Cities of the Red Night

'Doesn't happen to people one knows...' said Audrey feeling like a Fitzgerald character. The sun came out from behind a cloud and filled the room with light.

The Consul leaned forward and spoke in confidential tones. 'For example ... for example ... you could work your way home. There's a ship in Piraeus now that can use three deckhands. Any sailing experience?'

'Reef the mizzenmast!' said Audrey.

'Scuttle the bilge!' said John.

'And pour hot tar on the companionway!' said Jerry.

'Good.' The Consul wrote something down on a slip of paper and passed it to Audrey. 'When you get to The Billy Celeste, ask for Captain Nordenholz.'

The boys stood up and said in chorus: 'Thank you, Mr. Pierson.' They flashed toothpaste smiles.

Mr. Pierson looked down at his desk and said nothing. The boys walked out.

As he stepped out of the office, Audrey got a whiff of that unmistakable hospital smell. A young man in a white coat was chatting with a nurse at the reception desk. A taxi pulled up for them at the door.

In the office, Doctor Pierson picked up the phone: 'Doctor Pierson here.... Yes, no question about it.' He picked up the slides and studied them. 'B-23 all right.... The boy Jerry is obviously the original carrier.... Active? Like a plutonium pile....There is, of course, the uh delicate and sensitive question of differential racial or ethnic susceptibility ... with further research, perhaps ... Could not commit myself on the basis of present findings ... theoretically possible, of course. On the other hand, uncontrolled mutation cannot be ruled out ... sure? How can I be sure? After all it's not in my district.'

Late afternoon in the cabin of The Billy Celeste. Audrey and the boys have just signed on.

Skipper Nordenholz glanced down at the names. 'Well uh Jerry, Audrey, and John ... you have made a wise choice. I hope you are quite fit?'

'Oh yes, Captain.'

'Aye, aye, sir.'

'The doctor said we made a remarkable recovery.'

'Good. We will be sailing within the hour.... Tunis, Gibraltar ... Lisbon for Halifax. Incidentally, we will be passing the exact spot off the Azores where The Mary Celeste was found in 1872—all sails set, completely undamaged, nobody on board.' His green eyes glinted with irony and he smiled slightly and added, 'The mystery was never solved.'

'Perhaps it was just the basic mystery of life, Skipper,' Audrey added cheekily. 'Now you see it—now you don't.'

Minutes to go

We call ourselves the Destroying Angels. Our target is the rear-end of Yass-Waddah, if it could be said to have one. We feel rather like the Light Brigade. All the bad characters of history are gathered in Yass-Waddah for a last-ditch stand: the Countess de Gulpa, heavy and cold as a fish under tons of gray shale; the Countess de Vile, eyes glowing, face flushed from the ecstasy of torture; the Ugly Spirit; the Black Abbot; and the Council of the Selected—all with their guards and minions and torture chambers. How can we prevail against this wall of icy purpose?

We got the message on the teleflash from Ba'dan. Yass-Waddah has completed nuclear device ahead of schedule. All-out aid requested.

We are still 150 miles from Yass-Waddah. Four days hard marching. We don't have that much time.

We are here because

of you

Woke up in the silent wolf lope. There is the river. No sign of Yass-Waddah. I must be above or below it.