February 7:

        A week later, a motley group consisting of two Germans and thirty Rain Islanders, a total of twenty men and twelve women, gathered at a wharf on the west side of the Seathlfjord.  Each carried a canvas sea bag containing clothing and personal effects, and as a tall badger femme shook paws with a short Chinese canine the others boarded the small tramp steamer Ning-po.
        “What’s the name of this tub,” Max asked, “the Walloping Window-blind?”
        Lefty chuckled, as did several other furs while the others went below to stow their gear.  “We’ll have to see whether any gales disturb the crew.  But it’s up to you make sure nothing troubles the Captain’s mind,” he added, jerking a thumb at Sam.
        Max grinned slowly as his brush flicked from side to side.  “I shall endeavor to perform my duties to the utmost, sah,” he bellowed in a loud British accent, coming to rigid attention and throwing out his paw in a sweeping Throckmorton salute.  Both furs burst out laughing and went below.
        “Oh, and another thing,” Lefty’s voice rang down the passageway, “you are not the cabin boy.”
        Others started laughing as Max started singing, “Oh, the cabin boy, the cabin boy, that dirty little nipper . . . “  Mercifully, his voice faded as he and the feline went deeper into the ship.
        “Are we certain you can crew the sub with so few?” Wong asked Sam worriedly.  “The Type VII needs a minimum of forty-five.”
        “You said that you had a maintenance crew.  We can select and train them, and turn them into the nucleus of an all-Chinese crew eventually,” Sam replied.  “I’m certain you’d be far more comfortable with a crew of your countryfurs.”
        “Um.  Yes, Captain,” Wong said.  “I must go to the bridge and let the captain know we are ready to depart.  Excuse me, please,” and he hurried away.
        Sam watched him go, then turned as Max asked quietly, “Do you think he suspects anything?”
        “I’m not sure.  We’ll see how it goes.  Meantime, let’s make ourselves useful.  It’s going to be a long trip.”
        “Yes, Ma’am.  You know something?”
        “What?”
        “It’s a shame we’ll be gone so long – I’ll miss the weekly episodes of The Highwayman.”
        “You and your radio shows.  Look at it this way: The money we earn will make us solvent.  Eh, Max?”
        “Now you’re just being mean, Sam.”


        Several days later the vessel raised Main Island in the Spontoon archipelago, the steamer’s first stop on its route.  Sam and the ship’s captain stood on the port bridge wing as they waited for the harbor pilot to come aboard.  General Wong was inside the wheelhouse, watching.
        “Ah!  A day in sunny Spontoon!” Max enthused, disregarding the twin facts that it was raining and the weather could have been warmer.  He had been keeping busy by helping out in the engine room; his once-bright orange and white fur was well-smudged with soot and grime, and he was wearing equally dirty trousers and a once-white undershirt.  A strip of rag was knotted around one wrist to wipe sweat from his eyes. 
        He leaned against the rail, looked up and waved at his wife, then blew a kiss that the badger pantomimed catching and eating.  “Ahoy, Captain mine!” he called out.  “We have liberty tonight?”
        “Yes,” Sam called back.  “Pass the word, will you?  But remind everyone not to get too drunk – we’ll be taking on fuel and cargo and shipping out for Wangchung tomorrow before lunchtime.”
        “Will do.  You coming with me?”
        “Just to watch you get thrown out of every dive on Casino Island?  Are you kidding?”  She grinned.  “Of course I’m coming with you.”
        “That’s my girl!”  He blew her another kiss and went below to let the rest of the crew know that after the ship docked they would be allowed to have a little fun.

        The Ning-po tied up at one of the cargo docks a short distance away from the larger and better-maintained cruise ship wharves.  Once everything had been secured two-thirds of the crew went ashore, leaving the others aboard as a fire watch in case anything happened.
        Once they were out of sight of the ship, Sam made a brief phone call while Max kept an eye out for anyone watching.  The two then walked another block to a small restaurant.

        The place was small with maybe room enough for twenty or thirty furs.  The food was good, and the liquor didn’t appear to be watered.  The best part of it was that the lighting was poor.
        Anyone or anything could be concealed in the shadows.
        And, judging from the movements in one dark corner, anything could be done, too.
        Same kept her back against the wall as she ate, occasionally kicking her husband as he paused in his meal to eye a passing waitress or prostitute. 
        The badger did have to concede that Spontoon had some very attractive women.
        Max turned in his seat again as a lithe rabbit femme walked past, then his foot nudged his wife’s knee.  She looked in the direction he was looking and dropped her gaze to her plate as a fur entered the place. 
        The man was a short-tailed hawk, and he waved a paw at the bartender as he walked over to the Vreeland’s table.
        “Hiya,” he said to Max in accented English.  He pulled a chair away from a vacant table and sat down, then fished a pack of Fortuna cigarettes and a lighter from the pocket of his slightly threadbare shirt.  Lighting up, he jerked his head at Sam and asked, “How much for the little girl?”
        Max chuckled and looked at his wife.  “Oh, I suppose I could let you have her for – oh, I don’t know – ten dollars Rain Island and a bottle of Nootnops Blue?”
        Sam looked up, indignant.  “You little creep!  I’m worth twenty dollars, at least!”
        “Let’s split the difference,” the hawk offered.  “Fifteen and a bottle of Blue?”
        “Seventeen,” Max said promptly.  “Gotta have some sugar for Daddy, yanno.”
        Money changed paws, and the hawk shifted in his seat to sit beside Sam in the shadows.  While Max sipped at his beer, the badger femme moved to sit on the bird’s lap.
        “You know, you could have picked a less impolite set of signals,” the hawk said.  His paws slipped around Sam’s waist.  “It’s rude of a husband to be seen trying to sell his own wife.”
        “Hush.”  Her paws were gently ruffling his headfeathers before stroking down his neck.  “You have to admit it’s a great pretense.”
        “True.  Now, what do you have to report?”
        “On schedule.  We leave for Wangchung tomorrow, and from there to Haiphong.”  She had bent close to his ears, making motions as if she was nuzzling him.
        “You realize that after you reach Kuo Han we may not be able to help you.”  He returned the gesture, making her squirm as if teased by the feel of his hooked beak against her fur.
        “Understood.  We’ll do the best we can, of course.”
        “Anything else?”
        “Not until we reach the next stop.”
        “Okay.”  With a sudden motion the hawk stood, dumping the femme to the floor and shoving the table out of the way.  The sound of breaking glass and wood sliding over the floor caused heads to turn as the avian grabbed Max by the collar of his shirt and lifted him to his feet.  “You got some nerve, you little squirt!”
        All attention was on the hawk and the fox; no one saw the badger retreat into the shadows.
        “Me?!” Max shouted.  “What the hell did I do?”
        “You said she was a virgin!”
        “I thought she was – she was wearing white socks!”
        A few of the bar’s patrons chuckled and the proprietor, a burly canine with a broad-bladed Chinese cleaver hanging from the belt of his apron, stepped forward.  “You gonna fight, you takes it outside,” he growled, “or else I gets ta cut bait.”
        The two combatants headed for the door, Max tossing some money onto his seat as he left.


        Coins hit the deck later the next day.  “Deal.”
        Lefty’s right paw flicked and cards flew to each of the players.  Each of the five already had two cards down, and the feline was dealing the second run of face-up cards.  “Jack, ten; two, nine; seven, eight; king, two; queen, jack.” 
        The others checked their hole cards and tried to keep their expressions unreadable.  One of the Rain Islanders, a weasel named Bob, tossed a few coins into the pot.  “I’m in.”
        “You sure, Bob?” a femme asked, and the weasel nodded.
        “I know what I’m doing, Smitty.”
        “With a two and a nine showing – I hope so, for your sake.”  She tossed in an equal number of coins, and the betting went around before the next run was dealt.
        Lefty looked at his hole cards and dealt himself out; the betting went around for a fourth round, and then the final hole cards. 
        “Bob?  Up to you,” another of the Rain Islanders said.
        The weasel nodded and turned over his hole cards.  “Full house, nines and threes.”
        The others groaned and threw their cards down, one of them cursing volubly in several languages.  “Hey Jude,” Bob said as he gathered in his winnings.  “Don’t take it bad.  Care to come out on deck with me, Smitty?” he asked with a wink.
        “Sure.”
        Lefty watched them go and two more crewfurs took their places.  Apart from standing watches, there was little else to do on a ship at sea.


next