Radomir Lascek watched from the rail as the three took off in the lifeboat. He was beside himself with anger. Mutiny, on the Solar Wind! And that Donegal laying his filthy hands on Rushka! But that his daughter had deserted him –
“There goes the Royal Couple,” said Marsden quietly behind him. The Captain turned. Jon Marsden was smiling.
“I’ll skin him alive!” growled Lascek. “The brat!”
“I don’t believe he really knew what hit him there,” laughed Marsden. “Radomir, that was Rushka’s doing, not Ronan’s!”
“They’ll be back,” said Marsden. “I believe they’re only checking on the Silver Bullet. Captain, the radar is irreparable, unfortunately. We’ll have to wait until we’re at Prime.”
“I was going to put that Donegal in charge of Ailyss,” said the Captain crossly. “She needs supervision! Svendsson was doing a fine job until he got himself shot!”
“There’re plenty of others,” Marsden placated him. “I wouldn’t cross your daughter on this. You might lose her.”
“Hells, Marsden, whose side are you on?” Lascek peered into the miserable drizzle. Ronan Donegal was a hormonal teenager. He could possibly be forgiven, provided he hadn’t already dishonoured Rushka! But Federi! He had organized it all! Rushka eloping! He was a tough, unpredictable gypsy with not a shred of conscience or loyalty. Lascek found it hard to understand now how he could ever have allowed him aboard. The Romany had been following only his own agenda at all times, never worrying about the rules. A rotten, ruthless Tzigan.
Lascek got a nasty grin. Well, if Federi ever set foot aboard the Solar Wind again, he would pay for this.
The Solar Wind’s sails were closed; she lay rolling on the high surf. Radomir Lascek gestured at the sea, and the sky. “What the heck do you make of this storm, Jon?”
“Hurricane,” said Jon. Their eyes met and they both shook their heads. They had been in hurricanes before, and there was only one course of action. Submerge.
This was no hurricane.
“The Eye,” said Jon, but as Lascek started shaking his head, the First Mate continued, “should have bright skies and no precipitation at all. This is not an Eye. Ergo, it can’t be a hurricane.”
“Wasn’t a blasted hurricane when I looked on the charts,” replied the Captain. He fingered a sequence on the console, and a satellite picture jumped to view. “There, you see? No hurricane. Ordinary storm. I’d never make this bunch fly a hurricane! I’m not off my mind!”
“When was this?” asked Jon Marsden.
“This is now!”
Marsden shook his head and zoomed in until the microscopic date and time in the bottom corner became visible. “That was ten this morning, Captain.”
Lascek leaned forward into the screen as though his eyes couldn’t process what he saw there. “What! But…”
Jon Marsden’s fingers flashed across the console, tried various options. He straightened out with a disbelieving smile on his face.
“She’s done more than the radar,” he said.
“That explains why we were off-course earlier!” snapped Lascek. “How we landed in those blasted shoals I wanted to skirt!”
Marsden nodded sagely.
“And Federi had a feeling of this turning into a huge storm?” pushed Lascek. “The blasted mutineer!”
“What happened back there?” asked Marsden, as puzzled with Federi’s desertion as with his Captain’s stranger decisions this morning. Lascek told him the sequence of events, barely containing his rage.
Marsden got thoughtful. “I disagree that Federi committed mutiny. He’s probably only worried about our people on the Silver Bullet.”
“He’s an unpredictable Tzigan,” snapped Lascek.
“No, Radomir. Federi is one of your most loyal friends and shipmates. He has never done anything like this before. Think it may be a nervous breakdown?”
“A breakdown?” Lascek laughed aloud. “He’s not a little old lady, Jon!” The Captain paused and considered. Then again, Federi did have an insane streak. He was tough-minded enough to clean up a whole schooner’s terrorist crew alone. But such killings generally caught him afterwards. Radomir Lascek had been waiting for the gypsy to disappear from sight, withdraw into his cabin, be antisocial; it hadn’t happened. Yes, perhaps Marsden was right. Possibly the gypsy had gone off his rocker this time.
Lascek sighed. While it was good to have found an alternative reason for the desertion of the Romany, it wasn’t much better. How was he going to cope with a lunatic aboard? He shrugged impatiently. Federi had never yet been normal. So far they’d coped with him just fine. The man only needed a bit firmer command structure, basta. And where Ailyss was concerned – Lascek was suddenly certain that Ronan wouldn’t have coped with her anyway. The boy was too blue-eyed. Neither would Wolf, for that matter. Lascek scowled into the unusually light rain.
“That out there,” he said, pointing, “is an Eye in the making.”
“Then we’ve got to get out of here,” said Marsden, “before the transformation is complete.”
“Can’t,” replied Lascek heavily. “Not with the Stormrider and the Silver Bullet still out there!”