about?"

"It’s easier than I expected," Min said. "Not that I won’t complain about it later, but I shouldn’t have problems with the full run."

"My only worry is I don’t want to stop," Pan said. "This is the most incredible thing I’ve ever done. I feel like I’m flying." He went on, whispering, but his stage-trained voice lifting irresistibly:

" Take him and cut him out in little stars,

And he will make the face of heaven so fine

That all the world will be in love with night

And pay – oof!"

"Enough, Juliet," Nash said, sitting ready to bop the shorter boy again. "You can give us a command performance in the refrigerator."

"Somehow, I don’t think that’ll have quite the same atmosphere." Pan heaved a great sigh, a combination of regret and sheer delight, but didn’t argue further.

"After the challenge," Noi said, a smile in her voice. "We’ll find a stage and you can perform for all of us. Right now, everyone take a few breaths. We need to calm down."

They drifted slowly, giving themselves another few moments to enjoy their surroundings, then separated the dinghies and returned to the business of escape. Madeleine’s role as a non-rower was both lookout and defender, should they encounter anything. The fact that a well-aimed punch could scupper a boat had been part of the arguments both for and against trying to make a dash out through the headlands, and there’d also been an amusing discussion on whether shields could be used as a form of propulsion, or would merely be a spectacular way to overturn.

The long dark stretch of the Royal Botanic Gardens gave way to curving white shells lit by spotlights. Madeleine wondered if the lights were automatic, or if the Moths or Greens were turning them on. Perhaps they, too, were reciting Shakespeare or, more likely, singing in their oscillating language. The world knew so little of what the Moths were like, what they were doing with their hosts, whether glowing balls of light had any interest in the words, the music, the pictures to be found in the cities they had stolen. There had been indications – Greens sent to obtain fresh milk and meat – that the Moths were at least interested in Earth’s food, but given the Blue hunger drive that was hardly surprising.