Beyond Sunrise Read Online Free PDF

hired him to take me to Takaku. He was to have picked me up at the Limerick in Neu Brenenberg at dawn."
    "I know. I've had the Sea Hawk ready to go." He came forward as he spoke, and India saw that, like the Melanesian baby on the porch, this boy must be of mixed parentage, for his skin was surprisingly fair, his hair more auburn than black. His English was good, too, with only a vague trace of an accent. And unlike Mr. Ryder, the boy was decently clothed in a sturdy shirt and canvas trousers. "I am Patu."
    "How do you do?" she said, extending him her hand, and wondering if this boy, like the one on the porch, counted the dissolute, naked Australian in the bed as his father. "It doesn't look as if we shall be making the trip to Takaku today."
    "I'm afraid it's today or not at all," said Patu. "The Sea Hawk's scheduled to start its run through the islands tomorrow, to pick up copra from the other stations, and we're late as it is. The weather's not likely to hold for much longer."
    India knew a bitter combination of disappointment and rising indignation. To have come so close to reaching her objective, only to have the chance snatched away!
    The man in the bed let out another brandy-tinged snore, then lay still.
    "Stand back, Mr. Patu," said India, coming to an instant decision.
    The smile on the boy's face faded. "Why?"
    "Because I wouldn't want to get you wet." Spinning back around, she seized the water jug from Mr. Ryder's bedside chest and flung its contents in a well-aimed arc that landed with a sodden splash on the dark, disheveled head of the bed's occupant.

Chapter Four
    He was drowning.
    Choking and sputtering, Jack pushed himself up onto his forearms, his head bowed, his open mouth sucking in air, his brain confused and befuddled. Water ran into his ear and dripped off his nose. He must have gone outside and passed out. That was it. He'd gone outside to take a leak and passed out, and now it was raining.
    Opening his eyes, Jack had a brief, confusing vision of mosquito netting and a carved bedpost. Then the room spun around in a familiar, sickening way. Groaning, he closed his eyes and sank down onto the sheets again. Wet sheets. Why were his sheets wet? He was in his bed, but he was wet. It didn't make any sense.
    "We had an appointment today, Mr. Ryder," said a faintly familiar and smugly self-satisfied female voice. "Have you forgotten?"
    Swiveling his head, Jack opened one eye and found himself staring at Miss India Bloody McKnight. She had a malevolent smile on her face and his water jug in her hands. His empty water jug.
    "Sonofafuckingbitch." It came out hoarse and waterlogged, but ferociously clear.
    "An appointment to sail at dawn" she continued, as if she hadn't heard him, although he knew bloody well she had by the angry color in her cheeks and the unnecessary click with which she set the empty jug down on the chest. "The sun is now well up in the sky. You must bestir yourself."
    She sounded like a bloody Sunday school teacher. She should have been a Sunday school teacher, he decided, rather than tromping determinedly around the world, writing her bloody books and trying to drown men in their beds.
    Jack rolled onto his back, his hands coming up to rake the wet hair out of his face and rub his bleary eyes. Bestir himself. He brought his gaze into focus on her prim, self-righteous face. So she wanted him to bestir himself, did she? He'd teach her to come barging into a sleeping man's house and throw water on him.
    His gaze still fixed on her face, Jack swung first one leg over the side of the bed, then the other, and pushed the dripping mosquito netting aside. She must have expected him to bring the sheet up with him, wrapped laplap style about his hips for modesty, because she didn't turn away. It wasn't until he thrust the covers aside and stood up in all his naked glory that she went skittering backward, her eyes opening wide, her tented hands flying up to press against her lips.
    "All right," he said,