The City of Mirrors
Page 214
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“Lore, wake up!”
Her head jerked from the table. Rand was staring at her. Why was he so wet? And why was everything moving?
“What the hell are you doing?” Rand barked. Rain and seawater were pelting against the windscreen. “We’re in real trouble here.”
As she attempted to rise from the bench, the deck heaved sideways. The door flew open with a bang, rain and wind blasting into the pilothouse. Another groan from deep within the hull and the deck began to heel in the opposite direction. Lore went tumbling, sliding down the deck and smacking into the bulkhead. For a moment it seemed that they would just keep going, but then the motion reversed. Gripping the edge of the table for balance, she fought her way upright.
“When the hell did this start?”
Rand was clutching the edge of the pilot’s seat. “About thirty minutes ago. It just whipped up from nowhere.”
They were taking the sea broadside. The lightning flashed, the heavens shook; huge waves were crashing over the rails.
“Get below and fire the engines,” she ordered.
“That’ll use the rest of our fuel.”
“No choice.” She strapped herself into the pilot seat; water was sloshing over the floor. “Without helm control, this is going to pound us to pieces. I just hope we have enough left to get through this. We’ll need all the thrust you’ve got.”
As Rand exited, Caleb appeared out of the storm. The man’s face was white as a ghost’s, whether with terror or seasickness, Lore couldn’t tell.
“Is everyone below?” she asked.
“Are you kidding me? It’s like a screaming contest down there.”
She yanked the straps tight. “This is going to be rough, Caleb. We need every hatch sealed. Tell people to tie themselves down however they can.”
He nodded grimly, turned to go.
“And shut that fucking door!”
The ship heeled into the next trough, listing at a perilous angle before rolling up the other side. With nearly all of their fuel gone, they had no ballast; it wouldn’t take much to capsize them. She looked at her watch; it was 0530. Dawn would soon be breaking.
“Goddamnit, Rand,” she muttered. “Come on, come on…”
The pressure gauges leapt; power flowed through the panel. Lore set the rudder, gripped the throttle control, and opened it wide. The compass was spinning like a top. With excruciating slowness, the bow began to turn into the wind.
“Come on, girl!”
The bow bit and held, plummeting into the next trough as if down a mountainside. Spray blasted over the deck. For a second, the front of the ship was almost fully submerged; then it ascended, the hull rearing upward like a great rising beast.
“That’s the way!” Lore shouted. “Do it for Mama!”
She drove into the howling darkness.
—
For twelve full hours, the storm raged. Many times, as giant waves crashed over the bow, Lore believed the end had come. Each time, the foredeck plunged into the abyss; each time, it rose again.
The storm did not so much fade as simply stop. One second the wind was howling, the rain lashing; in the next it was all over. It was as if they had simply passed from one room into the next, one of violence, the other of almost perfect calm. With cramped hands, Lore unfastened her straps. She had no idea what was going on belowdecks, nor did this question, at that moment, concern her very much. She was tired and thirsty and badly needed to pee. She squatted over the pot she kept in the pilothouse and stepped outside to toss the contents over the side.
The clouds had begun to break apart. She stood at the rail for a moment and watched the evening sky. She had no idea where they were; she hadn’t been able to read the compass since the storm had begun. They had survived, but at what cost? Their fuel was nearly exhausted. Beneath the stern of the Bergensfjord, the screws were softly churning, pushing them through the motionless sea.
Rand emerged from the main hatch and ascended the stairs toward her. He took a place beside her at the rail.
“I’ve got to admit, it sure is pretty out here,” he said. “Funny how it’s like that after a storm.”
“What’s the situation belowdecks?”
His shoulders were slumped, his eyes rimmed with dark circles of fatigue; a bit of something, vomit perhaps, was caught in his beard. “We’ve got the bilges working—we should be dry pretty soon. You have to hand it to Michael, the guy knew how to build a boat.”
“Any injuries?”
Rand shrugged. “Few broken bones, I heard. Some cuts and scrapes. Sara’s taking care of it. Lucky thing no one’s going to want to eat for a week, seeing as how we’re so low on food. The smell is pretty bad down there.” He looked at her for a moment, then said, carefully, “Want me to shut down the engines? It’s your call.”
She considered this question. “In a minute,” she said.
For a while they stood together without talking, watching the sun descend over the starboard side. The last of the clouds were separating, lit from within by a purpling light. An area of water near the port bow had begun to boil with fish, feeding near the surface. As Lore watched, a large bird with black-tipped wings and a yellowish head swooped low over the surface, reached down with its bill—a quick, sharp jab—hauled a fish free, tossed it backward into its gullet, and began to climb away.
“Rand. That’s a bird.”
“I know it’s a bird. I’ve seen birds before.”
Her head jerked from the table. Rand was staring at her. Why was he so wet? And why was everything moving?
“What the hell are you doing?” Rand barked. Rain and seawater were pelting against the windscreen. “We’re in real trouble here.”
As she attempted to rise from the bench, the deck heaved sideways. The door flew open with a bang, rain and wind blasting into the pilothouse. Another groan from deep within the hull and the deck began to heel in the opposite direction. Lore went tumbling, sliding down the deck and smacking into the bulkhead. For a moment it seemed that they would just keep going, but then the motion reversed. Gripping the edge of the table for balance, she fought her way upright.
“When the hell did this start?”
Rand was clutching the edge of the pilot’s seat. “About thirty minutes ago. It just whipped up from nowhere.”
They were taking the sea broadside. The lightning flashed, the heavens shook; huge waves were crashing over the rails.
“Get below and fire the engines,” she ordered.
“That’ll use the rest of our fuel.”
“No choice.” She strapped herself into the pilot seat; water was sloshing over the floor. “Without helm control, this is going to pound us to pieces. I just hope we have enough left to get through this. We’ll need all the thrust you’ve got.”
As Rand exited, Caleb appeared out of the storm. The man’s face was white as a ghost’s, whether with terror or seasickness, Lore couldn’t tell.
“Is everyone below?” she asked.
“Are you kidding me? It’s like a screaming contest down there.”
She yanked the straps tight. “This is going to be rough, Caleb. We need every hatch sealed. Tell people to tie themselves down however they can.”
He nodded grimly, turned to go.
“And shut that fucking door!”
The ship heeled into the next trough, listing at a perilous angle before rolling up the other side. With nearly all of their fuel gone, they had no ballast; it wouldn’t take much to capsize them. She looked at her watch; it was 0530. Dawn would soon be breaking.
“Goddamnit, Rand,” she muttered. “Come on, come on…”
The pressure gauges leapt; power flowed through the panel. Lore set the rudder, gripped the throttle control, and opened it wide. The compass was spinning like a top. With excruciating slowness, the bow began to turn into the wind.
“Come on, girl!”
The bow bit and held, plummeting into the next trough as if down a mountainside. Spray blasted over the deck. For a second, the front of the ship was almost fully submerged; then it ascended, the hull rearing upward like a great rising beast.
“That’s the way!” Lore shouted. “Do it for Mama!”
She drove into the howling darkness.
—
For twelve full hours, the storm raged. Many times, as giant waves crashed over the bow, Lore believed the end had come. Each time, the foredeck plunged into the abyss; each time, it rose again.
The storm did not so much fade as simply stop. One second the wind was howling, the rain lashing; in the next it was all over. It was as if they had simply passed from one room into the next, one of violence, the other of almost perfect calm. With cramped hands, Lore unfastened her straps. She had no idea what was going on belowdecks, nor did this question, at that moment, concern her very much. She was tired and thirsty and badly needed to pee. She squatted over the pot she kept in the pilothouse and stepped outside to toss the contents over the side.
The clouds had begun to break apart. She stood at the rail for a moment and watched the evening sky. She had no idea where they were; she hadn’t been able to read the compass since the storm had begun. They had survived, but at what cost? Their fuel was nearly exhausted. Beneath the stern of the Bergensfjord, the screws were softly churning, pushing them through the motionless sea.
Rand emerged from the main hatch and ascended the stairs toward her. He took a place beside her at the rail.
“I’ve got to admit, it sure is pretty out here,” he said. “Funny how it’s like that after a storm.”
“What’s the situation belowdecks?”
His shoulders were slumped, his eyes rimmed with dark circles of fatigue; a bit of something, vomit perhaps, was caught in his beard. “We’ve got the bilges working—we should be dry pretty soon. You have to hand it to Michael, the guy knew how to build a boat.”
“Any injuries?”
Rand shrugged. “Few broken bones, I heard. Some cuts and scrapes. Sara’s taking care of it. Lucky thing no one’s going to want to eat for a week, seeing as how we’re so low on food. The smell is pretty bad down there.” He looked at her for a moment, then said, carefully, “Want me to shut down the engines? It’s your call.”
She considered this question. “In a minute,” she said.
For a while they stood together without talking, watching the sun descend over the starboard side. The last of the clouds were separating, lit from within by a purpling light. An area of water near the port bow had begun to boil with fish, feeding near the surface. As Lore watched, a large bird with black-tipped wings and a yellowish head swooped low over the surface, reached down with its bill—a quick, sharp jab—hauled a fish free, tossed it backward into its gullet, and began to climb away.
“Rand. That’s a bird.”
“I know it’s a bird. I’ve seen birds before.”
