having emptied its guts on the floor, greasing the linoleum with its thin brown slick. Dave kicks the mug away.
âHell of a time to get yourself a hot drink, wasnât it? With that growler under us.â
âHarry brought me the coffee ages ago. I didnât take my eyes off the bloody radar. What do you take me for?â Dave heads the boat straight into the guts of a wave. The Australis climbs and the men fall silent until they have made it over.
âShit!â Cactus shouts, as they bottom out in the trough.
âWeâd have been lucky to see that growler on the radar even in good conditions,â Dave continues. âYou know that as well as I do.â
Cactus says nothing, and Dave recognises fear in his eyes. Come nightfall, the icebergs will be as good as invisible, until theyâre caughtâtoo lateâin the shipâs lights.Itâs some hours before conditions start to ease, and Dave can finally inch the boat northwest, away from the low-pressure system that created the southerly gale. Itâs a reprieve, but he knows thereâll be another low soon enough. The vortexes of foul weather circle the continent like vultures. The trick is to stay either north or south of them. Harry indicates with a slight backward flick of his head that they have company. William, their youngest crew member, is at the wheelhouse door, his eyes wide as he surveys the sea, trying to read its complex language. Dave wonders if he did the right thing putting in a good word for Samâs best mate as trainee crew. He thinks back to how young William went off the rails after Samâs death. How, after gaining a reputation as a fine jackaroo on properties all over Australia, he threw it all away by getting drunk one night and trashing a farm. Dave had seen this trip as a chance to straighten the young bloke out. âWhat better classroom is there than the sea?â heâd said to Trish, Williamâs mother. But Cactus has never thought it a good idea having a novice on board.
âWhat was that God almighty bang a while back?â William asks.
âWhat dâyou bloody think?â Cactusâs veins stick out of his neck like fingers under his skin. He is angrier than Dave has ever seen him. âWe just had a cuddle with the coldest bloody mermaid this side of Antarctica. Her left titâs probably still pokinâ up through your bunk. Why donât you go back to bed and feast on that till itâs all over?â
William, visibly startled by the outburst, turns to leave the wheelhouse. Dave catches his eye and gives him a wink.
âThat was a bit rough,â Dave tells Cactus as he passes the searchlight over the ocean. The winds may have eased, but nightfall hasnât waited for the huge seas to subside. With the relentless hammering of the waves, the boat lurches from side to side.
âWell, it doesnât take too many neurons to work out weâve hit a berg!â
âGive the boy a break,â Harry says. âIt couldâve been a whale, or a sunken hullââ
âOr a bloody mermaid,â Cactus jeers in Daveâs direction. âWe never shouldâve taken him on. Heâs a frigginâ liability, your surrogate son.â
Itâs typical of the man, Dave thinks, to launch a personal attack when heâs feeling threatened. To fire hostile words ahead of any attempt at good judgment. He ignores him.
âAny sightings of our foreign friends on the radar?â Harry asks.
Dave knows what heâs up to. He and the first mate know that when tempers flare at sea, the best strategy is to get everyone focused back on the job at hand. If thereâs to be a fight, it can wait until theyâre on dry land. Right now you could cut the air with a knife.
âNope. Theyâre well and truly gone,â Dave says. He imagines the pack to the south of themâvast chunks of icerallying for supremacy like feuding tectonic