Part 12 (2/2)

He was no more use than a neck ache.

”Trudy,” I said, ”you've got to get up. We've reached the yacht.”

She might as well have been deaf.

”Help her,” Whittle called down to me.

It was what I'd aimed to do, anyhow. I couldn't see a way around it. So I kept low and made my way to where she lay. I crouched by her rump. ”Trudy?” I asked. ”Please get up.”

She didn't stir, not even when I put a hand on her cold hip and gave it a shake.

So then I pried her top arm away from her knees and hauled it toward me. She rolled. Her knees swung up and knocked me sideways. The gunnel jammed my ribs. Next thing I knew, my feet were kicking at the sky. Then I hit the ocean head-first.

I tumbled around underwater for a spell, clawed for the surface and banged my head on the underside of the skiff, and finally got to air. I reached for the skiff, but a wave s.n.a.t.c.hed it away so I missed. Before my hand slapped down empty, what do you know if Trudy didn't reach out and catch my wrist.

It must've brought her senses back, knocking me overboard.

Whittle, he was up on the yacht, looking down at us and laughing like he might bust a seam.

Trudy towed me up close, till I could hook my elbows over the gunnel. Then she scooted to the other side to keep things steady. While I hung there, trying to squirm into the boat, she clutched me under the arms and hauled. She didn't let up, but kept pulling even when my head pushed into her breast. She squished me against her and helped me turn over and eased me down.

”Are you all right?” she asked.

I nodded up at her. She frowned down at me. And right then I forgave her everything and was mighty glad I'd worked so hard at saving her.

She crouched over me for a spell, then got up and climbed the ladder all by herself. I followed her up. I had one leg over the bulwark when Michael went to hug her and she slapped him across the face.

He stood there, blinking, and Whittle laughed, and Trudy went down below.

Whittle clapped me on the shoulder. ”You've done splendidly, Trevor,” he said. ”Go down, yourself, and bundle up, before you catch your death.”

He was the cause of all our troubles, but right then I near forgot how much I hated him. I hurried myself down the companionway.

I found Trudy in the saloon, squatting down to light the heater. All a-tremble, she shook out two or three matches trying. While she worked at that, I saw that the door to the forward quarters was open.

I turned away quick, though not quick enough by a long sight. Just a glimpse was too much. Not only Patrick's head was gone. He had no arms or legs, either. More was missing, but I don't aim to tell about that. And what was left of him had been split open and hollowed out considerable.

It made me plain sick to see such a thing. I dropped down onto the bunk I'd used last night, and remembered all the noises that'd kept me awake-Trudy whimpering and screaming and such. Much as I felt sorry for Patrick, I felt a lot sorrier for her. He'd been dead, and shut of the business. But poor Trudy, she'd had to watch and I didn't want to think about what Whittle must've done to her, or made her do.

She got the heater going, then took a couple of towels out of a cabinet and gave me one. I stripped off my wet trousers and socks. We both rubbed ourselves dry. We climbed under our covers, and didn't it feel fine to lay in a warm bed!

I thought to ask her what had gone on last night. Kept mum, though, figuring it wouldn't do her much good to talk about it and she more than likely wouldn't tell, anyhow.

So we just kept quiet.

By and by, Whittle came along with Michael.

”Oh, my G.o.d!” Michael blasted when he saw what was past the door. ”What did you do do to him?” to him?”

”Why, I ripped ripped him, of course.” him, of course.”

”Where's the rest rest of him?” of him?”

”Fish food, no doubt.”

He must've tossed the missing parts out a porthole. If he ate any, like he did with Mary, he didn't let on.

Michael came out with another, ”My G.o.d.”

”All the less for you to deal with,” Whittle told him.

”I don't see why I I have to do it,” Michael whined. have to do it,” Michael whined.

”Would you rather I ask Trudy to clean up the leftovers?”

The way Michael didn't answer, I reckon he would've preferred it that way.

”And poor Trevor's all done in from the business of saving your bride from the ocean depths.”

”I belong at the helm,” Michael said.

”You belong where I tell you. I'm certain the boat will manage itself spendidly until you've finished.”

”Please. It's not...”

Whittle, he hauled off and kicked Michael's rump. That sent the fellow stumbling along. I bolted up to see better. At the doorway, Michael lost his feet altogether and, crying out, flopped down right on top of Patrick. He squealed like he'd been stuck, then took to blubbering.

I settled back down and turned my head away, not wanting to watch any more of this. Trudy, she'd pulled the covers over her face when the two first came in.

Pretty soon, Whittle said, ”You see? He's no trouble-hardly weighs more than a dog.”

Michael walked by me, gasping and sobbing.

When he and Whittle were gone, I looked and saw a trail of red drippings and other mess on the floor between our berths. I kept my eyes from wandering into the front cabin.

Pretty soon, along they both came again. This time, Michael carried a bucket and mop.

It was dark by the time he finished cleaning the place.

He never spoke a word to me or Trudy. But he sighed and sniffled considerable.

Whittle let me and Trudy stay warm in our beds till Michael was all done. Then he fetched us fresh sets of clothes. We got up and dressed ourselves. Trudy made supper. We all ate, and then he sent Michael and me topside to get us under way again.

Michael didn't say one thing about any of what had happened that day. He gave me orders and instructions, and that was it.

Once we were sailing along nicely, he turned over the helm to me. He said we'd man the boat in s.h.i.+fts, three hours at a turn. If I should run into any trouble, I was to fetch him quick. Then he went below.

<script>