Gendo Odate came back on line, calm and unruffled although he too was obviously standing under a filthy waterfall, like Richard. But Richard was not captain here and had nothing to lose — unlike Captain Odate in every respect. It was the old samurai spirit shining through. ‘Yes, Captain Mariner. I see what you mean. There is a section of cliff which does not overhang. It is aft of Kraken, immediately above the anchorage points.’
‘Good. Do you think you could pull Kraken back into position there if you tightened the lines sufficiently?’
‘Assuredly, Captain Mariner. But there would be a problem with that course of action. My crew are extremely nervous. There has been an atmosphere aboard, especially as some of our men have contracted the … the disease …’
‘I understand, Captain. But the object of this exercise would be to allay your crew’s fears and to dissipate the atmosphere in both commands.’
‘But we lengthened the lines in order to give us some freedom from the ice.’
‘Yes, I understand that. But it hasn’t really worked, has it? Both ships have simply swung into the side of the berg, under the overhang. If we shorten the lines again, it will pull both Psyche and Kraken out from under the overhang so that the vast majority of the deck will be free of the water. That will help the atmosphere on both vessels, I think.’
‘Perhaps. But the good done by the new position will be undone by the short lines. You must understand, Captain, that there is a very real fear aboard these ships. The iceberg is rising more quickly than ever because of the loss of the weight of the sand combined with the water washing off. I know we have the charts you worked out with Ross, which cover the rate of melt and rise and give us to within a centimetre how much line to pay out, but I think you must understand how great is the fear on both ships that Manhattan will simply roll over on top of us one night. The lines are utterly unbreakable, remember.’
‘I do appreciate that, Captain Odate, I assure you. And I believe I have the answer. The lines might be unbreakable, but they are not impossible to cut. How would your men feel if, while we were readjusting the lines, we put in place the cutters so that at the slightest sign of trouble you could cut loose and run free?’
There was a silence, emphasised by the slushy hissing of the waterfall under which the intrepid Japanese was standing. Then, ‘Yes,’ said Gendo Odate. ‘Yes, I believe that might work well.’
The next couple of hours were extremely busy for Richard, and for every other able-bodied man aboard Psyche and Kraken. With Richard in overall charge, they slowly tightened the lines fore and aft, both ships in concert, with careful reference to both John Higgins and Bob Stark who were able to advise on placing and propulsion respectively. But, most important of all as far as the crew of Psyche was concerned, after the lines had been tightened and their ship heaved out of the enervating slush-fall from the overhang on high, the huge yellow cutting discs were brought out fore and aft. They sat on tall adjustable legs and were designed to clamp round the black thickness of the space rope. Handles on their sides released laser beams from the circumferences of the big yellow discs to cut inwards, the beams crossing like spokes at the axle of a bicycle wheel. Thin as light, sharp as acetylene flame, the beams were designed to slide in between the parallel molecules of the strands, to part the lines at once.
And, because the crews of Kraken and Psyche were proud men, like their captains, Richard ordered the other ships under his command also to put the cutters in place. They all knew that he was being almost patronising in his care for their feelings, but they also knew that he was motivated only for their welfare and not at all by any sense of his superiority. He had what used to be called, in old and reactionary days, the common touch. They knew he was simply trying to help them and they loved him for it.
Richard, of course, was blissfully ignorant of their feelings. Once the lines were shortened and the major problem solved, once the cutters were in place on all the ships, he was concerned only with making himself clean and respectable enough to take dinner with Captain Walcott and his crew. He went to the spare cabin beside the owner’s cabin on C deck — Asha Higgins was in the owner’s cabin — and prepared to take a shower. He was surprised to find on entering his quarters just how much had been provided for his comfort. There was a complete change of clothes — tropical whites which looked as though they would be a perfect fit. There was a range of toiletries, several disposable razors, a choice of aerosol shaving foam and an embarrassment of aftershave. All that was lacking was a bar of bath soap and a flannel.
Until he entered the shower.
In the shower he discovered a plethora of soap outmatched only by the selection of shampoo. He had never been forced to dress from the slop chest before, but if this was anything to go by, Gieves and Hawkes of St James’s, London, had better look to their laurels.
With a wry smile he climbed into the cubicle and turned on the hot tap. Full on. As he angled his body, allowing the water to thunder off his left shoulder blade and run tepidly — but promisingly — down his spine, he began to unscrew the top of his preferred shampoo bottle. Soon the water was hot and he was contentedly lathering the thick green liquid into his scalp. After a rinse, a repeat and a rinse, he reached for some soap. He had always been an Imperial Leather man and he was fortunate in being able to find a bar among all those on offer. He raised his hands to spread the lather under his arms and beyond, and it was then that he saw that his own skin, like Wally’s, was peeling off and washing away.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
So Richard, too, became trapped aboard Psyche, and, for a time, part of the dark atmosphere which brooded over her. He was in a good position to gauge the effects of his decision to shorten the lines and place the cutters, for, as he soon discovered, the makeshift isolation ward which was home to Lamia and his acolytes was the source of much of the unrest. These men warily observed the shortening of the lines and the way in which the high ice was pulled even closer. They noted the manner in which the great yellow cutting discs were clamped into place. They watched from various ports and windows while the line watches were carefully briefed on the procedure for cutting the lines in an emergency.
‘We’re all dead,’ opined the Greek gloomily, as yet unaware that the man in overall command was now privy to his speculations. ‘They have tied us so close to this man-killing monster that even they are afraid! Why else do you think they have at last put the cutters in place?’
The isolation ward was slowly expanding down the A deck corridor as Asha appropriated die rooms nearest to the ship’s sickbay. Lamia and his cronies from the main forecastle line watch were in the four-bed ward off the sickbay itself, for they had presented the symptoms first. To these had been added two men from Psyche’s second line watch, one a huge black Haitian called Duvalier who was rumoured to have planted the juju doll on the Russian woman’s corpse. These had been joined by four men from Kraken, also line watch men, a varied sprinkling of GP seamen from Ajax, and now from Titan. Only Achilles and Niobe seemed to be clear. Give it time, said the sick men who were, in fact, quite fit apart from the blisters, and idle and bored and restless, give it time.
At its outer edge, the isolation area was little more than a line on the lino flooring which no crew member was allowed to cross. A line which was moving further down the corridor and closer to the crew’s day rooms with each new infected arrival. Richard, indeed, moved into the room which would have been the crew’s ping-pong room had any of them expressed any interest in the game. He got it because it was big enough to double as an office and he chose to share it with the terrified, isolated Wally Gough, but even so the video room was next and things were looking bleak.