Werner lifts the note and looks at the name. Breathes a sigh of relief. He knows this letter. Z. And because Werner has grown very used to guessing words instead of reading them, he assumes that the note in his hands is meant for Max Zabel.
Max is not in the officers’ mess. Werner searches all of the passenger areas, the kitchen, and the corridors. He is starting to panic, to wonder what he will tell Commander Pruss if the navigator cannot be found, when he hears raised voices coming from the shower near the portside stairs. The boy has been taught not to eavesdrop, but he does so anyway, pushing aside the twinge of guilt that comes from knowing his mother would be disappointed. It takes only a few seconds to recognize Max’s voice within. But he is clearly upset, and he’s with a woman. Werner is scared to interrupt whatever is happening on the other side of the door.
Finally he reaches out and knocks. His fist sounds like a rabbit anxiously thumping its foot. “Herr Zabel,” he says, his voice little more than a squeak.
There is no immediate answer from within.
He knocks again, louder this time. “There is an urgent message for you.”
In the long seconds that follow Werner unclenches his hand and smoothes out the note. He looks at the name again, and this time Werner sounds it out carefully. His heart becomes a trip hammer. He had assumed that Pruss intended the note for Max. But he was wrong. It is meant for someone else.
Werner would usually never read a private communication from the commander, but he is terrified now. The message is two sentences long. Simple words. A direct command. And Werner makes his decision as the door swings outward. He will give the message to Max anyway.
THE NAVIGATOR
Max holds on to Emilie with one hand and fumbles the bathroom door open with the other. He pushes it out with such force that Werner Franz jumps back to avoid being hit. “What?”
“A message,” he stutters. Werner blushes at the sight of their clasped hands and tries again. “I have a message for you. From the control car. It’s important.”
Before stepping into the corridor, Max turns back to Emilie. “This conversation isn’t over.”
She narrows her eyes, then shuts the door in his face to signify otherwise. Max takes a moment to smooth the scowl from his forehead and to straighten his cap and jacket. One measured breath helps him gain composure. Then he turns a gimlet eye on the cabin boy.
Werner Franz is only fourteen, a quiet boy known to work hard and rarely complain. Max feels guilty for being so gruff. But he isn’t certain whether he will get another chance to talk sense into Emilie. She is water through his hands. Ungraspable. Elusive. And if he must frighten Werner to settle things with her, so be it.
The cabin boy hands him a square of paper, folded in half. Max reads the dispatch impassively. “How did you find me?”
“It wasn’t hard. I’m surprised you didn’t wake half the ship with all that shouting.”
Some boys charge into adolescence as though it is something to be conquered with brute force. Others wake one day to find themselves unwilling participants, held hostage by their own bodies. Werner Franz is very much the latter. He often has the look of a boy who is surprised to find that his legs have grown longer overnight or that his voice has dropped an octave since breakfast. He is tall now and he’ll be even taller as an adult, but he has not yet learned to manage this new length of bone with ease. He lopes instead of walks. He frequently runs into corners and knocks things over. He’s at the stage in adolescence where feet and nose have outgrown the rest of his body. But once this clumsy phase has passed he will make a strong man. Werner has a pleasant face. High cheekbones and a strong nose with a slight arch that suggests Roman descent. His hair is cropped close to his skull at the sides but it hangs longer on top, flopping into his face. Werner smiles with his eyes and laughs with his entire body. It is hard not to like the kid, though Max isn’t inclined to feel kindly toward him at this particular moment.
The lack of movement on Max’s part clearly makes Werner nervous. “Commander Pruss sent me himself.” He shifts back and forth, his eyes on a button in the middle of Max’s shirt. “He wants you to go check the engine telegraph dial in gondola two. They aren’t getting any response in the control car.”
“Schei?e!” The dial in question transmits vital communications from the bridge to the engine gondolas, determining engine speed and power. “You’d best be getting back, then.” Max heads for the security door without another word.
“Wait! I want to come with you.”
“I’ll be exiting the ship.”
“I know.”
“You don’t have the clearance to leave ship while we’re in transit.”
“No. I don’t. But I thought we might make some sort of arrangement.”
Max growls a warning. He makes it six steps down the corridor before Werner calls out. “The stewardess!”
Max stops but doesn’t turn. “What about her?”
“Crew members aren’t allowed to fraternize.”