of Vin Baker's head was the point of impact with the weight of both
their bodies behind it.
The Chief Engineer came round at the prick of the needle that Angel
forced through the thick flap of open flesh on top of his head. He came
round fighting drunkenly, but the cook held him down with one huge hairy
arm.
Easy, love. Angel pulled the needle through the torn red weeping scalp
and tied the stitch.
Where is he, where is the bastard? slurred the Chief.
It's all over, Chiefe, Angel told him gently. And you are lucky he
bashed you on the head - otherwise he might have hurt you.
The Chief winced as Angel pulled the thread up tight and knotted another
stitch.
He tried to mess with my engines. I taught the bastard a lesson.
'You've terrified him/ Angel agreed sweetly. Now you take a swig of
this and lie still. I want you in this bunk for twelve hours - and I
might come and tuck you in. I'm going back to my engines, announced the
Chief, and drained the medicine glass of brown spirit, then whistled at
the bite of the fumes.
Angel left him and crossed to the telephone. He spoke quickly into it,
and as the Chief lumbered off the bunk, Nick Berg stepped into the
cabin, and nodded to the cook.
Thank you, Angel. Angel ducked out of the cabin and left them facing
each other. The Chief opened his mouth to snarl at Nick.
Jules Levoisin in La Mouette has probably made five hundred miles on us
while you have been playing prima donna/ said Nick quietly, and Vin
Baker's mouth stayed open, although no sound came out of it.
I built this ship to run fast and hard in just this kind of contest, and
now you are trying to do all of us out of prize money! Nick turned on
his heel and went back up the companionway to his navigation deck. He
settled into his canvas chair and fingered the big purple swelling on
his forehead tenderly. His head felt as though a rope had been knotted
around it and twisted up tight. He wanted to go to his cabin and take
something for the pain, but he did not want to miss the call when it
came.
He lit another cheroot, and it tasted like burned tarred rope. He
dropped it into the sandbox and the telephone at his shoulder rang once.
Bridge, this is the Engine Room. Go ahead, Chief! We are going to
eighty percent now. Nick did not reply, but he felt the change in the
engine vibration and the more powerful rush of the hull beneath him.
Nobody told me La Mouette was running against us. No way that
frog-eating bastard's going to get a line on her first/ announced Vin
Baker grimly, and there was a silence between them. Something more had
to be said.
I bet you a pound to a pinch of kangaroo dung/ challenged the Chief,
that you don't know what a galah is, and that you've never tasted a
Bundaberg rum in your life. Nick found himself smiling, even through
the blinding pain in his head.
Be-yew-dy! Nick said, making three syllables of it and keeping the
