Bright Air - Barry Maitland [84]
‘You saved my life.’
‘Don’t forget it.’
We were now faced with a vertical climb of about a hundred metres up the Black Tower, also called the Pillar of Porteus, an obstacle that took us until the early afternoon to pass. Ahead of us we saw the long Cheval Ridge leading to the base of the summit pinnacle, and beyond it we caught our first glimpse back to Lord Howe Island, looking very distant, with long white clouds trailing across the peak of Mount Gower. The sun was warm, and we lay on a grassy patch and stretched out to recover our strength. It was in that position that I heard the distant putter of an engine.
I wasn’t sure at first, and when I struggled to my feet the sound faded away. Apart from the area masked by the summit pinnacle, I had a 360-degree view all round over the ocean, but I could see nothing. I stood motionless, trying to blank out the cries of birds.
‘What is it?’
‘Shhh … I thought I heard a boat.’
I concentrated, and suddenly heard it again. It seemed to be coming from behind me—from the south, where we’d landed. Although we were surrounded by sheer drops, the view of the immediate area around the south end was hidden by the hump of Winklestein’s Steeple. Then, as I stared downward, a boat emerged around the point and into view. ‘There!’ I cried. ‘I think it’s Bob’s boat. He’s looking for us.’
It seemed so small, a tiny white speck. We were like people on the observation deck of the tallest skyscraper, looking down at the ant-like activity far below. We began shouting and waving our arms, hoping he might be scanning the peaks with his binoculars. Our throats were so dry that we quickly became hoarse, and then the boat slid out of sight beneath the lee of the eastern cliffs. We hoped it would do another circuit around the Pyramid, but perhaps it already had, for the next sighting we got was of it heading out across the sparkling sea, back to Lord Howe.
‘Oh fuck.’ I sagged.
‘Come on.’ Anna was pulling her backpack on again. ‘One last effort.’
We had discovered no further signs of Luce that morning, and I had pretty much given up hope of finding any answers to our quest. The summit pinnacle was a formidable cylinder of rock, like an ancient watchtower with a domed cap. To get to its base we inched across the Cheval Ridge, feet dangling over five hundred metres of space on each side. Halfway across I paused to ease the strain in my arms, and looked down, first one side, then the other. Far below, beyond spinning seabirds, I saw the foam of breakers. I felt the suck of vertigo dragging on my feet and stomach. My head felt hot and swollen inside the helmet and I became dizzy.
‘Josh!’
I dragged my eyes away from the void and saw Luce on the ridge ahead of me. I cried out her name.
‘Josh? It’s me! Come on!’ I blinked. It was Anna, of course.
‘Yeah … coming.’ My throat was so parched I could barely speak, but I focused on the rock in front of me and began to move forward again.
I really can’t remember that last climb, only the feeling of relief when we finally crawled onto the summit, a dozen square metres in extent, covered with tufted grass. How had it got up there? The sheer bloody-minded persistence of living matter seemed astonishing. I lay down with a groan, and as if at a signal the sunlight faded and died, and a cold gust whipped across the quivering grass.
There was a small cairn of loose stones that the first climbers had piled together on the crown. Anna crawled towards it and began dragging it apart. She pulled out an old rum bottle, and handed me the messages that former climbers had left inside. The last one ended with a confident … and now attempting to descend the North Ridge. I hoped they’d made it. But there was nothing from Luce.
‘Nothing at all?’ I said. I don’t know what I’d expected, but the futility of what we’d done filled me with despair.
Anna gave a little yelp. I thought she’d been bitten by something, Ball’s Last Insult. But it wasn’t that. She’d turned over another stone and pulled out a small