The field was deserted. They stood alone well beyond earshot of the others, the groups of parents and staff who had watched the battle. His word would be accepted and who would dare to antagonize the potential Owner? Selkas drew a deep breath and forced himself to relax. Incredibly he managed to smile.

  "You flatter me, Montarg. Lisa was a beautiful woman. Do you think that if she had granted me her favors I would have kept silent? And is it really wise to impinge the ancestry of the next Owner?"

  "Veruchia?" Montarg showed his amusement. His teeth gleamed in the sunlight as he bolstered his weapon. "You're an optimist, Selkas. She has ten days left of the hundred granted by the Council. A short time in which to search an ocean."

  "She could still be lucky."

  "She could, but I doubt it. Miracles do not happen to order. In ten days time I shall be the new Owner of Dradea."

  * * *

  The weather was oppressive, the sun scorching as it hung in the air, the air heavy and still. Below where he stood on the cliffs Dumarest could see the water spread below, dark blue and green patched with the brown of drifting weed. Boats made creamy wakes as they headed outwards, the sound of their engines high and spiteful, thinned by distance. Closer to the shore other boats, powered by arms and sail, looked like fragile toys. From them men dived into the sea after mollusks, weed and marine growths of value.

  Raising his eyes he could see the pair of rafts moving slowly a hundred feet above the water, following a carefully determined search pattern. Veruchia was on one, safe enough with the technicians and, Dumarest was convinced, safe enough until she found the proof she needed. There was no point in assassinating her before then.

  "They won't find anything." The man at his side was thick and toughened by the sun. "My boys have scouted every inch of that area for shellfish and if anything laid on the bottom they would have found it. Right, Larco?"

  His partner nodded. "That's right, Shem. From here to the edge of the continental shelf. But would those snots from the institute listen? Not them. They wouldn't take my word it was raining if they stood in a downpour."

  "How do you work?" asked Dumarest. "Naked or with apparatus?"

  "It depends how deep. Close to shore we go down straight but further out we use artificial lungs." Shem pointed. "See? About two miles. That's my boat and it's working the Coolum Bed. About a hundred and twenty feet. You could go down raw but with lungs you can really search the area. Some good stuff down there but it takes time to collect." His arm swung towards the north. "You don't get too much up there. The bottom's rough and the shelf comes in close. Further north still we don't bother."

  "Why not?"

  "Too dangerous. There's some big things out there, decapods, jellyfish, eels as thick as your body with jaws that could bite a man in half."

  "The decapods are the worst," said Larco. "I've seen them big enough to pull down a ship. A fifty-man galley with outriggers."

  "Bigger," said Shem. "Remember after that big storm? One of them got washed ashore and it took a week to get rid of it. The flesh isn't good for eating," he explained. "We had to grind it up small and sell it as fertilizer. They grow big, all right." He squinted at Dumarest. "You figure to go searching up north?"

  "Maybe. Would you help?"

  "To go down to the bottom?" Shem pursed his lips. "I don't know about that. Maybe, if the money was good, but only maybe. It's too chancy down there. Life's hard enough as it is without looking for trouble. We'd like to help, but you know how it is."

  "Yes," said Dumarest. "I know."

  A boat took him out to where one of the rafts drifted high. It lowered at his signal, Izane complaining as he climbed aboard.

  "You're disturbing the pattern. If you'd have waited another two hours we would have finished searching this area."

  "We haven't got two hours." Dumarest was curt. "As far as I can see you're wasting time."

  "I know my job."

  "Admitted, but the fishermen know this area. Why didn't you take their advice?"

  "Earl." Veruchia had been standing beside the scanning apparatus. She came forward and rested her hand on his arm. "We haven't time for quarrels."

  "We haven't time to follow the book, either." Dumarest stared at the technician. "The fishermen know the bottom here as well as they know their own faces. I suggest we accept their word that the ship isn't in this area."

  "They can't be sure of that," said Izane. "They could see it and never recognize it for what it was. By this time it would have accumulated a thick growth of mollusks and weed. The shape would have become distorted, other things. Before we can eliminate this region we must check every inch."

  He pulled a sheaf of papers from a drawer and ran his finger over a mass of lines.

  "See? We are on the edge of a continental fault. We know this area is prone to earthquakes and tremors and we know that a few centuries ago the coastline altered. If the ship had been close to the edge of the sea at that time, and there had been an earthquake, it is highly probable that both the land and the ship would have become submerged. Of course we can't be certain exactly where this happened, but this area shows the most promise."

  The cold logic of scientific detachment pitted against local knowledge and the workings of intuition. Izane could be right and most probably was, but there was no time to make certain. For days they had scanned the area and time was running out.

  Dumarest said, "There is a region to the north which remains unexplored. I think we should check it out."

  "Random searching?" Izane's shrug expressed his contempt at the unscientific approach. "I can't agree that it would be wise. We could try a thousand spots by guesswork and miss what we are looking for. In order to be certain we must be precise."

  An ocean to search, following the thin trail of rumor, geological maps and unreliable history. A lifetime could be spent inching along the coast alone.

  Dumarest turned to face the woman. "Veruchia?"

  He had thrown her the necessity of making a decision and she hesitated, reluctant to take the gamble.

  "I don't know, Earl. We could be missing the only chance we have. Couldn't we speed up the search, Izane?"

  "We are going as fast as we can. Faster and we may as well not bother at all. I advise that we continue the present pattern. Of course I must do as you decide. You are paying for the service."

  His tone was peevish with fatigue. They were all tired and numbed with constant failure, brains slow to function, tempers on edge. A bell chimed on the apparatus. Jarg checked it and shook his head.

  "A mass of rock, large but of natural origin."

  Veruchia sighed and then, womanlike, appealed to her lover. "I don't know what is best to do, Earl. Can't you decide?"

  Without hesitation he said, "Well go both north and south and scan the regions to either side of the fishing grounds out to the limits of the continental shelf. I suppose there is no point in extending the search beyond that point?"

  "Not with our present equipment," said Izane. "The fall is sharp and the bottom deep. There is too much distortion to gain a clear picture. If we had a submersible I would advise it, but without—" He broke off, seeing no need for further explanation. "We go north then?"

  "Immediately. Send the other raft to the south and report anything of interest." Dumarest took Veruchia by the arm. "You are going ashore. There's nothing you can do here and there's no sense in knocking yourself out Izane knows what has to be done."

  "How can I rest, Earl?"

  "You'll rest." Drugs would take care of that and give her a dreamless sleep. "Jarg, signal a boat."

  Veruchia relaxed, finding comfort in the touch of his hand, his obvious concern. It was good to have someone so close, a man to worry about her and see that things were attended to. Now there was nothing she need do but wait, no action to be taken but to sleep and hope that, this time, they would find the ship.

  They had to. There was so little time.

  Chapter Six

  As he ran over the beach, Dumarest felt the quake, a minor tremor but enough to cause Veruchia to stumble. She would have failed had he not caught her arm.

  "Earl!"

  "It's nothing." Shem was casual as he came towards them. "Just a twitch, and we get them often." He looked at Dumarest. "About that gear you asked me to have ready. You want me to put it aboard?" He gestured towards a heap of equipment, the waiting raft.

  "No, there isn't room." Dumarest looked towards the south. The air was heavy, carrying a metallic taste, the sea leaden. "The other raft will be here soon. When it arrives throw out all the personnel aside from the driver and load your gear. How many men did you get?"

  "Only me and Larco."

  "Is that all?"

  "I told you, the boys don't like that part of the coast. Neither do we but you made a fair offer and we're willing to take a chance. We might be able to get the Ven brothers when they come in but I can't promise."

  "Get them," said Dumarest. "Send them after us with the biggest boat they can get and with all the salvage equipment you can find. And don't waste time about it."

  "Earl." Veruchia gripped his arm. "We can't be sure. All this could be a waste."

  "We can afford to waste money," he said. "But not time. Let's move!"

  Izane rustled papers as the raft lifted and headed towards the north. His normal impassivity had dissolved in the excitement of discovery.

  "There!" His finger tapped a mass of flecks on the paper. "It is the only thing in the region we examined which holds any promise. Notice the shape? The metallic reading is far too high for it to be natural and it is not homogeneous."

  "Are you certain?" Veruchia fought to maintain her composure. "Have you checked?"

  "Three individual times." Izane sobered a little. "Of course it may not be what you are looking for, and I must be frank, the chances are against it. The object could be another vessel or a large surface craft wrecked during a storm. It could even be a land installation which became submerged through the action of a tidal wave. It could even be a submarine construct or an accumulation of discarded material. Metal drums containing unstable compounds," he explained. "As yet we cannot be certain."

  Dumarest was curt. "You made no investigation?"

  "No. The object lies well below the surface and we had no undersea gear with us. I marked the position and came in to report. Incidentally, I must congratulate you on your foresight. I didn't think you would have had men and equipment organized."

  Too few men and too limited equipment, but it was all that was locally available. Dumarest moved to the front of the raft and looked at the sky, the sea. He felt restless, his skin prickling with tension. The raft slowed as a yellow float came into sight and halted just above it. Izane's voice echoed above the hum of his apparatus.

  "You see?" He gestured at the screen. A mass of flecks marred the surface, some moving, others fading only to regain prominence.

  "Background noise," said the technician. "Fish and particles of drifting weed." He made adjustments. "I've raised the level so as to eliminate minor objects. That solid mass there is the edge of the continental shelf, you see how sharply it falls away. That is a mass of jumbled boulders and those are smaller ones. Note the irregularity. But here we have something unusual." His finger traced a longitudinal shape. "There!"

  Somehow it was wrong. Dumarest studied it, trying to fit it into a familiar context. The ships he knew were longer, slimmer, far more graceful than the thing lying beneath the waves. But it would have become crusted with marine growths, he realized, and who could tell how spaceships had involved from a time long ago?

  He heard the sharp intake of Veruchia's breath. "Earl! We've found it!"

  "We've found something." His tone was deliberately flat; it would be cruel to lift her hopes too high. "As Izane said it could be anything. There's only one way to find out." He called to the driver. Take us down low. Get as close to the water as you can."

  Veruchia frowned as he stripped and threw open the canopy. "What are you going to do, Earl?"

  "Go and see what we've found." He retrieved the knife from his boot and looked around. "I want something heavy. Something we can afford to lose." He picked up a box of provisions. "This will do."

  The weight cradled in his left arm, the knife gripped in his right hand, he stood for a minute, breathing deeply, hyperoxygenating his blood. Then he jumped from the raft into the sea.

  The water was warm as it closed over his head, rapidly chilling as he plummeted towards the bottom. To one side he saw the thin cable of the marker and he kicked himself towards it, staying close to the guideline as he dropped. A patch of weed caught his foot, streaming upwards as he kicked it free, and tiny fish darted wildly in all directions. Pressure built in his ears and he swallowed, moving so as to fall head first, eyes strained in the thickening gloom.

  A shape loomed vague and forbidding, crusted, wreathed with weed. He kicked himself towards it, releasing a thin stream of bubbles in an effort to ease the pressure which seemed to clamp him like a vice. The provisions fell away as he gripped an obtrusion with his left hand and pulled himself close. The blood pounded in his ears and his eyes felt as if they were being pressed back into his skull. He moved the knife forward, driving the sharp point against the crusted growths, trying to find a crack or fissure. The steel slipped into an opening and he wrenched, throwing his weight against the tempered metal. For a moment it resisted, yielding suddenly as a patch of shell fell aside. He struck again and felt the jar as the blade hit a denser medium. Scraping at it he caught the rasp and gleam of metal.

  Bubbles streamed from his mouth as he rose to the surface. He kicked desperately in order to increase his speed of ascent, feeling the growing pain in his chest, the near-uncontrollable urge to open his mouth and gasp at the nonexistent air. The thing lay too deep and he had stayed too long.

  The water brightened, a shimmering roof appearing above, a roof which broke in a shower of glistening droplets as he broke the surface. He rolled on his back, gasping, barely conscious, unaware of the blood which streamed from nose and ears. A shadow blotted out the sun and hands gripped him, hauling him aboard the raft.

  Veruchia's eyes were bright, her face anxious. "Earl! Earl, my darling! You were down so long. I thought you were dead!"

  He turned to rest face downwards, his weight supported on hands and knees. Gradually, as he sucked air into his aching lungs, his strength returned.

  "I'm all right. But we'll need help to get down there."

  "Is it—"

  "It's something, and I'm sure that it's a ship. It could be the First Ship, but it's crusted and well need men and gear to work on it." Dumarest rose to his feet. "We'll get at it as soon as the others arrive."

  Shem said, "You were lucky. The bottom here is too deep for natural diving. One of the boys could have done it but he'd have been trained from a child. You're strong," he said. "Tough, but you've got to respect the sea. If you don't it will kill you for sure. Have you used diving gear before?"

  "I have," said Veruchia. "I spent a lot of time underwater when I was at university. We had a class in marine biology."

  "You won't be coming down," said Shem curtly. He looked at Dumarest. "Well?"

  "Once."

  "Good, then I don't have to tell you what to do. Don't hold your breath on the way up, don't surface directly from the bottom, take your time and don't panic." He glowered at the water. "I don't like this," he said. "It's a bad area. We've lost too many boys around here. Right, Larco?"

  "Right." His partner tightened a strap. Like Shem and Dumarest he was wearing bulky coveralls grotesque with added padding. Tubes from air cylinders on his back ran to a mouthpiece. A goggle eyemask contained radiophonic equipment. Each man was armed with a heavy knife and a gun firing explosive darts.

  Dumarest said, "What about the others? Are they coming?"

  "The Ven brothers are on their way. It will be easier to work from a boat but I guess you don't want to wait for them. One other thing." Shem nodded at Izane's apparatus. "I guess that thing can tell if anything big moves through the water, right?"

  "Yes," said Izane.

  "Then if you see anything let us know at once. Don't wait to find out what it is and don't be curious. If you see something big moving our way give us the word."

  The technician looked puzzled. "What do you expect?"

  "The worst." Shem was grim. "There's some nasty creatures in the deeps and quakes tend to unsettle them. There've been a few twitches and they could be restless. Damn it," he exploded with sudden violence. "I must be crazy to do this!"

  "You don't have to," said Veruchia. "I can take your place."

  "That's what I'm afraid of. If I let a woman go down because I was scared I'd never be able to look my wife in the face again. Well, let's get on with it."

  It was different from the last time. Now he drifted down, weightless, almost floating, gliding through the water without effort. Dumarest could hear the rush of bubbles from his mouthpiece and see them rise from his companions, the goggles giving perfect visibility. Within minutes they were on the bottom. He heard a voice in his ear.

  "Hell, look at that! The damn thing's poised on the edge."

  Shem's voice was distorted by his throat-mike. Larco answered.

  "It's ready to fall. One good twitch and it'll be over. It's a long drop if it does."

  Dumarest kicked himself upwards and circled the area. The vessel hung poised on the edge of an undersea cliff, part of its mass suspended over the rim. They were at the limit of the continental shelf.

  He glided over an unknown depth of water as a bird would circle the edge of a precipice, kicking his legs so as to come close to the massive bulk. An opening gaped along one side: the open port of the cargo hold, he guessed. It was easy to guess what must have happened.

  The ship would have been on apparently firm ground. There had been an earthquake; the sea had withdrawn to return in an overwhelming flood. Water had gushed into the vessel and it had been carried back into the sea by the retreating tidal wave. It would have rolled for miles before coming to rest. A little further and it would have been lost forever.