Sam turned around. Erik was only a few feet from him.
Sam yelled again, and once more he dived. If he could come up on the other side of that boat, if he could get aboard it before...
A hand closed around his ankle.
Sam turned and fought, but the Norseman was bigger and far stronger. Sam was helpless, he would be drowned out of sight of the others, and Erik could claim that he had just been trying to save the poor mad devil.
An arm came from behind him and hooked around his neck. Sam struggled like a fish caught in a net, but he knew that he was done for. After all this time, after all these narrow escapes, to die like this...
He awoke in the deck of the longboat, coughing and choking. Water gushed from his mouth and nose. Two strong warm arms held him.
He looked up. Erik Bloodaxe was still holding him.
"Don't kill me!" Sam said.
Erik was naked and wet. The water on his body glistened in the torchlight. It also fell upon a white object connected to a cord around Erik's neck.
It was the spiral bone of a hornfish, the symbol worn by members of the Church of the Second Chance.
37
TWO MEN HAD COME TO THE SAME CONCLUSION.
They'd had enough of this senseless bloodshed. Now they'd do something they would have done if each hadn't been so sure that the other was on the other boat. But, during the long struggle, neither had seen the other. The other had never been on the boat or had wisely left it before the battle or had been blown to bits or into the water.
Each believed that if he died, the great project was doomed to failure, though each visualized the failure differently.
They saw an opportunity to escape now. In the heat and confusion of the combat, no one would notice their desertion. Or, if anyone did, he'd not be able to do anything about it. They would leap into The River and swim to shore and continue their long long journey. Neither had his grail, one being locked up in the sunken Rex and the other inside a locked storage room of the Not For Hire. They would steal free grails from the Virolanders and go on up The River in a sailboat.
One man had doffed his armor and dropped his weapon on the deck and had grasped the railing to vault over it when the other spoke behind him. The first man whirled, stooping, and picked up his cutlass. Though he hadn't heard the voice of the other for forty years, he instantly recognized it.
When he slowly turned around, though, he did not recognize the face and body he identified/with the voice.
The man who'd come from the hatchway behind him spoke in a language which, now, only two on this boat could understand. His tone was harsh.
"Yes, it's I, though much changed."
The man by the railing said, "Why did you do it? Why?"
"You would never understand why," the man in the doorway said. "You're evil. So were the others, even..."
‘"Were!" the man by the railing said.
"Yes. Were."
"They're all dead then. I'd suspected as much."
He glanced at the helmet and cutlass on the deck. It was too bad that he hadn't been halted before he discarded them. His enemy had an advantage now. The man by the railing also knew that if he tried to leap over the railing or flip backward over it, the other was swift and skilled enough to skewer him with his weapon by throwing it.
"So," he said, "you plan on killing me, too. You've reached bottom; you're lost forever."
"I had to kill the Operator," the first man said emotionlessly.
"I couldn't even think of doing such evil," the man by the railing said.
"I am not evil!" the other cried. "It is you who..."
He struggled with himself, then got the words out.
"There is no use arguing."
The man by the railing said, "Is it too late even now for you to change your mind? You would be forgiven, you would be sent to the Gardenplanet for therapy. You could join me and the agents and work with us to get to the tower..."
"No," the first man said. "Don't be stupid."
He lifted his cutlass and advanced on the other, who assumed the onguard position. The duel was short and savage and ended when the unarmored man, bleeding from a dozen slashes, fell with the other's point in his throat.
The killer dragged the body to the railing, lifted it up in his arms, kissed the mouth of the corpse, and dropped it into the water. Tears streamed down his cheeks; he shook with sobs.
SECTION 11
The Final Dueclass="underline" Burton vs. Bergerac
38
THE EVENTS IMMEDIATELY FOLLOWING THE EXPLOSION IN THE boiler deck set off by Burton's group were swift, confusing, and blurred. For some time, Burton was either chasing or being chased, attacking or retreating. Mostly, he was retreating, since the enemy usually outnumbered them. By the time that Burton's group was forced into the great room of an armory, it was larger than when it had started. Though it had lost eight, it had picked up enough so that it now counted thirteen men and ten women. For all he knew, these were the only survivors of the Rex.
Neither side had any ammunition left for their firearms. From now on it would be cold steel only. The enemy withdrew to rest and to get their wind back. They also had to confer. The entrance to the armory was two and a half men wide, and storming it would be very difficult.
Burton looked over the array of arms and decided to discard his cutlass for an e'pee. This was a sword with a triangular edgeless blade three feet long. Its guard was bell-shaped; from the slightly curving handle protruded two wooden stops for better gripping. Burton tried the temper of the blade by placing its point against a beam of wood and bending it. The blade formed an arc to within a foot of the shell and sprang back to a straight line when the pressure was released.
The armory stank much of sweat and blood and not a little of urine and feces. It was also surprisingly hot. He removed his armor except for his helmet, and he urged the others to emulate him, though he wouldn't order them to do it.
"When we get to the deck, we won't have time to shuck off our iron," he said. "We'll have to dive into The River the moment we get to the open deck. It'll be much easier taking off the armor now than when you're in The River."
One of the women was the lovely Aphra Behn, no longer so lovely. Gunpowder smoke grimed her face; sweat and blood had made streaks and splashes on the blackened skin; her eyes were red with powder and fatigue; one eye was twitching. She said, "The boat must be sinking. If we don't get out soon, we'll drown."
Though she looked hysterical, her voice was calm enough, considering the circumstances.
"Yaas, I know," Burton drawled. He considered for a minute. They were on the B deck, and the A deck was probably filled with water by now. It wouldn't be long before this deck would be awash.
He strode to the hatch and stuck his head around its corner. The lights were still on in the corridor. There was no reason why they should go out since they were being fed from the batacitor. This would operate even if it was under water.
There was no one alive in the corridor. The enemy must be hiding in the rooms nearby, waiting until the Rexites tried to sally out.
"I'm Captain Gwalchgwynn of the marines of the Rex\" he said loudly. "I'd like to talk to your commander!"
No one answered. He shouted his request again, then stepped out into the passageway. If anyone was just inside the open doors near the armory, he couldn't see them.
Had they gone to the two ends of the corridor and were waiting around the corners, hoping to surprise them?
It was then that he saw water flowing toward him. It was only a film, but it would soon be swelling.