Secret sea; (2 page)

"Let's take a look at that," he said to Randle.

"Nothing but junk," Randle said. "This water around Cuba is always full of it."

"Might be somebody around it," Pete said.

The exec laughed. "In this weather. Captain? A mermaid couldn't live out there."

Pete glanced at his executive officer, then went across the bridge to the helmsman. "Work her up to windward of that stuff floating to port," he ordered. Then he called the engine room. "Stand by for quick changes in speed, please."

Randle came across the bridge and stood beside him as the PC wallowed down the back of a wave. "Looks like one of those Cuban fishing sloops," Randle said. "They're always going adrift in bad weather. Nice way to stave in your bow."

Pete said nothing as he studied the gray mass. 11

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He could now make out the almost keelless hull of a deep-bellied boat and soon he could see the gray sail wallowing in the water.

"Don't see anything," Randle said. "Shall I put her back on course, Captain?"

"Circle it, please," Pete said.

The exec glared but Pete ignored him as the PC, rolling wildly in the cross sea, circled the capsized sailboat.

A body, half submerged, was lashed in the lee of the counter. The dark skin was wet and shiny, gray hair was plastered on the head. Near it was another body also lashed to the hulk.

"Both dead," Randle said.

"Get the starboard boat over, please," Pete said, trying not to let any of his irritation get into his voice. Then he asked the engine room to pump a little oil for a slick when he gave the word.

The men in the careening boat had a very hard time getting the two bodies aboard, but at last they did and worked their way back to the ship.

Pete turned the bridge over to the executive officer and went below to the tiny, hard-white sick bay. On one bunk there was the dead body of a Cuban of about twenty-five. His skull had been broken. On the other bunk a man, much older, lay with his arms across his chest. He was unconscious but alive.

Pete stooped and looked at the old man's face

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and then held his wrist, feeling the faint pulsing of his blood.

The pharmacist's mate said, "I can't find anything wrong with him, Captain. Just shock from exposure and exhaustion. He's pretty old."

"Do what you can for him," Pete said. Then he noticed that around the man's waist was a light chain and to this was attached a flat, rectangular box which was completely covered with what looked like hardened tar.

"Must be his money," the pharmacist's mate said.

"Probably," Pete said. "I'll take it up to the safe." He unbuckled the chain from around the man's waist and went out carrying the box.

On the way back to the bridge Pete put the box and chain in his cabin. On the bridge he told the exec to return to Key West and then took up his station against the gun shield.

It was much easier going home before the wind. The movements of the ship were more violent, but she was not being beaten by the waves.

Pete sent a messenger to Communications with a message for an ambulance to meet them at the dock and another message telling Naval Intelligence that he was bringing an injured alien into the United States.

The messenger came back with word from sick bay that the old man was raving about his box. Pete chmbed down the ladder and went below.

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At the door to sick bay the pharmacist's mate said, ''Captain, the old fellow*thinks we stole his box."

"All right," Pete said. "It's up in my cabin. Get it and bring it down here, will you?"

The old man was trying to sit up and when he saw Pete he began croaking in Spanish. Pete, who had learned Spanish when he worked a summer on a Cuban sugar plantation, explained that the box was safe and the old man subsided. When the pharmacist's mate came in, the old man grabbed the box and hugged it with both arms.

Then he began to cry as he sat hugging the box and looking at the sheet which covered the dead man in the other bunk.

"That is my son. My last son," he said in Spanish. "Now I am all that remains."

"He's in pretty bad shape. Captain," the pharmacist's mate said. "He ought to lie down and take it easy."

Pete told the old man to lie down and the pharmacist's mate gave him a sedative. Pete put the chain back around him and left him with his box.

On his way topside Pete met Williams in the wardroom.

"Can't take it, eh?" Wild Bill said. "Running for shelter like a fair-weather sailor."

Pete shook his head. "Picked up two Cubans. 14

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One dead, and an old one who doesn't look too healthy."

"Oh. So that was the reason for all the maneuvering around."

"Yeah. The old man was about to go wild when I took away a box he had. Thing all covered with tar to keep out the water, I suppose. And not very heavy. Must be his life's savings."

"Probably," Bill said. "Well, I'll confess. I'm about ready to go home. Half the watch below is seasick; we busted an oil line and messed the joint up for fair, and you deck hands hit every wave in the ocean."

"Warm and dry, you said," Pete reminded him.

"You ought to come down there in heavy weather, Pete. Man, it's worse than the crazy house at Coney Island. I hope on my next ship they put me on deck."

"Probably will. High time you found out who really works aboard a ship."

"Yes, sir, Captain. Aye, aye, sir. Captain. Will there be anything else, sir, Captain?"

Pete laughed and went on up to the bridge.

Beware The Tall One

xVt 0230 in the morning the pharmacist's mate woke Pete up. "Captain, the old man isn't doing very well," he said.

"FU be right down."

Pete noticed on his way below that the weather had eased. The ship was riding with less violence and the wind was a low, deep moan in her rigging. Pete hated the night on ships at war because the blackout made the air inside them incredibly hot and foul.

BEWARE THE TALL ONE

In the little sick bay the air felt as though you could slice it and stack it up in slabs.

The old man was lying on his bunk, the box still hugged to his chest. When Pete leaned over him, he opened his eyes slowly and whispered, ^^Capitdn. Capitdn/'

"Sefior," Pete said.

"My life is going away,'' the old man said in Spanish. **He has, at last, killed us all. My wife, my beloved sons—and now he has killed me also."

"Delirious," Pete said to the pharmacist's mate. "Is there anything you can do for him?"

"I've done everything the book says, Captain."

The old man's voice had a tinge of anger in it. "Listen! Listen!" he ordered. "We were escaping from him, but the storm was too great for our little ship. Now everything is ended."

The old man closed his eyes for a moment and when he opened them and went on talking his voice was so low Pete could hardly hear the soft Spanish words.

"He has won. He has killed us all. But he still has not taken from us the book. ... It is here." The old man's fingers tightened on the tar-covered box.

"Who?" Pete asked.

The old man did not seem to hear him. "Listen," he said. "It lies in the ocean. Near the two islands. He doesn't know where it is. No

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one knows except the book." Suddenly the old man raised his hand and clutched Pete's arm. "He must not get it! You must keep it away from him."

**I don't understand," Pete said. "Take your time, sleep. You can tell me in the morning."

"There is no time!" the old man said. "You must listen. This is the book of my ancestor. It is the book of the Santa Ybel. Because he wants it, he has burned my house, he has murdered my

sons."

"Who?" Pete asked. "Who?"

But the old man's voice went slowly on. "When we had saved enough money, my sons and I, to buy a ship we went to Havana. But he was there. He asked us many questions. *Why do you want such a ship? For what do you want apparatus to go beneath the sea?' Somehow he found out that we had this book. He took away our money and gave us no ship. He followed us. Wherever we went—into the mountains, on the seashore, in the jungles—he came also, killing us one by one to get this book."

"What's his name?" Pete asked. "Who is he?"

"The tall one," the old man said. "Beware him. To get this book he will do anything. Now . . . take it, for I can never go to the two islands."

"What's he talking about?" the pharmacist's mate asked.

"Search me," Pete said.

BEWARE THE TALL ONE

They stood and watched as the old man's eyes slowly closed. His hands relaxed and slid down the edges of the flat box.

"Take care of him," Pete said.

The pharmacist's mate shrugged.

It was just before dawn when Pete was waked up again.

"He never came to," the pharmacist's mate said. "I did everything I knew, sir."

"He was old and had been in the water a long time," Pete said. "Nobody could have saved him, Phillips."

"I hope you're right. Captain. But... if we'd had a doctor ..."

Pete shook his head. "I've seen a lot of people die of shock who had had less exposure than that. And were much younger. Go turn in now."

"Aye, aye, sir." The pharmacist's mate put the box and chain down on Pete's open desk and went out.

For a while Pete lay in the darkness trying to go back to sleep. But after twelve hours of being shut up light-tight the ship's air was as foul as the inside of a cheese and Pete couldn't sleep. In nothing but skivvy pants he got up, turned on the light, and examined the box. With sweat pouring down his chest and back, he cut a slit in the pliant tar and pried off the wooden top of the box. Inside it there was a thin book bound

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in cowhide which had places where the hair had been eaten or worn off.

Pete took the book out and opened it under the desk Hght.

The ink of the writing had faded to a thin, pale brown and the penmanship was very fancy, with loops and curlicues all over the place. Slowly Pete made out the words in old Spanish:

THE LOG .

of

HIS SPANISH MAJESTY'S SHIP

SANTA YBEL

On her voyage to New Spain

In the year 1519 Roberto Narvez, Navigator

Pete turned a few of the pages, which were covered with the thin, spidery writing. He stopped at one and read, slowly translating the ancient Spanish:

. . . Admiral Frederico Halivera y Martinez came aboard this date from Habana to command the ship. As soon as stores are loaded we sail for the kingdom of Montezuma far to the west. It is said that in that place gold lies about on the shores of the sea for any man to pick up and carry away. , . .

Pete turned a few more pages and stopped again to read.

BEWARE THE TALL ONE

. . . The loading of the treasures taken away from the rebellious Captain Cortez is now finished. Never before have such things been seen in the world and, for fear that I may be doubted, I list here only those things which I have seen with my own eyes:

A very curious and cleverly contrived statue which is a snake with the wings of a bird. The eyes of the snake are precious stones and the whole statue is of solid gold much chased and engraved.

A wheel, or disk, of soUd gold which is very thick through, measuring more than a half arm's length and of a diameter greater than two arms' length. The whole surface curiously inscribed with many figures of men, animals, and strange symbols. The Mexican prisoners, which we have also captured and taken on board, declare that this curious thing is used by the Aztec people to predict the future of the world.

A great multitude of birds and animals made entirely of gold and precious stones and so cleverly designed that they much resemble living things and are of the same size. These are most beautifully made.

Many utensils for eating, of such workmanship as even His Majesty has never seen. There are plates, platters, and goblets as well as knives and ladles made all of gold and wonderfully chased and designed.

Ornaments worn by these Aztec people made of gold and precious stones . . .

Pete wiped the sweat off his face with a towel and turned the pages.

. . . On this day one of the Mexican prisoners disappeared from the ship. A search has been made of every part, but he has not been discovered. Therefore, in his grief at being made a prisoner, he must have leaped into the sea. Now

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that he has gone the other prisoners have disclosed that he was the nephew of Montezuma, who was the king of the Aztecs, and that his name was Uemac. It is indeed sorrowful that a person of such distinction should have taken his life in this manner, for upon our arrival in Spain he would have had much made of him and even perhaps have been presented to His Zvlajesty. But these are a strange and violent people.

In his mind's eye Pete could imagine the great Spanish galleon going full and by across the Gulf of Mexico. In the ornate cabins, hung like bird cages under the stern overhang, Admiral Hali-vera would be rubbing his hands at the thought of the treasures he had stolen. Roberto Narvez, in the dingy midships, would be writing in his journal or working out the crude dead-reckoning position of his ship. The Mexican prisoners— "strange and violent"—would be below somewhere in a noisome hold. Pete couldn't share Narvez's opinion about Uemac. He had probably been a wild, proud man, the nephew of a great king, whose soul could not endure slavery under the Spaniards.