Douglas Child - The Wheel of Darkness

Constance paused. The ship shuddered through another massive wave, yawing strangely. She looked back at Marya. “Wait here, please.”

She went upstairs and knocked on the door of Pendergast’s stateroom. Usually he responded immediately, his voice as clear and collected as if he’d been awake for hours. This time, nothing.

Another knock. “Aloysius?”

A low, even voice issued from inside. “I asked you to wake me at three.”

“There’s an emergency you should know about.”

A long silence. “I don’t see why it couldn’t wait.”

“It can’t wait, Aloysius.”

A long silence. “I’ll join you downstairs in a moment.”

Constance descended. Several minutes later, Pendergast made his appearance, wearing black suit pants, a starched white shirt hanging open unbuttoned, black suit jacket and tie thrown over one arm. He tossed the jacket on the chair and cast his eyes about. “My eggs Benedict and tea?” he asked.

Constance stared at him. “They’ve shut down all room service. Food is being served only in shifts.”

“Surely Marya here is clever enough to scare something up while I shave.”

“We don’t have time for food,” said Constance, irritated.

Pendergast went into the bathroom, leaving the door open, pulled the shirt off his white, sculpted body, tossed it over the shower rail, turned on the water, and began to lather his face. He took out a long straight razor and began stropping it. Constance got up to shut the door but he gestured to her with his hand. “I’m waiting to hear what’s so important that it has disrupted my nap.”

“Marya says that Captain Mason—the one who took over from Cutter after he refused to change course—has seized the bridge of the ship and is sending us on a collision course with a reef.”

The razor paused in its smooth progress down Pendergast’s long white jaw. Almost thirty seconds passed. Then the shaving resumed. “And why has Mason done this?”

“Nobody knows. She just went crazy, it seems.”

“Crazy,” Pendergast repeated. The scraping continued, maddeningly slow and precise.

“On top of that,” Constance said, “there’s been another encounter with that thing, the so-called smoke ghost. A number of people saw it, including the cruise director. It almost seems as if . . .” She paused, uncertain how to articulate it, then dropped the idea. It was no doubt her imagination.

Pendergast’s shaving continued, in silence, the only sounds the faint booming and buffeting of the storm and the occasional raised voice in the corridor. Constance and Marya waited. At last he finished. He rinsed, wiped off and folded the razor, mopped and toweled his face, pulled on his shirt, buttoned it, slipped the gold cuff links into his cuffs, threw on his tie and knotted it with a few expert tugs. Then he stepped into the sitting room.

“Where are you going?” Constance asked, both exasperated and a little frightened. “Do you have any idea what’s going on here?”

He picked up his jacket. “You mean you haven’t figured it out?”

“Of course I haven’t!” Constance felt herself losing her temper. “Don’t tell me you have!”

“Naturally I have.” He slipped on his suit coat and headed for the door.

“What?”

Pendergast paused at the door. “Everything’s connected, as I surmised earlier—the theft of the Agozyen, the murder of Jordan Ambrose, the shipboard disappearances and killings, and now the mad captain driving the ship up on a reef.” He gave a little laugh. “Not to mention your ‘smoke ghost.’ ”

“How?” Constance asked, exasperated. “You have the same information I do, and I find explanations to be so tiresome. Besides, it’s irrelevant now—all of it.” He waved his hand vaguely around the room. “If what you say is true, all this will shortly be wedged in the abyssal muck at the bottom of the Atlantic, and right now I have something important to do. I’ll be back in less than an hour. Perhaps in the meantime you might manage a simple plate of eggs Benedict and green tea?”

He left.

Constance stared at the door long after it had closed behind him. Then she turned slowly to Marya. For a moment she said nothing.

“Yes?” Marya asked.

“I have a favor to ask you.”

The maid waited.

“I want you to bring me a doctor as soon as possible.”

Marya looked at her with alarm. “Are you ill?”

“No. But I think

he

is.”

53

GAVIN BRUCE AND WHAT HE HAD BEGUN TO CALL HIS TEAM SAT in the midships lounge on Deck 8, engaged in conversation about the state of the ship and the next steps they might take. The Britannia seemed remarkably quiet for early afternoon. Even though a curfew had only been instituted for the nighttime hours, it seemed many of the passengers had taken to their cabins, either through fear of the murderer or exhaustion over an extremely tense morning.

Bruce shifted in his chair. While their mission to speak to Commodore Cutter had failed, it gratified him that the man had been removed and his recommendations had been acted upon. He felt that, in the end, his intervention had done some good.

Cutter had clearly been out of his depth. He was a kind of captain Bruce knew well from his own career in the Royal Navy, a commander who confused stubbornness with resolve and “going by the book” for wisdom. Such men often choked when circumstances grew chaotic. The new captain had handled the transition well; he’d approved of her speech over the PA. Very professional, very much in command.

“We’re moving into the teeth of the storm,” said Niles Welch, nodding at the row of streaming windows.

“Hate to be out in that mess on board a smaller ship,” Bruce replied. “Amazing how sea-kindly this big ship is.”

“Not like the destroyer I was a middy on during the Falklands war,” said Quentin Sharp. “Now that was a squirrelly vessel.”

“I’m surprised the captain increased speed back there,” said Emily Dahlberg. “Can’t say I blame her,” Bruce replied. “In her position, I’d want to get this Jonah ship into port as soon as possible, the hell with the passengers’ comfort. Although if it were me I might just ease off on the throttle a trifle. This ship is taking quite a pounding.” He glanced over at Dahlberg. “By the way, Emily, I wanted to congratulate you on how you quieted that hysterical girl just now. That’s the fourth person you’ve managed to calm in the last hour.”

Dahlberg crossed one poised leg over the other. “We’re all here for the same reason, Gavin—to help maintain order and assist any way we can.”

“Yes, but I could never have done it. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anybody that upset.”

“I just used my maternal instincts.”

“You’ve never had any children.”

“True.” Dahlberg smiled faintly. “But I’ve got a good imagination.”

The sound of urgent footsteps and confused shouting came echoing down the corridor.

“Not another group of drunken sods,” Sharp muttered.

The voices grew louder, and an unruly group of passengers appeared, led by a man who was clearly drunk. They had fanned out and were pounding on stateroom doors, the occupants coming out into the corridor behind them.

“Did you hear?” the man in the lead shouted, his voice slurred. “You hear?” The others in the group kept banging, shouting for everyone to come out.

Bruce sat up.

“Is something wrong?” Dahlberg asked sharply.

The drunken man stopped, swaying slightly. “We’re on a collision course!”

There was a babble of frightened voices. The man waved his arms. “Captain’s seized the bridge! She’s going to wreck the ship on the Grand Banks!”