wound.
It was a perfect day for swordfishing—a dead calm sea and a searing, windless heat. They would find other fish, and Conrad could afford to take the first turn on the pulpit. He removed his overshirt before doing so, and regretted it almost immediately.
‘Regimental tattoo?’ asked the Senator.
The red arrowhead was clearly visible just beneath the arm hem of his T-shirt.
‘Yeah,’ replied Conrad, busying himself with the harpoon, clearing the line, hoping that was the end of it.
‘Did you see action? My boy saw action—Guadalcanal. He didn’t make it back.’
‘Sorry to hear that.’
Conrad made his way to the end of the pulpit, terminating the conversation. They were bearing down on the swordfish now with the sun astern to keep the glare from blinding Conrad. It was a large fish that looked likely to tip the balance at around four hundred pounds.
‘Keep her off half a point,’ called Conrad.
‘You tellin’ me my business?’ growled Chase.
‘Sorry, Cap.’
Chase put him directly over the fish and Conrad threw his full weight behind the harpoon, thrusting down into the dark, lacquered body, ironing the creature in the thick muscle right behind the dorsal fin.
The ocean erupted, the swordfish making a scorching run to starboard, the line burning out of the tub, singing. Rollo hove the keg over the side. A second later the line snapped taut and the keg tore across the slick surface. They set off in pursuit.
With the lily firmly set, the rest was a formality. They trailed the keg for half an hour until it finally bobbed to a halt, inert.
‘Reckon he’s about drowned out,’ said Chase.
They hooked the keg aboard and dragged the swordfish up from the depths. It had no fight left in it; in fact, no life at all. It had expired from the wound Conrad had inflicted. It was best to be sure, though. Taking up the lance, he turned to the girls.
‘You might want to turn away.’
But they didn’t, and he thrust the lance into the gills. They fastened a strap round the tail and hoisted the fish inboard using a block and fall, laying it on the deck.
Everyone stared in mute wonder at the beauty and the enormity of the creature.
The Senator ran the toe of his shoe along the sword. ‘My God.’
‘Are you still game?’ asked Conrad.
‘Are you joking?’
Conrad turned to Manfred Wallace. ‘You want to tend the warp and keg for the Senator?’
‘Sure.’
It was another ten minutes—time enough to cut out the lily and recoil the line—before Rollo hollered from the masthead, ‘Fish on the lee beam!’
There were two of them, finning close together this time. Keeping the sun at their backs meant coming at them head-on. Conrad accompanied the Senator to the end of the pulpit and handed him the harpoon.
‘They may flare off at the last second, but you’ll still get a shot. Here…’ He adjusted the Senator’s grip on the pole. ‘Remember, just behind the dorsal fin else you’ll bone the dart. And don’t look them in the eye.’
‘Why not?’
‘They’ll freeze you with their stare.’
‘Really?’
‘Trust me.’
The Senator nodded gravely and Conrad made his way back to the stem of the boat where the others were gathered.
‘Good luck, Pappy!’ called the Senator’s daughter, all a-fluster.
Conrad wandered aft, picked up an ax, then returned to the foredeck. He let the ax hang inconspicuously against his thigh.
What the Senator lacked in style he more than made up for in determination. He almost disappeared over the pulpit rail in his bid to stick the fish, but it was a clean hit.
‘I got him!’ he yelled in triumph, raising the harpoon high above his head.
The swordfish took off at a breathtaking clip, heading directly astern of the boat. Conrad couldn’t have asked for more. Everyone turned instinctively to observe its passage, including Manfred Wallace, which meant he took his eyes off the tub.
Conrad glanced down at it, the manila line hissing out, the wooden rim starting to smoke.
‘The keg!’ he shouted, when he judged it was just too late.
To Manfred’s credit, he didn’t freeze. Spinning back, he lunged at the keg, only to see it snatched from his fingertips.
