but badly enough to wake me up. Someone was pulling it, giving it a
strong, steady tug every few seconds, letting go, then tugging it again.
And he kept on talking all the time he was doing it. I wished that that
someone, whoever he was, would give it up. The tugging and the talking.
Didn’t he know I was a sick man?
I opened my eyes. The first thing I saw was the clock on the
opposite bulkhead. Ten o’clock. Ten o’clock in the morning, for broad
daylight was coming in through uncurtained windows. Dr. Marston had
been right about the sedative; “powerful” was hardly the word for it.
someone was talking, sure enough; old bullen was babbling away
incoherently in a drugged and troubled sleep, but there was no one
tugging at my leg. It was the traction weight suspended from the
ceiling that was doing the tugging. The campari, in spite of her
stabilisers, was rolling through a ten to-fifteen-degree arc, which
meant that there must be a pretty heavy and steep beam sea or swell
running. Whenever the ship came to the end of a roll, the suspended
pulley, reaching the limit of its pendulum swing, would give a
pronounced jerk, a few seconds later another jerk. Now that I was fully
awake, it was more painful than I had at first thought. Even if I had
had a genuinely fractured femur, that sort of thing wouldn’t be doing me
any good at all. I looked round to see dr. Marston and to ask him to
remove it.
but the first person who caught my eye was not dr. Marston but
miguel carreras. He was standing near the top of my bed; maybe he had
been shaking me awake. He was newly shaven, looked fresh and rested,
had his neatly bandaged right hand in a sling, and carried some charts
under his arm. He gave me a slight smile.
“Good morning, mr. carter. How do you feel now?” I ignored him.
Susan beresford was sitting at the doctor’s desk. She looked pretty
tired to me and there were dark smudges under the green eyes. I said,
“susan, where’s doc marston?”
“Susan?” carreras murmured. “How swiftly contiguity breeds
familiarity.”
I ignored him again. Susan said, “in the dispensary, asleep. He’s
been up most of the night.”
“Wake him, will you? tell him I want this damned weight off. It’s
tearing my leg in two.”
she went into the dispensary and carreras said, “your attention,
mr. carter, if you please.”
“When I get that weight off,” I said surlily. “Not before.” dr.
Marston appeared, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, and started to remove
the weight without a word.
“Captain bullen and the bo’sun?” I asked. “How are they?”
“The captain’s holding his ownust.” the old boy looked tired and
sounded tired. “The bo’sun’s recovering fast. Both of them came to
early this morning; I gave them sedatives. The longer they sleep, the
better.”
I nodded, waited till he had lifted me to a sitting position and
adjusted my leg, then said curtly, “what do you want, carteras?”
he unrolled a chart and spread it over my knees. “A little
navigational assistance cross-checking, shall we call it? you will
co-operate?”
“I’ll cooperate.”
“What?” susan beresford crossed from the desk and stared down at
me. “You you’re going to help this man?”
“You heard me, didn’t you? what do you want me to be a hero?” I
nodded at my leg. “Look where being heroic’s got me.”
“I wouldn’t have believed it!” patches of colour flared in the
pale cheeks. “You. Going to help this-this monster, this murderer.”
“If I don’t,” I said wearily, “he’ll like as not start on you.
Maybe break a linger at a time or yank out a tooth at a time with dr.
Marston’s forceps-and without anaesthetic. I’m not saying he’d like
doing it, but he’d do it.”
“I’m not afraid of mr. carreras,” she said defiantly. But she was
paler than ever.
“Then it’s time you were,” I said curtly. “Well, carreras?”
“You have sailed the north atlantic, mr. carter? between europe
and america, I mean?”
“Many times.”
“Good.” he jabbed at the chart. “A vessel leaving the clyde and
sailing for norfolk, virginia. I wish you to sketch the course it would
take. Any reference books you wish I can have fetched.”
“I don’t require any.” I took his pencil. “North’s about round
ireland, so, a slightly flattened great circle route along the westbound
summer lane, so, to this point well southeast of newfoundland. The
northward curve looks strange, but that’s only because of the projection
of the chart: it is the shortest route.”
“I believe you. And then?”
“Shortly after that the course diverges from the main westbound new
york lane, approximately here, and comes into norfolk more or less from
the east-northeast.” I twisted my head round to try to see out of the
surgery door. “What’s all that racket? where’s it coming from? sounds
like riveting guns or pneumatic chisels to me.”
“Later, later,” he said irritably. He unrolled another chart and
the irritation vanished from his face. “Splendid, carter, splendid.
Your track coincides almost exactly with the information I have here.”
“Why the hell did you ask me-”
“I double-check everything, mr. carter. This vessel, now,
is due to arrive at norfolk at exactly ten o’clock at night, on
saturday, in two days’ time. Not earlier, not later: exactly ten
o’clock. If I wish to meet that vessel at dawn that day, where would
the interception point be?”
I kept my questions to myself. “Dawn, in that latitude, at this
time, is five o’clock, give or take a few minutes. What speed does this
vessel do?”
“Of course. Foolish of me. Ten knots.”
“Ten knots. Seventeen hours. One hundred and seventy nautical
miles. The interception point would be here.”
“Exactly.” he’d consulted his own chart again. “Exactly. Most
gratifying.” he looked at a slip of paper in his hand. “Our present
position is 26.52 north, 76.33 west, near enough, anyway. How long
would it take us to get to this interception point?”
“What is that hammering outside?” I demanded. “What devilry are
you up to now, carreras?”
“Answer my question!” he said sharply.
he held all the cards. I said: “what’s our speed just now?”
“Fourteen knots.”
“Forty-three hours,” I said after a minute. “Just under.”
“Forty-three hours,” he said slowly. “It’s now ten a.m. Thursday
and I have to rendezvous at five a.m. On saturday. My god, that is
only forty-three hours.” the first shadow of worry crossed his face.
“What is the maximum speed of the campari?”
“Eighteen knots.” I caught a glimpse of susan’s face. She was
fast losing all her illusions about chief officer carter.
“Ah! eighteen?” his face cleared. “And at eighteen knots?”
“At eighteen knots you’ll probably tear the stabilisers off and
break up the campari,” I told him.
he didn’t like that. He said, “what do you mean?”
“I mean you’ve got trouble coming, carreras. Big trouble.”
I looked at the window. “I can’t see that sea, but I can feel it.
An abnormally long deep swell. Ask any fisherman in the bahamas what
that means at this time of the year and he’ll tell you. It can mean
only one thing, carrerastropical storm, pretty certainly a hurricane.
The swell is coming from the east, and that’s where the heart of the
storm lies. Maybe a couple of hundred miles away yet, but it’s there.
And the swell’s getting worse. Have you noticed? it’s getting worse
because the classic path of a hurricane in these parts is west
northwest, at a speed of ten to fifteen miles an hour. And we’re
heading north by east. In other words, tee hurricane and the campari
are on a collision course. you started listening to some weather
reports, carreras.”
“How long will it take at eighteen knots?” he pressed.
“Thirty-three hours. About. In good weather.”
“And the course?”
I laid it off and looked at him. “The same as you have on that
chart, undoubtably.”
“It is. What wave length for weather reports?”
“No wave length,” I said drily. “If there’s a hurricane moving in
westwards from the atlantic, every commercial station on the eastern
seaboard will be broadcasting practically nothing else.”
he moved across to marston’s phone, spoke to the bridge, gave
instructions for maximum speed and for listening in to weather reports.
When he’d finished, I said, “eighteen knots? well, I warned you.”
“I must have as much time as possible in hand.” he looked down at
bullen who was still rambling on incoherently in his sleep. “What would
our captain do in those circumstances?”
“Turn and run in any direction except north. We have our
passengers to think of. They don’t like getting seasick.”
“They’re going to be very seasick, i’m afraid. But all in a good
cause.”
“Yes,” I said slowly. I knew now the source of the hammering on
deck. “A good cause. For a patriot such as yourself, carreras, what