Migrations(11)

The terns haven’t left Greenland yet. I’ve been watching the little red dots on my laptop obsessively, knowing it will be soon. Until they do we are staying in the Saghani’s normal waters, hoping for luck.

Ennis decides the route we take; he is the one who finds the fish, and so the livelihood of his crew depends entirely on his ability to scour this enormous ocean. I haven’t spoken to him since I came aboard. I rarely see him, except at a distance behind the helm. He doesn’t eat with us. Basil said this is normal—he’s likely up there studying charts and weather reports and sonar tracking devices, the weight of his responsibility lying heavy upon him.

“He’s in the heart of the hunt,” Anik told me on my first day, as though I should have known this. “It makes him separate. Other.”

“He’s just making sure we don’t all die, and thank the Lord for that,” Samuel muttered, lighting two cigarettes at once and passing the second to Anik.

This is how I am learning about the captain of the Saghani—from afar, in the snippets his crew members offer up. He has skipper’s quarters, whereas the rest of us share a cabin between two, the rooms all adjoining the small mess room and galley. I’ve been placed in Léa’s cabin, and she’s unused to having a roommate, to say the least. She doesn’t speak to me, except to bark orders, and the cabin is barely big enough for both bunks. The only reason its tiny size has been endurable so far is because I’ve been too tired to lie awake in the heavy dark and imagine I am in a coffin.

“Franny, outta the way!” Dae shouts as he thunders past. I jump clear in time to hear him holler, “Berg at two degrees port!”

I peer over the railing to see what he’s talking about. There’s an iceberg jutting out of the layer of flat ice surrounding it, and we are angled directly for it. Presumably its shape means the bulk of it extends much deeper into the sea, whereas the rest of the ice sits mostly atop the water. The icebreakers can’t cut through a berg. It doesn’t look big enough to do proper damage but I suppose that’s what everyone on board the Titanic thought. And given the noises being made by the crew, I’d say we’re in trouble.

“Brace for impact!”

Basil wrenches me into his chest, pressing us roughly to the deck. The juddering impact sends us sprawling, and my shoulder connects heavily with the wall. I wince as the boat corrects itself once more. If Basil hadn’t grabbed me I might have been flung overboard. He’s already bolting off down the ship. I struggle to my feet and keep a firm hold of the railing. We’re past the iceberg and angled away—we must have clipped the edge of it. I can see ice-free ocean up ahead and my hammering heart doesn’t know whether to speed up or slow down.

It’s not that I want us to sink or anything, but that was exciting.

“Clear!” Ennis booms from his balcony once we’re out of the ice.

“Aye, Skip!” Léa calls.

“Nicely done!” Mal shouts.

Ennis heads down the stairs and I watch him stride to the point of impact, throwing a heavy rope ladder over the side. I lean over to watch him climb down and check the damage to the hull, completely at ease on that rope. Water sprays his body, but he only climbs lower, reaching to touch the long scrape and judge its depth. When he’s satisfied he swings up and over, landing with a heavy squelch of boots. “Cosmetic,” he tells the waiting crew, who let out a stream of relieved curses.

“You all right, love?” he asks me, the first words he’s spoken to me since the night we met.

“Look at her face,” Mal says, and as they all clock my expression, whatever it is, they crack up laughing. Even Léa is chuckling, though Anik only rolls his eyes.

Ennis smiles as he passes me, clapping me on the shoulder. “It’s got ahold of you now.”



* * *



“Hey, Franny, wake up.”

No.

“Come on.”

Someone is dragging me from my bed. It can’t be dawn already. I blink blearily and see Dae.

“What are you doing? Let me sleep.”

“Dinner’s on.”

“I’m too tired.”

“You’ll never survive if you don’t eat.”

I can see he’s not going to be deterred so I haul myself to my feet and stumble into the mess. Malachai makes room for me to slide in next to him at the corner table. The booth seats are a sticky, peeling brown leather and when all seven of us are wedged in it’s a tight fit. A small brick of a television is mounted on the wall above us and we all crane our necks to watch one of the four DVDs they have on board—tonight’s screening is Die Hard, which they can all, without exaggeration, recite word for word. I rest my head on the back of the seat and let myself nod off.

“What the hell are you doing in there?” Dae shouts at one point, wrenching me from my doze.

“What time is it?” I ask groggily.

“One a.m.!” Dae shouts, not for my benefit.

“Patience!” Basil’s voice comes from the adjoining galley.

“Can’t I please just go to bed?” I ask.

Mal and Dae find my sleep-addled state highly amusing.

“Not coping too well, princess?” Léa asks me coldly.

I sink lower in my seat and ignore them all.