‘And what methods might they be, if I may ask?’ asks Methúsalem.
‘I will begin by speaking to those on watch,’ says Guðmundur. He sets the autopilot, since the ship is free from the claws of the storm – for the time being, at least. ‘That is to say, those that were on watch when we lost our communications.’
‘He hadn’t arrived yet, that new guy, when I left the bridge,’ says Rúnar, pouring himself more coffee.
‘And there wasn’t a soul here when I came up at four-thirty,’ says Guðmundur with a scowl.
‘What in the world?’ says Big John to the captain.
‘What were you doing here last night?’ asks Methúsalem.
‘Dead man’s bell woke me up,’ says Guðmundur distractedly, looking through the sand-covered window at the storm that is, little by little, drawing near again.
‘Then what?’ asks Big John.
‘Where were the men?’ says Rúnar.
‘And when did they come back?’ asks Methúsalem.
‘The radar was out by the time I got up here,’ replies Guðmundur. ‘Then I watched the GPS go out—’
‘The bastard must have been up on the roof!’ says Methúsalem, pounding his right fist into his left palm.
‘A little later Jónas came in, soaking wet,’ says Guðmundur, clearing his throat. ‘Said he’d gone to check out the radar.’
‘And left the bridge unattended, did he?’ Big John says.
‘Where was this brother-in-law of his?’ asks Rúnar.
‘Yes, where was he?’ Methúsalem’s voice is cold.
‘I still have to get these facts sorted out,’ says Guðmundur with a sigh. ‘They didn’t quite agree as to who had left the bridge unattended. But this brother-in-law of Jónas’s was wet, too, though not as soaking as Jónas. But I don’t know – why should any man damage the ship he’s sailing in himself?’
‘When had you been thinking of speaking to those two?’ Methúsalem demands. ‘After they’ve had time to get their story straight, or after they’ve muddled it even further?’
‘I can’t believe Jónas is involved in this,’ mutters Big John.
‘That leaves the other one,’ says Rúnar, looking at Methúsalem, who nods in agreement.
‘I will speak to Jónas when he comes on watch at four this afternoon,’ says Guðmundur, turning off the autopilot and steering the ship even further east. ‘After that I’ve got the evening watch with his brother-in-law. Then I can hear his side of the matter. But—’
‘Don’t you want to just put it off till we get to Suriname?’ says Methúsalem, interrupting the captain. ‘Or maybe till we get back home to—’
‘But!’ Guðmundur repeats, looking angrily at the chief mate before he speaks again. ‘But I wish to make it quite clear that nobody – absolutely nobody – is under suspicion. Is that understood?’
‘Yeah, sure,’ says Big John, shrugging his broad shoulders.
‘Yes, of course,’ murmurs Rúnar with a sniff.
‘Methúsalem?’ asks Guðmundur without taking his eyes off the dark sea outside the window.
‘If you like. But it’s pretty obvious, if you ask me.’
‘I’m not asking you or anyone,’ says Guðmundur firmly. ‘I alone am responsible for safety and working atmosphere aboard this ship. I will not have any conjectures, any backbiting or any witch-hunts! Shipmates must be able to trust one another, not least when there’s danger. I trust you and must insist that you trust me. If there is a breach of trust between a captain and his crew, it’s nothing but the first step towards mutiny.’
‘I understand,’ says Methúsalem, nodding. ‘And now, in the light of this declaration of trust, I’m asking the captain whether or not he has any knowledge of the reputed plans of the shipping company to dismiss the present crew and hire a new one to replace it?’
Silence.
‘Can we trust that the captain will inform us of the facts of this matter?’ Methúsalem says, stepping nearer to Guðmundur. ‘Or don’t you trust us to know these facts?’
‘I’m not discussing company matters in the middle of a tour,’ answers Guðmundur. ‘The company hires the men for the ship. My job is to sail the ship and ensure the safety of the crew, whoever they may be in each instance.’
‘So the answer is no?’
‘The answer is no,’ says Guðmundur without looking anyone in the eye. ‘If I did have knowledge of impending lay-offs I would not be free to speak about that knowledge. I would be betraying the trust of my superiors.’
‘So they are going to lay us off?’ asks Big John.
‘I don’t believe this!’ says Rúnar, hands in the air.
‘I never said you were going to be laid off!’ says Guðmundur, putting the ship on autopilot once again. ‘I just said that I couldn’t talk about it if I knew such a thing. Is that understood?’
‘Oh, perfectly – it doesn’t need saying,’ says Methúsalem with a sneer.
‘Methúsalem!’ says Guðmundur and he turns around in his chair. ‘I need hardly remind you that you are chief mate on board, I think?’
‘We could of course just phone the CEO and ask him,’ says Methúsalem, staring coldly into the bloodshot eyes of the captain. ‘No, that’s right – we can’t! Someone cut the wires.’
‘Methúsalem!’ says Big John, laying his great paw on the chief mate’s right shoulder. ‘Don’t be stupid.’
‘The meeting is adjourned,’ says Guðmundur, giving the chief mate a dirty look before turning his chair forwards again. ‘Return to work.’
Then he adds, in a softer voice, ‘And God be with you.’
Guðmundur’s subordinates leave the bridge but the captain remains in his chair, scowling out the window. The storm is still on its way, though his battle with it has been postponed.
11:50
In the kitchen on B-deck Ási, the ship’s cook, is dipping the last of the haddock fillets in egg and then golden breadcrumbs before placing them in a frying pan that’s wedged in a metal frame on an impressive gas cooker. The fillets swim around in a bubbling mixture of margarine and cooking oil; in a pot beside the frying pan peeled potatoes are boiling, and in a saucepan on the back burner five chopped onions are browning in a butter-and-oil bath.
Ási rinses the utensils he’s been using and places them in the dishwasher, wipes the egg off his fingers on his apron, ties a knot on the bag of garbage and walks out to where four big garbage bins are fastened together with a long chain and padlock. He opens the first bin and throws in the bag, then lights himself a cigarette and checks on the weather. But just as he places his hand on the portside railing his right foot hits something. It’s a large set of wire-cutters with yellow handles.
‘What are you doing here?’ murmurs Ási, who knows that all tools are kept down in the engine room. He takes his cigarette out of his mouth with his left hand, bends down and picks up the cold, wet cutters in his right.
He studies the tool and shrugs, but then it occurs to him to stick his head out and look up, in case he might see someone who could have dropped the cutters.
And what do you know – there’s another head looking down from D- or E-deck, but it’s neither of the engineers. It’s someone Ási doesn’t recognise. That would be the new guy, Jónas’s brother-in-law.
‘WHAT CAN I DO FOR YOU?’ shouts the new guy, who seems to be hanging around the large lifeboat, which means he’s up on D-deck.
‘COME GET YOURSELF SOME FISH ON A DISH, FRIEND!’ Ási shouts back, smiling at the newcomer before disappearing.