The Silence of the Sea Page 11

  ‘What’s the betting that Karítas’s old man has killed her to prevent the divorce or shut her up?’ Bella abandoned the attempt to fasten her seatbelt and turned to face Thóra. ‘Postcard, my arse. Anyone can send a postcard: Having a great time in Rio – kiss, kiss, Karítas. I bet he just copied a sample of her handwriting, then used Google Translate to put it into Icelandic. Think about it – no one’s seen her since she went to fetch the stuff on the yacht.’ In spite of her dislike, Bella had clearly been following the news about her old schoolmate with avid interest.

  Thóra was no gambler but she wouldn’t have taken that wager even if she’d been an inveterate risk-taker. ‘Let’s hope that’s not true.’ If only for her mother’s sake.

  Chapter 8

  ‘God, this is good, if I say so myself.’ Lára spoke with her mouth full, but swallowed before continuing: ‘To think that only this morning I was sure no food would ever pass my lips again.’ The family had spent most of the day languishing in the enormous bed, the girls sandwiched between their parents, each with a book that they glanced at whenever they weren’t dozing. Ægir had nodded off a few times himself, only to start awake again immediately, without knowing why. Lára, meanwhile, had slept like a log for at least two hours, untroubled by her husband and daughters’ movements. The pills had made them so drowsy and lethargic that they had wasted the whole afternoon, but thanks to them they were now feeling almost as well as before they had left harbour. Almost – but not quite.

  They were all seated in the galley apart from Loftur, whose turn it was to stand watch on the bridge. The family had taken so much trouble over the meal that anyone would have thought it was a celebration. No sooner had the girls revived than they were itching for a distraction, so they were given the task of laying the table for supper. They took the job seriously, unearthing a white tablecloth, stiff with starch; linen napkins which they inserted into silver napkin rings that could have done with a polish, and elegant glasses to match the rest of the tableware. Ægir brought out some wine to complete the party atmosphere. Thráinn had immediately accepted their invitation to dine with them, perhaps because the girls asked him and it was harder to say no to them. Halli had refused at first, but relented when Thráinn dismissed his talk of grabbing a sandwich to eat in his cabin. It was difficult to tell if he regretted his decision but although he hung his head and stared at his plate for most of the meal, he did at least seem grateful for the food.

  Lára and Ægir had taken care of the cooking, setting to once they had searched the fridge for something they felt up to digesting. The outcome of their efforts lay before them in large dishes. ‘Cheers.’ Ægir raised his glass and waited for the others to follow suit. ‘Pity we didn’t have the sense to bring along a few bottles of white. We should have known there’d be fish.’

  ‘That’s all right.’ Thráinn took a deep gulp. ‘We’re not fussy, are we, Halli?’

  ‘No.’ The young sailor was as taciturn as ever. Perhaps it was his age, or simply that he was unused to having families on board. Ægir would have felt the same if a family of four had invaded his office. Halli sipped his wine, but did not look particularly appreciative. Maybe he was more of a beer drinker; after all, he was considerably younger than the other three adults.

  ‘It is okay for you two to have a little drink, isn’t it? I mean, if you’re on duty?’ Lára forked up another piece of fish.

  ‘Sure. We’re on autopilot and cruising at a gentle speed. We go as slowly as possible at night, but make up for it during the day. Since we’re just pottering along at the moment it doesn’t matter if we have something to drink. I’ll be my usual self when I take over the watch later. Don’t worry – it takes more than a couple of glasses of wine to get me drunk.’

  ‘Who sails the boat at night?’ asked Bylgja.

  ‘We take it in turns to keep watch, but there isn’t much to do. We just lie on the couch within reach, and plot our position at hourly intervals in case anything goes wrong.’

  ‘Like what?’ Arna looked up from the search for fish bones that had delayed her from starting her meal. Her tuna steak had been shredded to pieces.

  Thráinn looked ill at ease; evidently he hadn’t been prepared for the question. ‘Well, mainly it’s so we’ll know where we are if there’s a power cut and the GPS drops out. But if the electricity did go, it’s unlikely to be serious, and it’s not going to happen anyway. And even if something else went wrong, we’d be all right; in the worst case scenario we’d have to request assistance from another ship.’

  ‘But there aren’t any other ships out here.’ Bylgja was eating more dutifully than Arna and had more colour back in her cheeks, perhaps because she had succumbed to the sickness first. Neither had mentioned Karítas or nightmares again, which was a relief. ‘We haven’t seen any and can’t hear any either.’

  ‘They’re out there even if we can’t see them. The sea’s very, very big. But if you’re interested I can show you the equipment on the bridge that tells us what vessels are nearby. We’ve got radar too, of course.’

  ‘To find our way?’ Bylgja looked up from her plate.

  Thráinn smiled. ‘Yes, you could say that. Radar shows us what’s in the sea around us so we don’t collide with anything.’

  Lára topped up Thráinn’s glass. Until now the men had behaved as if the family were not there. They would reply if asked a direct question but never volunteered any comment. Halli and Loftur were still rather aloof but Thráinn at least seemed to be thawing. ‘Have you crewed this yacht before?’ Although she didn’t let on, Lára was hoping they might be able to share some indiscreet titbits of gossip about Karítas. She had read so many articles and news items about her in the tabloids that she almost felt she knew her.

  ‘No, I’d never set eyes on the boat till the other day. I must say I wouldn’t have minded sailing her round the Med in summer. Or the Caribbean.’ Thráinn peered out into the darkness. It had begun to rain as they sat down to eat and the drops rattled on the windows, making it feel quite cosy inside. ‘Though I gather it’s almost a charity gig to crew these yachts; they don’t pay half as well as the trawlers. People with money tend to be pretty tight with the purse strings.’

  ‘What about you, Halli?’ Ægir made an effort to include the young man in the conversation.

  ‘Yes.’ It looked as if this monosyllable would be their only answer, but suddenly he added: ‘Only for three months. That’s why I’m here; they thought it would be better to have someone who knew their way around.’

  ‘Wow. What was it like?’ Lára hoped it wasn’t embarrassingly obvious what she was fishing for. ‘It seems amazing that a yacht like this should have belonged to an Icelander.’

  ‘It depends what you mean by belonged,’ interjected Ægir. ‘The yacht was registered in her husband’s name. Or rather a company owned by her husband.’ He couldn’t work out what his wife was up to but saw that his comment had annoyed her.

  ‘You know what I mean.’ Lára turned back to Halli. ‘What was it like?’

  Halli dropped his gaze to his plate and toyed with a lone potato. ‘Oh, you know, nothing out of the ordinary.’

  ‘But it must have been out of the ordinary.’ Lára tried and failed to make eye contact with him. ‘Do tell us. What was Karítas like, for example? And her husband?’

  ‘They were just like anyone else. That’s all I can say. I had to sign an agreement not to discuss my time on board, especially not the guests or owners, so I can’t really talk about it.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Mind you, it might not count any longer, now they’re bankrupt. I wouldn’t know. But it doesn’t make any difference, because nothing interesting happened, so there’s nothing to say.’

  ‘Are you going to tell me they made you sign an agreement not to share your knowledge of the engine either?’ Thráinn folded his arms. ‘Anyone would have thought so, judging by how little you seem to know what you’re doing.’ He winked at Lára without Halli noticing. The young man flushed to t
he roots of his white hair.

  ‘Were there any children?’ Either Arna hadn’t grasped the part about the confidentiality clause or she dismissed it as irrelevant.

  ‘He doesn’t know, darling.’ Ægir worked with confidentiality agreements every day at the committee and the subject made him uncomfortable. It was to the young man’s credit that he wanted to keep his promise. Such matters ought to be honoured, and Ægir tried to convey as much to Lára by sending her a sobering glare. She ignored him.

  ‘Yes, he does. He can answer yes or no, can’t he?’ Arna put down her fork and returned to the attack. ‘Were there any children?’ She had inherited her mother’s friendly interest in people, whereas Bylgja took after her father. So alike on the outside; so different inside.

  ‘No.’ It was unclear whether Halli was answering or trying to put a stop to any further questions.

  ‘You could at least tell us if you enjoyed it.’ Lára wasn’t going to give up so easily.

  ‘No.’ At first the others weren’t sure whether he was refusing to answer or referring to his experience, but his next comment removed all doubt. ‘I wasn’t happy on board and I was in two minds about accepting this job when it came up.’

  ‘Oh.’ This was not the reply Lára had been hoping for. ‘Were you seasick?’

  For the first time since they had embarked, they saw Halli genuinely amused. ‘No. I wasn’t seasick.’

  ‘What was wrong then?’ Lára pretended not to notice when Ægir trod warningly on her foot.

  ‘There’s something weird about this yacht. I can’t really explain. There’s just something wrong with her.’ He gave Thráinn a nasty smile. ‘The captain was a real loser as well, not that that’s unusual.’

  Thráinn snorted. ‘Rubbish. As if you know anything about a boat like this. You’ve only been at sea for what, three, four years? This yacht is one of the finest vessels I’ve ever sailed and I know what I’m talking about.’

  Halli turned red again, this time from anger, not embarrassment. ‘I didn’t criticise her performance, did I?’ He took a slug of wine. ‘It’s the atmosphere. There’s something creepy about her and I’m not the only one to think so.’

  ‘Really?’ Ægir said, then wished he hadn’t. This conversation was the last thing the girls needed to hear. They were sitting rigid with attention, hanging on every word instead of eating their supper.

  ‘Some of the other crew members told me the stories that were going round about her. They were all the same. I’m not particularly superstitious but all that talk about a curse made me uneasy. It was obvious they weren’t joking.’ Halli broke off abruptly and concentrated on shovelling the last potato into his mouth. ‘Thanks for the food.’ He stood up and went out.

  Ægir walked into the pilot house and was surprised yet again at how different it was from what he had been expecting when he first came aboard. It reminded him more of a radio repair shop than the bridge of a ship, with its rows of computer screens and gadgets, all with a mysterious role to play. The only detail consistent with his preconceptions was the handsome wooden wheel below the window, though Thráinn had told him on the first day that it was only there as backup in case the automated navigation system failed. Generally, if the crew needed to steer the ship manually for any reason, they would use a joystick that was no bigger than the controller for a computer game. In addition to all the navigation equipment, the yacht had a sizeable telecommunications system, and although Ægir didn’t trust himself to repeat Thráinn’s explanation of how it all worked, he remembered more or less what role each system played. Still, he hoped he would never have to operate any of the technology in here; if he did, there was a risk the yacht would end up sailing in circles.

  ‘Isn’t it hard to keep an eye on all those screens and monitors?’ Ægir plonked a cold beer on the table that stood in the middle of the pilot house. It was covered with a non-slip cloth and had a raised chrome edge around it to prevent objects from sliding off in heavy seas. The bottle was wet with condensation, so he took care not to place it too close to the chart that was spread out on the table. He had seen similar charts on his sailing course, covered with lines and numbers that he had understood when sitting in the classroom but which now seemed to bear little relation to the sea they were supposed to represent. ‘I brought you a beer. Thought it would be okay since Thráinn’s relieving you soon.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Loftur reached for the bottle, after what looked like an internal struggle about whether to keep up his surly manner. ‘I’ve had just about enough anyway. The sodding radio’s playing up and I can’t fix it. It’s doing my head in.’ He took a swig of beer.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Endless bloody interference, a couple of weird calls.’ He nodded towards what looked like a card machine, from which a strip of paper protruded like a tongue. ‘There was an alert on the NAVTEX about a container falling off a freighter not far from here. That may have something to do with it.’

  ‘What’s the NAVTEX?’ Ægir went over to the machine and read the short English text on the printout, which was accompanied by a sequence of numbers and letters.

  ‘It receives messages about navigational alerts, like weather warnings, ice reports and notifications about other hazards such as drifting containers – like now.’

  ‘We’re not in any danger, are we?’ Ægir’s tone was ironic as he assumed the answer would be no. Loftur seemed far too relaxed and would surely have fetched Thráinn if it was serious. Ægir took a sip of cold beer.

  ‘No, I shouldn’t think so.’ Loftur’s attention was fixed on the radar. ‘Have your wife and kids gone to sleep?’

  ‘Well, Lára hasn’t but the girls are in bed. She’s reading to them in the hope that there won’t be a repetition of last night’s bad dreams. I must say, I wouldn’t mind turning in myself though we’ve been lying down most of the day. This sea air’s making me sleepy.’ Ægir toyed with the beer bottle. ‘Are you a family man yourself?’

  Loftur looked up from the radar, and at first it seemed as if he had taken offence at the question. Perhaps he didn’t like discussing his private life with strangers, or maybe Ægir had touched a nerve. Young though he was, he might recently have split up with a girlfriend. Ægir immediately regretted having asked, but he must have misread Loftur’s reaction because the other man eventually replied: ‘No, not yet.’

  The yacht dived suddenly and as she came up there was a resounding thud that made the entire vessel shudder. Ægir had to grab the table to keep his balance. The sea had been relatively quiet for the last hour, so he had been completely unprepared. ‘Whoa!’ As he straightened his knees, he noticed that Loftur was unaffected by the movement. Next minute all was calm again and the yacht righted herself. ‘Can any of those smart gadgets give advance warning of that kind of thing?’

  ‘If you mean can I warn you when a wave’s coming, the answer’s no. Your best bet’s to look ahead over the bows.’ Loftur glanced over his shoulder at the various monitors. ‘If you want to have a look around, it’s fine. Just don’t touch anything.’

  Ægir didn’t like to decline the invitation and point out that Thráinn had already shown him the ropes. He was afraid this would be interpreted as lack of interest and expose his true nature, that of the wimpy office worker. Besides, it would be a pity not to respond to the man’s friendly overtures now that he seemed to be coming out of his shell at last. ‘That’s the radar, isn’t it?’ Ægir asked, standing in front of a large, multi-coloured screen whose function he knew perfectly well. The screen showed a disk with a radial sweep that revolved slowly, trailing an illuminated area that gradually faded away.

  ‘Yes.’ Loftur came over. ‘It shows the magnetic waves of the radar spreading out from the yacht’s transmitter. If they hit anything, they bounce back and it shows up on screen. We’re in the middle of the circle, here.’ Ægir nodded, feigning ignorance, and Loftur continued: ‘As you can see, there’s nothing in the vicinity, which is pretty unusual, and I was
beginning to wonder if we’d drifted off course – if the GPS was programmed wrong.’

  ‘What did you conclude?’

  ‘That we’re on course. It’s just a coincidence.’

  ‘Could the radar be malfunctioning? Could there be ships out there that aren’t showing up?’

  ‘I doubt it. It’s not exactly a busy sea route, so it’s probably not significant. We’ll see other vessels once we enter the fishing grounds. The sea underneath us is dead; all the life has been hoovered up. It’s kind of depressing.’

  ‘What about the container? Would it show up?’

  Loftur shrugged. ‘Depends how high it’s riding in the water. The radar waves have to bounce off something and if the container’s mostly submerged, they wouldn’t pick it up. Actually, it would be better if the sea was rough, because then it would move up and down with the waves and be more visible.’

  He showed Ægir another screen. ‘This is the echo sounder. It’s no use here as the ocean’s so deep, but it’s an important instrument when you’re sailing in shallower waters.’

  Remembering his earlier musings, Ægir asked: ‘How deep is the sea here?’

  Loftur bent over the screen and pointed: ‘About 3,200 metres. At that depth sunlight doesn’t penetrate to the sea bed, so the life forms are really strange. It’s amazing anything survives down there at all. The pressure is almost three hundred times what it is on the surface. It’s too far down even for deep-sea fish.’ Loftur looked out of the window, as if he expected to see something in the darkness. ‘Deep-sea fish are bizarre enough as it is. I’ve never seen it myself, but occasionally they get caught in the nets and blow up like balloons because of the change of pressure. I expect the same would happen to us if we were dragged out of the earth’s atmosphere.’

  Ægir recalled a picture he had seen of a fish with a lantern dangling in front of its jaws. It had been a deep-sea species that used the light to lure in other curious fish, before snapping them up. He didn’t dare mention it in case the fish was fictional, a maritime hoax invented by sailors to trick landlubbers like him.