"The Wreck at Traitor's Leap" by Stephen Barnard

The Wreck at Traitor's Leap

by Stephen Barnard

Danny Lowden had no interest in the art gallery whatsoever. Sure, he took art as a GCSE, but the thinking behind that was the hope there’d be little writing involved. There was some, annoyingly, but at least not as much as history. However, today was shaping up like a history lesson, as Mr Bartholemew was giving them the background to every goddamn painting they stopped at. Danny only agreed to go on the trip because it meant missing other lessons. He didn’t expect to have to take notes.

He loitered near the back of the group with Mason Riley. Barf had already told them to stop talking three times during his mini lectures. It was no different in front of this next painting, a huge canvas in an ornate frame, probably seven-foot square.

‘You two! Again! Lowden and Riley!’ Barf addressed the others. ‘Move out of the way; let them through.’ His eyes were back on the duo. ‘I want you at the front – right here where I can see you.’

‘But, Sir-’ 

‘Now!’ Barf looked embarrassed at his outburst and lifted a hand of apology to an old couple shuffling behind the group, no doubt working up the energy to tut.

The boys didn’t have much choice, but moved through the avenue created by their classmates. When they got to the front, almost at the rope barrier around the artwork, Barf made an observation. ‘Not a single note taken.’ The rest of the class had notebooks; Danny and Mason where empty-handed.

Danny tapped his temple. ‘All up here, Sir.’

‘Alright then: tell me what I’ve already said about this marvellous work in front of you.’

Danny didn’t have a clue. He stared at it. It was basically a huge writhing swirl of dark blue and black oil paint; it looked like it had been plastered onto the canvas by a hyperactive toddler. However, there was a helpful brass plaque underneath the bottom edge of the frame. ‘Errr, this is “The Wreck at Traitor’s Leap” by L.G. Unger, 1789.’

‘I know you can read, Lowden. What else?’

‘It’s… it’s the last thing you see when you leap into the ocean? It’s a close-up of water. Can’t you smell the salty air?’

The group laughed behind him. Barf cut it shout. ‘Alright, enough. Not quite, Lowden. Keep looking at it while I give you the short version. You too, Riley. This is a landscape, and if you look deeply and closely enough, you can see it. Traitor’s Leap is a rocky headland near Lizard in Cornwall, the graveyard of many a vessel until a lighthouse was erected in 1760. This is taken from the perspective of a ship, looking for the light to guide them home. However, someone has extinguished the Leap lighthouse, and a wreck is imminent. The painting is known for its energy and its immersion. The more you look at it, the more you see, almost like your eyes are adjusting to the night.’

Mason muttered. ‘Just huge blobs of paint. My nan could do better, with a brush wedged between her butt-cheeks.’

‘Riley!’ Barf moved them on, hoping transferring to another room in the gallery would dampen the outbreak of laughter.

Somehow, nobody noticed that Danny Lowden stayed put, still staring at the artwork.

It was a curious thing, but for once Mr Bartholemew was right. Danny was seeing different things in the painting. At first, he hadn’t been able to distinguish between sea and sky – in fact, he hadn’t been lying when he thought it was a close-up of the ocean upon diving in – but now he could see a horizon, blurry, but becoming sharper the more he looked. There was the choppy water of a tempest-tossed sea, and there was the heavy, dark menace of a storm-laden sky. Sometimes they mingled, sometimes they merged, but sometimes – almost as if when illuminated by lightning – they were absolutely distinct.

And there. Was that land? A thin strip of gunmetal grey, nothing more than a smudge on the horizon, but getting closer. And on it, a small vertical post. The lighthouse! He could see it! Danny stepped across the rope cordon to get nearer, but in doing so he lost the headland. The picture was now dominated by a stormy sea. He knew it was there, but where? He had to find it, because if he didn’t they would find nothing but havoc underneath the waves at Traitor’s Leap.

Danny reached out a hand and pawed at the paint where he thought the lighthouse should be. It was wet. How was that possible, after over two hundred years? He looked at his fingers: they were the same blacks and indigos as the painting. When he flexed them, they rippled with the kinetic energy of the squall. It was like he had the storm in his palm; the overpowering instinct was to give it back. He smeared the sullied hand down the canvas.

It went through. At first, he thought he’d torn a hole down the painting, but as his arm descended, any concern on that front disappeared. He felt the chill; the rain. And then his fingers grasped tightly on a wooden rail.

The ship lurched on the tempestuous waves, and Danny Lowden was pulled aboard.

**

Mr Bartholemew led the class back through the gallery, retracing their steps through the various rooms. ‘Lowden has to be here somewhere – everyone keep an eye out, please!’ There were mutters and murmurs rippling through the group, most wondering about what stunt Danny was playing.

Mason Riley wasn’t convinced. If Danny was up to something he definitely would’ve involved him. They passed the painting where Barf had chastised them earlier; something about a wreck. Mason gave it a glance. It looked different. Previously it had been messy, but now the water seemed calmer, and there was evidence of a still sky. Also, a broken silhouette.

He snared a classmate by their arm. ‘Ollie. Was there always a shipwreck in this picture?’