Falconer's Quest by T. Davis Bunn Read Free Book Online

passengers who were not prostrate with seasickness went about their business, and clearly the skipper saw no need to voice his concerns to Reginald Langston. The day came and went with the active regularity of a long sea voyage.
    The sunset was another splendid affair. Gradually the sea turned to great copper mountains and deep bronze valleys. The sky, clear as glass, glowed momentarily and then relinquished itself over to the vast field of stars and the same quarter moon. Falconer, exhausted by a day of tension without reason, retired immediately after dinner. His last glimpse abovedecks was of the captain by the quarterdeck railing, strained and fatigued by a day far worse than his own, staring out at the empty southern reaches.
    Falconer awoke again in the middle of the third watch. He lay in bed trying to tell himself that it was nothing. But he had long lived by trusting his gut, and just then, his gut churned with genuine fear.
    He dressed, checked on Matt, slipped down the hall, and climbed the stairs to come out on deck.
    The lieutenant nodded to him and spoke with the respect due a guest of the owner. “All is quiet, Mr. Falconer.”
    “Aye.” But he was not so certain. “Permission to climb aloft.”
    “Of course, sir.” Clearly the young officer had been informed that the stranger had served shipboard.
    “Thank you.” He clambered swiftly up the ropes with the ease of a man whose hands had long been molded to the tarred hemp. He pulled himself into the crow’s nest, nodding to the middy wrapped in his greatcoat. “All’s well, midshipman?”
    “Aye, sir. Thought I saw a whale off the starboard side, but it didn’t sound a second time so I can’t be sure.”
    “Not so close as to be a threat.”
    “No, sir. Not that it seemed to me.”
    Falconer nodded. The most important thing to come from the exchange was the fact that the middy was both awake and alert. “Do you have a glass on you?”
    “Aye, sir.” The midshipman reached into his pocket and handed over his telescope.
    “Thank you.” Falconer extended the spyglass and turned to the southwest. Directly into the wind.
    Then he saw it.
    It came and went in such a glimmering flash he wanted to discount it as an illusion of a sleepy gaze.
    But he knew it was not so.
    “Do me a favor, will you, lad?”
    “Aye, sir.”
    “Slip down to the deck. Ask the lieutenant to make a careful search into the wind.”
    “But, sir, my station…”
    “I’ll take responsibility, lad.” There it was again. And this time Falconer was ready for it. And the image made it hard to hold to a measured tone. “Hurry now.”
    The middy glanced doubtfully at the stranger but did as he was instructed.
    Falconer held his glass steady south by southwest. Refusing to even blink.
    The flash came again. Now he was sure, and the fear crept up his throat.
    A leaden line had formed between the ocean and the sky, split every so often by a slash of lightning.
    Falconer slapped the spyglass shut. He reached for the rope connected to the crow’s nest alarm bell. He rang it, and it seemed as though his own heart pounded with a terror as brash as the bell.
    He leaned over the nest’s railing and roared with all his might, “All hands on deck! Raise the captain! All hands on deck!”
    Before the bell stopped ringing, the poop door crashed open. This time the captain held his coat in one hand and his boots in the other. His nightdress fluttered about his bare shins as he stared upward.
    Falconer yelled down, “A blow, Captain!”
    “Where about?”
    “Ten points off the windward stern.” Falconer could see the separation now without aid of the glass. “She’s bearing down hard! We’ve got fifteen minutes, maybe less.”
    The captain’s voice rivaled Falconer’s for urgency. “Night watch aloft, rig all sails for storm!”
    “Aye, sir!”
    “Prepare a storm anchor and await my orders. Lieutenant!”
    “Sir!”
    “Lash everything double tight!” The skipper looked