One for the Gods (The Peter & Charlie Trilogy) (38 page)

“Oh, good. I hoped you’d come. I’ll get you drinks.”

“This is a lousy harbor,” Jack growled.

It took Charlie only a minute to see that they were in trouble. He took a glass from Martha as he watched the bow fall off to starboard, rising and falling with the swell. A furious gust slammed against his back and his breath caught as they continued to swing in, just clearing the boat next to them. He was about to cry out in warning when the swing was arrested and reversed and they straightened slowly, bucking against the anchor like a crazed horse against a bridle.

“Jesus,” he exclaimed in momentary relief. “Have you been riding like this long? You must be dragging the goddamn anchor.”

“I’ve tried taking up on the chain. It’s lousy holding ground. The pilot book says so.”

“You’ve probably pulled the anchor in beside us. Are you going to just sit there?” He ran forward and saw the chain running slackly into the water. He ran back. “We’ve got to get another anchor out, for Christ’s sakes.”

“That means putting the dinghy over,” Jack objected.

“You’re damn right it does. Come on, baby, let’s get cracking. Get your spare ready, Jack. Make sure it has plenty of line on it.” He peeled off his fresh shirt. Peter was blushing as he did the same. Charlie had never used the endearment in front of Jack. Charlie sprang forward with Peter at his heels and they struggled to get the dinghy onto its davits. It was hard work on the rolling boat. Charlie tried to keep an anxious eye on the bow. If the anchor dragged another few feet, one of the strong gusts could smash
Cassandra
on the quai. He cursed Jack for calmly drinking martinis in the face of this evident peril. They pushed and pulled and lifted and got the dinghy into place. There was a small, rusty derelict cargo boat close beside them to port, but there was room to lower it. Jack joined them.

“The anchor’s ready. There’s a good fifty meters of line on it.”

“OK. Lower away.” They dropped the dinghy overboard and Peter jumped into it without waiting to be told and unfastened the tackle. “This is going to be a sweat, baby. Take the anchor out as far as you can and dump her. You’ll have to work well to windward of us. And hurry, for God’s sake. It’s getting dark.” Charlie led the dinghy forward and Jack lay on his stomach and lowered the anchor into the stern. Jack had lashed the end of the line to a bollard forward. He dropped the neat coil onto the anchor and Peter began to row away. It was obviously a hard pull. The wind kept pushing him off to starboard of them. He turned into it and tugged on the oars. He was only a gray blur on the black sea when they saw the dinghy turn and start back in. Charlie sprang forward to where the line was secured and began to take up on it, jerking it in to settle the anchor. He had taken in only half-a-dozen meters when it seemed to hold. He took in a few more meters to straighten the bow and watched it fall off to starboard and held his breath again. It pitched and halted and the reverse swing began much sooner than it had before. He released a satisfied sigh and prayed that it would hold. He went back to the davits to wait for Peter. When the dinghy came bumping in alongside, he dropped the blocks down and Peter refastened the tackle and climbed up over the side. He was breathing heavily.

“Whew. That was tough going,” he panted.

Charlie put his arm around his naked shoulders and hugged him. “Good going. Hey, Jack,” he called. Then to Peter, “Go on back and have a drink.”

Jack appeared and he and Charlie got the dinghy back on board and lashed to the cabin roof. Charlie stood and watched the swing of the bow again. It was dark now, but he picked out a building silhouetted against the sky on the other side of the port as a landmark when the swing was arrested. He went aft to the others, who were all standing in the cockpit. Martha handed him his drink.

“Are we all right?” she asked anxiously.

“So far, so good. You’d better run back to the hotel and get our things, Slugger. Hurry. I don’t know how long we’ll be able to stay here.”

Peter tossed back his drink and snatched up his shirt and was off. In the light of the deck lamp, Charlie could see the terror start up in Martha’s eyes.

“Do you mean we—” she began.

He took her arm and caressed the inside of it. secretly with his fingers. He looked into her eyes. “You’re not going to be frightened. Right? Good girl.”

With a convulsive movement of her arm, she pressed his hand against her breast. He continued his caress. Her lips parted and the corners lifted in a little smile. “Yes. All right. I’ll do my best.”

“What is all this?” Jack demanded testily. “What do you mean, you don’t know how long we’ll be able to stay?”

“Just that. We’re all right for the moment. I hope to God the anchor holds. But what if it doesn’t? We could turn the motor on and run on the stern lines, but I don’t think much of the idea. Not for all night.”

“Are you considering going
out
in this?”

Charlie drained his glass and handed it to Martha for more. “Of course. We’d better reef the mainsail all the way down just in case.”

“It’s absolutely out of the question.”

Charlie looked at Jack and shrugged. “In that case, Peter and I will go back to the hotel. It’s your boat. If you want to smash her up here in the port, help yourself.”

“No. No, of course not. I appreciate your rallying ’round. Mightn’t it help putting a line to this wreck beside us?”

“I wouldn’t risk it, Jack. If we drag its anchor, it’ll be on top of us and then we’ve really had it.”

“I certainly don’t like the idea of going out.”

Martha handed Charlie a replenished glass and he gulped down half of it to steady his own nerves. “I’m not crazy about it, either. Still, if we were caught out in it, we’d get through. How about rustling up some food, old gal? I have a feeling this is going to be a long night.” He watched the bow plunging toward the landmark he had selected. It stopped more or less where he hoped it would. Perhaps they had dragged a little. He couldn’t be sure. “Let’s get to work on that sail,” he said as he finished his drink in a second gulp.

They were struggling with the sail when Peter returned. The wind kept clutching it and tearing it out of their hands.

“Hey. Help,” Charlie called when he saw Peter.

“What’s going on? Are we really leaving? I thought we were supposed to be safe in port.” He pulled off his shirt again and joined them on the roof of the cabin.

“I don’t know whether we’re safe or not. Here. Hold this down.”

With Peter’s help, the job went quicker. Charlie kept an eye on the bow. From this altered angle, lying along the boom, his landmark was no longer dependable, but he was almost sure they were dragging again. As soon as the sail was reefed, he dropped to the deck and checked. It wasn’t as bad as he had feared. The bow plunged a little beyond his landmark and held. They were still safe for a while.

“Better get the gangplank in,” he said. “We may want to let out on the stern lines.”

When that chore was done, they gathered in the cockpit where Martha was guarding a plate of sandwiches. She managed to pour them more drinks. Charlie began to pay more attention to the hulk on their port side. The gap between them was definitely narrowing. In the bad gusts, it loomed toward them, leaving not even room to launch the dinghy, but he was aware, too, that the gusts were coming less frequently. If they could hang on here till dawn, they would probably have a few hours of relative calm, as they had had this morning.

“Why don’t you two try to get some sleep?” he suggested to the Kingsleys when they had eaten and had several more drinks. He had been watching the bow slide farther past his landmark and he didn’t want them around if he had to act. “You better make sure everything is well stowed away below.”

“Good idea,” Jack agreed. “Come on, Marty.”

Martha squeezed Charlie’s arm as she passed him and they went below. He dropped into the cockpit and sat beside Peter and kissed him lingeringly on the mouth.

“I guess that’ll have to do,” he said, drawing away. “We’re always being cheated of our nights of bliss and rapture.”

“I’ll say. What’s up now?”

“We’ve been dragging anchor for the last hour. But I think the wind is calming down. The longer we wait the better.” He unfastened his fly and stood and slipped off his trousers. “Here take these fancy pants down and get me something I can work in. Bring those wet-weather windbreakers, too.”

“Damn. I thought you were going to do a striptease.” Peter gathered up their clothes and went below. Charlie stood watching the bow as it started its swing to starboard. It went bucking past his landmark and continued on. It hesitated long enough for him to hope that it was holding and then continued sickeningly on until they were menaced by the quai. His muscles tensed and a chill ran down his spine. He sprang for the wheel and switched the motor on. He brought the bow back into line while the stern lines squeaked with the strain. He had to make a hasty adjustment of the helm to keep from heading on over into the derelict to port. Peter returned wearing jeans and carrying things for both of them.

“Just dump it,” Charlie said. “I can’t let go of the wheel. We haven’t got any anchor at all. They’re probably both under us. Go see if you can get the regular one up easily.”

Peter ran forward and worked the windlass for what seemed, to Charlie’s straining nerves, a long time. Eventually, he came running back.

“It’s up,” he reported. “Shall I get the other one up?”

“The stern lines first. We’re getting out of here.” He put the motor momentarily into reverse to make Peter’s job easier.

Jack appeared in the hatch. “Need any help?” he called.

Charlie glanced behind him. Peter had one stern line in and was pulling the other out of the ring it had been looped through. “Get on the anchor,” he called. The stern began to swing around as it was freed. “The anchor. Quick,” he snapped to Peter. The wind was pushing them down fast on the boats anchored to starboard of them. His heart was beating rapidly. He saw Peter and Jack hauling in on the anchor. He tried to jockey the boat clear of hazards while he waited tensely. At last, Peter straightened and waved an all-clear signal. He took a long breath and expelled it as he moved the boat slowly out into the middle of the harbor.

“Get the main up when you’re set up there,” he called. He had an opportunity now to look around him at the weather. The sky was clear and brilliant. The wind was still strong, but steady and probably dropping. The sea was going to be bad, but it didn’t frighten him; he had complete confidence in the boat and in his ability to handle her. He saw Jack and Peter moving around the mast and he swung the boat into the wind as the sail came up. Reefed down, it was only a scrap of cloth. He hauled the sheet in as close as he could get it. Jack came aft.

“If you’ll hold on here for a minute, I want to take a last look at the chart,” Charlie said. “We won’t be going anywhere except up and down.” He hurried below and was back quickly and pulled on pants and a windbreaker. “OK, Jack, you might as well go below. There’s no point in all of us getting wet.”

Peter came running aft and dropped into the cockpit as Jack left. The boat was picking up speed and they were approaching the open sea. He could see whitecaps rolling past the entrance to the harbor. He cut the motor and braced himself to meet them. The boat swept past the breakwater and stopped with a crash. He could feel it shudder in its depths. He felt a great craving to return to the dubious safety of the port, but he clenched his teeth, gripped the wheel and eased them closer into the wind. The bow lifted and plowed into the sea. Water poured over them, but he could feel the scrap of sail take the wind and pull them forward. After a few minutes, when he had got used to the movement and the pull of the wheel, he glanced back. They were already a comfortable distance from land.

“Christ, you’re brave,” Peter shouted. “Coming out here of your own free will.”

“Think of the first night. Thank your stars it won’t be like that.” Another wall of water fell on them. “Happy cruising in the Aegean.”

Peter lurched up and fell into the seat beside him and put an arm around him. “What fun,” he said into his ear. “I don’t know why we all go on loving you.”

Charlie thought of Martha. His impulsively caressing fingers had been a declaration. She must be very confident of him now. “Go below, baby,” he said. “We’re just going to slop around for a while.”

“I like being drowned.”

“You’re a nut. Get some sleep. I may need you later.”

“If you say so. My ardor is getting a bit damp.”

They laughed and kissed briefly and Peter left.

The sea calmed slowly as the wind died. In the hour before dawn there was almost total calm, but as the sky lightened he could feel the wind picking up again. He was able to leave the wheel and run forward and get the jib up. Even with the reduced mainsail, he could feel them beginning to make some speed. He set an easterly course for Mykonos. When the sun rose, he saw that he had worked his way back to the northern tip of Siros and was six or eight miles off it. The others emerged one by one. Peter was first. He came prancing aft and flopped down beside Charlie.

“You’re a fair sight. Do you want me to lick the salt off you? Is it going to be a decent day for a change?”

“Not a prayer. Just like yesterday. I don’t think we’ll ever get to Mykonos. Who decided we wanted to go there, anyway?”