Southtrap

CHAPTER SIX

'Sorry to interrupt, sir, but the weather team has just arrived on the dockside with the drifter buoy. They want to see you. Got to have the captain. You'd think the thing was made of gold.'

'It's the star of our show,' I replied. 'In a way it's the most valuable thing we'll be carrying in the Quest.'

He looked curiously at Linn. This is Miss Prestrud,' I said. 'Our tour leader. Captain Prestrud's daughter.'

A moment before, Wegger's bearing had been no more than that of a busy, competent officer. His oil-stained overalls, open to reveal his hairy chest, added to the picture. But as I introduced Linn there came over him that strange intensity I had sensed at our first meeting.

'You don't look like your father.'

No polite formalities, no sign of sympathy or concern, just that jerky, out-of-context remark.

It produced a silence between the three of us. In that vacuum, the thought struck me — to be able to make the comparison, Wegger must have met Captain Prestrud. That meant he had been lobbying for the job before I appeared on the scene.

Wegger jounced his oil-stained cap between his hands. He asked curtly, 'The cruise — it's still on?'

'Captain Shotton and I have discussed it,' Linn replied coldly.

Her tone pulled Wegger up short. He said hastily, 'All I meant was that if it's not, there's no point in rushing things the way we're doing — there are hundreds of things still to be done…'

'Go ahead, Mr Wegger, the cruise is on,' I told him. 'We sail first thing tomorrow.'

'Good. The drifter buoy…?'

'All right. I'm coming. Join me, Linn?'

She nodded. I found my cap — its badge depicted a penguin, which I thought ridiculous, but Captain Prestrud had insisted it was part of the tour motif — and we went out on deck.

Wegger went quickly aft ahead of us towards a group on the quayside opposite one of the ship's main lifeboats. McKinley was at the foot of the ladder to the main deck chatting to a dark girl whose sultriness exploded into a constellation of acne on her left cheek.

When we had passed them, Linn said, 'That's Barbara. She's the head of the Knowledge Hounds.'

'She'll get knowledge from McKinley all right.' I grinned at her. 'What sort of hounds did you say you'd brought aboard my ship?'

She slowed, as if not wanting to reach the quayside group too soon.

Her smile was all the more attractive because of its slight irregularity. 'They're very important passengers, Captain Shotton. The Knowledge Hounds. Five of them. Four women and one man. Never heard of them?'

'Never.'

'It's a society in Britain which specializes in in-depth studies of faraway places. Very intense. Very knowledgeable. They first got in touch with me because they thought the Quest was making for the Diomede Islands.'

'Don't trouble to ask whether I've heard of them. I haven't.'

They're frozen islands in the Bering Sea. Twins like Marion and Prince Edward, but the other side of the world.'

'What made them pick on Prince Edward, for Pete's sake?'

She halted. 'What do you think made me?'

The south-easter was blowing her fine hair into her eyes. I could not read what was in them. She was still smiling as she pushed the hair aside. I wished the deck were a mile long to walk.

'Your father, I suppose. The Southern Ocean meant a lot to him.'

She unzipped the bag on her arm and pulled out a piece of faded blue satin, which was overprinted with what looked like a newspaper article.

She held it out. This is a souvenir of a grand ball which HMS Erebus and Terror gave about a hundred and forty years ago in Tasmania. They'd been to Prince Edward Island and had broken through the ice near the South Pole. The printed part is from the Hobart Town Courier. It's an account of one of the greatest social occasions Tasmania has ever known. Strange, how something can act as a trigger. I got hold of this in London, and it made me feel I simply had to see Prince Edward for myself. It was like a catalyst. It started off a whole process in me. It had nothing to do with my father. His reasons for the cruise were entirely different.'

I didn't want to dampen her enthusiasm, seeing her standing there with her hair blowing, as if the world had been made for her, but I felt I had to speak.

I pointed at the flapping banner at the gangway. 'Listen,' I said, 'I can see how Erebus and Tenor sparked off the idea for you but frankly I don't care for the way the names have been exploited for publicity. Presumably Orbit Travels are responsible. But I can't help remembering that only a few years after that ball in Tasmania, Erebus and Terror — and every man jack who sailed in them — perished looking for the North-West Passage. That's the sort of shadow the two names cast for me.'

She folded up the satin and put it back in her bag. I think she was a little disappointed by my reaction. 'Is that another of those non-facts that worries you about this cruise?' she asked.

'I can't forget how those two fine ships died. That's what. There aren't any decorations or champagne or beautiful women at a ball at Prince Edward. There's a wind which gets hold of your lungs so that you could scream with cold, and a sea which shakes your guts out so that you wish you'd been bom without any. And sometimes you wish you'd not been born at all. That's the way I view the Erebus and Terror gimmick. We aren't going to have any blue satin mementoes after we've been there. We'll be lucky if we get away with a ship with only a few lengths of railing gone. And maybe a man or two overboard into the bargain.'

Her head came up the way it had done when she first entered the cabin. 'I still want to go.'

On the quayside a group of men had gathered round an object with an orange head and long body which was lashed to a trailer.

That's the drifter buoy, Linn,' I said, 'and the reason why we're taking it is because ships give Prince Edward a miss. Once in a blue moon a vessel does go there but it's as rare as a meteor flashing across an empty sky. The Southern Ocean covers four-fifths of the Southern Hemisphere. It's got less than a dozen weather stations, widely scattered on god-forsaken, remote islands. The only way to get the facts about the Southern Ocean and its weather is to use some kind of unmanned craft where human endurance isn't a factor. That buoy over there is a marvel of automatic instrumentation, but it's got to be conveyed there. So the Quest is a vital factor in the biggest attempt yet made by man to observe wind, weather and sea on a global basis. The findings could lead to radical new facts. They could affect the weather forecasting of all the nations of the world in the next decade. Data-void is the official jargon for the seas where we are bound.'

'You make it sound very formidable.'

'That's exactly what it is. Now let's go and look at our unmanned probe.'

Wegger, three other men, and some bystanders were grouped round the drifter buoy. We faced them from the deck. The buoy was shaped like a long thin top — about three times the height of a man in all. It looked rather like a skeleton fish the cat has stripped, except that the ribs were missing and the backbone was a thin, smooth, black tube. Covering the trailer was an envelope of plastic which looked like a shroud for an outsize corpse. There was also a big unidentifiable flat package and several gas cylinders.

I read aloud the white-painted wording. '"Satellite buoy. Do not disturb. Weather Bureau. South Africa."' Under an American eagle badge were the words 'National Oceanographic and Atmosphere Administration, USA.'

One of the men in the group — a short, stocky, sunburned man in shorts and a safari suit top — came to the ship's side when he saw me. He held out his hand.

'Smit,' he introduced himself. 'Weather Bureau.'

He put his left hand over his right knuckles and cracked them loudly. 'She's beautiful, isn't she, Captain?'

'Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, they say.'

He didn't get it. He laughed uncertainly and cracked his knuckles again.

'She's fragile, too,' he went on. 'She mustn't be hoisted aboard. That instrument package mustn't get buggered up anyways at all. She must be carried. That's what I wanted to see you about.'

'She?' I looked sideways at Linn.

'We've got a name for her — Bokkie,' he rushed on. 'She must be carried…'

'What's in the orange part that looks like the nose-cone of a missile?' I asked.

Smit looked rather less enthusiastic. 'That's not the works, Captain. That's only the buoyancy element. Mostly plastic foam to keep her head above water. The works are there.' He pointed to a section of what looked like strong segmented plastic tubing jutting out above the top-like nose-cone.

Those holes are the barometer ventilators,' he explained eagerly, 'and that's the transmitting antenna at the top. Bokkie emits signals with a specific frequency at short intervals — that's how they identify her after the satellite has picked 'em up…'

His enthusiasm seemed set fair to keep us there all day.

I interrupted him. 'What's inside the shaft below the head?'

'It houses the pressure sensor, the electronics package for converting the sensor readings into signals to the satellite, thermistor, battery unity…'

Linn was smiling at his eagerness, too.

Smit cracked his knuckles again and said, 'Bokkie must be carried, Captain!'

'How heavy is she?' I found myself also sexing the object on the trailer.

'She's not very heavy. Three men could do it. Two if they're very strong. When we launch her, we can't risk using a derrick. It'll have to be a burial-at-sea-type launch.'

Burial at sea! My mind took a backward leap at the sound of these words. The eager weatherman and the dockside with its cranes faded away. The long object on the trailer became a canvas coffin over which I had pronounced those sombre but wonderful words: 'We therefore commit his body to the deep…' It had been off Prince Edward. The Captain Cook had been smashed by a freak wave the previous night, like a lioness taking a clip at a wayward cub. There was one victim to be buried. The canvas containing the body had made a momentary white patch in the black sea, and at the same moment a rare shaft of sunlight had broken through the storm clouds, touching the central snow-clad peak of Prince Edward, so that it showed up pure white against the blackness around, and the brick-red volcanic cones had been grouped about it like cardinals in their vestments. The words of the committal service said, 'When the sea shall give up her dead' — but that sea never would.

Linn exclaimed, 'John…?'

I pulled myself back to the present. I remarked to Smit, 'That thing underneath looks like a shroud.'

'It's a drogue for the buoy and the other plastic is the high-altitude balloon,' he explained, oblivious of my lapse. 'You don't get proper drift if you let the buoy run free without a drogue. The current won't carry a thin hull like hers. We've tested the drogue — the optimum size is five square metres…'

I called out to Wegger, 'Number One! D'you think you can manage to carry that thing with some help?'

Wegger had already cast loose the lashings. You didn't need a derrick when you had Wegger around. He gripped the buoy round the head and heaved it clear of the trailer himself. But it was too long for him to manage alone.

'Jannie, give him a hand,' said Smit to one of his two fellow-technicians.

'Capt'n,' said Smit as they started to move off, 'It sounds odd-ball, I know, but can I have Bokkie in my cabin with me until she's launched?'

'Sorry. I haven't a cabin aboard that size. I've arranged a special place for Bokkie and you scientists in number four 'tween decks. The volcanologist, Hold-gate, is there too.'

'Whereabouts is number four 'tween decks?' I gestured sternward. 'My first officer will show you.'

'Is it safe? I mean, if a wave came and damaged Bokkie 'Safest place in the ship,' I assured him. 'It's an empty space like an outsize cabin with two doors that lock. You're sleeping in a new set of cabins in number three 'tween decks, just next door. You can pop in any time if Bokkie feels lonely.'

He nodded and gave his knuckles a final crack and then followed Wegger and the second weatherman called Jannie who were carrying the buoy. Jannie was wearing sandals, jeans and a T-shirt emblazoned with the words: 'I ride the same waves as Bokkie'. I felt about a hundred.

Linn and I were watching the third member of the meteorological team unlash the balloon container and its inflating cylinders when a gruff voice behind me said, 'Captain!'

A short middle-aged woman in a crumpled brown tweed suit was pointing at my cap badge with a long holder containing a cigarillo. There were globules of sweat on hairs on her upper lip. Her eyes were a little bloodshot. Her voice burred like a wood sander striking a knot.

'Have you WAPP's permission to wear that?' I looked her up and down. I hoped it made her sweat more.

'Have you?' she demanded. 'Who are you?' I asked. 'And who in hell is WAPP?'

'I must protest,' she said. The way she said it, I felt she'd protested before. She addressed Linn. 'It's just this sort of abuse of creatures that can't defend themselves that led to the founding of the World Association of Polar Penguins. I am happy to say I'm a founder member.'

I wondered how long ago that was.

She went on, 'I am Judy Auchinleck, regional chairman for South Georgia and the Lesser Antarctics.'

It sounded like a caliph's title. Caliphs have harems. Judy Auchinleck's proclaimed empire was frigid.

Linn came to my rescue. I admired her placatory tone. 'Miss Auchinleck booked on our cruise because her organization feels that the penguin populations of the Antarctic are being over-exploited for publicity, especially by television teams. She wants to make sure this doesn't happen during the Quest's cruise.'

'Have you any television cameramen aboard?' demanded Judy Auchinleck.

I passed the question to Linn.

'One,' she replied. 'Only one man. Not a team.'

'Good,' she snapped. 'Then I can keep him under my eye all the time. I know all about penguins.' She took a drag at the cigarillo. She had a nicotine stain on her lower lip. 'Any circus catchers?'

'Any circus catchers?' Linn's left eyelid half-closed as I passed the ball to her again. But she answered with deadly seriousness.

'None, Miss Auchinleck. None at all. Most of the people on this cruise are here either because they have special knowledge of the Antarctic islands or are particularly interested in them.'

'Good.' She turned to go, and then pointed the holder at my cap badge. 'The penguin motif copyright is vested in WAPP under the terms of the Geneva Convention. Any infringement lays the offender open to prosecution.'

I said, 'I'll remember that in the ice, Miss Auchinleck.'

She glanced at me uncertainly, and then waddled off.

Linn was eyeing me, her lips twitching. 'Did you say you had never handled tricky passengers before, John?'

I grinned back at her. 'I think it's about time you put me in the picture about our passengers, Linn. They're as faceless to me as my own crew — anyone could come aboard and tell me he belonged and I wouldn't have a clue whether it was true or not. You've got the list?'

She tapped her bag. 'All thirty of them.'

'Then let's get back to the cabin and look it over. I've met Doctor Holdgate, the volcanologist, Smit, the buoy man, and Jannie, his mate. And seen the third weatherman. That's about all.'

'You've forgotten Miss Auchinleck.'

'She's the only WAPP aboard, I hope?'

'Yes. Actually she's been in some very remote places.'

'She'd be quite safe.'

She looked at me searchingly for a moment as if she was going to comment on my remark, but all she said was, 'Let's go.'

As we made our way for'ard, I remembered the assignment I had given McKinley. 'I've got to check something,' I said. 'We'll get up on to the flying bridge.'

We made our way past the red-painted lifeboats secured to the steel superstructure and reached the high vantage-point from where I could see the Quest's bows. We halted alongside a large brown board with the name Quest painted on it in gold. The D/F, radio and radar aerials hung over our heads like lifeless stars.

McKinley seemed to have done his job. I pointed out the searchlight to Linn.

"That's in case we run into floating ice. I want to see where I'm going.'

'But surely you'll be using radar?'

I laughed. 'Radar's a very over-rated thing when it comes to ice. It's all very fine if the sea's calm and the ice is the right shape to reflect the impulses, but if you run into trouble, give me the human eye and nose every time. Radar's no use when it's rough and the sea clutter extends beyond a mile. Even if you do get warning there's usually no time to do anything about it. A growler can knock a hole in your hull before you can get your helm hard over.'

'Is that why you're so anxious about the Quest not being ice-strengthened?'

'Yes. Every time a big wave smacks her hull in the Roaring Forties I'll be wondering if it's a growler or a bergy bit.'

'Growler. Bergy bit.' She turned the words over on her tongue. That's the way my father talks. I'd like to phone the hospital again, John, when we get back to the cabin.'

We did so and were informed that Captain Prestrud was as well as could be expected but was still unconscious. If there was any change in his condition they would let us know.

'If you feel you'd like to go to the hospital again,' I began.

'Later,' she said. 'Let's finish our business.'

She sat down at the desk in the Captain's cabin, which still felt so much more like Captain Prestrud's than like my own, and took the passenger list out of her bag.

'I've never had to shepherd passengers before,' I said. 'I don't even know the breakdown of men and women and how they're going to fit into the cabin space.'

'You don't need to worry about that,' she said. 'Quest originally had two double cabins and eight singles, but my father had three of the singles converted into doubles. We've got five married couples. I'm using one of the original singles, and the new accommodation built in number three 'tween decks is all singles.'

'How many men and women?'

'Eighteen women and twelve men.'

'Which just proves that women are the tougher sex,' I said and we smiled at each other.

Then she looked down at her list. 'We've got the three met. men who are handling the buoy and the balloon. Then there's Doctor Holdgate who's going to lecture us on the geology and geomorphology of Prince Edward and Marion Islands.'

'He gave himself a quick work-out on my taxi driver.'

I saw a new Linn then. She didn't smile, but said very seriously, 'It's not as bad as the jargon makes it sound. Prince Edward and Marion are receiving a great deal of attention from scientists these days because of their position in the broad framework of the earth's history. Both islands are very young in time from a geological point of view, and they are terribly important for an understanding of the theory of continental drift and the way the ocean floor is spreading. And because they are so young, whatever life is there has arrived comparatively recently and the way it's established itself under such tough conditions fascinates the experts. So these islands are just as interesting to scientists as the one which was born off the coast of Iceland a few years ago — Surtsey.'

'I'll view the place with new eyes when I see it next week,' I said.

'Don't be put off when I say lectures, John,' she went on. 'The experts will conduct us round the islands and talk about their subject in the field. It's not going to be a series of dry-as-dust lectures. It's a living tour, don't you see?'

'If you can get ashore in the first place. It's not as easy as all that, Linn.'

'We'll make out, I know we will,' she replied confidently. 'You'll do everything you can to make it a success. Because of my father.'

Not only because of your father, Linn, I thought as I looked at her.

She said, 'On our way down to Prince Edward we're going to have the services of one of the greatest living experts on marine birds — Doctor Kebble. He's from the Percy Fitzpatrick Institute of African Ornithology, here in Cape Town. How long do you reckon we're going to take to get to Prince Edward? Six days?'

'Yes, but you've got to take into account that I'm not making the usual direct course south-east from the Cape to the island.'

'Aren't you? Why not?'

'Because of the buoy. Let me explain. We'll be crossing two distinct zones of the ocean as we go South. First we pass what's called the Sub-tropical Convergence, where the warm water and the particular life it supports ends. The second zone has as its boundary the Antarctic Convergence, which is where the cold north-flowing Antarctic surface water plunges beneath the warmer Sub-Antarctic water. Prince Edward is nearly forty-seven degrees South, almost on the Antarctic Convergence. This Convergence is the Great Divide of the Southern Ocean — it's a quite unmistakable boundary in the sea, something real and physical. Life changes dramatically from one side to the other. It's a marked boundary line but it's not always in the same place. Prince Edward usually lies about one hundred and sixty kilometres to the north of the divide but it has been known to reach the island on occasion…'

'And so, John?'

'Sorry. I'm beginning to sound like one of your guide-lecturers. What I was coming to was that the Weather Bureau wants its buoy and balloon launched at a spot much further to the west than Prince Edward itself — about fifteen hundred kilometres, but on the same parallel, in order to probe Convergence conditions. The idea is that it will drift eastwards in the general direction of Prince Edward at a speed of between a quarter and one knot an hour. When the buoy nears Prince Edward, the weather station next door on Marion will also monitor it, checking its readings against its own. The actual launch-point is almost due south of the Cape coast. That's where we head for first.'

The telephone rang. Linn stiffened. We both thought, but neither of us said, that this would be the hospital.

I said. 'I'll take it.'

I went over and stood holding the receiver, looking at her.

A voice came over the wire, 'Is that the captain?'

'Captain here.'

'Hold on for the Director of the Weather Bureau.'

I put my hand over the instrument and said to Linn, 'Weather Bureau.'

Another voice came through. 'Is that Captain Prestrud?'

'No,' I replied. 'Captain Prestrud has been injured. He is in hospital. Shotton speaking. I've taken over.'

The Director's anxiety made the earpiece vibrate. What was going to happen? What about the cruise? And the launching of the buoy?

I quickly outlined the situation and added, 'You don't have to worry, sir. We'll sail on schedule. Tomorrow, Friday.'

'I'm very distressed to hear about Captain Prestrud,' said the Director but I could nonetheless sense the relief in his voice. 'I only rang to wish the Quest good luck.'

Thank you, sir. One always needs luck in the ice.'

'I'll be in radio touch and give you the go-ahead on Monday at the exact time — ten hours GMT. You do realize the importance of the buoy and the balloon, don't you, Captain Shotton? There are a hundred and forty-five nations depending on you.'

'I do, sir. I'll launch Bokkie on time, whatever.'

I liked his laugh. 'Bokkie! So you know, eh?'

'If Smit is married, his wife has a rival.'

He laughed again. 'Keep in touch, eh? After you've set Bokkie on her way, make a signal personally to me, will you, Captain? We're one of the Regional Communication Hubs for this project and I must let the other stations know as soon as Bokkie is away.'

'You can count on that, sir. Four days from now.'

'I'm already counting in terms of hours, not days,' he replied. 'Good luck, Captain Shotton.'

I put down the phone.

'Four days from now!' echoed Linn. 'Our banquet's the night before — let's make it a double celebration.'

I stood by the phone looking down at her. 'I'm all mixed up about this banquet affair.'

'Didn't my father explain about it before he went to hospital?'

'No. He merely mentioned there was to be a big dinner. Lots of goodies and cases of wine came aboard, but I was much too busy getting the ship ready to ask what it was all about. I didn't realize how important it was to him until he made me promise when I saw him in hospital that it would go ahead as planned.'

'I wonder…'

'See here, Linn. Looking back on it now, I think your father was in even worse shape than I thought at the time. He made me promise the dinner would take place. It seemed to be linked with what he was trying to tell me about his war-time escape. I was crowded for time and couldn't press the question, but I doubt whether he would have been able to reply, even if I had.'

'It was very important to him,' she explained. 'It's been a Prestrud occasion for years. Every five years he and Captain Jacobsen hold this dinner to celebrate their escape from the German raider. Sunday's dinner was to have been the biggest occasion of them all because it would have been in the very area where the escape took place.'

'I see.'

'What's the matter, John. Why do you say it like that?'

I felt a little shiver in the spine. I was remembering the injured man's desperate attempts to marshal his facts. It was more than just a dinner he had been trying to get across. He'd wanted to tell me something relating to the Quest's voyage. But he hadn't succeeded.

'I was thinking of something your father mentioned. One of the other catcher skippers — Torgersen — was murdered, wasn't he?'

'Yes. It was all a long time ago.'

'But we've got Captain Jacobsen with us on the Quest and we're going into the very area where all this war-time business occurred.'

She eyed me penetratingly. 'Yes. Captain Jacobsen and Mrs Jacobsen are both aboard. She's very possessive about him. He's got a slight heart condition and she insists that he should rest up after the long plane trip.'

'Linn, are you certain your father never told you what happened when the three of them escaped from, the German raider?'

She shook her head emphatically. 'Never. He didn't like to talk about it. But I do know that after he and Captain Jacobsen had held one of their get-togethers he always seemed more comfortable and relaxed. They must have chinned over old times.'

'I don't quite follow how two seafaring men whose jobs took them to the ends of the earth could settle on a firm date to meet every five years.'

The answer is that it was very important to them both,' she replied. 'All I know is that they did keep their date faithfully.' She pointed to one of the photographs on the wall of the cabin. It represented a fjord, a timber house, and snow-covered trees. 'I remember them foregathering at our home once — no, it was twice.'

'It's difficult to think of you as Norwegian. I'd say English, if I were to meet you casually.'

'My mother was English. She was a schoolteacher on exchange in Norway. That's how they met. My father didn't marry till late in life. He'd spent all his younger years saving up to buy his own ship.'

'And your mother?'

'She was killed in a car accident on an ice-bound road about ten years ago. I was at school in London when it happened.' She made a slight gesture of impatience. 'We came to discuss passengers, remember? Not to talk about me. I'm sure there'll be a crowd to see them off when we sail. We'll have to make sure there aren't any stragglers left aboard.'

'I intend to sail early. Too early, I hope, for most people to come to the docks.'

Too early for your wife to come and wave you goodbye?'

She was concentrating on the list in front of her as she spoke.

'My wife waved me goodbye a while back, Linn. From a divorce court.'

'I'm sorry, John.'

'You don't have to be. It was a low-profile emotion which couldn't stand the strain of my absences at sea. After a while she grew colder than the Southern Ocean itself. Nothing much was hurt except some vanity on my side.'

'That sounds very defensive, very modem. Like a punchline from a TV drama.'

'Forget it. I'd much rather hear how you came to be involved in a way-out venture like this cruise.'

It was good to exchange her level voice for my brittle cynicism.

'Well, that old satin souvenir of the Tasmanian ball sparked it off, as I told you. Once the hunt was on, I spent a couple of years doing research in London, and then at the Scott Polar Research Institute in Cambridge. It was for my own interest. The cruise hadn't been thought of at that time. It didn't materialize till later when Dad and Orbit Travels got together. By then I'd accumulated a great deal of background. So it happened that both projects dovetailed very neatly.'

The idea flashed through my mind: if anyone would know about Dina's Island, she would. But before asking, I started off at a tangent.

'Linn, you know that the old clipper men used to steer a course for Australia via the Cape to get them there as quickly as possible — you've heard of a Great Circle Course?'

'Vaguely.'

Time became a major factor on the Australian run during the great gold boom of the eighteen-fifties,' I explained. 'Until then the sailing ships followed a long slow route laid down by the Admiralty. Then a new route was pioneered on the basis of recommendations of a great wind expert of the day, a man called Maury. He urged captains to take their ships far south for the' wind. It was also the shortest distance between the Cape and Australia — a Great Circle Course instead of the old Admiralty route to the north. It worked. It cut about a month off the time.'

She regarded me with interest. 'The way you talk makes me wonder whether you wouldn't like to sail that way too.'

I smiled. 'Sailing is a big love of mine. I've skippered and crewed a lot of yachts. None of them in that direction, unfortunately.'

'Unfortunately? After your warnings about Prince Edward?'

I dodged her question and went on: 'There was one snag about this wonderful new fast route to Australia — Prince Edward Island.'

'Just one little island?'

'Many fine ships went missing in the area. At first it was attributed to the bad weather. Then the real culprit showed up — Prince Edward. You see, the island lies right athwart the shortest and fastest route to Australia.'

They could easily have steered past it.'

I laughed. 'In theory, yes. In practice, maybe. You'll be surprised to know that even today Prince Edward's exact position is not known — some on-the-spot calculations from Marion have put it four miles east of where the charts show it, others a mile west, and still others a mile and a half south. What's really needed is a proper scientific astro-fix — if the weather ever cleared enough to make that possible. I don't believe any of my own calculations, either, when I'm approaching Prince Edward. I believe it when I see it.'

'Are there a lot of wrecks there?'

'The island got such a bad reputation that the old clipper-men coined a new name for it. They christened it Southtrap.'

'But everything has changed since the times you're talking about, John — navigation, everything.'

'Not quite. If you study the track-charts of round-the-world yachts sailing races you'll see how they skid around Prince Edward. On a couple of occasions the Cutty Sark shaved by when making some of the greatest runs of her career.'

'You're quite an authority on Prince Edward,' she commented.

I pulled myself back to the question from which I'd been side-tracked. 'Ever hear of Dina's Island, Linn?'

She looked surprised but replied without hesitation. 'Yes, I have. Strange you should ask. I got quite excited about it while I was researching at the Royal Geographical Society. In fact the follow-up took me to Holland.'

'Go on.'

'I dug around in the Algemeen Rijksarchief at The Hague — that's the marine archives where documents from the early Dutch days at the Cape are housed — and happened on something I thought was really quite remarkable. A century before the official discovery of Prince Edward by the French, the Dutch sent two ships from the Cape to Java. Captain Barent Ham was in command. He strayed south of the usual route to the Indies, and for once the weather was clear. Suddenly he sighted two islands ahead. He named them after his two ships — Maerseveen and Dina.'

'Dina!'

'Yes,' she went on. 'It's reasonably certain, after you've made the necessary navigational adjustments, what it was he'd found.'

I'd guessed by then, of course, but I waited for her to say it.

'Dina and Prince Edward are the same island,' she said.