Doctor Who_ Island of Death - Barry Letts [36]
Following a forced diagonal course to the table, she grabbed a chair and just managed to sit down before she fell over.
„Yeah,‟ said Chris, watching her, „she‟s a right bitch in any sort of sea. You‟ll get used to it. Remember, one hand for the ship and one for yourself.‟
Now that Sarah could see out, it was clear that the ship was rolling quite noticeably. The horizon was invisible, being masked by considerable waves that swooped out of sight to be replaced by an ominous sky, only to reappear a moment later.
„It‟s a real gale, isn‟t it?‟ she said, as the steward - a young seaman by the name of Miller, who‟d volunteered for the job (so Sarah had gathered) largely to get out of weather like today‟s - appeared in the doorway and ducked out of sight when he saw her.
„Half a gale, perhaps,‟ said Chris.
She averted her eyes as he wiped the remains of his fried egg onto a large piece of fatty bacon.
„About a force seven, I reckon. You wait till it gets to nine!‟
No, thanks. Seven would do very nicely, thank you.
With some difficulty, she poured herself three-quarters of a cup of coffee - all she could manage, the way it sloshed around - and kept her eyes down as Chris plastered a large dollop of marmalade on his last bit of fried bread.
„There you are, miss,‟ said Miller, plonking a full plate in front of her. „You‟ll soon feel better once you get that down you.‟
What was he talking about? She was an experienced sailor, wasn‟t she? Though the choppy lurches of a small sailing dinghy were vastly different from this. To start with, they never left your stomach behind, halfway to the ceiling...
correction, halfway to the deck-head. It might not have been so bad if it had been a regular motion, but there seemed to be all sorts of extras superimposed on the main swinging roll.
She looked at the greasy fry-up, picked up her knife and fork, put them down again and said carefully, „I think...‟
What she thought Chris was never to know, for she stood up suddenly, saying Excuse me...‟ and lurched out of the room with her hand clapped over her mouth.
CHAPTER TWELVE
„Isn‟t this magnificent?‟
The Doctor was jammed into the corner of the port wing of the bridge, his usually impeccable hair streaming in the wind, and his cloak flapping behind him like a giant wing, as if he was about to take off.
The Brigadier let the door slam behind him, and grabbed a safe hold. „I‟m glad you think so,‟ he shouted. „I‟m just thankful that my father was a colonel, not an admiral.‟
His words were blown away like the spume from the crest of a breaking wave.
The Doctor had long since abandoned his post at the stem of the ship. Not only had his friends the dolphins vanished at the first sign of a rising sea, but also the Hallaton kept burying her nose and most of her foredeck in the oncoming waves, as she pitched and yawed with the eighty-knot squalls that were bringing what was by now a force ten gale that much nearer to a real storm.
„Listen,‟ shouted the Brigadier. „It‟s the CO...‟
„What‟s up? Is he in liquor again?‟ Although he hardly seemed to raise it, the Doctor‟s precise voice could be clearly heard above the howling of the wind.
„Didn‟t seem to be. Probably why he‟s been in such a filthy mood. I could hear him from my cabin. Bawling out Pete Andrews, as far as I could gather. No, it‟s not that. He‟s turned back. I checked the compass. And when I tried to tackle him about it, the wretched man just ignored me. He‟s sailing 020 degrees, not far off due north.‟
The Doctor gave the Brigadier an exasperated glance. „Well, of course he is, with a wind of this strength coming from the nor‟nor‟east and getting worse all the time. Much too dangerous to go with the wind. Even a ship this size could easily broach to, and founder...‟
„Broach to? What are you talking about?‟
But the Doctor wasn‟t listening. „Look! Look!‟ he was crying, and pointing up into the scudding clouds.
What was he on about now? Nothing up there. Oh