Part 12 (1/2)

CHAPTER TWELVE.

Overboard Come sunup, Michael woke me. I looked at the shut door, and then at him. He had misery all over his face.

”I'm sure he didn't kill her,” I said. ”He wouldn't do that. She's his only hold over us.”

”I don't wish to discuss it,” he told me.

Well, we went up on deck. The morning was cloudy, with a stiff breeze blowing. Seagulls were squawking away, and you could hear folks talking soft on boats all around us while they got ready to haul. It seemed mighty peaceful, but peculiar too. We were on a yacht chock full with madness and death, and n.o.body had a clue but us.

Michael didn't talk except to give me instructions. Together, we raised anchor and set the sails. He took the helm, and we fairly scooted clear of the harbor.

Later on, he sent me below to fetch coffee and food. No sign of Whittle or Trudy. Their door was still shut. And it stayed that way while I made up a pot of coffee and threw together some bread and marmalade. I used a dull little knife that didn't even have a point on it for spreading the jelly. But it gave me ideas, so I hunted high and low for a decent knife or any other thing that might do for a weapon. I came up with nothing but forks and dull knives. Whittle'd had plenty of time on his own, and must've scoured the galley to get rid of whatever might be turned against him.

I thought to give the saloon a going over, but held off, not wanting to risk it with the door so near. Besides, Whittle wouldn't have left any sort of weapon-like items lying about in there, either.

So I gave up, for the time, and carried our coffee and bread topside. It tasted mighty fine. We were cutting through the waves at a fair clip, the sails all billowed out pale in front of us, and my only care for a while was how to drink my coffee without spilling half of it.

I sort of let on, just in my own head, that me and Michael were a couple of buccaneers setting forth on a grand adventure. We were on our way to the Far Tortugas or the Happy Isles or somesuch, where there'd be warm breezes and long white beaches aplenty and whole scads of tawnyskinned native girls with bare b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

But I no sooner pictured those native girls than Mary's breast plopped down on the floor in front of my face, and that led to a raft of other thoughts, just as real and terrible, till there I was again on the Death Boat thinking about what I'd heard last night in the dark.

I saw we were empty, so I went down for more coffee. The door was shut yet. Just the sight of it gave me the fantods.

I didn't linger about, but hurried right up to the deck as fast as I could.

Later on, the coffee got to me. I couldn't bring myself to go below and take care of business. What they called the head was just too near that awful door. I feared it might open up in front of me and I'd have to see what was in there. So I did it over the side.

Michael had me take the helm while he did the same. After he was done, he let me stay and gave me lessons in a tired voice about how to steer and keep the canvas full. It was bully, actually. For a time, I got to forget about the horrors.

Land was still in sight, though a considerable distance off and not much more than a long smudge way out across the water. There weren't any other boats near enough to worry about smas.h.i.+ng into. Now and then, the sun peeked out from among the clouds and felt uncommon warm and friendly. I did a fair job of steering us along, and Michael told me so, and I judged he wasn't such a sorry bloke, after all, even if he was a coward.

The whole while, we didn't speak a single word about Trudy or Whittle. They must've been on Michael's mind, though. They were sure on mine, like a heavy black ugliness that I couldn't shake off for more than a minute or two at a time.

The longer they stayed locked away, the worse it all seemed.

They didn't come out, and they didn't. The whole morning went by. Then the afternoon crawled along. I got hungry, but didn't mention it to Michael for fear he'd send me down to fetch food.

Near sundown, just after we'd pa.s.sed Land's End, Trudy came up through the companionway. She was barefoot, so we didn't hear her. All of a sudden, she stepped out and was right there with us. We both gawped at her, but she didn't so much as look at us. She hadn't on a st.i.tch of clothes. She was blood all over. It was mostly dried and brown. Her hair was caked with it.

She carried Patrick's head along with her, holding it against her belly by its ears.

Just as casual as you please, she walked past us real slow to the stern and dropped the head overboard. Then she stood there, feet spread and arms out to keep her balance on the pitching deck. She stood there and gazed out behind us. Like she was watching for the head to float off in our wake, though it must've sunk like a rock.

We didn't know Whittle was with us till he spoke up. ”Good day, me hearties,” he said, all full of vim and fun.

He gave us a smile. Only his teeth and eyes were white. The rest of his face and the bandage on it were stained with blood. He wore the sweater and trousers from yesterday. They looked stiff.

He just gave Trudy a glance, then swung his head about, surveying the sea. ”I trust you managed swimmingly in my absence.”

”My Lord, man,” Michael said, ”what have you done done to her?” to her?”

Whittle smiled, nodded, and patted Michael's shoulder with a b.l.o.o.d.y hand. ”You needn't bother your...”

Splas.h.!.+

We all jerked our heads aft. No Trudy.

Whittle muttered, ”d.a.m.nation,” Michael stood gaping like an idiot, and I went for the stern. Hanging on to the bulwark there, I studied the water behind us while I kicked off my shoes. I spotted her. Only just her head and shoulders. She was way back, and getting farther off every second. I skinned off my sweater and dove.

The cold water squeezed the breath right out of me. Coming up for air, I heard a call and glanced around. Whittle, at the rear, flung a life-ring after me. It landed short, so I had to lose some time swimming for it. While I did that, I saw Michael turning the boat so it wouldn't get away from us altogether.

With the life-ring tucked under one arm, I went for Trudy again. For a while, she was out of sight and I figured maybe she'd gone under for good. But then a wave picked me up high and I caught a peek at her.

If she'd meant to drown herself, she must've changed her mind. Otherwise, wouldn't she just have let herself sink? I wondered if she hadn't fallen overboard by accident, but then I judged she'd done it on purpose-if not to put an end to her miseries, then 'cause she simply couldn't stand all that blood on her body for even a second longer and had to either bathe it off in the ocean or die trying.

Each time a swell hoisted me, I got a look at her. The s.p.a.ce between us shortened, but she was still a good piece off. The cold water stiffened me up something awful. She'd been in longer than me, so we didn't either of us have much time left. I figured it was all up, just about.

Well, then Trudy noticed I was coming after her. She hadn't seen me before, I reckon, on account of the rough waters. All of a sudden, she came swimming straight at me. It wasn't but a couple minutes before we joined up, and she hooked an arm through the ring.

We both hung on it, s.h.i.+vering and gasping for air. She didn't say a thing, not even to thank me. I didn't hold it against her, though. Neither of us was in any shape to talk, and besides, it was just her way not to appreciate a thing I ever did for her.

We clung to that ring like a couple of strangers. Now and then, our legs collided or tangled, the way we were kicking to help the floater stay up.

Each time the waves hoisted us, we got a look at the True D. Light. True D. Light. It came circling around real slow, and I didn't hold out much hope of it reaching us before we froze up and sank. But then one time we came out of a deep valley and there was Whittle rowing the skiff toward us. It came circling around real slow, and I didn't hold out much hope of it reaching us before we froze up and sank. But then one time we came out of a deep valley and there was Whittle rowing the skiff toward us.

And wasn't I glad to see him!

By and by, he paddled right up beside us. Trudy let go the ring. She grabbed an oar he held out to her, worked her way along it, and draped herself over the gunnel. The boat near capsized, but Whittle scurried to the other side and it was all right.

She didn't have a trace of blood on her. Not that I could see, and I guess I saw every part of her, pretty near, while she struggled into the skiff and then later, after I was in. I didn't see any fresh wounds, either. She had all the bruises and marks from the whipping and hanging Whittle'd given her, but nothing fresh. So every bit of the blood must've been Patrick's. In its own way, that was almost worse to think about than if the blood had come out of her own body.

Anyhow, froze up as I was, I somehow managed to haul myself into the skiff. We got the life-ring aboard, and then Whittle commenced to row us for the yacht.

I sat in the bow, hunched over and shaking apart. Trudy, she was on the other side of Whittle, lying on the bottom, curled and hugging her knees.

”You gave us an awful scare,” he told Trudy, but he sounded more like she'd given him a jolly show. ”This is rather inclement weather for a swimming party. Did you enjoy it?”

She didn't answer.

Her rump was in easy reach of his foot. He fetched it a smart kick that made her flinch. But she still didn't say anything.

He kicked her again. Then he laughed, and laid off conversation the rest of the way to the yacht.

Michael had reefed the sails, so the True D. Light True D. Light was only moving around because of the currents and waves and such. When we came up alongside, he lowered the boarding ladder. I tossed him the bow line. He tied us up. Whittle climbed the ladder, leaving me with Trudy in the tossing skiff. was only moving around because of the currents and waves and such. When we came up alongside, he lowered the boarding ladder. I tossed him the bow line. He tied us up. Whittle climbed the ladder, leaving me with Trudy in the tossing skiff.

She only just laid there.

Michael stared down, all pale and hang-jawed, like Trudy was something strange and revolting.