“Pretty neat, huh?” the old man on Lucy Mae shouted with a big grin. “Ain’t got no reverse. Makes docking a challenge. Help you, cap?”
“Yes,” Neil said quickly. “Pirates stole our trimaran about two hours ago and kidnapped four of our people—a woman, two children.”
“You own that big three-engine spaceship?” the old man interrupted.
“Yes.”
“Saw her sailing out of here about four thirty,’” the old man said. “Thought I’d got trapped in a Star Wars movie. Nice ship though, if you don’t mind looking like you just got in from Mars. When I—”
“Our boat was stolen,” Neil interjected. “We’d like your help.”
“You mean chase the pirates?” the old man asked, scowling.
“Just help us find them,” Neil said. “That’s all.”
“I’ll pay you five thousand dollars,” Frank offered.
“These fellas got guns?” the old man asked, squinting up at Neil.
“Yes, but…”
“And you want me to take you in the Lucy Mae and go poking around after them?”
“Yes,” said Neil. “But we—”
“Well, git aboard,” the old man said. “Sun’s gonna be settin’ pretty soon and I don’t see so good at night.” With a flip of his wrist he released the line from the piling and went back into the deckhouse. Frank hung back doubtfully on the dock, but Neil rushed off to get the groceries.
When Neil had maneuvered the cart up to the edge of the dock, he carefully lowered it down to Frank, who was standing in Lucy Mae’s cockpit. Frank couldn’t quite handle all the weight, and the cart smashed down onto the deck and tipped over, the groceries spilling out like a load of dead fish. Neil leapt aboard.
“Let’s go, cap,” he said.
“Push out my bow there, sonny,” the old fisherman said to Frank, “so my bowsprit don’t go and goose Lucky Emerald. Cap’n Rivers is partic’lar who gooses her.”
Frank pushed out the bow, the old man shoved the gear into forward, and the old smack putted noisily forward, swinging around to head out toward the bay.
“I don’t have the five thousand dollars, uh, ready to hand,” Frank said into the ear of the old man, Captain Olly, almost having to shout over the noise of the engine.
“I don’t want no money, cap,” Olly said. “I ain’t had a chance to get involved with pirates since… back in ’74 I think it was…”
He turned Lucy Mae a little to starboard to follow the channel to the open bay. “And then the pirate was me.” Neil began picking up the rolling cans and other groceries and righting the cart.
“What you fellas think of this war?” Olly remarked to Frank, who stared back at him dumbly.
“I sort of like it,” the old man said. “Hell, I was planning to die this year anyway, what with depression and gall bladders and all, but this here war makes everything interesting again.”
“My wife may have been killed in this interesting war,” Frank shouted back angrily.
“Well, I figure there was four or five million other wives killed today,” the old man countered. “Probably two or three of mine. Still, nothing beats being alive now, does it?”
Frank looked at the grinning, grotesque face in stunned silence.
“You fellas got any idea where these pirates are headed?” he asked amiably.
“No,” Neil replied sharply. “But we’ve got to assume they’re heading south.” Olly nodded.
“How fast will this thing go?” Neil shouted. Frank was standing off to the right, scanning the horizon for a glimpse of Vagabond. There was a big motor yacht anchored off to port and several runabouts within sight, but no Vagabond.
“She’ll do eight knots in the morning,” the old man shouted back, “but in the late afternoon she gets a little pooped.”
“How much fuel?”
“Ten hours’ worth. With you big fellas aboard maybe only eight.”
As they churned out the channel from Crisfield, there was a large low island to their left that blocked their view to the south, and Neil strained impatiently for them to get past it.
“Do you have any binoculars aboard?” Neil asked.
“’Fraid not,” the captain replied. “Don’t need glasses to see fish.”
Neil had been gauging the wind and tide, and could feel hope rising. The tide was coming in, and Vagabond would be bucking it if she was headed south. The wind was still light, so it wasn’t much help to them either. Would they try to hide in a cove or inlet to repair the propeller shaft? Would they sail between Tangier and Smith islands to get into the main part of the bay? He thought of the tactics he would adopt if he were Macklin and decided he’d just head south as fast as possible. They could work on the shaft while under way; the farther off they were standing from shore, the easier it would be to see an approaching enemy.
He took out his pistol and examined it to see if it had been damaged by the salt water. He removed the clip, cleaned it, and put it back in. There were five bullets. He hesitated, sighted on a drifting piece of Styrofoam, and pulled the trigger. The gun barked, and the Styrofoam shattered.
“You have any weapons aboard?” Neil asked the old man.
“What?” Captain Olly said, cupping his ear.
“Weapons! You got weapons aboard?” Neil shouted.
“Gaff. Boathook. Two knives. A harpoon. I mostly hunt fish.”
“Hey, there’s water coming in over your cabin sole,” Frank shouted from the entranceway to the little forward cabin. He looked back at Olly and Neil in alarm.
“Well, if it worries you,” the old man answered, “you can exercise that pump you got your right hand on. I don’t generally pump until my bait box floats aft. You know how to pump?”
Frank saw that he had his hand on an old-fashioned manual bilge pump, and without replying he began pulling it up and pushing it down.
“You spaceship pilots don’t get much chance to pump bilges, I ’spect,” the old man said to Neil with a grin, “but it keeps the body in trim, it does, ’specially in a gale when you figure you’re two inches from havin’ more water inside your boat than out.”
They had finally cleared the island to port, and Neil searched the horizon to the south. He estimated that Vagabond would only be making four or five knots, and they were being headed by a knot and a half tide. In two hours they would have a five- or six-mile lead at the most. With binoculars he could see that far. With the naked eye…
He climbed up on the foredeck and then onto the wheelhouse roof, balancing uncertainly as Lucy Mae rhythmically hobbyhorsed through the water.
There were dozens of boats in sight. He knew they were pouring down the Potomac from Washington and probably from the northern parts of the bay too. Patiently he focused on one distant boat after another. He hoped some emotional vibration would permit him to recognize Vagabond, even if it were only a white speck on the horizon. He saw nothing that registered.
As Lucy Mae proceeded due south and left more and more of Cobble Island behind to port Neil began to sweep the horizon off to the east southeast. It might make a certain sense to get out of the tidal flow in Tangier Sound and into the quieter waters of Pocomoke Sound. He saw what appeared to be a sloop three or four miles off but almost nothing else. The only advantage Macklin might have there was that any boat approaching him out of the main channel was likely to be up to no good as far as he was concerned. Neil stared hard at the sloop again and suddenly he saw it was Vagabond sailing without her mizzen.