Irene rolls her eyes at this, in the way that only an adolescent girl can. It takes every bit of Gertrud’s self-control not to laugh at her. Such a pity, the arrogance of youth. And wasted too. She’d love to have a bit more of her own former bravado back. Gertrud has an unsettling suspicion that she’ll need every ounce she can muster in the coming hours.
Gertrud turns back to her lunch and lets the current of conversation drift on without her. But after a few moments, Leonhard tugs on the white sleeve of Wilhelm Balla’s steward’s jacket. The tone of his voice suggests a desire for discretion, and Gertrud sees the American turn toward Moritz Feibusch so that his shoulder, and therefore his ear, is angled toward Leonhard. The bastard is listening. As always.
“Might I have a word with you?” her husband asks the steward.
Balla bends at the waist and tilts his ear toward Leonhard.
“I’ve heard that there is a poker game that takes place in the evenings on board this ship.”
“I don’t go in for games of chance myself, Herr Adelt.”
It’s a nonanswer if ever Gertrud heard one.
“But there is a game?”
“I believe,” the steward says, cautiously, “that a few of the crew members gather for such a game after their shift. In the crew’s mess. But passengers are not allowed in areas reserved for the crew.”
Leonhard purses his mouth. Thinks for a moment. “Do you suppose these gentlemen could be persuaded to move their game to an area where passengers are allowed? Say, the promenade? Or the smoking room?”
“A good solution, no doubt, but I’m afraid that the crew is prohibited from gambling with the passengers. Poor taste, we’re told.”
“I see.” Leonhard tucks a bill into Wilhelm Balla’s hand. “If the rules should happen to change, do let me know.”
“Of course, mein Herr. Danke sch?n.” The steward clears their plates and ambles off.
“What was that about?” she hisses.
Leonhard squeezes her knee and nods, just a fraction of an inch, toward the American. He doesn’t bother to lower his voice. “We’ll discuss it later, Liebchen.”
Lunch is wrapped up with linzer cookies sprinkled with powdered sugar and filled with a spiced raspberry jam. The chef has added a touch of black pepper to the jam—Gertrud can taste it amidst the nutmeg and cloves—and the result is stunning. She eats hers slowly, savoring each bite, sad when the plate is empty.
The passengers are full and happy and quite content to push their chairs back and swap stories as long as the stewards are willing to keep their goblets filled. All of them except for the American. He is stiff and tense and excuses himself from the table at the first opportunity.
“Where do you think he’s off to?” Gertrud asks.
“If I had to put money on it, I’d say he’s got poker on his mind.”
THE CABIN BOY
Werner cracks the door open an inch and peers into the small antechamber outside Heinrich Kubis’s cabin to make sure it’s empty. Once he’s certain that the coast is clear he steps out of the room, shuts the door behind him, then wiggles the doorknob to make sure it’s locked. Kubis is the only steward who gets a cabin to himself. Not that anyone would want to bunk with him, Werner thinks; the man has neither a pulse nor a sense of humor. But he does have privacy and access to the ship’s manifest, and that is something Werner very much wants to see. The results of his little investigation have left Werner bewildered, however.
The chief steward has the first stateroom on B-deck. The location enables him to better serve the wealthiest passengers. The room is accessed by a door that leads into a small antechamber off the keel corridor. Lunch is almost over and Kubis could come through the door at any moment, so Werner wants to put as much distance as he can between himself and the cabin before anyone discovers what he has done.
The antechamber is little more than the size of a closet and is lined entirely on one wall with shelves holding wicker baskets, brushes, and shoe polish. It smells of perfectionism. Werner opens the door to the corridor and walks directly into the broad chest of Max Zabel.
“What are you doing in there?” the navigator asks.
“Shoes!” The word comes out higher and squeakier than he’d like. But at least the lie was prepared in advance. He clears his throat. “I came to check on the shoes. It’s my break, and I thought I’d get a head start polishing them so I wouldn’t have to do it tonight. Kubis keeps shunting the job off on me.”
Max sets a large, heavy hand on the bony point of Werner’s shoulder. He bends down six inches so he can speak directly into Werner’s ear.
“You were in Kubis’s cabin.”
“No—”