A Ravel of Waters

My news left Thomsen ecstatic. He brushed aside the implications of the Almirante Storni. His enthusiasm was unbounded when he heard Jetwind's progress and speed. There was a tough, Pll-show-them admiration in his voice when I told him the route I was taking. Fastest, but most perilous – the Trolltunga route. I cut short his congratulations. A lot could happen in 2100 miles to Gough, I told him before I rang off. What I wanted most now was to icoax Jetwind up to her maximum.

I made for the door. As I reached it, it was thrown open as if the gale had suddenly burst its way below-decks. It was Sir James Hathaway.

The impetus of his entry and a lurch from the ship caused him to stagger and trip over the old ship's bell on the floor which Robbie Lund had given me at Comodoro Rivadavia. Sir James stood glaring at me and the bell, as if torn between which he should curse first.

'Rainier! Why the devil do you hide yourself away? I've been trying to get hold of you all morning!' I bit back my retort; he was Jetwind's potential purchaser.

I said as civilly as I could, 'My job is to keep this ship moving. That comes first.'

Maybe he wasn't used to being answered back, but what I had to say seemed to mollify him. He reached for my hand. His grip was like a welter-weight's at a fight weigh-in.

It cost him an effort to say, 'Congratulations! You've done well, Rainier. Yesterday I couldn't have imagined myself saying that to any skipper who took over this ship.' 'Thanks.'

'Everyone on board is full of what you did to that bloody dago warship.'

'There may be more people than those aboard talking about it soon,' I said. 'The Argentinian Navy, for example.'

'The hell with them,' he rejoined cheerfully. 'The United Nations included., They'll blow it up and make capital of the incident before the international forum, make no mistake. Lots of tub-thumping from the Reds into the bargain. That's my view. Take it or leave it.' 'They won't leave it, you can be sure.'

His attention seemed divided between me and the old bell. 'Where'd you get this from? Ship's bells are my hobby.'

I was surprised that he admitted to having any weakness. I explained and he bent down and examined it. 'Ambassador, you say? She was a Lund ship, wasn't she?'

'It's generations since that line went out of business, Sir James.'

'Ship-owning is an ongoing business,' he retorted saltily. 'Ships driven by fossil fuels such as oil are on their way out, in the same way that coal killed the windjammer. The next phase is the genuine sail-driven, aerodynamic cargo carrier. That's why I became interested in Jetwind.’ 'I hope you still are interested,'

He seemed to dance up and down with excitement. 'Drive her, man! Show the world! Drive this bloody ship under! What's she logging at this moment?' 'Twenty knots – but she can do better.' 'Then why aren't you doing better? How much better?'

'Three, maybe a maximum of four, if the gale rises above Force Ten. And if I'm given the opportunity to get on my own bridge.'

For a second I thought he would explode, then he grinned. 'I don't like anyone brushing me off, but this once I'll take it.'

I didn't leave immediately; I paused for a diplomatic minute or two to tell the irascible little so and so about the ship-owners' rendezvous Thomsen had arranged at Gough. He appeared wary of my softer approach. Perhaps he thought I was trying to con him. I added Weather Routing's warning about Trolltunga.

He considered me shrewdly. 'Why don't you deviate to miss the ice?'

'If I could sail Albatros that way by my own devices, then I can manage it with a ship full of electronic gadgetry.'

'I really believe you mean what you say, Rainier. But that first officer of yours will let you down – Grohman.' 'He won't. He's suspended.'

'That's what I like to hear. If a man can't go along with your ideas, there's only thing.' He gave one hand a mini karate chop with his other. 'The axe.'

He seemed a man of unpredictable switches of mood. Grohman having been disposed of, so to speak, his interest returned to the old bell.

'Have it for yourself,' I offered. 'Anything aboard this ship which hasn't got a computer attached belongs to the Dark Ages.'

'I'll keep it in my quarters for good luck,' he said. He hefted it up to go. I was surprised at his strength. He reminded me again of a Cock Robin boxer. 'One always needs the luck at sea, especially in a sailer.'

I hurried up to the bridge. The sea was a wild scene. My instinct told me even before I consulted the anenometer that the wind speed was over fifty knots. It was shearing off the overhanging crests of the rollers – about ten metres high and throwing the foam and spray in streaks like a giant fireman's hose. The rollers themselves had a thudding, killer punch to them, each one a threat to the fleeing ship.