“Sure, that’s why we need to get off this bump.”
“No. Too late. This… lots o’ shiksaks on land, there hundreds-thousands? In sea near here, they get ready to co…” He shook his head irritably. “To get on land. No ’oat get out on sea until they are gone. Too late.”
“Say,” said Dennis thoughtfully. “You’re probably right about that. Damn.” He was silent a moment, thoughtful.
“Only thing to do, ‘gals’ get in trees, ’ig, tall trees. Us try to devend gals as long as us can. ’Orget ’oat. It no good. Us get gals in trees.”
“You said everything else that can will get in the trees too. They might need a heap of defendin’.”
“True. No choice.”
Silva was scratching his beard. “Maybe not. Maybe so.” He grinned. “I just had me a squirrelly notion. Maybe we can save the boat and everybody else too. Won’t be easy, but nothin’ else has been, so why whine about it? Maybe if all we save in the end is the gals, they’re still gonna need that damn boat. I figger it’s both, or what’s the point?”
“You really ha’ a ‘notion’?” Lawrence asked.
“I always got notions. Some are better than others, I’ll admit, but this just might work.” He slung the Doom Whomper and started back through the forest of bamboo. “C’mon. You’re gonna hafta help me sell this scheme. ’Sides, we still got a ways to heave that damn boat and time’s a’wastin’!”
“I keep saying that!” Lawrence complained.
Silva’s “scheme” almost killed them all. First, when he detailed it, it resulted in yet another near-violent confrontation with Rajendra and his remaining Imperials. Rajendra in particular thought it was insane, and almost had Princess Rebecca believing him this time. She’d thought their island ordeal was almost over, and she so wanted off the dreadful place. Young Brassey didn’t remain silent this time, but openly sided with Silva and ultimately Sandra and the princess as Lawrence’s clear certainty finally convinced them that, wild as it was, Silva’s plan was their only hope. It was unquestionably Abel Cook’s only hope, and Brassey had grown very protective of his injured friend. He knew Rajendra and the other Imperials considered the boy expendable, but he didn’t, and he was beginning to suspect his princess didn’t either. With Brassey, and eventually even carpenter Hersh, on Silva’s side, that left only Rajendra, his engineer, and a single Imperial Marine objecting. There was no question of a democratic resolution, but the three holdouts doubted they could handle the “Mad American” by themselves, much less the rest of the heavily armed party. When Rebecca reluctantly decided to endorse the plan, the specter of treason reentered the dispute and open resistance melted away.
The second thing that almost destroyed them, despite the fact that they were molested by no more of the growing number of land-weary, lethargic shiksaks they saw, was the blistering, killing, physical pace Silva set beneath the murderous sun. The newly arrived shiksaks that had ventured so far from shore-probably staking an early claim to an ultimately less-crowded nesting area-would recover their “land legs” in time. They had to be finished by then. As the day wore on and they heaved the boat down the mild, much appreciated slope into the narrow savannah that Silva called the “kudzu patch,” the apparent tension of the island itself began to grow. Lizard birds squawked querulously and the strange little birds in the clearing swarmed erratically from place to place, or burst their formations completely into chaotically buzzing individuals. The odd, purplish flowers of the kudzu seemed to dance and sway with the breeze, as though imitating live creatures grazing about. The prickly thorns, so small and difficult to see when the group had passed this way before, were now larger and more erect on the vines. They carefully gave them a wide berth, laying the wooden rollers to clear the menacing patches of the weed.
Odd, hoarse cries resonated from the tall trees ahead that separated them from the beach, and they saw many small-and not so small-creatures beginning to gather there. Shrieks exploded as fights broke out between different species. Lawrence warned that the fights would become general among individuals eventually, as the furry, gourd-like fruits in the trees were exhausted. Saying he had an idea, he sprinted back the way they’d come. A smallish shiksak thundered ashore, bellowing its arrival, beyond the massive trees ahead that they’d chosen for their size. It thumped and thudded directly beneath them, headed toward the boat at first, but then steered hungrily toward the coyly twitching kudzu flowers, crashing into the patch with a triumphantly gaping maw. It snapped voraciously at the flowers for several moments, but then seemed to grow sleepy, as if sated and now torpid. A little unsteady, it groped its way out of the kudzu in the direction of a distant shiksak that was still resting from its arrival.
“Young bull,” Silva opined through gritted teeth as he reslung his weapon and took up his rope again. “Bet he don’t get to be an old bull. Kinda sets a fella back, thinkin’ ’bout all the times he’s acted the same damn way.” He gasped and heaved in time with the others. “Whoo-ee! Liber-tee! Where’s the grub? Where’s the broads?”
The raucous sounds of wildlife grew, birds erupted from the grass, the trees, everywhere, swirling madly and densely enough to create a kind of shade. Small shapes scampered in all directions to the extent that tripping became a concern. It was as if they somehow knew the full infestation was finally at hand. Even Rajendra quieted his objections and laid to with a will. It was late afternoon when, exhausted, panting, they finally placed the boat between the two trees they’d chosen, more by size, direction, and proximity than anything else. They rested briefly, gulping the rum-tinged water Brassey shared out with a tin cup. They’d already laid in plenty of water, and most of Silva’s surviving “prize” rum he’d taken during their escape from Billingsley had gone to purify it into a kind of grog. Most, but not all. There were still medicinal purposes to consider. They didn’t have a moment to lose, but they had to rest a little before they attempted their next pair of tasks. A misstep now or a mishandled line would doom them all.
“Are you ready for this?” Sandra finally asked.
Captain Lelaa nodded, looking at the trees, ears twitching appraisal. “I have been climbing masts since I was born,” she said confidently. “These ‘trunks’ will be simpler.”
“Them double-block falls are kinda heavy-an’ you gotta make sure they don’t get tangled up,” Silva fussed. When they’d escaped, they unhooked the falls, thinking at least the rope might be handy. Now the heavy block-and-tackle arrangement might prove their salvation. They never could have built a set in time.
Lelaa practically sneered at Silva. “Mind your own business. Just keep those creatures up there away from me,” she said. The creatures in question, a wild variety perched high in the tree’s broad canopy above, had stopped squalling and now peered sullenly down at them.
Silva nodded, and setting down the Doom Whomper, he selected a loaded musket from within the boat. “You got it, Cap’n.”
“What can I do to help?” Sister Audry asked, still somewhat breathless.
“Nothin’ right now. Might not have to do anything a’tall ’til you climb aboard,” Dennis answered, “unless you want to try your hand at shootin’?”
Sister Audry shook her head. She had no experience with firearms of any sort. She still looked concerned. “But the boat is so heavy! How will we lift it up there?”
“A double-block rig’ll let you lift four times the weight as usual. I can hoist a thousand pounds easy as peein’ with that rig.. . if you’ll ’scuse me for sayin’ so.” He paused. “Just take my word for it. Five big fellas, two strong ladies-countin’ the squirt-a ’Cat that’s prob’ly stronger than me, and a fuzzy, stripey lizard-I figger we can lift close to twice what that damn boat weighs. We oughta be able to manage without you and Mr. Cook.” He looked around. “Say, where’s that stripey lizard, anyway?”