“Do you even know what that word means?”
“No. But you were in the shower with Fr?ulein Imhof. And I’m pretty sure that’s against the rules too. So take me out with you or I’ll tell Commander Pruss what I saw.”
“You’re blackmailing me?”
“I am displaying ambition.” Werner grins, impish and charming.
Max pauses long enough to hide his amusement and then says, “Come along, you kleiner Schei?er.”
Werner runs after Max, delighted. He steps through the security door with the look of a boy who has finally been allowed into his father’s smoking club after years of begging. Max can see the boy’s narrow rib cage expand with pride. Werner tries to hide his rapturous smile as he scans the cavernous belly of the airship, but the corners of his mouth quiver and Max turns away slightly so as not to embarrass him. He remembers what this feels like. It has not been so long for him either. Werner’s unveiled sense of wonder has blunted his anger.
“It’s okay if you stare for a bit,” Max says. “I won’t tell.”
“They usually don’t let me back here.” Werner’s head moves in small increments, slowly taking in the sight before him. “They treat me like a kid.”
He is a kid. Max doesn’t say this, however. Instead he pulls two pairs of felt boots with rubber soles from a set of hooks on the wall. He hands one pair to Werner. “Don’t want to be treated like a kid? Respect is earned, not given. You can start by not blackmailing people. It’s not typically considered an honorable trait.”
“That’s a one-time thing. Promise. I might not get another chance to go outside the ship.” Werner takes the shoes and eyes them warily. “What are these for?”
Max pulls off one steel-toed boot, then the other. He sets them down gently beside the door. “These shoes were made to navigate the interior of this ship. There are no metal parts. They don’t create static. So they won’t make sparks.”
Werner’s dark eyes grow a little wider. “It’s that dangerous?”
“I pity the idiot who is found back here without them.”
Werner may be young and naive, but he is no coward. He slides the shoes over his long feet, lifts his chin, and marches after Max.
“Engine two is this way.” Max nods down the keel catwalk.
The walkway runs the length of the ship, from nose to tail, and sits at the very bottom of the structure. Above them yawns an elaborate skeleton of carefully constructed girders and bracing forms. There are no guardrails on the narrow catwalk—only a rope on either side that would do little to break their fall. They go slowly, placing one foot carefully in front of the other. Should they lose their balance it would be a nasty fall to the fabric shell below. Werner seems cognizant of this and he doesn’t try anything risky. No running or testing his balance. It occurs to Max that in order for Werner even to be working aboard the airship at such a young age he is quite a bit more mature than his peers.
Werner’s thoughts must have been traveling the same course, for he speaks as he follows closely behind Max. “How do I earn their respect?”
“Work hard. Be honest. Stay out of trouble.”
“Is that how you did it?”
Max nods his head, then asks, “How old are you?”
“Fourteen.”
“I was seventeen when I went to work for the Hamburg American Line. I started out as an able seaman, which is a piss-poor job if you want to know the truth. And dirty too. Awful pay. But everyone starts somewhere. Usually at the bottom.” He looks over his shoulder and gives Werner a wry smile. “Rather like a cabin boy.”
“But you’re a navigator now.”
“I worked my way up. It took seven years, but by the time I was twenty-four I was second officer on the Vogtland. Three years in that position and then the Zeppelin Company came calling. I worked as a navigator on the Graf Zeppelin first. Then the Hindenburg was commissioned and here we are.”
They walk silently for a few meters before Werner shares his thoughts. “Seems like such a long time.”
Max stops in mid-step and turns to face his young charge. “Do you have anywhere else to be?”
The cabin boy shakes his head. “No.”
“Then buck up and do your job. Besides, you have a three-year head start on me. You’ll probably be a commander by the time you’re my age.”
This cheers Werner immensely and they continue the trek.
“So you’ve quit school, then?” Max asks.
“I’m not very good at sums.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“I—”
“They don’t let dumm boys work on ships like this. Complain all you want about them treating you like a child, but you did something right just to get here. And I’d wager it didn’t happen by failing algebra.”
There is a note of defiance and the slightest hint of anger when Werner replies. “Mutter said it was time for me to become a man.”
“Ah. So how long has he been dead, then, your father?”
The voice that answers is feral. “He’s not dead.”