by Paul Beatty
Robert patted me on the back and ushered me onto the boat. The chosen guards followed. The four who would row sat on the benches by the oars. The rest came aboard. To the crowd on the quay it must have looked like Robert was giving me a great send-off. The last two guards to come aboard were Leonard and Angus. They turned and tried to pull the gangplank quickly onto the ship before anyone else could board. But one of the captains who was not in on the secret was standing on its end. Robert drew his pistol and pointed it at the man. The crowd went silent.
The man looked at the gun. ‘Robert, what yen do?’ He understood as Robert pulled the trigger. The man fell from the plank into the dock and Leonard and Angus pulled the gangplank on board as fast as they could.
‘Push us off,’ I shouted to the oarsmen. ‘Push us off before they come at us.’ The boat began to move away from the quay. A groan went through the crowd as the truth dawned. One or two of the guards dived in after the boat but Robert’s pistol settled them. As the boat slipped away the last thing I could see in the moonlight was the silent, terrified faces of the gang members and the shadows of three or four bodies floating in the dock.
We picked our way down the channel. I set Angus at the prow to watch for anything in the water while I took the rudder. At first, the men at the oars were rather erratic but they gradually got a rhythm going. By shouting instructions to them I was able to use them, to turn the boat instead of the rudder. Gradually, the channel became wider and the navigation easier. Though it was still dark there was a breeze in the air. The atmosphere was more open and I knew we had left the city. There would be willow growing near the banks and grass in the fields. If I had been on my own I would have beached the boat near some group of trees taken my bow and waited for a hart to appear for its morning feed. It would have been a fine way to see the sun come up and fresh venison was always welcome.
As the channel got wider I had more time to think. At the mouth of the main river we would join later, was a large island. On my inward route I had steered to the west of this island a route that offered the most shelter from the east winds getting up this time of year. But if I took the easterly course then I would come out into the channel at a point where I knew the sea would be rough; where currents coming around the island from two sides met. I still had no concrete plan of how to stop Robert and prevent him attacking one of the farming communities, but a resolution was forming not to do it. I would have to play for time and the eastern passage offered at least the fun of seeing the quality of my new crew’s sea legs.
The first sign of light was appearing, the skyline turning a pale pink. Details of the trees on the banks and the meadows began to appear washed and diffused by a thin mist. Pink turned to blue not just at the rim of the skyline but reaching further up into the arch of the sky. Now I could see the banks. A heron eyed us suspiciously as the boat moved down the centre of the channel. Then it turned, its wings outstretched in downward-facing arcs and it wheeled gracefully across the meadows upstream, not wishing to have us disturb its chance of an early fish. As the sun broke over the hills the wind I had been waiting for arrived.
‘Stop rowing,’ I shouted to the men at the oars. ‘Hold oars still in the water to steady the boat. Leonard, Angus give me hand.’ We hoisted the main sail and trimmed it to the wind and when it was set just right I called to the men to ship the oars. The boat hesitated as the sail filled but then she was away. The sound of the crackling of the sail and rushing of a bow-wave replaced the monotonous creaking of the oars. The guards cheered, partly in relief of not having to row anymore but also, I felt, for the freedom of the boat’s passage and I cheered with them.
Breakfast was hours ago and Robert had not been on deck for some time when the river started to broaden out. We were coming to where it joined the estuary of the larger river of which it was a tributary. He had disappeared into my cabin with the Lady just after eating. I tried not to think what he was about down there on my bed, though sleeping off the brandy he had drunk last night was probably playing some part in it. As the flat shape of the great estuary came into view I realised that the men were becoming restive. After breakfast they had taken to lounging around on the deck or the hold covers. Some were asleep, some playing games, but now they were beginning to crowd at the front of the boat, looking worried and talking in the quick whispers of those who are anxious.
Eventually Angus came to talk to me. ‘Do we have to go… there? he said pointing to the estuary.
‘Yes. That worry you?’
‘No not me, understand yen, but some don’t like open spaces much, big wet open spaces specially.’
‘Only big river, that all. There be a bank other side, long way off so difficult see it. Tell yem safe; me no sail off edge.’
‘That be a relief to yem, some of yem think we will.’
‘Any else trouble?’ I said
‘Yes. How you know which way you go?’
In answer I pulled out a small wooden box from my jacket and hinged back the top. Inside was a rotating disk with letters round its rim.
‘This compass. Now it tell me we go southeast but when we join big river we south. That how I know which way we go. As well, me sailed so much round here, up and down coast and across channel, I good idea where I am most of the time simply by looking.’
Angus seemed satisfied and went off to reassure the other men. So they had lived for so long in the city that they were frightened of wide open spaces. If the estuary frightened them, what would they make of the sea?
As he passed, the cabin door opened and Robert emerged. The turn into the estuary was no more than 200 metres away. Robert blinked at the light and rubbed his eyes He was clearly just waking up and had a headache. As he started to take in where he was as the boat reached the turn. I threw the rudder over and the boat heeled as it came out into the main stream and was taken by the stronger current of the larger river. Robert staggered and grasped the top of the cabin roof to steady himself, then he saw the expanse of the estuary. As if to welcome us to saltwater a pair of gulls flew low over the boat squawking and clamouring. Robert ducked away from them and then I saw that he was clinging with both hands on the cabin roof in panic.
The boat steadied itself and I adjusted the sail to the new angle of the wind to the boat. Robert was still hanging on but as the boat came round on an even keel, he took control of his fear. Unsteadily, he turned and walked back to the rudder. His face was still a little white.
‘Where we Ostlander?’
‘Bout thirty kilometres from the city. Twenty more from sea.’
‘How far from target?’
‘Bout hundred.’
‘Nuther day an half.’
‘No nuther two day an’ half. We can’t sail at night at sea. We find somewhere along the coast rest tonight.’
‘Can’t sail or won’t sail?’
‘Can’t sail, not near coast. Currents and rocks that would tear boat apart if we didn’t miss them. Need daylight that. So no sailing night. Unless you want to be out on cold, windswept rock, soaked in salt spray, with nothing between you and the flat open sea.’ I saw Robert swallow hard.
‘S’pose yen know best,’ he replied. Then he went to talk to his men.
The moon was up in a clear sky. It was so bright that it trailed a wake of silver as far out as I was able to see. The boat rode at anchor in the bay as peaceful as I could have wanted. These were the nights I prized in my life. I would have been sitting happily out under these stars if it was not for the black shapes of the two guards fore and aft.
We had emerged from the estuary late in the afternoon and I had taken the eastern route as I had planned. The increase in the breadth of the sky had an immediate effect on most of Robert’s men. Some could hardly bear to look over the side and even those less affected seemed on edge, only Leonard and Angus seemed at home, positively elated by the wind and the waves. We reached the cross-currents with the sun low in the sky. There was a brisk tide flowing up the channel and the waves w
ithin the maelstrom were as violent bad as I had ever seen. I put the men back on the oars and ploughed ahead.
The boat pitched and yawed fiercely as the prow broke into white water. Two of the weaker-stomached individuals were immediately sick over the side. Robert was at the prow when the first wave broke over the rail, the water, flecked cream and aquamarine, leaped up and rattled against the sail giving the chief a mild wetting in the process. Until that point Robert had done a good job of holding his fear of the open space in check but the spray was just enough to break his resolve. With a bit too much haste he retreated to behind the hold-cover, hanging onto the rail there. He had tried to cover up his discomfort but several of his men noticed his hasty retreat. Not a good thing for a despot such as Robert to show weakness in front of his men, I thought; tends to undermine authority.
The pitching of the boat would be reverberating through the hull and would be quite frightening below. After a few more heavy waves, the cabin door opened and the Lady came on deck. She looked more curious than perturbed and was surprised not to be stopped by a guard or Robert, but everyone was far too engaged with their own problems to worry about her. To my delight I saw she was not at all afraid of the view of the sea or the motion of the boat. As soon as she came on deck the wind took her hair and her checks reddened with the exhilaration. She even glanced back at me and smiled.
Then she saw Robert clutching the hold rail: his discomfort obvious in his body language and in the colour of his face when he glanced round. As soon as she saw him she started to laugh. ‘At last,’ she shouted at him. ‘At last something you can’t threaten or kill. The great chief defeated by a few waves.’
She was delighted but her triumph would not last long. Despite feeling sick Robert wasn’t going to take what she had said. He turned and threw himself across to the rail at the cabin entrance cover as the boat pitched and yawed again in a large wave. Then hand over hand he worked his way round to her using the rail. She stood her ground. When he got to her he slapped her backhanded across the face. I saw a thin line of blood on her cheek. Robert raised his hand for a second blow but I pulled the rudder round so the boat took the next wave on its windward quarter. The boat rolled and Robert lost his grip, being thrown across the boat and hitting the leeward rail with the small of his back. He collapsed on to all fours, winded by the blow to his kidneys, and immediately spewed up on the deck.
‘Get back in the cabin,’ I shouted. ‘Get out of his way. This won’t last much longer.’ She nodded and went down again through the door.
In half an hour we were through the maelstrom and into the calm waters in the lee of the island. We sailed on until the sun was setting in earnest and then found a sheltered bay for the night. The guards and Robert were shattered and tired. Seasickness and fear had taken their toll and without much discussion, they all went ashore, preferring dry land beneath trees on the shoreline to even the gentlest of rolling on the boat at anchor.
Point-blank I refused to go ashore and Robert did not put up much of a contest, except that he had posted the two guards to keep me company. Robert probably wanted to go ashore more than most of his men after he had vomited in full view of them. It crossed my mind that the odds of stealing the boat away were probably as good as he was going to get with only two guards on board but the Lady was on shore and I felt a responsibility for her. The weakness and fear Robert and his men had shown must be to my advantage, if I could think of a way of exploiting it.
From the Archive of Master Tobias
Times, Saturday May 25th, 2032
Anglo-french expedition sets sail amid storm of controversy
Later today the oceanographic research ship Loch Fyne sets sail from Aberdeen on an expedition that will prove if the North Atlantic Drift, that keeps Britain warm in the winter, is failing.
Two years ago researchers Augustus Benion of Aberdeen’s National Ocenographic Centre and Françoise Ramaux of the Institut Europeén de Recherche de la Mer in Brest published controversial computer modelling results that suggested that it was possible to test the theory that the North Atlantic Drift was weakening by making direct measurements of ocean currents at the surface in two key areas in the North Atlantic.
Over the next six months, backed by the EU, the Loch Fyne Expedition will sail to an area off the coast of Spain on the edge of the Bay of Biscay and then to the area around Labrador to make these measurements.
At a hundred sites in both places pods of scientific measuring equipment will be lowered slowly from the ship to a depth of five kilometres. The pods will measure salinity, temperature and local current both across the ocean floor and vertically. The expedition will be looking for upwelling of water from the ocean floor, part of the return water from the North Atlantic Drift. If the upwelling is weaker than expected from the computer models of a healthy North Atlantic Drift, then the researchers believe this will give indicate that the European seaboard is on the verge of a sudden catastrophic collapse in temperatures.
As joint expedition leader Augustus Benion said at yesterday’s press conference, ‘What we thought would only happen over many years might be about to happen in a matter of twenty years. The centres of upwelling our computer models suggest would have the effect of intensifying and accelerating the effects on climate of a collapse or even weakening of the North Atlantic Drift. These measurements will be vital in changing the way we think about the effects of climate change and how we should respond.’
But many oceanographers disagree violently with Professor Benion. Professor Olga Christiansen of the Icelandic Oceanographic Istitute has labelled the Loch Fyne expedition as a monstrous waste of money. She is quoted as saying ‘The Loch Fyne measurements will be meaningless. The process of return of North Atlantic Drift water into the main South Atlantic Gyre is predominantly diffuse. Any upwelling they find will be purely a local effect.’
Chapter 7
It was harvest, when the whole community turned all its collective attention to the bringing in of what was in the fields before the first storms of the autumn. It was a time that was a mixture of joy, relief and panic. Everyone who was physically able was out in the fields. Lines of Gatherers scythed their way across the wheat fields, followed by teams of children who tied the sheaves together. The smiths then stacked them on wains and they were hauled back to the barns, sheltered under the eaves of the wood, by the community’s only two horses.
Francesca, Anya and the rest of their roundhouse harvested the sweetcorn and millet they had sown. Francesca was astonished how the millet had grown and she worked particularly energetically to harvest what she thought of as her own plants.
The community olive grove on the most southerly slope above the sea was stripped of its fruit, which was inspected, segregated and sent to be packed into barrels filled with salted water for winter storage. Any damaged fruit was sent directly to the Gathering Hall for the evening meals which were cold and basic since there was no one in the Kitchens to cook and the solar ovens were taken up with heating preserves and blanching vegetables for storing in earthenware pots.
Every night partners fell into bed exhausted. But despite the hard work and the stiff limbs, it was the happiest time of the year, when all ages mixed and the youngest Apprentice could find themselves working alongside the most senior Councillor on equal terms. It was the embodiment of community identity and ideals.
On the last but one night of harvest week, tired and dirty, Francesca and Anya were just coming away from the Gathering Hall, having eaten, when they met Jonathan. By now Francesca was not the only one who had realised that Jonathan and Hamied’s partnership was breaking up. Many had noted that they had been working apart during harvest and had come to eat at separate times. As he came towards them, his head was down and it was clear that his personal problems were getting to him. But when he realised they were there he looked up, smiled and his face brightened.
‘How are you getting on?’ said Francesca. There seemed no reason to pretend his and Hamied’s p
artnership was not in trouble and she sympathised with him.
He laughed and quickly changed the subject to the swimming lessons. ‘You better ask my teacher that. Have I passed the test Anya?’
‘I think you need to curb your enthusiasm a bit,’ Anya replied. An odd remark, thought Francesca, maybe they had had an argument about the lessons.
‘Well have a good supper. There’s only one more day to go in the fields and then it’s the Harvest Festival and a few day’s rest,’ and they moved on.
‘He’s not yet ready to admit that it’s all over between him and Hamied,’ Francesca remarked to Anya.
‘Would it be better if he did?’ replied a thoughtful Anya.
The Gathering Hall was a riot of action and activity. Francesca and Anya had hardly stepped over the threshold when a gaggle of children besieged them offering plaited corn dollies.
‘Francesca! Francesca! Look at mine.’ A little girl was holding out a dolly in the shape of a sheaf of corn.
‘Very nice Phyllis. Did you make this all yourself?’ Phyllis, suddenly overcome with embarrassment, went dumb. ‘Well it’s very nice but I have to keep my hands free so I need a coronet this evening.’
‘Over here Francesca, over here…’ It was a little boy this time: ‘I’ve made a coronet.’
‘Let’s see Alan.’ She took the pale yellow circlet from his hand. The boy had done a beautiful job. The twists and turns of the basic shape were even and he had woven through these sprigs which reminded Francesca of corn standing in the fields ready for the scythe. She tried it on. Alan looked on hopefully but the coronet was too small and his face fell.
‘Oh dear what a shame,’ she said. ‘Have you any more?’
