of his officers at the Master's inhibiting intrusion.
He turned away from the porthole and poured whisky into a glass, lit a
cheroot and dropped into the chair. The whisky tasted like toothpaste
and the cheroot was bitter.
He left the glass on his desk and stubbed the cheroot before he went
through on to the navigation bridge.
The night lights were so dim after his brightly lit cabin that he did
not notice Graham, the Third Officer, until his eyes adjusted to the
ruby glow.
Good evening, Mr. Graham. He moved to the chart table and checked the
log. Graham was hovering anxiously, and Nick searched for something to
say.
Missing the party? he asked at last.
Sir. It was not a promising conversational opening, and despite his
loneliness of a few minutes previously, Nick suddenly wanted to be alone
again.
I will stand the rest of your watch. Go off and enjoy yourself. The
Third Officer gawped at him.
You've got three seconds before I change my mind, That's jolly decent of
you, sir/ called Graham over his shoulder as he fled.
The party in the wardroom had by now degenerated into open competition
for Samantha's attention and approbation.
David Allen, wearing a lampshade on his head and, for some unaccountable
reason, with his right hand thrust into his jacket in a Napoleonic
gesture, was standing on the wardroom bar counter and declaiming Henry's
speech before Agincourt, glossing over the Passages which he had
forgotten with a Idurn-de-durn'. However, when Tim Graham entered, he
became immediately the First Officer.
He removed the lampshade and inquired frostily.
Mr. Graham, am I correct in believing that you are officer of the watch?
Your station at this moment is on the bridge!
The- old man came and offered to stand my watch/ said Tim Graham.
Good Lord! David replaced his lampshade, and poured a large gin for his
Third Officer. 'The old bastard must have come over all soft suddenly.
Beauty Baker, who was hanging off the wall like a gibbon ape, dropped to
his feet and drew himself up with rather unsteady dignity, hitched his
trousers and announced ominously, if anybody calls the old bastard a
bastard, I will personally kick his teeth down his throat. He swept the
wardroom with an eye that was belligerent and truculent, until it halted
on Samantha. Immediately it softened. That one doesn't count, Sammy!
he said.
Of course not, Samantha agreed. You can start again. Beauty returned
to the starting point of the obstacle course, fortified himself with a
draught of rum, pushed up his spectacles with a thumb and spat on his
palms.
One to get ready, two to get steady - and three to be off! sang out
Samantha, and clicked the stopwatch. Beauty Baker swung dizzily from
the roof, clawing his way around the wardroom without touching the deck,
cheered on by the entire company.
