The Disestablishment of Paradise

by Phillip Mann

  She made tea for them both, holding the small kettle still. And when she had delivered him his cup, half-full, she stretched out below. Even while fully occupied steering the boat, she had been thinking about their conversation in the night, wondering what to do. It had brought their relationship into sharper focus for her, and made it more real too: less romantic, more pragmatic, and that felt good. When he had said ‘I don’t want magic; I want a wife’ she felt her cup overflow. Was this the same Hera who had always seemed so job-driven that she had no time or interest in romance? Ha! No, this was Hera, the woman, awake and enlivened, and part of her own great tradition. They were a team, she and Mack, she knew it. Anyone seeing them now would think they had crewed together for years. She loved the way he trusted her. When she was boss, he jumped. He asked good questions too that showed he was thinking. He was protective, but not in a way that weakened her. She would fight for him, by God she would. And she would not let up until he said, ‘Stay.’ Like Sasha before her, she was there for the long haul – a wave hit them broadside and her tea spilled – as long as they survived the storm.

  By late afternoon they had shared the work of the day and, apart from a few mishaps, all was well. They were tired but, most important, they were in sight of Royal Straits, and that cheered them. This three-mile channel – named after the Royal Seafood Company, which specialized in gourmet seaweeds and had used to trawl these waters – had a bad reputation. The problem was that the straits were shallow, and so the twin-moon waves which surged round the planet here experienced drag and so could, in the right conditions, turn into mighty breaking tidal waves. Small boats could be turned end over end. The danger for a big ship such as a trawler was that it could survive the comber, but might then be dumped and dragged on the rocky bottom in the following trough and hence lose its propeller or keel. It was then vulnerable to being turned broadside on to the sea and the next comer could roll it. It had happened plenty of times, and the shore was do ed with wrecks. The question facing Hera and Mack was, simply, should they make a run for it now despite the gathering evening, or should they turn into Preacher’s Cove and ride the night out?

  Three miles. Not far with a wind pushing you and the prospect of safety at the end of it, for there were many good anchorages off the western coast of Horse and Hera knew this part of the coast well. It was here that she had been working to re-establish the pancake wrack when she first heard the news of the Disestablishment.

  ‘Let’s get it behind us,’ she said. ‘Then we can relax.’

  ‘Whatever you say, boss.’

  ‘OK. But if we are caught by a wave, I’ll be taking us as straight as I can, and I want to know that you are tied on to the boat. Because it can get very steep and if you do get swept overboard . . . well, I’d never find you. And you would be swept off, because a wave is stronger than your grip.’

  ‘Understood.’

  She upped the revs and set out. She had sailed the channel several times in fair weather and foul. Now she was trying to remember the tricky parts. On a fine day it was beautiful and the rocks on the bottom gave the water incredible colours and patterns. But today there was so much broken water that she could not have told a wave breaking on a rock from a simple clash of currents or spray drift. She knew the channel was safe as long as she kept just left of centre. The dangerous rocks were mainly to the side. But one of the things that made steering difficult was that the straits were full of cross-currents, and these would push the small boat sideways. She decided to go as fast as possible.

  The tactic worked.

  And they almost made it.

  They had just reached the place where the pancake wrack was seeded and were in sight of the end when a giant wave started to build behind them. It was like the back of a whale rearing up out of the water – it just grew and they found themselves being lifted up its face. They stared down, and a hole in the sea seemed to open before them. The engine laboured as Hera fought to keep them straight. She was counting too. If the wave began to break now they were finished: nothing could survive that weight of water. But if it held its shape and they reached the crest . . . Five, six . . . It became dark. The light was cut off by the rearing wave. It was so close they could have touched it. Nine, ten . . . And then, just when they thought they must surely fall, the air lightened. They had crested the wave. They were through, and The Courtesy of MINADEC came level again. The hump of the wave passed under them with a hiss.

  They dropped down its back, but a new wave was already gathering behind. It was not as big as the one they had just survived, but it was already breaking. Hera had no choice but to steer as straight a course as she could. ‘Hang on tight, Mack!’ she shouted as the wave surged over them, forcing them down. They went under. The boat shuddered with the weight of water. Hera had no idea whether they were upside down or right way up or how deep they were. But then, sluggishly, the prow broke the surface and the cutter rode up.

  She was low in the water but the windows were not broken and the pumps were working. Seawater poured off the boat on all sides. Hera glanced behind. No monster wave was gathering and she sensed that they had changed direction slightly. The wind was no longer coming from the rear. It had lessened slightly. She could hear the engine labouring, but she kept the throttle pressed for full power. She knew they must be almost past the place where the shallows gave way before the deep trench. Soon the hills would give them cover. ‘Go, you beauty. Go, you beauty. Fight it,’ she shouted. With every second that passed her hope grew. She had no time to check for damage. All her attention was on the sea in front, and the nearby cliff which marched steadily past them.

  They must be past by now.

  They must be in deeper water.

  She chanced another look behind and there, rearing up against the murky dark sky, was the next giant wave, but it was marching away to their left. All they would feel was its swell. She let out a great cry of triumph and slapped the boat with the palm of her hand. ‘You beauty, you fighter! We’re through, Mack. We’ve beaten the straits. Mack. Mack!’

  Only now did she have time to take stock. She turned and there was no sign of Mack. Just a tangle of ropes in the stern. But then the ropes moved and an arm poked out. He had taken the full force of the wave and it had slammed him under the aft seats, where he now lay, wet, winded and wedged. But alive. And struggling to get out. ‘We’re through, Mack,’ she shouted and pointed to the white-crested wave that was now accelerating away from them like an express train.

  She eased back on the engine, lashed the wheel so they would hold their course and scrambled back to help him out. His nose was bleeding and his knuckles were grazed. But they were both alive and they crouched on the heaving deck and punched one another and laughed.

  Hera climbed back to the wheel and began to look around for damage. The first thing she noticed was that the solar panel which kept their torque batteries charged had gone. All that was left were the bolt holes. That meant they were running on whatever charge was left in the battery. The gauge which told them how much power they had in reserve was broken and the needle stood at zero. Amazingly, the mast was still intact along with the tightly furled sails. The anchor cover had gone, ripped away. They were trailing ropes. But otherwise, superficially at least, they had come through well. They were still riding a bit low in the water, but that wasn’t surprising.

  ‘Mack. Will you go and check the cabin? Look in the battery chamber. See if any water’s got in. Check for damage.’

  Mack nodded and climbed below.

  Hera studied the sea. They were well past Calypso Headland, which marked the northern tip of Horse in this latitude. The light was failing. The wind was still strong, but they were in open water and the waves had settled to a more predictable pattern. She had a decision facing her. Should she turn and head south and run for the safe coves of Horse, or should she head on for the distant shores of Anvil. They could go slowly overnight. There were no rocks, shoals or islands to worry about. They could tak
e turn and turn about on watch, and perhaps the wind would die down a bit. If luck was really with them they could even set sail north-north-west for Hammer and New Syracuse. They would be there in a matter of days, and with luck would never see another Michelangelo.

  Mack climbed back out on deck. ‘What’s the verdict?’

  ‘Well the cabin looks as if Descartes had one of her binge parties: two of the batteries have broken loose and smashed. I think we have a small leak somewhere up front but I couldn’t find it. Otherwise OK.’

  ‘Sure it’s a small leak?’

  ‘Yeah. The anchor hold door’s come off. There might be a crack round there. I can find it and fix it as soon as I clear a way through the mess.’

  Hera considered for a few moments. She looked at the dark sea streaming past and made her decision. ‘OK. Here’s the plan. We’re going to sail on. Ride our luck while we have it. This wind’s in our favour. We might be in sight of Anvil by tomorrow.’

  It was a good plan and they made good mileage, taking turn and turn about, until shortly after four o’clock when the engine began to fade. Once the power had begun to fail it dropped quickly. There was no time to get oil lamps.

  Within minutes they found themselves sitting in the middle of a pitch-black heaving sea while a brisk wind beat them about the ears.

  30

  Haven

  There is no blackness quite like the blackness of the sea at night.

  It is an immense blackness which seems to smother you. Hold your hand in front of your face and you will see not a glimmer. Bring it closer and you will touch your nose and will still not see anything. You live and move by what you can feel and by your memory. If you have a torch it can be worse, for it merely emphasizes the blackness and the sea, which you can see rising and falling as it sweeps past you like so much black ink. The beam, when you shine it in the air, shows for a while in the mist and spray and then fades away in the immense cavern that now surrounds you.

  Such was the situation of Hera and Mack.

  With the failure of the batteries, all lights in the cabin failed. The merry red and green lights marking port and starboard, as well as the instrumentation, such as it was, dimmed and disappeared. However, the darkness was not Hera’s main worry. The loss of power had revealed a serious design fault in The Courtesy of MINADEC. The steering was power-assisted and when the batteries failed the wheel lost its ease and became a thing of lead. Without power, unable to steer, they were at the mercy of the wind. And the wind would, simply by the physics of such things, turn them, and then the waves would come at them broadside on.

  ‘Mack?’

  ‘Yes?’ He was standing right beside her.

  ‘There’s a torch in the wheelhouse cupboard, down to the right of the wheel. Could you fetch it?’

  Hera felt Mack move round behind her. She sensed him reaching up to grip the cabin roof and then edging his way over to the cupboard.. She heard the click of the cupboard door. And moments later the flashlight beam cut into the dark.

  ‘Now what?’ said Mack.

  ‘I want you to take the wheel. Keep us pointed so the wind comes from directly behind if you can.’

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘Getting a rope. I’m going to rig a sail up front. That’ll give the wind something to bite on and keep us moving. Then we’ll worry about the steering. Don’t waste the batteries now. I know where I’m going.’

  Being tidy at sea was one lesson Hera had learned when crewing a yacht. So, during her time away from steering, she had coiled and stashed all the spare ropes.

  She felt her way round the ship, never moving without something to grip. The ropes were hidden under the rear seats and she was able to feel them, get a sense of their length and weight. She selected a medium-length cord about the girth of her index finger.

  ‘Flash the light once, Mack, to give me my bearing.’

  She saw the light, but just as she was about to release her grip, the wind tipped the cutter, and a wave came swilling on board and foamed round her legs before running away down the boat. Mack flashed the light again.

  Holding the rope under one arm, Hera made it back to him in no more than four steps. ‘Hold me by my life jacket while I tie on.’ She felt his grip steady her against the rolling. Quickly she tied the rope around her waist. ‘OK, here’s what we are going to do. I’m going to tie myself on here to the wheelhouse so that if anything happens, like I get washed overboard, you can pull me back. And if that does happen, pull gently cos I might have a foot trapped or the rope up round my neck or anything. Now, I’m going up front and I’m going to release the jib sail. What I want you to do is this. Shine the torch to your right. Can you see that binding wheel with the rope coming out of it? That rope goes out to the jib. When you feel me pull once on my safety line, I want you to slowly release the line, that’s anti-clockwise.’ Another wave hit them hard. They heard it and felt the small boat buck and tilt, and then the spray came right over them and would have knocked Hera over if Mack had not been holding her. ‘That’s because we’re broadside on. Makes life tricky. Keep releasing until you feel me tug twice and then stop and lock off. OK. One other thing: if I do go over the side, lock off the rope before you try to save me. Got it?’

  ‘Yeah. Good luck, Hera.’

  ‘Right. See you on the other side, eh?’

  Mack grunted, remembering the lesson he had given her when they were saving the Dendron. ‘Don’t you want the torch?’ he asked.

  ‘Need both hands, Mack. You know me.’

  Steadying herself for a moment, Hera pulled herself up beside the cabin and onto the narrow deck. She had plenty of things to hold on to and the only problem was that the deck was leaning anywhere from thirty to forty-five degrees, and so just keeping her feet on the wet deck was a challenge. She felt her way along the boat to the small jib boom. Here she tied herself on to one of the anchor guides and then braced herself and felt out along the jib. One by one she untied the jib lashings and felt the sail come free and loosen. Now. She gave one tug on the safety cord. Under her hand she felt the jib line move. Almost immediately she heard the jib start to flap as the sail unfurled. It was a sound like castanets. This changed as more sail was revealed, and she heard the sail bang as it took full wind. She hoped that Mack had a tight grip and would not let it out too quickly. The next thing she heard was the strain on the ropes as they took the full weight of the wind. She sensed the boat heeling round and steadying and starting to run before the wind. The wind was now steering the ship, and that meant they would buck about a bit. But they wouldn’t wallow.

  She tried to guess how much sail was up. Not too much. She didn’t want to put a great strain on the boat, just enough to keep them pointed. Two sharp tugs, and the rope stopped moving. She could feel the movement in the cord as it was locked off. OK. Back now.

  The journey back was a lot easier. That’s the way of things.

  ‘You’re a bloody marvel, you are,’ said Mack when she again stood by him, holding his arm for support.

  ‘I thought you weren’t supposed to give compliments.’

  ‘I’m gonna revise the rulebook. I couldn’t see where you were, but I felt the moment the sail took the wind. What a difference! What next?’

  ‘Next we need to sort out a rudder we can control, otherwise the jib might slap about too much and begin to tear the sail or rip the rings out.’

  ‘There was something like a rudder in the battery store. A big blade with two pins pointing down.’

  ‘Sounds about right. Funny place to keep a rudder though. Look out for the tiller too – that’s the handle that slots on the top.’

  ‘Gotcha. Let me go and get it.’ Mack made his way down into the cabin and slammed the door. Hera realized she was shaking. It was not fear, but her muscles acknowledging the strain. She braced herself against the wheel and stretched, trying to release the tension. Against her back she could feel the wheel shudder as the surging water struck the rudder below. It mus
t be stuck fast, otherwise the wheel would turn. Whatever position it had been in when the batteries failed was probably the position it still held. She hoped it was straight. Certainly the boat had not been jiving about as much as she expected, and so it might be still doing its job. The trouble would come when they had to steer to get to land. But that was a problem they’d deal with when they came to it.

  Mack was on his way back. He bumped his head, cursed whoever invented small boats and lugged something heavy up on deck. Hera shone the torch. Old-fashioned, varnished and never been used by the look of it, it was, undeniably, a rudder. The tiller was lashed to it. ‘I’ll tell you. It’s bloody heavy.’

  ‘All the better. Can you manage to hook it over the back?’

  ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘Well, let me get a rope on it first.’

  And it was as well she did, as getting the rudder hooked onto the rings as the boat surged took all Mack’s grunt and they lost it twice when it was knocked out of his hands by waves – but the third time it slotted. The tiller was soon bolted into place. And they sat in the bows while Hera tried to keep them steady.

  They sat there for the rest of the night, only about an hour or so, and gradually felt the wind slacken. As dawn broke, grey and wet, they saw looming ahead of them the high headland which marked the eastern tip of Anvil. The sight of land, even though far away, rallied their spirits, and Mack departed to make a cup of something warm. Thank God, thought Hera, they didn’t install an electric stove as well.

  By mid-morning they were close, and the mountains of Anvil, the Staniforth range, dominated the skyline. Hera, who had stayed at the tiller for most of the time, was aware that The Courtesy of MINADEC was becoming sluggish in the water. She was starting to wallow, and there was no doubt that however small the leak had been originally, it was now serious. The constant strain of the jib sail had probably opened a seam in the old boat. Also, Hera had put up more sail to compensate for the boat’s heaviness and the drop in the wind. All of that would be putting more strain on it.