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‘We should ask a fisherman or someone if they can take us across on their boat,’ I said.
‘Won’t you be able to zap there?’ Blaise asked, surprised.
‘To be honest,’ I added, rather ashamed, ‘I’m not sure my zapping skills are up to it, and I’d hate to land us all in the English Channel.’
‘Fair point. Okay then.’ He straightened his shoulders. ‘Well, since I have no real attachment to the place, I guess we’d better walk into the village and see if we can get a boat there.’
Polkayne wasn’t somewhere I was too familiar with in the present day, though I’d visited it a few times as a child. It was a probably a little bit smaller than Gerrenporth in my time, but now the difference was noticeable. A few tumbledown cottages and an inn lined a tiny, natural harbour, and although a few small boats were moored there, there was little activity compared with the bigger village.
In fact, the only people we spotted were some children, who were playing far too close to the water for my peace of my mind.
‘Excuse me,’ I said, catching the eye of one of them, who couldn’t have been more than about seven, ‘do you know anyone who could take us out to that island there?’
I pointed out to sea, and she turned to look where I was indicating. Part of me expected her to shriek, ‘Where did that come from?’
She didn’t. Instead, she shrugged and said, ‘Peloryon Island? I don’t know, mister. It’s spooky there.’
We exchanged glances. How did she even know its name?
‘What do you mean, spooky?’ Romy asked gently.
‘Monks used to live there,’ a little boy of about six informed us solemnly. ‘They reckon their ghosts still walk about at night, and you can hear the bell from their church clanging across the sea.’
‘And chanting,’ the girl reminded him. ‘Don’t forget the chanting.’
I hid a smile, all too aware that there had never been monks on that island, and it was all part of the mythology that this amazing place had already, miraculously, created for itself.
‘And the witch,’ another little girl added, her eyes like saucers. ‘My ma says there’s a witch used to live there.’
‘A witch?’ Romy asked curiously. ‘I’ve never heard that before.’
‘It’s true,’ the girl said defiantly. ‘I’m not lying!’
‘I’m sure you’re not,’ Romy said hastily. ‘I’m just saying I hadn’t heard about it, that’s all.’
‘Well, where do you think the name comes from then?’ the boy asked, jutting his chin at us.
‘I’m sorry?’
He gave me a scornful look. ‘Peloryon. Don’t you know your Cornish? It means white witch.’
‘A white witch who’s a man,’ the older girl added. She shivered. ‘I wouldn’t go over there, not for anything, and my ma says she wouldn’t go if they offered her a golden guinea.’
So Peloryon meant a male white witch! And we’d had no idea, all this time.
‘I don’t suppose you know anyone who would take us there?’ Blaise asked kindly. ‘We’d be very grateful.’
They all kept silent.
‘We’d pay well,’ he added.
‘I reckon Grandad would take you,’ the little boy said hesitantly. ‘But you’d have to make it worth his while.’
‘I’m sure we could do that,’ I assured him. ‘Where would we find your grandad?’
He jerked his thumb towards the inn. ‘He’ll be in there, keeping warm,’ he said flatly. ‘No firewood at home and his bones ache in the cold. Shall I fetch him?’
‘If you would,’ I said gratefully.
