Shoulder the Sky_ A Novel - Anne Perry [134]
“Probably angry enough to demand that the government answer for it,” Mason replied, struggling to keep hold of the oar. “Pull, damn it!”
“We can’t pull against this,” Joseph replied, jerking his head at the waves. “One misjudgment and we’ll be tipped over. We need to turn and go before it.”
“Where to, for God’s sake?” Mason demanded, his voice higher pitched, exhaustion and panic too close to the surface. “Out into the middle of the Atlantic?”
“Better there, and above the water, than the English Channel, and under it,” Joseph replied. “Even south of here we’ll still be in a shipping lane. We don’t have a choice.”
“Can you turn it without capsizing?” Mason demanded.
“I don’t know,” Joseph admitted. “But we can’t go on like this. We can’t hold it. We’ll have to be fast.”
“What about the wounded man? If he goes over we’ve lost him!”
“If the boat goes over we’re all lost!” Joseph shouted back. “Together! When there’s a lull. Wait for it! You lift out, I’ll pull.”
“A lull?” Mason yelled with disbelief.
The wind gusted, then dropped.
“Now!” Joseph bellowed, lifting his oar high, digging it round and feeling the boat turn, yaw wildly, pitch almost over as the wave slapped against the side, then as Joseph dug again, throwing his weight against it, come round with the wind and the current behind it.
Mason gasped, pushing his hair out of his face with one hand and grabbing at the oar to plunge it in the water again. Now the boat was running before the wind, but it still needed both of them with all their weight and strength to keep it from turning again.
Joseph’s heart was pounding so hard he felt giddy. He had come within feet of drowning them all, Andy as well as Mason and himself. Relief left him shaking. He clung to the oar as much to regain his control as to wield and pull it. But something in him had resolved.
“I can’t let you publish that piece,” he said clearly. “That is, if there really is a publisher?” He had to know.
“Of course there is,” Mason said without the slightest hesitation. “Some of the provincial newspaper owners believe as I do. They think people have a right to make their own decisions, knowing what they’re going to face.”
“Aren’t they afraid of being charged with treason?” Joseph asked. “The Defense of the Realm Act is pretty powerful. Or are they going to do it anonymously, so they won’t have to answer for it?”
Mason was angry. “Of course they’re not going to do it anonymously!” he retorted. “What the hell kind of truth is that?”
“Are you sure?” Joseph let disbelief burn through his voice.
“Yes, I am sure!” Mason shouted. “I’ve known the owner all my life! He won’t let the editors take the blame, he’ll answer for it himself.”
Joseph believed it. The certainty in Mason’s face, the passion in him and his sense of honor and purpose, mistaken as it was, lit him with an intensity no lie could carry.
“I’m sorry,” Joseph said, and meant it sincerely. He liked Mason, indeed admired him. “I can’t let you do that.”
“You can’t stop me.” Mason smiled—a warm, unaffected expression.
Joseph shipped his oar. “Yes, I can.”
The boat jerked sideways until Mason lifted his oar out of the water also and the boat tossed and slapped without help at all.
“For God’s sake!” Mason shrieked. “We’ll sink! What the hell’s the matter with you?”
“I can’t kill you,” Joseph answered. “But I won’t help save you either.” He looked at Andy. “I’m truly sorry. But if this piece is printed it’ll be picked up by other underground papers, and will get round the country like fire. Well-meaning pacifists will pass it around out-side recruiting stations, and fifth columnists, pro-Germans will slip it through doorways and hand it out in meetings. In the end thousands of people will be affected by it. Fewer men will volunteer for the army, and our men in the trenches in France and in Gallipoli will be left to fight alone, until they’re beaten. I can’t let that happen, to save my life, or yours. I’m sorry.”
“I understand,” Andy said quietly. “Maybe we