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tables that cut trigonometry calculations to bare bones, he practiced fixing his position until his figures accurately matched the known latitude and longitude of the Misery Islands on the chart.
"Think you can hit Gladiator Island on the nose?" Maeve asked him over dinner on the second evening before the launch.
"If not the nose, then the chin," Pitt said cheerfully. "Which reminds me, I'll need a detailed map of the island."
"How detailed?"
"Every building, every path and road, and I'd like it all to scale."
"I'll draw you a map from memory as accurately as I can," Maeve promised.
Giordino chewed on a small thigh from a frigate bird Pitt had managed to shoot with his miniature automatic pistol. "What do you make the distance?"
"Precisely 478 kilometers as the crow flies."
"Then it's closer than Invercargill."
"That's the beauty of it."
"How many days will it take to arrive?" asked Maeve.
"Impossible to say," answered Pitt. "The first leg of the voyage will be the hardest, tacking to windward until we pick up friendly currents and easterly breezes blowing off New Zealand. With no keel to carve the water and prevent them being blown sideways, trimarans are notoriously inept when it comes to sailing into the wind. The real challenge will come after we set off. Without a shakedown cruise we're in the dark as to her sailing qualities. She may not tack to windward at all, and we may end up being blown back toward South America."
"Not a comforting thought," said Maeve, her mind clouded with the appalling implications of a ninety-day endurance trial. "When I think about it, I'd just as soon remain on dry land and end up like Rodney York."
The day before the launch was one of feverish activity. Final preparations included the manufacture of Pitt's mystery kite, which was folded and stowed in the deckhouse along with 150 meters of light nylon line from York's boat that had retained its integral strength. Then their meager supplies of foodstuffs were loaded on board along with the navigational instruments, charts and books. Cheers erupted over the barren rocks when the outboard motor coughed to life after four decades and nearly forty pulls on the starter rope by Pitt, who felt as if his arm was about to fall off.
"You did it!" Maeve shouted delightedly.
Pitt spread his hands in a modest gesture. "Child's play for somebody who restores antique and classic automobiles. The main problems were a clogged fuel line and a gummed-up carburetor."
"Nice going, pal," Giordino congratulated him. "A motor will come in handy during our approach to the island."
"We were lucky the fuel cans were airtight and none of the contents evaporated after all these years.
As it is, the gas has almost turned to shellac, so we'll have to keep a sharp eye on the fuel filter. I'm not keen on flushing out the carburetor every thirty minutes."
"How many hours of fuel did York leave us?"
"Six hours, maybe seven."
Later, with Giordino's help, Pitt mounted the outboard motor to brackets on the stern section of the cockpit. For a final touch, the steering compass was installed just forward of the tiller. After the woven-mat sails were attached to the mast, gaffs and booms with spiral lacing, the sails were raised and lowered with only a minor bind or two. Then they all stood back and stared at their creation. The boat looked reasonably businesslike, but by no stroke of the imagination could she be called pretty. She sat squat and ugly, the outriggers adding to her look of awkwardness. Pitt doubted whether any boats that ever sailed the seven seas were as bizarre as this one.
"She's not exactly what you'd call sleek and elegant," mused Giordino.
"Nor will she ever be entered in the America's Cup Race," added Pitt.
"You men fail to see her inner beauty," said Maeve fancily. "She must have a name. It wouldn't be fitting if she wasn't christened. What if we call her the Never Say Die?"
"Fitting," said Pitt, "but not in keeping with mariners' superstitions of the sea. For good luck she should have a woman's name."
"How about the Marvelous Maeve?" offered Giordino.
"Oh, I don't know," said Pitt. "It's corny but cute. I'll vote for it."
Maeve laughed. "I'm flattered, but modesty dictates something more proper, say like Dancing Dorothy II."
"Then it's two against one," Giordino said solemnly, "Marvelous Maeve she is."
