laughter out of his voice, as he hung up the receiver.
Dave Allen's voice was apologetic. Sorry to wake you, sir, but the
Golden Adventurer is reporting. I'm coming/mumbled Nick, and swung his
legs off the bunk. He had been in that black death-sleep of exhaustion,
but it took him only seconds to pull back the dark curtains from his
mind. It was his old training as a watch-keeping officer.
He rubbed away the last traces of sleep, feeling the rasping black
stubble of his beard under his fingers as he crossed quickly to his
bathroom. He spent forty seconds in bathing his face and combing his
tousled hair, and regretfully decided there was no time to shave.
Another rule of his was to look good in a world which so often judged a
man by his appearance.
When he went out on to the navigation bridge, he knew at once that the
wind had increased its velocity. He guessed It was rising force six
now, and Warlock's motion was more violent and abandoned. Beyond the
warm, dimly lit capsule of the bridge, all those elements of cold water
and vicious racing winds turned the black night to a howling tumult.
The Trog was crouched over his machines, grey and wizened and sleepless.
He hardly turned his head to hand Nick the message flimsy.
Master of Golden Adventurer to Christy Marine/ the Decca decoded
swiftly, and Nick grunted as he saw the new position report. Something
had altered drastically in the liner's circumstances. Main engines
still unserviceable. Current setting easterly and increasing to eight
knots.
Wind rising force six from north-west. Critical ice danger to the ship.
What assistance can I expect? There was a panicky note to that last
line, and Nick saw why when he compared the liner's new position on the
spread chart.
She's going down sharply on the lee shore/ David muttered as he worked
quickly over the chart. The current and wind are working together -
they are driving her down on to the land. He touched the ugly broken
points of Coatsland's shoreline with the tip of one finger.
Is he eighty miles offshore now. At the rate she is drifting, it will
take her only another ten hours before she goes aground. if she doesn't
hit an iceberg first/ said Nick. From the Master's last message, it
sounds as though they are into big ice. That's a cheerful thought/
agreed David, and straightened up from the chart.
What's our time to reach her? Another forty hours, sir/ David hesitated
and pushed the thick white-gold lock of hair off his forehead, if we can
make good this speed - but we may have to reduce when we reach the ice.
Nick turned away to his canvas chair. He felt the need to pace back and
forward, to release the pent-up forces within him. However, any
movement in this heavy pounding sea was not only difficult but downright
dangerous, so he groped his way to the chair and wedged himself in,
staring ahead into the clamorous black night.
He thought about the terrible predicament of the liner's Captain. His
ship was at deadly risk, and the lives of his crew and passengers with
it.
How many lives? Nick cast his mind back and came up with the figures.
The Golden Adventurer's full complement of officers and crew was 235,
