The parrot, of course, deserted as soon as it saw the sky.
She had taken perhaps ten steps upward when the ladder toppled sideways with the rest of the hull. She twisted, reaching up for the lip of the hatchway with her right hand while keeping firm hold of her lifeline with her left. In this position she hung while the felucca pivoted round her. The hatch that had been a hole above her became almost a doorway framing her as she faced inward. She pushed off hard and stepped back into the dazzling, roaring day.
At once, the seat on the boatswain’s chair under her left armpit took all her weight; but as it slid up past her ribs, it gathered her shirt into a pad which, during the next few minutes, protected her shoulder from serious damage.
As soon as she swung out of the hatchway, the deck fell forward into her face. She brought up her arms and legs, bouncing off it as best she could, with elbows and knees. Everything was happening far too quickly now to allow her to plan ahead or even to think clearly. So it was that the broken railing round the edge of the deck was able to slide down unexpectedly and bash her over the crown of her head. She felt giddy; almost slipped into unconsciousness. But her lithe body just would not quit. Everything went extremely bright. Reality wavered. She seemed to lose contact with what was going on around her.
The high aftercastle gathered her almost gently to itself, swinging in from her right as the wreck fell left. She flew out, spun around, came back in like a pendulum, in the grip of forces far beyond her control. When her mind cleared, she was just sliding off Prometheus’s huge torpedo-head protrusion on which the felucca had rested, and slipping down into the sea.
Horrified, she looked up. In a mess, hanging out over the side, destroyed by the same physical forces that had been sporting with her over the last few minutes, the tripod of the boatswain’s chair protruded like a bizarre bowsprit. Then this, too, seemed to swing into dizzying motion as the water took her and swept her into the boiling bedlam of the bow wave.
Her head only went under for a second; then she was gripping madly with her left arm, the strain beginning to tell in her shoulder joint, and she rose above the surface a little. The weed-and barnacle-encrusted side of the ship pressed against her. The movement of the monster through the sea tried to suck her under once more, but the trusty rope, and the trusty men on the far end of it, would not let her down. Instead, she ground back toward the stern, losing a little skin from exposed parts of her body, as though she were being keel-hauled. By this stage, she would have been glad enough to go free, even if it meant being sucked to oblivion under that long, long hull; but something in her made her throw her right arm up instead to grasp the rope above her head, relieve the pressure on her shoulder a little, and hang on like grim death.
The rope angled back from the forepeak now, tight as a fishing line, with her body riding the inner curve of the bow wave some twenty feet back. The pendulum effect had pulled her almost half out of the water and, because only her legs were still submerged, she was slowly spinning round and round, so that some of the time she was facing the black hull and some of the time she faced Madagascar nearly two hundred miles away.
It was on one of the occasions when she was facing out that the flying fish returned. Something really panicked them this time and Robin’s mind was suddenly filled with visions of sinister shadows cruising the depths. Instead of running parallel to the ship, as they usually did, they hurled themselves straight at the side, and at Robin. One moment the sea rolled away smoothly, the next its bright blue surface exploded with bodies. Wings spread wide, they hurled themselves into the air just above her head. She quailed automatically, giving her shoulder a nasty twinge, and almost let go of the rope with her right hand, so overpowering was the desire to shield her face. Then they were on her. Luckily, only the youngest and smallest hit her. The rest smashed into the metal above her and fell back, stunned, down into the sea.
Those few that did hit her were quite enough, however, for there was no way for her to protect herself and no time to try to turn. They connected with bruising force. She tried to disregard them, grinding her heels against the metal in an effort to stay still as she looked for what had spooked them. But there was nothing there.
How long had passed since the felucca fell free she had no way of knowing, but the shock had cleared her mind and this was her first opportunity for anything approaching coherent thought. So, as she held herself facing out, as much by an effort of will as anything else, looking for a shark’s fin near at hand, she began to wonder how she was going to get out of this.
The constant pummeling motion of the water over her skin had already killed off most of the sensation below her waist — if only it could do as much for her shoulder, which was really starting to hurt! Even if she could pull free, she could not trust three of her limbs to get her up the rope, then. But she wasn’t looking forward to being hoisted up fifty odd feet by her shoulder either.
It was only at this point, really, that she began to regret the adventure.
“For a parrot?” Richard could hardly believe it. “She went down after a parrot?”
“It sounded like a child.” Kerem was insistent: the third mate had not been foolhardy.
Neither of them was standing still to have this discussion. While the rest of the team were holding the rope safely, the captain and the young Palestinian were trying to put together enough of a line to lower some help. They rapidly tied several shorter pieces of rope together, testing the knots with vicious wrenches to ensure they were secure. In their skilled hands, it was the work of a few moments.
As soon as the second line was ready, Richard began tying it round his waist. There was no alternative to going himself. Ben was below somewhere, in his office, probably. John was on the bridge. There was no time to get either down here. Robin seemed safe enough for the moment, but there was no time to hang around practicing theoretical leadership. And in any case, it never even occurred to Richard that he should send someone younger, less senior, more expendable. He had never been the sort of captain — or person — who put his dignity first. If it was dirty, if it was dangerous, Richard had always led from the front; he saw no reason to change now.
And the fact that it was Robin suddenly made an unexpectedly powerful difference.
As soon as the rope was tied, Richard looped it around the rail twice so that it effectively went through a pulley, making it easier for Kerem to lower him unaided. Even so, Kerem looped the far end around his own waist, glancing up as he did so: if you go, I go. Richard had time to nod once, in curt recognition of the gesture; then he stepped over the rail and, leaning back against the tension of the rope, he began to walk backward down the side.
Things went wrong at once. The tumblehome was angled more acutely than it seemed, effectively giving an overhang. The metal was too wet and slippery for the grip even of his desert boots. What ought to have been a careful, controlled descent became an undignified scramble. But at least — by the skin of his teeth — he did not fall. And that was really all that counted.
Fifteen feet down, the side was perfectly vertical again, though even more spray-covered and slippery. He took the opportunity to slow his descent and to check below. Robin didn’t even seem to have noticed that he was coming. She was flat against the side of the ship facing out, looking steadfastly toward distant, invisible Madagascar. He need not pause to look down again: he could judge how close he was getting to her by the angle of the rope stretching, almost straight, between her shoulder and the forepeak. He looked back up. High in the hard blue sky, vivid even at this distance, the parrot that had caused all this was heading for the massive, distant island.