That night was the worst we had spent on the reef. The ship writhed and contorted itself, the welded plating groaning and complaining as each large wave picked up the stern and ran in under the hull.
There was nothing to do but wander the ship and keep out of everyone’s way. I came upon Flint, standing on the bridge, staring out to sea, silent. There was to be no more joking. The time for teasing was past. Things were serious now.
“What’s the chance that this weather will get worse, Captain?” I asked, hoping we were under a flag of truce.
“Hard to tell at the moment,” he replied, his manner still cool. “The barometer dropped a bit this afternoon, but it’s been steady for the last few hours. I don’t think it will deteriorate any further, but it’ll be a couple of days before it gets any better.” Was he certain that it wasn’t going to get any worse, or only hoping that it wouldn’t? “I would make certain I knew where my life-jacket was if I were you, Mr. Rider.”
I looked across the surf-line, and pointed towards the salvage tug. “I wish I were over there,” I said, trying to be sociable. “That Dutch tug seems nice and snug inside the lagoon.”
He didn’t reply, just nodded his head and went on gazing into the distance.
We hadn’t been deserted by the Dutchmen. The salvage master and his team were still on board Syrius, with only a skeleton crew left on board Pacific Ranger.
There was nothing further that could be done to restrict the movement of the ship. The fire-hoses were still pumping, the level in the main hold slowly rising. We could do nothing but hope and pray. Not that I was ever much good with the second; and wishing for something never seemed to make it happen. Action was the only thing, and we had done all that. Flint turned to me again.
“That’s not all,” he muttered, running a hand through tangled hair. “We have another problem.”
My heart gave a lurch.
“What’s that?” I asked.
Fourteen
“One of the crew has disappeared.”
I fixed my eyes on his and said nothing, hoping my face wouldn’t give me away.
“I’ve only just found out,” he continued. “They reckon he was last seen some time yesterday. They seem to think he was in the crews’ mess for the evening meal, but nobody’s certain.” He shook his head from side to side.
The Malay had been missing for almost two days and they thought he had only been gone since the previous night; and even then they had waited until dark to report his non-appearance. There was no way they could start a search until morning; and by then he could be kilometres away, feeding the crabs.
“What could have happened to him?” I asked.
“Nobody knows. Bit of a mystery really. They reckon he kept to himself most of the time; didn’t have any close friends on board.”
I stood, hands in pockets, venturing nothing while Flint continued.
“He was a replacement. Took the place of another Malay who got knocked down by a car a day or so before we were due to leave Adelaide. He came off some ship that had broken down somewhere over in Melbourne.”
“No trace of him then?”
“Not really. They found a knife down in the hold yesterday. It doesn’t belong to anybody else, so it might be his. Wicked looking thing; but that doesn’t tell us anything. His life-jacket is still where it should be, and none of the boats are missing. He could have fallen overboard I suppose, although it’s not likely. The boys say he wasn’t a drinker, but that could be a pack of lies. They might be covering something up.”
He was puzzled and I would have been too, in his shoes. He must have been wondering whether he was the captain of a cursed ship: a missing crewman; a dead body on a rainy night; a radar and autopilot that mysteriously cut out. What next?
“Oh, well,” he sighed. “I’ll just fill in another bloody report and let the Marine Board worry about it. Maybe the bugger did get on the booze and tried to swim to the island. He might have gone chasing some of that black tail that’s been out on the reef ever since we got here. Then again, he might be still on board, sleeping off some massive binge.”
“Do you think we should organize a search party?” I asked.
“No, bugger him. I’ve told the bosun to make certain the crew keep their eyes peeled and let me know if they find anything. I’ve got more important things to worry about.”
They never did find the Malay.
I was scared.
As each hour passed the weather grew steadily worse, the wind rising to a howl and the waves climbing higher along the side of the hull. At any minute I expected the ship to break in two; spilling both me and the cargo into the raging sea.
It was useless trying to sleep in the life-jacket, but there was no way I was going to let go of it. I made several practice runs to the boat deck, timing myself with the second-hand of my watch; and yet knowing full well that there was no way the lifeboats could be launched if the ship broke in two. It would happen far too fast, but at least it gave me some sense of security, knowing I only needed fourteen seconds to get up to the boats.
I tossed and turned until two in the morning, lying on the bunk, watching my rain-jacket swing from side to side on a hook on the back of the door. The rolling seemed to be worsening as the rising tide lifted the stern higher with each hour that passed, lightening our pressure on the reef.
At two-thirty I could stand it no longer and made for the open deck where I would at least be able to see what was happening, if anything. Being wedged between the side of the bunk and the wall had been a nightmare; waiting with breath held at each roll and listening for the roaring crack that would split the ship asunder.
There was a faint light up by the bow and I made my way towards it, my body bent over against the wind. There were ten or more people huddled under blankets on the lee side of the starboard bulwark, beneath the sheltering overhang of the bow deck in front of the paint locker, not two metres from where Pete had been killed.
It was comforting to know that I wasn’t the only one half scared to death. As I drew closer I could see that there were two of the officers – one of the married ones with his wife – and maybe six of the crew.
I didn’t blame the crew so much. Their quarters were way down aft, some of them below the waterline; and if the ship did break apart they would be the first to go. The stern section would be swept aside, rolled through the deep water and then smashed up on to the reef.
There was too much weight down at the stern: the wool, the fuel and a hold full of general cargo; pivoting the huge vessel on the reef like some gigantic see-saw.
I sat on the cold steel deck and got as close to the clutch of humanity as I could without causing a reaction. There was nothing said. There wasn’t anything much to say. Now and then one or two would stand, stretch their limbs and wander off towards the accommodation section, only to return a short time later.
It was a miserable way to spend the rest of the night, but at least we were out in the open and as far away from the centre of the ship as we could get. If she did start to break up, we could always jump down from the bow; if we could survive the twenty-five metre drop to the reef.
I think that the one hope we all had was that the bow section would stay where it was on the reef, even if the stern did get torn off and swept away. Being at the bow was our best chance, and possibly our only chance.
The deck was hard, and it was cold; with spray now and then sweeping across the ship. Most of the others were huddled together for warmth and comfort. I sidled closer, but black looks soon sent me away again. The rain-jacket kept off most of the spray, but the cold seeped through the thin material. There was nothing for it but to be brave and return to the cabin for a couple of blankets and a pillow; and the half bottle of whisky would still be where I had left it.
I wasn’t brave enough to go by the normal route: into the accommodation section and then up the internal staircase and along the winding corridor. The open air was a lot more secure, so I followed the t
rail I had used that terrifying night after I had got rid of the Malay: up and along the external ladder-ways on the port side. With the wind coming from the east it was fairly dry.
My thoughts went back to the Malay as I inched my way up the steel ladders, remembering the last time I had climbed those steps late at night. Who had sent him to the ship? He was only a cog in the machine, a follower, one of the little men, a hired killer paid to find out what he could. He wasn’t the brains behind the attempt. There was someone else, someone with money and power, power enough to convince a member of Tek’s household to spy on us, to plant some sort of bug. Who was it; and who was the spy?
I reached the top step still deep in thought and moved into the blackness, seeing again the stabbing hand coming over the edge of the bale as he tried to make me let go of the cord choking off his life, and hearing again the thump as his body hit the floor of the hold when I could keep the pressure on no longer. I felt a sense of achievement as I recalled how easy it had been to trick him, how easy it had been to kill.
The figure in the alcove on my left moved with a suddenness that froze my brain in time and space for that single split second that is the difference between life and death; and when at last the message travelled down from my terrified brain, all I could achieve was a sideways jump with my arms flung up to ward off the blow. I tried to scream but there was no air left to push out the sound.
There was no blow, no attack, and no thrusting knife-blade, just a soft gentle sobbing in the darkness.
As my eyes grew accustomed to the gloom, the figure faded from the dark bulk of the Malay of my imagination to the graceful softness of one of the officers’ wives, standing in the shadowed recess by herself, cringing back into a corner, petrified.
“I’m s…sorry,” I stuttered, still shaking from the fright. “You startled me. I didn’t expect anybody to be standing there in the dark.”
She didn’t move, both hands covering her face as the sobbing continued.
“What’s the matter?” I asked. No answer. “What are you doing out here on your own?”
It was the first time I had seen her without her husband. She lifted her head and folded her arms across her breasts, clenched fists tight against her shoulders.
“Come,” I said. “I’ll take you back to your cabin.”
“No,” she murmured. “I do not want to go back to cabin. I frightened, very frightened. Want to stay out here.”
She was shaking, and not just from the cold. She took a quick glance at the rail. I didn’t know what was going through her mind and I could only guess.
“I’ll take you down to the bow with the others then.”
“No, I too ashamed.”
The tears were still sliding down her cheeks, but the sobbing had died to a gentle regular heave as her small breasts pushed against the folded arms.
“What’s there to be ashamed of?” I asked. “There’s plenty of others down there; including the second officer and his wife. Where’s your husband?”
She was the wife of the third officer, the one who had been drugged and had put us into this situation.
She stared at the deck, not acknowledging my question.
“Come on,” I persisted. “What’s wrong? You can tell me. I won’t let anyone know.”
Her eyes closed tight and she started to cry in great gathering sobs, her hands once more covering her face. She was cold, feverish, and panic-stricken; not knowing which way to turn. I put my arm around her shoulders as I would around those of any frightened child. She tried to pull away, but I held on gently, and slowly the sobs subsided once more and she cried noiselessly against my chest.
She was barefoot; dressed only in a nightgown, a long cotton shift reaching to her ankles; the nipples of her tiny breasts standing out from the cold. I pulled her closer into the shadow of the next ladder-way, my blood rising. There was nothing I could do to stop the fast beat of my heart.
“My husband is drunk,” she whispered. “He is frightened. He say that he has never been in such danger. He say even the captain is afraid!” So Flint had been scaring the rest of the troops with his talk of doom and gloom. “I try to wake him, but he grunt at me. I leave him and come out here. He is a pig!”
“Don’t worry,” I said softly. “I’m here with you now. Nothing will happen. It’s all going to be okay.”
I put my other hand behind her back and began to stroke the base of her spine. Her breathing quickened. It was no longer the wind that was making her shiver.
I looked down at her; at her jet black hair, long and shining, one minute draped about her shoulders and the next flying in the wind; at the dark innocent eyes searching into mine, asking questions she didn’t want answered. My fingertips told me she was wearing nothing beneath the thin cotton garment. I felt myself begin to stir. It had been too long since Cairns, and too long since I had held someone so delicate in my arms.
Her small chin fitted into the curve of my hand as I tilted her face up. There was no resistance, no hesitation as her lips opened to mine. We devoured each other, ignoring the sound of the wind as it sang through the wires high above on the mast, ignoring the roll of the ship as the swell lifted it and let it fall back to the reef. My hand slid further down her back, my fingers taking hold of the white cotton and gently lifting the nightgown. Her hands dropped from my chest, moving hesitatingly at first and then with an urgency as her fingers sought me out, fumbling with the zipper, her need as great as my own.
And then at last she held me, my warmth clasped in two cold soft hands and I felt as though I would burst, so urgent was her grasp. Her legs parted and she led me to that paradise.
So great was my hunger and so eager her need that I climaxed in an instant; and lay against her, my heart pounding.
She held me then, with a gentleness; but trembling, still eager. We held each other and I listened once more to the sound of the wind.
The stirrings within my loins awoke once more, but this time it would be for her. I knew it must be for her. Her need was now greater than mine. She moved with me and against me, struggling and striving for the release that was pent up inside her. But I couldn’t hold back, my brain no longer in charge, my body floating with the wind. Suddenly, as I hung on the precipice, she gave a long shuddering sigh, and was still.
I came once more, and we held each other, silent, not moving, hearing nothing but the pounding of each other’s hearts. Then, raising her head from my shoulder, a tear in one eye, but her face now at peace, she smiled and moved away.
“I go back to my husband,” she breathed, and was gone.
Standing in the darkness it seemed unreal, as though it had somehow been a dream; but the aroma of her hair was still upon my face, and her tears against my neck.
I put myself in order and went to the cabin.
It was a hell of a way to win a bet. And yet there was no way I would have revealed that moment to Pete, had he still been alive.
I stayed at the bow all night, and by morning the number had grown to more than twenty-five; but she had not reappeared. Her place was by her husband and there she had remained.
Towards dawn the wind dropped off. The swell had subsided slightly, but even so was still sweeping along the hull; and still a cause for concern. The main hold was now two-thirds full and the weight of water pinning the ship down had stopped most of the twisting motion. I could no longer feel the coral grinding beneath the hull.
The fire-hoses were turned off.
Breakfast was a better meal than dinner had been the night before. Our spirits were lifted with the dawn, though there were haggard faces everywhere – except for the captain. Flint was his old bloodshot self again. Half a bottle – or perhaps it had taken a full one – and sleep would have come painlessly.
One face, one radiant beautiful face, would not look in my direction. It wasn’t from shame; I knew that. It would be from fear that she might show the peace we had both shared. We didn’t have to look at one another to know how we ha
d felt, but I knew she wouldn’t seek me out again.
I turned to Flint. “What’s the program for today then?” I asked.
“Depends on the weather,” he replied. “If the swell drops a bit more, they might start laying out the ground tackle.” He didn’t sound optimistic.
“What do you mean by ground tackle?” I asked. “I thought all they had to do was tie a bloody big rope to the stern and drag us off?”
“No way,” he replied with that knowing smile. “It would take more than that little tug to pull us off this godforsaken reef with a single line. No, they’ll have to rig ground tackle. It’s a system of pulleys,” he added, noticing my puzzlement. “Like a block and tackle.”
“I see,” I said, stirring my coffee. “Tell me more.”
He called for a second cup.
“Well,” he continued. I’m not the expert, but this is how they explained it to me. It seems as though they’ll drop a large anchor a couple of hundred metres or so out from our stern, but a little off to the starboard side. Then they’ll fix a large set of pulley wheels to the anchor, and another set to our bow.”
“They’ll be using one of the Syrius’ anchors I suppose?” I said.
“No, much bigger than that.”
He sipped at the hot coffee and went on with the explanation.
“The next step will be to lead a thick wire rope through each sheave of the pulleys, in a series of great long loops. One end will be taken out to the tug and the other end will be made fast to the pulley shackled on to the salvage anchor lying on the bottom.” Another sip of the coffee. “The tug will steam out to sea and pull on the line. The tackle system should multiply the power of the tug by about seven times.”
“Is that all there is to it?” I asked.
THURSDAY'S ORCHID Page 22
