The tide built up its strength. They were flowing at more than walking pace up a winding channel, with many narrow branches running off like canyons, splitting the ‘upper world’ on top of the mud. The height of the mud walls seemed to be falling, although Lawrence was sure this was the effect of the tide rising. He worried about how high the tide would lift them. If these mud walls shrank to mere kerbs, the raft would be visible for miles. Behind them, the only landmarks were the chimneys of the Factory. These swung this way and that with the snaking of the channel, getting smaller and smaller until they were no more than a cluster of wiry spikes in the far distance. Lawrence’s confidence began to grow a little. They had covered miles whilst supine on the raft. His plan, scavenged from disaster, had at least got them this far. Ahead, something was growing out of the distance. It was some kind of dark, squat shape on the horizon, still too distant to be made out in detail.
The channel widened out, banks of reeds spread off on both sides to leave them in plain view on an inland estuary studded with islands. The wind came sweeping in unhindered, driving up a chop. A gust hit them. It pitched the raft like a collapsing table, almost turfing Pezzini off. His eyes bulged in fear as he slid up to his waist in scalding cold water, hands scrabbling at the deck, while Lawrence forced down the instinct to yell and instead hung off the other end of the raft to keep it upright whilst cooing at him as if he were a baby. Pezzini gazed about wide-eyed, clearly on the edge of desperation. The chop banged against the oil barrels. The raft lurched and rolled, Lawrence pulled himself this way and that like a dodging wrestler to keep them upright, getting beaten about the face by the boots dangling from his neck. They were not getting anywhere. The force of the tide dissipated in the estuary, while the wind if anything was driving them backwards. Worst of all, Lawrence sensed they were being watched. He had not felt this down in the channel. In his experience, subliminal warnings were reliable, even if rationalists sneered at them.
“We have to get off this lake,” he said.
At the last moment, he saw a squall bearing down on them and he told Pezzini to get ready for the impact. The blast hit like a stampede, flipping the raft on its back. Pezzini uttered a stifled scream like a shocked horse as he went in. Lawrence kept his head and shoulders dry, waiting for the raft to settle. His feet touched mud. Pezzini was standing up too, the chop splashing across his shoulders while he giggled like a kid.
“Help me—pull the raft to that island,” Lawrence urged.
“We should leave the stupid thing, at low tide we can walk across the mud.”
“I wouldn’t count on that, Pezzini.”
He tried to pull the raft, but his feet shot from under him on the slimy bottom. By digging his toes in, he was able to get enough purchase to make progress inch by inch, foot by foot against the wind towards the island. His feet were gone to numbness. Then his fingers. Then his knees. He ordered Pezzini to pull his share. The big spay was not giggling now, he was fading away into himself as the cold seeped through him. Lawrence knew that such a person as Pezzini would die quickly left to his own devices in the wilderness. His bureaucrat’s existence had imbued him great talent for exploring the permutations of devious rivals but zero aptitude to face the dangers of Nature. Lawrence kept chiding at him, cursing him to pull harder, then crooning at how far they had come, how close the island was. Numbness spread up his legs. His cock dissolved. A tiredness was gaining on him as his legs got stiffer. He had to grunt and moan and whine to force himself on and not give up and rest on the downy bliss of this winter tide.
The water sluiced out of his cuffs and ankles as he waded the last twenty yards, finally pulling the raft up the clay shore and falling down exhausted. It was some minutes before he realised Pezzini was not with him; there was a head out on the lake. When he waded back, he found Pezzini was sitting on the bottom with his eyes shut. Lawrence grabbed his collar and did not let go until he dropped him beside the raft.
They could not stay where they were. Lawrence still sensed eyes watching. He shivered and squelched through an exploration of the island, clumsy on numb feet and acutely conscious of a red flag waving in his mind that they had to stay out of the water if they wanted to keep all their fingers and toes. He returned to find Pezzini collapsed out cold on the shore, not even having had the wit to get himself out of sight in the bushes. Lawrence kicked him repeatedly in the arms and chest until he stirred and propped himself on one elbow, watching Lawrence push the raft out. He launched it upside down as that was the preference of the blasted thing.
“Get on that raft—and be careful. We have to act together to keep it upright. If we go in that water again, we’ve had it. Do you understand?”
Pezzini complied with a pleasing competence. He took a long stick offered by Lawrence and did not have to be instructed to assist in poling their way around the lee end of the island. They crossed a channel to the next
