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She pictured the sunken wreckage of theTenebraesomewhere below them.
Xue and Heng came forward with the steel box and opened it.
“We should have Kadir wield the bullroarer,” Gray said. “He’s the most familiar with the tool.”
Xue nodded and offered the open box to the museum director.
Kadir hesitated—then Tambora boomed with a thunderous blast and a great gout of fire. The director plucked out the bullroarer and unwound its tether.
He stepped to the center of the deck. “Even if Stamford and Crawfurd were correct in their judgment, we can’t know if a certain pitch or tone needs to be achieved with the bullroarer. Or maybe a code has to be generated by a pattern of cadence.”
Gray tried to reassure him. “If there was, we have to trust that Stamford would’ve hinted at it in his papers.”
Xue agreed with a nod. “I noted that there were small holes drilled through the wooden paddle—as if the sacred totem that Crawfurd stole had been speciallytunedfor this role. I wager the noise we want to achieve will be created when the bullroarer reaches its maximum speed and volume.”
“I’ll do my best,” Kadir promised.
By now, he had fully untied the bullroarer. He held the rope’s looped handle and let the paddle hang at his ankles. Everyone pushed a step farther back. Kadir took a deep breath. Xue lifted his phone and recorded the action as the director began a slow spin over his head.
A low hum rose from the twirling blade.
“Faster,” Gray urged him.
Kadir needed no such direction. He clearly had some skill, manipulating his wrist and arm to keep the plane of the paddle’s flight at a perfect angle. The blade grew into a blur. Its noise climbed in volume to that of a giant beehive.
Still, Kadir increased his pace.
Everyone looked on with expectation. Even Seichan’s heart beat harder, as if trying to match that tempo.
Then the bullroarer’s old cord snapped.
The paddle spun high over the deck.
They all watched their hopes fly with it.
Yeung leaped up with a raised arm. He caught the paddle in midair, demonstrating his swift reflexes. Seichan wasn’t sure she could’ve caught it so deftly.
Yeung landed and lowered his arm. He crossed into the open and held out the wooden piece, offering the prize to Kadir.
“Thank you,” the director said. “I should’ve thought to replace the old cord.” He turned to Xue. “I can make a new one. But it must be the proper length.”
This was quickly accomplished. A fishing line was found and threaded through the drilled hole in the paddle. The length was measured, and a looped handle crafted at one end.
They tried it again. In moments, Kadir had the bullroarer spinning. He flailed his arm, expertly guiding the blade’s flight with his wrist. The tool soon proved its name as the timbre of the paddle rose into a deafening roar.
The noise cut through Seichan’s ears with its sharper undernotes, while its bass tones could be felt in her chest. It did sound like an angry chainsaw—but was it loud enough?
Kadir panted, and his brow ran with sweat.
Gazes shifted from the man’s efforts to the surrounding seas. But there seemed to be no reaction out there. To the east, the fiery monster continued to blaze. Distant booms echoed out of the gloom from other eruptions. A small quake trembled the waters.
“Nothing’s happening,” Guan-yin moaned.
Seichan was disappointed but not surprised.
She stared down as one of those spiky balls rose into view next to the hull. It battered its branches against the boat’s side, but the fiberglass resisted its fiery touch. A few spikes broke off. They looked nearly a match to the coral branch resting inside the museum box.
Stirred by the flailing ball, the powdery waters opened enough to offer peeks into the sea’s depths. A swirl of lights writhed down there, shimmering in electric blues and fiery crimsons.
