“So what the hell are you going to do? Just wander away on a boat and grow a beard?”
“I’m going to find Nicole, of course,” I said, then held up a hand to stop David from interrupting me. “I believe she’s being held against her will. I can’t prove that, of course, unless I find her, so that’s what I’ll do.”
David snorted derision. “You are mad.” He was scornful, yet I also heard doubt in my brother’s voice, as though he knew I was right and was simply reluctant to admit it.
“No,” I said very seriously, “I’m doing what you and I have often dreamed of doing. I’m going on an adventure, an old-fashioned quest across far seas, and, perhaps, at the end of it, I shall find Nicole.”
“My dear Tim, what terrible things the Florida sun has done to your sanity,” David said, though I heard a distinct tone of jealousy in his voice. David often complained that the world had become dull and offered no chances for adventure.
“Why don’t you come with me?” I asked him.
He laughed. “My dear Tim, I’m busy.”
“God will give you a sabbatical, won’t he?”
“I’m overdue for one,” he said wistfully, and I could see he was tempted, but he was also frightened of the temptation. In some ways the relationship between David and myself was like the one that had existed between Nicole and her brother. Nicole, like me, was the daring one, the instigator of mischief, while David, like Dickie, was more cautious. My brother, tough as he was, did not like embarking on uncertain endeavors. That, I often thought, was why he preferred dinghy sailing to deep-water cruising. However fast and exciting a racing dinghy might seem, it is almost always sailed within sight of land, in sheltered waters, and in daylight. Blue-water cruisers, on the other hand, go out into the great waters where tempests, darkness, and dangers wait. “Damn it, Tim, I’d love to come,” David now said, “but duty forbids.”
Outside the pub the gray wind beat bleak rain across the town’s roofs and brought the far sound of the wild seas breaking on the river’s bar. To me the noise was music, for it was the sound that would take me back to sea, and to the world’s far ends and, if God willed it, back to Nicole.
In a boat called Stormchild.
I craned Tort-au-Citron out of the water, scrubbed her hull clean of a season’s weed and barnacles, then gave her a triple coating of antifouling paint. First, though, I took the ridiculous name off her transom and painted her original name in its place. She was Stormchild again, and I was sentimental enough to think that the lovely boat was grateful for the change.
I paid ninety-six thousand for her. She was worth nearly double that price, but I had persuaded Miller’s legal partners that she had deteriorated badly. The lawyers should have insisted on a survey, but they took my word on the boat’s condition, confirming David’s suspicions that Miller’s partners were simply glad to be rid of the yacht. Which suited me, for I now possessed a boat superbly suited to my purpose. Stormchild was tough, but she was also fast, safe, and comfortable. My plan was to provision her, then, leaving David to tie up the loose ends of my affairs, I would head south across Biscay. I could expect a lively time of that crossing, for it was already very late in the year, but I would be heading into the regions of perpetual summer, and, when the trade wind belt moved north, I would go west toward America.
“You’ve heard nothing from that wretched child, I suppose?” David never called Jackie by her name. That was not from unkindness, but rather out of David’s fear of the unknown, and I, who knew my brother’s foibles only too well, knew I would never shake his preconception that Jackie, being young and foreign, was a threat to me.
“I’ve heard nothing,” I confirmed.
“A fool and his money are easily parted,” David said with sanctimonious relish. It was five weeks after my return from Florida and, on a bitterly cold day, he was helping me rig Stormchild. We had craned her into the water the day before and now she floated, lone and glorious, at the winter pontoons.
“She might contact me yet,” I said defensively, though in truth I had rather abandoned hope of Jackie Potten. I did not for one moment credit David’s belief that she had cheated me, but I did fear that her investigatory skills had not proved equal to discovering why von Rellsteb had made his journey to Europe. I had not heard from Jackie, nor from Nicole. I had harbored a secret hope that the carefully written letter I had given to von Rellsteb on Sun Kiss Key would spur Nicole into a reply, but I had to assume that the letter had never been delivered.
“If that wretched girl doesn’t come through with the goods,” David said acidly, “then you’re sailing into the unknown are you not?”
“Not really. I think Alaska or British Columbia are the places to search.” I had bought the Admiralty charts for those far, inhospitable, and secretive coasts, and the more I studied the charts, the more I became convinced that von Rellsteb might indeed have taken refuge in one of the tortuous inlets of the North Pacific. In that expectation I now prepared Stormchild for desolate and icy waters. I had put a diesel-powered heater into her saloon and new layers of insulation inside her cold, steel hull. I had built extra water and fuel tanks into her belly and crammed spare parts and tools into every locker. I had treated myself to the best foul-weather gear that money could buy, and I was stocking Stormchild’s galley with the kind of food that fought off winter’s gloom: cartons of thick soups, cans of steak and kidney pies, stewed beef, and plum duff. Thus, day by cold day, my boat settled lower in the water.
Some of the equipment I needed was not available from my own chandlery, or from any yachtsman’s discount catalog. I had been alarmed by Jackie Potten’s description of the Genesis community as survivalists and impressed by her contention that Utopian communes often became degraded by the imposition of a controlling discipline, and I did not want to face such a belligerent group unarmed, so I quietly put the word about that I was in the market for a good rifle. Billy, my foreman, solved the problem by revealing that his father had hoarded two British Army rifles as souvenirs of his war service. “Silly old bugger shouldn’t have them at all,” Billy said, “not at his age. Bloody things ain’t licensed, and all the old fool will ever do is shoot hisself in the foot one day. You’d be doing me a right favor to take them out of the house.”
He wanted me to buy both rifles. They were.303 Lee-Enfields, the No. 4 Mark I version, which was a robust, bolt-action weapon, tough and forgiving, with a ten-shot magazine and a maximum range of twelve hundred yards, though only an optimist would bother to take aim if the target was much above three hundred paces. The Lee-Enfield had once been the standard rifle of the British forces, and was still used by armies that appreciated the merits of its rugged construction. Both guns still had their army-issue, brass-tipped, webbing slings, while their stocks and barrel sleevings had been lovingly polished with linseed oil.
David helped me hide the two guns deep inside Stormchild; one we placed in a specially disguised compartment under the generator in the bow, while the other we hid behind the timber paneling of the after companionway. “It’s sensible to take two,” David said with a most unchristian relish, “because if one goes wrong, then you can always shoot von Rellsteb with the second one.”
“Don’t be daft,” I said, “I’m not going to shoot him. I’m only taking the guns as a precaution.”
“Don’t let him shoot first,” David warned me. To my brother Stormchild’s voyage had transformed itself from an exercise in futility to an enviable demonstration of moral absolutes that would end with good triumphing over evil. David’s initial opposition to my expedition had changed when I told him how idealistic communes like the Genesis community often became fouled by the politics of domination. To David, therefore, Nicole had become a pristine maiden victimized by a Prussian villain, and that dislike intensified when I told David of my conversation with von Rellsteb, and how he had expressed a desire to live at one with the planet. That was just the kind of heretical mysticism that brought out the Christian soldier in my straightforward brother, and so, enthused by righteous indignation, he encouraged me to slay the enemy and release Nicole. But that enemy was well armed, and I was sailing alone, which was one of the reasons I wanted David, who was my closest friend as well as my brother, to accompany me. I made my strongest effort to change his mind on the day when, at long last, we took Stormchild for a long shakedown sail off the southern English coast. “Nothing would please me more than to accompany you,” David said, “but it’s impossible.”