Dark Mirror (33 page)

As they worked, onlookers gathered. One couple arrived bearing large, full water bottles. “Our boy came home to Folkestone two days ago,” the man said. “He told us the troops got powerful thirsty as they waited. They’ll want this when you pick ’em up.”

Another woman brought two bulging bags of hard candy, a third contributed a large canister of tea, a fourth offered a first aid kit and a large box of bandages, “just in case.” Two men pitched in to help load the heavy cans of fuel.

As the group enlarged, Mrs. Rainford muttered an oath under her breath. “The assistant headmistress of my school has just arrived. There goes my pretense of being ill.”

“You’re looking remarkably healthy for a woman with a streaming cold,” the salt-and-pepper-haired headmistress said with dry humor as she approached Mrs. Rainford. “I don’t know how you’ve managed to work at all, Anne. Do what you must, but we expect you back Monday after Tom comes home!”

Mrs. Rainford caught her friend’s hand gratefully. “I’ll be there, I promise.”

There was little left to say, so the final good-byes were more hugs than words. As Mrs. Rainford held Polly, she said fiercely, “Allarde, you had better be right!”

“Don’t worry,” he assured her. “The
Dream
will be home soon, and you’ll all be telling stories about this day as long as you live.” He glanced at Tory, his eyes narrowed.

She scowled at him as she hugged Jack. “Do not even
think
of asking again if I’ll stay here. Someone needs to chaperone Polly.”

As Allarde smiled, Mr. Dodge said incredulously, “You’re taking these two little girls to Dunkirk?”

“We’re smaller targets,” Polly said jauntily as she prepared to cast off.

“Damnation!” Jack kicked at the weathered planking of the dock. “I wish I was coming with you!”

“What you’re doing is even more important,” Tory said softly.

Jack sighed. “I know you’re right. But I don’t have to like it.”

The old man quoted, “And gentlemen in England now abed / Shall think themselves accursed they were not here.”

“Shakespeare,” Mrs. Rainford said. “Henry the Fifth inspiring his troops before the battle of Agincourt.”

“England won then, and we will again,” Allarde said in a voice as compelling as Henry V’s must have been.

Polly had gone below and now the engine caught, the roar drowning out the gulls. They pulled away from the dock and Nick turned the little ship toward the channel. As the onlookers broke into applause, Mr. Dodge rose painfully to his feet and saluted.

Engine roaring and Union Jack flying,
Annie’s Dream
set off to war.

CHAPTER 34

Tory and Allarde joined Nick at the wheel as they cleared the breakwater and entered the choppier waters of the channel. “This is a little late to ask, Nick,” Allarde said with humor glinting in his eyes, “but are you sure you know how to run this thing?”

Nick laughed. “Mum would have burned the boat before we boarded if she didn’t know how well we can handle her. All three of us spent our summer holidays working on or around the Lackland fishing boats. I know these waters well and this boat even better. She may be small, but she’s stouthearted.”

Giving thanks she was a good sailor, Tory clutched the edge of the wheelhouse as the boat rolled. “Do we have a particular plan?”

Nick nodded, his eye on the horizon. “We’re going to head north to join the little ship convoy out of Ramsgate. There are Royal Navy officers on some of the boats, and they’ll know how to avoid sandbanks and minefields.”

“Minefields?” she asked, sure the answer wouldn’t be good.

“Bombs floating in the water to sink ships unlucky enough to run into them,” Nick explained.

“Wonderful,” she muttered. “I hope your finder talent is good at locating such things before we become too well acquainted.”

“I think it is.” Nick stepped aside. “Take the wheel, Tory. I’m going to teach you and Allarde the basics of holding the boat on course.”

Tory’s first reaction was panic. Her, steer this boat, which suddenly seemed much larger?

“Don’t worry, you’ll be fine, Tory,” Nick said. “The main thing to remember is that the wheel controls the rudder, so you have to turn the opposite direction from where you want to go. Once you get the feel of it, I’ll explain the compass.”

Reminding herself she couldn’t get into much trouble in open water, Tory started to relax. “It takes a lot of strength to keep the wheel straight! You make it look easy.”

“That’s because you’re just a wee bit of a thing,” he said teasingly. “I wouldn’t give you the wheel in a storm, but you should be able to steer in average conditions.”

When Nick was satisfied that Tory understood the basics, he said, “Your turn, Allarde. You said you’ve done some sailing?”

Allarde changed places with Tory and took the wheel. “I’d do much better driving a coach and four, but I’ve had some sailing experience.”

Tory decided it was time to go below to the engine room. Polly greeted her with a grin and a smudge of oil on her cheek. It was the happiest she’d looked since burning out her magic. “It feels good to be on the water again.” Polly patted the noisy, smelly engine. “I want to study engineering when I go to university.”

“Do many girls do that?” Tory asked with interest.

“Practically none.” Polly laughed mischievously. “That means I’ll be the only girl in most of my classes, and won’t that be fun!”

Tory joined in. It was good to have something to laugh about.

*   *   *

The river of little ships sailing out of Ramsgate was impossible to miss. “I’ve never seen so many different kinds of boats,” Nick exclaimed as he turned the wheel, arcing the
Dream
toward the convoy.

Equally awed, Tory asked, “Could you name them all?”

“Most. Not all.” Nick shaded his eyes with one hand. “There are corvettes and minesweepers, and I think that’s a fireboat. From London, maybe. That might be a Dutch barge. Some of the ships are smaller than
Annie’s Dream,
too.”

He fell silent at they saw a naval destroyer heading back to England. Tory raised the binoculars and saw decks jammed so tightly with men that she wasn’t sure they could even turn around. Soon they’d be home, and the destroyer would return for another load. She sent a silent prayer for the ship’s safety.

Allarde said, “It must be about time for me to go on weather watch with Jack. Are you ready, Tory?”

“It will be interesting to see how well this works.” She took the steps down into the tiny cabin and sat on one of the padded benches that were also berths. The cabin was so narrow she could rest her feet on the opposite bench.

Allarde sat beside her and took her hand between both of his. “This part I like.”

“As do I.” She fluttered her lashes extravagantly. “I might need Polly to chaperone
me.
”

She was about to connect with his energy when she heard a distant rumble. The harsh, irregular sound caused her to freeze. “Do you hear that?”

His hands were still around hers. “Guns. From Dunkirk.”

They had to be loud to be heard over the boat’s engine. Telling herself to focus on the task at hand, she closed her eyes and tuned herself to Allarde. His energy was warm. Deep. Strong. Worried.

With Allarde connected, she reached out to Jack. Their minds touched and she felt his relief, though she wasn’t sure if it was because he’d doubted if they could work this way, or that he was just glad they were well.

She linked the flow of energy from Allarde to Jack, and felt the stress on Jack diminish. She had to stay as part of the link to keep it flowing, but she contributed little power of her own. Better to conserve it for … whatever might come.

*   *   *

By the time Tory and Allarde had finished the weather session, the guns were much louder. Halfway up the steps to the deck, she stopped in her tracks, staring. The cool gray skies of the English Channel had been replaced by the fire and fury of a war zone.

They were nearing Dunkirk and smoke billowed from the burning port, black against the sky. An acrid stench bit Tory’s nostrils, overwhelming the scents of the sea.

Ships were everywhere. Little ships moving in both directions, a destroyer berthed at the mole, and a boat burning in between. Perhaps a passenger ferry. Tory prayed it hadn’t had been carrying passengers when it was hit.

Grim-faced, Nick stood at the wheel while Polly perched in the bow and scanned the water for mines and dangerous debris. Lesser debris—boots, a helmet, something Tory couldn’t bear to look at—bumped the sides of the boat.

Ahead were the wide, sandy beaches of the French coast. Masses of men waited onshore and among the sand dunes, and ragged lines of soldiers had waded out into the water up to their chests.

Behind her, Allarde asked quietly, “Do you want to stay below?”

Shaking her head, she climbed to the top of the stairs and stood aside, keeping one hand on the railing. She’d listened to the wireless and studied the newspapers delivered to the Rainford house, but she was still unprepared for the brutal impact of war.

They were getting near enough to the soldiers to pick out individual faces when a hell-born Nazi airplane screamed straight down from the sky like a rabid banshee. Tory’s instant of paralyzed horror was broken when Allarde grabbed her and hauled her down against the wheelhouse, shielding her with his own hard body.

An explosion shattered the air, so close her ears were numbed and debris rattled off the
Dream.
Moments later, a huge wave sent the boat pitching wildly as Nick grimly fought with the wheel to save them from capsizing.

Tory was overwhelmed by cacophony and fear. Allarde’s heart hammered against her ear and she had to struggle for breath because he was crushing her, yet his closeness was the only thing keeping her from screaming.

Dear God in heaven, what if Allarde was killed while protecting her? What if he would have been safe if she hadn’t insisted on coming? She bit her lip until it bled.

Fear ebbed, leaving Tory shaking. She was here now and it was too late for second thoughts. Though she felt fear in Allarde as well, his voice was calm as he released her. “Welcome to Dunkirk, my lady.”

“What was that
thing
?” she asked, trying to match him for calmness, though she was less successful than he was.

“A Stuka dive-bomber,” Nick replied. “Technically, a Junker 87. It’s designed to stoop like a falcon and drop a bomb from about fifteen hundred feet up. Then it pulls out of the dive. This one sounded like it was going to crash into the
Dream,
but it was aiming at that destroyer over there.”

Tory looked and saw that the destroyer’s side deck was badly crunched, but the ship seemed seaworthy. “I’m glad we’re not a large enough target to interest a Stuka.”

Polly had poked her head out of the engine room, oil smudges black against her white face. “Think we’ll get used to those things anytime soon?”

“Not used to them,” Allarde said. “But next time we won’t be quite so startled.”

Startled.
Tory almost laughed. British understatement in action. He was right, though. Next time one of those monstrosities hurled itself from the sky near her, she’d still be afraid, but not, she thought, panicky.

They continued toward the beach. She tried to identify the different forms of destruction. Bombs exploded with ragged booms, machine guns chattered, artillery shells screamed and then exploded. Other airplanes, fighters, not Stukas, swooped over the mole where the big destroyers were loading men, their machine guns blazing.

She squinted at the fighter. “They seem to be shooting fire. Is that the bullets?”

“Tracers,” Nick said tersely. “Some of the bullets have an explosive charge in the base that burns as they travel through the air so the gunner can see where the bullets go.”

So they could kill more efficiently. Feeling sick, Tory moved to the wheelhouse. There was a white line around Nick’s lips as he tried to watch for danger from all directions. “How are you doing?” she asked.

“Sweet Jesus, Tory,” Nick said in anguish. “How can I ever find one man in that mess of people? I thought I’d know where to find him!”

“It may not be possible,” she said gravely. “There’s so much fear and desperation swirling around Dunkirk that the mental channels are burning with emotion as much as those oil silos. Locating one individual will be difficult. But look at all of these other boats. Your father might already have been picked up and be on his way home.”

Nick’s face tightened even more. “He’s not. Dad is out there somewhere.”

“As long as he’s alive, he can be rescued. If not by us, by another boat.”

Allarde had come up behind her. “In the meantime, we have plenty of work to do,” he said calmly. “We get as near the beach as we can and load as many men as we can and we take them out to a larger ship. Then we come back and do it again.”

Nick exhaled roughly. “Right you are. I’ll take her in now.” He turned the boat toward the nearest line of men, who were standing chest-deep in the water. Tory scanned their faces. Most looked so
young.
Some were stoic, some exhausted, some frightened, and all watching the advancing
Dream
as if the boat were their one hope of heaven.