The Raft (28 page)

Soon, merrymakers were stumbling across the
deck, making for the open water at the center of the Raft. They
were happy, halfway drunk and laughing and stumbling from boat to
boat. Anyone who caught sight of Maggie called out her name and
applauded. She was a hero once again. Cheers of “Maggie the
Blockade Buster” rose up. Maggie smiled and waved.

Rachael and Maggie moved slowly across decks,
limping and picking their footholds carefully. They were moving
towards the large outline of the
Kalakala
close to the
center of the Raft.

The Races were already underway, a strange
array of craft gathered at one end of the long cut of water nested
at the center of the artificial island. More were arriving through
a thin channel, kept open to the north for contestants. Tiny
strangle craft, only large enough to hold one person, bobbed on the
waves.

“It always starts with the youth devision,”
Maggie said as they were climbing down off the bow of an
eighty-foot pleasure yacht to the stern of an old fishing trawler.
Maggie had caught sight of Rachael watching the Race setup,
shielding her eyes against the growing warmth of the sun. “The
under fourteens. That's how it all started, you know, so they
always have the honor of the first race.”

“Race?” Rachael watched as the ridiculous,
patently handmade craft moved to form some sort of straight line.
It shamed her to admit that she'd paid no attention to the Kon-Tiki
festival from onshore, though she knew of its existence. It had
always seemed so foreign and so remote, though it took place no
more than fifty miles from her office.

“Man-powered boat races. That's how it began.
The
Ahab
, that's our school ship, the students had a science
project. Studying energy or momentum or something. Build a
man-powered craft. It was only after school kicked out for the
summer that the kids got the idea to race them. I don't remember
who won. But the whole thing took off from there. Rafters like
nothing better than an engineering challenge. Other kids got into
the act the next years, then the adults, then the dryfoot sponsors
and the news broadcasters. But at its core, it's still really about
kids and their pedal boats. They go first. Four times around the
track, one full mile. Winner takes all. Later, there's the
divisions for the adults, some pedal-powered, some more exotic.
Solar is always fun, at least when there's enough sun to make it
go. Steam is always interesting. And of course, after dark it's all
rocket powered.”

“Rockets?” Rachael said with alarm.

“Yeah, that's a real crowd pleaser.” They'd
cleared the deck of the fishing trawler and climbed over to a
three-mast sailing sloop that abutted the
Kalakala.
“But you
got to be well liquored up before you voluntarily climb into one of
those machines.”

“I had no idea,” Rachael said. There was a
crack of a starter's pistol and the thin, haphazard line of rickety
craft stuttered forward from the starting line. As if it were a
comic attempt to look entirely unlike a boat race, the contestants
in the youth pedal boats made slow going of making a lap. One boat
sprang a leak and listed dangerously to its port. Two others
appeared to lose control of their rudders and began to circle in a
tight loop. Three craft, though, attempted to make a real race of
it, rapidly – well, at least with a great show of churning water –
making a full circle of the open patch of water at the center of
the Kon-Tikis.

“As you might guess,” Maggie sighed, pausing
to watch the start of the race. “The
Ahab
isn't exactly a
magnet engineering school.” The pedal boat that had sprung a leak
sank completely underwater. A pair of teenagers in orange life
vests paddled a canoe out into the open water to rescue the pilot.
“But God love them, they try.”

Maggie didn't wait to find out the winner.
She turned and took a gangplank down off the large sailing ship and
onto the car deck of the old ferry. All around, from every vessel,
Rafters had gathered to watch the race, cheering. Thousands were
watching the comedy unfold on the water with breathless
anticipation. The Raft was loving it, this was their holiday.
Rachael could feel the electricity in the air. This was the Raft's
Fourth of July, its Christmas and its Easter, all wrapped up into
one: The Freaky Kon-Tikis, the Raft kids' soapbox boat races.
Somehow, it fit so perfectly.

Rachael smiled. Maybe a little bit of her now
understood why the Rafters were so dead set on risking their lives
to get here, unwilling to miss even a moment of the first race of
the day. If Galahad had fully comprehended what his blockade was
attempting to keep the Raft from, maybe he wouldn't have attempted
it. It was hard to say.

Oh God, Gandalf, Rachael remembered, looking
off down the gangplank after the hobbling Maggie.

Tiger Print. She didn't know.

Chapter 33

“Gandalf is dead,” Maggie said, tossing the
large Colt revolver down on the counter before the gathered Gray
Beards.

While Maggie addressed the council, Rachael
was in the Palm Room of the
Kalakala
, breaking the news more
gently to Tiger Print.

The Gray Beards, gathered at counter of the
Kalakala's
Horseshoe Café, recoiled in shock. The sight of
the old revolver and Maggie's blunt delivery stunned them into
silence. They exchanged confused glances, all eyes eventually
falling on Orac.

After stepping down off the three-mast
sailing ship, Maggie and Rachael had found the car deck a roaring
party. A thousand Rafters, at least, were watching the Kon-Tiki
Races. All the Gray Beards were in attendance, including Orac, the
celebrated man of the hour. It had been his plan, after all, to
face down the Coast Guard. He had brought the Raft en masse here to
the Races today. A few beers and the celebratory mood had worked to
erase everyone's memory of Gandalf and Maggie crossing in the fog
to the Coast Guard cutter. No one wanted to quibble; it was a great
day for each and every citizen of the Raft.

But Maggie's arrival without Gandalf drew a
few questioning looks. When Maggie had called all the Gray Breads
together for an emergency council meeting, the mood on the car deck
subtly changed.

“My God, what happened?” Orac spoke, picking
up Gandalf's revolver and looking it over.

“He drew down on the Feds. They shot him down
like a dog,” Maggie said, knowing better than to sugarcoat it.

There was a ripple of angry murmurs from the
Gray Beards.

Maggie raised a hand for silence. “But it's
how he got us through the blockade. The Feds blinked. When they
realized they might have an all-out revolt on their hands...”

“You bet they have a revolt on their hands!”
One of the Gray Beards leapt to his feet, angrily slamming a fist
down onto the table. Maggie fixed him with a withering, pointed
glare that sent him slowly back down into his chair.

“No,” she shook her head. “No one gets to be
angry about this. No one. What Gandalf did, he did for the Raft. It
was self-sacrifice. No one will sully his good deed by using this
as an excuse for more violence. The fact of Gandalf's death will
stay in this room until such a time as the full weight of his act
can be communicated to the Raft at large. Until then, if this
information leaks, I will hold each and every person in this room
accountable.”

“But what about Tiger Print?” someone
asked.

“Rachael is with her now.”

“Then we must honor Gandalf's memory,” Orac
spoke up, returning the revolver to the table. “And continue our
stewardship of the Raft after the model he established.” Orac began
to pull himself up to his feet. “I, for one -”

“No,” Maggie interrupted. Her attention was
enough to return Orac to his seat.

Maggie reached into the front pocket of her
jeans. She rummaged around and came up with the large, flat key.
This she dropped down on the table beside the revolver.

There was a collective gasp from the Gray
Beards.

“Where did you get that?” a Gray Beard
asked.

“Gandalf left it for me,” Maggie replied.

“But...”

“And with it, I think we can all agree, he
meant to leave me the Exchange also.”

“But...” Gray Beards muttered amongst
themselves.

“What are you doing, Maggie?” Orac asked,
looking up from the key to Maggie's face. His voice was almost lost
in the tussle of everyone attempting to speak at once.

“How do we know that's genuine?” a Gray Beard
called out over the din of voices.

“Quiet!” Maggie called out. She picked up the
heavy colt, and used its handle as a gavel on the table.

The Gray Beards fell silent.

“Alright,” Maggie began, dropping the gun
back on the table. “I know the Raft has no leader, has never needed
a leader, and doesn't want one. And up until today, that had been
all well and good because we had Gandalf. A king with no desire to
be king is the best kind. But those days have passed and when
Gandalf saw the need to sacrifice himself for the good of the Raft,
he did so. When the time came for Gandalf to act as a leader, he
did. The Raft might have never wanted a leader, but it had always
had one. And now he's gone.

“For whatever reason, Gandalf saw it fit to
hand this mantle of un-leadership to me. Perhaps Gandalf understood
that the death of Meerkat has fundamentally changed the nature and
purpose of the Raft. I don't know. Perhaps he saw what the Raft
sorely lacks is law and order. Whatever his reason, leaving this
key behind for me signified something. Perhaps we can argue about
the detail, but one fact about this key is undeniable: what it
unlocks. How can you know it is genuine? It would only take a trip
below decks to know for sure. No, I think everyone here understands
what this key is: authority. The authority of the Exchange. The
authority of the gold that sits in the vault below our feet, the
only the authority the Raft has ever had or can ever
understand.

“Of course, there is no reason anyone here
should accept my authority. The Raft is free, everyone can do as
they please. And what I will propose in the coming weeks will give
each and every one of you pause. The days of the Raft sitting
separate and apart from the mainland is over. Closer integration
with the dryfoots is inevitable. I accept the challenge of
overseeing this change. Let's say I've accepted the Raft's
franchise. I accept responsibility for its welfare and safety.

“But all of you must understand what is at
stake if you choose to oppose me. This key gives me the power to
sink the Raft. You all know it. Without the Exchange, without Sum,
this whole enterprise can so easily vanish below the water. This
key is power – total and ultimate power over the Raft. And Gandalf
left it to me.”

The Gray Beards were silent. There was
nothing to stay. They stared at Maggie in awestruck silence. She'd
gotten her message across. Looking from slack-jawed face to
slack-jawed face, Maggie knew her power play had been successful.
What she knew about Gandalf that remained unsaid, could stay
unspoken.

Maggie reached forward and picked up her key.
She returned it to her jeans pocket and turned, starting for the
Horseshoe Café's door.

It was Orac who couldn't let the moment pass
by. “Have you caught Meerkat's murderer?” he asked, speaking low
and even. He meant it as a biting rebuke, one last twist of the
knife before Orac admitted defeat. But Maggie had an honest,
truthful answer ready. Until she'd stepped aboard the
Kalakala,
she could not have answered that question
positively. But as she stood before the Gray Beards giving her
ultimatum, the fog of the whole confused mess had cleared before
her eyes.

She could now answer honestly, truthfully,
“Yes, I have,” she said as she hobbled slowly forward, reaching for
the handle of the door.

Chapter 34

Maggie stepped through the door and into the
Kalakala's
Rose Room. She met Rachael and a sobbing Tiger
Print. She took the key out of her pocket and turned it over in her
palm. Was she correct? Did she really know who had killed Meerkat?
There was only one way to know for sure.

Rachael ran up to Maggie and threw her arms
around her. Pulling away, she looked Maggie square in the eye. “How
did it go?”

Maggie looked over Rachael's shoulder at
Tiger Print sniffing into a handkerchief. Maggie just nodded.
Rachael understood the full weight of what the nod meant. Maggie
let go of Rachael and stepped up to Tiger Print, slipping down onto
the bench beside her and hugged her gently.

“I'm so sorry, Tiger,” Maggie said as Tiger
Print sobbed into her shoulder. “If I'd known what he was planning,
I'd never have...”

“I know, I know,” Tiger Print bawled.

“Gandalf was such a great man,” Maggie
continued. “Everything that has happened – everyone that made it
here today safely owes him a debt. The sacrifice that Gandalf made
is immeasurable. No one will totally understand it.”

Tiger Print broke off the hug, pulling
herself straight and trying to regain some composure. “I just don't
know how I'm going to...” she began and broke out in a new wave of
tears.

Maggie pulled herself to her feet, the large,
flat key still in her hand. Rachael stepped into her place,
wrapping Tiger Print in a warm hug.

Maggie looked at the key, feeling its teeth.
“I'm afraid there's one last thing that we must do, Tiger, before
this is all over,” she said solemnly.

“Oh no,” Rachael interjected. “There can't be
anything so important that she must do it now. Leave the poor woman
alone.”

“No, I'm sorry,” Maggie continued. “It's a
terrible burden for me to ask this of you right now, Tiger, but I
have to insist. The door that this key goes to...”