Shoulder the Sky_ A Novel - Anne Perry [138]
Joseph did not speak, but he was as sure of his answer as Mason of his question.
He made himself as comfortable as he could and must have slept for quite some time, because when he woke Mason was sitting up, and the sun was low and murky over the water to the west.
“There’s a fog coming,” Mason said grimly. “Do you want some water?” He held out the canteen.
Joseph’s mouth was dry and his head was pounding. He took the canteen, and could feel by the weight of it that if Mason had drank any at all, it was not more than his rationed mouthful. He smiled, drank his own gulp, and passed it back. “No point in waking him,” he said, nodding toward Andy. He checked that he was breathing, and then sat back again. “We should row,” he said to Mason.
“Where to?” Mason glanced around. “America?”
“Northwest,” Joseph answered. “The storm blew us south. However far we’ve come, there should be the south coast of England to the north of us, and even if we were beyond that, which we aren’t, there’d be Ireland. We’d better row while there’s still light.”
“What the hell do we need light for?” Mason said bitterly. “We’re not exactly going to hit anything!”
“Fog,” Joseph replied. “We’ll only know which direction we’re going as long as we can see the sun in the west.”
Mason did not reply. Silently he unshipped his oar and put it in the rowlock, then, in time with Joseph, he began to row.
It was the hardest physical work Joseph had ever done. His body ached with every pull, his hands were blistered and he was so thirsty it took an intense effort of will to keep from plunging his hands into the sea, even though it was salt, and would only make him sick. Its slick, smooth water was cold and in its own way, mesmerizingly beautiful.
Andy woke and drank his mouthful of water. The sun was so low and the fog thick enough now that the west was barely discernible, but he understood what they were doing.
“There’s no need to sit up,” Joseph told him. “We’ll just go as long as we can.”
Andy smiled.
Joseph lost count of time. It grew so dim, the light so diffused, it was hard to tell anything but the broadest directions. No one spoke.
Then suddenly Andy stiffened and pointed with his good arm.
Mason swiveled around, oar out of the water. “A ship!” he yelled. “A ship!”
Joseph turned to look as well. Out of the gloom to their left there was a high, darker shape.
Mason pulled his oar in and started to climb to his feet.
“Sit down!” Andy cried shrilly. “You’ll capsize us in their wash!” He started forward as if physically to restrain Mason, but he was too weak and fell forward onto the floorboards.
“Ahoy!” Mason bellowed, standing upright now, waving his arms. “Ahoy!”
“Sit down!” Andy screamed.
Joseph lunged for Mason just as the wash hit them. The boat bucked, the bow high and sideways. Mason lost his balance and fell just as the boat slapped down again and pitched the other way, throwing him backward. The side caught him behind the knees. He folded up, hitting his head on the gunwale, and slid into the sea.
Without waiting, Andy went in after him.
The boat swiveled and tossed on the wake and Joseph grabbed after the oars, desperately fumbling as Andy and Mason slipped astern. He got them both at last and turned the boat, heaving with all his strength, his muscles burning, to get back to them. It seemed to take forever, stroke after stroke, but it must have been no more than a minute or two before he was there. A hand came up over the side and he shipped the oars and reached to pull Mason up and on board. He was almost deadweight, streaming water, and gasping.
Then he turned for Andy. He saw him for an instant, just the pale blur of his face, then he was gone.
“Andy!” Joseph shrieked, his voice hoarse, piercing with despair. “Andy!”
But there was no break in the gray sea, nothing above the surface.
He was sobbing as he flung himself on the oars again and sent the boat lurching forward, all his weight behind each stroke. He called out again and again. He was aware of Mason