The City of Mirrors (86 page)

“Goddamnit, Rand,” she muttered. “Come on, come on …”

The pressure gauges leapt; power flowed through the panel. Lore set the rudder, gripped the throttle control, and opened it wide. The compass was spinning like a top. With excruciating slowness, the bow began to turn into the wind.

“Come on, girl!”

The bow bit and held, plummeting into the next trough as if down a mountainside. Spray blasted over the deck. For a second, the front of the ship was almost fully submerged; then it ascended, the hull rearing upward like a great rising beast.

“That’s the way!” Lore shouted. “Do it for Mama!”

She drove into the howling darkness.

For twelve full hours, the storm raged. Many times, as giant waves crashed over the bow, Lore believed the end had come. Each time, the foredeck plunged into the abyss; each time, it rose again.

The storm did not so much fade as simply stop. One second the wind was howling, the rain lashing; in the next it was all over. It was as if they had simply passed from one room into the next, one of violence, the other of almost perfect calm. With cramped hands, Lore unfastened her straps. She had no idea what was going on below decks, nor did this question, at that moment, concern her very much. She was tired and thirsty and badly needed to pee. She squatted over the pot she kept in the pilothouse and stepped outside to toss the contents over the side.

The clouds had begun to break apart. She stood at the rail for a moment and watched the evening sky. She had no idea where they were; she hadn’t been able to read the compass since the storm had begun. They had survived, but at what cost? Their fuel was nearly exhausted. Beneath the stern of the
Bergensfjord,
the screws were softly churning, pushing them through the motionless sea.

Rand emerged from the main hatch and ascended the stairs toward her. He took a place beside her at the rail.

“I’ve got to admit, it sure is pretty out here,” he said. “Funny how it’s like that after a storm.”

“What’s the situation below decks?”

His shoulders were slumped, his eyes rimmed with dark circles of fatigue; a bit of something, vomit perhaps, was caught in his beard. “We’ve got the bilges working—we should be dry pretty soon. You have to hand it to Michael, the guy knew how to build a boat.”

“Any injuries?”

Rand shrugged. “Few broken bones, I heard. Some cuts and scrapes. Sara’s taking care of it. Lucky thing no one’s going to want to eat for a week, seeing as how we’re so low on food. The smell is pretty bad down there.” He looked at her for a moment, then said, carefully, “Want me to shut down the engines? It’s your call.”

She considered this question. “In a minute,” she said.

For a while they stood together without talking, watching the sun descend over the starboard side. The last of the clouds were separating, lit from within by a purpling light. An area of water near the port bow had begun to boil with fish, feeding near the surface. As Lore watched, a large bird with black-tipped wings and a yellowish head swooped low over the surface, reached down with its bill—a quick, sharp jab—hauled a fish free, tossed it backward into its gullet, and began to climb away.

“Rand. That’s a bird.”

“I know it’s a bird. I’ve seen birds before.”

“Not in the middle of the ocean you haven’t.”

She darted into the pilothouse and returned with the binoculars. Her pulse was racing, her heart was in her mouth. She pressed the lenses to her eyes scanned the horizon.

“Anything?”

She held up a hand. “Quiet.”

She made a slow circle. Facing due south, she stopped.

“Lore, what are you seeing?”

She held the image in the lenses for an extra few seconds to be sure. Holy damn, she thought. She lowered the binoculars.

“Get Greer up here,” she said.

By the time they were able to bring him up on deck, darkness was falling. Lucius did not appear to be in pain; that part had passed. His eyes were closed; he did not seem to know where he was or what was happening. With Sara supervising, Caleb and Hollis served as stretcher-bearers. Others had gathered around; word had spread throughout the ship. Pim was there, with Theo and the girls; Jenny and Hannah; Jock and Grace, holding their infant son; the men of the crew, weary after the long battle of the storm. All stood aside as the stretcher passed.

They carried him to the bow and lowered the gurney. Lore crouched beside him and wrapped one hand with her fingers. His skin was cold and dry, loose on the bones.

“Lucius, it’s Lore.”

From deep in his throat, a soft moan.

“I have something to show you. Something wonderful.”

She slipped the palm of her left hand beneath his neck and gently tipped his face forward, toward the bow.

“Open your eyes,” she said.

His lids separated to make the thinnest slits, then a little more. It was if he were using the last of his strength to perform this tiny act. All stood silent, waiting. The island was well within sight now, directly ahead: a single mountain, lushly green, soaring from the sea, and, above it, a cross of five bright stars, punching through the twilight.

“Do you see?” she whispered.

The breath in his chest was barely a presence; death was in his face. A long moment passed as he struggled to focus. At last the faintest of smiles curled his lips.

“It’s … beautiful,” Greer said.

86

Lucius Greer lived three more days, thus earning the distinction of being the first settler on the island, as yet unnamed, to die upon its soil. He spoke no more words; it could not have been said that he regained full consciousness. Yet from time to time, as Sara or one of the others attended to him, the smile would reappear, as if rising from a happy dream.

They buried him in a clearing surrounded by tall palms with a view of the sea. Apart from the men who had worked on the boat, few of the ship’s complement knew the man or even who he was, least of all the children, who had heard only vague rumors of a dying man in a cabin, and whose shouts of play could be heard throughout the ceremony. Nobody minded; it seemed suitable. Lore was the first to speak, followed by Rand and Sara. They had decided in advance that each would tell a story. Lore spoke of his friendship with Michael; Rand, the tales Greer had told him about his life in the Expeditionary; Sara, the day she and Greer had met, so many years ago, in Colorado, and all that had happened there. When this was done, they formed a line so each could place a stone upon the grave, which bore a simple marker Lore had fashioned from pieces of driftwood:

LUCIUS
GREER

SEER,
SOLDIER,
FRIEND

It was the next morning that a small group used two of the dinghies to return to the
Bergensfjord,
which waited at anchor a thousand yards offshore. There had been some disagreement on the matter—the ship contained all manner of usable materials—but Lore was firm and, as captain, had final say. We let her rest, she told them. It’s what Michael wanted.

She had not, in fact, opened Michael’s letter until their second day on the island, by which time she had begun to suspect what it said. She could not say why this should be so; perhaps it was merely her sense of the man. Thus it was without undo surprise, only a pleasant sense of hearing his voice, that she read the three simple sentences the letter contained.

Look in aft storage locker #16.

Scuttle the ship.

Start over.

Love, M

The storage locker contained a crate of explosives, as well as spools of cable and a radio detonator. Michael had left instructions for their proper distribution. Caleb and Hollis ran the cables through the passageways while Lore and Rand distributed the explosives throughout the hull. The fuel tanks, now nearly empty, were full of highly combustible diesel fumes. Lore turned on the mixers, opened the valves, and set the final charge.

There was no further discussion about what would happen next; the job was Lore’s. The men returned to the dinghies. Lore took a final tour through the ship, its silent rooms and passageways. She thought of Michael as she walked, for the two, Michael and the
Bergensfjord,
were one and the same in her mind. She was sad but also full of gratitude, for all he had given her.

She ascended to the deck and headed aft. The detonator was a small metal box operated by a key. She removed the key, which she wore on a chain around her neck, and carefully inserted it into the slot. Rand and the others were waiting below in their boats.

“Goodbye, Michael.”

She turned the key and dashed for the stern. Beneath her, explosions were ripping through the hull, headed toward the fuel tanks. She hit the fantail at a dead sprint, took three long steps, and launched.

Lore DeVeer, captain of the
Bergensfjord,
airborne.

She entered the water cleanly, with barely a splash. All around her, a beautiful blue world appeared. She rolled onto her back and gazed upward. A few seconds passed; then a flash of light lit the surface. The water shook with a muffled boom.

She emerged just a few yards from the boats. Behind her, the
Bergensfjord
was in flames, a huge cloud of black smoke soaring skyward. Caleb helped her in.

“That was a nice dive,” he said.

She sat on the bench. The
Bergensfjord
was sinking from the stern. As its bow lifted clear of the water, exposing its massive, bulbous nose, shouts went up from the beach; the children, thrilled by the marvelous display, were cheering. When the hull reached a forty-five-degree-angle, the ship began to slide backward, accelerating with astonishing speed. Lore closed her eyes; she did not want to witness the final moment. When she opened them, the
Bergensfjord
was gone.

They rowed back toward shore. As they approached the beach, Sara came jogging down the sand to meet them.

“Caleb, I think you’d better come,” she said.

Pim’s membranes had ruptured. Caleb found her underneath a tarp hung between trees on one of the thin mattresses they’d stripped from the
Bergensfjord.
Her face was calm, though damp in the tropical heat. During the last few weeks, her hair had grown incomparably thick, its color deepening to a rich chestnut that flared with red in the sun.

Hey,
he signed.

Hey yourself.
Then, with a smile:
You should see your expression. Don’t worry, I’ll be done in no time.

He looked at Sara. “How is she really?” He was signing simultaneously; no secrets, not now.

“I don’t see any problems. She’s only a little short of her due date. And she’s right: for a second birth, things tend to go faster.”

Theo’s birth had taken forever, nearly twenty hours from the first contraction to the last. It had just about crushed Caleb with worry, though less than a minute after Theo hit the air, Pim was all smiles, demanding to hold him.

“Just hang around,” Sara told him. “Hollis can look after Theo and the girls.”

Caleb could tell that there was something the woman wasn’t saying. He moved away, Sara following.

“Out with it,” he said.

“Well. The thing is, I’m hearing two heartbeats.”

“Two,” he repeated.

“Twins, Caleb.”

He stared at her. “And you didn’t know this until now?”

“Sometimes it happens.” She reached out and took him by the upper arm. “She’s strong—she’s done this before.”

“Not with two.”

“It’s not so very different until the end.”

“Good God. How am I going to tell them apart?” A foolish concern, and yet it was the first thought to enter his mind.

“You’ll figure it out. Plus, they might not be identical.”

“Really? How does
that
work?”

She laughed lightly. “You don’t know the first thing about this, do you?”

His stomach churned with anxiety. “I guess not.”

“Just stay with her. The contractions are still far apart, there’s really nothing for me to do at this point. Hollis will keep the kids amused.” She gave him a parental look. “Okay?”

Caleb nodded. He felt completely overwhelmed.

“Attaboy,” she said.

He watched her head down the beach and returned to the shelter. Pim was jotting in her notebook. It was one he hadn’t seen before, handsomely bound with leather. A bottle of ink sat on the sand beside her, as well as a pile of books from Hollis’s stash. Pim looked up, closing the diary with a muffled clap as Caleb sat on the sand.

She told you.

Yes.

Pim, too, was grinning at him in a manner that verged on laughter. He felt like he’d wandered into the wrong room at a party, one in which everybody knew everybody else and he knew exactly no one.

Relax,
she signed
. It’s no big deal.

How do you know?

Because women know.
She drew a sharp breath, her face scrunching with pain. Caleb saw it in her eyes: her lighthearted attitude was a cover. His wife was steeling herself for what would come. Hour by hour, she would go further away from him, into the place where all her strength came from.

Pim? Okay?

A few seconds went by; her face relaxed as she expelled a long breath. She tipped her head at the pile of books.
Read to me?

He lifted the first volume from the pile. Caleb had never been much of a reader; he found it tedious, no matter how much his father-in-law had attempted to persuade him otherwise. At least the title made sense to him:
War and Peace.
Perhaps, contrary to all his expectations, it would actually be interesting. The book itself was enormous; it felt like it weighed ten pounds. He opened the cover and turned to the first page, which was covered in dispiritingly minuscule print, like a wall of ink.