"It would seem," said Hawkins, "that our fishing you from the water was just the latest in a string of narrow escapes."
"No doubt about it," Alan replied. "I just hope my luck holds out."
"It won't," Barnabas muttered before crying out as Ryan punched him on the arm.
"Well, the question now is whether you're willing to join us for a while," Hawkins continued. "I don't make a habit of keeping people on board against their will so if you want me to sail for shore and put you aground just say the word."
Alan thought about it for a second. It was true that the
Intrepid
could be nothing more than a holding pattern; they certainly hadn't found a way home yet. Then again, he liked their company and there was no reason to assume he would have better luck continuing his wanderings through the house. "I'll stay," he decided, "as long as you're happy to have me."
"Only too happy," Hawkins said with a smile, "I need all the able hands I can get."
"I want to get home," Alan said, "and if what I've read is true – and it must be – there is a way. Are we agreed that that is the ultimate goal of this trip?"
"Damn right we're agreed," Jonas said, "I for one can't wait to set my eyes on home again!"
Everyone at the table groaned.
"I confess I had grown accustomed to the thought that we would live out the rest of our lives here," Hawkins admitted. "However brief they may be. From what you've said though, it would seem there is a chance we could return home. Let us hope we find it."
Alan couldn't sleep, which was hardly surprising. After a few hours of staring at the wooden ceiling he decided to stretch his legs, maybe get himself a glass of water. He shuffled quietly out of his cabin and made his way towards the mess. As he was pouring himself some water, he heard a creaking sound on the stairs that led up to the deck. Wondering what someone else was doing creeping around – the fact that he was doing exactly the same never occurring to him – he walked out into the corridor just in time to see Barnabas stepping on to the deck. The storm had abated now and Alan could see no danger in following.
He crept up the stairs, keeping his feet to the edges so they might not creak. He peered over the hatch opening to see if Barnabas was in sight: he was, walking towards the fore of the ship. Alan stepped on to the deck and was about to call out to him when something changed his mind. Perhaps it was still suspicion, or the oppressive stillness that had settled on the ship after the storm, or maybe he just didn't want to risk waking the rest of the crew. He couldn't have said. Nonetheless, he followed Barnabas silently, walking delicately on the still wet deck, fearful of slipping.
Once Barnabas had reached the front of the ship he leaned on the railing for a moment as if weighed down by something terrible. Alan assumed he probably was; certainly he wasn't a man filled with the joy of existence. Then Barnabas pulled himself up on to the railing, swung his leg over the side and prepared to throw himself overboard. Alan dashed forward and grabbed hold of the man's arm as he fell.
"Oh, for God's sake," Barnabas said, hanging over the waves, "wouldn't you just guess that might happen?"
Alan pulled on the man's arm, trying to haul him back up on deck. Barnabas didn't fight; in fact, after a second or so, he reached for the railing, pulled himself back on board and sat down with a sigh. "Why couldn't you just keep your nose out of it?" he said. "None of your bloody business, is it?"
"What were you thinking?" Alan asked. "You would have got yourself killed."
"Not much chance of that, what with all the busybodies around," Barnabas moaned and then, much to Alan's surprise, he started to cry, his body slumping like that of a dejected child as he began to sob. Alan felt suddenly awkward, dropped down next to him and tentatively put his arm around his shoulders.
"It's all right," he mumbed, not knowing what to say.
"How do you reckon that then, eh?" Barnabas replied. "I've been here for months, stuck here in this ungodly place just waiting for something to kill me. I can't be doing with it. We all know we're never going to get home so why put up with it? This is no damn life."
"You don't know you won't get home," Alan said, "weren't you listening earlier? There is a way, there must be or I could never have heard about it."
"Oh Christ, that almost makes it worse," Barnabas whined, rubbing at his snotty nose with the back of his hand. "There's nothing more terrible than a tiny bit of hope, is there? At least if you know something's impossible you can get on with it, but imagine spending the next six months here actually hoping that something might happen every day. And then having to face the fact that it didn't… I just don't think I can take that. Better the water, it feels good and then you're nothing, the problem's gone."
"There is a way," said Alan, "and it can be found. I can't say how long it might take, who knows? But I do know it's there and, knowing that, how could you give up now? I could understand if you'd just been told there was no way home. Hell, I'd dive off there with you if I thought that. But once you actually know you could escape…? Imagine if we found a way home tomorrow and here's you, missed it by twenty-four hours just because you can't bear a little hope."
"Miss it by a day?" Barnabas replied, sniffing loudly. "Aye, that'd be about right, that. Just my bloody luck."
"There you go then," said Alan. "Let's get back to a miserable but bloody-minded Barnabas, shall we? No more of this threatening to jump off."
"Oh, I ain't going nowhere now. I'd be too bloody embarrassed. Don't you dare tell the others either!"
"Wouldn't dream of it," Alan agreed.
Barnabas got to his feet and, with a gentle nod, slouched back off to his quarters. Alan watched him go, then turned to look out across the prow. There was nothing discernible ahead of them; with no moon or stars to light their way the boat might as well be floating in mid-air, the gentle rocking the only clue that the water was even there.
"Thank you for that," Hawkins said from behind him.
Alan spun around. "You nearly gave me a heart attack!"
"Sorry."
"It's all right, just didn't hear you coming. But then my ears are obviously not as highly trained as yours."
"Nobody walks around on this ship after lights-out without me hearing them. It was better Barnabas heard that from you, though, so, again, thank you."
"No problem. I just wish he had a little more hope in him. Easy for me to say, I suppose, I've only just got here."
"It's not just that. Barnabas isn't stupid, he knows there's a fly in the ointment that nobody's acknowledging. Come into the light." They walked over to one of the lamps and Hawkins pulled a small leather case from his pocket and handed it to Alan. "Take a look."
Alan flipped the case open to find a compass, its point slowly revolving. "Ah…" he said, "I hadn't thought of that."
"Wherever this house is it's not beholden to the normal laws of the earth. That includes a magnetic field." Hawkins nodded towards the sky. "There's no help up there either, of course, as easy as it is to forget that it's a roof. No stars to guide us, nothing."
"So how do you navigate?"
"We don't. We sail aimlessly until we fall across something. When we come within sight of shore we land and stock up. It's never been planned. For all I know we've just been turning around in circles – small circles at that."
"So what's the solution?"
Hawkins shrugged. "Your suggestion of 'hope' is pretty much all we have."
Alan nodded. "Then I guess it'll just have to do."
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Nobody ever got warm or fat off the dream of bacon, but that didn't stop Miles trying as he stared at the roof of the cave, summoning up the energy for another day's climb.
"I can't climb mountains today," he whispered, "my mum's given me a note."
"Well, I'll give you a kick if you're not upright in two minutes," said Penelope, stepping over him and going to stand by the fire. "Still going strong," she said, "unlike the rest of us."
"Speak for yourself," Ashe announced while stretching.
Watching, Miles could imagine every sharp little vertebra snapping into place. "Dear God, don't tell me he's a morning person… I can't bear morning people."
"I'm an 'all-day-long' person," Ashe replied, straightfaced.
"Breakfast!" Carruthers exclaimed, pulling out a carton of crackers and some dried meat.
"That's not breakfast," Miles complained, "that's a selection of items that would make a brick seem succulent."
"And will fill our stomach for hours."
"Concrete would do it for years, doesn't mean it's a good idea."
Carruthers handed Miles some of the crackers and meat. "Drink lots of water with it."
"I could take it with a bottle of vodka and it wouldn't be any more palatable."
Carruthers handed food to Penelope and Ashe. The latter immediately started chewing on it.
Once they had eaten they wrapped themselves up and headed out into the snow. The winds had hidden the staircase from view but the route was obvious enough. Carruthers led the way, adopting the same plan as the day before: marching for a few minutes then taking a brief breather before continuing.
As they curved around the mountain the view of the walls began to vanish behind thin veils of cloud. The cream paint of the roof blended with the air. The ceiling rose was still visible, its knotted vine motif like a two-dimensional sun, empty of warmth, the cornicing a lofty horizon line on all sides. The higher they climbed the colder it got, the air burning their lungs as they breathed it in. The wind grew so chilling it filled their cheeks with the sensation of paper cuts. By the time they had been climbing a few hours their skin was too sore to touch.
"I'm just not built for exploring," Miles moaned. "In future I will only deal with ice that is thoroughly drowned in gin."
"If we get to a bar I'll buy you one," Penelope said. "In fact I'll join you."
"Shush," whispered Carruthers, waving his hand at them.
"Yes, Dad," Miles muttered.
"We're not alone," Carruthers said, turning on the spot and scrutinising the mountainside.
"We've been followed for the last couple of miles or so," Ashe said.
"You didn't think that worth mentioning?" asked Penelope.
"Didn't want to panic anybody. There's a good chance they won't attack unless there's enough of them."
"
What
won't attack?" asked Miles.
"Wolves," Carruthers replied, pointing above them to where a white shape darted out of sight.
"Oh, yes, obviously… a pack of those house wolves, isn't it? Like earwigs but
toothier
." Miles kept spinning around trying to catch sight of them.
"Keep moving," said Ashe.
Carruthers carried on, marching faster up the steps. "We can't outrun them," he said.
"No," Ashe replied, "but we can hope they leave us be. If there's only a couple of them we should be fine – no animal takes on a bunch of humans unless the odds are thoroughly in its favour."
"Is that true?" asked Miles.
"Yes," Carruthers replied, before adding "usually," with a somewhat non-committal shrug. "Ashe is quite correct in that our only choice is to keep moving."
"Perhaps they're just waiting for us to tire ourselves out," Penelope suggested.
"I'm there already," Miles admitted. "They may as well just get on with it. It would be a nice change of pace just to lie down in the snow and have a good bleed."
"Of course, one of us does have a weapon," said Ashe "Now might be the time to use it."
"I think not," said Carruthers, "let's wait until there's a very real threat, shall we?"
"What will it take to convince you of that?" asked Miles, "fatalities?" He kept looking around him as they walked, hoping to catch a glimpse of the animals. He saw nothing, but then someone like Miles would only notice a creature as stealthy as a wolf when it was chewing their throat.
"If we start shooting now we bring attention to ourselves…"
"As opposed to subtly strolling around smelling of tired cutlet," Miles muttered.
"If they attack," Carruthers continued, "we defend ourselves. If they continue to just observe we leave them alone and conserve our bullets."
"
My
bullets," said Ashe. "Not that I mind contributing them to the cause."
They continued to walk. Every now and then a slight flicker on the periphery of Carruthers' vision let him know they still had company but the animals came no closer, happy to escort them up the mountain.
After an hour or so, Carruthers stopped for lunch. "We've got to keep our strength up," he said, "whatever the company. Besides, I think if they were going to strike they would have done so by now." He broke out more dried biscuits and meat.
"This may put them off," said Miles. "We should leave some behind just to break their stomachs."
They ate quickly, none of them inclined to loiter over an uninspiring meal in such daunting company. Within ten minutes they were walking again, trudging up the snow-covered steps, the peak of the mountain drawing closer at a speed normally reserved for indolent bricks.
"You think we stand a chance of making it to the summit by nightfall?" Miles asked, knowing the answer but hoping he was wrong.
"I think we'll be doing well if we manage it by tomorrow night," Carruthers replied. "It's a long way and – with the best will in the world – we're hardly travelling at speed."
The snow to their left suddenly exploded outwards, sending a curtain of ice down on their heads. Carruthers, backing away in surprise, nearly toppled over the banister but managed to retain his balance. A six-foot-tall polar bear, its fur patchy and stained a sickly yellow, reared up out of the snow. It roared, the stench of its mouldy breath strong enough to feel solid as it hit them. It was the odour of rot and wet carpets, of houses left to ruin. When it moved it was with a stiffness that suggested it might be wounded in some way, a creaking reluctance to its limbs as if it had been frozen and only half thawed out.