The Blue Ice

by Innes, Hammond;

  ‘What is that to do with you?’ Jorgensen snapped.

  ‘Nothing,’ the cripple replied with that crooked smile of his. ‘I am interested, that is all. You are like a dog worrying over a bone. You have buried it, but you are afraid some other dog will come along and dig it up. You were even questioning Miss Somers.’

  Jorgensen said nothing. He was watching the other with a strange intentness. The man’s nerves were plucking at a little muscle in his jaw.

  ‘I told her to tell you nothing,’ Dahler added.

  ‘Since when have you become her guardian?’ Jorgensen asked with a sneer.

  ‘I was a friend of her father,’ the other answered. ‘Fortunately you got nothing out of her – or Major Wright.’ He smiled. ‘Yes, you didn’t know my cabin door was not properly shut, did you?’ He turned to me. ‘Before you discuss specific proposals, Mr Gansert, I suggest you find out what he knows about George Farnell.’

  Jorgensen’s knuckles were white as his grip on the wheel tightened. ‘Why are you so interested in Farnell?’ he asked Dahler.

  The cripple leaned on the chartroom roof to steady himself against the pitch of the ship. ‘Bernt Olsen smuggled us out of Finse.’ He thrust his head suddenly forward. ‘Also he told me who had instructed the Germans to raid my house that night. You didn’t know I knew about that, did you?’

  ‘Your house was raided because you talked too much about what you pretended you were doing.’

  ‘Mueller, your Bergen representative, had nothing to do with it, I suppose?’

  ‘If he did, then he’s paying for it with a six-year sentence for aiding the Germans.’

  ‘For doing what you ordered him to do.’

  ‘Det er lögn.’ In his excitement Jorgensen dropped into Norwegian. His face was flushed with anger.

  ‘It is not a lie,’ Dahler answered.

  ‘Prove it then.’

  ‘Prove it?’ Dahler smiled. ‘That is why I am here, Knut. I am going to prove it. I am going to prove that you ought to be doing the sentence that Mueller is serving now. When I’ve found Farnell—’

  ‘Farnell is dead,’ Jorgensen cut in, his voice sharp and controlled again.

  Dahler didn’t say anything after that. The curt reminder that Farnell was dead seemed to bring him up with a jolt. He turned and started to move back towards the companionway. But he stopped and looked round. ‘Before you discuss his proposals, Mr Gansert,’ he said quietly, ‘remember that he worked for the Germans till the tide turned, just as hard as he worked for the British later.’ And with that he disappeared down the companionway.

  There was a sudden shout from Dick – ‘Watch your course.’ The boat’s head was right up into the wind and canvas everywhere was slatting madly. Jorgensen paid her off on to course. Then he sighed. ‘That is what happens, Mr Gansert,’ he said quietly, ‘in a country that has been occupied.’

  I made no comment and after a moment, he went on: ‘Before the war Jan Dahler and I did business together. His tankers supplied my metal plant. Now—’ He shrugged his shoulders. ‘He was foolish. He helped some British agents and then went and talked too freely about it. And because Mueller was pro-German and informed against him, he blames me. And his escape from Finse.’ He looked up at me. ‘A German officer has admitted that the price of his escape was certain information they wanted. The information concerned new types of marine engines planned by my engineers. The plans were “lost” when Norway was occupied. But Dahler knew about them because I’d promised to fit his tankers before accepting any other orders. And – well, there was a leakage and the plans were extracted from us.’

  ‘And Dahler was responsible?’ I asked.

  ‘There’s no proof – apart from the German officer who broke down under cross-examination by our Intelligence. But the demand for the plans was made just after Dahler’s escape from Finse. That is why the authorities do not want him back in Norway.’

  ‘What was he doing up at Finse?’ I asked.

  ‘Forced labour,’ he answered. ‘The Germans had some fantastic scheme for an aerodrome on the Jökulen.’ He pulled out a cigarette and lit it. ‘You see how it is, Mr Gansert. To cover himself, he must make counter-allegations. And’ – he hesitated – ‘the trouble is that a man in my position is awkwardly placed under an occupation. I had to carry on, publicly showing friendship for the Germans, in order to work for the liberation of my country. If they did not trust me, then I should have ceased to be useful. Many people who do not know what I did secretly are prepared to believe that I was pro-German. That is why it makes me angry to hear a man like Dahler make wild accusations. I know how vulnerable my work has made me.’ He smiled a trifle sadly. ‘I thought it better that you know,’ he said. And then he added, ‘Now, what about running straight into Bergen and arranging things?’

  I hesitated. Two things were occupying my mind. One was the information that at some period of the war Farnell had been up at Finse. The other was that Jorgensen was no longer dictating terms to B.M. & I., but seeking them. I glanced for’ard for an excuse to break off the conversation. Dick was hoisting the tops’l again and it was jammed. ‘Hold it,’ I called out to him. ‘You haven’t cleared the topping lift. We’ll talk about this later,’ I said to Jorgensen and hurried for’ard to give them a hand.

  As soon as the tops’l had been set and everything made fast I took my watch below for food. I needed time to think over Jorgensen’s change of attitude. Dahler was seated in the saloon when we came down. Jill poked her head in from the galley. ‘Four is it?’ she asked.

  I nodded. I was looking at Dahler. He was rocking gently backwards and forwards with the movement of the ship. ‘Bit hard on Jorgensen, weren’t you?’ I said.

  ‘Hard?’ He gave a mirthless laugh. ‘Knut Jorgensen is—’ he hesitated and then said, ‘He’s a business man.’ He leaned towards me across the rocking table. ‘I tell you, Mr Gansert, the only dangerous Norwegian is a Norwegian business man. I’m a Norwegian and a business man. I know. We’re an open-air, easy-going, comfortable people – until it comes to business.’

  ‘And then?’ I asked.

  He fastened on to my sleeve with his sound hand. ‘And then – anything is possible,’ he replied. The way he said it made me feel cold inside. Jill came in then and immediately everything seemed normal. But after the meal, when I had gone to my cabin to sleep, the scene between Dahler and Jorgensen came back to me. I lay with my eyes open, listening to the movement of the ship, sensing the violent antagonism of the two Norwegians, and wondering what the hell to do about it. To keep them apart was out of the question on a small ship. To let them come together … They’d have to be watched, that was all. I swung myself out of my bunk and went up on deck to find Jorgensen at the wheel and Dahler seated in the cockpit watching him. Jorgensen looked paler than usual under his rather leathery skin. His gaze alternated between the binnacle and the burgee at the masthead – anywhere but in the direction of Dahler. The tension between them was noticeable, even up there on deck, with the wind blowing and Diviner lifting and surging with each wave.

  ‘Mr Dahler,’ I said. ‘Now you’re recovered, you’ll join my watch, please.’

  ‘Good,’ he said.

  ‘We’re the watch below now,’ I added pointedly.

  He smiled. ‘I like it very well up here,’ he answered. ‘My stomach is happier.’

  So I, too, stayed up on deck. But I knew it was useless. If Dahler wanted to sit and watch Jorgensen he could do it any time the starboard watch was on duty. If only I’d arranged it so that they were both in my own watch. I could have kept my eye on them then. As it was I had to sleep some time.

  That night my watch came off duty at midnight. The forecasts were of gale warnings on practically all coasts of the British Isles. The wind had already veered to the sou’-west. We had gybed in the course of our watch and for the first time since we had left the Thames estuary we were leaning our starboard scuppers under. I had stowed the mizzen to avoid it blanketing t
he mainsail. ‘Watch it,’ I told Dick. ‘I don’t think the wind will back, but if it does suddenly, you’ll have to gybe. And keep an eye on the wind force. If it blows much harder that yankee will have to come off.’

  I left him then and went below. Dahler had already gone to his cabin. I could see the light on under the door. Jill and Wilson were drinking tea laced with rum. She filled a mug for me. ‘Rum?’ she asked, and poured it without waiting for my reply. Her face was very pale and her eyes looked bright, almost feverish. She handed me the mug. ‘Cheers!’ I said, watching her over the rim of it.

  As soon as Wilson had gone for’ard to the foc’s’le she said, ‘Are you doing a deal with Mr Jorgensen, Bill?’ Her voice was jerky and pitched a shade high.

  ‘How do you mean?’ I asked.

  ‘That’s what Mr Dahler told me,’ she said. ‘He said you and Jorgensen were joining forces – against George Farnell.’

  ‘Against George Farnell—’ I didn’t get it. ‘George Farnell’s dead,’ I reminded her.

  She nodded. ‘That’s what I told Mr Dahler. But he only said, “Don’t lose Gansert – that’s all.”’

  ‘Did he ask you to have a talk with me?’

  ‘Not exactly. But—’ She hesitated. Then she took a step towards me and caught my arm. ‘Bill. I’m scared. I don’t know why. There’s something about this boat today. Everybody’s on edge. Everybody’s asking questions.’

  ‘Who’s been asking you questions?’ I asked.

  ‘Oh, Jorgensen this morning. Curtis this afternoon. You’re about the only person who hasn’t.’ She suddenly laughed. ‘Instead, I’m asking you. What about Jorgensen?’

  ‘I’ll decide that when I get to Norway,’ I said. ‘Right now you’d better turn in and get some sleep.’

  She nodded and downed the rest of her drink. I waited till she’d switched her cabin light on, then I turned off the saloon light and went aft to my own cabin.

  I was dead tired and fell asleep on my bunk with my clothes on. The movement of the ship was like the rocking of a cradle. I was conscious of it whilst I slept and it added to the sense of deep luxury. I dreamed of soft things, of deep purples and velvets, and of the rocking, swaying, lurching of the tree tops. Then the motion changed. It became slower, heavier. It shook with the crash of each onslaught. It leaned more steeply, more terribly. I clawed at the blankets, clutched at the side of the bunk at each roll. And suddenly I was awake, and I knew that I had to go up on deck. Down there in my cabin I could feel it. I’d sensed it in my sleep. The wind was holding her down. She was carrying too much canvas. I slipped into my sea boots. As each wave slid under her I could feel her reluctance to lift the next.

  I opened the cabin door. There was a light on in the saloon. At the foot of the companionway, I paused. I could hear voices raised in altercation. I turned and peered through the crack of the half-open door. Jorgensen and Dahler faced each other across the saloon table.

  ‘Sa det er det De tenker a gjöre, hva?’ Jorgensen’s voice was low pitched and violent. The ship heaved and he clutched the centre support. Behind him Jill’s cabin door opened. She was fully clothed. Presumably their argument had woken her. ‘De far ikke anledning,’ Jorgensen continued, still speaking in Norwegian. ‘Sa fort vi kommer til Bergen skal jeg fa Dem arrestert.’

  ‘Arrested?’ Jill cried, and he spun round. ‘Why will you have him arrested? What has he done?’

  ‘Sold secrets to the enemy during the war,’ Jorgensen answered.

  ‘I don’t believe it,’ she replied hotly.

  I threw open the saloon door. ‘On deck, please, Mr Jorgensen,’ I called. ‘We’re going to shorten sail.’ I didn’t wait for his answer, but hurried up the companionway. Out on deck the night was a howling wilderness of water. I dived for the weather rail and scrambled aft to the dim shapes gathered in the cockpit. The wind would soon be reaching gale force. I could sense the growing weight of it as gust after gust buffeted me. ‘Dick!’ I shouted, ‘time you shortened sail. That yankee’s far too much for her.’

  ‘I was just going to,’ he answered. His voice betrayed his anxiety. He knew he’d left it later than he should. Jorgensen came out on deck, followed by Jill. Then Dahler emerged. I cursed the cripple for coming up. But I hadn’t time to worry about it. If he got swept overboard it would be his own fault. Curtis was at the wheel. ‘Keep her running before the wind,’ I ordered him. ‘Dick. You and Carter out on the bowsprit. Jorgensen. You work with me.’

  We scrambled for’ard. The ship was pitching violently. Dick and Carter stepped over the bows on to the bowsprit strands and worked their way out. Jill eased off the sheets and, as the yankee emptied itself of wind and began to flap, Jorgensen and I let the sail down with a run. Dick and Carter out on the bowsprit gathered it in and passed it aft to us. We set the ordinary jib and then began to get the main tops’l in. With a following wind and the main booms swung right out we were still carrying far too much canvas. The wind was driving us into the sea. You could feel it.

  In the light of the spotlight I had switched on in the rigging for’ard we manned the halyard and sheet of the tops’l. But she jammed as we ran her down. The weight of the wind was pressing the sail against the gaff of the mainsail and the canvas had caught. As we worked to free it, I felt the wind shift and saw the clew of the mainsail lift as the wind got behind it. ‘Curtis,’ I shouted. ‘Port your helm or you’ll gybe her. Wind’s shifting.’ But he’d already seen the danger and swung the wheel over. ‘Don’t worry about course,’ I told him. ‘Just keep her running before the wind.’

  ‘Okay,’ he called back.

  That’s the danger with a following wind, especially at night. The main boom is swung right out. If the wind changes or you get off course without noticing it and a sudden gust swings in behind your canvas, then your boom comes across with a rush, sweeping the ship, and fetching up with a crash on the other tack that’s enough to rip the mast out of her. That’s gybing the way it shouldn’t be done.

  We tried setting the tops’l again. But she wouldn’t budge. We needed more weight to clear her. ‘Curtis,’ I called. ‘Hand over the wheel to Jill. And come for’ard.’ With his extra weight we managed to clear the jam at the expense of the canvas. With a ripping sound the sail came down with a run. ‘Hold it,’ I yelled. ‘Jorgensen. Take the jackyard as it comes down, will you.’ He went a little further aft and, standing on the main hatch, reached up for the yard. ‘Right,’ I called. ‘Lower away.’

  The sail came down then, a flapping, billowing bunch of canvas that lashed at us as we gathered it in. And in that moment I sensed rather than saw the swing of the boat. I pulled the canvas aside just in time to see the wind get behind the leach of the mainsail. The great pile of canvas filled from the other side. The boom began to swing inboard. ‘Gybe-ho!’ I screamed. ‘Jorgensen! Down! Get down!’

  I saw him glance to starb’d. ‘Duck!’ I shouted. ‘Everyone.’ Jorgensen raised his hand as though to ward off the blow. Then suddenly he dived full length on to the hatch cover. I felt the ship straighten up as the weight lifted from the starb’d side. I seized canvas and jackyard, slung it over my head and rolled on to the deck. Next instant it was torn away from me as the great mainsail boom came swinging inboard. I felt the weight of it fling past me and heard Jill scream. The ship heeled and then plunged into a wave in a burst of spray as the boom roared out to port. There it fetched up with a crash that shook the ship to her keel and brought crockery clattering down in the galley below. There was a splintering of wood and the port backstay was ripped out of the bulwarks and catapulted into the rigging with a clang of metal.

  Jorgensen picked himself up. He was white. I pulled the tops’l clear of Dick, Curtis and Carter, wondering whether any of them had been hit by the boom. Only Curtis was hurt. He seemed to have caught his shoulder. I left him to Dick and went aft. Jorgensen was before me though. Dahler was at the wheel. His face was a pallid mask. Jorgensen took hold of him by the collar of his coat and pulled him
out from behind the wheel.

  I thought for a moment he was going to fling the cripple overboard. I shouted to him. Instead he smashed a vicious right into the man’s face. Dahler ceased to struggle. His muscles went slack and Jorgensen dropped his inert body back across the wheel.

  ‘Stand back, Jorgensen!’ I ordered. ‘You’ve no right to do a thing like that. It wasn’t Dahler’s fault. He’s not a sailor. Curtis shouldn’t have handed the wheel over to him.’

  ‘Not Dahler’s fault!’ Jorgensen laughed unsteadily. ‘That wasn’t an accident,’ he said. ‘Ask Miss Somers.’

  I looked at Jill. ‘What happened?’ I asked.

  But she seemed too frightened to speak. She just stood, staring down at Dahler’s inert body.

  CHAPTER THREE

  THE VOICE OF HVAL TI

  Whether that gybe was intentional or an accident I didn’t know. And I hadn’t time to think about it then. Dahler’s body was crumpled over the wheel, jamming it. The mainsail, still overweighted with canvas in the howling wind, was dragging at the mast. With the port backstay gone and the starboard backstay slack the massive timber of the mast was bending to each gust. I could hear it groaning above the thunder of the seas breaking inboard over the bows. I hauled Dahler’s body off the wheel and thrust it into the cockpit. Then I put the helm hard to starb’d and brought the ship up into the wind. ‘Haul in on the mainsheet, Jorgensen,’ I shouted as the boom began to swing loosely inboard.