Dragons in the Waters

by Madeleine L'engle

  The hearse continued to crash roughly through the jungle. Simon thought it was never going to stop. “Are we being kidnapped?”

  “It would appear so. Though I’m hardly a kid.”

  “But why?”

  “Somebody is still trying to dispose of you, it would seem.”

  “And somebody doesn’t want you around to clear things up. But that policeman, Gutiérrez, he wasn’t in Savannah or on the ship. He couldn’t be the murderer. But he did throw me into the hearse.”

  “Knocking the wind out of me. It does appear to be a rather complex maze, though I begin to glimpse a pattern.”

  “What, sir?”

  “Your not-overly-lamented late Cousin Forsyth seems to have been involved in one way or another with a good many people.”

  “Is—is Gutiérrez going to kill us?”

  “Since he has not already done so, I somehow doubt it. And when I do not arrive and it’s noticed that you’ve vanished there’s going to be considerable excitement on the Orion.”

  “But does anybody know you’re coming—I mean, for sure?”

  “I was puzzled enough by Theo’s call to decide to leave London and come, and I was concerned enough to phone a friend of mine, Alejandro Hurtado, chief of police in Caracas, and ask him to make sure that the captain of the Orion, as well as Theo, be advised of the time of my arrival. Hurtado told me that he would arrange to have me met, so I somehow doubt if our present plight will go unnoticed by him.” He put his hand out suddenly and touched Simon’s shoulder. “We’re slowing down.”

  The hearse jounced along for a moment, then came to a lurching halt.

  After a moment the doors were flung open. The hearse had stopped in a small clearing where a helicopter was waiting. Gutiérrez peered in at them. “I am so sorry to inconvenience you,” he said in his most unctuous manner. “The lips of someone must be closed, so I have taken you hostage.” He grabbed Simon, and pulled the struggling boy out of the hearse and into the helicopter. The soldier with the rifle knocked Canon Tallis on the head, stunning him, and then slung the heavy body over his shoulder as though it were a sack of grain, and dumped it into the copter.

  Gutiérrez was at the controls. In a moment the incredible noise of the blades deafened Simon, and then they were airborne.

  Poly and Geraldo sat in the small shade up on the boat deck. The heat of port was so heavy after the breeze of open sea that even Dr. Wordsworth had given up her daily constitutional. Despite the shade, the white-painted wood of the bench was hot against Poly’s bare legs.

  “Oh, Herald,” she said, “things are so strange and my emotions are so mixed. If nothing had happened Daddy and Charles and I would have left the Orion forever, and you’d be getting ready to go on to Aruba and Curaçao and wherever you go before La Guaira, and the portrait would still be in the cabin, and Cousin Forsyth and Simon would still be on board, and Simon wouldn’t be off with that oily policeman to meet Aunt Leonis. And yet I can’t bring myself to wish that you and I weren’t sitting here, being comfortable together.”

  Geraldo leaned toward her and kissed her.

  When they moved apart she said, “I am gorgeously happy. How can I be happy when someone has been murdered?”

  “I should not have kissed you,” Geraldo said. “Forgive me.”

  “Why shouldn’t you?”

  “Because you’re still a child.”

  “I am not!”

  “And I am in no position to—oh, you understand, Poly-heem-nia. Sooner or later you will leave the ship and we will never see each other again.”

  Poly gave him her most brilliant smile. “I know. I can be quite realistic, Geraldo. But this was my first kiss and I will never forget it, ever, not when I am as old as Aunt Leonis.”

  “I will try to be realistic, too,” Geraldo said, but he would have kissed her again had not Dr. O’Keefe called up to them.

  Poly jumped guiltily. “I think Daddy feels he has to keep track of us all.”

  Geraldo touched her cheek lightly with one finger. “I want him to keep track of you.”

  “Geraldo, have you any ideas?”

  He leaned toward her. “Many.”

  “No, no, silly, about Cousin Forsyth and the portrait.”

  “There are murmurs about Jan, but I know that it is not Jan.”

  “Of course not! Jan wouldn’t murder.”

  “But we know of his interest in the portrait, and there is his lie about the key. The crew—everybody—we are all very disturbed. Most of us have worked on the Orion for years, and no one is on the ship for the first time this voyage. We find it impossible to believe that there is a murderer among us. But I heard Mynheer Boon defending Jan to Mynheer Ruimtje.”

  “What about the passengers?”

  “It is not you or Charles or your father or Simon,” Geraldo said firmly.

  “Mr. Theo, Dr. Eisenstein, Dr. Wordsworth, the Smiths. Not one of them is strong enough to have got Cousin Forsyth into the hearse.”

  “Possibly two could.”

  “Mr. and Mrs. Smith certainly couldn’t.”

  “The lady doctors?”

  Poly pondered this. Dr. Wordsworth looked strong enough. “Wouldn’t they have looked suspicious?”

  “Anybody would have looked suspicious, if seen.”

  “It would be rather difficult to lug Mr. Phair from cabin 5, through the ship, out on deck, and into the hearse without being seen.”

  “He may not have been killed in the cabin.”

  Poly fondled Geraldo’s hand. “If I were the murderer I think I’d have tried to lure Cousin Forsyth out on deck, get him behind the hearse or one of the big packing cases right by it, and done him in there so that I could have got him into the hearse inconspicuously.”

  Geraldo raised her hand to his lips and kissed her fingers. “You look so funny and adorable playing the detective.”

  “I’m not playing!”

  “Sorry, Polyquita, sorry.” He kissed her lightly and rose. “I have work to do, and you must go to your father.”

  She stood, too. “Simon and Aunt Leonis ought to be here soon. And my godfather. I know it’s childish of me, but I keep feeling that when he gets here everything’s going to be all right.”

  “May it be so,” Geraldo said.

  Simon and Canon Tallis watched the helicopter disappear, up through a tangle of leaf and vine, trailing long shards of greenery on its runners; the rotors chopped through the entangling jungle until the machine was free and high in the sky.

  They had been dumped unceremoniously in a small clearing which would be visible from the air only to someone who already knew about it, and who was a superb pilot.

  “In a cinema,” Tallis said, “we’d have overpowered them and taken control of the copter.”

  “What would we have done then?” Simon asked. “Could you fly it?”

  “I’m woefully out of practice, but I do have a pilot’s license, and desperation can be a good co-pilot. That man knows his jungle and he knows his machine. Unfortunately they took my gun at the airport before they tied me up.”

  “You had a gun?”

  “Something told me to be prepared. However, it seems that I was not prepared enough, or we wouldn’t be here.”

  “Sir, are you all right?” Simon asked.

  Canon Tallis rubbed his skull. “I have a nasty egg here, which will probably be a brilliant hue of purple by morning, but otherwise I’m fine.”

  “I thought he’d killed you.”

  “For some reason he only wanted to knock me out, and that he succeeded in doing. But no other harm done, thank God.”

  Green of leaf and vine hid the helicopter, though they could still hear the roar of its blades. Then sound, too, was lost in the enveloping murmur of the jungle. A bird startled Simon with a scream; deep within the tangle of green and brown and olive came a chattering which sounded like monkeys, and probably was.

  Simon asked, “Why did they just dump us out here in the middle of the
jungle?”

  “I think your fat little man—”

  “El señor jefe de policía Gutiérrez.”

  “El señor Gutiérrez for some reason did not want to kill us outright. Odd how squeamish some types can be. The thug with him would much have preferred to shoot me than knock me out, put a bullet through you, and then leave us here for the vultures.”

  “What are we going to do?” Simon asked.

  “Try to survive until Hurtado finds us.”

  “Will he find us?”

  “Hurtado is one of the best policemen in the world. If anybody can find us, he will.”

  Miss Leonis leaned toward the window in the little one-prop plane and watched the landing at Port of Dragons. Despite her exhaustion from the trip—the bus ride to Charleston, the long flight to La Guaira with a change of plane en route, and the bumpy trip in this old crate —she was excited. She peered out at the stretch of beach beside the runway, full of flotsam and jetsam, driftwood —and, as they came closer and she could see better, old sandals, tin cans, empty bottles. The water looked yellow and rough. Then the ground came up to meet them and they bounced several times and lurched to a stop. Her ancient heart was beating too rapidly; she could feel a flutter in her throat as though a small and frightened bird was caught there. Her hands, despite the heat, were cold.

  Several solicitous officials helped her from the plane and set her down on the airstrip. She looked around. She was glad that she had not seen the bird’s nest in the wind sock while they were landing; it hardly gave one a sense of confidence. Close to the plane was a low shack, and through the open door she could see a large set of scales, a soldier with a sub-machine gun, and two other semi-uniformed men with rifles. The three of them were playing some kind of card game, slapping cards and silver down on the table, which was spotlighted by the sun and looked even hotter than outdoors.

  She felt a presence at her side, turned, and one of the officials who had helped her from the plane was bowing obsequiously. He was rotund and shiny with heat. “Miss Phair?”

  She bowed in acknowledgment.

  “Señor jefe de policía Gutiérrez of the Port of Dragons police, at your service.”

  She extended a white-gloved hand and he kissed it.

  “I am here to escort you to the Orion, where you will be joyfully reunited with your nephew.” He led her to an official-looking car with a gold seal on the door. “If you will be so kind as to sit in front with me, perhaps I can get some preliminary questions out of the way on the drive to the ship.”

  She did not like him. Her heart continued to thud. The car was stiflingly hot and smelled of stale cigar smoke. As he closed the door for her she decided that she was much too tired to speak Spanish, and so she sat and smiled courteously and vaguely at el señor jefe de policía Gutiérrez as he started the car and drove off, immediately firing a barrage of questions at her.

  It took him some time to realize that she was not going to respond. Then he hit his forehead with the heel of his palm and moaned, as though to one of his minions, “But she is supposed to speak Spanish!”

  The corners of Miss Leonis’s mouth quirked slightly. She leaned back in the car and closed her eyes, making a concentrated effort to relax her travel-taut muscles, to slow the rapid beating of her heart. If she was to be of any use to Simon she must rest. Slowly and rhythmically, without moving her lips, she began to recite poetry to herself, Shakespeare’s sonnets, her favorite psalms, the prelude to Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales.

  Her head drooped forward and she slid out of poetry and into a light slumber. She paid no mind to el señor jefe de policía Gutiérrez.

  Defeated by passive resistance, he drove on.

  The captain and Boon were waiting for them on the dock.

  “But where is Simon?” Van Leyden demanded.

  “Sim6n? But he has returned to the ship.” Gutiérrez smiled at Miss Leonis, at van Leyden and Boon.

  “What are you talking about?” Boon asked.

  “The English priest was at the airport when Sim6n and I arrived. He was waiting in an official car sent from the police department of Caracas. When he said that he wished to question the boy immediately I hesitated, of course, but he persuaded me. He is a man of much authority.”

  “Where are they, then?” Van Leyden tried to keep his voice calm.

  “The Englishman said that they would talk on the way back to the ship. His driver was one of Hurtado’s top men. How could I refuse? I was outranked. Surely they are here by now? They left half an hour before Miss Phair’s plane arrived.”

  Miss Leonis asked sharply, “Where is my nephew? What is going on?” She felt old and bewildered and her lace parasol did little to keep the heat of the sun from beating down on her.

  “It is of no moment, gracious señora,” Gutierrez burbled. “They will of course be here momentarily.”

  A large black limousine drew up, and a uniformed chauffeur sprang out. “Where is the Englishman?” he demanded excitedly.

  What had been confusion now turned to chaos. The limousine ordered by Hurtado had been delayed by a flat tire. When the chauffeur finally reached the airport he was told that his charge had already departed, that he had been met by an agent of Comandante Alejandro Hurtado—but that, declared the chauffeur, was impossible; he was the agent; the comandante had phoned him; he was always Hurtado’s official chauffeur in Port of Dragons …

  Van Leyden looked at his watch. His anger toward the dead man was even deeper than his anxiety; was history going to repeat itself ? Was Phair, even dead, going to cause his resignation? He said, calmly enough, “We will wait half an hour. By then the Netherlands consul, Mynheer Henryk Vermeer, may be here. He was vacationing in the hills but he is already en route to Port of Dragons and should be here shortly. In the meantime, Miss Phair, while we are waiting for your nephew and the Englishman we will try to make you comfortable in the ship’s salon, which is considerably cooler than the deck. Please be so kind as to follow me.” He took her parasol and held it over her until they reached the cover of the ship.

  Miss Leonis was not sure that she was not going to faint before she got to the salon. Van Leyden, seeing her tremble, put his arm about her and helped her upstairs and into a comfortable chair where she would get what little breeze there was.

  “I do not understand what is happening,” she said.

  Van Leyden rang the bell for Geraldo. “Miss Phair, when there has been a murder, things are apt to be incomprehensible temporarily.”

  “Who is this English priest with whom Simon is supposed to be?”

  “Is with, I am sure, is with. He is a friend of one of the passengers, who sent for him.”

  “Isn’t it a bit late for a priest?”

  “It appears that he has worked for Interpol and has a reputation as someone who can solve difficult problems.”

  “Let us hope that he can. Would it be possible for me to have some tea?”

  “I have already rung for it.”

  “Thank you. You are very kind.”

  “Please try to rest, Miss Phair. You have had a difficult journey.”

  “Yes. Thank you.”

  “Simon will be most happy to see you. He is a good lad. Ah, here is Geraldo. Tea for Miss Phair, please, Geraldo, and something light to eat. Please excuse me, Miss Phair. I will send Simon to you the moment he arrives.” The anxiety with which he looked at his watch as he crossed the threshold belied the confidence in his voice.

  Poly hurried out onto the promenade deck and went to Charles, who was reading in the shade of the canvas canopy. “Aunt Leonis is in the salon.”

  He dropped his book. “What!”

  “Aunt Leonis is in the salon.”

  “Who told you?”

  “I saw her.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “We did see her in Savannah, Charles. Who else could it be?”

  “Where’s Simon, then?”

  “If he’s not with Aunt Leonis he should be here with us. H
ave you been in the cabin lately?”

  “It’s too hot.”

  “Let’s look for him.”

  Charles closed his book and put it down on his chair. With a worried look he followed his sister.

  Simon was not to be found.

  Poly said, “It’s like when we were looking for Cousin Forsyth and couldn’t find him. Do you suppose—”

  “No, I don’t. Let’s go to the captain.”

  The captain was on the bridge, with Dr. O’Keefe and Mr. Theo. Quietly he told the children that Simon was supposed to have left the airport in a government car with Canon Tallis. He did not say that the Englishman and Simon were already gone when the official chauffeur reached the airport. Instead, he made his voice reassuring. “No, we must not become alarmed too soon. I’ve had word from el comandante Alejandro Hurtado, chief of police in Caracas, who is coming today. Evidently Comandante Hurtado is an old friend of the Englishman’s.”

  Dr. O’Keefe nodded. “Yes, Tom has friends all over the world. If he has been met by a government official we needn’t worry.”

  But Mr. Theo shook his head so that his white hair flew about wildly. “They should be here if all is well. They should have been here an hour ago.”

  The captain did not deny this. “Let us not alarm the old lady. It is possible that the government driver is not familiar with the route. They may have lost their way.”

  “Tom Tallis does not lose his way,” Mr. Theo said.

  It had to be conceded that something had gone wrong. Canon Tallis and Simon ought to be on the Orion and they were not and there had been no word from or about them.

  Walking up and down the promenade deck Gutiérrez wrung his hands. His face streamed with sweat like tears. “But it is impossible, impossible,” he kept repeating.

  Van Leyden told the assembled passengers and Aunt Leonis, “Vermeer will be here any moment. Hurtado is flying in from Caracas and will arrive after dinner. They will order everything.” His face was pale and all the lines seemed to have deepened.