Arrow's Rest by Joel Scott (best books to read all time .TXT) 📗

No birds.

He reached for the chart plotter and extended the range to get an idea of what lay ahead. It had pretty much been a straight shot down the channel so far, but the complexities of Desolation Sound lay just eight miles ahead now. The summer rush of cruisers was over and there weren’t many pleasure boats around, only the occasional fishing boat and commercial vessel. The lack of boat traffic was a relief, but Clarke was well aware of his limitations and knew he was poorly qualified for taking on a trip like this. He regretted not paying attention on his occasional cruises aboard Arrow, but at that time he was just a passenger with no responsibilities other than conviviality. Who knew he’d end up captaining a boat and heading off into the unknown like Ahab chasing after the fucking white whale?

The Nanaimo junket aboard Legalese had been a straight shot across the Straits with Merlynn, who had made the trip numerous times, standing right alongside giving encouragement and advice. But he was glad she was out of harm’s way and would have found another excuse if the sick grandkids hadn’t cropped up. Now he was the one who had to make all the decisions. He had taken the B.C. boat licence exam and was peripherally aware of rules of the road, port and starboard, and tides and currents and such like, only now they weren’t mere abstractions on a computer screen, but real things that impacted Legalese and her crew. He took some small comfort in knowing that if he did somehow manage to sink the old Monk powerboat over the course of the next few days, he might actually be doing Merlynn a favour. He was pretty sure that her boat was worth more as an insurance claim than it was on the open market. So there was that. In the meantime he’d press on and hope for the best.

Ivery and Rodgers wouldn’t be much help. Ronald said he never bothered about the actual operation of the boat, it was awkward for him to get around and what was he paying his captain and engineer for anyway? As for Thomas, he’d never bothered about boats after the time a prankish senior exhorted him to try out for the rowing eights in his freshman year at Oxford. His innocent trip down to the docks that first day of open trials had ended in public humiliation and sneering jests about his size. When Thomas was done with the boat crews, he became semi-famous and was offered a place on the local wrestling team. He told Clarke that as far as he was concerned, Blue Harp was just the floating equivalent of the penthouse and his duties remained the same in both locations. So no nautical assistance there either.

Clarke realized he was pretty much on his own commanding a very big boat heading into a complex, hazard-filled wilderness area he knew nothing about, in pursuit of people who wished him harm. What could possibly go wrong?

“I think it’s time we talked,” Ivery said. Clarke switched on the autopilot and watched it for a while. It beeped and whined and made some minor adjustments to the course and Clarke thought that it seemed to have a good idea of what it was about. He gave it an affectionate pat, handed Rodgers a set of binoculars and told him to keep a lookout and call him if anything unusual came up, then turned and followed the slight man in the wheelchair onto the aft deck.

“Do you want a drink? Coffee or anything? Water?”

“I’m fine, thanks.” Ivery set his wheelchair brake and stared out at Legalese’s wake. Clarke dropped down onto the couch alongside him, leaned back against the cushions, and waited. The silence stretched out, and Clarke was perfectly content to remain quiet. He’d spent a lot of hours in interrogation rooms over the years and knew there were times to push and times to sit back and wait for the other person to begin. Ivery was accustomed to being in charge and answering to no one apart from, perhaps, his doctors. Thomas might have nagged him on occasion, but Clarke was pretty sure that it had been a very long time since anyone had forced the man in the wheelchair to do anything he didn’t want to. So he waited.

“When the accident happened, everything changed,” Ivery began. “Not just the immobility and the wheelchair, in some ways that almost made everything easier. I felt I deserved what had happened to me, it was my just punishment. My parents were taking me home on summer break, so in that sense it was my fault they were where they were at that particular moment in time.” He held up his hand to forestall Clarke’s objection.

“Of course, I know that’s not literally true, and I’ve spent a small fortune on psychiatrists who have all expounded on that, but guilt is emotional, not rational, and I doubt it ever truly goes away. I’ve been in grief groups with parents who’ve lost children, sometimes crib deaths, sometimes just random occurrences, none of which could possibly be considered to be the fault of the parents by any person’s rational measure.” He paused for a moment. “And yet there we all sat, caught in the same sad circle. People came and people went, but I don’t think anybody ever really escaped the guilt and the grief. Some covered it up better than others, and I was one of those.”

Roland shrugged. “So none of that worked and the next step seemed obvious to me. I was taking drugs to relieve my physical pain, and my life would have been intolerable without them. So why not take something for my mental problems as well? I couldn’t get legal prescriptions for what I felt I needed, so Thomas went out and acquired the pills under the table. I didn’t waste a second considering the morality of any