I stepped up, put on my glasses, and spread out the sheets of my manuscript on the lectern.
The sheets were blank.
I may have goggled at them for only a few seconds, but it seemed an hour. I instantly thought: this is one of ibn-Musa's tricks.
Such reasoning, however, was of no help in getting me off the platform. There was nothing for it but to make the speech without this aid. I plunged in.
It was a pretty bad speech, even though I knew my subject. Even Denise, who is as loyal as can be, hinted at that later. But I got through my main points:
"... Now—ah—let my tell you about—uh—reversionary living trusts. Umm. Ah. They combine some of the—ah— features of revocable and—uh—irrevocable trusts. This is— umm—a—er—a temporary trust, often called the—ah—the 'Clifford trust,' after a taxpayer who um—ah—in—uh— 1934, fought the IRS to a standstill. Such a—ah—trust ..."
I finished at last, submitted to the insincere congratulations of the ladies, and went back to the apartment with Denise. When I looked again at my manuscript, all the writing was back in place.
Next day, I went to Maniu's for revenge. I got it, too. I came away with two purple pterodactyls, leaving Maniu practically frothing with ill-concealed rage.
The following day, since the weather looked suitable, I called the Ramoth Bay Sailing Club to confirm our reservation of the Psyche. On our way thither, Denise kidded me some more about the vagaries of English, which insisted on pronouncing the name SIKE-ee instead of the more logical French psee-SHAY.
"I'm sure Socrates wouldn't have known whom you were talking about in either case," I said.
"Willy, darling," said Denise, suddenly serious, "are you sure you ought to take this boat out? The wind is pretty brisk."
"A mere ten to fifteen knots, and steady," I said. "You've sailed with me before, haven't you?"
"Yes, but—somehow I don't think this will turn out well."
I passed that off as women's intuition, which is wrong more often than not. People remember the times it works and forget those it fails.
We found the two young men in charge of the boats installing the sails, oars, life preservers, fire extinguisher, and other things called for by the maritime codes. In half an hour we were bowling along on Ramoth Bay under that brisk but soft, steady breeze abeam—a sailorman's ideal.
"Sun's over the yardarm," I said. "Let's break out the chow."
We had sandwiches, fruit, and enough whiskey to make the world look good but not enough to interfere with conning the boat. Denise unwrapped and sorted and poured. I raised my paper mug and said: "Here's to my one true love—"
Then, from an easy twelve-knot breeze, it hit us. A tornado or hurricane must be something like that. It came without warning, wham!, whipped the tops off the little waves, and hit our sails broadside.
I was a couple of seconds slow in starting the main sheet. Denise screamed, and over we went. Away went lunch, whiskey, and all, and away went Mr. and Mrs. Newbury into the water.
Luckily, we came down on top of the mainsail instead of under it. As soon as I got myself untangled from the lines and sail and coughed out the water I had inhaled, I grabbed for oars and life preservers, which were floating away to leeward.
The blast had died as quickly as it had risen. We thrashed around, collected such gear as was still afloat, and held on to the hull, now lying peacefully on its side.
It occurred to me that all my sailing experience had been in keeled boats. Such boats cannot capsize, because the weight of the keel rights them again. A centerboard boat, however, easily overturns when a squall hits it, unless you are very spry at letting out the main sheet. And you cannot right the thing again while wallowing around in the sea.
All the Ramoth Bay sailboats are centerboard, because the bay is too shallow for keels. The place we had overturned, however, was too deep for us to stand on the bottom. There was nothing to do but hold on, wave, yell, and hope for rescue.
Soon the two young men at the club came out in a motorboat and hauled us aboard. They threw some tackle around the mast of the Psyche and had her right side up in a jiffy. One of them got aboard, struck the sails, and bailed out most of the water.
This took nearly an hour, while Denise and I huddled shivering in the motorboat. I do not think the young men had much sympathy for us. At last we returned to the pier, towing the Psyche.
It was still early afternoon by the time were dried, changed, and fed. I took a nap and, as I more or less expected, had another visit from Habib al-Lajashi. The jinn looked grave.
"Mr. Newbury," he said, "I know of your troubles with the boat."
"Ibn-Musa's doing?
"Of course. Now I must tell you that Mr. Maniu has ordered ibn-Musa at all costs to destroy you."
"You mean to kill me? Murder me?"
"That is what is meaning by 'destroy.'"
"What for? If he wants me to quit his damned game, why doesn't he say so? I have all the purple pterodactyls I need."
"You are not understanding the psychology of Mr. Maniu. He has many ideas that would seem to you strange. I understand them better, because many mortals have ideas like that in my part of the world. With him it is a matter of what he calls his honor, never to let another get the better of him. You have wounded his—how do you say—your wife would know the French expression—"
"Amour-propre?"
"That is it. When someone does that to him, he never forgives them. It does no good to give him back his prizes, or to let him win them back, or to throw his rings for a month without scoring. He has a—what is that Italian word?"
"A vendetta?"
"Thank you, sir; a vendetta against you."
"I guess ibn-Musa really tried to drown us this morning. Luckily, we're both good swimmers. Well, Habib, what can you do for me?"
"Not much, I fear. Ibn-Musa can, by a slight adjustment of the material factors on this plane, bring all kinds of bad luck on you. You step into the street just once without noticing the speeding car; or you neglect a little cut and get the blood poisoning."
"It's up to you to get me out of this, old boy," I said. "After all, you got me into it, in a way."
Al-Lajashi shrugged. "I will do what I can, since you command. But I guarantee nothing."
"Look," I said, "suppose I promised to give you the ring, once I'm home free. Would that make a difference?"
Al-Lajashi pondered, lifting his hat to scratch between his horns. "If you will solemnly promise this thing, I do know one method that might work. It is risky, not only to you but also to me. But I am willing if you are."
"Don't see that I have much choice," I said. "Go ahead. I have to trust you, but you have impressed me as a pretty honest jinn."
Al-Lajashi smiled. "You are a shrewd judge of character, Mr. Newbury; but in your business you have to be. Very well, I am starting this project at once. I cannot explain the method, but do not be surprised at anything."
"I won't be," I said.
I was not, however, prepared for the frightful shriek that came from the beach, around three or four a.m. that night. It woke up Denise, too. We looked out but could see nothing.
We finally got back to sleep. I do not remember my dreams, save that they were much less pleasant than having cozy chats with Habib al-Lajashi.
Next morning, the night's events had receded into a vaguely-recalled bad dream. After breakfast, we put on our bathing suits for our morning's beaching.
There was Maniu, lying under a mound of sand with his head and arms sticking out. He seemed to be asleep. He had buried himself below high-tide mark, and the incoming tide would soon wash over his mound.