“Matthew, find Enos Briggs and bring him up here.”
The lanky youth, still in his shirtsleeves, ran down to the beach. Hasket watched him grab one of the workers, who pointed farther up the shoreline. He continued to watch the workers, the wind whipping his cloak around him.
“Mr. Derby, sir? Is there a problem?”
Hasket looked at the slightly stooped man standing before him and motioned Matthew back into the warehouse. “Why is the keel being laid so low? It’s practically on the beach!”
“Those are only the blocks, sir. The keel will rise higher.”
“Not on those blocks she won’t. We’re building a five-hundred-ton ship here, not a fishing schooner. Have you ever built a ship this size?”
Enos Briggs took a breath and squared his shoulders. “I am a master shipbuilder, Mr. Derby, and I do not take kindly to criticism from a man who has never built a ship.”
Hasket felt anger building at the base of his belly. He took a breath and kept his voice level. “I don’t have to be a shipbuilder to know the tides and waters of Salem Harbor, or that if a keel is not laid at the proper height, the ship will not be able to launch properly. As your employer, I am asking you why the blocks to support the keel are not higher.”
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