Wind Raker - Book IV of The Order of the Air (40 page)

“Hilo Tower acknowledges our message. They want to know if we need help.”

Mitch levered himself out of the co-pilot’s position, dropped down into the nose turret, Jerry drawing himself out of the way, and Alma heard metal scrape on metal as he opened the little bow hatch. She heard thuds against the outside of the hull as he worked his way along the narrow ledge of the chine rail to set the anchor. For an instant, she wished she’d thought to have them all wear life vests, but it was too late for that now

“I don’t know yet,” she said. “Tell them I don’t think so, but we haven’t had a chance to look over our engines. We’ll radio them with more information as soon as we have it.”

“Roger,” Lewis said, and flipped back to the Hilo channel.

“Temperature is still high,” Lily said. “It’s going to be an hour or so before we can see what’s happened.”

“Plenty of time,” Alma said, and glanced at her watch. Well, not plenty of time — if they had to spend too much time making repairs, they’d be landing in Honolulu after dark — but time enough, she told herself firmly. There was a heavy splash from the Cat’s nose, and a moment later Mitch ducked back inside, peering up at her from the turret.

“I’ve set the sea anchor. Looks like it’s holding.”

The Cat was swinging slowly, putting her nose into the current, lying now with the beach between the bow and the port wing.

“Good,” Alma said, and offered a hand for him to steady himself as he climbed up out of the turret.

“Nice flying.”

“Be nicer if we hadn’t had to,” Alma said, with a rueful smile. “All right. Let’s see what we’ve got.”

H
ilo Tower took their transmission in stride, confirming that they would stand by for any further requests. Lewis left the radio on stand-by and went forward, leaving Jimmy still sitting quietly at the navigator’s station. He felt a little bad about having pulled the kid’s headset, but it has seemed the most sensible thing to do. In the cockpit, Mitch and Alma were talking to Jerry, who was still in the nose turret, and at Alma’s look, Lewis took over the job of helping him out. That was the hardest thing, someone having to take Jerry’s full weight until he could get himself up onto the catwalk between the pilots’ stations, and even with Alma’s help, Mitch shouldn’t make the effort. And Jerry wasn’t helping as much as usual, so that they had to drag him up like landing a big fish, leaving him sitting awkwardly in the catwalk for a moment until he could get his feet under him. The effort left him red-faced and sweating, but instead of glaring at everyone as though daring them to say anything, he took the cane Mitch held out to him and limped into the next compartment, Lily flattening herself against the bulkhead to let him past. Lewis pressed himself back against Alma’s seat and she came all the way into the cockpit. She looked drained but somehow better, as though she’d found an answer in those moments of struggle. And maybe she had: she’d fought back at last, and if they hadn’t won a complete victory, they certainly hadn’t lost.

“Right,” Alma said. “How are we looking?”

“The temperature’s still dropping,” Lily answered. “But I wouldn’t want to go poking at it just yet.” She looked uneasily at the instrument panel. “Is everything else all right?”

“Nothing seems damaged,” Alma said. “The landing was perfectly normal.”

“I’m going to kill that son-of-a-bitch,” Mitch said.

Lewis blinked. He couldn’t remember having heard Mitch swear before, and he’d definitely never heard that particular edge in Mitch’s voice.

“Get in line,” Lily muttered.

“Nobody’s going to do anything right now,” Alma said, with a significant look toward the navigation compartment. “And the first thing we should do is take a look at those engines.”

They climbed out through the canopy and onto the top of the fuselage, gathering at the base of the Cabane Strut that supported the enormous wing. The Cat rolled heavily in the swell, and Lewis was careful to keep his feet on the flat walkway at the center. There wasn’t much to hold on to, and he had no desire to be pitched out into the ocean. At least the sea anchor was holding, turning them into the swells and holding them off the beach perhaps three hundred yards to the north. The surf flashed white against the dark, almost purple rock: not a good place to be driven ashore.

Lily hauled herself up onto the wing to check the engines, and Lewis heard the clang of metal on metal as she opened the cowlings even further. “Cooling nicely,” she called, “but it’s going to be a little longer before I can take a proper look at them.”

Alma shaded her eyes, looking up at her. “We might as well wait out here.”

“Right.” Mitch climbed carefully onto the wing after her and settled himself beside the port engine, his legs dangling over the wing’s leading edge. “We’ve got to do something about this guy, Al.”

Alma lowered herself carefully so that she was sitting on the fuselage, and Lewis copied her, keeping one hand on the canopy rail. Objectively, he supposed it wasn’t that much, but it made him feel more secure.

“We’re doing what we can,” Alma said, a warning note in her voice, and Lily leaned down.

“He’s dangerous — I did warn you, Mrs. Segura. I’m just sorry —“

“He couldn’t touch the plane,” Lewis said. The warding had held; it seemed important to remember that.

“I’d like to touch him,” Mitch said. “Right in the kisser.”

“That would be a very bad idea,” Alma said, and Lewis saw a sudden flash of amusement cross her face. “What are you going to do, Mitch, walk up and punch him? What are you going to say when the cops ask why?”

Mitch looked sheepish. “Ok, yeah, that’s probably not a good plan.”

“We’ll deal with him,” Alma said again.

“I’d like to help,” Lily said. She slid down to sit on the edge of the wing herself, kicking her feet like a much younger woman. “He’s — I want —“

“You’ve broken his curse,” Alma said.

“I think so,” Lily answered. “Or at least I can break it now. I can fight back. It feels… different.”

“And if he were here now?” Alma asked.

Improbably, Lily grinned. “Well, I’d have a good explanation for why I punched him. Though it probably wouldn’t keep me out of the lock-up.”

“Let’s all try to stay out of jail,” Lewis said. He didn’t need to use clairvoyance to know that was bad publicity.

Alma gave him a quick smile. “That’s probably the best plan.”

“I was serious,” Lily said. “If you do something — your Lodge, I mean — it would be an honor to be part of it.”

“We don’t have any plans yet,” Alma said, and Lewis thought only he could hear the false note in her voice. “But I will definitely keep that in mind.” She pushed herself carefully to her feet, and came aft to the Cabane Strut, looking up at Lily. “How are the engines?”

“We can start looking at them now, I think,” Lily answered, and Alma clambered up to join her.

J
erry shifted his weight in the radio operator’s uncomfortable chair, stretching his leg as far as he could move it. His stump was burning, and he guessed that somewhere in Alma’s maneuvers he had twisted it against the leg’s socket. He hoped he hadn’t rubbed it completely raw, because that would mean spending a day or two off his feet, and ideally without his leg, to let the sores heal. He shoved that thought aside, and glanced at Jimmy, still sitting silent and white-faced on the other side of the table.

“How are you doing?”

The boy shrugged. “I’m ok.”

He didn’t really sound it, but Jerry wasn’t going to call him on it. “Good.”

There was another silence, the water lapping against the hull as the Cat rode the low swell, and Jimmy stirred again. “Dr. Ballard, were we nearly killed?”

Jerry considered the question. He didn’t want to frighten the boy, but he didn’t want to lie, either. “Al got us turned with time to spare.”

Jimmy nodded. “What really happened?”

And that was an even harder question. He looked at Jimmy, but the boy’s expression was unreadable, giving no hint of whether he wanted confirmation of something he’d seen or reassurance that it wasn’t real. “We were caught in a downdraft. It was keeping the plane from rising above the mountain. Luckily, we found a thermal and Al was able to turn and run back out to sea.”

Jimmy nodded again. Jerry waited, studying the boy’s face. It was even odds whether he’d ask more questions — and of course everything depended on what he’d seen or heard. Lewis had disconnected him from the intercom; he might not have realized that anything unusual was happening, or nothing more unusual than a problem with the airplane.

"It was really dangerous,” Jimmy said, after a moment. “Taking me along.”

Jerry lifted an eyebrow. “The flight itself wasn’t that dangerous. We had a bit of bad luck.”

"We nearly crashed. And we’re stuck here. If they can’t fix the engines —“

"If they can’t fix the engines, we’ll radio Hilo and they’ll send a boat either with the part we need or to tow us in,” Jerry said. “Why are you so eager to see it — ah.”

He stopped, the pieces fitting together at last, and Jimmy looked away. “They’re supposed to take care of us. If the Sheriff knew —“

"If you told the Sheriff,” Jerry said, deliberately, and Jimmy flushed.

"Well, he wouldn’t like it.”

"He might not,” Jerry said. “And you might get yourself and your siblings taken away from Mr. and Mrs. Sorley. That’s what you’re thinking, isn’t it?”

"Yeah.” Jimmy still wouldn’t meet his eyes.

Jerry nodded slowly, tamping down his own anger. That wouldn’t do any good, not now, not when this might be his only chance to be sure that Jimmy understood the situation. “You could do that. You could even just tell Mr. and Mrs. Sorley that you don’t want to stay with them. It would make them sad, but they want you to be happy. What do you think would happen then?”

"My father might be back,” Jimmy said. “He might be back right now, and we wouldn’t know.”

"The Sheriff promised to send a telegram if he came back,” Jerry said. “He knows where we’re staying. I’m sorry. He’s not there.”

"But he might be.”

"Jimmy. Your father may not come back.” Jerry held up his hand to stem the furious protest. “I believe he meant to come back, but — times are hard. Something may have happened to him. And if he doesn’t come back, and you don’t want to stay with the Sorleys — what are you going to do?”

"We could stay at the house,” Jimmy said. “Dad is coming, and I can get a job —“

Jerry grimaced. He hated this, hated having to destroy a child’s fantasy, but he couldn’t see anything else he could do. “You’re eleven years old. There’s no work you can do that would let you take care of your brother and sister — and that’s not to say you’re not smart and hardworking, it’s just that you’re eleven. You can’t work, and you can’t take care of Merilee. If you don’t stay with the Sorleys, you’ll have to go to the State Home in Denver.”

"Maybe that’s better.” Jimmy glared at him.

Jerry took a deep breath. There was only one thing left to give, as he had known there would be. “Jimmy. I was raised in an orphanage. You want your family to stay together, don’t you?”

"And not forget!” Jimmy burst out. “Not forget our mother. Mrs. Sorley’s not our mother, she’s not.”

"No, she’s not,” Jerry said. “And you won’t forget her, I promise you that.”

"They will.”

"You’ll remember for them,” Jerry said. “But if you go to the State Home — Jimmy, most people who come to orphanages don’t want three children. They want one, one baby, or a little girl or boy, someone who won’t remember where they came from. I’m sure they’ll try to keep you together, but if someone, some family, falls in love with Merilee or with Douglas, they may not want to take all of you. And it’s the State Home’s responsibility to take care of orphans, and that means sending brothers and sisters to different homes if they have people who will take one but not the other.”

"Did that happen to you?” Jimmy’s voice was small.

"No.” Jerry shook his head. “I was an only child. But it happened to some of my friends, and it was pretty awful.” He was falling back into a child’s vocabulary, remembering his best friend hiding in the washhouse because they’d taken away his little brother, and not knowing anything that would make it even the slightest bit better. “I know this isn’t what you’d choose, but it seems to me that Douglas and Merilee are happy, and I know Mitch and Stasi want to keep all of you. If you can make the best of it, you’ll be together, and you can make sure they don’t forget your parents. You can tell them the stories they need to know — they’ll remember what you tell them. And in seven years, you’ll be eighteen. You can do what you want then.”

"I just don’t…” Jimmy stopped, as though he couldn’t put a name to what it was he didn’t want, his face bleak.

"You don’t have to decide now,” Jerry said. “Nothing can be done until you get back from Hawaii. Just — think about what I said.”

"It’s hard.” Jimmy flushed again, the ready color rising under his skin, and Jerry nodded.

"It is. It’s hard to be responsible.”

There was another long silence, Jimmy staring blindly out the window. He turned back at last, frowning slightly. “Were you really raised in an orphanage?”

"Yes.”

"But — Mr. Sorley said you went to Harvard.”

"Yes.”

"But I thought — ” Jimmy stopped, his face scarlet again.

"You thought only rich men’s sons went to Harvard,” Jerry said, and Jimmy nodded. “Most of them are, yes, but not everyone. I won a scholarship, and I worked a lot of jobs, and it was hard work. But I loved it, too.”

"I think I’d like to go to college,” Jimmy said seriously. “My grades are good.” He gave Jerry an odd, shy glance. “Or — there’s West Point. To serve the country.”

"It’s a hard life,” Jerry said. “But an honorable one.”

To his relief, that seemed to be all Jimmy wanted to say about it. They were quiet again, and Jerry stretched his leg, flinching. Surely Al was fixing the engines even now. Surely they’d be back in the air in an hour or two, and then it would be home and he could take his leg off and maybe Stasi wouldn’t mind if he took supper upstairs on a tray. And Willi — He shied away from that thought. Surely Willi would cut him some slack, much as he hated to look like a cripple. He smiled bitterly. But of course he was a cripple, and there was nothing he could do about it. The whole point of this dig was to prove that he could handle himself. To prove that he could handle Alexandria. He pushed himself slowly to his feet, swaying with the movement of the hull, pain flaring across his stump. It held, though, and he limped stiffly to the nearest window, peered out at the distant surf.