French freighter line, and had drifted from company to company until at last he made captain for the Norwegian Blue Star line at age forty-nine. There was intimation in the report of a fondness for strong drink and a reputation for outbursts of vitriolic anger. Michael had not yet laid eyes on Captain Beauchene, nor had the good captain deigned to speak or otherwise meet with any member of the new sign-ons.
Michael had not wanted this assignment, and had tried to dodge it with as much fervor as he could summon. He didn’t care to be cooped up on a ship for so long, he’d told Colonel Vivian. It was against his nature. It did not require his specific talents, anyway. And besides, shouldn’t it be better handled by someone with actual nautical experience?
We send the best man we have at the moment , the colonel had told him in that infuriatingly calm, cool and collected way Vivian possessed. You’ve been trained to do what is needed . When it is needed . You are needed now. Please take those reports with you. I am to remind you that your briefing and training session begins promptly at eight o’clock in the morning aboard the freighter John Willis Scott , moored at drydock at Battersea.
You’ve got to be joking, Michael had said . You’ve secured a freighter for me?
I used to joke, Vivian had answered, already turning his attention to another document on his desk. But that was when I was a major and a hale and hearty boy.
Now, I fear, I’m all grown up. Good day, Michael, and good hunting.
And Michael Gallatin had answered, Let’s hope there’s no need for any hunting on this one .
Quite , said the colonel with one of his quick, tight smiles. He rarely showed his teeth anymore. Do enjoy your night in Danzig, the Hotel Goldene Eiche is very charming .
Michael’s paint brush moved back and forth, masking with dull yellow an area that had been scraped of rust and reprimed. But he knew, as everyone did, that rust was an enemy that never slept.
He was on his knees on the starboard deck, working on one of the series of ventilation funnels, when he noted the girl come through a doorway at the base of the amidship superstructure. He knew exactly who she was, though she was dressed against both the chill in the air and any eye that might turn in her direction. She was wearing a shapeless gray overcoat, buttoned to the throat, the collar turned up as well. She was wearing large circular-lensed sunglasses and a dark brown silk scarf over her hair and tied under her chin, rendering herself nearly faceless. Michael could tell her body was slim and she was young, but then again he already knew that Marielle Wesshauser had turned sixteen in the second week of March. He heard the hard clump of her left shoe against the deckboards, and quickly he glanced there though he already knew about her left leg being three inches shorter than the right. The clunky black left shoe, as ugly as the right one since orthopedic shoes are rarely lovely, had a built-up sole to compensate for the problem of balance. Did she catch the movement of his head and did her own eyes behind the sunglasses very quickly mark his notice? Possibly. But she walked away from him with her face downcast, the air slightly ruffling the mouse-colored scarf and the thick-soled shoe beating a halting rhythm on the deck.
She disappeared aft, possibly intending to make as many circuits of the ship as she could before either the impoverished strength of her leg gave out or the hammerblow noise of her condition beat down her willpower.
Michael saw a shadow fall over him.
He realized he should have smelled the medicinal odor of the infirmary in the air a few seconds before he did. He twisted around and there indeed stood Olaf Thorgrimsen, cleaner now than before, his hair combed back and damp from a fresh shower. The cowlick would not be controlled.
“There you ,” said Olaf.
“Yes,” Michael answered, still on his knees. “Here I am.”
They stared at each
Michael had not wanted this assignment, and had tried to dodge it with as much fervor as he could summon. He didn’t care to be cooped up on a ship for so long, he’d told Colonel Vivian. It was against his nature. It did not require his specific talents, anyway. And besides, shouldn’t it be better handled by someone with actual nautical experience?
We send the best man we have at the moment , the colonel had told him in that infuriatingly calm, cool and collected way Vivian possessed. You’ve been trained to do what is needed . When it is needed . You are needed now. Please take those reports with you. I am to remind you that your briefing and training session begins promptly at eight o’clock in the morning aboard the freighter John Willis Scott , moored at drydock at Battersea.
You’ve got to be joking, Michael had said . You’ve secured a freighter for me?
I used to joke, Vivian had answered, already turning his attention to another document on his desk. But that was when I was a major and a hale and hearty boy.
Now, I fear, I’m all grown up. Good day, Michael, and good hunting.
And Michael Gallatin had answered, Let’s hope there’s no need for any hunting on this one .
Quite , said the colonel with one of his quick, tight smiles. He rarely showed his teeth anymore. Do enjoy your night in Danzig, the Hotel Goldene Eiche is very charming .
Michael’s paint brush moved back and forth, masking with dull yellow an area that had been scraped of rust and reprimed. But he knew, as everyone did, that rust was an enemy that never slept.
He was on his knees on the starboard deck, working on one of the series of ventilation funnels, when he noted the girl come through a doorway at the base of the amidship superstructure. He knew exactly who she was, though she was dressed against both the chill in the air and any eye that might turn in her direction. She was wearing a shapeless gray overcoat, buttoned to the throat, the collar turned up as well. She was wearing large circular-lensed sunglasses and a dark brown silk scarf over her hair and tied under her chin, rendering herself nearly faceless. Michael could tell her body was slim and she was young, but then again he already knew that Marielle Wesshauser had turned sixteen in the second week of March. He heard the hard clump of her left shoe against the deckboards, and quickly he glanced there though he already knew about her left leg being three inches shorter than the right. The clunky black left shoe, as ugly as the right one since orthopedic shoes are rarely lovely, had a built-up sole to compensate for the problem of balance. Did she catch the movement of his head and did her own eyes behind the sunglasses very quickly mark his notice? Possibly. But she walked away from him with her face downcast, the air slightly ruffling the mouse-colored scarf and the thick-soled shoe beating a halting rhythm on the deck.
She disappeared aft, possibly intending to make as many circuits of the ship as she could before either the impoverished strength of her leg gave out or the hammerblow noise of her condition beat down her willpower.
Michael saw a shadow fall over him.
He realized he should have smelled the medicinal odor of the infirmary in the air a few seconds before he did. He twisted around and there indeed stood Olaf Thorgrimsen, cleaner now than before, his hair combed back and damp from a fresh shower. The cowlick would not be controlled.
“There you ,” said Olaf.
“Yes,” Michael answered, still on his knees. “Here I am.”
They stared at each
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