Misty’s decks were already warm with the morning sun when Ancell awoke. A kettle steamed in the galley, which was as spotlessly clean and ordered as The Cook was dishevelled.
‘I suppose you want something to eat?’ said The Cook with a sigh.
‘If you wouldn’t mind,’ said Ancell, and was rewarded with a bowl of porridge. Over a mug of tea, The Cook told him that Capt. Albern was ashore arranging for the ship’s officers to join, shortly to be followed by the crew. Ancell wondered what they would think of a landlubber searching for an unknown voice somewhere on the other side of the world.
‘What are they like?’ he asked anxiously.
‘The best! The skipper’s the best, so he chooses who he wants. No one turns down a voyage on Misty – and they won’t mind a passenger.’
Ancell considered himself more important than a mere passenger, but said nothing.
‘Ahoy there!’ called Capt. Albern, and Ancell turned to see the hump back of the sea otter lolloping up the gangplank. While The Cook brewed more tea, the captain informed them that all the crew he wished to recruit would sail, though he had yet to find Chad, the ship’s bosun. Miss Strait, at whose boarding house he lodged, had not seen him for two days.
The Cook sighed. ‘Probably under a table in some bar.’
‘Maybe,’ agreed the captain, ‘but for this voyage it’s essential I have him on board. I’ll call again this evening.’
Ancell was curious to meet so crucial a member of the ship’s company.
‘May I come with you?’ he asked.
‘Good idea!’ said The Cook. ‘You can help carry him back.’
It was already dark when Ancell followed Capt. Albern ashore and the streets were quiet apart from the clatter of hooves on cobblestones as a youth led a horse to a stable. The sea otter set a steady pace, stopping only once to drop a coin into the palm of a young girl selling matches. Her pale face looked up gratefully as she pulled the thin shawl about her shoulders more tightly.
Miss Strait’s establishment was distinguished by brightly planted window boxes and a notice displaying the rates for her rooms, together with a list of house rules which concluded with the warning that unruly behaviour would not be tolerated.
Capt. Albern pulled on the bell chain and a severe looking woman, wearing a black dress and white lace bonnet, ushered them into the kitchen.
‘Any sign of him, Ma’am?’ asked the captain.
Miss Strait shook her head. A flicker of misgiving crossed her face.
‘I suppose it’s another voyage,’ she said.
Capt. Albern took her by the shoulders. ‘Yes Ma’am, an important one.’
Miss Strait stirred a bubbling stew. ‘Perhaps it’s as well,’ she said softly. ‘He gets bored. Will you be gone long?’
‘It will be a while.’
‘You will bring him back?’
‘I’ll do that,’ promised the captain.
Miss Strait dabbed her eyes with the corner of her apron. ‘It’s the onions,’ she explained.
Following Miss Strait’s directions to the “Flag and Anchor”, where Chad was most likely to be found, Capt. Albern and Ancell crossed a bridge over a river into a maze of narrow alleyways. A gang of barefoot boys idly watched them. One threw a stone and they laughed when Ancell stumbled in his hurry to get away.
The windows of the “Flag and Anchor” were curtained, but through a broken pane, Ancell could hear raucous voices and the chink of glasses. A man began to sing and others joined in a drunken chorus.
‘Let’s hope you’re in there,’ murmured the captain as they paused outside.
At that moment the swing doors burst open and a body of flailing arms and legs shot through the air.
‘Out you go!’ laughed two burly men, inspecting their knuckles as the body slid to a halt. For a moment the riotous clamour of the drinkers spilled into the night, then the doors swung shut and the street was silent again. The body was a sinewy Common rat, brown backed and greying towards its under-parts, with a tail nearly as long as itself. The tail twitched and it pulled itself up with the aid of a lamppost. It brushed itself down, took a deep breath, and staggered purposefully for the door.
‘Hello, Chad,’ said Capt. Albern.
The rat span round, ‘Skipper!’ he cried, grabbing the sea otter with delight and for support. ‘Come and have a drink.’
‘I think not. It’s time to go.’
‘Whatever you say, Skipper. Just give me a couple of minutes to sort out a little matter.’
Capt. Albern sighed as the rat took one step back, two to one side, steadied himself, and lurched for the entrance. Ancell moved to hold him back but Capt. Albern stayed his arm. The doors swung shut. There was a moment’s silence and then an uproar of yells and curses followed by the crash of upturned tables. The doors flew open again and once more the rat landed in the street. Ancell noticed that on this occasion the two men were not laughing. One was nursing a bloody nose and the other a rapidly swelling eye.
‘Satisfied?’ enquired Capt. Albern, helping Chad to his feet.
‘Someone called me plague-ridden vermin. Nobody gets away with that,’ Chad informed him.
‘Yersinia pestis.’
‘That wasn’t his name.’
‘Yersinia pestis is the bacterium of the Black Death, carried by fleas and rats,’ explained Capt. Albern. ‘However it was black rats that spread the disease.’
‘That is exactly what I intended to say when I hit him,’ replied Chad.
Ancell followed a few paces behind the two seafarers, who appeared to have forgotten of his existence. Chad stopped at the river.
‘Skipper, there’s a hedgehog following us,’ he whispered in the captain’s ear, glancing at Ancell from the corner of his eye. Capt. Albern apologised profusely for forgetting to introduce them.
‘Ancell is sailing with us,’ he told Chad.
‘Did you say sailing! And did you say us!’
‘Misty is sailing for the Southern Ocean. Why else do you think I’m here?’
‘A voyage at last!’ shouted Chad, and with a leap was running along the parapet of the bridge, arms outstretched to keep his far-from-certain balance.
‘He won’t fall off,’ Capt. Albern assured Ancell.
Ancell looked down at the dark water swirling beneath the arches and wished the rat did just that. So much for an important member of the crew, he thought. A has-been, who drinks too much, picks fights in bars, and worst of all, who had not even acknowledged his presence. This, Chad corrected when they caught up with him, though not as Ancell would have wished.
‘You’re a greenhorn, aren’t you?’ he announced.
‘I’m not a sailor, if that’s what you mean,’ replied Ancell stiffly.
‘No need to get prickly about it,’ mocked Chad with a giggle.
‘But he has a purpose. We need to take him south,’ interceded Capt. Albern.
‘You don’t look very purposeful,’ Chad told Ancell. ‘It’s just as well you found Misty. We’ll look after you.’
Ancell was not reassured.
Chad paused outside Miss Strait’s door.
‘Just get my gear,’ he said. ‘Keep quiet; don’t want to wake her.’
Chad had nearly reached the top of the stairs when Miss Strait called his name. The rat froze.
‘Tell her I’m not here,’ he whispered.
‘Chad’s here,’ announced Capt. Albern. ‘My apologies Ma’am for keeping you up so late.’
Miss Strait appeared from her kitchen. With a despairing glance at his skipper, Chad tiptoed down to face her. Hands on hips, Miss Strait first listed the rat’s many character flaws. This was followed by a summary of his bad habits, which featured laying in bed half the morning, frequenting bars of ill repute, compromising the good name of her establishment and failing to put his dirty laundry in the basket provided for that very purpose.
‘Well spoken, Ma’am,’ intoned Capt. Albern in a graveside manner.
Chad then learned that undeserving though he was, she had washed and ironed his clothes and a freshly baked fruitcake was packed in his sea-bag. Chad kissed her hand and Ancell noticed her blush.
It was midnight before they climbed back on board. Ancell slept fitfully, and in his dreams saw a figure standing over him aiming a pistol. He watched the finger tighten on the trigger and flinched. There was a flash and a bang and he started awake to see sunlight flitting through the porthole of his cabin and hear the sound of hammering on deck.