A Midsummer Tempest

XX

Hills lifted high from wide white beaches and intimate coves. They were bedecked with forest—here pine and juniper, there tall hardwoods—or meadows star-sky full of flowers. Springs gave rise to brooks which tumbled over moss-softened cobbles and rang down cliffsides. Odors of growth, blossom, sun-warmed resin drenched the air. It was always singing, for wings were overhead in the thousands: chirrup, trill, carol, and chant.

Ariel’s medicines had already brought Jennifer close to full recovery. She followed an upward trail.

Cathedral coolness dwelt beneath the branches which vaulted it. Sunbeams dissolved into green and gold in those leaves, or reached the earth and minted coins among the shadows. The sprite flitted around and around her. Occasionally he zipped aside to startle a ladybird, play tag with a robin, or drain the dew lingering in an orchid cup.

“And have I died,” she asked at last in a sleep-walker’s voice, “to find this Paradise?”

“Nay, it is earthly, though thou well hast earned it.” Ariel descended to perch on her shoulder. “Is not the whole wide world itself an Eden, and man himself its snake and fiery guardian? The first and foremost miracle thou’lt find, here too as elsewhere, is thy living flesh. That it may get its due, I’m guiding thee toward the cell that Prospero had carved from out a bluff, to house him and his girl. We’ll quickly sweep and garnish it for thee, and heap sweet boughs and grasses for thy bed.”

He quivered his wings as he went eagerly on: “Thou’lt find the island fare we bring not simple. Each well we tap has its own icy tang, each honeycomb’s uniquely from one field, each grape’s most subtly blent of sun, earth, rain, while truffles taste of treasures buried deep and mushrumps have the smack of shade and damp, to emphasize the cunning of an herb or quench the acrid ardor of a leek as apple tartness is made soft by pears. That’s but to name a few of many plants. Our crabs and lobsters clack self-praise enough; the oysters rightly feel they need no boast. Soon hazelnuts and quinces will be ripe, and I could hymn what hymeneal things occur when they are introduced to trout. I think I shall—”

“A moment, pray, kind sir,” Jennifer interrupted.

She was coming out of her daze. “Thou speak’st of’we.’ Who else dwells hereabouts?”

Ariel arched his brows. “Who dost thou think?… And here he comes to meet me.”

Jennifer cried aloud in shock.

The being which shambled around a bend in the path seemed twice hideous against woods, birds, and elf.

He was roughly manlike, somewhat beneath her in height. That was partly due to the shortness of his bowlegs, partly to his hunched stance, for the shoulders were broad. Arms dangled past knees; like the splay feet, they ended in black-rimmed undipped nails. A matted white shock of hair disguised, at first, how small his head was. It had no brow or chin; the eyes crouched deep in great caverns of bone, the face was mostly muzzle, flat nose and gash of a mouth. His skin, sallow and brown-spotted, was covered by nothing save a filthy loincloth.

“Be not affrighted,” said Ariel: “neither one of ye.”

The creature’s jaw dropped, showing tushes which must once have been fearsome but were now a few yellow snags. “What is?” he asked hoarsely. “What fetch is this thou fetched—” Abruptly he bawled “Miranda!” and cast himself forward and down.

Jennifer braced body and spirit. The monster groveled at her ankles. Through his head and his clasping arms she was shaken by his weeping.

“ ’Tis merely Caliban,” Ariel told her through the ragged sobs, “these many years quite harmless, or at least in check to me. I do confess his outburst’s a surprise.”

“Who’s Caliban?” Her nose wrinkled at the animal rankness rising about her.

“He’s a foul witch’s whelp, that Prospero did find when small, and taught to speak a tongue thou hear’st as English here—and raised to be a servant unto him. A nasty, surly, sneaky one he was, who at the end sought to betray his lord, but soon got tipsy, reeled through foolishness, and later ululated his regret. When Prospero released me and went home, he left this hulk behind as well. What use a Caliban in Italy, except to be such butt of japes and bait of dogs as to ignite his flimsy wits in rage, and make him pluck someone apart, and hang? So he’s grown old alone upon the isle, save now and then when I, in quest of sport or in an idle kindliness, pay calls and make mirages for his entertainment.”

“Miranda, oh, Miranda,” grated the monster, and lifted his wet visage toward Jennifer’s.

Ariel fluttered off to regard her. “Nay, thou’rt not,” he deemed. “Aside from clothes, cropped hair, and all the rest, thou’rt fairer than she was, more tall—Ah, well. She was the only maid he ever saw, and in the many years between, though begged, I never thought it proper to bring back the darling semblance in a show for him.” He pondered what appeared to be a new thought. “So ghosts do age and change in mortal wise?”

Shuddering still, Caliban got up. He flung arms widely and wildly, drummed his breast, broke off at every few words to give a bark of pain. “Thou art not a Miranda? But thou art! This must be a Miranda, Ariel.

Thou’rt clever in the tinting of the air, but never hast thou wrought a dream like this. Behold how sweetly curved, how finely carved! Thou hast no skill to melt and mold a moonbeam and taper it to make those hands of hers. Couldst thou invent that vein within her throat, as blue as shadow on a sunlit cloud? What melody of thine could sing her walk? And—oh, I’m sorry for thee, Ariel!—thou hast no nose like mine, to drink the breeze that she perfumes; thou knowest common roses, while I could drowse a million happy years within the summer meadow of her breath. Her cheeks are soft as sleep… Lie not to me! I’ve not forgotten what Mirandas are, and this Miranda’s real—is real—is real!”

He began to hop about, chattering, slavering, baring what was left of his teeth at the sprite. “Thou shalt not take away this new Miranda!” he screamed. “Thou squirrel, raven, thievish heart-less mocker, hast thou not hoarded up bright gauds enough that I may keep one realness of mine own? Come down, thou insect! See, my gape stands wide and bids thee enter—though’twill spit thee out to make a meal for blowflies!”

“Caliban,” said Ariel sternly, “thou’rt overheated as of yore.” To Jennifer, who had backed off in alarm: “I’ll quench him.”

A whine whirled over the path. Ariel became a tiny thunderhead through which leaped needles of toy lightning. Caliban yammered, raised arms for shield, and crouched. Rain and hail flogged him, bolts jagged into his skin. It was a harmless punishment, to judge by the lack of wounds, but painful, to judge by how he jerked and wailed.

“Don’t hurt him more,” Jennifer pleaded after a minute. “His hair’s too white for this.”

Ariel resumed his usual shape. Caliban lay snuffling. “Why, it was mild,” said the sprite. “I’ve felt much worse than it myself when riding on the rampant gales.” As Caliban dared look at him: “Methinks this is the first of any time thou hast been pitied, since thou wast a pup. Thou might give thanks for that.”

The creature crawled back to his feet. Jennifer saw how he winced, not at the chastisement he had taken, but at the ache of age within his bones. “I do, I do,” he rumbled abjectly. “Aye, sweetness goes with being a Miranda.” He tugged his fore-lock and attempted a bow in her direction. “Be not afraid.’Tis I’m afraid of thee. When I was young, and with the first Miranda, I own I terrified her tenderness, but none had taught me better how to be. The thoughts do drop and trickle very slow through this thick bone that sits atop my chine. Natheless I’ve had a deal of years to brood on how’tis best Mirandas be adored. I’ll clean thy place each day, and bring it flowers, and chop thee plenty firewood, scrub the pots, lie watchdog at thy feet, and if thou wilt, show thee a secret berry patch I have. Or anything, Miranda. Only tell.”

“Come,” said Ariel.

“Let us go prepare for her that cell.”

It was a tartane, sharp-snouted and bowspritted, rigged with a jib and a lateen mainsail. That made it less handy than the Dutch jachts Rupert knew; but a boom would have crashed onto an outsize crate near the middle of the mostly open hull. Boxes and casks of supplies left scant room for two men to stretch their mattresses. This was a noon-tide of white-streaked violet waves beneath a thrumming breeze and overwhelming sun.

Will Fairweather had the helm. At the port rail, feet braced wide apart, Rupert wielded an astrolabe. A sudden yaw nearly threw him. Canvas banged. “The Devil snatch thee bald!” he roared. “Three days o’ this, and still thou canst not hold her steady as she goes whilst I take a sight?”

“She be navigated to start with,” Will answered sullenly, “aye, gaited liake tha drunkest navvy thou e’er didst meet. There be hone o’ thic black magic thou maekest in thy tools an’ charts an’ almanacs an’ scribblin’ o’ logarhymes—there be none of it goin’ to do moare’n show us where we war. No tellin’ where this slut’ll be. “

“The fault, brute steersman, lies not in her spars but in thyself.” Rupert sighed. “However, I admit to a less than masterly job of placing us. Was there no modern equipment anywhere in Tunis? Had I even a decent timepiece, let alone one of those new-invented sextants—”

“What? General, I doubt anybody’s invented aught new in thic line zince Zodom an’ Gomorrah.” Will wiped the sweat from his forehead. “Three days we been faerin’? Three liafetimes, moare like.”

“I’d spend them if necessary—and if we had them. As’tis, we can take perhaps a month casting about, nigh sure to be futile, before the fall storms force us ashore.”

“Aye, zo thou’st zaid. An’ than we return to fiaght, eh? From what tha English ambassador’s butler toald me, our King’s cause won’t zelebrate another Christmas. Which means nobody can. How be liafe in Holland?”

“They’re tolerant of religion, if not of whatever might stand in the way of their merchants’ profits.” Rupert spoke absently, while taking the sun’s altitude and recording it together with clock time and compass bearing. “On that account, I fear the machines will overwhelm their land within few years.”

“Well, I hear it be flat, open, an’ even wetter nor England. I listened once to zome Dutchmen talk. Why be it tha French be called frogs? I swear nobody can hoot, hawk, an’ gargle thic language what ha’n’t got a built-in coald in his throat. Thus, small loss, a countryzide what never held any magic.”

“But it did,” Rupert said low. “It does to this day. The sorcerers bear names like Frans Hals or Rembrandt van Rijn—”

“Hoy!” Will shouted. The instruments clattered from Rupert’s grasp.

A flash overhead had become a boy, tiny but perfect, who skimmed on butterfly wings and chimed forth laughter.

Will let go the helm and grabbed for his sword. Rupert waved him to stay seated. It blazed from the prince: “What apparition art thou, and from whence? No angel, surely—we’re not worthy that—but know, if demon, we are Christian men. Yet if a messenger from Faerie land”—he lifted his arms—“behold the ruined lodestar which I bear. I freely own my fault, and to thee, elf, plead for my King alone, not for myself.”

“Art thou indeed Prince Rupert of the Rhine?” the sprite teased. “She called thee taciturn, a warrior. So dost thou boom like this for want of cannon?”

Rupert let his hands drop, empty, and said wonderingly into the wind: “She?”

“Jennifer Alayne—” the figure seemed to enjoy seeing them thunderstruck, but went on in a brisk tone: “who asked I seek thee when thou wert safely far from other folk, and bring thee to the island where she is. I’m Ariel, who once served Prospero.”

“Her?” Rupert choked. “Jennifer?” The fullness of wonder was more quick to break upon Will. “Thy luck ha’ turned at last—turned zouthward, for she’s ever been thy luck.” He sprang to slap his master’s roughly-clad back. “Let’s uptails all—whate’er one does on boats, liake bilge tha strakes, belay tha mast, rake yards, bound mains, whate’er will maeke this damn thing move! If zuch a girl awaited me, I’d faere on bugle winds, wi’ sheets o’ flaeme for zails.”

“Aye,” said Rupert. “Oh, aye… But we must render thanks to God.”

“First set my course and get well under weigh,” Ariel advised. “I’ll reappear from time to time to guide thee, although the zephyr’s fair and will improve. Tomorrow late thou’lt come unto the isle and Jennifer.”

Pointedly: “Why dost thou never smile?”

“How came she here? I thought her safe, I swear!”

“I promised, ere I soared into the air, no other lips than hers would tell thee this.” Ariel gave Rupert a long and thoughtful regard before he added: “A very unpretending kind of kiss.” Comet-like, he rushed high and ahead, pointing. “Steer yonderwards!” he cried.

“This time thou shalt not miss!”

A bay faced west to where the sea burned and shimmered with eventide. It was as if the forest behind the beach drank down those level beams and gave them back in a glow of its own. The heights further on were tinged lilac. Woodbine fragrances passed through salt freshness. Little save drowsy bird-voices broke the quiet. High overhead went a flight of wild swans.

Rupert’s boat could not be drawn ashore as readily as Jennifer’s. He cast anchor in the shallows, leaped overside and waded to her. Save for the mangled hair, she had cast off the marks of her journey. The boy’s garb was scrubbed clean, its darkness relieved by a wreath of marigold. Her hands were crossed before her and silent tears ran down her face.

Neither of them heeded hovering Ariel or squatting Caliban. Rupert strode to tower above her and whisper in his helplessness: “Why dost thou weep, most dear?”

“For pain of joy,” she said as softly and unevenly. “Too much of joy is riving me apart and kindling every fragment that it strews, to make me into stars and crown thy brow.”

“Nay, thou’rt my queen, and I a beggar come to ask thy healing touch, here where I kneel”—he sank before her—“in tatters of buffoonery and pride. If thou wilt cure me of my faithlessness, and then bestow the customary coin—thou canst well spare it, for thy treasury strikes endless burnished ones like it each day, and’Honor’ is the stamp—why, I will then begin to understand what’s royalty.”

“O Rupert, raise thy heart!” She stroked his bent head, over and over.”’Tis no more right that thou be humbled than the sun. Arise.”

“That burnt-out ring upon thy finger there burns me into the brain,” he mumbled.

“Pray, pray do not make me rip loose and cast away thy sign! The hand itself would come off easier.” She tried hard to laugh. “Though if thou must in truth reclaim this ring, why, take the hand therewith—and all things else.”

Then he summoned courage to stand and offer her his embrace.

Caliban growled. “Go easy,” Ariel warned. “She’s not for the likes of thee.”

The monster slumped. “I know.” Shyly: “She touched mine arm this afternoon. Right here it was. I’d brought her oranges. She smiled and thanked me, and she touched me here. I went away and bellowed for an hour. Yet… nay. I’m old and ugly and foul-humored. That is the strangest thing, this being trapped—not in this body or the rot o’ years—that doesn’t matter much; but in my soul.”

Will’s disembarkation took his mind elsewhere.

“Ha, ha, I’m not the only freak around!” he hooted. “Who’rt thou that walkest thin as sparrowgrass behind yon red cucumber of a nose?”

“Well, not a mildew-spotted calabash,” drawled the Englishman. “I think I know thee from my measter’s taele. Now come an’ sniff mine own.”

Caliban edged toward him, stiff-legged and bristling. “Be careful, cur. I’ll haul thy bowels forth to make thy leash.”

“What kiand o’ hospitality be this?” Will complained to Ariel. “I need zome help in shiftin’ stuff ashoare”—he winked—“liake, zay, a brandy cask we got along.”

“What? Brandy?” Caliban stopped and gaped. “Uh… a fiery juice like sack? I do recall—Stephano—Trinculo—My welcome, welcome friend, of course I’ll help!” Hugging Will: “My tongue is rough, till brandy wash the sand off. Forgive my jest about thy splendid nose.’Tis lovely, like a mountain peak, a sunset!”

Ariel sighed. “Well, do your singing here upon the beach,” he ordered, “that only whales and screech owls need to flee.” He cast a glance at Rupert and Jennifer, who were starting hand in hand on the upward trail.

“I wonder if those two would ever notice.”

Clay lamps in fanciful shapes stood on shelves to illuminate rough-hewn, crystal-sparkling walls behind them, floor strewn with rushes, a few plain wooden utensils and articles of furniture, a pair of beds made from juniper branches and hay. A bast curtain hung in the entrance conserved warmth. Rupert’s voice drifted through: “Aye, we have well-nigh talked the night away. King Charles’s Wain goes wheeling tow’rd the morn.”

“I hope that is a sign,” Jennifer answered. “Although the chill—”

“Both come about this hour. Let’s back inside. The time is overpast for thee to sleep.”

“Oh, I’ve been whirling in ecstatic dreams. Must I already waken into slumber?”

They passed by the curtain, which rustled. Rupert had to stoop beneath the ceiling. Jennifer led him to a spot where more green branches had been stacked for a backrest. They sat down, she leaning against him.

He laid an arm around her, but instead of sharing her smile, he stared somberly before him.

“Unknowing hast thou flicked a whip of truth,” he said. “What holds thee is mere sin-corrupted flesh.

Dream-Rupert rises from thyself alone like dawn-mists off an alpine lake.”

She caressed him. “Do hush! How often must I say that Ariel has found a magic potion worked on thee?”

“But there were hankerings that worked with it.”

“And what of that? Thou’rt no mere piece of sculpture. A statue does not fall, but never strides, nor yearns, nor plucks a springtime bunch of may to give a girl that it may care about.” Hastily: “Wound me no longer with this wound of thine. If thou hast any debt at all to me, repay it now by speaking of tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow—well—” He squared his shoulders and forced crispness into his tone. “Thou’st shown the broken staff of Prospero, which Caliban dug up, at Ariel’s direction and thy wish, from the deep grave where he had rooted it. Know’st thou how it may be made whole again?”

He did not see how she must swallow disappointment before replying: “The trick of that may lie within his book, says Ariel, who’s told me where it rests. When faring as a lantern-gaudy fish, he’s seen it open on the offshore sand, and cold green currents idly turn the leaves that the incurious octopus might read. It is too heavy for his strength to raise, the grains beneath too diamond-cutting sharp for him to burrow through and pass a rope, the depth too thick for Caliban to dive.”

Rupert nodded.”’And deeper than did ever plummet sound I’ll drown my book,’ the wizard vowed, and did. I’ve memorized most of that chronicle. And pondering, I may have hit on means whereby we can recover the lost word.”

“Thou’rt thinking solely of thy duty now?” Jennifer’s tone was wistful. “Teach me to love it as I love thyself.”

“As I love thee—” His attention plunged back to her. “Dear Jennifer, I do.”

“God, God, I dared not hope!” she whispered, fists crammed against breast as if to keep the heart from breaking out. “When thou didst say thou… hast regard for me… and called me darling—the whole world turned to waves and roared around.

And yet I thought,’Belike he’s being kind. He’s friendly to me, brotherly, no more.’ ”

“I did not really know it till today,” his words plodded; “or else I did, but shrank from owning to it because my spirit is less brave than thine.” He held her close. “If thou wilt wed me—morganatic, maybe—” Flinging his head up: “Nay, before heaven! Thou shalt mother kings!”

“What matter, if the children just be ours?” she answered through tears.

The kiss went on. Lamp-flames guttered, dusks drew close, a breeze twittered in the doorway.

Rising at last with her, he said, shaken by delight: “Now best we sleep, to strengthen us for day, though every day beyond when thou art by will strengthen me. Goodnight, my morning star.” She blinked her eyes.

“Why, where’d’st thou go?”

“Outside—”

“Thy bed is here.” She pointed. Fiery-cheeked, he backed off. She regarded him seriously and tenderly for a while before saying, “I’m thine forever, any time thou wilt.”

He shook his head. “It is my nearest hope that from this hour I may do naught but right by Jennifer. I’ll often fail; but never willingly.”

Her lips brushed his, her fingers ruffled his hair. Laughing a little, she told him: “Oh, very well, I’ll spare thy modesty. We can blow out the lights ere we disrobe, and here are blankets left from Prospero beneath which we may sleep and later dress. And there’s a yard between our beds, thou seest—a mile, a league, a polar continent—Still, I can reach across to clasp thy hand.”

After a space he nodded, having likewise begun to smile. “I yield me on those honorable terms.”

She let him go and moved around the chamber. One by one the flames vanished. “I do confess I suddenly am tired,” she said, “as tired as death… a happy, happy death which, undeserving, knows what heaven waits.”

Rupert’s eyes followed her about. “ ‘Our revels now are ended,’ ” he murmured: “ ‘these our actors—as I foretold you—were all spirits and are melted into air, into thin air; and like the baseless fabric of this vision the cloud-capped towers, the gorgeous palaces, the solemn temples, the great globe itself, yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve and like this insubstantial pageant faded leave not a rack behind: we are such stuff as dreams are made on, and our life is rounded with a sleep.’ ”

She had stopped, amazed. “What words are those?”

“Old Prospero’s.”

“So grave, so beautiful. Their kind has never chimed upon mine ears.”

“Nor ever will, save when thou hearest read the chronicles of the Historian. We’re born into a sad and lowly age, whose very language limps; we can but croak like crows on lark-forsaken winter fields.” Rupert hesitated. “I only speak of me. Thou art a hawk, as once I thought, who writes her eloquence upon the wind. I worship thy fleet shadow.”

“If thou’rt swart-feathered, Rupert, so am I!”

His moodiness broke first in a chuckle, afterward in an honest yawn. “Ah, well, beloved, let’s to our repose. The world and time have also need for crows.”

The day lay totally quiet. The island was emerald upon glass and silver, set against lapis lazuli. The single liveliness was Ariel’s, where he zoomed about on his wings. The others worked, but were slow in their care. Sweat made their skins shiny.

The tartane lay at rest, sails furled, no anchor needed. A stout pole had been secured to the bottom of the mast. Ropes ran from its free end to a block and tackle at the peak; thence lines led down-ward for hauling and control, to make the whole a cargo boom. From it hung a curious object: a huge barrel, bottomless and heavily tarred, hooks inside the lower edge holding bags of sand. That weight canted the boat far over.

“Halt!” Ariel called. “Halt! Suspend the thing exactly there. Nay, ye have overshot. Come back ,.. come back… a grass-blade width—aye, stop. It dangles right. Mine elf-sight and my sense for current flow confirm that it will sink around our goal.” He returned to perch on a thwart. His mien grew troubled. “Yet I’ve no eye to scan the future, friend. I cannot say if thou wilt overstrain those hoops and staves, or thine own lungs and ribs, and well below five fathom lie entombed.”

Kindled by excitement, Rupert responded, “I’m traveling in goodly company: my Lord, my lady’s prayers; what need I fear?”

His frame clad simply in breeches, knife at belt, he swept Jennifer to him for a kiss. “I’ll soon be back, the book beneath mine arm,” he said, “and maybe have a pearl for thee besides.”

“Thyself—I want no more—Fare ever well,” she could barely reply.

Rupert eased himself over the rail. “Lower away.”

“Measter, I beg thee, let me go,” Will said. “Tha King ha’ need o’ thee.”

“He needs commanders who’ll not let men do what they’d not do themselves.” Rupert’s tone came sharp from where he trod water. “Lower away, I ordered.”

Will bit his lip and obeyed. Caliban helping, he brought the barrel down to the surface on its creaky ropes.

Rupert swam thither. For an instant he paused, to wave at Jennifer, then ducked within.

“Let go tha gear,” Will rasped. “Tha zooner’a’s off, tha zooner we’ll know if’a’s comin’ back.”

The boat lurched. Cordage whined through sheaves, slapped loose and went under, where the black cylinder had already plunged from sight.

Jennifer leaned over the gunwale, staring and staring until the last ripple died. “Now I may weep,” she said, and sank to the bottom of the boat.

Ariel flitted to console her. “He should survive the trip,” the sprite said. “Duke Prospero did not really bear away his book to the middle sea, above abysses. He feared there’d be a risk of theft en route. Our friend can stand this depth.”

“Thou’lt swear it?”

“Nay,” he admitted.

Caliban made his own rough attempt at patting her head. Will grabbed his arm and snapped, “Come away, mudbrain. Has she not grief aplenty without smellin’ thee?”

“Aye. I know not how to help the Miranda, do I?” Caliban slouched aft and sat down by the tiller next to the dragoon. “If I did! If I did!”

“If I knew how to help my prince—” Will shook himself. “Ah, well, good mooncalf, we’re in the zaeme boat.

Let’s dull tha edge o’ this waitin’ as best’s we can.”

Caliban brightened. “Brandy?”

“Nay, not yet. We may need our moast, not our fullest strength an’ wits. Tonight, however, after’a’s returned, aye, liake tha heathen we’ll zacrifice a cask! An’ if’a doan’t return—” He stared across unmerciful brightness. “We’ll drink.”

Caliban scratched his mane, dislodging fleas. “I still can’t understand what this is about. Thou callest that thing a diving bell. Not once did I hear it go dingdong.”

Will cuffed him. “From tha shaepe, as I miaght liaken thee to a midden. As for a clapper, Rupert himzelf, crashed back an’ foarth till—Nay!” He drew a ragged breath. “Hark’ee,” he said fast. “My prince learned in Tunis how yon book had been zunk, but tha water’d not damage zo magic a thing. Were’t damageable, thou zeest, Prospero could’a got rid of it in easier ways nor this. Well, my general thereon had a cooper in Tunis maeke him tha bell, which be another new-fangled invention. Gaunt though our hoape zeemed o’ fiadin’ tha spot,’a knew we’d need means o’ goin’ down if zomehow we did get heare. I’ll’splain tha principality. Tha zandbags drag it under, tha tar zeals in air to breathe. Thic air thickens, a zays, squeezed by water; yet a bubble should remain for him. When on tha bottom,’a’ll fiand what’a zeeks by feel, then cut loose them weights whilst hangin’ onto a stanchion inzide. Tha barrel should fair leap tow’rd tha zun.”

“And the Miranda.” Caliban scowled. Hopefully: “He’s taking a long time, right?”

“Who knows? We can’t tell how deep it be, how coald an’ dark down yonder, an’ naught zave tha bell, tha book, an’ his life’s one candle—”

Jennifer cried out. Ariel rocketed aloft. Will scrambled to his feet. Caliban yelped. In a roar and white gush of cloven water, the device had returned.

It nearly flew free before it splashed back down. It and the boat rocked toward quiescence.

“Rupert, Rupert!” Jennifer screamed after part of a minute. “Why comes he not forth? I’ll to him—” She tore at her clothes.

“Nay, hoald. Behoald,” Will said. “There!” (Rupert’s head appeared from underneath the barrel. ) Sudden dismay: “ ’A zeems… death-paele… Be’a movin’?—Measter, canst grip this?” He snatched a boathook and held it over the side.

Rupert caught it feebly with his free hand. The other clasped to his side a huge volume bound in brass and scaly leather. Will drew him close, leaned out, let go the staff, and held him by the hair.

“Get that book ere he loses it,” Jennifer snapped.”’Tis what he was hurt for.” She herself was the one who did. Meanwhile Will and, after profane orders, Caliban hauled Rupert aboard.

The prince lay doubled over in the bilge. “Pain, pain in every limb,” he groaned. “I scarce can stir—”

Ariel darted to land beside him and pass quick fingers across the contorted body. “Aye, too much air within,” the elf said. “He rose too fast. I blame myself that I did not foresee. A miracle of strength that he could move enough to save himself. There’s fate in him.”

At once, flashing a smile to Jennifer, who knelt frantic: “Nay, be at ease. A spirit of the air knows how to charm these humors out of him and mend whatever ruptures they have caused. Thereafter he’ll need but a few days’ rest to raise anew the tempest of his health. Now draw aside and let me sing my spell.”

In awe, she and the others went astern. Will took her right hand, Caliban her left, and the three of them waited.