why not? he said and followed Sturm towards the quarterdeck.
The young German opened the door to the captain’s cabin and stood politely to one side. Edge paused on the threshold, taking in the shambles before him. A porthole was smashed, the carpet soaked, the whole place littered with books and personal belongings.
Berger stood behind the desk, face stern, the ship’s log and other papers ready on the desk before him.
‘I’m afraid Captain Nielsen doesn’t speak English so I’ll have to interpret for you.’ Which was far from the truth for Berger’s English, though modest, was adequate. ‘The captain,’ Sturm added, ‘is not pleased at this forcible boarding of a neutral vessel about her lawful business.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Edge said, considerably intimidated by the stern expression on Berger’s face, ‘but I’m afraid I must insist on seeing your ship’s papers and log, also your cargo manifest.’
Berger turned away as if angry. Sturm said, ‘But we carry no cargo, Lieutenant, only passengers.’ He picked up the ship’s log, soaked in sea water, its pages sticking together. ‘Perhaps you would care to examine the log? You will find all other relevant papers here also.’
Edge took it from him, sat down in Berger’s chair and tried to separate the first two water-soaked pages which promptly tore away in his hand. And at that precise moment, Richter and the eleven other members of the crew secreted in the bilges with him, were lying in several inches of stinking water, aware of Swallow’s heavy footsteps in the hold above their heads.
Edge left the cabin fifteen minutes later, having examined as thoroughly as he could an assortment of papers and clutching the Swedish passports offered for his inspection.
Swallow emerged from the companionway, looking ill. Edge said, ‘Are the passengers down there, Coxswain?’
‘Yes, sir.’ Swallow was taking in deep breaths of salt air rapidly. ‘Five nuns, sir, and an old gentleman and his wife – and she doesn’t look too healthy.’
Edge advanced to the top of the companionway and Swallow said hastily, ‘I wouldn’t bother, sir. Not unless you feel you have to. They’ve obviously had a rotten time of it in last night’s storm. Still cleaning up.’
Edge hesitated, turned to glance at Sturm, Berger glowering behind, then started down.
The stink was appalling, the stench of human excrement and vomit turning his stomach. The first thing he saw in the shambles of the saloon below were four nuns on their knees amongst the filth with buckets and brushes, scrubbing the floor. Edge got a handkerchief to his mouth as Sister Angela appeared in the doorway of the Pragers’ cabin.
‘Can I help you?’ she asked in good English.
‘Sorry to trouble you, ma’am. My duty – you understand?’ He held out the passports. ‘International law in time of war. I’m entitled to inspect the passenger list.’
He glanced past her at Prager who knelt beside his wife. Her face was deathly pale, shining with sweat, and she was breathing incredibly slowly.
‘And this lady and gentleman?’ He started to sort through the passports.
‘Mr Ternström and his wife. As you can see, she is very ill.’
Prager turned to look at him, the agony on his face totally genuine, and Edge took an involuntary step back. Lotte chose that exact moment to be sick, crouching there on the floor like some animal. It was enough.
Edge turned hastily, brushed past Sturm and went back up the companionway. He leaned on the starboard rail, breathing deeply, and Swallow moved beside him.
‘You all right, sir?’
‘God, what a pest-hole. Those women – they’ve been through hell.’ He pulled himself together. ‘You’ve checked the holds thoroughly Coxswain?’
‘Clean as a whistle, sir. She’s in ballast with sand.’
Edge turned to Sturm who stood waiting, Berger a pace or two behind. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘For many months we work the coastal trade in Brazil,’ Sturm told him. ‘Then we decide to come home. As you may imagine, no one seemed anxious to risk a cargo with us.’
‘And the passengers?’
‘The good Sisters have been stranded in Brazil for more than a year now. We are the first Swedish ship to leave Brazil during that time. They were grateful for the opportunity for any kind of passage.’
‘But the old lady,’ Edge said. ‘Mrs Ternström. She looks in a bad way.’
‘And anxious to see her family again while there is still time.’ Sturm smiled bitterly. ‘War makes things difficult for us neutrals when we want to travel from one place to another.’
Edge made his decision and handed the passports back. ‘You’ll want these. My apologies to your captain. I’ll have to confirm it with my commanding officer, but I see no reason why you shouldn’t be allowed to proceed.’ He moved to the head of the Jacob’s ladder and paused. ‘Those ladies down there …’
‘Will be fine, Lieutenant. We’ll soon have things shipshape again.’
‘Anything else we can do for you?’
Sturm smiled. ‘Bring us up to date on the war, if you would. How are things going?’
‘All our way now, no doubt about that,’ Edge said. ‘Though they do seem to be slowing down rather in Europe. I don’t think we’re going to see Berlin by Christmas after all. The Germans are making one hell of a fight of it in the Low Countries.’
He went down the ladder quickly, followed by Swallow and the other rating, and they cast off. ‘Well, Coxswain?’ he asked as they pulled away.
‘I know one thing, sir. I’ll never complain about serving in submarines again.’
On the quarterdeck Berger smoked a cigar and waited, Sturm at his side.
‘What do you think, Herr Kapitän?’ Sturm asked. ‘Has it worked?’
In the same moment, the signal lamp on the bridge of the Guardian started to flash.
‘You may proceed.’ Berger spelled out. ‘Happy voyage and good luck.’ He turned to Sturm, his face calm. ‘My maternal grandmother was English, did I ever tell you that?’
‘No, sir.’
Berger tossed his cigar over the side. ‘She’s all yours, Mr Sturm. Let’s get under way again as soon as may be.’
‘Aye, aye, sir.’
Sturm turned, raising his voice to call to the men below, and Berger descended to the deck. He stood in the entrance to the companionway, aware of the stench, of Sister Angela’s pale face peering up at him.
‘Did it work?’ she called softly.
‘Remind me, when I have the time, to tell you what a very remarkable
