no convincing. A simple soldier must stand in rank and stay at his position. A military policeman, on the other hand, enjoys a certain freedom of movement and, though he might be stopped five miles distant from his battalion, he runs no risk of interrogation. His duty is to investigate all situations, follow all leads. What better cover for my own research than the hunt for looters and other war profiteers?
Lieutenant Peakes was not a likely competitor. Gold was of no interest to him. His family owned one of the country’s largest hardware store chains; he was drawn to iron the way filings are drawn to a magnet.
“Just think, Dulac, of everything a soldier carries on his back: his first-aid kit, his rifle, his bayonet, his knife, his cartridge belt and ammunition, his tent pegs, mess tin and utensils, not to mention his canteen, his lantern, his pick and shovel. Sixty-eight pounds of metal! Magnificent, when you think of it! The only problem is that iron attracts lightning. Have you ever been struck by lightning?
“No, lieutenant.”
“It happened to me, twice.”
The first time was fifteen years ago, he said. He was in the storage shed of his father’s hardware store when a clap of thunder sounded. At that very instant, a flash of blue lightning leaped from a box of nails onto his left hand. An electrical current shot up his arm and seized his heart. His skin turned grey, his muscles began to twitch, and he found himself on the ground, half-paralyzed, barely able to speak. For an hour, he lay looking at the floor tiles that had cracked beneath his feet. Then everything returned to normal. Until lightning struck for a second time. Since that time, he said, his entire organism had been in a constant state of upheaval. He felt a sense of oppression, unable to concentrate; he could no longer recognize himself.
“How did the second strike occur?”
“I met Miss Nell.”
“Your fiancée, lieutenant?”
“No, Dulac. One of the regimental nurses. That is the chink in my armour. I would throw myself out the window if she asked me. To my great mortification, she knows it.”
“She is that beautiful?”
“Beautiful? I couldn’t say. But she knows how to handle a needle. And those fingers of hers, Dulac … They are the fingers of a sorceress.”
V
OUR CONTINGENT SAILED from Bristol five days ago, and still the French coast lay over the horizon. One would have thought the Channel was as broad as the Atlantic! Battered by thirty-foot waves, our troop carriers pitched and tossed without respite on the frothing seas. Further on, the four destroyers assigned to convoy escort duty thrashed about in the storm.
Clinging for dear life to the rail, I made a poor sentinel indeed. U-boats had been detected in the area, and I had been given strict orders to shoot the first reckless soldier who dared light a cigarette on deck. A needless precaution, in any event, for nothing could have been farther from the men’s minds. They were all far below decks, as weakened by the constant pitching and tossing as I was.
All except for Lieutenant Peakes, who was in fine fettle. The day before yesterday, he had gone to the infirmary to have a nasty cut treated. An hour later he had returned to duty, as proud as a peacock, sleeve rolled up, displaying his forearm, to whistles of admiration.
“What do you say, Dulac? Better than any tattoo, eh?”
On his discoloured skin, like an insignia, he now bore three snow-covered mountain tops. They had been embroidered with suturing thread. I immediately recognized the extraordinary meticulousness with which each petit point had been sewn, depicting to perfection the whiteness of the snow and the blackness of the rock. In the face of such mastery, I could only stare open-mouthed in admiration.
“The work of a sorceress, lieutenant. But why the mountains?”
“They are peaks, Dulac. That which is loftiest, and most noble, as Miss Nell puts it—and also my name.”
The day was dying slowly. The storm had abated, but the ships continued to pitch and toss as violently as ever. I would have given anything to set foot on terra firma. Heart in mouth, I doubled over the guardrail, rivulets of warm saliva dribbling from my lips. I pressed my index finger against my uvula, but could provoke nothing more than painful spasms.
Suddenly, from behind me came an outburst of mocking laughter that sounded like the mewing of a seagull.
“So now you are a military policeman? The red armband doesn’t really compliment your green complexion.”
I swallowed laboriously before turning around. There she was: Miss Nell, alert, with a malicious cast in her eye. Her coif, drenched with spray, framed her face, giving her the appearance of a Madonna. Appearances could hardly have been more deceiving.
“I don’t have my sea legs just yet.”
“Don’t tell me the devil has abandoned you already. What a pity! And what sweet revenge for me.”
Her head swayed as she shifted her weight from one hip to the other to keep her balance. I motioned to her to stop.
“I know what you’re trying to do. You want to worsen my condition. You are neglecting your most elementary duties, and I shall report you to your superiors.”
“Even if I wanted to treat you, there is no remedy for seasickness. On the other hand … ”
She rummaged through her pocket and from it drew a small sewing kit.
“Stitching up your lips would help suppress the symptoms.”
I recoiled.
“No, thank you. I have no desire to end up with Lake Superior embroidered on my face.”
“Why Lake Superior?”
“Dulac, of course. My name is Dulac.”
“I see. Lieutenant Peakes must have showed you his arm.”
“I knew about your talents, but I must say that in his case, you’ve outdone yourself.”
The compliment hardly seemed to impress her. She dismissed it with a shrug of the shoulders.
“Just a little diversion to keep my fingers busy.”
Seasickness was about to overcome me again; I could feel it welling up in my throat. Just then, the troop carrier hit a particularly powerful swell, for the entire deck seemed to shudder beneath my feet. To avoid being thrown into my arms, Nell grasped the handrail. The sewing kit popped from her hand and fell overboard. Now it was my turn to laugh derisively.
“A bad omen for your surgical schemes.”
“I didn’t take you for a superstitious person.”
“You are right. But I believe in Divine Providence.”
She turned on her heel and strode off, furious, then turned back.
“Now that you mention it, Lake Superior would not have been my choice for you.”
“Devil’s Lake, then?”
“No.
