Upstairs, in the double bed that seemed larger tonight than it had the night before, Phoebe wrapped herself up in her arms, and tried to put Tesla's words out of her head. But they wouldn't go. they stalked the hopes she'd worked so hard to keep alive the last forty-eight hours, sniffing their weakness, ready to pounce and devour them the moment Phoebe oo ed the other way.
"Oh God, Joe," she said, suddenly sobbing, "Joe, Joe, Joe, where are you?"
Just as Joe was beginning to think the swell would never die down and the continued violence of its motion would shake The Fanacapan apart at the timbers, the towering waves began to diminish, and after a time the current delivered them into a region of much calmer waters.
Noah ordered the volunteers to check on the condition of the vessel's boards (it had fared better than Joe had expected; it was taking in water in one place only, and that no more than a trickle), then the torches were lit at stem and bow, and everyone took time to rest and catch their breaths. The volunteers all sat together at the stem, heads bowed.
"Are they praying?" Joe asked Noah.
"Not exactly."
"I'd like to thank them for what they did back there," Joe said. "I wouldn't bother."
"No, I want to," Joe said, leaving Noah's side.
Noah caught hold of Joe's arm. "Please leave them be," he said.
Joe pulled himself free. "What's the big problem?" he said, and strode down the deck towards the half-dozen. None, of them looked up at his approach.
"I just wanted to thank you-" Joe began, but he stopped as a dozen little details of their condition became apparent. Several of them had been hurt in the stonngashed arms and flanks, bruised faces-but none of them were nursing their wounds. they bled freely onto the soaked deck, shuddering occasionally.
Unnerved now, Joe went down on his haunches beside them. This was the first opportunity he'd had to study their physiognomy closely. None of them looked entirely human. Each had some detail of skin or eye or skull that suggested they had come of mixed marriages: the blood of Homo sapiens mingled with that of creatures who either lived beside Quiddity or below it.
He looked from face to face. None of them showed the slightest sign of pain or even discomfort.
"You should get those cuts covered up," he said.
He got no response. they weren't deaf, he knew that. They'd heard Noah's instructions, even over the roar of surf. But they showed no sign of even knowing that Joe was beside them, much less understanding his words.
Then, a voice from behind him.
"I had no choice."
Joe looked back over his shoulder. Noah was standing a couple of yards down the deck from him.
"What did you do to them?"
"I simply put them in my service," Noah said.
"How?" "I worked what I think you call a conjuration upon them."
"Magic?"
"Don't look so disdainful. It plainly works. We needed their service, and I had no other way of getting it."
"Would you have done the same thing to me, if I hadn't agreed to bring you here?"
"I didn't have the strength back there. And even if I had, you'd have resisted me better than they did."
"They've hurt themselves."
"So I see."
"Can't you wake them up? Get them to tend to themselves?"
"What for?"
"Because otherwise they're going to be scarred for life."
"Their lives are over, Joe."
"What do you mean?"
"I told you: They're in my service. Permanently. We'll use them to get us home, and then," he shrugged "they'll have no further purpose."
"So-what?"
"They'll lie down and die."
"Oh my God."
"I told you: I had no choice. How else were we going to get off the shore?" "You're killing them."
"they don't feel anything. they don't even remember who they are."
"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" Joe said. "Look at me, Noah. I don't like this slave shit. Wake then7 up!"
"It's too late."
"Try, damn you!" Joe yelled, his fingers itching to wipe the sham of pity off Noah's face.
The man knew it. He retreated down the boards a few yards. "We've done well together so far," he said to Joe. "Let's not fight now and spoil our fellowship."
"Fellowship?" Joe said. "I didn't notice any fellowship. You wanted something from me. I wanted something from you. Simple as that." ,'Very well," Noah said. "I tell you what," he said, "I'll do what I can to reverse the conjuration-"
"Good."
"I don't believe they'll thank us for it, but I suppose you think freedom's preferable to their present state, even if it brings agony with it. Am I right?"
"Of course."
"And if I liberate them, we'll assume the bargain between us over."
"What?" "You heard me."
"That wasn't what we agreed."
"But it's what I'm offering now," Noah calmly replied. "they can be free or you can have power. One or the other, but not both."
"You sonofabitch."
"Which is it to be, Joe?" Noah replied. "You seem very certain in your righteousness so I suppose it's an easy decision. You want to liberate the slaves, yes?" He watched and waited. "Yes, Joe?"
After several seconds of deliberation Joe shook his head. 'No.
"But they're bound to my will, Joe. They're sitting there bleeding, bound to my will. You can't want that, can you?" He waited a beat. "Or can you?"
Joe looked back at the creatures sitting on the deck, his mind a maze. There'd been a clear path ahead of him moments before, but Noah had confounded it. And why? For the pleasure of seeing him squirm.
"I came here because you promised me something," Joe said.
"So I did."
"And I'm not going to have you talk me out of it."
"You talked yourself out of it, Joe."
"I didn't agree to anything."
"Do I take it then that the slaves will remain in thrafl?"
"For now," Joe said. "Maybe I'll set them free myself, when I get what I'm due."
"A noble ambition," Noah replied. "Let's hope they survive that long." He wandered over to the starboard side. "Meanwhile," he said, "I have work for them to do." He glanced at Joe, as if expecting some objection. Getting none, he gave a little smile and went back to the stem of the vessel to make his instructions known.
Cursing under his breath, Joe looked over the side to see what the problem was, and found the water clogged in every direction with sinuous weed of some kind. Its fronds were the palest of yellows, and here and there it was knotted up into bundles, the smallest like foothalls, the largest twenty times that size. Plainly the weed was slowing the vessel's progress, but the slaves were already at the bow, clambering over the sides and lowering themselves into the water to solve the problem. Digging their way through the floating thicket they started to hack at the weed, two with machetes, the others with pieces of broken timber. Watching them labor, making no sound of complaint, Joe could not help the shameful thought that perhaps it was better they felt nothing. The task before them was substantial-the weed field stretched at least two hundred yards ahead of the vessel-and would surely exhaust their wounded limbs. But at least the waters beyond the field looked calm and clear. Once the boat reached them the slaves would be able to rest. He might even try bargaining with Noah afresh, and get him to release the weakest of them from bondage, so they could tend themselves.
Meanwhile, he retired to the wheelhouse, stripping off his damp shirt and hanging it on the door before sitting down to ponder his situation.
The air had grown balmier of late, and despite his recent agitation, he felt a kind of languor creep upon him. He let his head drop against the back of the cabin seat, and closed his eyes...