The gimbal lamp, suspended from the low overhead, swung in its brass rings with a faint, rhythmic tick. Its amber glow caused dark shadows to roll and dance across the curved oak timbers of my cabin walls. Beneath me, the ship rolled with every subtle rise and fall of the sea. With each swell, the hull replied with a deep groan of its timbers and the heavy rattle of the rudder chains, straining in their blocks.
Through the stern windows behind me, already flecked with the icy fingers of frost, the Barents Sea stretched out in a deep, sullen grey. The sky was a sheet of molten copper where the sun barely scraped above the horizon, before fading to a dark, bruised purple.
Within the next day or two, the summer would finally end. The sun would set for the first time in over one hundred days and darkness would at last find us.
Rubbing my hands together, I breathed on my fingers to chase away the encroaching chill that the small, glowing stove in the corner couldn’t quite hold back. Turning my back on the window, my eyes fell once again to the ledger book that was laid out before me. The spidery black writing stood out starkly against the white pages, the columns of numbers telling an ominous story.
Even the beasts themselves seemed to be mocking me. Their song could be heard rumbling through the ship’s hull every night like a cruel taunt that rattled the inkwell on my desk, yet there hadn’t been a single sighting of a whale in over two weeks.
“But Torstein, we’re the last boat out here,” said the gruff voice of Jens Halvorsen. “We haven’t seen another ship in over a week; everyone’s returning south. If we don’t turn back soon, we’ll never make Tromsø before the ice sets in.”
My first mate stood before me, his heavy frame filling the cramped cabin. His eyes were fixed on me, staring through thick black brows. His knitted cap was pulled down low, and the faint scent of freezing salt spray clung to his heavy, woollen fearnought coat.
Jens looked down, his eyes fixing on the charts spread out across my mahogany desk. His dark brows furrowing deeply, I could read the grim line of his jaw beneath his thick, unkempt beard.
The silence hung heavy in the air. He didn’t need to press his argument; the look on his face and the square set of his shoulders told me all that I needed to know. He had navigated us through the ice traps south of Spitsbergen and brought the Håpet safely through the storms of the Greenland Sea.
After eleven seasons sharing the same quarterdeck, I had come to know that Jens was a man you should listen to.
And, as usual, this time he was right.
To stay out any longer was to gamble with the lives of my crew. Winter was coming in fast, the whales were heading north, and in a couple of weeks pack ice would cover these seas.
My eyes drifted back down to the cold, hard, black and white truth of the ledger. An icy chill rippled over my body as my chest tightened.
Three hundred and fifty barrels of oil sat in the ship’s hold, not even half of the eight hundred barrels that I had expected to haul. To return to Tromsø with such a clean ship would spell ruin for me. The roof would be stripped from over my head, my family destitute, my name blacklisted, and I’d spend the next few years rotting in the cell of a debtor’s prison.
The fact of the matter was that I was bankrupt and desperate for a full haul to pay off the many investors and creditors who had financed this expedition. But of course, the crew could never know this. To them, I had to be seen as the infallible master of this vessel.
Even my good friend Jens was unaware of my plight.
“I’m well aware of the date, Jens,” I said, sucking in a deep breath as I tried to keep my voice steady.
“The men are talking, Torstein,” Jens replied. His steely blue eyes remained fixed on mine while a gloved hand stroked his beard. “They’ve seen the ice on the horizon. They’ve seen the frost thickening on the rigging. They’re cold and they’re tired. They want to see their families before the ice freezes beneath our keel.”
“Let them talk,” my voice snapped, “they’re paid by share. If we return now with what little we’ve got, they’ll be begging on the streets for scraps before Christmas.”
“At least they’ll be alive.” Jens stepped towards me, his greased sea-boots creaking as he moved, his voice dropping to a gravelly whisper. “If we get caught in the ice this far north, the hull will be crushed. We’ve all seen what happens to ships that stay out too long.”
A freezing knot tightened in my stomach. I knew he was right. The poor houses were full of the widows of those crews who had gone chasing that final catch. I knew all too well that it was a gamble, but for the sake of the ruin that otherwise awaited me in Norway, it was one that I was prepared to take.
“Look at the books. We’ve only got three hundred and fifty barrels,” I said, my hand slamming down on my desk with a solid thump. “That’s four hundred and fifty short of a full haul. The bowheads are running north and at this time of the year, they’re fat. A single cow could give up seventy barrels, a big bull, over a hundred. They’ll be crowding into the open waters. They’ll be easy pickings.”
Jens looked down at the clenched fist on my desk before returning my gaze.
“Three more days, Torstein,” Jens’ voice dropped low. “I can keep the men working for three more days, but they’re getting restless.”
The corner of my mouth twitched and my fists clenched tightly.
“I’m the captain of this ship.” My voice took on a dangerous tone. “I’m the one who pays the men. They will work for as long as I tell them to work.”
Jens didn’t flinch. He pulled himself up to his full height, the top of his head brushing the dark stained timbers of the ceiling.
For a moment, he didn’t move. He just looked at me, his expression unreadable. Then, with a sharp nod, he stepped backwards.
“Understood, Captain,” his tone clipped, flat, and empty. There was none of the warmth of the friendship that we had shared for the past eleven years.
Turning on his heel, his coat brushing against the woodwork, he reached for the door handle.
Before his hand could touch the cold brass, a frantic, excited cry tore through from the frozen deck above. It was muffled by the wood, but the words came clear enough to cause the breath to hitch in my throat and goosebumps that had nothing to do with the chilly air to rise on my skin.
“A blow! A blow! Port beam!”