Kidsreads.com - THE VALLEY OF SECRETS by Charmian Hussey

THE VALLEY OF SECRETS
by Charmian Hussey
Simon & Schuster
ISBN: 0689878621
Ages 9-up
400 pages

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Chapter 32: Thieves on the Beach

Pulling off his shoes and socks as quickly as he could, and clutching them in his hands, Stephen set off across the beach toward the shining pathway of water that ran down to join the sea.

The water felt wonderfully cool and soothing. He hopped and danced amongst the waves that ran to greet him on the beach, then wandered lazily through the water along the curving line of the shore. After all those years of town life, after all the flurry and all the grime, after all the times that he'd longed for freedom -- to find himself on this tranquil beach was such a joy!

He stopped at the edge of the waves, looking out to sea, wriggling his toes and rocking his heels, sinking slowly down to his ankles in a granular soup of fluid sand. It was a satisfying feeling; yet he still looked longingly at the deep water.

"Why didn't I think of bringing my trunks and a towel?" he wondered. But the water was irresistible; he decided he would manage without them. Any spectators, who might be offended by the bright patterns of the Flintstones on his boxer shorts, would just have to put up with it; he glanced briefly across at the bracken.

There was a large patch of dry sand and several boulders at the rear of the beach, below the bracken-covered slopes. The biggest boulder had a flat, dry top. It was a perfect place for leaving his shoes and clothing.

Stephen enjoyed himself immensely. Filled with a great sense of pleasure and well-being, he swam and splashed happily in the sea, wallowing in the cold, clear water. And as he swam and splashed around, he completely forgot about the audience.

Back on the beach he spied and picked up a fine example of sea kelp -- a wide, flat strip with crinkled edges attached to a long, thick, meaty stalk. Up and down he ran in the sunshine, joyfully holding the seaweed on high. The long, green ribbon flew out like a banner as Stephen sped across the sand.

When he stopped to get his breath, a new attraction caught his eye: a big, wide, curving bank of sand, freshly washed and superbly smooth, on the far side of the bay -- an untouched virgin territory, which he knew he had to visit. Crossing the beach, he hunted for shells, collecting some very fine stones on the way: a beautiful and perfectly round, flat, black pebble and a number of chunks of a milky-white rock -- probably quartz, he thought to himself, but inset with veins of a shiny mineral that glinted brightly in the sun.

On reaching the opposite far side of the bay and the smooth expanse of pristine sand, Stephen took the greatest delight in walking boldly straight across it, noting the satisfactory line of his own crisp footprints in the sand, feeling quite pleased at the thought of himself as some modern-day Man Friday. Then leaving his precious collection of stones in a little heap on the bank, and pushing the hair back from his face with a salty, sandy hand, he set off down the beach to the headland to explore the pools at the base of the cliff.

Very few things in life are as satisfying as the exploration of rock pools. Each indentation in the rocks and every sea-filled crevice is a unique and tiny kingdom, ruled, so it seems, by tyrannical crabs that hide in cavities under the rocks or lurk behind curtains of weed. Each pool is a prison for shrimps and fish, whose camouflaged colors may save their lives -- captives until, with the turn of the tide, the waves rush back and set them free, stirring the sand and disturbing the calm, as the sea reclaims the pool as her own.

Stephen wandered slowly back along the rocky base of the cliff, trying to avoid the dangerous stretches: the barnacle-encrusted rocks; the slippery, squelching patches of weed. He investigated all the pools, crouching motionless on the rocks, gazing into the calm, clear water.

Some of the pools had intriguing sea anemones. Some had brightly colored weeds. Others appeared to be quite empty; it was only after patient waiting that tiny creatures emerged to be seen.

He was so absorbed in examining the pools that he hadn't noticed how late it was: how the sun was dipping down; how the headland opposite cast long shadows across the bay. He had quite forgotten about the tide.

When he finally stopped and stood up, stretching stiffly and looking around, he was very surprised to discover that the sea was covering most of the beach. There was no sign now of the sandy bank and his precious collection of stones.

He stood on the ridge of rocks that ran along the side of the beach, feeling suddenly very cold. He didn't like the idea of stepping off the edge of the rocks into the deep water; he was much too chilled to want to get wet again. So he worked his way along the ledge and up onto the beach that way.

The rocks, where Stephen had left all his clothing, stood in a shadowy huddle below the headland opposite. He trotted across the back of the beach toward them. The sooner he could get some clothing on the better; then back to the house as quickly as possible for something good to eat.

When he came to the place where he'd left his things, he stopped and stared in sheer disbelief. Two scruffy sneakers still sat on the rock. But all his clothing had disappeared.