was clear for a fathom or more before it gave way to an inky
blackness, but the curve of the hull prevented anyone from seeing what was
happening. There was no sign of either Wade or his chief mate, and so much time
seemed to lapse that Summer's heart began drowning out the sounds of the
anxious voices around her. She gripped the rail tightly and curled her lower
lip between her teeth, biting down until the flesh was colorless.
She felt Michael clutch her arm, and with a gasp saw
the two strong arms reaching for the surface, followed by the dark head and
brawny shoulders. Wade hung in the water for several moments swallowing deep
lungfuls of air, then jacknifed under again, passing Mr. Monday.
The pair went up and down several more times before
Summer could relax with some degree of certainty that they knew what they were
doing. She looked away from the water for the first time and was surprised to
see land on either side of the Chimera. They were anchored in a channel that divided two small
islands similar in shape and appearance and sitting no more than six hundred
yards apart. They were jagged cones of rock encircled by dense brush and wide
snow white beaches. The descent into the channel was gradual from each
shoreline; the water was pale blue for a hundred or so yards of sandbars, then
dropped off suddenly to dark bottomless blue.
A burst of water and a roared command drew Summer's
attention over the side again. Wade was treading water and shouting at some of
the crewmen, who responded at once and threw him a length of thick cable and an
iron bar. This time, as he disappeared below, Summer could estimate how deep he
went by the amount of rope being pulled after him. Whatever the excitement was
about, it was well below the waterline.
She heard more spluttering, but it came from behind
her on the deck. Mr. Thorntree was being led coughing and swearing to a seat on
one of the gun carriages. Michael forgot Captain Wade at once and ran to
Thorny's side, stunned not only by the variety of oaths erupting from the
corner of the thin lips but by the quantity of blood spreading across his
soaked shirt-sleeve.
"Thorny, what is it? What's happened!"
"Bah! Bluddy patch give way," Thorny said,
gulping eagerly from the pannikin of rum thrust into his hands. "Currents
'ere 'r strong, an' them damned Frenchies only 'ad raw timber ter give us—so
they said. Like as n'owt the patch tore off comin' 'round the reef. Whatever it
is, she's takin' on water like a bluddy sieve."
"Your arm!" Michael cried, watching the
mingling blood and water fall in a steady pat—pat—pat on the deck.
"S'nothin, lad," Thorny scowled and peeled
back thesleeve. "Cut meself on a splinter, is all."
The wound was jagged and uneven. The hunk of pale oak
that had done the damage was still buried in the leathery flesh, raising the
skin into a shiny welt from the pressure. Thorny cussed voraciously and grasped
the end of the splinter between thumb and forefinger, prying it free. It was three
inches long and shaped like a wedge, and the hole it left behind filled
instantly with bright red blood, which overflowed and poured down his wrist and
hand in a thick stream.
Summer fought the instinct to gag as she pushed
Michael out of the way. One of the crew had already stepped in to take charge,
tearing off the neckerchief he wore and using it as a tourniquet to tie off the
supply of blood to Thorny's arm. A second and third bandanna went around the
wound itself, soaking red as they sealed the horrible gaping hole from sight.
Thorny looked paler for the experience. His tongue was
thrust into his cheek, and his jaw twitched spastically as more bandages and
rum were called for. Summer stared at the blood on the deck, at the blood on
the clawed hand, at the splatters staining the clothes of the man bending over
to help.
"Come away, Michael," she murmured.
"He's all right. He's being looked after."
Michael swallowed hard and nodded. They moved away
just as Morgan
blackness, but the curve of the hull prevented anyone from seeing what was
happening. There was no sign of either Wade or his chief mate, and so much time
seemed to lapse that Summer's heart began drowning out the sounds of the
anxious voices around her. She gripped the rail tightly and curled her lower
lip between her teeth, biting down until the flesh was colorless.
She felt Michael clutch her arm, and with a gasp saw
the two strong arms reaching for the surface, followed by the dark head and
brawny shoulders. Wade hung in the water for several moments swallowing deep
lungfuls of air, then jacknifed under again, passing Mr. Monday.
The pair went up and down several more times before
Summer could relax with some degree of certainty that they knew what they were
doing. She looked away from the water for the first time and was surprised to
see land on either side of the Chimera. They were anchored in a channel that divided two small
islands similar in shape and appearance and sitting no more than six hundred
yards apart. They were jagged cones of rock encircled by dense brush and wide
snow white beaches. The descent into the channel was gradual from each
shoreline; the water was pale blue for a hundred or so yards of sandbars, then
dropped off suddenly to dark bottomless blue.
A burst of water and a roared command drew Summer's
attention over the side again. Wade was treading water and shouting at some of
the crewmen, who responded at once and threw him a length of thick cable and an
iron bar. This time, as he disappeared below, Summer could estimate how deep he
went by the amount of rope being pulled after him. Whatever the excitement was
about, it was well below the waterline.
She heard more spluttering, but it came from behind
her on the deck. Mr. Thorntree was being led coughing and swearing to a seat on
one of the gun carriages. Michael forgot Captain Wade at once and ran to
Thorny's side, stunned not only by the variety of oaths erupting from the
corner of the thin lips but by the quantity of blood spreading across his
soaked shirt-sleeve.
"Thorny, what is it? What's happened!"
"Bah! Bluddy patch give way," Thorny said,
gulping eagerly from the pannikin of rum thrust into his hands. "Currents
'ere 'r strong, an' them damned Frenchies only 'ad raw timber ter give us—so
they said. Like as n'owt the patch tore off comin' 'round the reef. Whatever it
is, she's takin' on water like a bluddy sieve."
"Your arm!" Michael cried, watching the
mingling blood and water fall in a steady pat—pat—pat on the deck.
"S'nothin, lad," Thorny scowled and peeled
back thesleeve. "Cut meself on a splinter, is all."
The wound was jagged and uneven. The hunk of pale oak
that had done the damage was still buried in the leathery flesh, raising the
skin into a shiny welt from the pressure. Thorny cussed voraciously and grasped
the end of the splinter between thumb and forefinger, prying it free. It was three
inches long and shaped like a wedge, and the hole it left behind filled
instantly with bright red blood, which overflowed and poured down his wrist and
hand in a thick stream.
Summer fought the instinct to gag as she pushed
Michael out of the way. One of the crew had already stepped in to take charge,
tearing off the neckerchief he wore and using it as a tourniquet to tie off the
supply of blood to Thorny's arm. A second and third bandanna went around the
wound itself, soaking red as they sealed the horrible gaping hole from sight.
Thorny looked paler for the experience. His tongue was
thrust into his cheek, and his jaw twitched spastically as more bandages and
rum were called for. Summer stared at the blood on the deck, at the blood on
the clawed hand, at the splatters staining the clothes of the man bending over
to help.
"Come away, Michael," she murmured.
"He's all right. He's being looked after."
Michael swallowed hard and nodded. They moved away
just as Morgan
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