All-seeing

The incident of the stalled engine (an engine which purportedly has never stalled), in conjunction with the incident of the stowaway (the likes of which the Frontier has apparently never hosted) has unsettled the men. These seafaring souls are a superstitious lot. They see omens in everything.

Captain Burroughs is having a hard time commanding order. Jones and a few others have spent many hours in the bridge voicing their concern.

‘We should never ave locked up the lad in the engine room, Cap’n, Sir. Ave you seen his eyes? E’s got the devil in im.’

‘What do you suggest then, man?’ The Captain’s voice is easily heard without the familiar drone of the engine.

‘Overboard, skipper. Throw im to the sharks.’

They’re right about one thing. His eyes aren’t exactly normal. Firstly they’re a searing ice blue. I’ve never seen eyes that startling. But the most peculiar thing is the way his left eye roams with no apparent connection to the right. A lazy eye, that’s what I think it’s called. Very sinister.

There’s something else that’s got the men in a state. The wind. It’s died altogether and the quickly hoisted squaresail is making little, if any, difference. In fact, we’re drifting with the current now, at the mercy of the sea.

The tension aboard ship is palpable. ‘The Captain will contain this situation, son.’ My father appears at my side on the port rail. ‘There is nothing to be concerned about. Nothing at all.’

I shrug. ‘I’m not in the least bit concerned.’

‘No, no of course not.’ He nods and looks relieved when Herr Oppenheim comes by. ‘I say Oppenheim, what do you make of all this?’

Oppenheim is preoccupied. He glances up at the squaresail. ‘She’s a fine vessel. A little heavy in the water, but a good sea vessel all the same. She needs a fair gust to get going, but the gust will come.’

‘And the engine?’ I ask.

He shoots me an irritated look. ‘I am an engineer. There does not exist an engine which I cannot fix.’

Even my father’s eyebrows are raised at the defensiveness of his tone. Clearly there is something very wrong with the engine and Herr Oppenheim is none the wiser. Perhaps the men are right. Perhaps the stowaway has cast a spell on us. It’s a ludicrous thought, and yet …