Sandy, who had managed to maneuver himself to a spot just beneath the high cupboards, sent Ken a congratulatory grin. “Brain conquers brawn again,” he said. “Good work. Do you need a boost up onto the chair?”
“I’ll make it—somehow,” Ken told him.
He struggled to his knees alongside the chair, maintaining a precarious balance by swinging his bound hands behind his back. Then he tried to jerk himself back and up, onto his bound feet. But his numb ankles gave way and he pitched forward on his knees again with an agonizing thump.
In almost the same moment Sandy, who was also trying to hoist himself into an erect position in front of the cupboards, toppled forward in a similar defeat.
After an instant’s silence each of them asked the same question. “You O.K.?”
“Sure,” Sandy said, past clenched teeth.
“Sure,” Ken echoed.
Ken edged himself into position once more, his chest almost touching the side of the chair. He took a deep breath.
“Wait for the roll,” Sandy said. “It’s coming.”
The barge dipped. Ken used all his energy in an attempt to straighten his knees. He got halfway up. For a second he seemed suspended in mid-air. Then his knees began to buckle. With a last desperate effort he twisted around. When he fell he hit the very edge of the chair and hung there, his body in a long slant that touched the chair seat midway between his hips and his knees. Almost immediately he began to slide downward as the barge reversed its tilt.