It wasn’t until we’d anchored off Paradise Bay and Siri slung her harp over her shoulder that I remembered how much I’d been looking forward to her playing for the seals. We were in a Zodiac with Sam, Leilia, Angelique, and Dick, and Benjy was at the outboard. He’d obviously engineered which passengers were going to be with him. Benjy’s driving was unlike anybody else’s. We hung on to the ropes that ran along the sides of the Zodiac as he whizzed us through ice fields, past crab-eater seals on floes, on to a small island where there was a colony of gentoo penguins. Then we went past nesting shags, Benjy’s word for cormorants, high on some cliffs. Finally he pulled up close to an ice floe where three Weddell seals were sleeping, and cut the engine.
“Okay, Siri, let’s try it here.”
We were a few yards out from a large crescent of stony land. Beyond us was the tumbled ice of a glacier, filling in the valley and nudging out into the ocean. Clouds covered the top of the mountain, so all we saw was ice.
Siri got out her harp and we made enough space for her on the rubber side of the Zodiac so that she had room to play. Benjy had nestled the Zodiac so close to the floe that she could have stepped out onto it.
She began by running her fingers softly over the strings in a series of chords. Then she played and sang “Speed, Bonny Boat.” One by one the seals lifted their heads, their dark liquid eyes looking at her. Benjy suggested, “Play your ‘Troubling a star’ song. That’s my favorite, that and Vicky’s ‘If it has feathers.’”
Was it just my overactive imagination, or did the seals really move their heads in time to the music? Benjy thought they did, and Benjy is a scientist, accustomed to observing seals as well as penguins. Sam said, “I wish we had Greta’s video camera. We really ought to be filming this. Stills aren’t enough, and we need sound, too.”
Angelique put her arm around me and gave me a gentle hug. “Oh, Vicky, isn’t this marvelous!”
Dick took a few stills, and so did Leilia, but I was too focused on watching and listening to think of anything but the music and the seals.
“I wish we had days and days for this.” Benjy’s voice was wistful. “The humpbacks didn’t sing for us when we played their music, but they were with us for not much more than an hour.” He looked at Siri. “If you could play for the seals, the same seals, for several days, then we’d have some repeated results to go by. Once isn’t enough.” He sighed. Then he held his face up, listening.
There was a sudden silence. Benjy pointed and we looked toward the glacier. As we watched, a great wall of ice detached itself and fell into the sea. Then came a strange roar, like thunder, only more formidable, cracking the air. Water rose like a geyser, then splashed down like rain as the broken-off wall of ice disappeared. Then followed an intense silence.
Angelique asked, “Was that calving?”
“It was,” Benjy said. “Glad we were here for it. The others will be green. That was a beauty.”
I felt prickles of excitement. It was something momentous to have seen and heard.
“It’s getting late. We have to move on.” Benjy pulled the rope to start the outboard motor.
Siri slipped her harp into its canvas case and zipped it. “Antarctica is impersonal. Seals or skuas eat penguins; penguins eat krill; krill eats plankton. But it’s only because of the basic need for food, and not human lust for power.”
Dick said calmly, “All life lives at the expense of other life. There isn’t any other way.”
The water was smooth during the night, and we reached LeNoir Station shortly after an early breakfast, and got into the Zodiacs to go ashore. As usual, Sam was sticking close to me.
We were in the first Zodiac, for once. We drew up to some large, tumbled-looking rocks. We could see a wooden building on top of the cliff. Jason was at the tiller, and showed us how to get out onto the rocks and climb over them to where they went up almost like a natural staircase that led to a wooden walkway.
Benjy and Quimby were standing at the top of the rocks, holding out helping hands, but they weren’t joshing as they usually did. They looked solemn. And shocked.
There were several people from the station standing around. I did not see Adam.
I tried to help Sam up the slippery rocks. I wondered how Dick would manage with his lame leg and his cane. Sam was game, but it wasn’t easy for him; then suddenly Jason was by us, giving Sam shoves in just the right way, and then Benjy and Quim leaned down and heaved him up in one quick pull.
I clambered up and stood by Sam, hearing him ask, “What’s up?”
“The Leedses have been calling all the stations. It seems that Papageno has disappeared.”
Cook was with Papageno. Where was Adam?
It was apparent that Quim and Benjy were deeply upset.
Benjy said, “They’re afraid something has happened.”
In my confusion over Adam’s last letter, I’d forgotten to tell Benjy about seeing the Portia. I blurted out, “But—listen, Benjy, just before we docked at Palmer Station, I saw the Portia pulling away.”
“Are you sure?”
“Not a hundred percent. But it was an old blue boat. It looked like the Portia. And if it was, Papageno and Cook were on it.”
Benjy made a thinking-humming noise. “Okay. We know they’ve been off on the boat for a while, but Papageno always answers when Rusty Leeds calls. Or the Coast Guard. He checks in every day. But for the past forty-eight hours there hasn’t been a response. The Coast Guard has a search party out. The Portia’s a stable old tub, but even if you saw it leaving Palmer Station, the fact that it hasn’t been heard from in two days is going to get out, and I wanted you to hear it from me.”
“Where’s Adam?” I demanded.
Benjy looked startled. “Isn’t he here?”
“I don’t see him, and it would be sort of natural for him to come out and say hello when we arrived.”
Then I heard, “Vickee!” and Esteban was walking toward me.
I didn’t see Jorge to translate for us, but Esteban, talking with Benjy, managed to make us understand that he and Adam were a governmental swap, in mutual appreciation and trust between Vespugia and the United States. Esteban was going to be able to observe what was going on in the labs at LeNoir Station, and Adam would be doing the same at one of the Vespugian stations.
It sounded plausible, but my nose twitched and I smelled something very rotten in the state of Denmark. Or Vespugia. Or wherever. And Esteban seemed to be overemphasizing and at the same time looking embarrassed.
Gary and Todd were helping the last few passengers climb up onto the rocks and the wooden walk, and I was glad to see Dick making it, with Angelique behind him and Jason beside him holding the cane until Dick could reach out for Gary. Benjy and Quim were herding people into a loose bunch, and Quimby said, “We’ll divide you into two groups again, and those in the second group will have a chance now to look at the shop. There are some sweatshirts, for those of you who didn’t buy them at Palmer, and some other things that might interest you—film for your cameras, for instance.”
Jason said, “Benjy will escort the first group, and I’ll go with the second.”
He had a hard time making himself heard, because several people recognized Esteban and were clamoring to know how he came to be at LeNoir Station, and this time Jorge appeared and did the explaining, so it didn’t take too long.
Benjy saw to it that I was in the first group, along with Angelique and Dick, and Siri, who was with Greta. I didn’t see Otto. Usually his golden looks made him very visible, and I looked around but didn’t catch a glimpse of him. Jack Nessinger’s cowboy hat towered over several people’s heads.
Esteban walked along beside Benjy, as did another young man from the station, a nice young man who reminded me painfully of Adam, though he was probably several years older. He smiled at me, at all of us, and said, “I’m coming along with you to tell you what we’re doing here at the station.” First he pointed out the functions of the various buildings: the
two labs, the dorm, the refectory and recreation rooms. We went into one of the labs, which looked like a modern version of Papageno’s at Port Stanley. There were several graph machines making squiggly lines on paper, and tanks with various kinds of plankton.
I was paying only minimal attention to what was being said, and missed what appeared to be a semi-lecture by Benjy. Where was Adam? Where were Papageno and Cook? Why was Esteban at LeNoir Station? Everybody else seemed to have taken his explanation at face value. I didn’t.
Benjy was talking about emperor penguins.
“I hope we’re going to see some emperor penguins in real life before the trip is over.” Greta moved so that she was standing near Jorge. “Doesn’t the male emperor fledge the eggs, or whatever you call it?”
Benjy explained, “The male emperor incubates the eggs on his feet for sixty-four to sixty-seven days, covering them with a flap of abdominal skin.”
“Where’re the females?” Jack Nessinger asked. He had the hood of his parka pushed back and was now carrying his cowboy hat in one hand.
“Once she’s expended her energy laying her two eggs, the female takes off,” Benjy said. “The male loses approximately half his body weight during the incubation period.”
“Why?” Angelique asked.
“He fasts.”
“Why?”
“It’s a little difficult to go fishing with an egg on your feet.” Benjy smiled. “The males gather together to preserve body heat. Once the egg is hatched, the female returns and the male takes off for the sea and food.”
“That would be quite something to see,” Angelique said. “Hope you’ll have a chance to sing to the emperors, Siri.”
People began asking questions as though nothing was wrong. My anxiety translated itself into a white heat of impatience.
Miching mallecho. Miching mallecho. The two words kept repeating themselves in my mind. I could not dislodge them.
We were going to anchor off Eddington Point overnight and go ashore in the morning, up into the strange, stony hills behind the station, where there were nesting albatrosses and more penguins, gentoos, chinstraps, and Adélies.
On the other side of the peninsula from the station, Todd told us, there would be a colony of Weddell seals.
“Terrific,” Benjy said. “Siri can play for them.”
She looked wistfully at Esteban. “I wish he was able to have his oboe here. The seals might really respond to that.” Then she said, “I would like to ask Esteban how this switch with Adam came about.”
So she, too, was suspicious.
But Benjy explained that it was not that strange, that there was always some visiting between stations. I looked at Esteban and thought his sparkle seemed diminished. He stood slightly apart from our group, and his shoulders drooped. But when someone spoke to him, a smile lit his face.
Quimby called to us to let the second group have the tour of the station, and most of our group headed for the shack which was also the store, with sweatshirts and T-shirts and coffee mugs, about the only evidence we’d seen that tourists ever came to Antarctica.
I’d bought a mug for John and sweatshirts for Suzy and Rob at Palmer Station, and the shop at LeNoir was so tiny that the few people in there looked like a crowd, so I walked along the wooden planks and then leaned on the rail, looking at the rocks and at the Zodiacs tied up below.
Siri came up behind me. “Vicky—”
I jumped. “Hi.”
“You heard about Papageno?”
“That his boat’s disappeared? Yes.”
She frowned, worriedly. “It’s something else unexplainable, and I don’t like it. Why is Esteban here?”
I heard footsteps, sounding fairly loud on the wooden walkway, and there was Sam coming up to us. “Hi, guys.”
“Hi,” we both said, and Siri asked, “Why isn’t Papageno answering his radio calls?”
Sam said calmly, “Maybe he doesn’t want anybody to know where he is.”
“Why would he want to disappear?”
Sam chewed on his cigar, took it out of his mouth and looked at it speculatively, then threw it into the water. “Totally biodegradable,” he said.
“Sam?” Siri persisted.
“Not everybody on the Argosy is a disinterested passenger. There’s tumult in the Balkans, violence in the Middle East, confusion in Africa, disturbance in South America.”
“What’s that got to do with the Portia?”
Sam shrugged. “Secrets. Secrets others want. All the emerging countries. Albania. Zlatovica. Estonia. Argentina. Vespugia. All the struggling democracies and the equally struggling superpowers. Everyone. I don’t discount the U.S.”
Siri leaned both elbows on the wooden rail of the walkway. “We’re not as good and pure as we’d like to be.”
Sam said, “We wrestle not only against flesh and blood but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places.”
Those words were familiar. Something my grandfather quoted, I thought. I asked, “So where is Adam?”
Sam said, “I have no evidence for this, but it is my conviction that he didn’t just change places with Esteban. It is also my conviction, since I’m an old codger, that his disappearance and Papageno’s are not unconnected. Until I know more about what’s going on, ’nuff said.”
I asked, “Do you think they’ve been kidnapped?”
Sam chewed on an invisible cigar. “It is a reasonable supposition, and a distinct possibility, but some instinct, which I’ve learned to trust, tells me no.”
“Do you think maybe Adam had to make himself scarce?”
“Possibly.”
“Do the people Adam and Papageno and Cook have to make themselves scarce from—are they interested in Antarctica?”
“Everybody’s interested in Antarctica.”
“From two different points of view,” I said.
“Hm.”
“Some people seem to be interested in what may be in Antarctica,” I went on, “and some people may be interested in how to get rid of—of—”
Sam cocked his bushy eyebrows at me. “Rid of—?”
“Nuclear waste?”
“Are you suggesting that some people may be considering using Antarctica as a dumping ground?”
“It’s been mentioned, hasn’t it?”
Sam said, “It seems to be human nature.”
Siri said, “But, Vicky, not from the Argosy, you know that.”
“Okay. But what about Adam? What about the Portia?”
Sam said, “As you probably guessed, Papageno is working with Rusty Leeds, trying to see that no country is infringing any of the treaties. He can and does go anywhere in that old boat of his.”
“You mean,” I asked, “he’s a secret agent?” If I hadn’t been so filled with anxiety, I’d have laughed at myself for being the romantic again.
Sam pulled another cigar out of his pocket, snipped off the end with a gadget he carried on his watch chain, and smiled at me. “I guess you could call it that.”
We turned as Quimby shouted, calling us together to climb down the rocks and get back in the Zodiacs. People were coming up behind us, and the group ahead of us was slithering down the rocks and climbing into the waiting Zodiacs. Gary and Quim were there to help everybody, and it was good that Quim’s arms were strong and steady as he helped Sam into the Zodiac.
I didn’t want to be frightened. But I was.
When we got back to the Argosy, Siri, Sam, and I went out onto the fo’c’sle and stood looking at the water. The wind was whipping whitecaps along the surface. A few other people came out, but a gale was blowing from fore to aft, so nobody stayed more than a minute or two.
“Something else I don’t understand,” I said, “is, why me? Why is anybody after me?”
“It’s not you, Vicky.” Sam looked at me. “It may be what some people think you know.”
“I don’t know anything.”
I shuddered, and not just from the cold. “It all ties in with Adam, doesn’t it? Adam III. Whatever he found out, and hints at in his cards and letters. Oh, Sam, do people kill other people for—” I broke off. “Yes. They do. I know that. Otto’s mother. It’s what you said, about wickedness in high places.”
“And some not so high,” Sam said, and looked at me.
“What do you mean?”
“Think,” Sam said. “Who’s had an opportunity to know things that might put you in danger?”
I thought about the cards in my locker at school. I still had no answer. Not Cook. It could not be Cook.
Then I thought about all that had happened since I left home. “You mean Esteban?” I drew out the words slowly. I didn’t want to say them.
“Who else would know anything about Adam’s letters or cards to you? Why was Esteban our guide at the pyramids? Why was he selected as Adam’s guide? Surely you know that simply the fact that Adam Eddington is named Adam Eddington is enough to have him watched, especially if anybody remembers the explorer Adam Eddington.” He looked around to make sure we were the only people on the fo’c’sle. Two red-parkaed figures came out the lounge door, were buffeted by the wind, turned, and went back in. The wind was raw and cold and unwelcoming. Katabatic. We were alone, I was certain, but Sam walked slowly around the small space, double-checking. When he was positive nobody else was there, he came back to the rail.
“Sam.” I looked at him, calmly chewing his cigar. “When you were with me on the pyramid in Vespugia, did you suspect something?”
“Yes.”
Eleven
I was nearly asleep and I knew I couldn’t make myself stay awake much longer. I was ready to let go. My will for life was being frozen.
Then I jerked awake, terror leaping from my heart to my throat. Two huge grey forms were surfacing just a few yards from the iceberg. Seals. Some seals will attack human beings. Leopard seals. Fur seals. Papageno had almost been killed by a fur seal. I’d rather die of cold than be killed by a seal. I tried to sink into the tower of ice that rose behind me.
Troubling a Star Page 22
