After the lifeboat drill is over, I go back to the salon with Chase. There’s a ‘Closed’ notice on the window and the lace curtains are drawn. Chase laughs.
‘Now you’re stuffed, Georgie-boy.’
‘Very funny, Chase,’ I say. ‘Imagine if I meet a Mohawk chief who thinks I’ve turned a traditional hairstyle into a flippant fashion statement?’
‘You look forty per cent tougher,’ Chase adds.
‘I don’t want to look tough,’ I say. ‘I want to look like George Parker, a chess player interested in astronomy, who immerses himself up to the eyeballs in education and algae. That’s green algae, Chase, green. Red algae is overrated and I won’t hear another word about it.’
We return to the cabin to see Isobel is still asleep.
‘I am happy,’ she murmurs drowsily. ‘Happy.’
Well, that’s good news.
‘Isobel speaks French,’ Chase informs me. ‘At least, she did before the accident. It might come in handy, since we’re going to France.’
‘I also have a basic knowledge of the language,’ I inform Chase. ‘The French word for algae is algue. Algue vert et algue rouge. Green algae and red algae. You don’t want to get the two mixed up, I can assure you, no sirree.’
‘Anyway, moving on,’ says Chase. ‘It’s dinnertime. And as we are actors, we have our own table.’
Isobel sleeps on peacefully. ‘Perhaps we’ll bring her something back?’ I suggest. ‘And let her rest.’
‘Good thinking,’ says Chase. ‘We’ll leave Amy on guard. Come on, let’s go.’
We leave, locking the door, and walk up the tilting deck. Shrouded lifeboats hang over us and the sea hisses, reminding me that it’s dangerous to be out on the deep dark ocean if you have enemies, because there’s nowhere to go except overboard.
Chase and I sit at a table with the other entertainers. Beside Roland are two muscular ladies in grey overalls eating steak. He introduces them as Olga and Katerina, from Murmansk in Russia.
‘Zey are vairy fonny twin acrobatz,’ he adds. ‘So fonny and zweet. Like liddle daffodil flowerz or luffly budderfliez.’
Katerina and Olga stare with cold grey eyes. Daffodils? Butterflies? Funny? Somehow I can’t see them sharing a rib-tickling riddle or a fascinating fun fact about the discovery of gold in 1854 to brighten up a damp afternoon polishing chess pieces down at Chargers HQ.
‘I believe Murmansk has the northern-most trolley bus system in the world,’ I say cheerfully.
‘Shut up about trolley bus,’ says Katerina sourly.
‘Your haircut,’ says Olga. ‘Stoopid.’
I’d forgotten about my Mohawk. I look around the dining room for Pierre, but there’s no sign – nor any sign of Mohawks, either, which is a relief, because I doubt I could whip up a porcupine quill artwork if asked, and that’s not only because removing quills from a porcupine would be best left to the experts.
‘My haircut was totally accidental,’ I offer. ‘But I dedicate it to the Mohawk nation, a people proudly represented in Canada and the USA, whose culture remains strong and vibrant to this day.’
‘Zat ’aircut iz boring me to bitz, Gheorge.’ Roland picks his yellow teeth with a steel toothpick. ‘But zpicking of bitz, tomorrow night I will zaw you in ’alf in my magic zhow and ze piezes of Gheorge will dizappear and everybotty vill zink vairy fonny.’
‘Not everybody,’ I say. ‘Especially if I don’t reappear, Roland. Certainly not from the point of view of my forward-thinking parents who have already pre-purchased my school shoes and extended my single bed by six centimetres in the not-unlikely expectation that I might grow.’
‘Oh, truzt me.’ Roland pats his heart. ‘Ant Chaze, you will do dangerouz ztunt wiz lovely twinkle toez Olga and zlender fairy prinzezz Katerina.’
Chase laughs merrily. ‘I do love a dangerous stunt, Roland! Now dear George, I think I left the iron on. Perhaps you’d better pop back and check?’
I leave the dining room and walk down the deserted deck. Once in the cabin, I see Isobel sitting up with her sketchbook. She shows me a beautiful picture of the Landon-Bond mansion, with a ‘For Sale’ sign on it.
‘Our family,’ she whispers. ‘In serious trouble.’
‘Yes,’ I say. ‘But I’m sure it’ll all work out fine in the end.’
I hope so, because there’s nothing worse than a tragic ending when I might be part of it.
I’m heading back along the deck when a masked figure in a black velvet cape drops down like a spider. Pierre!
‘You need to fix my haircut, Pierre,’ I say. ‘I am not a Mohawk person. This style totally misleads and misrepresents my cultural values and sensitivities to other peoples from around the globe.’
‘No can do, my friend.’ Pierre adjusts a smiley-face button on his shirt. ‘Pierre never goes back to a haircut. But George, I heard Roland the Magician tell Katerina and Olga that he is going to hand you over to some people in France. For a stupendously large reward.’
Good lord! ‘Oh, he’s making stuff up,’ I tell Pierre. ‘After all, he is a magician.’
‘Is he?’ Suddenly Pierre sets off, climbing upwards towards the next deck like a gymnast, although the stairs are only round the corner. His pointy-chinned, pale face looks down. ‘Take care, George! And come in for a complimentary wash and blow-wave any time you like!’
After dinner, Chase and I discuss how we’ll deal with what Roland has planned.
‘He’s a dirty double-crosser,’ I say. ‘And dirty double-crossers deserve to be double-crossed before they can double-cross the double-crossees. Which is us.’
‘Correct,’ says Chase. ‘And here’s how we’ll outsmart him.’ He leans forward. ‘We go along with his stupid show, then whoosh! We make a break for Paris! Then straight back to Australia, our home that is girt by sea!’
‘Although I do appreciate the reference to our wonderful national anthem, Chase,’ I say, ‘your plan seems a little light on detail.’
‘Nonsense,’ he answers and winks. ‘It’s perfect.’