by Robert Thier
‘Will you pay me my wages?’ I asked softly. ‘Will you let me stay on?’
He seemed to weigh my words for an eternity.
‘I shouldn’t pay you a penny,’ he said, finally. ‘I should get rid of you as quickly as I can.’
It was I who remained silent now, for once. It hadn’t escaped my notice that he had told me what he thought he should do, not what he would do. So I waited in silence.
Without knowing why, I squeezed his hand. For some reason, it felt good to hold his hand, as if I were a ship in a storm, and he the line holding me in my safe harbour. Ridiculous, but there it was. The feeling wouldn’t go away.
‘Why?’ I asked, still in this soft tone of voice that was so totally unlike me. How had I managed to suddenly come up with it, without practising? Why was I even using it? ‘Why would you want to get rid of me? I was helpful, wasn’t I? We got your secret file back. Soon, you’ll be the unchallenged master of world trade. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?’
His fingers grasped mine more tightly.
‘But the danger…’
‘Well, there was a danger of not getting the file back. But it’s passed. So why worry?’
His eyes flashed with sharp shards of ice.
‘I was not talking about the file, Mr Linton!’ His fingers closed even more tightly around mine. It was as if they were squeezing my heart. I suddenly found I couldn’t speak.
‘What were you talking about, Sir?’
His dark eyes bored into mine, answering my question without words.
‘You remember how I told you to be careful?’ he asked, his gaze keeping mine prisoner. I nodded.
‘Down in the mine you were not careful. You never are!’
I swallowed, dislodging the lump in my throat that had kept me from speaking, and attempted a smile.
‘It would take all the fun out of life.’
His hand clenched around mine, almost breaking my fingers. Why the heck did feel good anyway?
‘You could have died!’
‘So… that’s why you want to get rid of me?’
‘I want to dismiss you from your job all right.’ He leaned forward, his chiselled face not betraying a hint of what he thought or felt. His eyes, though… His eyes were another matter. ‘That’s not the same as getting rid of you.’
Another one of those lumps had appeared in my throat. I swallowed, hard, but it was a stubborn lump that didn’t like attempts to dislodge it. ‘What other reason could I have for staying around, Sir?’
‘What if it’s not up to you, Mr Linton? What if I don’t want to let you go?’
I felt the floor under my feet sway in a way that had nothing whatsoever to do with swell.
‘W-what do you mean?’ I asked.
He opened his mouth to speak.
‘Excuse me, Messieurs?’
Our hands jumped apart as if hit with a horsewhip. We stared up at the waiter, who had walked up to our table without either of us noticing. He bowed and flourished a second set of menus. ‘Would you like dessert, now, Messieurs?’
*~*~**~*~*
We ate our dessert in silence. That is, I ate my dessert in silence, while Mr Ambrose chewed another piece of baguette in silence, following the waiter through the room with a venomous, icy glare.
I was glad for his lack of loquaciousness, for once. I had enough to think about - most of all about Mr Ambrose’s words. He had said he should get rid of me. And yet… and yet… he hadn’t looked at me as if he wished to get rid of me. Quite the contrary, in fact.
‘What if it’s not up to you, Mr Linton? What if I don’t want to let you go?’
I shivered. What if he didn’t plan to sack me? What if he was planning on doing something even worse? Exposing my disguise, maybe? But no. That would also expose himself. But what then? I could not for the life of me decipher his dark, intense looks or sparse words.
My dessert was soon gone. There was plenty of baguette in the bread basket still, but Mr Ambrose didn’t seem in the mood to continue eating, even if it was for free. That fact alone was very worrying. He simply sat there in brooding silence, a brooding silence that was about three times as brooding as his usual brooding silences. Again, I couldn’t suppress a shiver. I thought I had managed to prove myself to him, at least to some extent. To prove that I could be a valuable and reliable asset in spite or even because of my femininity. But the way he was staring at the table, avoiding my eyes… He looked like he had all those times when he had contemplated getting rid of me. What was wrong?
‘Is… is everything all right, Sir?’ I asked.
He nodded.
‘You did get all of it? The file, I mean? Is there something missing?’
‘What?’ He looked up, seeming to need a moment to realize what I had asked. ‘No, no. The file is complete. Mr Linton?’
‘Yes?’
‘Are you hurt at all? I didn’t get a chance to ask before. I should have made sure, after we got away from the soldiers. Are you all right?’
Why did he want to know? Was he worried I had gotten blood on the fake uniform he had paid for?
‘No, Sir. I’m perfectly all right.’
‘Hm.’
He lowered his eyes, and started glaring at the table again. It was a wonder that the piece of furniture hadn’t fled from him yet.
Soon after, the waiter appeared with our bill, which didn’t exactly improve Mr Ambrose’s mood. He paid, but not without giving me a look twice as icy as that he had directed at the poor table. I really hoped my wages would be high enough to cover this bill, otherwise I would be in big trouble.
The waiter bowed and left. For a moment I considered asking Mr Ambrose what was the matter. I hesitated briefly, looking at his chiselled granite face. I hesitated for an instant too long. Pushing back his chair, he rose.
‘I’m tired, Mr Linton. I’m going back to my cabin. You should, too. When we arrive in England, we still have a long coach journey ahead of us.’ His dark eyes met mine, holding them for a moment. ‘And we’ll have a lot to discuss.’
Before I could say anything, he was gone. I shrugged. It wasn’t as if this was the last chance we would ever get to talk. I’d have to get to the bottom of what was the matter with him sooner or later. But it could just as well be later as sooner.
Besides, I had to admit, a few more hours of rest would probably do me good. My muscles still ached from pushing the draisine up those hills, and all I wanted to do was lie down and relax.
When I stepped out onto the deck, Mr Ambrose was nowhere to be seen. Strange. Why was he in such a hurry to disappear? Was he avoiding me? But why would he do that?
The question kept nagging at me, even when I had entered my cabin and lain down. No matter how much I tossed from side to side, or how many blankets I pulled over myself, I couldn’t find sleep. The sun started to sink and disappeared behind the horizon, and still my eyes hadn’t closed. Mr Ambrose’s strange behaviour continued to gnaw at me. Besides, the roar of the steam engine was doing its best to keep me awake. It felt like trying to go to sleep with a raging rhinoceros next door.
In the end, help came from unexpected quarter: the sea. As time passed, its motion became more turbulent, its rush became louder, until it tuned out the drone of the steam engine. The repetitive up and down of the waves, instead of making me sick, turned out to be comforting, like the movement of the cradle, lulling a child into sleep.
Don’t worry so much about Mr Ambrose… Whatever his problem is, he’ll calm down… Everything will be all right…
With that comforting thought, I drifted off into sleep.
I awoke, startled into consciousness by the ring of a bell. A bell? But why would I hear a bell? There was no church in the vicinity, was there? No, of course there wasn’t. I was on a ship! The Urania. Did ships have bells? And when did they ring? Surely not for a wedding?
It was then that I noticed that the motion of the waves had once again changed. Before, it had been like a mother, rocki
ng a child to sleep. Now, it rather resembled a mother bent on infanticide! Over the roar of the sea I could hear thunder rumble in the distance. And were those running feet outside my cabin? Yes, they were! And they were coming closer.
With an almighty crash, my door burst inward, slamming against the wall - and there, framed in the doorway stood Mr Rikkard Ambrose, his silhouette only visible for a moment as lightning arced across the sky. Then he disappeared into darkness, and I only heard his voice, cold and controlled:
‘Get up! A storm is coming!’
Man and Woman
For a moment, I was frozen. Which was ironic, in a way. I had always thought of Mr Ambrose as cold and immobile, but now I was the one who couldn’t move. He marched over to me and grabbed me by the arm.
‘Get up, I said, Mr Linton! Now!’
Half running, half dragged by Mr Ambrose, I stumbled out of the cabin and onto the deck. The deck? No. This didn’t look like the deck I remembered. This looked more like pandemonium. All I saw, before a wall of water hit me in the face, was a strange still life in black and white, with men, women and children arranged around the ship like living corpses, waiting to die again, their faces thrown into stark contrast by the flash of a lightning bolt.
Then, the wave was on me, and the light was gone. My lungs filled with saltwater, and I was thrown back against the outer cabin wall. Only the hand that still clasped mine held me upright. The hand of Mr Ambrose.
‘Steady. It’s all right. I’ve got you.’
Spluttering and coughing, I emptied a mouthful of saltwater onto the deck, and a goodly piece of half-digested goose liver, too. I hardly noticed the stench over the strange and unfamiliar scents wafting over the Urania. Dark scents. Cold scents. Scents of the deep sea rising.
‘Please, ladies and gentlemen! Please, there is no need for concern! Calm down, please!’ An officer was striding towards us, down from the bridge, his hands raised in an attempt to calm the frightened crowd. Even if he had ten arms, I doubt it would have worked. ‘We are doing everything we can to get the situation under control. Please, ladies and gentle-’
‘And how,’ Mr Ambrose cut him off, cold steel in his voice, ‘do you plan to get a storm under control? Are you St Peter? Can you close the sluice gates of heaven and stop lightning from striking us down?’
The officer opened his mouth, but no sound came out. His frightened eyes flickered from Mr Ambrose, to the rest of the terrified crowd gathered on the deck, to the roiling sea around us.
‘How many lifeboats are on this miserable wreck?’ Mr Ambrose’s voice was still deadly cold.
‘Please, Sir, you have to stay calm. The captain-’
‘The captain obviously isn’t worthy of scrubbing the deck of a ship, because it was he who got us into this situation in the first place. Now - how many lifeboats are on this vessel?’
The officer hung his head. ‘Not enough for everybody.’ His voice was mere whisper. It didn’t matter. Everybody heard him. And a moment later, he could have yelled himself hoarse, and nobody would have understood a word. The crowd exploded into panic, everyone demanding that they would get on a lifeboat first, screeching insults, pressing to see the captain. As if that would help.
Mr Ambrose didn’t yell. The moment he heard the officer’s words he squeezed my hand even tighter, and began to drag me along the slippery deck, away from my cabin. I didn’t protest, or try to stop him. I felt numb. Somewhere, deep inside, the realization had already settled: I was going to die tonight. I had fulfilled my dream, gotten my own job, lived through all those adventures and dangers, and now I would die tonight, on this measly little boat, far, far away from home.
At least Mr Ambrose was with me. That made me feel a little better, though also sad, for some reason.
Why?
Yes, that was the reason: I didn’t want him to die. The realization came as a surprise to me. Most of the time during our short acquaintance, I had felt like strangling him myself. But now that the sea was about to choke him for me, I didn’t want it to happen. And yet, I was glad that I wasn’t alone. Strange. Very strange.
‘Please! Ladies and Gentlemen!’ I heard the officer call from somewhere behind me. ‘The situation is not as dire as it seems. The sea is just a little rough, I assure you. Please stay where you are! We have the situation under complete control. The captain…’
‘Where are you going?’ I yelled to be heard over the howl of the wind. ‘He says we should stay where we are!’
‘He also says they have the situation under control!’ His voice had never sounded like this before. Even when he had been furious, it had always been a cold fury - cold, precise and calculated. This wasn’t calculated. It was out of control. It was almost as if he were showing emotion. I, on the other hand, couldn’t feel anything, not even fear. I was beyond that now. I could hear our fate in his voice, and if you already knew you were doomed, what was the point of being afraid?
I grasped his hand more tightly.
‘Where are we going?’ I asked, more because I wanted to go inside, away from the cold, than because I really wanted to know his destination. If I was going to die, I wanted to damn well spend my last few minutes in a warm, comfy cabin, and I wanted him with me!
But he turned his head from left to right, not giving the cabins a second glance. His eyes were wild, as if desperately searching for something.
‘I don't know!’ he growled. ‘There must be something! Some way to… You can’t… you can’t just…’
Another voice, amplified by a speaking trumpet rose over the raging storm and drowned out his stuttered exclamations.
‘Attention! Attention, please, ladies and gentlemen. This is the captain speaking. This vessel is nearing a storm that we might not be able to circumvent. Please remain calm. Everything is being done to ensure your safety. Everybody proceed to the lifeboats, please, and prepare to embark, in case of an emergency. Women and children first. This is an order!’
Mr Ambrose’s head snapped around to the origin of the voice as if he were Tantalus starving in the underworld and it had just offered him a slice of apple pie. I thought he would start running in that direction, but no: he started to drag me off again, heading away from the voice, not toward it. Soon, we were back at my cabin. Mr Ambrose ripped the door open and pushed me inside. Stepping in, he slammed the door shut behind him. Suddenly, the howl of the storm and sound of the thunder were muted. It felt like another world - a warmer, safer one. If not for the bucking of the ship beneath us, I might have believed we were far, far away from danger. I might have believed we were not going to die.
I was glad Mr Ambrose had brought me in here. This was what I had wanted. To not be out there, in the cold and wet, at the end of my life. I smiled at him in silent thanks, but he glared back at me as if I had offended him somehow.
‘Well?’ he demanded. ‘What are you waiting for? Strip!’
I blinked. This wasn’t what I had been expecting.
‘S-strip, Sir? Strip what?’
‘Your clothes off, of course!’
‘M-my clothes?’
‘Yes, your clothes! Get out of those ridiculous army trousers and into a skirt! Right now, Mr Linton!’
This didn’t do anything to detract from my confusion.
‘You want me to put on a skirt, Sir?’
‘Are you deaf? Yes. A skirt, a dress, a hat and all the rest of it. All those things that make a girl actually look like one, and not some cheap imitation of a man!’
Slowly, anger started rising up inside me. I had wanted to spend my last few minutes of life in peace and quiet, and here he was, insulting me, trying to get me to do the very thing he had forbidden me from doing for weeks now. And for what? Because I wasn’t worthy to die in a man’s shoes and trousers?
‘Well,’ I snapped, ‘you’ll have to do without the entertainment of a charade, I’m afraid. I’m not playing dress-up for you! Lord, we’re about to die! What is going on in that sick head of yours?’
&n
bsp; ‘I told you to strip, Mr Linton! Strip and put on women’s clothes! This is an order!’
‘Do not call me Mister! And I do not care if it’s an order or an anchovy! I’m about to drown and don't have to do another word you say.’
He advanced towards me. His eyes were beyond wild now. They were dark pits of death, as dark as the sea that was about to swallow us up.
‘Put on girl’s clothes. Now!’
I stepped forward, too, facing him directly.
‘No! I will not. I would not, even if I had them - which I don’t.’
‘What?’
‘Use your head, if it hasn't turned to a block of stone yet! Where should I get girl’s clothes from? I didn’t take anything onto the ship with me. I only have the clothes on my back, nothing more!’
‘But…’ He looked around, frantic ice in his eyes. ‘You must have something! A dress, or a night shirt, or… anything!’
My hand hit him in the face with enough force to make him stumble back three steps.
‘You bastard!’ I shouted. ‘We’re about to die! Do you understand? Die! I don't care about what clothes I wear. I care about…’
I stopped.
What did I care about? I couldn’t really find the words for it. But as I gazed up into his deep, dark eyes, I thought I found at least one of those things in there.
‘You must have,’ he muttered, as if he hadn’t even registered the fact that I had slapped him. ‘You must have some girl’s clothes.’
‘No.’ For some reason, my voice was suddenly soft, hardly loud enough to be heard over the roar of the storm in the background. ‘Why do you care? They’re clothes, Sir, just clothes.’ Almost involuntarily, my hand reached up to clasp his trembling fingers. ‘It’s what’s underneath that matters.’
‘Not right now,’ he murmured, his voice more controlled again, but just as ferocious as before. ‘Don’t you see, Mr Linton? The captain said “women and children first”. Women.’
It took a moment for the penny to drop. I had gotten so used to my disguise, to pretending that I was a man, that I hadn’t even thought of the meaning of those words. Women first. I was a woman. I could get a place on one of the lifeboats.
