by Nina Bruhns
“Come, stand here,” Starpom Varnas said, guiding her to the middle of the group. “Not to fall off.”
“Thanks,” Julie said gratefully.
It was getting easier for her to look out at the vast ocean surrounding them without feeling panic, especially since the daylight was fading and much of the sea was cloaked in orange and robin’s egg blue. Nevertheless, she wished there was a bigger buffer of bodies between her and a watery grave. Not to mention the added body heat. In just shorts and a T-shirt she was getting cold. A couple of the men wearing only swimming trunks were starting to shiver.
Nikolai finally appeared, taking up a casual stance at the front wall of the fairwater. His eyes met hers and he smiled warmly. From the knowing looks being cast at them both from the crowd, she was pretty sure that being the captain’s lover would prove to be the biggest source of torment for her in the coming ordeal.
She was glad he was there to support her and hoped he didn’t leave her twisting in the wind.
“Now hear this!” Misha announced with a dramatic flair. “We have just crossed international date line! Welcome to yesterday!”
There was a big cheer.
“If there is anything you regret, or anything you forget to do today—er, tomorrow, you now have a chance to do it all over again!”
The cheer was even bigger.
She sought Nikolai’s eyes. There wasn’t a damn thing she regretted. And she couldn’t wait to do it all again, exactly the same way. The look he returned said he agreed completely.
Suddenly someone bumped her and she felt herself falling backward. She yelped, and instantly several pairs of hands caught her arms, hauling her upright. Her pulse went into outer space as she steadied herself.
Nikolai had already taken two steps toward her, but she shook her head at him as she murmured her thanks to the men around her who had righted her. Two of them stepped behind her as a fence so she couldn’t fall again. Thank goodness. Her legs felt like jelly. But his crew had closed in around her and she didn’t want to draw any more attention to herself.
“Are you okay?” he mouthed across the deck, concern coloring his expression. He looked like he was ready to shut down the ceremony.
She nodded, sending him a wobbly smile of reassurance. Her heart was still speeding. But there was no need for alarm. She was sure it had been an accident.
At least she was pretty sure it had. . . .
The distinctive sound of a boatswain’s pipe suddenly split the air, the old-school announcement of a dignitary arriving on board.
“Here we go,” muttered Starpom Varnas, breaking into her silent communication with Nikolai.
“Attention on deck!” Misha cried in his heraldic Davy Jones voice. “Hail to the great and beneficent Lord Ægir, Ruler of the Northern Seas, and his consort, the magnificent and the fearsome Lady Ran!”
“I thought you said King Boreas and Queen Amphitrite,” Julie whispered to Varnas, bringing her attention back to the ceremony.
“Not today. They come next week.”
“Oh, right.”
His lordship, a.k.a. Praporshchik Selnikov, rose from the hatch and walked with exaggerated dignity onto the deck, followed, to Julie’s surprise, by Dr. Lautenen playing his consort. The spectators greeted the costumed duo with hoots and raucous applause.
Lord Ægir was clad in a brown togalike outfit and leatherlaced sandals that might have been borrowed from the set of Spartacus. Well. Except for the accessories—a shiny metallic blue cape and a plastic Viking helmet complete with horns. Dr. Lautenen looked very fetching draped in more elegant Greek fashion, her torso knotted in a white bedsheet on which elaborate wave designs had been drawn in multihued blue felt pen. She also wore a Viking helmet, this one adorned with no horns but long plaited braids the color of ripe carrots.
Julie laughed and clapped enthusiastically along with the rest of the crowd. They made quite the eye-catching couple.
“Viking helmets?” she asked Varas.
The starpom grinned. “Nordic gods. Frightening, da?”
It was. But not in the scary way. She laughed.
The aristocratic pair advanced to stand regally before the line of chilly pollywogs and peered down their noses at them one by one. Julie swallowed her laughter. She wasn’t sure if being the only woman, the only non-Russian-speaker, and the only non-crew-member was going to be an advantage or a disadvantage in this mock interrogation. But she feared she was about to find out.
After a thorough visual examination, Lord Ægir turned and spoke to the audience in booming Russian, followed immediately by Dr. Lautenen’s equally booming translation, a pattern that continued throughout the proceedings, so everyone present understood everything that was said.
“We have never before seen such a sorry, pathetic group of warm bodies attempting to sneak unnoticed into the Frozen Realm of the great King Boreas! Where is the commanding officer of this offending vessel?” they demanded.
Oh, dear.
Nikolai did not look the least perturbed at being singled out. Perhaps it was part of the usual drill.
He stepped forward and greeted the Lord and Lady of the North with a surprisingly courtly bow. A few of the men snickered, but were soundly hushed by their neighbors.
“Your Grace, my lady,” Nikolai said with more humility than Julie had ever heard in his speech before. He explained first in Russian, then in English, “Our valiant and illustrious vessel, Ostrov”—at this there were more snickers—“has traversed Your Lordship’s seas many times before, always with humbleness and respect. We wouldn’t dream of crossing into your realm now with unworthy subjects on board. To that end I have personally ordered all warm bodies to stand before you today, well in advance of our Arctic crossing, so Your Lordship might judge for yourself if they are cold-blooded enough to become proper Bluenoses.” He gave another bow with a flourish and stepped back again.
Lord Ægir harrumphed, then turned to Misha. “Davy Jones! The list of names and charges against them, please!”
The kvartirmyeister bowed low, one hand flourishing his cheesehead, and handed over his glittering scroll. Lord Ægir made a big show of unrolling it, then scowled as he read down the list. “These are grave infractions indeed. I must interrogate you all very carefully today”—he glared at the small group of pollywogs—“and decide suitable ways for King Boreas to test your true cold-bloodedness when you reach the Frozen North.”
Speaking of frozen. Julie shifted nervously and rubbed her arms. She was starting to get cold. The temperature on deck was dropping fast.
“Starpom Stefan Mikhailovich Varnas!” Ægir called out his first victim. “Front and center!”
Julie felt a modicum of relief that he hadn’t chosen her first. Of course, that just prolonged the agony.
Starpom Varnas grimaced unhappily. Reluctantly he stepped forward and mumbled something, making a stab at a bow but only succeeding at appearing stiff and awkward.
Ægir looked disgusted. “It says here you’ve been sending unauthorized e-mails from the radio room!” he accused. Varnas blanched like he’d been caught sending state secrets. “To a woman!” Ægir said this last as if that were the worst offense of all.
“N-no, s-sir,” Varnas actually stammered. “I would never—”
“Lies! Master-at-Arms!” Lord Ægir barked out.
From out of nowhere a bucket of water was thrown at the XO. It splashed onto his face and bare chest, spraying streams of cold, salty seawater onto the other pollywogs as well. Julie yelped as Varnas cried out in shocked protest.
“Quiet!” Lord Ægir cut him off and made much of writing down notes on the scroll with an oversized feather pen. He looked up. “Now, Starpom Varnas, I ask you again, did you . . .”
For five more minutes the XO’s interrogation continued, with the most ridiculous accusations imaginable. Lord Ægir finished by asking, “Are you claustrophobic, Stefan Mikhailovich?”
“No, er, yes, sir!” the starpom answered warily, d
ripping with seawater and shaking noticeably from the cold.
Ægir’s forehead creased as he wrote that down. “Too bad,” he muttered. “Very well, you may step back, comrade starpom.”
Then he went on to the next initiate. And the next. And the next. Until they were all soaking wet and shivering, and only Julie was left.
Lord Ægir’s piercing blue eyes drilled into hers in warning. She felt her pulse leap to her throat. Slowly he raised his hand and pointed a menacing finger straight at her.
“You!” he boomed, and even though she’d known it was coming, she jumped. “It is time this lowly female steps forward to face the inquisition of the Great God of the North Sea!”
She swallowed convulsively. God help her. Here goes nothing.
20
Nikolai sent up a silent prayer on Julie’s behalf. He had a hunch this wouldn’t go easily for her. Yasha had laid it on thick with every one of the pollywog crew, and she did not seem to be earning any dispensation from the ordeal. But then again, that’s what everyone expected. Maximum absurdity, embarrassment, and humiliation mixed with a small dose of reality was the order of the day for this kind of ceremony. That, and turning the supposedly warm-blooded pollywogs to human icicles.
To her credit, Julie stepped gamely out of the line, flashing Nikolai only the briefest of beseeching glances. Not that he could—or would—do anything to help her. Unlike her fear of the ocean, to retain the respect she had earned, and deserved, from everyone so far on the patrol, she must face this trial on her own.
Totally into his role as Lord Ægir, Yasha stuck his face close to Julie’s, shouting, “Ostrov is being sabotaged! By you!”
What the hell . . . ?
Snapping to attention, Nikolai barely restrained himself from interfering. This was going too far. He and Yasha had agreed to keep the sabotage happening on the boat strictly under wraps!
Julie went pale. “N-no!” she stammered immediately. “Why would I—”
“Silence!” Yasha shouted as a bucket of icy water hit Julie square in the chest. Nikolai winced. He’d reached the conclusion that the only way to avoid the worst of the buckets was to answer yes to anything and everything that was asked, regardless of its truthfulness.
Julie gasped, holding out her T-shirt as the water streamed off her. Thank God the shirt was black, not white. Even so, Nikolai could clearly see her nipples peak from the cold. He stifled a growl as the crew noticed, too.
Yasha paced back and forth in front of her. “So you deny attempting to seduce the captain of this vessel?”
At that, the crowd went so quiet you could hear the waves lap along the length of Ostrov’s hull. Everyone leaned in to hear her answer.
Nikolai clenched his teeth. Really? Yasha was really going there? He shouldn’t be surprised. Their affair was naturally a topic of avid interest. He’d just hoped for a little discretion on Yasha’s part.
Julie blinked, obviously taken aback by the rude question. She’d expected to be teased, not accused. Droplets sparkled on her eyelashes. “What? No! I—”
Yasha loomed over her. “So you claim you aren’t sharing the captain’s stateroom?”
As pale as her face had been, it now went just as red. “Well, um . . .” She swallowed and rubbed the goose flesh on her wet arms. “Yes, technically, but—”
“Aha!” Yasha cried triumphantly. “So you admit to seducing him!”
She licked at a sparkling drop that trickled down her cheek onto her lips, making a quick face at the salt taste. She hesitated, then seemed to come to a decision. “Okay, yes,” she said and lifted her chin. “I admit it. I seduced Captain Romanov.” Her lips curved in a saucy smile. “And I’d do it again given half a chance.”
The crowd erupted in rowdy hoots and catcalls.
Nikolai felt a spurt of relief and couldn’t help grinning as the men around him punched his arm and slapped him on the back as they cheered. He had to admit, the woman had balls. His, it seemed.
Yasha was momentarily nonplussed at her unexpected turnaround. But he quickly recovered. “So! You’re in love with the captain!” he exclaimed triumphantly.
Julie’s mouth dropped open. Her eyes widened, then darted to Nikolai’s. His heart stopped at what he saw in them.
Слава богу. No.
She swallowed, paused for a taut second, then blurted, “Yes!” her voice clear and high above a sudden burst of surprised chatter. She straightened and did her best to put on an amused face. “As a matter of fact, I do love him.”
Nikolai froze, his heart stalling as again the crowd erupted in whoops and shouts, pleased with her wit and bravery under fire, and her flattery to their commanding officer. It was clear they assumed she was playing along for the drama of the game and didn’t really mean it.
But he knew better. For that split second of stark vulnerability, in her eyes he’d seen the truth.
As incredible as it seemed, Julie Severin had fallen in love with him.
Ни хуя себе.
Fucking, fucking hell. What the hell was he supposed to do with that?
Stunned, Nikolai tuned out the conclusion of the interrogation and studiously avoided Julie’s nervous gaze as the pollywogs were dismissed and led back to the aft hatch so they could go down and change out of their icy wet clothes.
He couldn’t face her.
This was not good. Not good at all. She couldn’t be in love with him. She couldn’t! And he definitely couldn’t be in love with her. It could not happen. They could not happen. Not in a million years. Devil take it, they weren’t ordinary citizens with ordinary jobs! Neither of their governments would allow a real relationship between a spy and a high-ranking naval officer. Not unless one of them defected—or whatever they were calling a change of allegiance these days.
And that was about as likely with either of them as seeing wild toucans in the Arctic.
Julie loved her country. And she hated his. She’d made her feelings about Russia crystal clear. No way would she move to the place she felt was responsible for her father’s death. Not even to be with Nikolai.
He rubbed his hands across his eyes. Hell, he loved his country, too. True, he was going through a rough patch with those in power at the moment. And yes, okay, he’d thoroughly enjoyed the time he’d spent attending high school in the suburbs of Washington, D.C., and theoretically he wouldn’t mind living there. But that didn’t mean he wanted to chuck his life and everything he knew and had worked so hard for in order to . . . what? Sweep floors? Flip burgers? For surely the Americans would never allow him to do the job he loved and had trained for his entire life.
No. The whole thing was utterly impossible. Julie had to see that. She must understand their situation was irresolvable.
Or maybe he’d been wrong just now, and he’d only imagined that plaintive, almost guilty look in her eyes. . . . He could only hope.
“Nikolai?”
He was jerked out of his chaotic thoughts by her uncertain greeting. He whipped around and saw she’d changed into coveralls again. His coveralls. Inwardly he wanted to cringe. So not good.
“Oh. Hi,” he said, and even he could hear the distance layering his voice as coolly as a new-fallen snow in the wilderness of their relationship.
Her face fell almost imperceptibly. Almost. “Hi,” she returned, then glanced around. Nearly everyone on the forward deck was watching them with keen curiosity. She shifted uneasily. “Guess I, um, went too far. Sorry.” She looked back at him earnestly. “That thing about—”
She cleared her throat. “Anyway . . . it was just for show. To go along with the game. You get that, right?”
He pretended to believe her. “Sure,” he said and pasted a wry smile on his face. “It certainly did the trick. You even managed to shock Yasha. Not an easy feat.”
“Yeah, well. Sorry I made you squirm.”
“Are you kidding?” he said. “A beautiful woman announcing she’s in love with me? What’s to squirm about?”
/> But they both knew.
“Anyway,” she said, looking away. “I’m starving. Think I’ll get some of those ribs before they’re all gone.”
He nodded. “I’ll join you in a minute.”
“Okay.”
But he could tell she didn’t believe him.
With good reason.
Love?
“Squirm” didn’t even come close.
If he had half a brain, he’d go down that ladder to the central post and stay there for the entire duration of the patrol. Avoid her completely.
Love?
Still, he felt like a complete bastard for leaving her all alone and adrift in the waters of emotional uncertainty like a boat without a paddle. Like when she’d asked him earlier, in bed, what they should do about their relationship, and he’d made that inane remark about being pen pals. God, he was such an unfeeling ass.
But he didn’t know what else to do. This was not going to end well.
If nothing else he was a realist. And as much as he might wish things were different, as angry as it made him deep inside, they both had to accept reality. At the end of this expedition, they’d be forced to part, and would probably never see each other again.
The thought razored through him, leaving a stinging distress in its wake. It was as if he was stuck in some depressing classic Russian novel, rushing headlong toward a fated tragic ending everyone could see except the two main characters.
Это просто пиздец.
Now was not the time for this. This steel picnic was supposed to be a celebration. The passengers and crew expected a jovial captain, proud of his romantic conquest and ready to jump into the festivities with both feet.
So, giving himself a firm mental kick, he got himself together, put on a pleasant face, and threaded through the crowd to find Julie. At least he could keep up appearances and not be a jerk.
His pulse went up when he spotted her standing with Clint Walker, pressed so close together they were practically in each other’s pockets. The two were talking as they ate from paper plates filled with the barbecued ribs, potato salad, and roasted corn on the cob prepared by Chief Edwards. Between their feet on the deck sat two foaming mugs of beer.
