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 woman you are, Sister.’
‘At the appropriate moment, I shall, Captain. You may be certain of that,’ she said serenely.
Berger turned away. The Guardian was already departing towards the south-west. He watched her go, and behind him Helmut Richter emerged from the forrard hatch and came aft. His body was streaked with filth, but he was smiling.
‘Can the lads come on deck and wash off under the pump? They smell pretty high after those bilges.’
‘So I observe.’ Berger wrinkled his nose. ‘Give it another twenty minutes until our British friends are really on their way, Helmut, then turn them loose.’
He went into his cabin and Richter stripped his shirt from his body, worked the deck pump with one hand and turned the hose on himself. As he did so, Sister Lotte came out on deck clutching a full pail of slops in both hands. She got as far as the starboard rail and was about to empty it when Richter reached her.
‘Never into the wind,’ he said. ‘That way you get the contents back in your face.’ He peered down in disgust. ‘And that, you can definitely do without.’
He carried the pail to the port rail, emptied it over the side, then flushed it out under the pump. She stood watching him calmly.
She was small and very slightly built, a lawyer’s daughter from Munich who looked younger than her twenty-three years. Unlike the other nuns, she was still a novice and had been transferred to Brazil, by way of Portugal, the previous year, only because she was a trained nurse and there was a shortage of people with her qualifications.
She picked up his shirt. ‘I’ll wash this for you.’
‘No need.’
‘And the seam is splitting on one shoulder, I’ll mend it.’ When she looked up, he saw that her eyes were a startling cornflower blue. ‘It must have been horrible down there.’
‘For you also.’
He handed her the pail, she took it and for a brief moment, they held it together. Sister Angela said quietly, ‘Lotte, I need you.’
She was standing in the entrance to the companionway, her face calm as always, but there was a new wariness in her eyes when she looked at Richter. The girl smiled briefly and joined her and they went below. Richter started to pump water over his head vigorously.
Berger sat behind the desk, surveying the wreckage of his cabin – not that it mattered. It could soon be put straight again. He was filled with a tremendous sense of elation and opened his personal journal. He picked up his pen, thought for a moment, then wrote: I am now more than ever convinced that we shall reach Kiel in safety …