Once Upon a Time in the North (6 page)

"Sheesh," said Lee. "I hope I got
that
right."

Next morning Lee came down to a breakfast of greasy cheese and pickled fish, in the course of which each of the gentleman boarders took great pains to address the young librarian with careless charm, and she responded with silent disdain. Neither she nor Lee made any reference to what had happened in the night.

"A frosty character, our Miss Lund," said the photographer when she'd left. "She expects high standards of conversation."

"She has a sweetheart in the Customs Office," said Vassiliev. "I saw them last night after the meeting. What happened to you, Mr. Scoresby? Were you drawn into the maelstrom of politics?"

"Guess I was, for a minute," said Lee. "Then I came to my senses again. That Poliakov is a disapproving individual, and no mistake. Is he going to win this election?"

"Oh, yes. His only opponent is the present Mayor, who is an indolent and cowardly man. Yes, Poliakov will win, and then he will be perfectly placed to make a bid to return to the Senate at Novgorod. I fully expect to see more of him, unfortunately."

'You know, I just remembered something," Lee said. "He began to mention a situation at the harbor that needed . . . whatever it was he said . . . resolving. Would that be the business of the Captain who can't load his cargo? Do you know anything about that?"

"Well, I don't know exactly what is going on down there, but no doubt our old friends Larsen Manganese have something to do with it. So Poliakov has a hand in it as well, does he? I'm sure that he will win that too."

"Well now," said Lee, "would you care to make a little—?"

Hester bit him quite hard on the wrist. Lee looked at her reproachfully.

"No betting," she said.

"For shame!" he said. "I was about to suggest to Mr. Vassiliev that he might care to take a little trip down to the harbor to see what happens. Betting! Hester, Hester."

"Unfortunately, I have other plans," said Vassiliev. "I have to inspect employment conditions at the tannery today, and then I must make my preparations to leave."

"Well, enjoy the inspection, sir. If I don't see you again before you leave, I'll tell our fair companion that you took your broken heart away to nurse."

It was a blustery morning, with little dashes of rain in between bright sunshine, and big white clouds hurrying across a brilliant blue sky.

"Pretty weather," said Lee as they made their way to the harbor. "Sooner be down here on the ground, though."

"If you don't watch your step, you'll be under it," said Hester.

Lee sat on a bollard at the water's edge and settled his hat lower over his eyes, because the glare off the water was surprising. He took out his little pair of field glasses and looked around the basin. The big steam crane on the right-hand quay had finished with the barque's new mast and was now busy unloading the coal from the tanker into a train of rail wagons. As for the ships on the left, the one that had been taking on fish oil had done with that and was now loading what looked like bundles of skins, and the other vessel was riding much higher in the water after all her cargo of timber had been unloaded. Her decks were clear, and the crew were busy with scrubbing and painting. The only new vessel in sight was a dredger working near the harbor mouth, laboriously hauling up bucketfuls of sand and mud and dumping them into a lighter alongside.

On the schooner, nothing had changed. She lay still and silent at the quay. There was a knot of men gathered partway along the quay at the corner of a warehouse, and Lee was about to train the field glasses on them when a harsh voice spoke behind him.

"What are you looking at?"

Lee put the glasses down carefully and turned round, taking his time. Hester moved a little closer. The man standing there was the red-haired Dutchman he'd helped out of the bar only the day before.

"Captain van Breda?" he said, standing up slowly and tipping his hat.

"That I am. Who are you?"

The man had no memory of him, which was hardly surprising, unless he was ashamed to admit it.

"The name's Scoresby, Captain. I was looking at that schooner, and thinking I wouldn't care to pay the harbor dues that must be piling up while she can't load her cargo."

“You are an associate of that man Poliakov?" said van Breda, clenching his fists. His cheeks, under the red stubble, were suffused with a deeper crimson, and his eyes were bloodshot. It seemed as if he might fall to an apoplexy at any moment, Lee thought, looking at his daemon-—a big rough-haired mongrel bitch with a lot of wolf in her, her hackles raised, trembling and emitting a constant low growl. One or two passersby glanced at them curiously and walked on.

Not far away, a bear climbed up the steps from the water and shook himself, sending sheets of spray flying high in the air, before standing to look along the waterfront towards the two men.

"An associate?" Lee said carefully. "No, sir. That's way wrong. I met the man last night at the town hall, and I told him I didn't care for the kind of man he employs. Anyway, I ain't got a vote in his election, and I fell asleep during his speech. Is that your ship?"

"Yes, goddamnit, and I don't like spies. What are you looking for? Hey?"

Hester moved a step or two closer and said a quiet word to van Breda's daemon, who snapped and growled in reply. Hester turned to Lee and said:

"Lee, buy the Captain a drink."

She was right: the man looked close to collapse.

"I'm no spy, Captain," Lee said. "Would you care to join me in a glass of hot rum? There's a bar right there. I'd like to hear about your situation."

'Yes. Ja. Very well. Why not?" said the Captain, removing his cap and scratching his thick red hair with a trembling hand. All the brittle anger had left him, and he followed Lee helplessly into the bar.

They sat at a table in the window. Van Breda gazed obsessively out at the schooner, cradling his glass of rum, while Lee lit a cigarillo so as to compete with the smoky stove nearby. Outside, Lee noticed the bear sit down near the bollard and then settle on his front, watchfully, great paws tucked under his chest.

"She's nearly lost to me now," the Captain said. "Your ship? Are you the owner as well as the skipper?"

"Not for long, if that man has his way." "How so?"

"Look at this," said van Breda, and took a crumpled envelope from his pocket.

Lee drew out the letter inside. It carried the letterheading of the Novy Odense Harbor Company, and it said:

Dear Captain van Breda, In accordance with the Merchant Shipping Act 11.303.(5), I am required to give you notice that unless the cargo currently stored in Number 5 East Warehouse is loaded by high tide on the morning of April 16, it will be impounded by the Harbor Authority and held for disposal by public auction.

Yours truly,

Johann Aagaard,

Harbor Master

"April the sixteenth," said Lee. "That's tomorrow. When's high tide?"

"Eleven thirty-two," said van Breda. "It's impossible. He knows it's impossible. He orders me to load my cargo, I want to load my cargo, but they refuse to open the bloody warehouse. They say I owe the Harbor Authority money. It's a goddamn lie. This is a concocted new charge that never existed before—they especially made it up to apply to this cargo. I ask for their authorization for this new charge and they refer me to some goddamn law I never heard of. I know Poliakov is at the back of this. Him and Larsen Manganese. The Harbor Authority will impound my cargo and then Poliakov will bid for it at this goddamn auction, on behalf of Larsen, and no one will dare bid against him. Meanwhile I lose my ship. Who cares? Huh?"

"Let me get this clear," said Lee. "First they hit you with a new kind of charge for storing your cargo, and then they refuse to let you load it, and then they threaten to impound it if you don't?"

"That's it. They want to send me mad."

"Why? What is this cargo?"

"Drilling machinery and rock samples."

"Rock samples . . . Wait a minute. Would that have anything to do with oil?"

Van Breda dragged his gaze away from the schooner and looked at Lee directly for a moment.

'You're right. See, that's what it's all about, at bottom. Oil and money."

"Who's the shipper?"

"An oil company from Bergen. See, I have the bill of lading . . ."

He fished another document out of his pocket.

"You sign the bill of lading before you load the cargo?"

"That's the system here. When the cargo is delivered to the warehouse, it becomes the carrier's responsibility and the bill of lading is signed there and then. That's the problem, see. I've already taken responsibility for this cargo, and I can't get the damn . . . can't even . . ."

He swallowed the rum convulsively.

"Why don't you talk to the Customs?" said Lee after a moment. "I understand they're the law around here."

"I tried. Not a Customs matter. All the Customs papers are in order. They wrote me a letter to say they're not concerned."

"How long would it take to load?"

"A couple of hours. Not long."

"And once it was on board, could you leave right away? Would you have to engage a tug, or a pilot?"

"No. I have an auxiliary engine, and enough fuel, and pilotage is not compulsory."

"What about your crew?"

"All on board, but they won't be for long. They know the fix I'm in."

"Because, you see," said Lee, stubbing out his little black cigarillo, "if you had the cover, you could take the cargo and run."

Van Breda stared at him. He didn't seem to understand. His expression trembled between hope and despair.

"What are you saying?" he said.

"I'm saying I don't like Poliakov. I don't like the way he talks and I especially don't like the men he keeps company with. And I'm saying if you want to load that cargo, Captain, I'll stand guard for you while you do it. All you have to do is open the warehouse door."

He pushed back his chair and went to the bar to pay for their drinks.

A thought occurred to him and he said to the bartender, "Say, do you know a man called Oskar Sigurdsson?"

"The journalist?" said the bartender. "Ja, I know him. You a friend of his?"

"No. Just curious."

"Then I tell you. He is poison. Pure poison."

"Thanks," said Lee.

He joined the Captain on the pavement outside.

He was about to turn towards the Harbor Master's office when he had a surprise. The bear by the bollard stood up, turned to them, and said:

'You."

He was looking directly at Lee. His voice was profound. Lee felt himself startled witless for a moment, and then gathered himself and crossed the road to the waterside. Hester stayed very close to his feet, and Lee picked her up.

'You want me?" Lee said.

Face to face, the bear was formidable. He was young, as far as Lee could judge; his body was enormous, and his small black eyes quite unreadable. His ivory-colored fur waved in ripples as the brisk wind played over it. Lee could feel Hester's little heart beating fast close to his.

The bear said, 'You gonna help him?" He looked briefly at the Captain, watching them from across the road, and then back at Lee.