Whatever she felt inside, Sandra remained a diminutive pillar of strength and steady authority. Her skin was red and peeling and her hair was bleached to a platinum blond, but by force of will alone she managed to maintain discipline and keep Rajendra and his men at work. Sister Audry took solace in her faith and remained stoic, if not cheerful, and set a further example for the men. Dennis Silva, as always, seemed unconcerned about anything. He was the only one among them, with the possible exception of Rajendra, who didn’t even seem sunburned. His tanned skin only grew darker and his beard and unusually long hair became almost white.
Rebecca herself maintained an unwavering faith in Sandra Tucker—and Dennis Silva. She did worry about Lawrence and Abel, who, along with the Imperial engineer, suffered cruelly from the heat. Lawrence wasn’t accustomed to being in the sun all day without recourse to shade, and Abel was still troubled by his wound.
The Imperials did as Sandra said, but they weren’t happy. They feared they were doomed and they hated Dennis. Rebecca watched him become the focus of much of their misery and frustration. He’d destroyed their ship and killed their shipmates, and regardless of their current situation, that was something they all had in common. The reason he’d done it, and even the very reason they’d taken to the boat in the first place, became a blurred and distant memory. Slowly, through the long, miserable days and endless, terrifying nights when strange creatures bumped the boat or distant leviathans blew, it all became Silva’s fault.
Outwardly, Silva didn’t care. Rebecca considered it possible he even deliberately encouraged their animosity to keep them focused on
anything
but giving up. In reality, she suspected he was more deeply troubled by what he’d done than he’d ever admit. At least, she rather hoped so. Then the storm came.
Proper navigation became impossible, but Lelaa and ultimately Rajendra steered the boat as best they could, following a heading they adjusted constantly based on their calculations of leeway and current. It was an imperfect solution, but by working so closely together they at least temporarily made a sort of peace between them. For four days they fought the storm, reefing the sail to a mere sliver of canvas and shouldering through long, westerly swells. Then the wind shifted out of the south and they scudded along, pitching horribly on the confused, tumultuous sea. It had been Silva, standing in the bow of the boat, inundated by spray, who saw the breakers ahead.
It was probably the swell that saved them. That, and Silva’s almost earsplitting bellow of, “Drop the sail
right goddamn now
if you want to live!” Without thought, his order was obeyed, and the boat rode a mountainous wave right over the worst of the shoals. They still struck something, probably coral, that tore a terrible gash in the bottom of the boat. It almost broke the keel, but the boat carried on, quickly filling, until the wave deposited them upon a sandy beach.
Leaping in the surf right along with Silva, Sandra ordered everyone who could move out of the boat. They used each new wave to help them heave their burden farther up the beach. Finally, they could go no farther and they collapsed in the sand. After a while, Sandra roused everyone and had all their stores and weapons taken near the edge of the trees, where the waves shouldn’t reach. Then, before she would allow anyone another rest, Sandra ordered that the lightened boat be moved farther from the water as well, and secured to a tree by a stout cable. Only then did everyone collapse again, utterly exhausted, and sleep until the light of day.
Rebecca woke to the sound of surf. Her eyes didn’t want to open and seemed glued shut with some sort of crust. She wiped them with her hand and grainy particles fell away. She tried again and this time she could see.
“Mornin’, sunshine!” Silva said, and grinned at her. He was sitting cross-legged in the sand with his huge rifle across his lap. On a piece of canvas beside him lay the disassembled parts of his pistol. His cutlass was thrust into the sand nearby.
“Good morning,” Rebecca replied. She felt disoriented. She was on dry land at last, but it still seemed to be moving under her. She also wasn’t where she remembered being, lying in the sand beside the boat. She was under the shade of a large, strange tree and covered with a scratchy blanket. Beyond the shade, she saw that the storm was entirely over and bright sunshine played upon a much moderated, sparkling sea.
“I hurt everywhere,” she complained, sitting up.
“Course you do. You been cooped up in a little room for weeks, then sittin’ on yer butt in a boat. Takes a while to get the muscles all loosened up again.”
“All is well?”
Silva’s grin faded just a bit. “Mostly,” he hedged.
“What do you mean?” Rebecca fought down an almost panicked concern. “Is everyone all right? What of . . . What of Lawrence, and Mr. Cook?”
“Oh, ever’body’s okay, I guess. Cook’s over there, still sleepin’. I figger Larry must’ve perked right up, ’cause he was already gone, trompin’ around, I expect, before I even came around. Most o’ them Imperial fellas is still sleepin’ too, ’cept Rajendra. Him and Cap’n Lelaa’s over there inspectin’ the boat.” He looked up. “And here comes our overall captain o’ everything now.”
“At ease,” Sandra said sarcastically. “Don’t bother to jump up and salute!” She was smiling when she sat in the sand next to Silva. “How do you feel, sweetie?” she asked Rebecca.
“Okay,” replied the girl. She glanced warily at the nearby tree. “Are you quite sure there are none of those creatures such as were on Talaud? The ones that climb trees and drop upon prey from above?”
“Ain’t seen any,” Silva assured her, “and there’s no scratch marks like they make.” He shrugged. “Who knows, though? Don’t worry; I been keepin’ my eye out!” He chuckled at his little joke. Suddenly, his face went blank and he stiffened. Seeing his reaction to . . . whatever, the two girls froze as well. Slowly, Silva eased around to look back in the jungle behind him. “Damn you, Larry,” he said, “what are you doin’ sneakin’ around in the bushes? You mighta got shot. Again.”
Lawrence practically
slithered
up among them, his eyes darting about. “Quiet!” he insisted. He looked at Rebecca and lowered his head. “I
so
sorry!” he moaned. “I so,
so
sorry!”
“What? What is it, my dear?” Rebecca asked, alarmed.
“I just learn charts and I guess I didn’t learn so good, or I did learn good, and still not right!”
“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?” Silva hissed.
“I think he means that we are where we set out to go, this Yap Island, but, with Larry not knowing charts or being familiar with all the hundreds of islands around here, Yap isn’t the same place as Tagran after all,” Rebecca said carefully.
“Yes, yess!”
“How does he know?” Sandra asked.
Lawrence hesitated. “I here . . . again!”
“Before?”
“Yes!”
“You’re positive?”
“Yes!”
“Well,” said Sandra, relieved, “if he’s definitely been here before, he should know where the real Tagran is. Isn’t that true, Lawrence?”
Lawrence lowered his head again. “Yes,” he hissed.
“Whoa, wait a minute!” said Silva. He fumbled behind him in a pile of things he’d brought from the boat. In a moment, he had the chart in his hand. He pointed at a spot on the map. “This here’s Yap, what you thought was Tagran. That’s where we are, right?” He pointed southwest. “This here’s that scary island you said was the place you went through your trial, where there’s all sorts o’ boogers you wouldn’t ever tell us about.” He looked at Lawrence. “There
ain’t
nothin’ southwest of that but empty ocean, so it
can’t
be Tagran.”
“No,” Lawrence said.
“So if that ain’t it and this ain’t it, your home must be this spot, northeast of here, right?” Lawrence nodded miserably, and Rebecca and Sandra both looked at Silva questioningly. He exhaled noisily. “What the hell. Whatever doesn’t kill you is a hoot, I always say.”
“What do you mean?” Sandra asked, but she knew.
“Ladies, Larry here’s been beatin’ around the bushy fact that we’re marooned on Boogerland itself.” Silva looked hard at Lawrence. “I ain’t scared o’ Boogerland. I ain’t scared o’ much at all anymore. The only thing that
does
scare me is threats to folks I care about. You mighta noticed I tend to react violently to those. Now, I know you ain’t supposed to blow about what’s runnin’ around here, but we’re talkin’ Princess Rebecca and Miss Tucker now! I don’t give a furry shit what you promised or swore to;
I
swear I’ll twist your head off your skinny neck if you don’t cough up everything you know about this damn place!”
That evening they had a big fire on the beach. In spite of everything, Lawrence had still refused to tell Dennis what he wanted to know, but he had told Sandra and Rebecca. They were females, after all, and no female was ever expected to undergo the trial. Sandra promptly told Silva roughly what they could expect—and it
was
scary. Evidently, they had some time, though. Not much, but apparently, the most dangerous time on the island reached its peak at a certain “season” of the year: the mating season of the semi amphibious “shiksaks” that sometimes even troubled Tagran. It wouldn’t be a cakewalk, but maybe, just
maybe
they could be gone by then. In the meantime, they had a lot of work to do, and this first full night on Shikarrak Island, or Boogerland, as Silva continued to call it, would be devoted to a much-needed, watchful rest.
Rebecca was drowsy, but it suddenly dawned on her that she didn’t see Silva among the group gathered around the fire. She stood and walked a short distance away, and as her eyes adjusted, she could just make him out, standing short of the surf line.
“Mr. Silva?” she said quietly
“Hmm? Oh.”
“You frightened me,” she scolded. “I looked about and you were nowhere to be seen!”
“Sorry, li’l sister,” he said. “Most o’ those fellas over there don’t like me much, and I had a little thinkin’ to do.”
Sandra joined them in the darkness. “What were you thinking about?” She huffed. “Anything besides the obvious?”
Silva actually laughed. “Well, yeah, prob’ly. You know the skipper—Captain Reddy—will be lookin’ for us by now.”
Sandra sighed sadly. “I know. No matter what else is going on, he’ll have dropped everything to come after us.”
“After you,” Silva stated the fact. “And maybe the munchkin queen here. Don’t hurt my feelin’s none. I bet he’s got
Walker
back by now, and I can almost see her steamin’ by out there in the dark, with a fine, big bone in her teeth!” He shook his head. “Thing is, he ain’t gonna find us. He’s gonna chase Billingsly’s dead ass all the way to the New Britain Isles and he ain’t gonna find us.” He chuckled. “You know what he’s gonna think? He’s gonna think them Brits are either hidin’ you girls . . . or they did somethin’ to you.”
Sandra and Rebecca were both silent for a moment, suspecting Silva was probably right.
“What do you suppose he’ll do?” Rebecca asked at last.
Silva chuckled again. “I don’t know, li’l sister, but I guarantee they’re gonna hate it.”