The Legion of the Lost, стр. 5
To Palfrey, the most surprising thing was the assurance with which it was all carried out.
No one had the slightest doubt that they would reach Norway safely and launch their effort without serious trouble. The journey across country would be more difficult, but Rokn had been chosen as the easiest place from which to start. It was about one hundred and fifty miles across country to Oslo, nearly twice as far by rail, as great a distance by road. Next to that assurance, Palfrey found it most difficult to realise that a few hours’ flying took them from the safety of the British Isles to the dangers of the continent; he had made a similar journey a hundred times, yet the vague astonishment always returned.
His watch said twelve o’clock.
There was a crackle as the intercom woke to life before a shadowy figure scrambled down from the pilot’s cabin and a combined earand-mouthpiece was thrust into Palfrey’s hand. The face of the messenger was just a pale blur against the darkness; his fur-clad body hid a patch of stars which had shone through one of the small windows.
‘Pilot speaking,’ crackled the intercom. ‘We’ve made landfall, sir. We’ll be ready in five minutes. Can you hear me?’
‘Yes!’ Palfrey said. ‘And you’re ten seconds late.’
The pilot chuckled then asked whether there were any special instructions. Palfrey said that there were not.
‘Right, sir! We’ll land as gently as we can, and the boat will take about five minutes to reach us.’
The man sitting in the bows of the little rowing boat bent to his oars and pulled sturdily; Palfrey was vaguely surprised that they managed to go so fast. They could see the outlines of the Catalina that had brought them thus far, getting further and further away, until suddenly it was lost to sight.
They did hear the roar of the engines when at last the pilot took off from the water, but it was so far away that it seemed part of some other world. The regular dipping of the oars in the water and the ripple against the side of the boat were the only sounds for some time.
The man at the oars whispered at last, but only to say: ‘No spikking, please!’
He stopped rowing. Only the gentle lapping against the side of the boat made any noise at all. But then they heard other sounds, of voices travelling across the water. Suddenly the blackness was broken by the bright beam of a torch shining from the shore. Its whiteness made the water look like black oil, revealing the gentle waves as they lolloped along after each other. The voices, now discernibly German, continued for some minutes; then they stopped as abruptly as the torch was switched off.
Palfrey fancied that he could hear footsteps.
They sat in silence for a long time; then the oarsman broke the spell. There was a laughing note in his voice, as if he relished what had happened.
‘It is now safe,’ he said, ‘they will not come again for an hour. You are ready, gentlemen?’
‘When you are,’ said Palfrey, his voice as low-pitched as the other’s.
‘That is good. We shall go ashore. There you will be guided by my good friend, Olaf. You will be safe with him. He will take you where you can rest for the night. Please, no noise at all, no noise.’
He began to row again; the fact that he made so little sound with the oars was uncanny. Suddenly the keel scraped against the bottom and the boat swayed, then kept still.
Out of the darkness a man’s voice, lighter and more youthful than the oarsman’s, called: ‘It is Olaf here.’
Palfrey waded ashore.
It was very shallow for some distance and the going was heavy, but at last he stepped out of the water on to silver sand which showed light even in the darkness. They could only see Olaf as a shadow, but there was a friendly heartiness in his low-pitched, youthful voice. He gripped Drusilla’s arm and led the way. Palfrey and Brian followed, making little sound on the sand. Then they stopped, for Olaf gave a whispered order. A moment later they went on again, but now they were walking either on rock or a made-up road; it did not last for long.
Twice within the next few minutes Palfrey saw a chink of light, once he heard a raucous voice and the tinkling of a piano badly out of tune. The sounds and the lights faded; soon he fancied that they were then walking on grass.
It was cold, although it had been hot when they had left England; he shivered once or twice, but the walking soon made him warm. There seemed no end to it, but the smooth rhythm of their progress was not broken; Olaf gave the impression that he could see in the dark. He did not once falter although they walked for the better part of an hour.
Then the Norwegian stopped.
‘Wait here, please,’ he said.
He left them straining their eyes to see where he was going. Palfrey thought he saw the squat outlines of a hut and was sure that he heard a tapping noise.
Then Olaf returned, appearing in front of them silently and making Drusilla start; Palfrey felt