The Arm of the Starfish Page 9

  “When you get right down to it, yes,” Joshua said.

  “And the whole idea of the Embassy business is very confusing to me. I mean, you working there, and then both the O’Keefes and the Cutters seeming to know everybody, and everybody thinking the Embassy’s on their side and it can’t be on everybody’s side. I think I’d rather stay clear of any more confusion for a while.”

  “Okay,” Joshua said. “I follow you. I thought it might help, but I see your point. What about your passport, by the way?”

  Adam felt the by-now-familiar jolt in the pit of his stomach. “I suppose it’s still at the Avenida Palace. I’d forgotten all about it.”

  Joshua reached in his breast pocket and handed the thin green book to Adam. “Here. But it’s something you’d better remember from now on. Think you could do any more sleeping?”

  “You wouldn’t think I could, would you?” Adam asked, yawned, and laughed.

  “Good. Let’s just have our coffee and maybe listen to a little music and go to bed. I’ll take the sofa in here; I’m used to it. In the morning we’ll go to Gaea. I hope you won’t mind flying with me. Actually I’m a pretty fair pilot.”

  Without knowing why Adam realized that he would feel perfectly safe with Joshua at the controls of plane, boat, or car. It was an instinct that the wariness acquired in the past three days could not shake, no matter how little at the moment he trusted his instincts.

  Although Adam protested briefly at the idea of taking Joshua’s bed he found to his surprise that he was very happy to get undressed and stretch out. In the living room he could hear Joshua puttering around, changing records, cleaning up the coffee things. The last thing he was conscious of was the strains of a Mozart Horn Concerto. Then Joshua was shaking him; sunlight streamed in through the open, uncurtained bedroom window; and the smell of coffee came from the living room. Joshua, unlike Dr. O’Keefe or Arcangelo, seemed to feel no need to close himself in behind shutters or draperies; or was it just in knowing when and where?

  They had coffee, bacon and eggs, all of which Joshua somehow managed with ease on his single hot plate; then they took a taxi out to the airport. This was not the huge state-owned field at which Adam had arrived, but a small, private field with a couple of rickety-looking hangars. The waiting room was a Quonset hut, with a few desks behind which sat the inevitable uniformed men, a row of phone booths, and a speaker system loud enough for Grand Central Station, so that each time a voice came through it the few passengers waiting in the hut were almost blasted out of their seats.

  Joshua walked in his usual casual, almost lounging way over to one of the desks, where he stood smiling and speaking fluent Portuguese to the uniformed man behind it; they seemed to be old friends and after a few minutes Joshua turned, smiling, to Adam. “Everything’s just about ready for us. Five minutes to wait, that’s all. Okay?”

  “Sure.” What would Joshua have done if he’d said, ‘Nope’?

  Joshua led him over to an uncomfortable but empty wooden bench and began to talk lightly about Embassy life, of his own job of filing and checking and being general errand boy, all of which, he said, could perfectly well be done by a ten-year-old. Every once in a while he would have to stop as his narrative was punctured by the braying of the loudspeaker. Adam almost laughed as Joshua would shut his eyes against the blast, his sensitive ears seeming to quiver in pain. Adam’s own ears pricked up as he heard, “Jhoshuajh Archair … . Jhoshuajh Archair … .” followed by a message in Portuguese.

  “I seem to have a call from the Embassy,” Joshua said, sighing. “Please wait right here for me, Adam. Please do not move, I beg of you.”

  Adam gave a rather lopsided grin. “I won’t open any more locked doors.”

  “Good boy.” Joshua ambled off, never seeming to hurry, but covering the distance to the telephones in an amazingly short time.

  Adam leaned back on the bench, stretching his legs. Perhaps it was catching up on his sleep that was responsible for his feeling of calm and certainty.—I can’t help it, he thought.—I couldn’t feel this way about Joshua if he weren’t all right. And Poly. They’ve got to be the way I want them to be. And Dr. O’Keefe and Canon Tallis. I’m making up my mind to be on their side whether I want to or not. It’s making itself up for me. Just the way Joshua said it did for him.

  “Adam.”

  He jerked upright, his thoughts knocked out from under him.

  Standing before him was a man in ecclesiastical garb.

  But it was not Canon Tallis. It was a younger man, taller, extremely handsome, with a head of luxuriant black hair.

  “Adam?”

  Adam looked but he did not speak. It probably was, it must be a friend of Canon Tallis’. But even if his mind was being made up for him there was no being certain of anything any more. Even if it was somebody who knew his name.

  “It is Adam Eddington, isn’t it?” the man asked, in one of the most mellifluous voices Adam had ever heard.

  He could hardly pretend to be a deaf mute. “Yes.”

  “I’m Dr. Baal.” Adam looked somewhat startled, and the man repeated, “Dr. Eliphaz Ball, rector of St. Zophar’s, the American church here in Lisbon.” A hand was held out toward Adam, a white, clean, well-manicured hand. The grip was strong, man-to-man.

  “How do you do, sir?” Adam murmured.

  Dr. Eliphaz Ball, smiling pleasantly, sat down beside him. “Your young friend, Joshua Archer, and my friend, too, I am happy to say, has had to go back to the Embassy. Poor lad, when his superiors call he must jump, no matter what previous engagements he may have hoped to fulfill. So he’s asked me to see to it that you get to Gaea. I’m afraid I’m no pilot myself, but I’ve made arrangements for one of the local men to hop us over.” Dr. Ball’s beautiful voice was smooth and pleasant, his manner easy, as he smiled at Adam. “Poor laddie, we’re all more sorry than we can say for everything that has happened to you. It must all have been more than confusing. But once you get to Gaea and settle down to work with the good doctor you’ll be able to relax and forget all the unpleasantness. Thank God our darling Poly was returned unharmed, the precious child.”

  Adam looked at the handsome, friendly face of Dr. Ball and was not happy. For some reason his instinct was telling him not to trust Dr. Ball, but he no longer trusted his instinct. For a brief moment he contrasted the doctor with Canon Tallis. Canon Tallis was brusque, stern, businesslike, formidable. He would never have called Poly a precious child, but Adam knew that it was to the canon that Poly was precious. He knew it. At least he went along with his instinct that far.

  “I’m afraid we’ll have to hurry,” Dr. Ball said. “I think we can manage your bags between us, don’t you?”

  Joshua had told Adam not to move. Adam had promised to open no more locked doors. “I’m sorry,” he said, courteously, “but I’m afraid I’ll have to wait here for Mr. Archer.”

  “But my poor dear boy, I’ve just explained to you that poor Josh has been called back to the Embassy, and has put you in my charge.”

  Adam shook his head stubbornly. “I’m sorry. I have to wait here.”

  The velvet smoothness of Dr. Ball’s voice did not alter, nor the friendly look fade from his features, as he said, “Adam, don’t you think you’ve caused the O’Keefes enough trouble already?”

  “I’m sorry,” Adam said for the third time. “I don’t mean to be difficult, but I have to wait.”

  “Poor lad, I hadn’t realized just quite how confused you are, in spite of what Joshua told me. Joshua is not coming back. Please try to understand this. He has been called to the Embassy. Do try to realize that it is absolutely essential for me to get you to Gaea at once. Won’t you be a good boy and come with me?” Adam shook his head. “It will be so much easier for both of us if you’ll come of your own free will.” Adam shook his head again. Dr. Ball sighed and cast his eyes up to heaven. “Dear Lord, be patient with the boy.” He looked down at Adam. “I’m sorry, truly sorry, laddie, but I’ll have to take you w
ith me. Please do understand that it’s for your own protection.” He glanced behind him, snapped his fingers lightly, and a burly porter moved up to stand beside him.

  Adam braced himself. With a wild and irrational stubbornness he was determined not to move from the bench where he had promised to wait for Joshua.

  A second figure appeared beside the porter.

  It was Arcangelo.

  Adam did not move. Arcangelo spoke in a low voice to the porter, who looked at Adam, at Dr. Ball, shrugged in a vague kind of apology, though Adam could not tell to whom, and trotted off to a baggage cart. A shadow seemed to cross Dr. Ball’s brow, but his pleasant expression did not change. He smiled again at Adam, showing his even, white teeth. “We do seem to be running into problems, don’t we?” He turned to Arcangelo. “And who are you, my good man?”

  “A friend,” Arcangelo said.

  “Of whom?”

  Arcangelo jerked his head in Adam’s direction. Then he pointed across the room. Adam looked and saw Joshua coming toward them. As swiftly as he had appeared, Arcangelo left.

  Dr. Ball put his hand on Adam’s knee. “What an unfortunate incident. I will speak quickly, Adam. I am a friend of Typhon Cutter’s.”

  “He wanted me to go to Gaea,” Adam said.

  “I am aware of that. Why do you think I am here? I was sent to help you. And to help you to help your country.”

  “Thank you.” Adam turned his eyes to see Joshua’s progress across a floor that now seemed endless.

  “Not a word to Archer. We’ll get a message to you as soon as possible.” Dr. Ball’s hand pressed harder against Adam’s knee. Joshua reached them. Dr. Ball removed his hand, rose, and greeted Joshua. “My young friend, the charming Mr. Archer! How fortunate to meet you here this morning! And how is life at the Embassy?”

  “Splendid, thank you, Dr. Ball,” Joshua said coolly.

  “Keeping you busy?”

  “Enough.”

  “I’ve had a delightful time talking to your young protégé here. Do take care of him for us.”

  “I’ll do that,” Joshua said.

  “And give my warmest regards to the O’Keefes.”

  “Certainly.”

  “A brilliant mind, O’Keefe’s. Brilliant. Our country needs more men like that.”

  “Right,” Joshua said.

  “I trust I’ll see you around the Embassy, my boy.”

  “Very likely.”

  “Do have a safe and pleasant trip. Small craft warnings are out, I believe.” Still smiling, Dr. Ball moved off.

  Without a word Joshua picked up one of Adam’s bags. Adam picked up the other and his briefcase and followed him out of the Quonset hut and onto a runway. A small plane was waiting several hundred yards away. Trotting behind Joshua, Adam could see only a tense, angry line of jaw.

  —He said he trusted me, Adam thought resentfully,—so what right does he have to go jumping to conclusions now?

  As they came up to the plane Adam saw that it was an old, single-engine, British Hawker Hurricane converted to a two-seater. Arcangelo was standing beside it. Silently he handed Adam, then Joshua, leather jackets, goggles, helmets, and helped them up and into the seats. Joshua, still without speaking (and silence from Joshua, unlike silence from Arcangelo, seemed completely out of character), turned around and showed Adam how to strap himself in, then clipped on his own webbing. Suddenly his face relaxed and he looked at Adam and grinned. “Feel like something out of a World War II movie?”

  “Kind of,” Adam said. And then, “This guy Ball—”

  “Wait till we get going. Silence is golden and all that stuff.” Joshua’s experienced hands moved over the controls; the engine coughed, choked, finally caught. The blades of the slowly circling propeller merged into a swift blur. Joshua leaned out and waved down at Arcangelo who waved back, then turned and walked toward the Quonset hut. The plane slowly taxied along the runway. “She’s a bit bumpy,” Joshua shouted above the noise of the engines. “Hold on tight.”

  Adam held on. After a moment he closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. The plane seemed to buck and strain, to refuse to leave the ground: how could it possibly expect to fly at such an advanced age? The only fit place for it was a museum.

  Bounce. Bounce. Jerk. Bounce. A jerk that threw Adam back against the seat. Then a straining upward and a pleased laugh from Joshua. Adam opened his eyes.

  They were nosing up, up, higher, higher. They circled the small airport. As Adam looked down he could see Arcangelo leaving the Quonset hut, getting into a car, and driving off.

  This seemed to be what Joshua was waiting for. He turned the plane away from the port, away from the land, nosed further and further up. Ahead of them over the rooftops Adam could see water.

  “Okay, kid,” Joshua shouted back to him. “Everything under control.”

  Adam shouted in return, “I hope that’s not the overstatement of the year.”

  “I never go in for famous last words,” Joshua called. “Don’t mind talking in bellows, do you?”

  “I’m a good bellower,” Adam bellowed.

  “Good. Me, too. Nobody listening in but sea gulls. We’re over the Tagus now.” Adam leaned over and looked down at the rim of Lisbon sprawled along the river. “That’s the Jeronymos Monastery,” Joshua called back. “It’s just about my favorite piece of architecture in Lisbon, except for the Saô Juan Chrysostom Monastery which is even better. I’ll take you there someday.” He flew along the coast, pointing and calling. “There’s the Belem Tower. Famous Portuguese Manueline architecture. Moorish influence heavy. Makes you think you’re in Africa, doesn’t it? Lots of Portugal will.” And, a moment later, “That monstrosity is the monument to Henry the Navigator, but I’ve become very fond of it. Now what about Ball?” he asked without transition.

  “Who is he?”

  “Rector of St. Zophar’s.”

  “Friend of yours?”

  “I never make friends with the pious.”

  “What about Canon Tallis?”

  Joshua snorted. “He’s not pious.”

  “Did you send him to me?”

  “Who? Canon Tallis?”

  “No. Dr. Ball.”

  “Did he tell you I had?”

  “Yes,” Adam shouted, glad at last to be able to be open about something. He looked down and they were flying over the harbor which was speckled with ferries, small fishing vessels, pleasure craft. “Does he really have a church and stuff?”

  “That’s right. Very popular gentleman of the cloth. Ladies swoon.”

  “You don’t?”

  “I’m no lady.”

  “Is he a friend of Canon Tallis’?”

  Joshua roared. “Hardly.”

  “But I thought—”

  “Adam, my son,” Joshua howled over the sound of the engines, over the blasting of the wind, “don’t expect any group of people to be all of a kind. The church is no exception. And it is not only because I am a heathen that I say this. So what did the old black crow say to you?”

  “That you’d been called back to the Embassy and had sent him to take me to Gaea.”

  “And you didn’t bite,” Joshua said. “Good boy.”

  “I thought you thought I had.” Adam looked away from Joshua, over the side of the plane, down at the open water of the Atlantic. Land was only a dark shadow behind them, almost lost in haze. The water was unusually dark, with occasional brilliant flashes as it was caught by sunlight.

  “Because I got all furious?” Joshua asked. “Not at you. I thought you’d had about all you could take and I could have strangled him with my bare hands. There wasn’t any phone call for me from the Embassy or anyplace else, by the way. He’d bribed somebody to page me to get me out of the way.”

  After a pause Adam said, “I think I’m shocked.”

  “Because he’s a churchman and stuff?”

  “I guess so.”

  “I had that kind of being shocked knocked out of me when I was in knee pants. Also thi
nking that anyone in my government’s employ necessarily has the interest of my country at heart. This is one of the few reasons I’m of any use in the Embassy. Don’t let it get you, Adam. People don’t compartmentalize. One bad guy in a group doesn’t make everybody else bad, and one good one doesn’t make everybody else good.”

  At that moment the plane dropped. Adam flew up from his seat and was kept in the plane only by the webbing of his harness.

  “Whoops,” Joshua called, pulling at the stick and nosing the plane up again. “We’re going into a spot of turbulence. I can’t get above these clouds; we’ll have to go through them.”

  He opened the throttle and the little plane shot into a great, churning white mass. Adam remembered Dr. Ball’s smug comment about small-craft warnings. The plane jolted and jerked, dropped and steadied, so that Adam’s stomach leapt from his toes to his mouth and back. The noise of the engine seemed accentuated by the swirling cloud, by the unexpected pockets of air into which they fell like a stone.

  Adam felt absolutely calm at the same time that he knew that he was as frightened as he had ever been in his life. With each jerk and leap he expected the plane to plummet into the ocean, but Joshua always managed to steady it.

  In front of him Adam heard an unexpected sound. It was Joshua. Joshua was singing, his head flung back, his mouth open, bellowing the joyful last chorus from Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony. Joshua, Adam realized, was enjoying the battle with the cloud. Beside this supreme happiness Adam’s own fears fled. Holding on tightly to his seat, trying not to be thrown about any more than necessary, he watched the young man rather than the blind fury of the cloud.

  And then suddenly they were through it and into the blue and gold of the day again. The plane choked and steadied. Joshua turned back to Adam and grinned. “Scare you?”