"How's the hip?"
Tracy looked up from The Argo's railing where she'd been leaning, watching the water foam and boil against the slick hull. "Hi, Blackjack."
"Hi yourself. Getting plenty of rest?"
"Too much. I'm antsy."
He smiled. "Good sign. Just don't try to overdo it."
"Considering where we're going and what we're going to do when we get there, that's kinda dumb advice, wouldn't you say?"
He laughed, his mouth wide and his dark eyes twinkling. "Yeah, I guess so. Where's your partner in crime?"
"Eric? He's sitting over there, on the other side of that sail. See him?"
Blackjack cupped his hands around his eves like binoculars, shading them from the brisk wind and glare of the sun. "Right. What's he doing?"
"Thinking, I guess."
"He's a tough man," Blackjack said, admiration tinting the words.
"He's a good man," Tracy corrected. "There's a difference."
"Well, let's go interrupt his meditation and discuss the dull business of kidnapping."
Tracy limped across the deck using the special cane Eric had fashioned for her out of the remains of that Piper Cub. It clomped on the deck of the ship as she walked after Blackjack, and it made her feel a little like Captain Ahab pacing with his peg leg, raking the ocean for Moby Dick. Her hip still alternated between dull throb and sharp ache, but both seemed to be lessening significantly. She could even run now. More painful was the knowledge that she would walk with this slight limp for the rest of her life. What disturbed her the most wasn't so much the fact of the limp, but that it was a flaw that she could never improve. It wasn't like dry hair or oily skin or chubby thighs or bad posture. All of them defects that had plagued her at one time in her adolescence, all of which she'd overcome. The only thing that had helped her live with it so far was Eric's support. He helped her without pampering her. Didn't give her the chance to feel sorry for herself. Sometimes he even called her Peggy, short for peg leg. Others on board thought him cruel, but it made her laugh.
"How do you like our colors, Ravensmith?" Blackjack asked.
Eric was sitting cross-legged on the deck, wrapping something around his wrist. He glanced up at the flag being hoisted up. Skull and crossbones. "Catchy."
"Great, huh? I bought it at Liar's Cove. Somebody had taken it from Disneyland."
"What's that, Eric?" Tracy asked, pointing at his wrist.
He quickly unwrapped the leather thongs attached to a small leather patch and held it up. "A slingshot. I stripped the leather from one of those executive chairs back at the farm settlement." He started rewrapping it around his wrist, knotting the end with one hand and his teeth. When he was finished it looked like a crude leather watchband. "This way even if they take my bow, I'll still have something."
"Nice," Blackjack approved. "That's just the kind of soldier's thinking we hired you for."
Eric looked up at him. "I heard you were a soldier too. In 'Nam."
"Nope," Blackjack shook his head vigorously. "I was there, but never any kind of a soldier. I was a CO."
"A CO.?" Tracy asked.
"Conscientious objector. It wasn't a dodge, either. I really was morally opposed to any kind of violence. I'd had enough as the only black kid in a fancy white neighborhood in Philly. Only my draft board didn't see it that way. It didn't compute that a nigger wouldn't take to fighting like he would to dancing. So, like magic I was transformed from a promising basketball player to a medic."
"What happened to that conscientious objector?" Eric asked, looking up at the skull-and-crossbones flag flapping overhead.
Blackjack laughed bitterly. "The kid's grown up."
"Has he?" Eric stood up, stared across the bow of the ship at the wedge of land on the horizon. "That it?"
"Yup, that's Liar's Cove."
Eric turned his head to face Blackjack, his reddish-brown eyes glowing. "That can't be Liar's Cove."
"Afraid so," he smiled.
Tracy squinted toward the horizon as the land grew larger, clearer. She looked confused. "You know what that looks like?"
"Yes," Eric said. "Hearst Castle."