Larry Douglas would probably have enjoyed them if he had known of them. But he was in a drugged world of half-twilight where nothing touched him. During his first few days on the island, he had been in a state of violence, screaming day and night that he was innocent and demanding a new trial. The prison doctor had finally ordered that he be kept on tranquilizers.
At ten minutes before five A.M., when the prison warden and four guards came to Larry Douglas' cell, he was seated on his bunk, quiet and withdrawn. The warden had to speak his name twice before Larry was aware that they had come for him. He rose to his feet, his movements dreamlike and lethargic.
The warden led him out to the corridor, and they walked in a slow procession toward a guarded door at the far end of the corridor. As they reached the door, the guard opened it and they were outside in a walled courtyard. The predawn air was chilly and Larry shivered as he stepped through the door. There was a full moon in the sky and bright stars. It reminded him of the mornings in the South Pacific islands when the pilots left their warm bunks and gathered under the chilly stars for a last minute briefing before takeoff. He could hear the sound of the sea in the distance, and he tried to remember which island he was on and what his mission was. Some men led him to a post in front of a wall and tied his arms behind his back.
There was no anger in him now, only a kind of drowsy wonder about the way the briefing was being handled. He was filled with a deep lassitude but he knew he must not fall asleep because he had to lead the mission. He raised his head and saw men in uniform lined up. They were aiming guns at him. Old, buried instincts began to take over. They would attack from different directions and try to separate him from the rest of his squadron, because they were afraid of him. He saw a movement at three o'clock low and knew they were coming for him. They would expect him to bank out of range, but instead he shoved the stick all the way forward and went into an outside loop that nearly tore the wings off his plane. He pulled out at the bottom of the dive and executed a snap roll to the left. There was no sign of them. He had outmaneuvered them. He began to climb, and below him he saw a Zero. He laughed aloud and gave his plane right stick and rudder until the Zero was centered in his gunsights. Then he swooped down like an avenging angel, closing the distance with dizzying speed. His finger began to tighten on the trigger button when a sudden excruciating pain smashed through his body. And another. And another. He could feel his flesh tearing and his guts spilling out, and he thought, Oh, my God, where did he come from?...There's a better pilot than me...I wonder who he is...
And then he began spinning abruptly into space and everything grew dark and silent.
In her cell Noelle's hair was being coifed when she heard a volley of thunder outside.
"Is it going to rain?" she asked.
The hairdresser looked at her strangely for a moment and saw that she really did not know what the sound was. "No," she said quietly, "it is going to be a beautiful day."
And then Noelle knew.
And she was next.
At five-thirty A.M., thirty minutes before her execution was scheduled, Noelle heard footsteps approaching her cell. Her heart gave an involuntary leap. She had been sure that Constantin Demiris would want to see her. She knew that she had never looked more beautiful, and perhaps when he saw her...perhaps...The prison warden appeared, accompanied by a guard and a nurse carrying a black medical bag. Noelle looked behind them for Demiris. The corridor was empty. The guard opened the cell door, and the warden and nurse entered. Noelle found that her heart was pounding, the wave of fear beginning to lap at her again, drowning out the faint hope that had been stirring.
"It isn't time yet, is it?" Noelle asked.
The warden looked uncomfortable. "No, Miss Page. The nurse is here to give you an enema."
She looked at him, not understanding. "I don't want an enema."
He looked even more uncomfortable. "It will save you being--embarrassed."
And then Noelle understood. And her fe
ar turned into a roaring agony, tearing at her stomach. She nodded her head and the warden turned and left the cell. The guard locked the door and tactfully walked down the corridor out of sight.
"We don't want to spoil that pretty dress," the nurse was cooing. "Why don't we just slip it off and you lie down right there? This will only take a minute."
The nurse began to work on her, but Noelle felt nothing.
She was with her father and he was saying. Look at her, a stranger could tell she was of royal blood, and people were fighting to pick her up in their arms and hold her. A priest was in the room and he said, "Would you like to make your confession to God, my child?" but she shook her head impatiently because her father was talking and she wanted to hear what he was saying. You were born a princess and this is your kingdom. When you grow up, you're going to marry a handsome prince and live in a grand palace.
She was walking down a long corridor with some men and someone opened a door and she was outside in a cold courtyard. Her father was holding her up to a window and she could see the tall masts of ships bobbing on the water.
The men led her to a post in front of a wall and fastened her hands behind her and tied her waist to the post and her father said, Do you see those ships, Princess? That's your fleet. One day they'll carry you to all the magic places in the world. And he held her close and she felt safe. She could not remember why, but he had been angry with her, but now everything was all right, and he loved her again, and she turned to him but his face was a blur, and she could not recall what he looked like. She could not remember her father's face.
She was filled with an overwhelming sadness, as though she had lost something precious, and she knew that she had to remember him or she would die, and she began to concentrate very hard, but before she could see it, there was a sudden roaring sound and a thousand knives of agony tore into her flesh and her mind screamed, No! Not yet! Let me see my father's face!
But it was lost forever in the darkness.
EPILOGUE
The man and woman moved through the cemetery, their faces dappled by the shadows of the tall, graceful cypresses that lined the path. They walked slowly in the shimmering heat of the noonday sun.
Sister Theresa said, "I wish to tell you again how grateful we are for your generosity. I do not know what we would have done without you."
Constantin Demiris waved a deprecating hand. "Arkayto," he said. "It is nothing, Sister."
But Sister Theresa knew that without this savior the nunnery would have had to close down years ago. And surely it was a sign from Heaven that now she had been able to repay him in some measure. It was a thriamvos, a triumph. She thanked Saint Dionysius again that the Sisters had been permitted to rescue the American friend of Demiris' from the waters of the lake on that terrible night of the storm. True, something had happened to the woman's mind and she was like a child, but she would be cared for. Mr. Demiris had asked Sister Theresa to keep the woman here within these walls, sheltered and protected from the outside world for the rest of her life. He was such a good and kind man.
They had reached the end of the cemetery. A path wound down to a promontory where the woman stood, staring out at the calm, emerald lake below.