Spluttering and coughing, I emptied a mouthful of saltwater onto the deck, and a goodly piece of half-digested goose liver, too. I hardly noticed the stench over the strange and unfamiliar scents wafting over the Urania. Dark scents. Cold scents. Scents of the deep sea rising.
‘Please, ladies and gentlemen! Please, there is no need for concern! Calm down, please!’ An officer was striding towards us, down from the bridge, his hands raised in an attempt to calm the frightened crowd. Even if he had ten arms, I doubt it would have worked. ‘We are doing everything we can to get the situation under control. Please, ladies and gentle-’
‘And how,’ Mr Ambrose cut him off, cold steel in his voice, ‘do you plan to get a storm under control? Are you St Peter? Can you close the sluice gates of heaven and stop lightning from striking us down?’
The officer opened his mouth, but no sound came out. His frightened eyes flickered from Mr Ambrose, to the rest of the terrified crowd gathered on the deck, to the roiling sea around us.
‘How many lifeboats are on this miserable wreck?’ Mr Ambrose’s voice was still deadly cold.
‘Please, Sir, you have to stay calm. The captain-’
‘The captain obviously isn’t worthy of scrubbing the deck of a ship, because it was he who got us into this situation in the first place. Now - how many lifeboats are on this vessel?’
The officer hung his head. ‘Not enough for everybody.’ His voice was mere whisper. It didn’t matter. Everybody heard him. And a moment later, he could have yelled himself hoarse, and nobody would have understood a word. The crowd exploded into panic, everyone demanding that they would get on a lifeboat first, screeching insults, pressing to see the captain. As if that would help.
Mr Ambrose didn’t yell. The moment he heard the officer’s words he squeezed my hand even tighter, and began to drag me along the slippery deck, away from my cabin. I didn’t protest, or try to stop him. I felt numb. Somewhere, deep inside, the realization had already settled: I was going to die tonight. I had fulfilled my dream, gotten my own job, lived through all those adventures and dangers, and now I would die tonight, on this measly little boat, far, far away from home.
At least Mr Ambrose was with me. That made me feel a little better, though also sad, for some reason.
Why?
Yes, that was the reason: I didn’t want him to die. The realization came as a surprise to me. Most of the time during our short acquaintance, I had felt like strangling him myself. But now that the sea was about to choke him for me, I didn’t want it to happen. And yet, I was glad that I wasn’t alone. Strange. Very strange.
‘Please! Ladies and Gentlemen!’ I heard the officer call from somewhere behind me. ‘The situation is not as dire as it seems. The sea is just a little rough, I assure you. Please stay where you are! We have the situation under complete control. The captain…’
‘Where are you going?’ I yelled to be heard over the howl of the wind. ‘He says we should stay where we are!’
‘He also says they have the situation under control!’ His voice had never sounded like this before. Even when he had been furious, it had always been a cold fury - cold, precise and calculated. This wasn’t calculated. It was out of control. It was almost as if he were showing emotion. I, on the other hand, couldn’t feel anything, not even fear. I was beyond that now. I could hear our fate in his voice, and if you already knew you were doomed, what was the point of being afraid?
I grasped his hand more tightly.
‘Where are we going?’ I asked, more because I wanted to go inside, away from the cold, than because I really wanted to know his destination. If I was going to die, I wanted to damn well spend my last few minutes in a warm, comfy cabin, and I wanted him with me!
But he turned his head from left to right, not giving the cabins a second glance. His eyes were wild, as if desperately searching for something.
‘I don't know!’ he growled. ‘There must be something! Some way to… You can’t… you can’t just…’
Another voice, amplified by a speaking trumpet rose over the raging storm and drowned out his stuttered exclamations.
‘Attention! Attention, please, ladies and gentlemen. This is the captain speaking. This vessel is nearing a storm that we might not be able to circumvent. Please remain calm. Everything is being done to ensure your safety. Everybody proceed to the lifeboats, please, and prepare to embark, in case of an emergency. Women and children first. This is an order!’
Mr Ambrose’s head snapped around to the origin of the voice as if he were Tantalus starving in the underworld and it had just offered him a slice of apple pie. I thought he would start running in that direction, but no: he started to drag me off again, heading away from the voice, not toward it. Soon, we were back at my cabin. Mr Ambrose ripped the door open and pushed me inside. Stepping in, he slammed the door shut behind him. Suddenly, the howl of the storm and sound of the thunder were muted. It felt like another world - a warmer, safer one. If not for the bucking of the ship beneath us, I might have believed we were far, far away from danger. I might have believed we were not going to die.
I was glad Mr Ambrose had brought me in here. This was what I had wanted. To not be out there, in the cold and wet, at the end of my life. I smiled at him in silent thanks, but he glared back at me as if I had offended him somehow.
‘Well?’ he demanded. ‘What are you waiting for? Strip!’
I blinked. This wasn’t what I had been expecting.
‘S-strip, Sir? Strip what?’
‘Your clothes off, of course!’
‘M-my clothes?’
‘Yes, your clothes! Get out of those ridiculous army trousers and into a skirt! Right now, Mr Linton!’
This didn’t do anything to detract from my confusion.
‘You want me to put on a skirt, Sir?’
‘Are you deaf? Yes. A skirt, a dress, a hat and all the rest of it. All those things that make a girl actually look like one, and not some cheap imitation of a man!’
Slowly, anger started rising up inside me. I had wanted to spend my last few minutes of life in peace and quiet, and here he was, insulting me, trying to get me to do the very thing he had forbidden me from doing for weeks now. And for what? Because I wasn’t worthy to die in a man’s shoes and trousers?
‘Well,’ I snapped, ‘you’ll have to do without the entertainment of a charade, I’m afraid. I’m not playing dress-up for you! Lord, we’re about to die! What is going on in that sick head of yours?’
‘I told you to strip, Mr Linton! Strip and put on women’s clothes! This is an order!’
‘Do not call me Mister! And I do not care if it’s an order or an anchovy! I’m about to drown and don't have to do another word you say.’
He advanced towards me. His eyes were beyond wild now. They were dark pits of death, as dark as the sea that was about to swallow us up.
‘Put on girl’s clothes. Now!’
I stepped forward, too, facing him directly.
‘No! I will not. I would not, even if I had them - which I don’t.’
‘What?’
‘Use your head, if it hasn't turned to a block of stone yet! Where should I get girl’s clothes from? I didn’t take anything onto the ship with me. I only have the clothes on my back, nothing more!’
‘But…’ He looked around, frantic ice in his eyes. ‘You must have something! A dress, or a night shirt, or… anything!’
My hand hit him in the face with enough force to make him stumble back three steps.
‘You bastard!’ I shouted. ‘We’re about to die! Do you understand? Die! I don't care about what clothes I wear. I care about…’
I stopped.
What did I care about? I couldn’t really find the words for it. But as I gazed up into his deep, dark eyes, I thought I found at least one of those things in there.
‘You must have,’ he muttered, as if he hadn’t even registered the fact that I had slapped him. ‘You must have some girl’s clothes.’