reference to prize money had roused them.
Chief? Nick looked across at him, and the Engineer snorted, as though
the question was an insult.
In all respects ready for sea/ he said, and tried simultaneously to
adjust his trousers and his spectacles.
Number One? Nick looked at David Allen. He had not yet become
accustomed to the Mate's boyishness. He knew that he had held a master
mariner's ticket for ten years, that he was over thirty years of age and
that MacDonald had hand-picked him - he had to be good. Yet that fair
unlined face and quick high colour under the unruly mop of blond hair
made him look like an undergraduate.
I'm waiting on some stores yet, sir/ David answered quickly. The
chandlers have promised for today, but none of it is vital. I could
sail in an hour, if it is necessary.
All right. Nick stood up. I will inspect the ship at 0900 hours. You'd
best get the ladies off the ship. During the meal there had been the
faint tinkle of female voices and laughter from the crew's quarters.
Nick stepped out of the saloon and Vin Baker's voice was pitched to
reach him. It was a truly dreadful imitation of what the Chief believed
to be a Royal Naval accent.
logoo, chaps. Jolly good show, what?
Nick did not miss a step, and he grinned tightly to himself. It's an
old Aussie custom; you needle and needle until something happens. There
is no malice in it, it's just a way of getting to know your man. And
once the boots and fists have stopped flying, you can be friends or
enemies on a permanent basis. It was so long since he had been in
elemental contact with tough physical men, straight hard men who shunned
all subterfuge and sham, and he found the novelty stimulating. Perhaps
that was what he really needed now, the sea and the company of real men.
He felt his step quicken and the anticipation of physical confrontation
lift his spirits off the bottom.
He went up the companionway to the navigation deck, taking the steps
three at a time, and the doorway opposite his suite opened. From it
emerge the solid grey stench of cheap Dutch cigars and a head that could
have belonged to some prehistoric reptile. It too was pale grey and
lined and wrinkled, the head of a sea-turtle or an iguana lizard, with
the same small dark glittery eyes.
The door was that of the radio room. It had direct access to the main
navigation bridge and was merely two paces from the Master's day cabin.
Despite appearances, the head was human, and Nick recalled clearly how
Mac had once described his radio officer. He is the most anti-social
bastard I've ever sailed with, but he can scan eight different
frequencies simultaneously, in clear and morse, even while he is asleep.
He is a mean, joyless, constipated son of a bitch - and probably the
best radio man afloat.
Captain/ said the Trog, in a reedy petulant voice. Nick did not ponder
the fact that the Trog recognized him instantly as the new Master. The
air of command on some men is unmistakable. Captain, I have an 'all
ships signify .
