Death on the Line

Tonight was the night he would speak to him. His palms sweated despite the cold. The man's exploits fascinated him, and Angus dreamed of getting to know him better. How do I start the conversation? Perhaps a comment on the weather…

His eye caught movement aft, and Angus turned, breaking the spell. Sneaking furtively along was a short, stocky crewman peering first one way and then another. Angus watched a taller, slender sailor approach the crewman briskly from the starboard side. The wind blew his cape about him. Pausing and scanning the deck, the two men met. Angus remained where he was in the shadows, curious though, he watched. Glancing first forward, then aft, the taller man bent to speak to the other crewman, withdrawing a package hidden beneath his cape and handing it to him. The sailor, in turn, pulled a small box from beneath his cloak and handed it over in exchange for the package. The sailors parted as furtively as they met.

Precisely as the men separated, Mr. Mason stepped through the doorway onto the deck. Disappointment flooded Angus, who was unsure precisely what he had witnessed. How could he explain it to someone else? Was it necessary to report? Or just private business between two men?

Doubt set in as Mr. Mason approached. "Good evening," Mr. Mason said, and without pausing, he passed by on his journey toward the stern.

"Good evening, Sir," Angus replied. Hanging his head, Angus hurried forward and stood at the rail.

It was much colder tonight. Angus pulled his greatcoat tighter as he gazed at the dark clouds gathering on the western horizon. He hoped they would arrive before that storm.