“No, but I’m not sure there’s enough to refill the balloons, Lant —”
“There’s only one way to find out.”
Purple nodded. “Yes, of course — we will have to try it. The only thing is, I have to save some power with which to call down my flying egg. I’m not sure I have enough to do both.” He scratched thoughtfully at his chin hair.
I thought hard. “Why don’t we use another ballast spell? Throw away some more weight?”
He started to shake his head to that, then — “Wait! You’re right, Lant. We can lighten this boat considerably. We can’t be that far from land!” He stood up, began looking around for things to throw overboard.
He tugged at a bundle. “What’s this?”
The spare windbags. Orbur found them floating in the water.”
“Oh,” He started throwing them over again. “I’m sorry, Lant,” he said to my shocked expression, “But it’s the same situation as when we were falling. It’s either us or them. Now, what else — what’s in here?”
“Quaff skins, water skins, sour melons, sweet melons, smoked meats — Purple, what are you doing?”
“Throwing it overboard, Lant. We packed enough food for three or four weeks. We don’t need that much. I’m keeping only enough for two more days.” He began dropping armloads of it over the side.
“Not that!” I protested, but he ignored me — the Quaff went too.
We stumbled forward, looking for other things to throw out. The sea rolled around us, rocking the boat and carrying away our hard-won treasures. Our Quaff.
The blankets followed the food, all but three — which Purple agreed might be necessary. He picked up a twisting tool, “Orbur, are you through with this?” Orbur nodded.
“Good,” said Purple. It splashed over the side. He moved forward again. “What’s this junk —”
“Not that!” yelped Shoogar. “That’s my spellcasting equipment!”
“For God’s sake, Shoogar — what’s more important, your life or your spells?”
“Without my spells I wouldn’t have a life,” snapped Shoogar.
For a moment I wondered if maybe Purple wasn’t considering throwing Shoogar over too. But instead he thrust his spell kit back at him. “Here, this must be as important to you as my battery is to me. If something this light is enough to make a difference — well, if we’re that far gone it won’t matter one way or another. Keep it.” Shoogar took his kit and examined it carefully.
Purple stumbled forward and began to empty out the small cabin framework there.
Wilville climbed back into the boat then. “The outrigger is fixed,” he announced.
“Good,” said Purple, dumping an armload of things. He wobbled back to us and began throwing the tools overboard. That done, he straightened and said, “I guess we’re ready to ascend now. Orbur, will you pull down the first of the windbag nozzles while I ready the gasmaker?”
Orbur nodded and started to climb the rigging — that is, he tried to — what happened was that he pulled the balloon down to where the rest of us could reach it. “Umph,” said Purple, “that is limp, isn’t it?”
He attached the hose to the funnel and battery and lowered it into the water. “I am going to fill these very carefully,” he said to no one in particular and switched on his battery.
While he worked the rest of us began to fill the ballast bags. “You won’t need those,” said Purple when he saw what we were doing. “We’re going to have to make it without ballast,”
“Yes, but we’re going to need some in the boat while you fill the balloons,” I said.
“Yes, of course — you’re right, I forgot.” He turned back to his gas making.
After two balloons had been filled, Wilville and Orbur climbed out onto the outriggers and began pedaling. The boat rode up and down the ocean swells. Five balloons later, it stopped riding the waves. Instead, the water just slapped at the bottom.
Shoogar and I exchanged a glance. “We need more water in the boat,” he said and reached for the bucket. I helped him for a bit, then something occurred to me.
“Why are we doing it the hard way?” I asked. “Just pull the plug and let the water flow in.” As I spoke I was already tugging.
There was a yelp from the stern. “No!” shouted Purple, but it was too late. Water spurted up and struck me in the face.
“Stop it, stop it!” Purple cried. “Stop it!”
“Why?”
“Just do it! Don’t ask why! Just do it!” He dropped his gasmaker and came splashing back, slipped in the water and fell. “Stop it Lant!”
“But — but —” The water was rapidly filling the boat and I began to understand. “I can’t! I let go of the plug when the water hit me!” And then we were all down on our hands and knees feeling around for it under the rising water. It was cold and it surged into the boat eagerly — a spouting fountain marked the spot where the hole was.
We scrambled around frantically in that cold wetness and then suddenly I had it — something small and round and hard. The plug! I tried to jam it back into the hole, but the water was up to my thighs already — I went down on my knees, but then I had to stretch my neck to hold my head above the water, and after a few seconds even that didn’t work. Shivering, I took a deep breath and went under. I pressed hard on the plug, but I couldn’t get the leverage, and the water continued to pour in too fast.
There was another pair of hands on top of mine — Shoogar’s — he was trying to help. But it wasn’t working — Even the two of us couldn’t press hard enough. I surfaced for air. Wilville and Orbur were shouting at me from their outriggers. They were up to their necks in water already — and still pedalling furiously. Purple was bailing frantically with the bucket.
It was up to our chests, and waves were sloshing over the sides of the boat. We had stopped sinking. The windbags held the boat just a few hand’s-breadths from total immersion. We stood there up to our chests in cold sea water and glared at each other. I said, “Well, don’t just stand there treading water, Purple! Do something!”
He glared at me. Shoogar glared at me. Wilville and Orbur glared at me.
The bags of wind hung over us, the restless sea tossed around us. The red sun began to seep behind the horizon. We had perhaps an hour and a half of daylight left.
Well, since nobody else was going to do anything.
I trod water to the center of the boat and ducked under. I came up with a ballast bag, pulled it to the rim — I could not have lifted it without going under — opened the mouth and poured the ballast over the side. I ducked, found another bag and emptied it.
Purple began to laugh.
Shoogar had gotten the idea and was helping me empty the bags of water overboard. It wasn’t enough. The windbags tugged upward on the boat frame, but they couldn’t lift it. They could only keep it from sinking into the uneasy swells. Shoogar searched around for some more ballast bags, ducking under the feeling around with his hands. The dumping of ballast did not help noticeably. The rim of the boat frame continued to show only as an outline in the water.
Purple had been clinging to the rigging and chortling helplessly while we worked. It seemed a singularly rude act. Now he found his voice and said, “Stop. Please stop. You’re only emptying water out of water.”
“But it’s ballast,” said Shoogar.
“But it’s water too — it just replaces itself as fast as you bail it.” He swam over to us. “Put the plug in first then bail.”
I looked at the plug in my hand and shrugged. Why not? — I ducked into the water and felt around for the hole. There was no pressure to fight this time, and the plug slipped in easily. I surfaced with a gasp.
“Is it in?” asked Purple. I nodded. He dove under to check it himself. He came up beside me. “All right, it’s firm enough.” He gave Shoogar and me a look. “You two start bailing while I finish refilling the balloons. Wilville, Orbur, keep pedaling.”
“We have to,” they called back, “Otherwise we’ll sink.”
Grumbling, Purple splashed aft. Shoogar and I grabbed buckets and set to work. We bailed fast and furiously. By the time Purple had two more balloons refilled, we had the water level down to our thighs. “You know,” I mused, “this might be a good way to keep boats from sinking — hang them from windbags.”
