Russell opened his own hands, as if to show he had no weapon and no bad intentions. “Jesus, Harley. Get a grip.”
Harley was just putting the gun back in his belt when the boat lurched, and they heard a grinding noise like a tin can scraping on cement. Harley turned and saw that the loose wheel had spun again, and through the window of the bridge he saw that the bow was pointing straight toward the cliffs, no more than forty yards away. But the boat wasn’t moving, and unless he was sorely mistaken, they had just run aground on one of the many reefs he might have seen coming if he hadn’t been so distracted.
“Goddamn!” Eddie shouted, leaping to his feet and going for the throttle. Before Harley could stop him, he had thrown the boat into reverse, and the grinding had come again, even louder this time … but the Kodiak still didn’t move.
“Goddamn, goddamn, goddamn!” Eddie hollered, stamping his feet as he went in circles around the cramped space in the bridge. The boat was jammed on a reef, teetering this way and that like a car perched atop a snowbank. “You are bad luck!” he shouted, pointing a finger at Harley. “You are such bad luck, man!”
Even Harley was temporarily at a loss. Was he bad luck?
Eddie was just about to try the throttle again when Harley stopped him. “You’ll rip its guts out,” he said.
“What else can we do?”
“We can wait,” Harley said. “Maybe the tide will give us a boost. Russell, go below and see if we’re taking on water.”
For once, Russell took an order and stumbled down to the hold.
Eddie, fuming, glared at Harley, who turned around and stared at the small portion of the island illuminated by the bow light. At water level, he saw a bunch of tide pools, frothing white, then disappearing, and above them a jumble of rocks, piled halfway up the side of the cliff. That much was a lucky break. The rocks looked climbable, and the remaining slope was pockmarked with caves and crevices and ledges.
“They told me not to do this,” Eddie muttered, shaking his head. “They told me not to go to sea with a Vane.”
“Who told you what? You were supposed to keep your mouth shut about this. Who did you tell?”
“Nobody,” Eddie said, retreating. “I didn’t tell anybody. It’s just something everybody says, down at the docks.”
Harley couldn’t be too surprised. His family had lost two boats already, Charlie was in a wheelchair, and for all he knew they’d just beached a third.
Russell, panting, appeared in the hatchway. “It’s not too bad. The hull’s holding.”
“For how long?” Eddie said in a panic.
“Your uncle always said she could be swamped for twelve hours without sinking,” Harley said.
“Swamped? Didn’t you hear what Russell just said? She’s holding. Man, don’t put your family curse on it. Let’s just get out of here.”
“That’s exactly what we’re not going to do,” Harley said. “We’re going to drop anchor, with enough slack to let the boat drift off the rocks with the next tide.”
“And do what until then?” Eddie shot back. “Sit here and wait?”
“No. We’re going onto the island, and get started. How else are you gonna buy your uncle a new anemometer?” Zipping up his coat, Harley said, “Get your gear together, both of you. I’ll get the skiff ready.”
Out on deck, he walked the length of the ship but didn’t see much damage except to the paint. Provided she didn’t spring a leak, she would stay where she was until the currents, and some clever engine maneuvers, freed her again. He dropped anchor and watched as the chain played out for no more than a few seconds. Stepping to the bow, he maneuvered the light around, picking out the best route through the rocks and tide pools. It wasn’t going to be easy to get the skiff through unscathed, but he could do it, even with the deadweight of Russell and Eddie on board. It was only as he flicked off the searchlight, in order to see the wet walls of the cliff without the reflection glaring off them, that he glimpsed on the ridgeline what looked like a yellow light, gently swinging. He blinked, thinking it was just an aftereffect of the bright bow light going off, like a strobe, but when he looked again, the yellow glow, more like a lantern suspended in midair, was still there.
Chapter 21
On the morning that Rasputin’s body was to be buried, Anastasia and the other members of the royal family bundled into two long black touring cars and drove from St. Petersburg to the imperial park at Tsarskoe Selo. There, a grave had been dug near the site where a church was later to be erected in his honor.