Henders gave the mapkeeper a quizzical look. “You still feel that way, Onyos?”
“We’re pretty far in, yes. And right now we do seem to be becalmed most of the time. So I suppose we really don’t have a lot of choice but to continue on our present course.”
“That’s your opinion?” Henders asked.
“I suppose it is,” said Felk.
“Continuing to follow a lunatic who’s leading us toward a place we know nothing about? One which very likely is full of all sorts of dangers that we can’t even begin to imagine?”
“I don’t like that any more than you do. But like the doctor says, we need to be realistic. Of course, if the wind should change—”
“Right, Onyos. Or if angels should come down from the skies and bring some nice cool fresh water with them.” There was a long prickly silence in the small cramped room. At length Henders looked up and said, “Okay, doc. This isn’t accomplishing anything. And I don’t want to take up any more of your time. We were just inviting you in for a friendly little drink, but I can see how tired you are. Good night, doc. Sleep well.”
“Are you going to try it, Dann?”
“I don’t see how that concerns you one way or another, doc.”
“All right,” Lawler said. “Good night.”
“Onyos, would you stick around for a little while?” Henders said.
“Whatever you want, Dann,” Felk said.
The mapkeeper sounded as though he was ready to be convinced.
A bunch of fools, Lawler thought, as he went to his bunk. Playing at being mutineers. But he doubted very much that anything would come of it. Felk and Tharp were weaklings, and Henders couldn’t deal with Delagard by himself. In the end nothing would be done, and the ship would stay on course for the Face. That seemed the likeliest outcome of all this planning and scheming.
Somewhere in the night Lawler heard noises from above, shouts, some heavy pounding, the sound of feet running across the deck. There was an angry yell, muffled by the deck planking above him but nevertheless clearly a cry of rage, and he knew that he had been wrong. They were doing it after all. He sat up, blinking. Without taking the time to dress, he rose and made his way into the passageway and up the ladder.
It was almost dawn. The sky was grey-black; the Cross was low in the sky, hanging in that weirdly askew fashion that was its way in these latitudes. A strange drama was being enacted on deck, near the fore hatch. Or was it a farce?
Two frantic figures were chasing each other around the open hatch, yelling and gesticulating as they ran. After a moment Lawler focused his sleep-blurred eyes and saw that they were Dann Henders and Nid Delagard. Henders was doing the chasing, Delagard the fleeing.
Henders had one of Kinverson’s gaffs clutched in his hand like a spear. As he followed Delagard around the perimeter of the hatch he stabbed the air with the weapon again and again, with the clear intent of putting it through the ship-owner’s back. There had already been at least one hit. Delagard’s shirt was torn; Lawler saw a thin jagged line of blood seeping through near his right shoulder, like a red thread sewn into the fabric, widening with every moment.
But Henders was going it alone. Dag Tharp stood near the rail, goggle-eyed, motionless as a statue. Onyos Felk was close by him. In the rigging were Leo Martello and Pilya Braun, frozen also, looks of astonishment and awe on their faces.
“Dag!” Henders yelled. “For Christ’s sake. Dag, where are you? Give me a hand with him, will you.”
“I’m here—over here—” the radioman whispered, in a hoarse husky tone that could barely be heard five metres away. He stayed where he was.
“For Christ’s sake,” Henders said again, disgustedly. He shook his fist at Tharp and leaped wildly toward Delagard in a frantic lunging attempt at reaching him. But Delagard managed—only barely—to elude the sharp tip of the gaff. He looked back over his shoulder, cursing. His face glistened with sweat; his eyes were inflamed and bright with fury.
As Delagard passed near the foremast in his frenzied circular flight he looked up and called out in a whipcrack voice to Pilya, suspended just above him on the yard, “Help me! Fast! Your knife!”
Swiftly Pilya unfastened the scabbard that held the blade of sharpened bone she always wore strapped around her waist and tossed it, scabbard and all, to Delagard as he went by beneath her. He snapped it out of the air with a quick fierce swipe of his hand, pulled the blade from its holder, gripped its haft tightly in his hand. Then he swung around, unexpectedly striding straight toward the astounded Henders, who was plunging along behind him at a pace too swift to check. Henders ran right into him. Delagard brushed the long gaff to one side with a stiff, brusque motion of his forearm and came in underneath it, bringing his arm upward and sinking the blade to its hilt in Henders” throat.
Henders grunted and flung up his arms. He looked amazed. The gaff went flying aside. Delagard, embracing Henders now as though they were lovers, clamped his other hand to the back of the engineer’s neck and with weird tenderness held him close up against him with the blade firmly rammed home.
Henders” eyes, wide and bulging, glistened like full moons in the grey of dawn. He made a thick sputtering sound and a spurt of dark blood shot from his mouth. His tongue came into view, swollen and lagging. Delagard held him upright, pressing hard.
Lawler found his voice, finally.
“Nid—my God, Nid, what have you done—”
“You want to be next, doc?” Delagard asked calmly. He pulled the blade out, giving it a savage twist as he withdrew it, and stepped back. A torrent of blood came springing forth once the knife was out. Henders” face had turned black. He took a shaky step, and another, like a sleepwalker. The look of astonishment still gleamed in his eyes.
Then he tottered and fell. Lawler knew he was dead before he reached the deck.
Pilya had come down from the rigging. Delagard tossed the blade across the planks to her. It landed at her feet. “Thanks,” he said offhandedly. “I owe you one for that.” Scooping Henders” body up as if it were weightless, one arm around the dead man’s shoulders and the other under his legs, Delagard strode quickly toward the rail, lifted the body high over his head, and flung it into the sea as though it was garbage.
Tharp hadn’t moved during the whole thing. Delagard went over to him and slapped him in the face, hard enough to send his head rocking back.
“You cowardly little fucker. Dag,” Delagard said. “You didn’t even have the guts to follow through on your own plot. I ought to throw you overboard too, but it isn’t worth the effort.”
“Nid—for God’s sake, Nid—’
“Shut your mouth. Get out of my sight.” Delagard wheeled around and glared at Felk. “What about you, Onyos? Were you part of this thing too?”
“Not me, Nid! I wouldn’t! You know that!”
“’Not me, Nid!’” Delagard mimicked savagely. “Cocksucker! You would have been if you’d had the guts. A coward from the start. And how about you, Lawler? Will you stitch me up, or are you part of this fucking conspiracy too? You weren’t even here. What did you do, sleep late for your own mutiny?”
“I wasn’t in it,” said Lawler quietly. “It was a dumb idea, and I told them so.”
“You knew, and you didn’t warn me?”
“That’s right, Nid.”
“If you’re not party to a mutiny, then it’s your obligation to notify the captain of what’s going on. Law of the sea. You didn’t do that.”