revolve upon themselves gigantic whirlpools of tortured air, and as they
advance, so they, gain in strength and power and velocity.
The high-pressure system which had brought that ominously calm and
silken weather to Cape Alarm, had bounced the pressure right up to 103 5
millibars, while the great depression which pursued it so closely and
swiftly had a centre pressure as low as 985 millibars. Such a sharp
contrast meant that the winds along the pressure-gradient were
ferocious.
The depression itself was almost fifteen hundred miles across its
circumference, and it reached up to the high troposphere, thirty
thousand feet above the level of the sea. The mighty winds it contained
reached right off the mum of the Beaufort scale of force twelve, gusting
120 miles an hour and more. They roared unfettered upon a terrible sea,
unchecked by the bulwark of any land mass, 1A
nothing in their path, but the sudden jagged barrier of Cape Alarm.
While Nicholas Berg slept the deathlike sleep of utter exhaustion, and
Beauty Baker tended his machines, driving them to their limits in an
effort to pump Golden Adventurer free of her burden of salt water, the
storm rushed down upon them.
When her knock was unanswered, Samantha stood uncertainly, balancing the
heavy tray against the Warlock's extravagant action as she rode the
rising swells at the entrance to the bay.
Her uncertainty lasted not more than three seconds, for she was a lady
given to swift decisions. She tried the doorlatch and when it turned,
she pushed it open slowly enough to warn anybody on the far side, and
stepped into the Captain's day cabin.
He ordered food/ she justified her intrusion, and closed the door behind
her, glancing swiftly around the empty cabin. It had been furnished in
the high style of the old White Star liners. Real rosewood panelling
and the couch and chairs were in rich brown calf hide, polished and
buttoned, while the deck was carpeted in thick shaggy wool, the colour
of tropical forest leaves.
Samantha placed the tray on the table that ran below the starboard
portholes, and she called softly. There was no reply, and she stepped
to the open doorway into the night cabin.
A white terry robe lay in a heap in the centre of the deck, and she
thought for one disturbing moment that the body on the bed was naked,
but then she saw he wore a thin pair Of white silk boxer shorts.
Captain Berg/ she called again, but softly enough not to disturb him,
and with a completely feminine gesture picked up the robe from the
floor, folded it and dropped it over a chair, moving forward at the same
time until she stood beside his bunk.
She felt a quick flare of concern when she saw the bruises which stood
out so vividly on the smooth pale skin, and concern turned to dismay
when she realized how he lay like a dead man, his legs trailing over the
edge of the bunk and his body twisted awkwardly, one arm thrown back
over his shoulder and his head lolling from side to side as Warlock
rolled.
She reached out quickly and touched his cheek, experiencing a lift of
real relief as she felt the warmth of his flesh and saw his eyelids
