Caine Mutiny, The - Herman Wouk [78]
Keggs dropped into the chair opposite Willie and moved the red king’s pawn. “Look, Willie, just remember this. When you hear a buzzer ring twice, that’s it. Game’s over. That’s the signal from the gangway that he’s come back on board. Just disappear, like the rest of us. Use the starboard passageway and you probably won’t run into him-”
“Suppose I do run into him?”
“Be nonchalant,” spoke up the lieutenant in the armchair. “Kiss his behind and stroll off whistling Anchors Aweigh.”
“How’s your new skipper?” said Keggs.
“A human being, for a change.”
A couple of the officers yawned, stretched, and went to their rooms. “This is wonderful,” said Keggs, draining his coke. “We should do this more often, Willie.”
The wardroom door opened, and Iron Duke Sammis entered, followed by Queeg. Keggs was unperturbed. He moved a bishop and looked up, grinning. Then he saw the other officers getting to their feet, their faces dead blank. He uttered a strangled, sorrowful neigh and leaped up, overturning the chessboard. The chessmen bounced and clattered all over the deck.
“Gentlemen,” said Iron Duke Sammis, “this is Commander Queeg, the new commanding officer of the Caine. Good evening, Mr. Keith.”
“Good evening, sir. Good evening, Captain,” said Willie.
“Well, I’m glad to see I own a chess player,” said Queeg. “I’ve always wanted to pick up the game.”
“Wonderful relaxation,” said the Iron Duke. “Too bad it eats up so much time. I haven’t shot a game since the war started. But since my communicator seems to have the leisure, I may go in for it again-”
“Sir, all tonight’s decodes are on your desk,” said Keggs tremulously, “and I did two and a half engineering assignments this evening-”
“Could you interrupt your game long enough to let Captain Queeg and myself have a little fresh coffee?”
“Yes, sir. Certainly, sir.”
The two captains went into Sammis’ cabin. Keggs ran to the pantry and came out with Silexes full of clear water.
“What the hell,” said Willie, “are you a steward’s mate, too? Where’s your burnt cork?”
“Easy, Willie. I’m wardroom mess treasurer. It’s quicker to make it myself than to go roust out a mess boy, that’s all.” He began to pick up the chess pieces.
“Game’s over, I take it.”
“Oh, hell, yes.”
“Well, I’ll stick around for some of that coffee-if I’m allowed to drink from the same bowl as the gods.”
Keggs looked over his shoulder at the captain’s cabin. “Sure, stick around. But please, Willie, don’t say those things-he hears.”
When Willie left Keefer on the forecastle to go to the Moulton, the communications officer stared skyward for a while, then took a pad, pencil, and flashlight from his pocket and began to scribble verses. In a few minutes the dim figure of Maryk came up the forecastle. Greeting Keefer morosely, the first lieutenant pulled open a narrow hatch forward of the anchor engine, reached his hand inside, and turned a switch. A shaft of yellow light rose from the hatch. Keefer said, “What goes on in the paint locker, this time of night?”
“Title B inventory.”
“Are you still at that? Sit down for a second, you poor beast of burden.”
Maryk scratched his round, close-cropped head, yawned, and accepted a cigarette. The light streaming up from the paint locker accentuated the lines of fatigue in his face and the puffy creases under his eyes. “Well, it’s going to be a close call,” he said, “but I think I’ll make it by 0900 Friday. What are you doing-working on your book?”
“Well, doing a little writing.”
“Maybe you better secure on that stuff for a while, Tom-at least while you’re on watch-until this new skipper gets squared away.”
“What the hell is an eight-to-midnight gangway watch in Pearl, Steve? We ought to have one petty officer and a messenger, and that’s all.”
“I know. But this bird is fresh off a carrier.”
“What do you think of him?”
Maryk puffed at his cigarette, and a worried, thoughtful expression came over his face. He had ugly, yet not