Masterharper of Pern (34 page)

They both looked about, deafened by their hours in the storm winds, not quite certain that they had reached a safe haven.

“The anchor . . . Rob . . . drop it. We can’t . . . run . . . aground,” she said, gesturing to the bow. “May be rocks anyway . . . no matter.”

He dropped the anchor, saw the line run out, then the forward motion of the sloop stopped. He could hear her timbers creaking as she answered the motion of the sea and then swung about on her tether.

Kasia was draped, at the end of her strength, across the tiller bar. He had little strength left himself, but the need to get his beloved below, to what warmth they could contrive, was foremost in his mind. And he did, half dragging her the short space from the seat to the cabin, slamming open the hatch, hoping that the waves had not seeped through and flooded their one refuge. He almost tumbled her down the stairs, but they both made it. She pulled herself into the bunk while he struggled to close the hatch.

She was shaking violently when he reached her. Somehow he got the sodden clothes off her coldly mottled body and rolled her into the furs. She groaned and tried to say something but hadn’t the strength.

“Hot, must have hot,” he mumbled, trying to make his frozen fingers cope with striking a match to the charcoal-filled brazier that did duty as cooker. Sometime in the past he had filled the kettle with water for a meal that he had never had a chance to cook. Now he waited anxiously for the water to warm enough so he could make klah. He’d heat the last of the fish stew they’d made—how long ago? He could hear chattering and realized that they were both doing it. He swung around to the bunk and rubbed her body as vigorously as he could to stimulate circulation. He nearly burned his finger, touching the top of the kettle to see if the water was hot enough to be useful. He had his answer and sucked at the burn while he poured water over the powdered klah, gave it a swirl, and fumbled to open the sweetener jar. Sweetening was good to offset shock and cold.

He took the first sip—to be sure it wouldn’t burn her mouth. Then, pulling her up against his body as he leaned wearily against the bulkhead, he held the cup to her lips.

“Sip it, Kasia, you’ve got to get warm.”

She was so cold she could barely swallow, but she did, and he coaxed sip after sip into her. When she craned her head around, making noises in her throat, her bloodshot weary eyes pleading, he drank, too. That cup drained, he made another and then put the soup kettle on to warm. He had all but fallen asleep when the steam hissing from under the lid woke him. He caught the pot before the pressure flipped the cover off.

It couldn’t have been a long rest, but it had been enough for his resilient young body, and he poured soup into two cups, put the water kettle back on. He’d towel her down with warm water. That might help.

He took half of his cup of soup, in between struggling out of his wet weather gear and finding clean, dry, warm clothing from the cupboard. He got out the warmest things Kasia had brought with her and the heavy woolen socks. These he put on her feet, after chaffing them until she moaned and tried to draw them away from him. They were pink with his ministrations.

Now he had warm enough water and soaked a towel, passing it from one hand to the other before he pulled back the fur and laid it against her chilled legs for a few moments, coaxing warmth back into them.

The blueness was leaving her skin by the time he got her to drink all her soup, but she lay limply under the fur, drained by even the slight effort required to swallow. Under them the little ship rocked gently, pulling at the anchor chain, then following the sea, pulled back again. He got in the bunk beside her, covering them both with the other fur and, at last, allowed himself the luxury of sleep.

An urgent need to relieve himself was what brought him back to consciousness. He couldn’t move easily, partly because of the weight of Kasia across him and partly because of the resistance of tired muscles. It took him a few moments to remember why he had slept so deeply. Startled, he looked out the little round porthole and saw a shadowed shore through the mist that swirled on the surface. Little waves splashed against the side of the ship, and she rode easily on the anchor.

Trying not to groan as he forced abused muscles to work, he slid out from under Kasia and all but fell off the bunk. Kasia didn’t move, but her face wasn’t quite so white and her lips were no longer blue-tinged. He tucked the fur about her firmly and staggered up the steps, throwing open the hatch. The air was chill and dank with fog, and the deck was littered with sea wrack. He went hand over hand from the cabin housing to the rail to get to the side and relieve himself. And it was indeed a relief.

Curious, he peered through the fog to see where they had fetched up, but he could see little detail on the shore—if there was a shore. Some of the inlets were nothing but shallow pockets eroded from the cliff by the sea. Whatever! This one had saved their lives.

He went below again.

The brazier had gone out; the charcoal was all ashes. He got more and started another fire, warming his hands as the charcoal began to burn. Kasia moaned, stirred, and then coughed. Fearful of fever, he felt her forehead but it was cold. So were her cheeks. Too cold.

He filled the kettle from the cistern and put it to heat on one side of the grill over the charcoal, then set the soup kettle on the other half. Panting from even that little bit of exercise, he sat on the edge of the bunk and took deep, slow breaths. A shiver ran down his back, and he recognized that he was almost as cold as Kasia.

When the klah was made and the soup warm enough to be helpful, he roused her, stuffing pillows and the carisaks behind her for support. She turned her head restlessly, batting at him, and coughed again, a little, almost apologetic bark.

“Kasia, wake up. You need to eat, love.”

She shook her head, her expression petulant even with her eyes firmly shut.

He talked her eyes open and made her drink, and she gave him a weak little smile and then went back to sleep again.

That seemed a very sensible idea, so he finished his soup and climbed back under the furs. Her arms were cold under his hands and he rubbed them, breaking off only when even that effort proved exhausting.

They slept again.

Robinton began to feel real concern when the second long sleep revived him but seemed to have little effect on Kasia’s terrible lethargy. And the cold was increasing. The wooden hull offered no protection to the cold’s insidious draining of their body warmth. He had dressed her in the warmest clothes and heated the kettle time and time again, wrapping it well and settling it securely near her feet, which, in spite of the heavy socks, were like ice to the touch. He forced her to drink, and when she complained that her stomach was bursting with all he made her drink, he found a way to hold her over a bucket to relieve herself.

The fog had lifted enough for him to see that sheer cliffs surrounded the little cove, with no discernible track up them to find help. But he did not feel confident in himself to sail the ship out into the sea. Also, he had absolutely no idea where they were: on Tillek’s coast or the bleak western end of High Reaches, or if they’d been blown farther down the coast of Fort.

He gave them both another day and when that dawn rose frostily clear and even klah gave him no warmth, he roused her to give him what instructions she could from the bunk.

“If I leave the hatch open, can you see enough to tell me if I’m doing anything wrong?” he pleaded with her when she seemed unable to grasp his concern. They had little food left, almost no charcoal, and without that small heat to warm the cabin, they would surely freeze in the night.

“They’ll come. Search,” she murmured.

“They won’t see us. We’ve got to stand out to sea where the sail will be visible.”

“You’re able for that, Rob,” she said with the hint of a smile. “You can do more than you think you can.”

“Then so can you,” he said bluntly, fear driving him.

She shook her head sadly and closed her eyes again.

He watched her, thinking of how valiantly she had fought the storm. But now the storm was over, and she looked to him, her spouse, to keep his promise to care for her. Only he hadn’t thought he’d be put to such a test quite this soon.

“All right, if that’s the way it’s to be, I’ll just have to do.”

With fear making his feet heavier, he thudded up on deck. The surrounding cliffs had an ominous look about them. What had been a refuge now seemed a prison.

“We’ll just have to get out into the open sea,” he told himself. “I can do that much.” He licked his finger and held it up but felt only the faintest touch of a breeze. Fortunately it was blowing down from the cliffs and out to sea. They had been mighty lucky to have thrown the anchor down when they did, for the ship would have been mashed against the cliff had it sailed much farther.

He couldn’t make up his mind whether to hoist the sail first, or the anchor. At last he decided that if the sail was up, the ship might move toward the open sea once the anchor let it.

He managed both, but was panting by the time he reached the cockpit and took the tiller bar in his hands.

“I’ve hoisted the sail, Kasia, and the anchor, though I could blow and get more use of the sail.”

She murmured something that sounded encouraging, and sure enough, the little ship slowly eased forward and passed the sheltering arm of the cove. The sea was almost too calm when he saw its vast expanse. Once the ship was clear of the shelter, though, the breeze picked up and the sail filled.

“Right or left, Kasia? I’ve no idea where we are.”

“Starboard . . . right, Rob. Go right.” He had to ask her three times to repeat her instructions more loudly so he could hear her weakened voice clearly.

“I’m shrieking nowwwww,” she protested, and her face came into his range of vision as she lifted herself off the bunk.

That was better, he thought, than lying there like a cut of wood.

“Right,” he roared back at her. “I’m going right. Starboard.”

And almost immediately had to correct the ship as he saw the jagged reef he had been about to sail into. Panic gripped him, and he struggled to keep his bowels from loosening.

“Stupid dimwit,” he admonished himself. “Watch where you’re going.”

When he judged they were well enough past the rocks, he changed his seat and threw the tiller over to port—he remembered that much of Captain Gostol’s afternoon lesson on how to tack. And then he grabbed for the sheet to keep the wind in the sail.

The speed of the sloop picked up, and he rather enjoyed the pull of sheet and tiller in his hand. At least he was doing something.

It was midday, to judge by the sun’s position, and the high cliffs along which the ship sailed were totally unfamiliar to him.

“We’ve got nothing but cliffs, Kasia. Where could we be?”

He saw her raise up and shake her head. “Keep on.”

So he did, until the pleasure left the occupation and fatigue began to run along both arms as the sun dropped slowly in the awesomely vast western sea. The cliffs continued unbroken. Had they found refuge in the one cove along this entire coast? Would they find another one for tonight? He doubted he could stand a longer watch. And he ought to eat something and be sure that Kasia did.

“What do I do, Kasia? What do I do?”

“Sail on,” she cried back at him.

The sea was calm as night fell, and the breeze died also. So, lashing the tiller as he’d once seen Captain Gostol do for a quick moment of relief, he clattered down into the cabin, startling Kasia awake.

“There’s nothing but cliff,” he protested as he started the last of the charcoal. He’d have to feed her something. It had been hours since the last cup of soup and some hard crackers he’d found in the cupboard. He’d have to have klah to stay awake.

“It will have to give to beach soon then, Rob. I’m so sorry, love. So very sorry.” And she wept piteously.

He comforted her while the water heated. “You kept us afloat all during the storm and used up all your strength, my love. Don’t cry. Please don’t cry. We can’t have the furs all wet on you.”

His cajolery made her smile and sniff, and brush away her tears. “But I can’t do anything to help . . .”

“That’s all right. I’m fine. I just don’t know what I’m doing.” He imbued the complaint with as much humor as he could. Then he left her with more soup and took his and the klah up to the cockpit.

The night was clear and very cold. But the wind picked up, blowing almost steadily from the south and that, he felt, was to their advantage. Surely, if they got close enough to Tillek, there’d be fishing ships out on a night like this. Or maybe even someone looking for them.

“No, you two got yourself
into
this. You can get yourself
out
of this,” he told himself firmly and dragged the heavy-weather gear more tightly about his body, trying to keep warm. “Got yourself in,
get
yourself out.” He turned the cadence into a chant, rocking from side to side, which eased the numbness in his buttocks. The chant went to his feet, and he stamped them in turn. And he sang and stamped and rocked and thumped the tiller bar with his hands, inventing new rhythms and altogether enjoying the activity when he suddenly realized that something was coming out of the darkness ahead of him, large and white, and someone was yelling.

“Sloop ahoy!”

“Shards, what do I do now? Steer starboard, right, starboard!” he yelled at the white shape bearing down on him. As hard as he could, he pushed the tiller over and nearly clouted himself in the head as the boom swung past.

They were rescued by the schooner
Wave Eater.
Two sturdy fishermen lifted Kasia aboard to other willing hands. Robinton managed to climb the rope ladder, awkward with fatigue and stiff joints. With the little sloop tied on behind,
Wave Eater
swung round and headed back to Tillek Hold, her mission complete. A glowbasket was hung from the top of the mast to let other ships know that the lost had been found.