The Sea King’s Daughter

by Barbara Michaels

  “Then it wasn’t what Jim said, about the German officer?”

  Frederick made a sound that was probably supposed to be a light laugh. It was more like a sick hen cackling.

  “What sort of trashy novels have you been reading?”

  “I haven’t read anything but books on archaeology for days,” I said indignantly. “You don’t even have a murder mystery in your library. Look, Frederick, I can’t go ahead with my work if I’m worrying about you. Sir Christopher told me about Crete -”

  “Indeed. What did he say?”

  “Just what happened. About your friend, the one who was killed.”

  “Vince.” Frederick sat down at the table and reached for a jar of marmalade. “What about him?”

  “Jim is his nephew,” I said.

  “I thought he might be. There is a distinct resemblance.”

  I looked at him incredulously. He sat there stolidly eating bread and marmalade. He had a passion for marmalade; it was the only food he really seemed to enjoy.

  “Sir Christopher knows who I am,” I said, forgetting about his presumed weak heart in my desire to jar his smug impassivity.

  “That was to be expected. I suppose he guessed-challenged you-and you fell for it.”

  “Uh,” I said, taken aback. It had been rather like that.

  Frederick went on. “That doesn’t matter, so long as he has no suspicions about your diving.”

  “Oh, but he does,” I said. “He warned me to be careful. He said you wouldn’t give a damn.”

  That got him. He started to speak, choked on a mouthful of bread, and had quite a struggle before he got it down.

  “Damn his impudence,” he exclaimed, still sputtering. “I hope you weren’t fool enough to admit that too?”

  “Oh, I denied it. I doubt that he believed me. But he said he wasn’t planning to do anything about it.”

  “There is nothing he can do at this moment.” Frederick brushed crumbs off his hands and stood up. “There is no law against swimming. The trouble will begin when you start using scuba gear. When do you think that will be?”

  He was halfway to the door when he finished this speech; if I wanted to reply I had to follow him, so I did.

  “What do you mean, when do I think? I can’t begin till I get air tanks and the use of a compressor. The air in those tanks is only good for-”

  “I know, I know. We’ll have to go to Phira for them. One day this week, perhaps.”

  “And a boat,” I went on. “I’m working some distance from shore now, and the distance will increase as I go on. If I do get in trouble, I want something to hold on to.”

  “Certainly, certainly,” said Frederick agreeably. “I wonder… How much can you accomplishwithout the scuba gear? I have heard of divers descending to almost two hundred feet without a self-contained air supply.”

  “I heard of it too,” I said. “I also heard that the diver spent considerable time in the hospital afterward.”

  The sun was up by the time we started for the bay of the villa. The bright rays dazzled my eyes. I was still seething. Frederick was being unusually obtuse this morning, and his remarks were more than normally provocative. Was he trying to keep my mind off certain subjects? If he thought I intended to nag him about his health he was mistaken. Right then I wouldn’t have cared if he had fallen down and breathed his last at my feet.

  He could keep me from talking about the other subject, but he couldn’t prevent me from thinking. I could see the pattern. It was pretty clear-and pretty queer, too. Wasn’t it a coincidence that all these people should have gathered in the same remote spot at the same time? Two of the Three Musketeers, the heroes of the Cretan underground-and the surviving relative of the third hero? I might have accepted that as coincidence, or rather as the consequence of the interests and specialties of these men. But Frederick ’s reaction to the news that the mystery man in the villa was a former German officer stretched coincidence to the breaking point.

  I got that far in my reasoning and then my common sense rebelled. I mean, it was like the plot of one of those trashy novels, as Frederick called them. It would really be too much if the man in the villa turned out to be one of Frederick ’s former enemies from Crete.

  We had reached the bay by the time I reached this point in my thinking, so I gave it up. I didn’t have enough facts to make sensible deductions anyway.

  Frederick perched himself on a rock, with an air of exaggerated patience. I passed him without speaking, adjusted my mask and fins, and went into the water.

  As always, it cooled me off in more senses than one. It was too beautiful and too peaceful down there for rancor to last. Nor could I pursue the train of thought that had occupied me on the way to the beach. I had to concentrate on what I was doing. The farther out I went, the more jumble there was on the bottom. Once my heart leaped at the sight of a long, straight ridge of tumbled stone that could have been a wall. Examination proved I was wrong. I disturbed my first octopus, though. He came boiling out of a hole in the stone, exuding ink. He was about a foot across, tentacles included, and he was as cute as could be. I wondered how you went about making friends with an octopus. I had already found one buddy, a big fat blue-and-white-striped fish of a species I didn’t recognize. He had been following me with an air of inquisitive interest, probably hoping I would stir up some food for him.

  I finished my crossing and pulled myself out on the rocks at the far side to rest. Frederick was still sitting in the same spot. When I waved, he flapped a limp arm at me.

  I hadn’t gone far on my way back before my friend the fish joined me. I decided to call him Alice; his facial markings gave him a distinct resemblance to Alice Cooper. We went down together to look at a clump of unusually luxuriant anemones; plants will often cluster on decayed wood. This time they had not. When I surfaced I saw that Frederick had disappeared.

  I guess I had been half expecting some such development, because I wasn’t surprised. I wasn’t even very angry, just disgusted.

  I was hanging there, treading water and cursing, when something made me look around. I don’t know why I should have looked in the direction of the villa. I had almost forgotten it was there; I had seen no signs of life. Now, however, there was a figure standing on the cliff looking down.

  It was a man. I could see his shape but not his features. Naturally I connected his appearance with the disappearance of Frederick. The villainous German officer.

  I might or might not be trespassing, but my best move was to hope he hadn’t seen me and get out as fast as I could. I swam underwater most of the way and got out in the shelter of a rock. He was halfway down the cliff when I looked back; the darkness of his body stood out against the chalk-white ash.

  Rather than risk being seen climbing the cliff I swam around the headland and headed for our own bay. I lingered deliberately at the house, eating a huge breakfast, taking my time. It must have been almost noon before I got to the excavation.

  Frederick was in a terrible mood. I would have liked to believe that he was worried about my late arrival, but I knew him well enough to doubt that. The men were visibly amused at my tardiness; Nicholas gave me a grin and a wink when I joined his crew.

  We were still digging up pots. Frederick thought that the area we were working in had been a storeroom, with another such room above. The reason why the pots we found were so badly shattered was that they had fallen when the upper floor collapsed. Since all I had to look forward to when these scraps were cleared was another layer of pots, I was not working with much enthusiasm. It was a warm, sleepy day, and everyone was moving slowly.

  All of a sudden Nicholas stood up. I stared at him from my squatting position and saw that his face had gone queer and pale. He screamed out something I didn’t understand, although I had been picking up some Greek. Then he took off at full speed, followed by the other men.

  I ran too. Mine not to reason why. But it took me a few seconds to get myself together, so I was still within the confin
es of the ravine when I heard the roaring. That was what it sounded like, the bellowing roar of a huge animal. Then the ground heaved.

  The tremor was more severe than the ones I had felt the day before. It knocked me flat. That’s a good place to be during an earthquake, flat on the ground, although I would have preferred a more open area. A few rocks fell, but not many.

  I continued to lie there even after the movement stopped. I didn’t stir until someone shook me.

  “Get up,” said Frederick.

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “I feel good here.”

  “Don’t be a fool,” Frederick said impatiently. “There may be another shock. We must get out into the open.”

  We went back to the house. Frederick was grumbling all the way; he seemed to feel a personal resentment against the earth for interfering with his work.

  “The men won’t be back today,” he complained. “Another wasted afternoon. Perhaps you might spend a few more hours-”

  “Oh, no,” I said firmly. “In fact, I’m not going in again unless you get a boat. If you’re going to walk out on me the way you did this morning… Did you run away because that man showed up?”

  “What man?”

  “The one in the villa. The Colonel. Don’t tell me you didn’t see him.”

  “I did not. More important, did he see you? On no account must you allow him to-”

  “Why not?”

  Frederick shrugged. “Why, legally, I suppose we are trespassing.”

  “That’s the only reason?”

  “What other reason could there be?” inquired Frederick.

  I decided there was no point in going on with this sort of thing, so I went to the village.

  The church was open, and people were going in and out. A sizable crowd had collected. People clustered together, talking in low voices. When I passed they looked up and smiled in response to my “hello,” but the smiles were stiff and the eyes avoided mine.

  I figured they were worried about the quakes, and I didn’t blame them. I headed for the hotel to see how Jim was doing.

  It was the first time I had been inside the place, and the appearance of the lobby made me glad I wasn’t staying there. Chickens were roosting on the chairs, and my sandals stuck to the floor. Nobody was at the desk, so I banged on the bell and shouted. Finally a woman came out of the back, wiping her hands on her apron.

  I had heard Jim speak of Angelos’ wife. He said she did most of the work, acting as cook, chambermaid, and bellboy. Her name was Helena. I had felt sorry for her because Angelos struck me as a typical peasant-type male, the kind that expects a wife to work all day and lie still all night; but when I saw Helena I decided she was probably a match for her burly husband. She was a massively built woman who had weathered middle age better than women usually do when they work like mules. Her hair was streaked with gray, but it was still thick and shiny, and the black hairs on her upper lip added to her charm.

  After I had tried to explain what I wanted and had received no response except a blank stare, I began to wonder if all her strength had gone to her biceps. I was about to give up when Jim came down the stairs.

  “I thought I heard your dulcet tones,” he said, with a smile. “Are you calling on the sick and wounded? How nice.”

  I looked him over. Except for the white bump of bandage on top of his head, he appeared normal.

  “I see you’re okay, so I’ll leave,” I said.

  “Have some coffee or something. No more work today. I suppose your crew departed too?”

  I nodded. Jim spoke to Helena, asking her if she could bring us some coffee, out on the terrace. He got a much livelier reaction than I had. She rolled her eyes at Jim and giggled. I studied Jim with a new interest. He had somewhat the same effect on me-although I knew better than to giggle and bat my eyelashes-but it hadn’t occurred to me that he might affect most women that way.

  We sat down at one of the tables on the terrace. The crowd was still moving, in little restless eddies, like water in a pond after it has been disturbed. From where we sat I could see the lights inside the dark cavern of the church.

  “Lots of candles being lit today,” Jim said. “I wonder who the patron saint of earthquakes is.”

  “Is that why they seem so queer and restless?”

  “I guess so. They seem to be unusually disturbed. I mean, tremors aren’t all that unusual around here.”

  “There’s Nicholas,” I said, pointing. “He felt the quake coming, Jim. At least he started to run before I heard or felt anything.”

  Nicholas turned, as people will when you are looking at them and talking about them. I beckoned. He came toward us, and Jim invited him to sit down. He gave me a rather sheepish grin. Like many of the men he had beautiful white teeth. He spoke to Jim, gesticulating.

  “He wants to apologize,” Jim translated. “He says he should have warned you, but when the-damn, the word is hard to translate-the queasiness, I guess, comes over him, he can’t think.”

  “Queasiness? Ask him what it feels like.”

  Nicholas was watching me anxiously. I patted him on the arm and smiled, and he smiled back, looking relieved.

  He and Jim talked for a while, and then Nicholas rose. He turned to me and said, speaking slowly and clearly, “Not more. All gone now, today. All right?”

  “Good,” I said heartily.

  He understood that. We bobbed our heads and grinned at each other, and then he walked off, with the hip-swinging swagger characteristic of the men of the island.

  “You got that,” Jim said.

  “No more quakes today. How does he know, Jim?”

  “He says it’s an inherited talent. Lots of the islanders have it. He can’t describe the feeling very well, but apparently he starts to feel sick. Like a migraine, I guess. Frankly, I find it hard to believe.”

  “But it happened. He yelled something and started to run long before I heard the rumbling. I didn’t hear it yesterday, by the way.”

  “Yesterday’s shocks were milder. When it’s a bad quake the sound is quite loud. You can understand why the ancients thought of Poseidon as the Earthshaker and compared the noise with the roaring of the sacred bulls.”

  “Yes, that’s what it sounded like.”

  I shivered. The concept was disturbing, now that I had actually heard the sound.

  “Did Nicholas say why this quake bothers the villagers so much?”

  “He was evasive,” Jim said, frowning. “I gather they expect more action. A new vent has opened on Nea Kaimeni.”

  “Nea-oh, the island out in the bay?”

  “Yes. It’s the cone of the new volcano that arose after the old one blew itself up. Hell, Sandy, don’t look so apprehensive. Volcanoes smoke all the time.”

  “They erupt all the time too,” I said. “How can anybody live in a place like this?”

  “People live in the craziest places,” Jim said cheerfully. “The peasants go right back to the slopes of Vesuvius after each eruption. And what about Californians? Scientists have been predicting for years that San Francisco is about to collapse into the Bay.”

  “I think Californians are crazy too,” I said.

  “How’s Dr. Frederick?” Jim asked.

  “Trying to change the subject? He’s okay.”

  “He sure looked bad last night.”

  “I asked him, this morning, about the man in the villa.”

  “What did he say?”

  “As usual, nothing. He laughed at me when I suggested your remark had brought on his attack.”

  “It is pretty farfetched,” Jim muttered.

  “Aha. You are thinking what I am thinking.”

  “It’s because we were raised on bad melodrama,” Jim said, with a wry smile. “TV crime series, James Bond. In a thriller the guy at the villa would turn out to be the Gestapo officer who pursued your boss across the mountains of Crete, yelling ‘Achtung,’ or ‘Gotterdämmerung,’ or whatever TV German villains yel
l…”

  “What does your boss say about it? He was in Crete too.”

  “Why should he have anything to say? Our cast of characters is purely hypothetical, love. The man in the villa is probably some retired merchant who has never even set foot on Crete. He may not be a colonel or even an army officer.”

  “True.” I felt the same relaxation, the same sense of security I always felt with Jim. I wondered if this was the time to tell him that Frederick wasn’t only my employer but my father. But it was so peaceful, I hated to disturb the mood. The crowd in the plaza was thinning. People were returning to their normal pursuits, as if the danger was over. I leaned back in my chair. Neither of us spoke for a while, and the silence was comfortable, the way it is when two people who know each other so well they don’t have to make idle conversation.

  Jim saw her first. He sat up with a start.

  She came into the plaza, and, as before, the people scattered before her. She was wearing beautifully tailored white slacks and a printed blouse that strained across her bosom. She jangled with jewelry. A scarf of fiery mustard yellow held her black hair. She was walking so fast the ends of the scarf blew out.

  She came straight toward us. Jim got to his feet as she stopped at our table, but she didn’t look at him, she was staring at me.

  “Ariadne,” she said. “Yes. It is true. I could not believe when they told me. But, as always, they are right. Welcome back.”

  Chapter 8

  I

  I THINK MOST PEOPLE WOULD HAVE FOUND THAT speech disconcerting. For me the effect was absolutely devastating. It was not only what she said, it was the way she was looking at me, with the queerest mixture of longing and hostility. I had heard of devouring eyes, but I had always thought it was a figure of speech, till then, when her black eyes fastened on my face like claws.

  Jim pulled out a chair.

  “Won’t you join us?” he said. “My name is Jim Sanchez. This is Sandy Bishop. Madame…?”

  “Kore.” She didn’t look at him.

  “Will you have coffee, madame? Ouzo? Wine?”