Rising at last with her, he said, shaken by delight: “Now best we sleep, to strengthen us for day, though every day beyond when thou art by will strengthen me. Goodnight, my morning star.” She blinked her eyes.
“Why, where’d’st thou go?”
“Outside—”
“Thy bed is here.” She pointed. Fiery-cheeked, he backed off. She regarded him seriously and tenderly for a while before saying, “I’m thine forever, any time thou wilt.”
He shook his head. “It is my nearest hope that from this hour I may do naught but right by Jennifer. I’ll often fail; but never willingly.”
Her lips brushed his, her fingers ruffled his hair. Laughing a little, she told him: “Oh, very well, I’ll spare thy modesty. We can blow out the lights ere we disrobe, and here are blankets left from Prospero beneath which we may sleep and later dress. And there’s a yard between our beds, thou seest—a mile, a league, a polar continent—Still, I can reach across to clasp thy hand.”
After a space he nodded, having likewise begun to smile. “I yield me on those honorable terms.”
She let him go and moved around the chamber. One by one the flames vanished. “I do confess I suddenly am tired,” she said, “as tired as death… a happy, happy death which, undeserving, knows what heaven waits.”
Rupert’s eyes followed her about. “ ‘Our revels now are ended,’ ” he murmured: “ ‘these our actors—as I foretold you—were all spirits and are melted into air, into thin air; and like the baseless fabric of this vision the cloud-capped towers, the gorgeous palaces, the solemn temples, the great globe itself, yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve and like this insubstantial pageant faded leave not a rack behind: we are such stuff as dreams are made on, and our life is rounded with a sleep.’ ”
She had stopped, amazed. “What words are those?”
“Old Prospero’s.”
“So grave, so beautiful. Their kind has never chimed upon mine ears.”
“Nor ever will, save when thou hearest read the chronicles of the Historian. We’re born into a sad and lowly age, whose very language limps; we can but croak like crows on lark-forsaken winter fields.” Rupert hesitated. “I only speak of me. Thou art a hawk, as once I thought, who writes her eloquence upon the wind. I worship thy fleet shadow.”
“If thou’rt swart-feathered, Rupert, so am I!”
His moodiness broke first in a chuckle, afterward in an honest yawn. “Ah, well, beloved, let’s to our repose. The world and time have also need for crows.”
The day lay totally quiet. The island was emerald upon glass and silver, set against lapis lazuli. The single liveliness was Ariel’s, where he zoomed about on his wings. The others worked, but were slow in their care. Sweat made their skins shiny.
The tartane lay at rest, sails furled, no anchor needed. A stout pole had been secured to the bottom of the mast. Ropes ran from its free end to a block and tackle at the peak; thence lines led down-ward for hauling and control, to make the whole a cargo boom. From it hung a curious object: a huge barrel, bottomless and heavily tarred, hooks inside the lower edge holding bags of sand. That weight canted the boat far over.
“Halt!” Ariel called. “Halt! Suspend the thing exactly there. Nay, ye have overshot. Come back ,.. come back… a grass-blade width—aye, stop. It dangles right. Mine elf-sight and my sense for current flow confirm that it will sink around our goal.” He returned to perch on a thwart. His mien grew troubled. “Yet I’ve no eye to scan the future, friend. I cannot say if thou wilt overstrain those hoops and staves, or thine own lungs and ribs, and well below five fathom lie entombed.”
Kindled by excitement, Rupert responded, “I’m traveling in goodly company: my Lord, my lady’s prayers; what need I fear?”
His frame clad simply in breeches, knife at belt, he swept Jennifer to him for a kiss. “I’ll soon be back, the book beneath mine arm,” he said, “and maybe have a pearl for thee besides.”
“Thyself—I want no more—Fare ever well,” she could barely reply.
Rupert eased himself over the rail. “Lower away.”
“Measter, I beg thee, let me go,” Will said. “Tha King ha’ need o’ thee.”
“He needs commanders who’ll not let men do what they’d not do themselves.” Rupert’s tone came sharp from where he trod water. “Lower away, I ordered.”
Will bit his lip and obeyed. Caliban helping, he brought the barrel down to the surface on its creaky ropes.
Rupert swam thither. For an instant he paused, to wave at Jennifer, then ducked within.
“Let go tha gear,” Will rasped. “Tha zooner’a’s off, tha zooner we’ll know if’a’s comin’ back.”
The boat lurched. Cordage whined through sheaves, slapped loose and went under, where the black cylinder had already plunged from sight.
Jennifer leaned over the gunwale, staring and staring until the last ripple died. “Now I may weep,” she said, and sank to the bottom of the boat.
Ariel flitted to console her. “He should survive the trip,” the sprite said. “Duke Prospero did not really bear away his book to the middle sea, above abysses. He feared there’d be a risk of theft en route. Our friend can stand this depth.”
“Thou’lt swear it?”
“Nay,” he admitted.
Caliban made his own rough attempt at patting her head. Will grabbed his arm and snapped, “Come away, mudbrain. Has she not grief aplenty without smellin’ thee?”
“Aye. I know not how to help the Miranda, do I?” Caliban slouched aft and sat down by the tiller next to the dragoon. “If I did! If I did!”
“If I knew how to help my prince—” Will shook himself. “Ah, well, good mooncalf, we’re in the zaeme boat.
Let’s dull tha edge o’ this waitin’ as best’s we can.”
Caliban brightened. “Brandy?”
“Nay, not yet. We may need our moast, not our fullest strength an’ wits. Tonight, however, after’a’s returned, aye, liake tha heathen we’ll zacrifice a cask! An’ if’a doan’t return—” He stared across unmerciful brightness. “We’ll drink.”
Caliban scratched his mane, dislodging fleas. “I still can’t understand what this is about. Thou callest that thing a diving bell. Not once did I hear it go dingdong.”
Will cuffed him. “From tha shaepe, as I miaght liaken thee to a midden. As for a clapper, Rupert himzelf, crashed back an’ foarth till—Nay!” He drew a ragged breath. “Hark’ee,” he said fast. “My prince learned in Tunis how yon book had been zunk, but tha water’d not damage zo magic a thing. Were’t damageable, thou zeest, Prospero could’a got rid of it in easier ways nor this. Well, my general thereon had a cooper in Tunis maeke him tha bell, which be another new-fangled invention. Gaunt though our hoape zeemed o’ fiadin’ tha spot,’a knew we’d need means o’ goin’ down if zomehow we did get heare. I’ll’splain tha principality. Tha zandbags drag it under, tha tar zeals in air to breathe. Thic air thickens, a zays, squeezed by water; yet a bubble should remain for him. When on tha bottom,’a’ll fiand what’a zeeks by feel, then cut loose them weights whilst hangin’ onto a stanchion inzide. Tha barrel should fair leap tow’rd tha zun.”
“And the Miranda.” Caliban scowled. Hopefully: “He’s taking a long time, right?”
“Who knows? We can’t tell how deep it be, how coald an’ dark down yonder, an’ naught zave tha bell, tha book, an’ his life’s one candle—”
Jennifer cried out. Ariel rocketed aloft. Will scrambled to his feet. Caliban yelped. In a roar and white gush of cloven water, the device had returned.
It nearly flew free before it splashed back down. It and the boat rocked toward quiescence.