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By Root 2952 0

boy's bad conscience was written all over his face. Albert almost felt guilty himself, though he'd long concluded, privately, that things could go no other way. Indeed, he'd been part of the boy's inspiration. His stories, the endless conversations about foreign countries and ships, the rowing and sculling, all these had pushed the impressionable boy in that direction. But there were other influences too, which lay beyond the control of a mother or a father. The constant roar of the sea beyond the breakwater; the sight of topsail schooners, topgallant schooners, and brigantines, with the early spring wind in their sails, ready for their big migration to the great ports of call: Rio de la Plata, Newfoundland, Oporto, Le Havre, Valparaiso, Callao, and Sydney—legendary places that formed part of every boy's mental geography and pulled at his young soul.

Klara Friis knew this. There was a hint of pleading in her sharpness, and it was directed at Albert. He had the power to wrench the boy in a different direction if he would only use it.

She looked from the boy to the old man and back again, and she sensed a conspiracy between them. "How's your reading going?" she asked her son.

"Well," the boy replied, as unforthcoming as any child questioned about school.

"He's only just started his second year, but he's already reading fluently," Albert said approvingly.

Klara looked at him. "So he's good at schoolwork," she stated. "Perhaps ship brokering would suit him?"

The question took Albert by surprise. He had to admit that he'd never imagined that path for the boy. In his view, the career of a good ship broker didn't begin in an office. It began on deck, then spread into the more abstract world of freight rates. That was how he'd done it, and he'd expect all future ship brokers to do likewise.

"It most definitely would," he said, but his tone was evasive. He couldn't bring himself to explain his principles to her. Sensing his lack of enthusiasm, she took it to mean that he wouldn't be prepared to help the boy. Her mouth became a thin line, and she slumped in silence. "There are many things you can become if you get good marks. Surely it's a little early—"

She interrupted him. "I know what you're going to say. You're going to say that a man with a good education can pass the navigation exam as well. But believe me, that's not the path my boy's going to take." She turned to her son. "Do you hear, Knud Erik?"

The boy nodded mutely and lowered his head. A tear rolled down his cheek and he breathed in with a loud sob. Then he jumped up from the chair and ran into the kitchen. Klara gave Albert an accusing look, as though it was he, rather than she, who'd prompted the boy's tears.

"There are several ship broker's offices in this town," he said. "I can easily get a place for him when the time comes."

"That would be wonderful." Her face softened and she blessed him with a smile. Then she went into the kitchen to bring the boy back. He could hear her voice through the wall. He sat alone, feeling the emptiness of his promise.

"When the time comes," he repeated to himself, and did a quick mental calculation. "When that time comes, I'll be dead."

WHEN KLARA WAS expecting a visit from Albert, she heard an unfamiliar knock on the door. She went to open it and found Herman on the steps. He was an acquaintance of hers dating back to the time when her husband was alive. Henning had sailed with Herman and talked about him. He'd heard the rumors about Herman murdering his stepfather all right, but he hadn't believed them. Henning always said Herman was a good mate. They'd shared a fondness for grandiose talk, and she suspected that for the most part, their comradeship had been forged in sailors' bars.

When Herman reappeared in Marstal, he'd taken the time to stop by and offer his condolences. She'd never forgotten that, and it had disposed her more favorably toward him. She hadn't met him since then, but he always greeted her kindly when they passed in the street, and on one occasion he'd actually stopped to ask her if there was anything