Noise

XII Echo

And Hinemoa really must be a city official, not just a trader. So much for reason. Mike changed the subject, but not because he wanted to.

“When do the ships dock again?” he asked.

“Not until we have a good supply of ice away from the cap and down where it’s useful. Half a year, maybe.”

“But—”

“You said the ships. We’ll have the children back inside the lock in a few days. They have their noise armor, and can swim from the ships. The crews will have to stay aboard, of course; we can’t afford to lose any vessels. It takes a long time to grow new ones, and some parts can’t be replaced at all. The ship seeds are incomplete, though I’m afraid I can’t tell you in just what way.”

“How—oh, all right. How about why ? Just plain bad design?”

Hinemoa looked thoughtful for a moment. Then, “Well, you’re not a sailor any more than I am and I won’t give details, but I don’t think it’s possible to design a seed which will grow every single bit of a ship or any other complicated machine. Weren’t you and your crew lucky to have salvaged a good deal of your original ship’s equipment? Didn’t you need to use more than one seed, anyway? Could you have replaced everything—in life support, for example?”

“I don’t know. I got the impression that Wanaka and Keo weren’t too worried, but maybe that was because we did have all the stuff we couldn’t grow.”

“I’d almost guarantee it was. I won’t be any more specific, but we can grow all the new hulls and sails and paint we want. They just wouldn’t be very useful at sea.”

“Maybe Wanaka can supply the seeds you need. If she can’t from our present stock, surely she could get them from Muamoku or any other of the temperate-zone cities. I don’t suppose they’d charge any more than the traffic will bear.”

“I doubt very much that they could, but I’m not going to tell you why.”

“Because you don’t want anyone to know just what you’re lacking? I suppose because they would charge the ocean for it?”

Hinemoa shook her head negatively.

“They couldn’t supply it. And now, no more discussion. I may have said too much already. I know you’re not a sailor but I don’t know all your background, and I have mixed feelings about how worried I should be. Why don’t you go back to your quarters and get some food and sleep? We’re going to ask you to help move ice later on, if whatever loyalty you feel to your captain allows it, and it will be hard work even for you.”

“You said we were approaching the ice cap. I’d like to have a look at that first, if there’s no objection.”

“That’s all right. I’ll be busy; you can find your quarters by yourself, I gather.”

“Sure. No problem.”

Hinemoa nodded, gestured a farewell, and took a shovel from a nearby laborer. Mike glanced at the suns, estimated their height above the invisible horizon, and made his way south. This happened to be the current direction of the lake-cum-harbor, which was nearly enough empty so that swimming and wading across seemed easier than going around. The iceberg’s treacherous footing emphasized the preference. Whenever possible he worked his way uphill, and eventually found himself able to see the water’s edge in every direction.

This had not been the case earlier; much of the edge of the berg had been hidden behind closer ice hummocks even from its highest points. Now, he realized, the city was riding considerably higher than before and much that had been under water was now exposed. The sea was farther away.

Just coming into view through the haze was the ice cap. He had assumed it would be about at water level, since what had frozen at the ocean surface could hardly be sunk very far by hail landing on it and would presumably be melted from below by warmer and saltier water about as fast as the hail piled up above.

This was true enough, but the equilibrium did bring the ice sheet’s surface half a meter or so—a little more in places—above the water. This meant, he realized, extremely large and heavy fragments to haul aboard the berg and slide to the collection pits. With, it seemed, nothing but muscle power.

Hinemoa was right; he’d better get food and sleep. He had no trouble in finding either the air lock or, once inside that, his former quarters, and never knew just how long he slept. He was awakened by ’Ao’s shaking his shoulder. He sat up in some surprise.

“You’re back already? Hinemoa said you youngsters would have to swim.”

“Most of us did. A few stayed on the ships. I’m going back pretty soon, but the captain wanted me to talk with you.”

“Important, I expect.”

“She says so. At least, she wants you to tell me anything you think is important that’s happened since the launch.”

“I don’t know for certain what’s important. She’s right about there being only seven ships in their fleet. Hinemoa admitted they couldn’t make more, but wouldn’t say why. They use their gold mainly for ballast, to keep the low end of the city pointing down. You can see how much they’d need for that. Tonnes and tonnes. No other city could use even a tiny part of what they have to collect, and Aorangi needs that badly so I don’t see yet what they’d trade any of it for. If Muamoku or any other city were collecting gold itself, then maybe something could be worked out, but these people have a lot of gold-fish tethered to the city and except for times like right now they always have plenty for themselves.”

“All right. I’ll tell her all that. Anything else? And do you think you’d have a chance to swim back to Mata ? Or would they try to keep you? Or can’t you guess because they haven’t said anything about it to you?”

Mike thought for a moment, and answered very slowly, still thinking between words.

“I don’t know whether they’ll care if I get away. Hinemoa told me a lot, and may have been assuming I’d never be able to pass it on. Perhaps we’ll find out when she doesn’t let you go back.

“There’s another point, though. If I stay, I might be able to find out some of whatever Hinemoa wouldn’t tell me. If whatever holds them down to such a small fleet turns out to be something Muamoku can provide, there would be a good trading base. I think I’d better stay at least until the ships can dock again, and find out all I can in the meantime. Tell Wanaka that, anyway. If you’re back here soon because they won’t let you off the iceberg, we’ll think of something else. Pono?”

“Pono, Kahuna. If they won’t let me go back to the ship I’ll come right back here to tell you, and we can think some more. If you’re not here I’ll leave a note and then go looking for you.” The child left before Mike could think of a good way to thank her for the compliment. He rather feared she might be praising his skill at mercantile intrigue.

He was awake now anyway, decided he’d probably slept long enough, and ate again slowly and thoughtfully. It seemed likely that his muscles would be wanted by now, and while he might possibly come up with something useful just sitting here thinking, it seemed a safer bet that he’d pick up worthwhile information from company. Also, it might be a good idea to do some more heavy labor; there was no telling what this gravity might have done to his muscles by now.

He donned his armor and opened the door, to be met by another child who had apparently been waiting patiently for him.

“You can pull better with these, Hinemoa thinks,” the youngster said as he handed the man a pair of well-spiked soles evidently designed to strap to his armor boots.

“Thanks, I probably can. Should I wear them inside, or not until I’m out of the city?”

“Now is all right. The floors will heal. Shall I show you the way?”

“Thank you, I know it. But stay with me if you like. Is the ice being brought in? Do they need me?”

“Yes. Your strength will help a lot more than mine, but I’ll go and help, too.”

Aorangi was only a couple of hundred meters from the ice pack by now—actually much less, Mike realized as he remembered the very shallow slope of the submerged ice. Several large chunks showing above the water between city and ice sheet were clearly being supported by something underneath, and were being towed and pushed by waders rather than swimmers. Everyone he could see, even his young guide, he now noticed, was equipped with the same extra-traction equipment the youngster had brought him; it was evidently not a special-order job after all.

He learned very little during the next several hours, since very little was being said by anyone. He kept an eye out for ’Ao, but didn’t see her. No ships were visible, but the water was probably too shallow for them between city and pack ice, he guessed. ’Ao might, of course, have been confined in some way to keep her out of his sight, but he managed to keep from worrying about the possibility. There were many children helping with the transportation, especially close to the cap where the loads were deeper in the water and closer to floating, but most of them seemed older than ’Ao.

He’d listen and think, since the muscle work didn’t interfere with either, until someone relieved him. This determination resulted in his putting in a very full day’s work. He was beginning to wonder if they might let him work until dropped when someone—not Hinemoa—who had been near him for several hours told him that it was up to him to decide when he needed food or rest; the job was organized only in the sense that everyone knew what had to be done. He thanked his informant and returned to his quarters. There was a brief note there, in something less than perfect spelling: “No trouble. I’m going back to Mata again. We’re to the west. Get to us even if you have to sneak away, the captain says. No people on the shore there, but some of the other ships are around. If you think you can swim far enough, get in the water out of their sight. Don’t wait for night if you can help it. You’ll be hard to recognize swimming anyway.”

Mike wondered how long ago the message had been left, how long the captain might be willing to wait for him, what she was planning, and whether he should take a chance on swimming in his present state of fatigue. The thought of nearly three thousand kilometers of water below influenced his decision, for no good reason since his armor would keep him afloat anyway and he could drown just as readily in two meters. He ate lightly, rested for an hour, and then sought the outdoors again.

Sneaking was not really necessary. There were, as he already knew, several pits being served by the ice carriers. People were traveling in many directions between the holes and the source to the south, and no one showed any suspicion of him even when he passed the westernmost pit and kept on going. The Aorangi people evidently knew that what they were doing was important and didn’t believe in letting themselves be distracted from it.

It was a long walk; Aorangi had risen some distance in the water, and the “shore” was averaging at least half a kilometer farther than before from the center. Once past the hummocky central area that Mike was now sure had never been submerged he could see a wide stretch of ocean and, fairly soon, four of the ships, drifting with sails down or possibly, he realized, at anchor. They were spread far enough apart to make the invisibility of the others reasonable.

The northernmost of the four he could see was easily recognizable as Mata, leaving the suspicion that the other three were all still farther north. Heading in that direction until the nearby ones were out of sight would be pointless if that were the case; he’d merely come in sight of the others. He might as well start swimming from here. After a little thought he removed his traction soles, and after a little more ran their straps through his tool belt; they might be needed again if he had to come back ashore.

After his first step toward the sea, he thought the time might already have come; he slipped and fell at once. He snatched the coral spikes that were also still in the belt, but by the time he had them properly in his grip, the grip was inadequate. Even with the shallow slope of the ice and Kainui’s feeble gravity, he had picked up enough speed to tear them from his hands as he jabbed them into the ice, and just barely had time to close his helmet before reaching the water.

He wondered what Wanaka would say about that. She, or at least someone aboard Mata, had certainly seen him; the larger sail was already rising and the bows turning toward him. In less than five minutes, he judged, he was climbing aboard. If anyone on the nearest Aorangi vessel had noticed him, the fact was not yet evident.

Greetings were brief. Both sails were now up, and the bows pointing almost northwest. Even this seemed unnoticed from the other ships. Didn’t they care, or did they merely lack relevant orders? There was no point in asking Wanaka or Keo, presumably, but perhaps ’Ao might have heard something to explain it while she was ashore. He’d ask later, if the little one when she came down from her station didn’t bring the matter up herself.

Their course puzzled Mike, who now knew enough to recognize that this was not the top-speed heading. He did ask about this, since it seemed a perfectly reasonable question.

“I’m hoping the gold-fish is still afloat, and we’ll have time to pick up more,” was the answer.

“I thought we had a pretty good load now.”

“No. We were asked to put the rest of it ashore before the last launch, and nearly all our other metal as well.”

“And we’re getting them some more? Didn’t ’Ao tell you they had a lot of tethered fish?”

“Yes. It’s not for them. I’m hoping to get us some more.”

Mike, reverting to type, didn’t ask why, but did have another question. “Since we don’t know it’s still there, how long will we look for it?”

“One day. Then close enough to pure north to reach Muamoku latitude as soon as possible.”

Mike’s relieved feelings must have showed on his face, but the captain didn’t seem to notice. He asked permission to sleep and went to the cabin without thinking to ask about the water supply. The trivial thought did slip across his consciousness that the captain obviously would never say “up” north. Kainuian charts weren’t pictorial.

He learned, after waking up many hours later, that the breakers had been essentially full this time; there seemed to have been no effort to drain them again and, he was told, no evidence that the previous emptying had been done by violence. The drain taps must have been used, and since Mike himself had found them closed, shut again by whoever had done the job. That left another minor question or two: why had it been done at all in the first place, and why not again?

It did not occur, and never would have occurred, to Mike that Wanaka and Keo had only his own report as evidence that the tanks had ever been emptied at all, or that the captain would ever have allowed mere courtesy to interfere with getting the answer to an obviously important question, or even that she would have regarded the term “mere courtesy” as an oxymoron like “only theory.”

Aorangi had made a great deal of progress south while they were there. They had sailed for several days longer than on the fish-to-city trip when ’Oloa told them that they were in the neighborhood of the gold source. To Wanaka’s unconcealed delight, this was still afloat and took less than four hours to find.

’Ao was left at the masthead this time, with Mike on deck and only the other two mining. Now that they knew the system, however, things went much faster. The fish still showed no signs of imminent submersion when they had taken aboard all they dared; Mike wondered whether another design flaw was showing up or merely that its leaves were slower picking up energy this far south. He raised the question, but no one could either choose between the possibilities or suggest a better one.

Then at last at Mata headed north. Not exactly north, but a compromise between best sailing speed and shortest distance to the desired parallel, as directed by the doll. ’Ao’s time on the masthead had been wasted; there had been no sign of another ship.

Mike hinted once or twice, but Wanaka offered no explanation why she had collected a cargo with no obvious use. He did not resent the time spent at the fish, however, even though he was having increasingly frequent spells of homesickness. For one reason, he had now been fully and formally accepted into the crew, would receive an appropriate if rather small share of the trip’s profits, and there were plenty of worlds where gold, for various historical and technological reasons, still had significant exchange value. The expense of interstellar travel came mostly from paying off ship construction mortgages; time of flight meant more to freight charges than mass of cargo.

There was one world he knew of less than a hundred parsecs from Kainui where most of the value of any art form stemmed from its permanence. Maybe Wanaka knew about this, too, but Mike as usual chose not to ask. It was not, he told himself, merely that it was embarrassing to have something explained to him when he should have figured it out for himself; there was the triumph of actually figuring it out for himself.

Even he was beginning to feel bored when ’Oloa reported that they were at Muamoku’s latitude, and Mata pointed her bows westward. For all they could know eastward might have been better, but there was no way to tell. The city might have been just out of sight in the haze in either direction, or halfway around the planet. As the doll would have said and even ’Ao now understood too well to ask, “One equation, at least three unknowns.” West was the standard way to go in that stage of a navigation problem, because cities in general had an eastward drift and the odds were slightly in favor of a shorter trip if ships went to meet them.

Mata’s crew settled down to an almost unvarying, though busy, routine. The tacks were short, since the wind came generally from the northwest, and they did not want to be carried farther than city-spotting distance from the parallel they were following. ’Ao spent most of her waking time at the masthead, though it seemed very unlikely that she would sight anything for which Wanaka would want to dump any of the gold—though maybe, Hoani thought, she hoped to trade some of it for something of more certain value. That would presumably be to ships of other cities. If she had told even her husband about what was in her mind, which Mike considered most probable, the mate had been equally secretive.

It was unlikely that they would meet any homeward bound Muamoku craft, of course, since these would be traveling in the same direction and at comparable speed. Mike had no way of guessing the chances of encountering representatives of any other city. The two they had seen prior to the Aorangi event had both been met in the first few days of their now nearly year-long trip, which would discourage even the most inexperienced and optimistic statistician from risking a public opinion.

They had been tracing the parallel for over four weeks of Kainui days when ’Ao did sight a ship, however. Wanaka and Keo eyed it carefully, since ’Ao had not reported its course along with its presence; maybe it was actually bound for Muamoku as well.

But it wasn’t. ’Ao had not reported the course because it was hove to, and she hadn’t been able to believe her eyes.

“What sort of fish?” the captain finally called.

The child still hesitated, but finally, “I can’t see any,” came back.

“That’s silly. Why else would anyone be hove to in the daytime?”

“I don’t know, but I can’t see anything but the ship itself.”

The adults fell silent. Mike had an idea, but details were still coming together and he didn’t dare announce it yet. Mata’s crew simply stared, all but Hoani with minds as open as their eyes.

“No signal flags,” the child finally reported.

Mike almost spoke. Wanaka did. “Not pirates, I hope. How many on deck, can you see?”

“Just one. It looks—well, I’d say young. Maybe my size. I can’t be sure, because I don’t know how big the ship is.”

There were a number of clicks that he felt must be audible as drifting items connected in Mike’s brain. He forced himself to speak.

“There’ll be someone else out to take the tiller in a few moments,” he said. “Wait and see. They’ll turn on an intercept heading after that happens.”

“You’re sure? You know they’re pirates?” asked Keo.

“I’m about ninety percent sure of what I said, but I’m equally sure they’re not pirates.”

“Why? Who or what are they? What do you think they want of us?” Wanaka asked.

“Put your trading hat on. You wanted gold, when we first met them.”

“You think these are—but I wanted to sell gold. Then I found out no other city would want to buy it; it’s good for nothing but ballast, and regular cities can use sea water if they need that.”

“But you’ve thought of another use for it, or you wouldn’t have collected another load. I don’t know what you have in mind, but you wouldn’t have mined that fish again just for jewelry.”

“But these folks wouldn’t know what I have, and if they don’t know and come for us anyway, they don’t care. How do you know they aren’t pirates?”

“You haven’t recognized that ship yet?”

“Recognized it? How—?” The captain’s eyes turned back to the other craft. Two more people—adults this time—had appeared on its deck, and one had taken the tiller from the child. The other was working sails, and it was already moving toward Mata. Mike allowed himself to smile, and went on.

“I don’t know very much about Kainui ships, so I can’t guess what the chances are of two looking so much alike, but this one is a single-outrigger just like the Aorangi ones. It has its leaf deployed, you can see; why would that leaf be so much smaller than ours?”

“Why would they have a leaf at all? Aorangi, if that’s what you’re trying to tell us this is, uses a different power system!”

“Which they can’t use on their ships; it takes up a lot of their city and would act as a sea anchor. Their gold-fish did have leaves, remember. Why do they have so few ships? Why do those ships stay so close to their city except in emergencies? Having a spread of boats around the city to help slightly off course homing ships doesn’t apply to them. They even gave up early in their search for the very important wandering fish we found.”

“Where did this one get the leaf it has?”

“From you; remember? You gave them a clipping of ours, and told them how to feed it. It’s still growing. That’s if they weren’t able to modify one of their own leaves on short notice.”

“I didn’t think a ship’s leaf would be much use to them that far south. I was just impressing them with what we could do.”

“It wasn’t much use to them—that far south. They were taking chances now on breathing equipment, though not on food; you can see the plant trays. I’m guessing those three people—one of them a child—are all that there are on board. Look again, Captain. That is the ship Hinemoa was using, paint pattern and all. It’s Koku. Ask ’Ao.”

The captain didn’t. “But why? And how under Kaihapa?”

“Why? Because they’re either still having an emergency or have spotted an opportunity. How? How did they get so precisely to Muamoku’s latitude? How did they dare this time to come so far from Aorangi? And, as part of the same question, why do they have so few ships? Want a good, solid guess?”

“Yes! Of course! They’re getting close.”

“They have their own version of ’Oloa. I don’t know what it’s built into, but they have inertial systems and computers at least good enough to handle navigation problems.”

“Then why aren’t they traveling all over Kainui?”

“Because they have only a few of them, and can’t make more. They’ve never had more—at least not many more; they may have lost some ships down through the years, I suppose. I expect what they have was on their original colony ship. Just like your people, they used what was available. They had pseudolife skills, an ocean, and a lot of ice, and all the carbon, hydrogen, oxygen, and other light elements anyone could ask. They needed a power source, and circumstances steered them in the temperature-difference direction, so eventually they had to hug the ice cap. Sort of like Earth; we headed in a direction that let us develop and get addicted to heat-engine technology. That set us to finding better and better ways to make and use heat engines—powered by nonrenewable fuels. I wonder if they had a period when they used mercury instead of gold for ballast? I’d like to study that part of their history. Gold’s more plentiful than mercury in the universe, but maybe not this near the surface of the ocean here—”

“You’re wandering, Hoani.”

“Sorry. Back to why you should get into trading mode. They’d like to have more ships. To them, that means more inertial systems. They’d never be patient enough to circumnavigate the planet every time they lost track of home, just as an Earth native now would never, except in really unusual circumstances, have the patience to spend weeks crossing a continent—I hope you know what that is.”

“I’ve had some history.”

“They can’t get silicon on this world; its compounds aren’t soluble enough in your acid ocean. Maybe you should devise traveling fish; you could give them real guidance systems now—though I suppose they still wouldn’t know where to go to find their cities. Aorangi wants to trade for silicon, I’d bet all I have but my family, and so far at least Muamoku is the only place they can do their trading. Nowhere else has physical offworld contact. They probably do know that gold has trade value on other worlds, even if it’s only to provide a value scale. Whether they’ll pay more for raw silicon or finished navigation units I wouldn’t guess; you’re the expert in that field. Either way I can see Muamoku and one Captain Wanaka doing rather well for themselves and quite a few other people. So, Captain, I suggest again—get into trading mode. They can see your ship is carrying cargo. I doubt that they know or care what it is, but they’re not stupid and must realize that their gold-fish is the most likely place for you to have found it. They should see no reason for you to distrust them; was a single one of your suspicions about what they were trying to do ever really confirmed? Think it over—quickly. They’re almost here. What are you going to say to Hinemoa?”

“Nothing,” cut in ’Ao placidly. “Hinemoa isn’t there.”

Three faces quizzed the child silently, and a triumphant expression appeared around her mask.

“That’s Eru,” was her completely adequate explanation.

“Heave to, Keo dear,” was Wanaka’s response. “Maybe they’re not even traders. It’s surprising they even have any; I wonder where Hinemoa got her skill. Aorangi shouldn’t know what trading is.”

She was wrong, of course. Mike had little time to think independently for the next few hours of translation, but it did occur to him that in a city that must contain several thousand people there should be plenty of opportunity to acquire sales competence without developing a foreign trade.

The seeming fact that nobody had been trying to sell his labor to the community during the recent emergency, but had simply done what obviously needed doing, did suggest something interesting about the city’s culture. It might be the most civilized on the planet; he should go back to add a few more footnotes to his observations, obviously.

But that would be later, he decided as a storm swept over the linked ships and ’Ao and Eru went to work with their shovels.

The adults aboard Koku were one sailor, named Rua, and one of the teachers who had guided Mike around his city earlier, called Wherepapa. The latter, amazingly to Wanaka and Keo, was in command, at least in the sense that he gave orders about destination and any activities like mining or not if the chance arose; Rua was captain in maritime emergencies. Eru was his apprentice, though Wherepapa could give him instruction when there was time available from ship’s duties. Mike was impressed by the fact that neither adult seemed bothered by any aspect of the arrangement.

He was even more impressed by the discussions between the captain and the teacher. Wherepapa might regard trading as an exercise in logic, but he had picked up enough background facts—Mike wondered how long that had taken him—to make his logic work.

He admitted that Aorangi badly wanted silicon, but pointed out that the materials for gallium arsenide, or boron and nitrogen for doping diamond, could probably be obtained from Kainu’s own oceans. Wanaka questioned the possibility of making or working with diamond at pseudolife temperatures. He suggested that Aorangi could sell gold for electrical wiring; the captain pointed out that copper was a somewhat better and silver a much better conductor. Wherepapa countered that gold was far more corrosion resistant than either and wouldn’t need replacement so often, if ever. Wanaka was not sure this was desirable.

Wanaka pointed out that since silicon could be processed so much more easily on worlds with better developed high-temperature technology, Aorangi would be better advised to trade for finished semiconductor equipment for which the captain could make arrangements. Wherepapa conceded the point.

Since personnel often visited between ships for a night or more at a time, the children listened in with increasing frequency, only partly to profit from Mike’s translations. What interested Eru was unclear to Hoani; the youngster was a city offical’s child and might reasonably be fascinated by anything at all, whether or not visibly connected with administration. ’Ao seemed to be most impressed with how useful it was to know things, though Mike tried to impress her with the existence of trivia. She was still young enough to have an extremely capacious memory, and found it hard to believe that this would ever fail her.

As a student himself, Mike considered the ability to think more important; facts could always be looked up. He began to feel a little worried about the responsibility he might have incurred; after all, he had been collecting facts, obviously and carefully, for this whole trip. Had that been a bad example? His language skills, essentially memory, had been of almost continuous use to ’Ao’s captain. Did Kainui’s schools teach people to think? Wanaka was a skilled sailor, which was a matter of knowing what to do at a given time to produce given results, with most appropriate actions necessarily reflexive; Keo had the same training and qualities. Of course, the captain’s trading skills represented something else—Mike couldn’t quite decide what, but it was something else. But ’Ao?

Well, what did she get points for? That was a comforting thought. Having skills, certainly—he remembered the points she had earned from setting up the division of the iron-fish. But there was judgment, too; she had lost some for risking her armor to infection.

Maybe he shouldn’t worry; she wasn’t his responsibility, except as any adult shared some responsibility for any child.

He was talking to her, still with this question in mind, just before she climbed to her station after the wake-up meal.

“You recognized that iron-fish just at the start of our trip,” he remarked. “Was that just because it wasn’t anything else you knew?” He had been confronted with that trick question, he remembered, during his own school days.

’Ao looked indignant. “Of course not. It might have been something I’d never seen before. It just looked like iron.”

“Aren’t there any other fish that look like iron?”

“Some. A little.”

“What would you have said if you couldn’t tell any differences?”

The child was beginning to show a why-are-adults-so-silly expression. “I wouldn’t have said anything until I was sure, unless the captain asked me. Then I’d have said I didn’t know, of course.”

“Suppose you’d been wrong, and missed something that should have told you it wasn’t iron?”

“I’d have lost some points, unless the captain missed it, too.”

“So if you’ve eliminated all the wrong answers, you have the right one?”

“Didn’t you go to school? Sorry, that was rude. Maybe it’s your school’s fault. They used to tell us a lot of stories with morals in them. Pretty often they were stories from the Old World, I expect just to make them interesting. I know what a wolf was, because they gave us the one about the boy who cried ‘wolf.’ They gave us that Sherlock Holmes one you’re trying on me, too—you know, the fellow who said that when you’ve eliminated all the impossibles, whatever was left must be right. He never said anything about making mistakes in eliminating. He didn’t say a word about the things you hadn’t thought of, either. Isn’t Wherepapa just wonderful; with the things he can think of to say why the captain’s wrong? I wouldn’t say that to her, of course; you won’t tell, will you?”

He felt relieved, a little.

Half an hour later, he felt slightly embarrassed, since captain and mate were both on deck at the time.

’Ao shrilled from her masthead, “City, two hands port.” Then just as loudly, “It’s Muamoko, Mike. I’m certain of it.”