under him with his bound hands; inching sideways, he encountered the loaf of bread, reduced by soaking to a sodden paste, then a second apple, flattened by a boot. He reached the basket, felt over it, found it empty. The sausage lay half under it. Lafayette hitched himself forward another six inches, grinding the cheese under his shoulderblades. As the waves thumped the hull under him, his numb fingers closed over the haft of the knife.
It was small, the blade no more than four inches long—but it was big enough for his purpose. The crewmen were still busy with their lottery. Lafayette rolled over, struggled to his knees, maneuvered into position with his back against the tiller. Gripping the knife, he felt for the lashings, began sawing through the twisted rope.
It was an agonizing two minutes before a sharp, musical thong! sounded; the suddenly freed tiller gouged Lafayette painfully in the ribs as it slammed around to a full starboard position. Instantly the boat heeled sharply, falling away downwind. The crewmen, caught by surprise, reeled against the rail, grabbing for support. The boat gave a wild plunge, the sail slatting as the breeze struck it dead astern. Cordage creaked; the sail bulged, then, with a report like a pistol shot, filled. The boom swept across the deck— precisely at head height, Lafayette noted, as it gathered in the four sailors and sent them flying over the side, where they struck with a tremendous quadruple splash as the pilotless craft went leaping ahead across the dark water.
Four
“Your poor head,” Swinehild said, applying a cool compress made from a section of her skirt to one of the knots on O’Leary’s skull. “Them boys throwed you around like a sack o’turnips.”
“My ear feels the size of a baked potato, and about the same temperature,” Lafayette said. “Not that I suppose it actually gleams in the dark.” He peered across toward the misty glow in the middle distance toward which he was steering.
“In a way those hijackers did us a favor,” he commented. “We’d never have made such good time rowing.”
“You got kind of a irritating way o’ looking on the bright side, Lafe,” Swinehild sighed. “I wish you’d work on that.”
“Now, Swinehild, this is no time to be discouraged.” Lafayette jollied her. “True, we’re cold and wet and so tired we ache all over; but the worst is over. We got out of an extremely tight spot with no more than a few bruises to my head and your dignity. In a few minutes we’ll be tucking our feet under a table for a bowl of hot soup and a little drop of something to cut the chill, and then off to the best hotel in town.”
“Sure, it’s OK for you to talk. With that slick line o’ chatter o’ yours, you’ll probably land a swell job with the duke, soothsaying or something.”
“I don’t want a job,” Lafayette pointed out. “I just want to get out of Melange and back to the comfortable monotony I was fool enough to complain about a few hours ago.”
O’Leary brought the boat smartly about on the starboard tack, closing in on the ever-widening spread of city lights ahead. They passed a bell-buoy dinging lonesomely in the mist, sailed past a shore lined with high-fronted buildings recalling the waterfront at Amsterdam, backed by rising tiers of houses clustered about the base of a massive keep of lead-colored granite, approached a lighted loading dock where a number of nondescript small craft were tied up, bobbing gently on the waves. As they came alongside, Swinehild threw a line to an urchin, who hauled it in and made it fast. Flickering gas lights on the quay above shed a queasy light on wet cobbles well strewn with refuse. A couple of dockside loafers watched incuriously as Lafayette assisted Swinehild from the boat, tossing a nickel to the lad. A stray dog with a down-curled tail slunk away past the darkened fronts of the marine-supply houses across the way as they started across the cobbles.
“Geeze—the
It was small, the blade no more than four inches long—but it was big enough for his purpose. The crewmen were still busy with their lottery. Lafayette rolled over, struggled to his knees, maneuvered into position with his back against the tiller. Gripping the knife, he felt for the lashings, began sawing through the twisted rope.
It was an agonizing two minutes before a sharp, musical thong! sounded; the suddenly freed tiller gouged Lafayette painfully in the ribs as it slammed around to a full starboard position. Instantly the boat heeled sharply, falling away downwind. The crewmen, caught by surprise, reeled against the rail, grabbing for support. The boat gave a wild plunge, the sail slatting as the breeze struck it dead astern. Cordage creaked; the sail bulged, then, with a report like a pistol shot, filled. The boom swept across the deck— precisely at head height, Lafayette noted, as it gathered in the four sailors and sent them flying over the side, where they struck with a tremendous quadruple splash as the pilotless craft went leaping ahead across the dark water.
Four
“Your poor head,” Swinehild said, applying a cool compress made from a section of her skirt to one of the knots on O’Leary’s skull. “Them boys throwed you around like a sack o’turnips.”
“My ear feels the size of a baked potato, and about the same temperature,” Lafayette said. “Not that I suppose it actually gleams in the dark.” He peered across toward the misty glow in the middle distance toward which he was steering.
“In a way those hijackers did us a favor,” he commented. “We’d never have made such good time rowing.”
“You got kind of a irritating way o’ looking on the bright side, Lafe,” Swinehild sighed. “I wish you’d work on that.”
“Now, Swinehild, this is no time to be discouraged.” Lafayette jollied her. “True, we’re cold and wet and so tired we ache all over; but the worst is over. We got out of an extremely tight spot with no more than a few bruises to my head and your dignity. In a few minutes we’ll be tucking our feet under a table for a bowl of hot soup and a little drop of something to cut the chill, and then off to the best hotel in town.”
“Sure, it’s OK for you to talk. With that slick line o’ chatter o’ yours, you’ll probably land a swell job with the duke, soothsaying or something.”
“I don’t want a job,” Lafayette pointed out. “I just want to get out of Melange and back to the comfortable monotony I was fool enough to complain about a few hours ago.”
O’Leary brought the boat smartly about on the starboard tack, closing in on the ever-widening spread of city lights ahead. They passed a bell-buoy dinging lonesomely in the mist, sailed past a shore lined with high-fronted buildings recalling the waterfront at Amsterdam, backed by rising tiers of houses clustered about the base of a massive keep of lead-colored granite, approached a lighted loading dock where a number of nondescript small craft were tied up, bobbing gently on the waves. As they came alongside, Swinehild threw a line to an urchin, who hauled it in and made it fast. Flickering gas lights on the quay above shed a queasy light on wet cobbles well strewn with refuse. A couple of dockside loafers watched incuriously as Lafayette assisted Swinehild from the boat, tossing a nickel to the lad. A stray dog with a down-curled tail slunk away past the darkened fronts of the marine-supply houses across the way as they started across the cobbles.
“Geeze—the
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