No. The only thing that could have made him turn aside now was if their rudimentary medical facilities began to fail, putting the lives of the wounded at risk. But, as he had observed in the lifeboat more than three days ago, the men were either dead or only lightly wounded. There was no one who needed hospitalization. The worst hurt was Nihil, among Ho’s men, who had lost part of a finger. And that only served to make his endless playing of that strange flute even more weird and haunting. The others only needed burial, and they would wait.
He frowned, still gazing out into the still, clear morning, his thoughts taking a darker turn.
“Penny for them…” she whispered at his shoulder, so close she made him jump. She took another silent step forward and wrapped her arms around his waist, crushing herself to him.
“You’re due on watch in fifteen minutes, Number Three,” he said.
She screwed up her nose. “Just time for a shower, then.”
They showered together, not having time to turn it into a game; Richard, in any case, too preoccupied to answer her playful advances. They came out together also and quickly changed into clean, white uniforms. Twelve Toes and his team had performed little short of miracles getting the ship’s laundry back in service. And, since Durban, there had always been a complete change of clothes for each of them left, apparently by accident, in the other’s quarters. The bomb and the abandonment had not changed that.
There had been enough glass in the ship’s stores to replace the bridge windows. Everyone else had to put up with ply or board unless, like Richard, they were willing to risk inclement weather and leave their windows uncovered for the moment. So, with windows in and blast-damage covered if not corrected, the bridge seemed normal as they stepped into it side by side ten minutes later, as though the explosion had never happened. Until, that is, they walked forward far enough to see the crater on the deck.
John Higgins was sitting, worn out, in the captain’s chair. His pipe had fallen into his lap. When the rest of them had collapsed, exhausted, at four this morning, it had only been time for him to take over his watch. He was certainly due for some sleep now, and, emergencies aside, he would sleep until Pour Out.
Richard had reinstated the ship’s routine at once, as though nothing untoward was going on. He would make his noon report as usual later, having calculated their position himself with John’s sextant, and without the international news that Tsirtos used to supply, but still religiously including the bearing of Mecca for the Moslems. They might be working all the hours that God — or Allah — might send, trying to repair the damage caused by their strange, invisible enemy, but the daily routines punctuated their efforts with the calm accuracy of a Swiss watch. The facade of normality was enormously important. It gave them an added strength. So the watches changed like clockwork, with Martyr replacing Napier below, and all the meals were served as normal. They were only an hour behind GMT now, and would not come back onto it until they were entering the Channel Approaches in a little less than five days’ time. With luck, they would sight the Lizard at dawn on September 9.
Richard walked forward and put his hand on John’s shoulder. The second officer jumped into full wakefulness and looked up. “We’ve got her now, John. Robin’s watch. You get to bed.”
“I think we came pretty close to another vessel last night. Strong echo on the radar. Couldn’t raise her with the signal lamp, though I thought I could see her lights. Watch must have been asleep.”
Richard looked down at the tired man with infinite respect. In spite of everything, the watch on Prometheus had been anything but sleepy. He glanced at Robin. She was just signing onto the log. “Logged at 04.45,” she confirmed. “Echo’s course due south. Closest three miles. Should have seen a signal lamp: conditions clear enough.”
Richard nodded. They might find it difficult to raise a passing ship with the lamp. So many ships relied solely on their radios now. But then, Prometheus would strike passersby as unusually silent; worthy of closer attention. It should be possible to attract someone’s attention to that flashing point of light. And most ships’ officers still understood Morse code.
Richard called them into his dayroom and they stood like guilty schoolboys at the headmaster’s desk: “Twelve Toes” Ho, Salah Malik, C. J. Martyr. It was the middle of Robin’s watch, the first opportunity Richard had had since returning aboard to reconstruct the sabotage and voice his opinions.
The other three knew why they were here. They were wary but, surprisingly, thought Richard, there was no real hostility in the air. And this fact seemed significant to him.
“The bomb wasn’t part of the original plan, was it?” he said. “Or if it was, then none of you knew about it.”
They watched him in guarded silence. He went on, calmly. “That’s the only way I can see to make sense of this. You all agreed, with the others, to abandon and scuttle Prometheus off the coast of Senegal so that Demetrios could put in a huge insurance claim. It was supposed to be easy and safe: nobody hurt. But Demetrios decided to do things his way and he put a bomb on board.”
“He’s put more aboard than that,” grated Martyr, his voice slurred by his swollen lips. “There’s someone else aboard, a Crewfinders man, whose job is to do what the bomb failed to do.” He gestured at his face. “No matter who gets in the way.”
Richard nodded silently. Then his ice-cold gaze switched to Salah and Ho. “You both agreed to abandon, like the original officers. I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt and suppose you both must have reckoned you would get all your men off safely. But Demetrios and his sidekick have taken this simple fraud and made it murder.”
Salah’s square shoulders slumped. “It is as you say, Captain. It is as you said in the lifeboat. We were going to abandon. Levkas or one of his officers was going to scuttle her and lead us in the lifeboats to Dakar. It was all agreed. But these men have changed all that. We must find them now and kill them for what they have done!”
“Twelve Toes” made a sound deep in his throat to signify agreement.
Richard’s hand slammed down onto his desktop. “Not on my ship, you don’t! You tell your men I want watches kept in case the owner’s friend tries anything more, but that is all. I want no searching, no detecting, no revenge. I want to take this ship and her crew back home exactly as they are. Is that clear?”
All three men nodded.
“Right. Malik. Ho. Back to your duties.” The two of them left. “Mr. Martyr,” Richard continued, “sit down please.”
Martyr sat.