by Kage Baker
“So, Miss, you seem like a real nice girl. Won’t you ask your friend about leaving just a little of the wreck for us? Mackie says there was all kinds of gold chairs and all on her. He never got his pay neither. And it’s all for the child’s sake,” she added piteously.
I smiled in my friendliest fashion. “I feel certain that my friend will be happy to compensate Mr. Hayes for his lost wages. Perhaps he even has some right to a share in the proceeds from the salvage. But, my dear, how much simpler things would be if he accepted the sum from us now—in gold—and took you home to your island without any further hardship to yourselves! Could you not persuade him to this, for the sake of the child? My friend is a most generous man.”
A light of hope was born in her eyes, but just as she parted her lips to speak there came a jerk on the tether line and then another, setting up a thrumming echo in the cable housing.
“Oh! That’s Mackie now. I got to bring him up,” she exclaimed, and leaned into the crank and painfully hauled on the winch. “You’d best go,” she gasped. “He’ll get mad if he sees you.” I quit the deck gladly, for I could scarcely bear the sight of her efforts in her condition, and there was no way I could assist her. Kalugin was bent to a porthole in the saloon, watching.
“That man is a brute,” he observed gloomily.
“Yes, but we may hope he is a brute with humane instincts,” I said. “Surely, for her sake, he’ll accept our proposal.”
“Sweet voice of reason.” He kissed my hand.
“All the same, Hayes won’t agree to it,” pronounced Victor where he sat, fists jammed in his trouser pockets.
“Why ever not? I think he must.”
“You don’t know them the way 1 do,” was all he would say.
Presently we heard the clanking and splashing as Hayes came up, and the girl’s little cries of effort as she helped him aboard. She helped him off with his helmet, too, and as soon as his head was free he cried:
“Gimme a hand with the rope!”
Kalugin went to the porthole to watch. He saw them haul in the rope, hand over hand, and then we heard something thumping against the side of the Elsie. “They’ve brought up VanderCook’s strongbox,” he announced. There followed a dragging crash. “They’ve got it on deck.” I went to look and just caught sight of Hayes staggering into their cabin with a steel box, closely followed by the girl. A moment later, raucous shouts of merriment rang out across the water.
“Four thousand dollars in gold,” explained Kalugin.
“Then he’s bound to put into shore,” 1 guessed. “He must think that was what we wanted. I should think he’ll put about with all due haste, shouldn’t you?”
Victor simply shook his head. “You don’t know them the way I do,” he repeated. And he was correct in his assertion, for they did not leave. The Elsie and the Chronos lay at anchor, side by side, as the day wore on. Hayes did not attempt further salvage efforts. The swell of the sea increased somewhat, and a queer light on the southern horizon was prologue to a wall of cloud that appeared there, gray as a cat, advancing across the sky by inevitable degrees. As we were sitting down to our luncheon repast we heard the sound of a violent quarrel from our neighbors, and tried our best not to listen, though Kalugin and I burned with silent indignation on behalf of the poor girl. Victor ignored the tumult, his cold composure untroubled.
At about half past three a hot wind sprang up, full in our faces, and it bore, the perfume of jungle flowers many latitudes distant. It would have been pleasant, had not such danger attended upon it. Kalugin lay down and slept, perspiring. Victor stared fixedly across at the Elsie and did not speak. Sunset flamed with all -the hues in the palette of fever, across a steadily rising sea. On the cushions where he reclined, Kalugin clutched his throat and sat up staring. “VanderCook!” he muttered.
“You’ve been dreaming, dear.” I went to him.
His face was haunted. “The ship was going down. Turning as it went down. I was trying to hurry with the painting and he came in. VanderCook.”
“Poor dear, you have had a conditioning nightmare,” I explained. “We all have them when we can’t complete a mission. As soon as we recover the painting they’ll cease to trouble you.”
“I had to kill him.” Kalugin’s mouth trembled. “He thought I was stealing his things. He took hold of my arm, but I didn’t have time! I only hit him with the back of my hand, but he died. All of them died.”
“Yet that was their mortal fate.” I attempted to console him. “Death swiftly at your hand or some protracted agony of drowning, which would the poor man have preferred? It’s not as though anything you did could have saved any of them. You saved the Delacroix, at least. Think of that! Consider, my dear, what you have preserved for the ages.”
Kalugin drew a harsh breath. “Do you ever wonder whether we don’t destroy as many things as we preserve by our meddling? I saved the painting, but perhaps if the ship had had a competent captain we wouldn’t have foundered in the first place.”
“Nonsense,” said Victor forcefully. “For God’s sake, man, what are you mourning? One self-indulgent millionaire and a handful of sailors like Hayes. And isn’t he a prize? Which would you rather consign to the bottom, a work of art or a dirty little creature like Hayes? What possible difference can his nasty life make to the world?”
As if on cue, the shout came out of the twilight:
“Ahoy the Chronos! Ahoy! Ya think ya can buy me? Ya can’t! I say I know what yer up to! And nobody cheats Mackie Hayes, ya hear me? Here I be and here I stay!”
Victor’s moustaches swept up like scythe blades. “I do believe,” he announced, “that it’s time to fix that man’s little red wagon.” And he rose and strode from the saloon.
I settled back on the cushions with Kalugin and we watched the last pink light fade.
“Remember the DaVinci notebook,” I told him.
“True.” He passed a hand across his eyes wearily.
“And the cargo of the Geldermalsen.”
“True.” With the other hand he drew out the pins and loosed my long hair.
“And Laperouse’s logbook and specimens. All of them lost to the world forever, but for you, dearest.”
“True.” He closed his eyes. I leaned down to him. Dreamily hegathered up a tress and draped it across his face, making his night blacker still. “Yet sometimes I could wish… ” The stars shone briefly and then the advancing cloud cover put them out like candles. The sea was quite rough, now; we were obliged to weigh anchor and stand off from the Elsie some distance, lest we collide with her. Dinner was informal, cold meats and pickles and cheeses; no one had much appetite owing to the nature of the commotion in the bosom of the deep. How fortunate had we immortals been, if our creators had thought to make us proof against mal de mer! I have often mused on this, during a long life of journeys on Company affairs.
At half past nine Victor strolled into the saloon looking pleased with himself, and settled down to read the latest issue of the London Illustrated News. Kalugin and I played at piquet, with no great attention to the cards as the rolling of the ship grew more pronounced.
Before Victor had a chance to lay down the paper and amuse us with the latest antics of the British royal family, however, the door opened and the same Technician who had been reporting to Victor all day put in his head.
“Mme. Masaki has come aboard again, sir.”
Victor tossed his paper aside and hurried on deck. We followed and arrived just in time to see the expectant smile dashed from his face by Mme. Masaki’s cry of “D-n you, Victor!”
“I beg your pardon.” Victor drew himself up in as stiff an attitude of affront as he could manage on the pitching deck. She was advancing on him in her diving costume, her face pale in the light of the lantern, her eyes blazing with anger.
“Lower the whaleboat!” She swept her wet hair back from her face. “You’ve got to send someone to rescue the woman. That boat is sinking!”
“You were ordered to pu
nch a few holes in it, not scuttle the infernal thing!” Victor narrowed his eyes.
“I started one plank and a whole seam opened up! It’s coming to pieces in the water! D—n you, will you lower that boat?”
But Kalugin was giving orders for it already. Mme. Masaki braced herself on the rail, drawing deep breaths. “And another thing,” she told us. “The woman’s alone over there. I was unable to perceive more than one mortal on board.”
“Only one?” Victor frowned. “Where could Hayes have got to?” We were answered by a thump. It was not even a sound, no more than a faint sensation against the soles of our feet, imperceptible I believe to mortal senses; but there, it came again, sharper against ourhull and more distinct. Both Victor and Mme. Masaki responded with oaths of the most profane nature. She plunged once more over the side and disappeared in the black water. As she vanished we heard terrified screams from the sole occupant of the cabin on the Elsie.
Kalugin and his crew rowed like heroes, but it was a near thing. The doomed craft was turning in the night sea, listing with a stricken motion. I clung to the rail watching, sick at heart lest the rescuers arrive too late.
Judge with what relief I saw Mrs. Hayes lifted from the deck of the doomed Elsie and settled securely in the bottom of the whaleboat. Even as it put about and made back toward us through the waves, Mme. Masaki pulled herself up on the rail with one arm. She had her other arm fast about Hayes, whom she had choked into unconsciousness. “Help me!” she cried.
Victor and I ran to assist her. Hayes lay ghastly pale in the lantern light, a ridiculous wizened figure in his long undergarments. Victor knelt and I heard a smart click as he applied manacles to the oblivious sailor.
“I daresay that settles your hash,” sneered Victor.
“Our hull is unbroached,” reported Mme. Masaki. “Though somewhat scored. He was doing his best to sink us with a hammer and chisel. Had he been able to see what he was doing we’d have been in genuine danger. He’s remarkably strong, for a mortal.”
“What shall we do with him?” I glanced out at the whaleboat, rapidly pulling close. “It would be well to remove him before the girl can see him like this, surely.”
“As you wish.” Victor seized the connecting chain of the manacles and dragged Hayes’s inert form in the direction of the forward hatches. “I shall revive the blackguard and then… ” Even as he got Hayes safely out of sight below, the wind rose to a howl and the waves, previously wild, grew positively violent, dashing the whaleboat against the Chronos. I heard Mrs. Hayes screaming in the darkness, and Kalugin reassuring her; Mme. Masaki and I bent down to help her aboard. As we did so, I looked out across the night and beheld the Elsie swing back over, giving one great drunken lurch before she righted herself, only to slide below the water. One last second her cabin light was visible, eerily sinking down toward eternal darkness; then it had vanished and I knew the rushing water had found it.
I was prevented from dwelling on this horror by the necessity of getting my arms around Mrs. Hayes, just as a cold wave broke over us. She screamed again, and with a final struggle we got her feet on deck and there we three huddled, dripping, as the crew got the whaleboat up.
“We must take her inside,” I shouted to Mme. Masaki, whoresponded with a brusque nod. We started along the rail to the door of the saloon; then Mrs. Hayes stopped abruptly and her thin ringers tightened on my arm. Her poor little face was like an animal’s in its terror. She looked down, we followed her gaze, and saw a rush of water and blood. It steamed briefly on the deck before another wave mingled it with sea foam and swept it away.
She began crying, a shrill monotonous piping Oh, Oh, Oh, and we knew there was nothing for it but to take her by the arms and drag her, lest the child drop to the deck like a fish and tumble overboard. And somehow we did bring her safely inside, half-carrying her to a bunk in one of the cabins, and saw her robed in a dry dressing gown before we took that opportunity for ourselves; her thin cries grew fainter but did not cease the while.
“Mrs. Hayes, Mrs. Hayes, you must compose yourself.” I sat down beside her. “For the child’s sake, my dear.”
“You don’t know,” she sobbed. “My Mackie’s drowned. He was going over to—Oh, it’s God’s judgement, that’s what it is! Oh, I’m so ashamed! And now he’s lost”
“Pray do not distress yourself, Mrs. Hayes, your husband is safe. We apprehended him. We have him safe below.” I gave her a handkerchief.
“Oh!” Her cries stopped as she took that in. Then the weak line of her mouth trembled. “I tried to tell him what you said, but he got real mad. He said if you was so ready to pay him to let it alone, there must be lots of treasure in the wreck. And when he brought up all that money I said, ‘Well let’s go home Mackie and not be greedy,’ but he said, ‘Elsie you’re a dumb’—he said I was a dumb— Oh, dear! And now we lost the money!” Her wails broke out afresh.
“Mrs. Hayes, you mustn’t allow yourself to dwell on such things now. Think of your child! When did the pains begin?”
“Only just now.” She gasped for breath. “Leastways—I been having a backache but I thought it was all the hauling I been doing.” Her face contorted in the extremity of her discomfort. I gave her my arm to clutch tight, and as I did so made use of my scanning perception to take a reading on herself and her infant. Mortals are quite unable to discern such surreptitious examinations; had she not been already too distracted to notice my preoccupation, she might have supposed I was uttering a silent prayer. I leaned back and stared at her. I saw again the cabin light of the Elsie, slipping away, slipping away down into the dark. I looked up at Mme. Masaki and transmitted my findings. Her lips drew back from her teeth.
We can’t save them in such cases, you see. We mayn’t interfere.
Even if we could, this poor creature had seen things the Company had never intended a mortal to see. She was a complication. I did not even want to think about Victor down in the hold with the unconscious Hayes. There is a Company drug called nepenthine, very useful in these unfortunate cases but not always entirely beneficial to those to whom it is administered…
“You’ll need fresh linen,” murmured Mme. Masaki, and departed. She came back bearing a bundle with something concealed in it, and in one hand she carefully carried a glass of what appeared to be sherry wine.
“You like drink, miss?” She offered it to Mrs. Hayes.
“Oh, I’ve never touched spirits—” she protested.
“But this is for the child’s sake,” I struck up my refrain again. “You must take it as medicine, my dear.” She allowed herself to be persuaded by this argument and in moments was blissfully unconscious, which permitted us to set up the anticontaminant apparatus. Hayes’s child was born shortly thereafter. The wind howled in the rigging, waves broke over us in vain, the timbers of the Chronos creaked unceasing; the feeble cries were barely audible over the tumult of the storm, and did not last long. Kalugin knew something was wrong when he passed Mme. Masaki in the passageway, her face closed and silent. He peered around the door.
I sat with the infant in my lap, in a pool of light that moved as the lamp swung on its gimbal. Mrs. Hayes slept soundly in her bunk.
“He’s a boy, is he?” Kalugin came in and bent over us. The child lay still; it had already discovered that moving took much more strength than it had. Kalugin noticed the cyanosis at once, and scanning he found the heart defect. “Oh, dear,” he said. He put a finger in the tiny cold hand, which closed on it without force. The infant worked its face into a squinting grimace that was a perfect parody of its father, but it did not cry. It hadn’t enough breath.
Kalugin sat down beside me. I leaned against him and we watched the child fight.
“The mother will do well enough,” I said tiredly. “For the present. Although her grief, and her brute of a husband, and her poverty and her disappointment will make her wonder why she should.”
“Victor is finishing up with Hayes now,” said Kalugin. “Nothing left to do but t
he post-hypnosis, I expect. As soon as the storm clears we can put them ashore, and well and truly wash our hands of the wretched things.”
I nodded. The child made a gurgling sound and all its limbs stiffened.For a terrible moment we waited; but, like a swimmer cresting a wave, it struggled and drew another breath, and kept breathing.
“It’s Pity, like the newborn babe, striding the blast,” said Kalugin softly. “Here he is, come to visit us. Yes, hello, I know you well, don’t I? You’ve lived in my heart this many a year. One more piece of mortal wreckage 1 must watch sink.”
The rocking of the lamp was growing less; the squall was blowing out. Kalugin went on in his sleepy voice:
“I’ve gone down with too many ships, Nan. Why couldn’t they have made me strong, like Victor? I really ought to get into another line of work.”
And we laughed at that, both of us, sadly, for none of us can ever, ever get into another line of work. We are what we are. Kalugin kissed me and took the child in his arms.
“You need to sleep, my love. I’ll watch them a while. Go on.”
So I went, gratefully, and (to admit my cowardice) readily enough as well, for I knew the child would be gone soon and I would be relieved to avoid any further mortal tragedy. Yet it seemed I was not to be spared that sorrow, for I was wakened from brief dreams by Mrs. Hayes crying out. I drew on my robe and ran to her cabin.
She was alone there, sitting up wild-eyed. “Where’s my baby?” she demanded. “What did you do with my baby?”
I took both her hands in my own. “My dear, I know you arestrong—”
“Why, what’s all the to-do?” inquired Kalugin, coming in behind me. I whirled about to look at him. He was unshaven and his eyes were puffy with exhaustion, but there was an enormous jauntiness in his whole frame. “Here’s the little chap!” And he produced the infant from inside his coat like a conjuror. I snatched the child from him and scanned it hastily.
It was not only still alive but vibrantly alive, its flesh a deep rose color, its tiny heart beating strongly. Not all the radiant health in the world could make it a pretty child, because it was the image of its father; nevertheless it had a certain goblin charm. So much was clear even without benefit of much examination: Kalugin had spirited the little thing off to the ship’s dispensary and repaired its heart defect. If that were all!