The Raft (27 page)

The
Soft Cell
was cutting through the
water at almost a dozen knots as it cleared between the two prows
of the giant vessels. No one fired, the massive cannon on the
foredeck of the
James
remained silent. The seamen on the
decks of the ships kept their weapons leveled, but they watched as
Maggie steered her ship deftly through the gap between the
blockading boats. The
Soft Cell
didn't slow, the whole of
the Puget Sound was now clear in front of them, but Maggie stole a
glance back at the milling Raft.

“We made it!” Rachael cheered. She leapt up
from her hiding place and jumped happily up and down in the tight
cockpit. She embraced Maggie, but Maggie wasn't yet celebrating.
She was watching the Raft recede behind them, vanishing into the
mist of the cold morning.

As ten yards turned into fifty, and fifty
turned into a hundred, Maggie watched the gap between the two large
ships. The sight of the Raft was gone, lost in the haze, but the
open water between it and the blockade could still be observed.

“Come on, you idiots, come on...” Maggie
egged. She turned, checking her course, then turned back to the
stern.

Then she caught sight of one small dot
emerging from the fog.

“There, there!” Maggie cheered. “One, at
least.” As the
Soft Cell
was pulling away, even the ships of
the blockade were beginning to disappear in the gloom. But one ship
had definitely pulled away from the flotilla and moved for the line
of Coast Guard ships. As Rachael and Maggie watched, the outlines
of more craft began to appear in the gray. Larger ships, moving for
the blockade. One was most certainly the
Kalakala
. “They're
doing it, they're coming!” Maggie hooted.

They cheered, jumped with joy and held each
other. As they watched, the first sailing dinghy broke through the
blockade line, unmolested by the crews aboard the government ships.
Craft after craft began to thread through the gaps between the
cutters and the motor lifeboats, breaking out onto the open water
north of the blockade.

The weapons of the Coast Guard ships sat
silent. As more and more craft made it clear of the deadline, the
party across the expanse of the Raft seemed to rapidly reboot. The
sound of music echoed off the choppy water, mixing with the sound
of laughing, singing Rafters.

They'd made it, they were through. The Freaky
Kon-Tikis lay ahead. The big bad government was behind them.
Nothing to do now but celebrate. The smaller ships drifted in and
out of the larger ones, as if dancing. With a strong tailwind,
there was nothing to do but tie off the tiller and crack open a
beer.

Maggie breathed a large, well deserved sigh
of relief. As many of the smaller vessels in the Raft caught up and
overtook the
Soft Cell
, Maggie handed off the helm to
Rachael and dropped heavily onto one of the cockpit's benches. She
lifted up her sore foot and stretched it out on the bench, leaning
back and letting out a groan.

“You did it!” Rachael congratulated. “You did
it, they're all getting through. Kid Galahad kept his word.”

“Mmm,” Maggie moaned, her eyes closed.

“What? Mmm? What? I hate that 'Mmm'” Rachael
said, keeping both hands on the helm.

“Well, we still have the catching of
Meerkat's murderer to do,” Maggie said dreamily.

Rachael opened her mouth to speak, but the
sight of the envelope Gandalf had left on the control panel held
her tongue. She picked up the envelope and felt its weight. There
was certainly something heavy inside. She read the messy scrawl on
the face of the envelope. “Maggie” it read.

“I think Gandalf left you a parting gift,”
Rachael said, holding out the envelope. Maggie painfully opened her
eyes and grunted.

Seeing the envelope, she quickly shot up
erect.

#

“Then Gandalf... he didn't kill Meerkat?”
Rachael said in a gloomy voice. It had made so much sense, at least
the way Maggie had explained it to Galahad. To think that the
murderer still remained undiscovered... it made Rachael's heart
sink.

“Mmm,” Maggie hummed, holding out the
envelope before her.

“Well, did he or didn't he?” Rachael
prodded.

“Oh, well, anything in this world is
possible...” Maggie looked up from her prize. “But, no, I doubt
it.”

“Then everything you told Galahad, that was
all just hot air?”

“No, no,” Maggie corrected, still studying
the white envelope. “I mean, Gandalf's fingerprints are all over
the Senator Hadian hatchet job. But hurt Meerkat?” she snickered.
“No.”

“Then who?” Rachael exhaled in
frustration.

That damned envelope, Rachael wanted to smack
it out of Maggie's hand. Maggie turned it over in her hands,
studying its plain white exterior. Why didn't she just open it? It
was fully consuming Maggie's attention. She was paying Rachael no
heed.

“Who?” Rachael said, snatching the envelope
out of Maggie's grasp. Using her knee to steady the helm, she
rapidly tore the envelope's end off and tipped the opened container
forward into Maggie's lap. A ridiculously over-sized, wide, flat
key fell out of the envelope.

“Ah,” was Maggie's only response.

“What's that?” Rachael queried, looking into
the crevice of the opened envelope for perhaps an explanatory
note.

“A large key,” Maggie replied.

“To what?”

“A large door?” Maggie smirked.

Rachael deflated. Was Maggie being
intentionally obtuse? “Maggie...”

“Sorry,” Maggie apologized, picking up the
key and looking it over. Rachael leaned forward away from the helm
and examined it as Maggie turned it in the light.

“Why would Gandalf leave it for you?”

“Because he wanted to make sure the dryfoots
didn't get their hands on it. Or anyone else on the Raft, for that
matter. No, this key was important to Gandalf. Or rather, what's
behind the door that it unlocks was important to Gandalf.”

“The treasure room!” Rachael realized,
breathless. “Aboard the
Kalakala
!”

“Mmm,” Maggie answered.

“All that gold!”

“Yes,” Maggie said, flipping the key over in
her palm. She stood up and squirreled away the large key in her
jeans pocket. “But more importantly, the Exchange that it
backs.”

“Gandalf left it to you.”

“Maybe,” Maggie shrugged. “Maybe.”

“Are you going to take over command of the
Raft?” Rachael asked from behind the helm. “Like you told the
Kid?”

“Well, with this,” Maggie tapped her pocket.
“And this,” Maggie leaned forward, picked up Gandalf's large
revolver, still in its evidence bag. She tore open the plastic. “I
might have a shot.”

With the gun out in the fresh air, Maggie
half-cocked the hammer, opened the loading gate, twirled the
cylinder, confirmed that the pistol was unloaded and let the hammer
fall forward. Almost as an afterthought, she twirled the pistol
once around by its trigger guard, catching it again by the handle
and tucking it away securely down the front of her jeans. “We need
to call a council. Talk to the Gray Beards.”

“With that gun?” Rachael asked.
“Conversations that need firearms haven't historically turned out
so well.”

“It's not just a gun, Rachael, it's Gandalf's
gun.” Maggie said with a solemnity that Rachael didn't quiet
comprehend.

“What is it with you people and your guns?”
Rachael repeated Galahad's question, half in jest.

Chapter 32

The Freaky Kon-Tikis were well underway as
the
Soft Cell
sailed into the vicinity of Friday Harbor.

Maggie intentionally lagged back, letting the
vast body of Raft vessels race past her in the warming, clearing
afternoon weather. She was in no hurry, there was no prize for
reaching the Kon-Tikis before everyone else, and much to lose
should the news of Gandalf's absence leak out.

Maggie furled the sails and went below and
made lunch. Or rather breakfast. She cut some two-day-old bread and
made French toast in an iron skillet on the impossibly small galley
cook top. She brewed coffee in a rusty percolator next to the
frying pan as she hobbled back and forth on her injured foot.
Rachael watched from the companionway, sitting on the threshold,
her feet handing down into the cabin. After all the events of the
morning, she was finally hungry. Ravenous. She hardly felt seasick
at all, though the
Soft Cell
was aggressively bobbing on the
wakes of the passing Raft.

“Sit, eat,” Maggie commanded, transferring
French toast from skillet to plates.

Rachael did as instructed, quickly leaping
down from the companionway, bellying up to the galley table and
gulping down the first helping of toast with a generous amount of
syrup. As a second batch sizzled in the pan, Maggie poured out two
half-full cups of coffee and placed them on the rocking table.

Rachael ate and drank and only paused to
allow Maggie to spatula another piece of toast onto her plate. She
felt revitalized, the thumping in her head subsided as the rush of
caffeine and sugar surged through her body.

The cooking finished, Maggie dropped herself
down onto the galley bench with a pained sigh. She favored her
injured foot, extending her leg out the length of the unoccupied
bench, pointing the toes at Rachael. Maggie turned her attention to
her breakfast as Rachael finished up the last of hers.

Wiping syrup and dried blood from her mouth,
Rachael focused in on Maggie's bare foot. Tentatively, she reached
out a finger and touched the leathery ball of the foot. Maggie
responded with an agonized howl.

“I think you might have broken something,”
Rachael said, trying to look sympathetic.

“Goddamn jackbooted goon landed on it with
all his weight,” Maggie said, returning to her food.

“You should have it looked at.”

“I will,” Maggie said around a mouthful of
toast. “The Sawbones will be at the Races along with everyone else.
But first thing's first.” Maggie gulped down the last of her
breakfast and washed it down with the last of the coffee.

“At lesat let me bandage it up,” Rachael
offered.

“I'll live,” Maggie said, scooting off the
end of the galley bench.

The sound of revelry floated down through the
open companionway. Maggie hopped the length of the cabin, and
winced her way back up the short ladder and out into the
Soft
Cell's
cockpit. Rachael followed, trying to pour what small
dribble of coffee was left out of the percolator.

Back out in the fresh air, Maggie inspected
the gauges on the console, checking the charge left in her
batteries.

“Have you thought about what you're going to
write?” Maggie said conversationally. “When you get back to
dryland? About all this?”

Rachael, who'd taken her usual spot on a
cockpit bench, shot up in shock. “Oh God!” She suddenly remember
she had a job – a real day job. “What
am
I going to write
about?”

Maggie laughed. “You came out here to write
about the Raft, correct? Well, you can still write about that.”

“Yes, but half of what I've learned turned
out not to be true, and the other half, if I write about it, will
get me fired... or worse... a one-way ticket to Guantanamo
Bay...”

“Then quit,” Maggie said without emotion.
“Write what you want. Start your own newspaper. Sell up and buy a
boat. The Raft has never had a press, maybe it's about time it grew
up and acquired one.”

“Maggie...”

“Just think about it.” Maggie shot Rachael a
glance, playing off the comment with an amused shrug. “You have to
admit that life aboard the Raft is exciting.”

“Ugh,” Rachael collapsed back against the
bench cushion. “I'm seasick, my teeth are loose, I'm hungover and
worried sick. This is exciting?”

“You've got to admit, I know how to show a
girl a good time.”

“Next time you have a party, count me
out.”

“Well, how about you give the Raft one more
chance? I know today so far has not exactly seen the Raft at its
best. But it's early yet.” Maggie pointed forward into the empty
waters before the
Soft Cell
. “Maybe there's a chance for you
to see the Raft in a better light. The Kon-Tiki Races... they can
be something else.”

Rachael looked up from her bench and gave
Maggie a warm smile. Even after everything that had happened,
Maggie was still attempting to boost the Raft. Rachael couldn't
summon up the strength to disappoint her. Even though Rachael was
sick to her stomach with boats and guns and open water and rainy
Northwest mornings, and wanted nothing more than to get back to
dryland and never set foot off shore ever again, she smiled and
lied to Maggie. “Well, I promise to keep an open mind,” she
said.

“That's all I can ask.” Maggie returned
Rachael's smile.

#

Maggie's prophecy was quickly fulfilled as
she powered up the
Soft Cell
's onboard electronics and fell
in line with the ever-gathering herd of small craft: The Freaky
Kon-Tikis sure were something else.

The open water near Friday Harbor brimmed
from shore to shore with an immense flotilla. Much of the Raft had
again fabricated itself into an artificial island, with the
Kalakala
somewhere near its core. But for the Races, the
Raft had coalesced around a two-hundred-yard stretch of open water
that constituted the playing for the Freaky Kon-Tikis.

Late to the party, Maggie cut her engine and
floated the
Soft Cell
into place, lashing up to the outer
rim of the makeshift structure. Even before she'd had a chance to
position her bumpers or secure her sails, a dozen other craft were
already lashing into place around her. Like iron filings drawn to a
powerful magnet, the
Soft Cell
was quickly packed away
tightly into the expanding mass of vessels.