Suddenly aware of his hunger, and at the same moment remembering what had happened here the day he was taken away, he crawled hastily into the storage hut and began clawing at a pile of dried seaweed and wood chips in one corner. Then he went limp with relief. Dr. Manski and the ship’s captain, who had so enjoyed his smoked fish, had overlooked the main pile of it. He wolfed down several pieces, and stretched out gratefully upon the seaweed to rest.
It was perhaps two hours later when he crawled out, feeling much better, and searched for the sun behind the constant overcast. When he found it he was astonished to discover that it was only a little way beyond its noon position. Could he have made the swim from the pinnacle in only half a morning? Unquestionably he had.
Most of the afternoon lay before him. If conditions were right, there was all the time he needed to bring Teacher here before dark.
Conan spent several minutes in a careful study of the weather and the sea, then hurriedly unearthed the old and battered surfboard that had been his greatest treasure, and the last one he had found. In seconds he had it in the water and was standing upon it, using a crude paddle fashioned from a board to send him swiftly in the direction of the pinnacle.
He returned late that afternoon, with Teacher trussed like a mummy in the bag and securely lashed to the board.
Ashore, the old man, though still extremely weak, lay back against one of the many protective walls and peered about with a sort of bemused wonder. “So,” he murmured. “This is how you developed that set of sculptured muscles! To have shifted so many tons of rock, you must have been busy nearly every daylight hour from the time you arrived here.”
“Just about, sir.”
Teacher adjusted his piratical patch, which miraculously had survived all the recent violence to which he had been subjected. He squinted at the curved log in the lee of a wall, and said, “That, I presume, will form the main body of the craft you have in mind to take us to High Harbor.”
“Y-yes, sir.” Try to hide anything from Teacher!
“And the surfboard, on edge, will be used for the outrigger.”
“That’s what I thought, sir.”
“And that cloth we still have—how fortunate we didn’t use it for the other sail! But we must have needles to sew it with. Needles can be made of this and that, but there are good ones in the tool chest, if it can be found. Needles alone can save us time, and there are chisels and other tools in the chest that can save us weeks in shaping the log. Right now time is rather important on several counts. Every hour we can save—”
“Yes, sir.”
Not a word about the tsunami. But there was no need to mention it. Teacher knew that he understood about it now. It hung over them, a threat that would increase with every passing day. It was just one threat of many, for there was the survey ship that was still searching for them somewhere, and the helicopters that were surely able to fly this far from base. And, if they escaped all those, there were the great mists to worry about if they got away from here too late. How could they navigate the mists when their only compass was lost? Every hour saved …
Conan said, “I’m going back to the rock at dawn. The tide will be low then, and I can look around in the deeper water where we hit. That chest is bound to be around there somewhere.”
Dawn was only a vague promise behind him when he started out in the morning, but it was all the guide he needed to paddle to the rock again. The tool chest eluded him, though he returned with food packets and water bottles lashed to the board, along with the can of cement and an assortment of plastic scraps which they had intended to use as strengthening for the lost vessel.
“Never mind,” said Teacher, who had spent the morning chipping away at the log with one of Conan’s old stone tools. “The chest is there, and you’ll find it at the next low tide. I’m sure of it.”
Teacher was right. He found the tool chest intact with all its contents the next morning. And on the way back to the islet with it he found something else. The circling birds called his attention to it first, and he had to paddle hard a quarter of a mile out of his way to overtake it before wind and current would carry it out of sight.
It was a life raft containing the limp figure of a man sprawled facedown on the bottom.
Conan did not waste time in an attempt to give aid to the man. Swiftly he attached a towline to the raft and began paddling furiously for the islet, which already was fading in the distance. Tool chest and bobbing raft slowed his pace to a crawl. It became a long, exhausting battle against the wind before he reached the narrow beach where Teacher stood anxiously waiting.
“I knew something was wrong, but I couldn’t see far enough—” Teacher began, then exclaimed, “Good heavens, what have we here?”
Wearily Conan hauled the raft up on the beach, then stooped to lift the occupant. He’d thought it was a man, but now he saw it was a woman. Suddenly he gasped in astonishment. “Why, it’s Dr. Manski!”
“So it is,” Teacher murmured. “And this means the survey vessel must have gone down in the same storm that wrecked us. Ah me, the curious ways of fate.… Conan, take her into the little hut, and I’ll bring a bottle of water and a blanket. She’s suffering from exposure and thirst.”
Dr. Manski was conscious enough to drink greedily from the bottle Conan held for her. But it was some time before she recognized him, and the day was almost gone before she found the strength to crawl from the hut.
With one hand clutching the blanket about her, she peered curiously around and slowly approached the log where Conan was working. “What a crazy thing this is!” she began, her harsh voice little more than a croak. “Who would have thought, when I rescued you a few weeks ago, that I would find myself back here—”
Dr. Manski stopped, and Conan saw that she was staring at Teacher, whose presence she evidently had not been aware of before. “You!” she cried. “You! You scheming old rascal! What kind of mad tale did you tell the commissioners to make them send my ship after you?” She was trembling now, her voice rising with fury. “The ship’s lost now—and you’re to blame for it! And every man aboard was lost, all because of some mad tale—”
“Hey,” said Conan. “Just a moment. Who do you think he is?”
“I know who he is!” Dr. Manski cried. “He’s that old devil, Patch, and why he wasn’t disqualified years ago—”
“He’s not Patch,” Conan told her. “I mean, his real name is Briac Roa.”
“Briac Roa!” She laughed harshly. “Is that what he told you? And you’re fool enough to believe it?”
“But you don’t understand—” Conan began, and stopped when he saw Teacher shake his head.
“Dr. Manski,” Teacher said, “if you want to call me Patch, by all means do so. But I suggest that you go back and get some rest. You’ve had a very bad experience, and you’re still feeling the effects of shock and exposure.”
She glared at him a moment, turned angrily away, took several faltering steps, and suddenly began to crumple.
Conan caught her before she fell and carried her to the hut.
When he returned to the log and picked up the hatchet he had been using, he said bitterly, “Of all things to happen! Why did it have to be her we’re stuck with?”
“I can think of far worse,” Teacher said mildly. “Besides, she may be of help to us.”
“Help, my foot! I don’t want anything to do with her. I hate her.”
“You don’t really. You just hate the ideas she reflects.”
“Maybe so, but it makes me hate her. I hate everything about the New Order. Don’t you?”
“No, I don’t feel that way.”
Conan dropped his hatchet. “But—but you were their prisoner for four years!” he exclaimed. “You must hate them!”
“Son, I can’t hate them. I have only admiration for most of them.”
“But how can you? They branded you and beat you and made slaves of I don’t know how many and killed I don’t know how many more. They’re wa
rped and twisted, and absolutely merciless—”
“Yes, Conan,” Teacher interrupted. “All you say is true. But you forget that they were fighting a terrible battle for survival, and had nothing but a few machines to do it with. Industria was paralyzed, and it still is, largely. It took the sternest of measures to stay alive and keep their few machines going. And in such circumstances it’s usually the toughest ones, with the least to offer, who grab the power.” Teacher paused, then said, “Don’t judge the many by the few. There are some fine people in Industria, and they deserve only praise for what they’ve done. Those are the ones the world can’t afford to lose—that’s why I had to go back and warn them. As for the others—”
“What about the others?”
Teacher shrugged. “The deadliest drug in the world is power. The commissioners who are running things are going to lose it unless they can expand and get more power. Taking over High Harbor will help. But it will help them more to regain other powers that were lost with the Change. Now do you understand?”
“I—I think I do, sir.”
The old man glanced at the smaller hut. “As for her, let her go on believing I’m old Patch. It will be easier. She’s dedicated to the New Order, because that’s all she has left. You’ll never change how she thinks by appealing to her reason. Let her come to her own conclusions without any aid from us. In the meantime she can be of immense help to us.”
“Help? How?”
“By sewing the sail. By catching and smoking the fish we’ll have to take with us to eat. By doing a hundred things that will save us time. For we’ve got to do the impossible. We must build our new craft, and get away from here, in little more than a week.”
“A week!” Conan swallowed. “But you know we can’t.”
“We can. And we must. Or we’ll be caught in the mists and never see High Harbor again. Now get busy. We’ve good tools to work with. You’ll be surprised how fast we can chip out this log and turn it into a sailing canoe.”
11
LOST
THEY WORKED LIKE DEMONS FROM EARLIEST LIGHT TILL dark. In two more days the log was actually hollowed and shaped, and before the next evening the outrigger as well as the sail had taken form. After she had been told how matters stood, Dr. Manski went grimly about her tasks and spoke only when necessary. But Conan, noting the hard glances she gave Teacher, was aware of the many unanswered questions that were troubling her.
Suddenly, on the fourth evening, she demanded harshly, “Patch, what monstrous tale did you tell the commissioners? And don’t give me any more of your evasions. I’ll have the truth this time.”
“I told them,” said Teacher, “about the fracture under Industria.” He hardly looked at her as he spoke, and went on working without a pause. He was helping Conan splice two of the poles from the salvage pile to make a spar for the sail she was sewing.
“Well?” she said. “What about this fracture?”
“I explained what would happen when it gives way, and urged them to warn everyone and begin moving their food machinery immediately. I can only hope they did. Half the city is on the point of sliding into the sea.”
“What utter nonsense! Don’t tell me they believed you!”
“They must have believed me. Otherwise they wouldn’t have started such a search for us when Conan and I escaped.”
A baffled look came into her hard black eyes. “I don’t understand this. I don’t understand it at all. Why would they believe such an impossible tale? And from you, of all people? There has to be a reason. What is it, Patch?”
Teacher shrugged. “I convinced them I was Briac Roa.”
She glared at him. Suddenly she burst out wrathfully, “What kind of fools have we got running the New Order?”
“Blind fools,” Teacher said mildly. “They’ve wasted years searching for a man who wouldn’t have done what they wanted if they’d found him. They’ve been thinking of him as a kind of scientific god they could force to do anything and solve every problem. If they had had any faith in a real God, they would have gone ahead on their own, and they’d be better off today.”
“Enough!” Dr. Manski cried. She threw the sail aside and jerked to her feet. “One of you hears voices, and the other spouts rot about God. What stupidity! If you expect me to help you—”
Conan said coldly, “If a voice hadn’t directed me, I wouldn’t be alive now—and you wouldn’t be alive either, Dr. Manski, because I wouldn’t have been around to pull you out of the water.”
“I’ve expressed my gratitude,” she snapped. “But that doesn’t keep you from being cracked.”
“Then it’s two cracked ones you must endure,” said Teacher, smiling. “For I too have long been directed by a voice.”
Conan glanced at him in quick surprise, and the old man nodded. “I ignored it the first time it spoke, and as a result I lost my eye. Since then, I’ve learned to listen.”
Dr. Manski sniffed. “And it’s this invisible God, I suppose, who talks to you and gives you advice?”
Teacher raised his white eyebrows. “Why should I receive special favors? You seem to forget that all things are already known, and that the wisdom is available to all of us.”
She sniffed again. “How? Just by listening?”
“Why not? Each of us is given an inner ear to hear it, if we will. If we don’t hear it, it’s because we’ve allowed the ear to go deaf.”
For a moment she stood looking from one to the other, her gaunt face hardening. Abruptly she burst out, “Of all the rot! I’ve had enough of it. And rather than put up with any more of it, I’d prefer to remain here when you leave. I’ll take my chances on being rescued.”
Teacher shrugged. “Suit yourself. But if you stay, I doubt if you’ll be rescued in time.”
“In time for what?”
“You’re a woman of some learning. Haven’t you enough elemental geology to realize what will happen here when the earth’s crust under Industria suddenly makes an adjustment?”
The doctor’s black eyes widened a trifle. “There will be a shock wave?”
“Yes. A tsunami. It will pour over this islet and sweep it bare.”
She opened her mouth, then slowly closed it. Suddenly her black eyes darted to the craft they were building. “What will happen to that flimsy thing when the tsunami hits it?”
“Nothing. If the crest isn’t breaking, it should ride over the wave like a cork.”
Conan looked at him in surprise. He hadn’t known this. Teacher added, “The great danger is to High Harbor. The tsunami is bound to strike it. But the place is at an angle to the sea, and I’m praying the wave merely pours across the harbor itself and keeps on going. And of course they’ll be warned hours ahead—”
“But how? Who will know?”
“Possibly Dyce, if he still has radio contact. But any communicator will know when the fracture breaks under the city. You cannot help but feel the fear from so many minds.”
Dr. Manski stared at him. “Patch,” she said slowly. “Patch, you’re not a bit like you were at the boat shop. You’ve changed. You’ve changed completely. Who are you?”
“I think we’d better save any further discussion until we are at sea,” he replied. “There simply isn’t time for it now. If we value our lives, we must be on our way in four more days.”
It had seemed impossible to finish in so short a time. But somehow they did it. By the final evening the log canoe, with its lateen sail and outrigger, was ready and loaded. Strips of cemented plastic now decked the hollowed log to prevent it from swamping. Upon the platform between canoe and outrigger was fastened the doctor’s life raft, and all around it, securely lashed, were pieces of equipment and bottles of water from the cistern Conan had built long ago. Under a hatch in the canoe were stored extra water in the bottles he had saved, and most of the fish that had been smoked with the mounds of chips taken from the log.
It was nearly dark when they finished loading. But no one suggested that they wait till da
wn. Sea and weather were in their favor, and a fresh wind was blowing.
Conan said good-by to his birds. He thrust the craft out from the beach and raised the sail. When they were under way, escorted by a dozen wheeling gulls, he glanced back once and saw the islet fading in the dusk. He swallowed, knowing he was seeing it for the last time.
He looked at the veils of mist shrouding the darkness ahead. They filled him with sudden dread. How were they going to sail this unknown sea without even a compass to guide them?
At the time the outrigger craft was beginning its uncertain journey, Lanna was going dejectedly back to the cottage with Tikki riding on her shoulder. Without the comfort of Tikki her dejection would have reached an almost unbearable low. All the news had been bad for weeks. But who would have thought the young people—especially the ones she had counted on to support Shann—would have acted as they did this morning?
Lanna paused, set down the basket of berries she had spent the afternoon picking, and glanced at the bottom of the long slope where the harbor lay. Through the trees she could just make out the trade ship, looking almost like a toy in the distance. At the sudden sight of it she felt such a rush of resentment that she failed to see the activity going on at the new dock not far from it. Why, she thought, can’t the ugly thing go away and leave us all alone? What’s it brought us but a cargo of trouble?
Her mind went back to the impromptu meeting Shann had called this morning. Now that the New Order knew about Teacher, it seemed the right time to tell the young ones the truth about what had happened. The truth should have finished Commissioner Dyce with everybody. But somehow it hadn’t.
The Incredible Tide Page 11
