68 Knots (9 page)

“Over here!” Marietta squealed, leading Arthur by the hand to a pile of cashmere sweaters stacked artfully in an upended, pristine lobster trap. The sweaters beckoned in muted shades of brown and gray, each sporting a breathtaking price tag. Marietta chose a brown sweater and scampered off to a dressing room. “Don't peek!” she called over her shoulder to Arthur as she disappeared through the swinging doors.

Arthur looked around the shop while he waited. The crew shirts were tempting with their embroidered logos on the front. The chinos looked nice with their crisp creases. The windbreakers seemed useful with their thin hoods zipped into their collars. But this store had nothing from his part of Joy's list. He dug the paper out of his jeans pocket:

—Windproof safety matches

—Kerosene

—Spatula

—Woolite

—Sponges (large)

—1 large country ham

—20 lbs. potatoes

—Small gasoline generator

—10 gals. gasoline

He could see that none of these items would be available in this store, and Arthur guessed that few of the shops in this town would offer such mundane, real-world items. After this woolen-shop visit, he would try to find a hardware store and then a basic supermarket.

“What do you think?” Marietta asked.

Arthur looked up—and fell speechless. Marietta wore the cashmere well, its flattering cut making her body all the more attractive. She smiled.

“Well?” she urged.

“It's great,” Arthur said, blinking his hazel eyes. “It's really great. We should figure out some way to buy it for you someday. Because it looks good on you. I mean, it looks
really
good.”

Marietta turned around slowly, like a model on a runway. “I'm glad you like it,” she said softly.

Almost three hours later, the crew had gathered on the side street once again. Arthur had been waiting for nearly sixty minutes, and he was angry that the crew was failing to follow orders so completely. When at last everyone arrived, they were carrying dozens of large paper and plastic bags—most bearing designer logos on their sides.

“You didn't get the
bread
?” Arthur asked BillFi.

“Sorry,” BillFi said, wiping his nose on his sleeve. “We ran out of money. Sorry. We each got a new sleeping bag, 'cause the ones we're using are really old and gross, and then—”

“And I bought some really good scotch,” Logan said. “Well, I got some old guy to buy it for us—only had to give him twenty bucks. I do that all the time at home. We got
five
bottles. And six bottles of French red wine. That rum was getting pretty boring.”

Arthur shook his head. “I don't believe this! How are we going to eat without bread? Joy—you were going to get pasta and some stuff for making soups. You got
that
, didn't you?”

Joy looked sheepish, her round face cast downward. “Well, we got the pasta,” she said quietly. “But then we went into a shop that sells exotic herbs and things, and we got some great stuff. Maybe the best pesto sauce I have ever tasted. And some Szechwan pepper that is really hot and really good. And some—”

“Did
anyone
get what they were supposed to get?” Arthur asked in his lowest voice.

Everyone was silent. In the bags on the muddy ground around them were cotton turtlenecks (“They were sixty percent off!”), an inlaid mahogany chess set (“We have to have
something
to do at night!”), a battery-powered CD player with twelve discs (“We can't go all summer without music!”), three dozen novels, four Gore-Tex raincoats, a harmonica, two fishing rods, eight copies of the King James version of the Bible, and an impressive assembly of other odds and ends—very few of which were edible. Jesse had a paperback copy of
Moby Dick
, which he tucked into his jeans pocket. (“It's about a whale,” he explained unapologetically. “I like whales.”) Logan had a pewter flask and a comic book.

And the money was nearly gone.

“This is great,” Arthur shouted. “This is really great! We can listen to music, play chess, dress beautifully, and starve to death!” He ran a hand through his hair and tried to think
of something powerful to say. Something with authority. Something with teeth. He had to show this crew that when he gave orders, he meant them. If he let them get away with this kind of foolishness, they would just get worse as time went on.

What would my father say right now? he thought. He would know just the right words. Something like, “If you pull this kind of stunt again, I'll resign as captain—and
then
where would you be?”

No, too risky. They might just let him quit. How about, “I am your captain, and I expect you to follow my instructions. If we can't all agree to do at least that much, then we're in for a long and dangerous summer.”

That might work, but someone might laugh. Like Crystal. She seemed the most likely to tell him to take a hike. Maybe he would say, “What did you think—”

“Well,” Crystal asked, her hands on her hips. “Did you get the things on your list?”

Arthur scowled. “I didn't spend any of our money at all!” he said.

Marietta smiled and reached into a large bag. “A cashmere sweater,” she said. “I just
had
to have something warm to wear. I didn't think Maine would be this cold in the summer.”

The crew ate a late lunch on board, sailing slowly back out into Casco Bay. Most of them weren't very hungry, and Arthur guessed that some of McKinley's money had been lavished on Freeport's upscale restaurants and premium ice cream parlors. Joy boiled the pasta, added some tomato paste and a few mushrooms, and sprinkled it with Szechwan pepper. Arthur had to admit it tasted great.

Two days later, with Logan at the helm, he spotted a large powder-blue sailboat—an expensive luxury yacht—cruising
nearby. A middle-aged captain was at the wheel, and several other wealthy sorts milled about the decks. For some reason, the boat began to move in closer.

“Oh, shit,” Logan said, wiping his hair from his eyes. “You don't think those people, like, knew McKinley or anything, do you? Ka-BOOM! Let's put a warning shot across their bow.”

Dawn was standing near the wheel. “Just stay on your course, don't change anything, and relax,” she said. “These people might just like beautiful old schooners.”

The blue-hulled boat took a course parallel to Logan's, matching the
Dreadnought
's speed. Only a few dozen yards of water separated the two boats, and the other captain waved respectfully to Logan.

Logan waved back. He tried to talk to Dawn without moving his lips. “What do ya think he wants?”

Dawn fixed her green eyes directly at the opposing captain. She made no effort to hide her voice. “I don't know what he wants, but right now he seems to be content just to ride along with us. Let's enjoy his company. Just two great ships sharing a brief moment in the midst of the tumultuous sea.”

Logan kept his lips still. “Would you go get Arthur?” he asked.

Dawn shook her head. “We don't need him. We're doing fine,” she said.

“Of course we are,” Logan said. “We're doing totally fine.”

A moment later, the other captain waved again. This time, he also pointed ahead, then pointed at Logan, then pointed ahead again.

“Oooo-weee, we're in trouble,” Logan said. “He wants us to go with him somewhere. He wants to talk with us. He's probably, like, some five-star general in the Coast Guard or something,
and he knows what's going on. We're in a lot of trouble. Ka-chink! Locked in the brig forever.”

“Relax,” Dawn said. “I don't think the Coast Guard uses baby-blue sailboats, and I don't think they dress in designer sportswear.” She stepped to the railing and raised her hands in a shrug. “We don't understand!” she shouted.

The captain signaled to a young woman on his ship, and a moment later, she brought him a bullhorn.

“Ahoy, tall ship!” he called out. “I was wondering if we could interest you in a race. Around the Black Rocks and back. The first boat to enter the bay on the south side of Damariscove Island wins. The losers provide the drinks!”

Logan and Dawn exchanged glances. They grinned.

“Attention, crew!” Logan shouted toward the bow. “All hands on deck! Hoist every sail we have! We've received a challenge, and we're accepting it! Ahoy! Avast! Scoop the scuppers! And all that stuff.”

The jib sail rose, billowed, and filled with wind. The
Dreadnought
picked up speed. Logan gave a thumbs-up sign to the other captain, who turned and shouted orders to his crew.

The race was on.

The blue boat was leading by a hundred yards when the
Dreadnought
rounded the Black Rocks and set course for Damariscove Island. Arthur, setting aside his anger over the shopping disaster, studied the charts and shouted navigational instructions to Logan. Joy, Dawn, Jesse, and several of the others hauled lines, adjusting the sails on Logan's command. Crystal scrambled up the rigging and dangled near the top of the main mast, scanning the water for ripples that might indicate
stronger wind. Marietta sat in the dining room, reading a fashion magazine.

Halfway back across Sheepscot Bay, the
Dreadnought
had closed the gap. The two boats were nearly even, a dead heat, and the strong wind threw spray across the bows.

The other captain picked up his bullhorn. “We prefer gin martinis, on the rocks, with olives. Shaken, not stirred,” he called over with a smile.

Logan smiled back. “We prefer rum and warm Coke!” he shouted. “And lots of it!” The other captain cupped his hand over his ear. He hadn't been able to hear Logan's wheezy voice across the waves.

The wind, now howling off the ocean to the southeast, was causing both boats to heel sharply to port. The tilting decks made work difficult, but the blue boat seemed to get the worst of it. Waves broke over the bow, slowing the boat and giving the
Dreadnought
the lead.

As the ships approached Damariscove Island, however, the other captain called for a sail adjustment, and the blue boat leveled and began to pick up speed. Logan called for some adjustments of his own, but they made little difference. The blue boat entered the bay twenty seconds ahead of the
Dreadnought
.

Half an hour later, the
Dreadnought
was anchored, and the blue boat was tied up alongside. Logan and the rest of the
Dreadnought
sailors stood on the blue boat's deck, introducing themselves to the well-dressed crew that had beaten them.

“It was a fine race, Captain Logan McPhee,” said the other captain. “I'm Richard Turner, and this is my somewhat extended family. Welcome to the
Elkhart
of Camden, Maine.”

“It is an honor to be here, Captain Richard Turner,” Logan said with a formal tone and an air of mock sophistication
that clashed with his pale pudgy body. “This is my crew—ta-DA!—the finest sailors on the Atlantic. Congratulations on an impressive victory. As we agreed, we have brought the drinks.”

With a flourish, Jesse produced a large pitcher filled with dark, fizzing liquid. The
Elkhart
crew eyed it—and Jesse's muscular shoulders—suspiciously.

“Rum and Coke,” Logan said. “It would help a
lot
if you had some ice.”

The
Dreadnought
crew spent the rest of the evening lounging on board the
Elkhart
, touring the luxurious cabins, chatting with their wealthy counterparts, and drinking gin martinis on the rocks; after the first round, the
Elkhart
sailors had smiled awkwardly and declined any additional drinks from the
Dreadnought
's fizzing pitcher. The sun set in a blaze of red. Crackers and cheese, ham, salmon, and shrimp made the rounds on elegant trays. Gentle piano music drifted through the chilly air from speakers hidden throughout the yacht.

Arthur and Dawn leaned against the railing on the aft deck, talking with Turner and some of his crew. The railing gleamed of polished brass. The deck was blue fiberglass ribbed with warm teak. The conversation was charming and polite.