old, knew it as well as most; and unvaryingly she met it and faced it. If she was frightened of doing something, she did it: that was the sort of person she was.
Let Hood and Weary sleep. She would take care of this. Robin walked back and snapped a boathook free of its retaining clips along the lazarette; then she used it as a sort of crutch to support her as she stepped back up onto the sloping foredeck. Forcing herself not to limp, she moved along the hull to the needlepoint bow. She had been here once or twice before, but only briefly and never alone. And it struck her forcefully how small the forepeak was, how terrifyingly close to the dangerous ocean.
Katapult ’s forward deck sloped down as well as in so that the low deck-railings seemed mere inches above the water. Waves were supposed to ride up over the sleek porpoise shape when the vessel was in full flight; Katapult ’s designers had not worried about crew who would have to accept blue water washing over their feet as well as that vertiginous feeling that the tiny forepeak was a thin ledge at a very great height. It seemed impossible to Robin that she should become dizzy with vertigo when she was a foot or two above the surface of the sea, but her imagination left her in no doubt whatsoever that if she slipped she would fall—and fall and fall. The foresail was designed to furl or unfurl from the aerodynamic blade of the mast along a telescopic boom just as the mainsail did. They were both tucked safely into the mast now and the foredeck was innocent of any protrusion whatsoever. Even the motor winches andthe anchor, the retracting bowsprit designed to take a spinnaker, all the forward equipment lay contained below on a second foredeck just beneath her feet. There was nothing between her and the hungry sea but that derisory little safety rail. Around this she locked her left fist as though she were a cowhand astride a bucking bronco. Only then did she look up and out.
The side of the lifeboat winked at her from twenty feet away. Pitching over the waves, rolling in the gusts of wind, it nevertheless refused to show her what it contained. She heard only the roaring of the wind across the blade of the mast behind her, the tumble of the waves at the stern of the lifeboat, the sucking hiss of them at her feet. Then thunder—abruptly she looked up. The haze roiled weirdly in the distance dead ahead. It was growing thicker and darker there. Had the thunder come…
—the thunder of the wind across the ruined masthead eighty feet above her, real, tangible, putting her mind at rest.
She looked back down at the boat again. It was much nearer now, fifteen feet almost dead ahead and at last there was something…
The high white side rolled down suddenly, a freak wave running across the rest. It was a momentary thing, over in a flash, but surely she had seen…
“Hey, hello the boat!”
…yes, she was certain she had seen…
“Hello the lifeboat, can you hear me? Hey! ”
…two or three figures. The outlines of some heads and shoulders clinging to the side.
Why didn’t they answer? Perhaps they were too exhausted. But she was certain of what she had seen. With rekindled excitement she let go of the safety rail and began to pull herself to her feet. It took her two painfulattempts to unlock the damaged knee, but as Katapult ’s head creamed over the remaining ten feet toward the lifeboat, the glassy swell washing over Robin’s feet began to darken with oil-tar so she pulled herself to full height. Then she began to maneuver the unwieldy length of the boathook out toward the white gunwale before her.
But then another wave ran counter and for all her fortitude she began to scream.
It was full of corpses. They lay toppled on the bottom in a twisted pile in a range of attitudes that suggested they were reaching out in their last instant of life. And what they were reaching for remained. At the far side of the boat, frozen in the act of climbing aboard were five
Let Hood and Weary sleep. She would take care of this. Robin walked back and snapped a boathook free of its retaining clips along the lazarette; then she used it as a sort of crutch to support her as she stepped back up onto the sloping foredeck. Forcing herself not to limp, she moved along the hull to the needlepoint bow. She had been here once or twice before, but only briefly and never alone. And it struck her forcefully how small the forepeak was, how terrifyingly close to the dangerous ocean.
Katapult ’s forward deck sloped down as well as in so that the low deck-railings seemed mere inches above the water. Waves were supposed to ride up over the sleek porpoise shape when the vessel was in full flight; Katapult ’s designers had not worried about crew who would have to accept blue water washing over their feet as well as that vertiginous feeling that the tiny forepeak was a thin ledge at a very great height. It seemed impossible to Robin that she should become dizzy with vertigo when she was a foot or two above the surface of the sea, but her imagination left her in no doubt whatsoever that if she slipped she would fall—and fall and fall. The foresail was designed to furl or unfurl from the aerodynamic blade of the mast along a telescopic boom just as the mainsail did. They were both tucked safely into the mast now and the foredeck was innocent of any protrusion whatsoever. Even the motor winches andthe anchor, the retracting bowsprit designed to take a spinnaker, all the forward equipment lay contained below on a second foredeck just beneath her feet. There was nothing between her and the hungry sea but that derisory little safety rail. Around this she locked her left fist as though she were a cowhand astride a bucking bronco. Only then did she look up and out.
The side of the lifeboat winked at her from twenty feet away. Pitching over the waves, rolling in the gusts of wind, it nevertheless refused to show her what it contained. She heard only the roaring of the wind across the blade of the mast behind her, the tumble of the waves at the stern of the lifeboat, the sucking hiss of them at her feet. Then thunder—abruptly she looked up. The haze roiled weirdly in the distance dead ahead. It was growing thicker and darker there. Had the thunder come…
—the thunder of the wind across the ruined masthead eighty feet above her, real, tangible, putting her mind at rest.
She looked back down at the boat again. It was much nearer now, fifteen feet almost dead ahead and at last there was something…
The high white side rolled down suddenly, a freak wave running across the rest. It was a momentary thing, over in a flash, but surely she had seen…
“Hey, hello the boat!”
…yes, she was certain she had seen…
“Hello the lifeboat, can you hear me? Hey! ”
…two or three figures. The outlines of some heads and shoulders clinging to the side.
Why didn’t they answer? Perhaps they were too exhausted. But she was certain of what she had seen. With rekindled excitement she let go of the safety rail and began to pull herself to her feet. It took her two painfulattempts to unlock the damaged knee, but as Katapult ’s head creamed over the remaining ten feet toward the lifeboat, the glassy swell washing over Robin’s feet began to darken with oil-tar so she pulled herself to full height. Then she began to maneuver the unwieldy length of the boathook out toward the white gunwale before her.
But then another wave ran counter and for all her fortitude she began to scream.
It was full of corpses. They lay toppled on the bottom in a twisted pile in a range of attitudes that suggested they were reaching out in their last instant of life. And what they were reaching for remained. At the far side of the boat, frozen in the act of climbing aboard were five
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