Fish Bait

         The fjord lay behind them. The Forsker followed in the wake of a factory trawler and turned starboard on a course northwest to its destination in the Norwegian Basin. Someone at the stern of the giant ship waved a good-bye. Tom raised his arm and returned it.

         "That's the place to work," Morten grumbled.

         Tom rolled his eyes. He had spent several weeks on trawlers, examined the catch, measured the size of the fish, and meticulously recorded the bycatch, collecting data for his doctoral thesis about ocean ecology. They were gloomy places. The fishermen, desperate to make a living, saw their source of income dwindle in size and number, and responded with aggressive trawling methods and superstitious rituals. "I'm in for bigger fish," he said and grinned.

         Niels Jondal, their captain, and Erik joined them on the deck with glasses and a bottle of aquavit. Niels poured a shot and flung it over the rail. "To Rasmus," he intoned the traditional words for the sacrifice. The bottle went round. "Skål!" The crew lifted their glasses and drained them in unison. They waited reverently until the ice-cold drink had burned down the throat, and they could taste its sweet aniseed flavor.

         “Where's Walter?” Morten asked.

         “Told him to watch the wheelhouse,” Niels answered. It was a feeble excuse. The ship drove on auto-pilot, and Walter was no help anyway. He was a scientist, not a seaman, though he had spent most of his professional years on and in the water. Walter was strictly against alcohol on board and would have forbidden it completely if he'd seen any chance of succeeding against the local customs. So he tolerated the occasional drink but stayed demonstratively absent.

         “He should be here.” Morten didn't let go.

         “Never mind him,” Niels said. His look said That foolish American.

         That foolish American was Tom's boss and mentor. It would've been an honor to work for such an eminent scholar, had not Walter Carr's reputation suffered since he pursued an unconventional line of research. He was looking for giant squid in the north Atlantic.

         “Had your drink?” Walter appeared on deck. "I'll never understand why we've got to placate the god of the wind. We aren't sailing."

         "It's still dangerous, Walter." Niels put a hand on Morten's shoulder.

         "I'd rather have it on our side." Tom raised the glass at the professor.

         Walter barked a laugh. “Well, I'll take the blame. It's taking up. Forecast says Beaufort eight for tonight.” He looked at the captain. "Thought you'd want to know."

         Niels took the hint and left. Erik collected the glasses and followed with Morten.

         “A storm?” Tom looked alarmed. He'd spent the only really bad weather he'd been in below deck, hunched on the ladder for a quick escape, clutching his belly and wishing to die.

         “Not yet, just a heavy blow. Have you checked the aviation system?”

         “Yes. And the winches and the net. And I cleaned the basin.” Tom sighed.

         Walter was a perfectionist. As if it mattered. Nobody but himself believed in giant squid, living in the Norwegian Basin. Though their bodies washed regularly on the shores of New Zealand, it was only recently that one had been photographed alive - by a Japanese submarine at a depth of 15000 feet. They were looking for a needle in the wrong haystack.

         "A bit more enthusiasm, please. Help me organize the charts!”

         Tom followed the professor into the cabin and spent the afternoon preparing the documentation charts, tables that listed water temperature, salinity, and organisms of the water they were to cruise the following days. It was mind-numbing work, and Tom was glad when Erik announced dinner.

         The mess room was tiny, a niche with a table, lined with benches on either side. Along the walls were the bunks for the crew members. When Walter had acquired the old trawler and rebuilt it for his quest, comfort had to give way for a large basin in which he would transport a giant squid to the shore if he found one. He left only one extra cabin, nominally the captain's, where he resided himself. The others were banned to the mess room. Here no secrets could be kept. Checkered cotton curtains separated the crew members from each other. The smells of cold smoke and oily food mingled with the traces of stale air and old sweat, leaving an indelible mark of manliness in the air.

         Erik left plates, mugs, and cutlery on the table; Morten and Tom set them for the others. Morten's fingernails showed residues of machine oil. When Erik dished out a hearty meal of mackerels and potatoes, Morten complained mockingly.

         “Grease all day, now this. Where did you learn your cooking?”

         “Your mother taught me.” Erik didn't even smile.

         They bantered on, changing to Norwegian. Niels laughed, adding a comment now and then. Walter didn't speak. Tom would have liked to join the chatter, but he understood little. He tried to learn Norwegian; so far he'd succeeded only in catching a good number of swear words that dropped into every conversation on board.

         The ship heaved suddenly, sending the mugs sliding across the table. Niels darted for the wheelhouse. Walter took a second helping. Erik and Morten retrieved their mugs and went on talking. The wind had indeed taken up; the vessel rocked heavily against the waves. Tom clutched his mug, filled with bitter tea, and left his plate unfinished.

         "Seems your little sacrifice didn't work," Walter said.

         Morten eyed him with contempt, but the captain returned before he could reply.

         “We'll have a rough night. Wind's northwest going on eight. I'm taking the first shift. Erik, midnight till four. Morten, till breakfast.” He turned to Walter. “That's going to cost us time.”

         “Can't be slow enough if you ask me. I've got no wish to meet that cursed beast,” Morten said.

         “I'd appreciate it if you kept your superstitions to yourself,” Walter said. “I sincerely hope this time the screws won't hold according to your courage and loosen when we start the trawling.”

         “You are blaming that on me?” Morten's face reddened.

         “Call it my superstitions. Work your magic in our favor. No failures this time.”

         “You know that wasn't Morten's fault. No need to bring it up,” Niels said.

         Walter rose from the table. “For years my work has been ridiculed, undermined and sabotaged. I won't have it any longer. You better keep your men in order.”

         Niels' lips tightened. His pale eyes betrayed his anger.

         The sounds of the ship filled the room. In the pantry, pots and pans clattered against the railing of the cooker with every up and down. The constant pitching of the machines reverberated in Tom's ears.

         Finally Niels broke the silence. “We are all on your side. No need to make a fuss.”

         Walter nodded, satisfied. "I had expected nothing less." He disappeared into his cabin.

         The men looked disappointed. Though Walter owned the ship, Niels held the highest rank, and he'd given in rather quickly. Tom understood nothing of the conversation that followed. He watched Niels, who leaned back, rubbing his neck where a large, red birth mark showed above his collar. Morten swore sullenly, but the captain silenced him with a side glance at Tom.

         “Let the professor have his way. I'll see to the rest,” he said in English. He turned to Tom. “You are fine?”

         Tom nodded. He wasn't though. Not knowing their language, he felt at a disadvantage. And he didn't like the captain's gaze that went with his words. It was cold, even sly.

         Erik gathered the dishes.

         “You need help with them?” Tom asked.

         Erik shrugged.

         “Good idea,” Niels answered instead. He got up and climbed the ladder to the wheelhouse. “Get me some tea up here, Erik!” he shouted.

         While Erik poured the tea and carried it upstairs, Tom scratched his uneaten food into the garbage and put the plate into the sink. Erik returned, shoved him aside, and began rinsing the plates with cold water. He handed Tom an old towel when he began in earnest.

         Like most Norwegian men, Erik Rasmussen towered over Tom. He was a good six feet tall and broad-shouldered with an angular face that carried an expression of constant grumpiness. Taciturn even on his better days, now he went about his chores with determined silence.

         “Walter's a pain,” Tom offered.

         Erik grunted.

         “He's getting to me all the time.”

         Erik nodded without taking his eyes off the pan he was scrubbing furiously.

         “He's obsessive about that bloody squid.”

         A nod.

         “He'll get worse when we fail again. And we will.”

         Erik paused in his work.

         “I mean we'll never find a giant squid. There aren't any, are there?”

         Finally, the cook answered, “oh, it exists all right. Many men have seen it.”

         "Sailor's yarns.”

         “If you say so.” Erik focused on his pan again.

         “Have you seen one?”

         “No, I haven't seen it. Or I'd be a marked man. Dead, more likely.”

         Erik rinsed the pan with clean water and handed it to Tom. “There was Knud. He used to fish with my father. Came back alone from a fishing trip back in the sixties. The whole crew was gone.”

         “He told you?”

         Erik nodded. “They'd gone for cod fish halfway to the Faroe Islands. Suddenly they saw a swarm of fulmars. Gulls are good luck, but this one's sure trouble. So they looked out.

         “The water changed color; it kind of shimmered. The crew went to the railing to watch, and then an arm comes out of the sea. It winds around a mate and drags him down. They heard him screaming.”

         Tom folded his arms. He had read the reports his mentor had collected. This sounded familiar.

         “Another tentacle came up and slung around the rail. It tried to sink the ship. Some fellows fell into the water. The others clutched whatever came into their hands.”

         Erik paused for effect.

         “Knud grabbed a tentacle.”

         That was an interesting variation to the theme, Tom thought. Nobody had ever admitted to touching a giant squid. “What was it like?”

         “Like a rope on fire, Knud said.”

         “Not slimy?”

         Erik shot him a glance and shook his head. “It squeezed his arm so tightly, he couldn't move it for months.”

         “How come he wasn't dragged down?”

         “He had a knife. He stabbed into the flesh until the tentacle came off.”

         Tom laughed.

         Erik grabbed the towel. “Get out of here.”

         “Hey, I'm sorry. It's a good story. How does it go on?”

         Erik shoved him to the door. “I am mopping the floor,” he said.

         Tom moved into the mess room, dumb-struck. He heard Erik muttering words in Norwegian that he understood perfectly.

         He settled down, waiting for Erik. But when the cook appeared, he immediately went for his bunk, not even taking the time to undress. He had the middle shift at the wheel, Tom remembered.

         The clattering from the pantry had stopped. Apart from the omnipresent rumble of the motors, the only sounds came from the men in their bunks. Morten snored lightly and Erik tossed around, fighting with the blanket.

         Tom wondered what he could do. It was nine o'clock, too early for bed. He didn't sleep well on ships anyway. The rocking didn't lull him, it threw him against the wall of his bunk. And Erik made him worry. He seemed to rub them all the wrong way, Tom thought. Okay, he shouldn't have laughed, but it had been funny. All his friends and colleagues had smirked at the reports of giant squid sightings. Tom had been openly pitied for planning to work with Walter. He had shrugged it off. The alternative would have been the laboratory in Orlando, not a trip to Norway.

         He went to the pantry, grabbed a thermos with tea and a mug, and climbed upstairs to the wheelhouse. Niels stood in front of the wheel, legs apart, looking out of the window. Tom saw nothing but darkness.

         “Thought you might like another cup.”

         The captain looked around and smiled. “Well done. Usually Erik brings one up before he turns in. Seems he forgot.”

         “Uh, that might be my fault.” Tom uncapped the flask and poured the tea. “I reckon I made him angry.”

         Niels laughed. “Nothing to worry about. That man was born fuming.”

         “He told me about someone who'd seen a giant squid. I didn't take it seriously.”

         “You don't believe in it, do you?” Niels took his mug and, slurping the tea, watched Tom over the rim.

         “No,” he admitted, “nobody does.”

         “Nobody who counts?” A mischievous grin swept over the captain's face.

         Tom shifted his weight. “Well, nobody inside the scientific community.”

         “Explains why the professor's peeved so easily.”

         “And you?”

         “Everybody around here knows somebody who's seen Jørund Blekksprut.” The captain concentrated on the blackness outside.

         “Can you see anything?”

         “Do you think we are making things up? Getting a bit peculiar with the years?”

         Tom didn't know what to answer.

         “What do you know about the sea?” Niels demanded. “Could you get home safely if I fell over board? What's the best route? Do you know where the wind is steady, or where the current is strong? What would you do in a storm?” He snorted. “You get seasick if you listen to the weather forecast.”

         “I didn't mean...,” Tom started.

         “You didn't mean to offend? Then stop smirking and start listening.” The captain rested his arm on the wheel, rubbed his neck, and glared at Tom. “The sea is not your friend. Yes, we've got radar, GPS. We can go on auto-pilot. But the sea still claims the lives of men who travel it. Why's that?”

         Tom hoped Niels wouldn't see him blush.

         “The sea is unpredictable, merciless, and malicious. Every trip is a battle against it; every safe return is a victory. Ever heard of freak waves? They come out of the blue. A wave, ten, fifteen meters high. You're out on deck? You don't stand a chance. The hatch is open? Good-bye to the ship. And this is not a sailor's yarn. It's a fact.”

         Tom nodded.

         “Never underestimate the sea. It's the first thing you learn.”

         “What's that got to do with Jørund Blekkstrupp?” Tom struggled around the name.

         “That's an old tale. Do you know the story of Jørmungand, the Midgaard serpent? Another sea monster.” Niels chuckled. “The god Thor fought him at Ragnarøk.”

         “It's in this myth collection, the Edda,” Tom said.

         “Right. When Jørmungand was killed, his sister Hel came to claim him. She was the goddess of death. When she saw her dead brother, she cried and swore revenge. Her tears mingled with his blood, and she created Jørund. He is the guardian of the sea. Whatever men take, he takes it back.”

         “And this is true?”

         “Believe what you will. One thing is certain. We're out here on our own peril. Seamen or scientists,” Niels stated grimly. “Have you ever steered a ship?”

         “Boats.”

         “Give it a try.” He stepped aside and motioned Tom to take over. The Forsker kept a steady course despite the heavy swell. It didn't look difficult. Tom put his hands on the wheel and felt immediately the force of the water that drove the ship starboard. He balanced it out, concentrating hard. The force lessened, and the ship veered to port. Tom spun the wheel only to find the boat going off course again. His heart beat fast.

         “Don't get hectic.” Niels grabbed the wheel and held the ship steady. “You must move earlier and don't turn that far.” He kept his hand on the steering. “Now.”

         As Tom followed his commands, he found he could keep the ship going straight. Still he felt his heartbeat up in his throat as he focused on the rise and fall of the ship, turning the wheel moments before the peak had arrived and back before the next wave was there.

         Niels withdrew his hand. “The sea has got its own will. You can't go against it, you go with the flow. What are you seeing outside?”

         “Almost nothing,” Tom answered.

         “Almost.”

         That was true. Maybe it was rather intuition than visual perception, but looking out into the dark, Tom could distinguish the waves, one wall of blackness replacing another.

         “You're starting to feel its presence. You'll learn to respect it, too. That's all I'm saying, you've got to respect the sea.”

         "What does it mean?"

         Tom looked at Niels. “Shit!” The one moment his concentration had slacked, the ship veered off course. He tried to find his rhythm again. The captain stood at his elbow but didn't interfere with the wheel.

         When the Forsker was steady again, he continued. “We use the sea, Jørund makes us pay. We violate it, he punishes us.”

         “How?”

         “Jørund Blekksprut lives on human flesh. He attacks ships, sinks them, and eats the crew.”

         Tom focused on the darkness outside so he could stifle a smile.

         “Sometimes Jørund lets you live,” Niels continued, “and that may be worse.” He waited for Tom to meet his eyes. “If he's touched you once, he knows where you are forever. You become his slave. And you hear his voice. He makes sure you won't forget his demands.”

         "And if you don't obey?”

         “Then he'll come back for you.”

         What a threat.

         "Some men never step on a ship again. Did Erik tell you that Knud killed himself?” Niels nodded. “You see?”

         “Are you afraid?”

         “It's a tale.” Niels said.

         But he was looking away, and Tom felt a chill go down his spine. He shifted his weight uncomfortably, loosening his grip on the wheel. The Forsker veered off course, and he swore with frustration.

         “I've been a captain for thirty-five years now. If you don't do anything stupid, you're safe with me.” Niels laughed and poured himself more tea. “Now keep your mind on your steering.”

         Tom obediently stayed silent. He adjusted the wheel and looked out into the night. He felt the waves roll against the ship, listened to them breaking against the hull, and answered the pressure against his hands with his own strength. He welcomed the black walls in front of him and met them with a slight movement of the wheel. He found that each shape was unique, that each wave had a distinct sound, that he could tell the impact of the incoming sea with their help. He forgot the captain's presence and his steady gaze. When he turned around, Niels was gone.

         He was alone with the darkness and the sea, and to his surprise, he felt at ease for the first time since he had entered the ship. His heart swelled with joy for his improving skills and with reverence for the vast and secret ocean.

         “You want to take over the shift for me tomorrow?” Niels had appeared as silently as he had gone.

         “Are you serious?”

         Niels chuckled. “You need a little more experience for that. But come again. You're learning fast.”

         Tom glowed with pride.

         “Erik will come up in a few minutes. Time to call it a day.”

         Indeed, it was almost twelve. Stunned that he had steered the ship for two hours on his own, Tom went down to the mess room. In the privacy of his bunk, he continued listening to the waves and let them rock him to sleep.

         The next morning the sky had cleared and the wind had slowed down. The Forsker danced lightly across the waves. Tom faced the wind, taking in its salty flavor and savoring the chill against his skin. When he saw Walter, he greeted him enthusiastically.

         “What's up for today? Fishing or whale watching?”

         “This is not a pleasure trip.”

         Tom realized too late Walter's foul mood. “I took water samples before breakfast. Then I went to enjoy the sun as long as it lasts. There's nothing to do until we actually start trawling.”

         The professor snorted. “You think so? Go to the machine room and help Morten.”

         “Doing what?” Tom knew next to nothing about the technical part of a ship.

         “Just look over his shoulder.” Walter snapped. “Last time we almost lost the net. Morten's a stirrer.”

         “Why didn't you hire a different machinist?”

         “Because the rest are even worse.” He gave an impatient wave. “I heard you were socializing with the crew. I'd rather you didn't.”

         “Hardly anyone left to talk to then.”

         Walter turned on his heel. “Morten's still at breakfast. He should be starting any minute. Enjoy the sun.”

         Tom watched Walter stalking away and sighed. Walter's career was ending, and Tom understood the stress he was suffering. But gloom set in as he thought of spending his day with the belligerent Morten, the deafening noise of the machines, and the sickening diesel fumes inside the belly of the ship. He took a last look at the vastness in front of him. Then he went to see Morten.

         The machinist wasn't happy about Tom's company. He ignored him for the most part, but any tool he needed seemed to lie exactly where Tom blocked the way. He made Tom repeat every comment though Tom was already yelling. He refused to answer and delivered tirades in Norwegian instead. When he led Tom to a seat next to a hot pipe, Tom decided he needed a break.

         He wanted to take a leak. The bathroom was locked, but Tom had run out of patience. He made for the deck, went along the lee side to the stern, and relieved himself into the sea.

         “Don't you ever do that again!”

         Tom pulled the zipper up and turned around to look into the captain's stern face. “Pollution?” he asked.

         “Best way to fall overboard. It's the most common accident on boats. Or on trawlers.”

         Tom bit his lip.

         “The water is cold. You wouldn't make it long out there,” Niels continued.

         “I'm sorry,” Tom muttered. He stood like a kid in front of the principal and wished he could for once do something right.

         “The sea doesn't forgive a mistake. I had a man once, a careful man, who did like you. He fell over the rail at night. We lost him. He made a mistake only once.” Niels looked at the horizon. The half-moon mark on his neck gleamed in the sun.

         “Tom! Where are you?” They heard Walter yelling from below deck.

         The captain raised an eyebrow, and Tom smiled back self-consciously. Together they made their way down the stairs and found the professor in the mess room. Erik was preparing sandwiches for lunch.

         “What the fuck were you thinking? You should've stayed in the machine room. What did I take you on for?”

         “Wasn't gone for more than five minutes.”

         “Take a look.” Walter led the way down the steep ladder into Morten's realm. “Here!”

         Tom followed his outstretched arms with his eyes. He took in the fuel tanks that lined the walls with a red valve attached to each. From the bulk of the main engine with its numerous pipes, steam whistled into the air.

         “Five minutes was all he needed. What now? Got any wise-crack remark about it?” Walter's face was distorted with rage.

         Tom's feelings were in turmoil. Anger at his professor mixed with shame for having failed him. Astonishment about Morten's brazenness mingled with resignation. Walter wouldn't find his squid, and he'd have Morten and Tom to blame.

         A hand squeezed his shoulder; the captain pushed his way through the narrow door. He spoke to Morten in Norwegian, his voice low and calming. Morten listened sullenly. Niels looked at his watch, patted Morten's arm. “Fifteen minutes,” he said.

         “You are pretty laid back, considering Morten is endangering the ship.” Walter said.

         “Leave that to me. Everybody has got their own job. You're doing yours, and I'm doing mine. We're all working together, aren't we?” Niels kept his tone calm.

         “So you keep telling me.”

         “But?” A hint of steel crept into the captain's eyes.

         “But accidents keep happening. But Morten can sabotage my work. But we never reach the coordinates where the squids are most likely to be encountered. But I've yet to see results.”

         “I told you I can't make any promises.”

         “You promised to be straight with me. You aren't. You can't keep a crew of two together. What sort of a captain are you?”

         A cascade of Norwegian curses descended on them. “I've had enough of you.” Morten jumped past his captain, punching Walter's breast. Niels pushed him back.

         “You two are ending this now. Morten, get the engine ready. We'll start trawling after lunch.” When the captain turned to the professor, his face bore an expression of grim determination. “I'll get you to your squid.” He left the machine room, almost shoving his elbow into Tom's face as he vigorously massaged the red spot above his collar.

         Tom saw a smug grin cross his mentor's face and felt nauseous with disgust. He could take the bossiness of a great scholar, he tolerated the mood-swings of an obsessed man, but watching his victory over Niels made his stomach turn. He looked at Morten to avoid the professor's eyes.

         The machinist rummaged through his toolbox, and pointing a large wrench at the stairs, he said, “you leave. Can't work when this tosk is standing in my way.”

         If Morten had expected Walter to protest, he was disappointed. Tom was, too. He resented being called a dimwit. Walter motioned Tom upstairs.

         In the mess room, Erik didn't acknowledge their presence. He brought out a plate with sandwiches and retreated immediately into the pantry. Walter grabbed one. “Let's have lunch now. We'll be busy later.” He hummed a few notes. “Where's the tea, Erik?”

         Tom fetched the mugs and extended a hand for the teapot. Erik ignored him, carried it out, and placed it with a thump in front of Walter. The hot liquid splattered on the table. Walter glared.

         Tom wasn't hungry. He felt claustrophobic. He poured the tea and took a mug. “I'm out. See you later.” He fled.

         Once outside he calmed down. The wind mussed his hair and tore at his clothes. His eyes rested on the ocean, the same grey-blue surface in every direction. He watched the waves breaking against the hull, feeling salty spray settle on his cheeks. He slurped the tea and wished he'd taken a sandwich after all. He didn't go back though. Unwilling to give up the luxury of loneliness, he wandered aimlessly about, lost in thought.

         Walter was completely off his rocker. Nuts. Paranoid. Except he was right about Morten. And Niels? He was always smoothing things out for the machinist. And he didn't make fun of Walter. Yesterday Tom had laughed at the stories about the squid, but what if they were true? He'd hate to see Walter being right if only for Niels' sake. He admired the captain's skills; there was a man who had found his place in life. But Niels feared Jørund Blekksprutt. Tom looked at the basin. In his mind it had always been empty. Would it change?

         A gust of wind threw him off balance, and he grabbed the rail for support. The sky had darkened, promising rain. Tom looked up to the wheelhouse and saw the captain gesturing ahead. In the distance at two o'clock, he made out birds, circling above the water, diving down and bouncing up like flies on a cadaver. The spot moved straight ahead as the Forsker turned starboard.

         Tom ran downstairs and bumped into Walter.

         “Get the basin ready!” Walter was flushed.

         Tom headed for the electric panel that hid in a niche next to the captain's cabin. He opened the valve to fill the basin. Morten watched from the machine room.

         “Why are they starting so early?”

         Tom shrugged. “All I saw, Niels is heading for a flock of birds.”

         Morten breathed in sharply. “How did the water look? Was there a light under the surface?"

         Tom blinked. The sea did have a lighter color where the birds had been. “Can't remember,” he answered, busying himself with the control displays.

         “Liar!” Morten changed to Norwegian. “Rævhøl! You want to be fish bait?” His English left him again.

         Tom laughed half-heartedly. “I thought that was you,” he said.

         Morten let out a cry. “Erik!” He yelled something in Norwegian and retreated down the ladder. Erik followed, a dish towel still over his shoulder.

         “Hey, I was joking!” Tom said, but the two had closed the door behind them. He shook his head.

         “Get the net out!” Walter shouted from deck.

         Tom closed the panel and went outside.

         The basin was let into the rear half of the Forsker. Seawater was sloshing in. Tom checked the level and joined Walter at the stern, who leaned over the rail, watching the net unfold and take shape under the surface.

         “Seems Morten's done well.” His hands released their grip on the rail.

         Tom hoped so. He dreaded a repetition of the earlier scene and decided to talk to Niels as soon as the opportunity arose.

         A bird landed on the roof of the wheelhouse. Tom eyed it curiously. A layman could easily confuse it with a gull. But the yellow rings around the eyes and its short and strong bill told Tom it was a fulmar even though its plumage was darker than any other he'd seen. Another one was circling above the ship, sailing on the windfalls that carried the sounds of bird cries from the distance.

         “The well's ready?” Walter interrupted his thoughts.

         “I'll look.”

         “I'll prepare the documentation. Niels is calling me when we are there.”

         Tom nodded. The sudden anticipation baffled him. He'd only just admitted the squid might exist, and now they were preparing to catch it.

         Walter hurried below deck, and Tom followed slowly. He checked the water level, closed the valves, and climbed the stairs to the wheelhouse.

         Niels was staring at the flock of birds they were approaching. They had closed a good part of the distance.

         “I think I've blundered again. Erik and Morten have shut themselves into the machine room.”

         “What've you done?” Niels didn't turn around.

         “I said we'd use Morten as fish bait.” Tom writhed with the memory.

         “At least they're out of harm's way.”

         Tom was baffled. “You aren't going to do anything?”

         “You'd better follow their example.”

         All of a sudden, he was tempted. “Wouldn't want to miss the show,” he said.

         Niels grinned. "I guessed as much."

         The screaming of the birds had become louder, and dark fluttering shapes surrounded the ship. Right ahead the sea shimmered from within.

         "I'll be careful."

         "That'll help a lot."

         It looked like there were thousands of fulmars. Something was weird about them. Tom stared, but he couldn't figure it out.

         “Let's hope it's just a big fish.” But Tom's heart was beating fast.

         Steps on the stairs announced the professor. “We are right above it.”

         Niels nodded grimly.

         “I'll tell Morten to watch the hauling. So he's at hand.”

         Tom cleared his throat, but Niels spoke before he could open his mouth. “Leave Morten and Erik below deck. We'll manage.”

         Tom sent him a grateful smile. Niels returned it.

         “You take the watch if you aren't afraid.”

         “I don't know what to look for.”

         Walter took a deep breath, but again Niels was quicker. “You just look at the top of the A-frame. If the ropes get entangled, call up. We'll hear you. And keep away from the stern.”

         Tom left the wheelhouse. He checked the well and the instruments, then strolled slowly across the ship. He decided a short look wouldn't hurt. He sneaked to the stern, alert to the screeching of the winches that would tell him the hauling had begun. But all was silent.

         The birds almost touched him as they flew around him. Tom watched them surfing the waves, turning over like a kite and changing color. Black backs and white undersides. It was their yelling that was funny. Usually fulmars make coughing noises, and they cackle under attack, but these gave long lamenting screams.

         The spot of shimmering water lay behind them. Tom craned his neck, but the squid didn't appear in his field of vision. He took another step and stood with the hands on the rail, staring into the sea.

         Under the wings of the fulmars, Tom saw what illuminated the water. Steadily the Forsker drew the net toward the ungainly shape beneath the surface. Tom held his breath as an arm got tangled in the holes.

         “Haul it up!” he yelled and retreated quickly into safety. He could hardly hear his own voice above the noise of the birds. Their cries sung an eerie song of despair.

         Slowly the ropes wound around the drums and the net rose. The winches creaked as the net shook. The prey was fighting the trap, deprived of its element. The bulk of its body was hidden behind a knot of arms, trying to wiggle themselves through the holes like the snakes on a Medusa head. Its watchful escort of birds surrounded it with warning screams. A tentacle reached out of the net's mouth, curling round the ropes that kept relentlessly moving.

         Tom held his breath as their catch hung over the well and the winches stopped turning. He heard Walter's quick steps and turned round. The professor in his overlarge jumpsuit ran to the well, carrying a gun. Tom half expected the old man to yell Freeze! at the giant squid. But he aimed carefully and sent a single shot into the tangle of tentacles. The body fought frantically, then collapsed as the narcotic made its way through its system.

         “Down!” The professor flapped his arms as if imitating the birds around him. The winches released the ropes and lowered the cone-shaped net into the well. Tom mourned the squid's diminished powers. There was a god if you could ever see one, and he understood the fear and the awe with which the fishermen spoke of Jørund Blekksprut. The birds had stopped screaming, still skirting around the net. The breaking of waves sounded far away, like through a tropic seashell held to the ear.

         The bottom of the net touched the surface of the well. A bang like a pistol shot preceded the screeching of steel. The professor looked as shocked as Tom felt himself. The flock of birds started their despairing lament again. The tip of the bulging cone moved toward the center of the ship as the mouth of the net opened. A rope had burst, and the dead weight of the mollusk tore at the net, threatening to spill its gelatinous contents onto the deck.

         “Morten, where's that bastard!” Walter ran past Tom and disappeared down the ladder. Tom heard him banging against the door of the machine room. He looked up to the wheelhouse and caught the eye of the captain. Niels signaled him to come. Taking two steps at once, he raced up.

         “Take the wheel. Be careful. If another rope bursts, the ship will veer off. Let it happen. Just steer it back on course.” He showed Tom the GPS display and padded him on the shoulder. “Keep calm and look ahead!”

         Tom had only time to nod, then the captain had gone. The wheel felt familiar in his hands, but the magic of the night before had vanished. The wind was too light to rock the Forsker, and the ship ran its course steadily. Curiosity got the better of him and he peered around.

         He caught sight of Niels, climbing the ladder that led up the A-frame, moving his limbs as swiftly as the giant mollusk. Walter appeared and shouted, waving his arms. Niels answered and the professor moved along the basin to the the spot where the tip of the net was closest. He found a pole and pulled, almost losing his balance. Tom gasped. Another communication took place, and Walter stood, pole in both hands, waiting for instructions. Niels had reached the beam and, sitting astride, was fumbling with a windlass. Suddenly, he looked up as if he sensed something, turned to the wheelhouse, and moved his hand in a circle.

         Startled Tom checked the display, and hurried to correct the course. He didn't dare to look behind again, waiting for the splash to happen. The hairs on his neck stood up.

         Now. The Forsker rocked as if hit by a wave. When the ship had steadied, Tom turned the wheel slightly to port. Only then did he look around.

         The giant mollusk was sinking to the ground, covered by the net like a dying gladiator. By the side of basin, Walter tore at the net's tip, his clothes soaked, his curly hair finally obeying the laws of gravity. Niels joined him with a knife and started cutting the threads. They worked hurriedly, and after a while, Tom saw why. One arm rose, slowly circling above the surface.

         Tom remembered suddenly his responsibility and looked at the GPS display. Satisfied with what he saw, he watched again.

         The body of the beast was free. Only two arms remained tangled in the shreds of the net. Walter and Niels wrestled with the heavy load. They dragged it to the rim; the awakening squid fought the movement. Then the last tentacle was cut free, and they dragged the ropes out of the water. Walter and Niels retreated below deck. Finally, the squid was theirs.

         “Tom, where are you?” Walter's yelled. A growl answered, then Niels came upstairs.

         Tom started to speak, but Niels waved it away and took over the wheel. He pushed the lever forward and drew a sharp curve. He massaged his neck as if it hurt. Finally, he spoke, “the master wants you. Go down.”

         Tom left wordlessly.

         An early dusk had set. Tom had difficulties making out the shape of the professor crouching at the rim of the well through the flock of birds, skirting around the ship. Some had settled on the rails and on the deck; others were following. Their eerie song was dying down.

         Tom made his way through them carefully. The professor was taking pictures of his prey. The squid was performing a slow and graceful dance. Its tentacles touched the walls and the ground of its prison; every arm seemed to have its own will and purpose.

         “We should start the work now. It'll be difficult to take samples when it's fully awake,” the professor said.

         “Won't it be dangerous?” Tom asked.

         The professor sneered. “Did you catch something? Like superstition?” He mimicked a ghost. “Boo!”

         Tom shook his head angrily.

         “Good. I'd be disappointed to lose the only scientific mind around. Morten, Erik, Niels, all of them dimwits. Afraid of their own shadow.”

         “Niels, too?” Tom felt loyalty for the captain while his respect for the professor was diminishing.

         “What's he done?” The professor erected himself to his unimpressive height.

         “He climbed up the A-frame. That was dangerous.”

         “The least he could do after he let Morten damage the ropes again.” The professor stabbed a finger at Tom's breast. “Nobody in the world understands the significance of this find.” His eyes narrowed. “You have witnessed a historical moment. My work has been vindicated.” He stood as if he was expecting the applause of a large audience.

         “Congratulations.” Tom tried to sound sincere.

         “Thank you, son.” The professor extended his hand. It was cold and squishy. He shook Tom's hand vigorously.

         “Now I'm going to write down some impressions. You'll take water samples. I'll expect you in my room.” Walter pressed a test tube into Tom's hand and left.

         Tom looked at the squid fish, trying to find a corner the wriggling arms couldn't reach. The mollusk seemed more aware of its surroundings, and Tom found himself looking directly into its eyes. Behind the black globes, Tom perceived a dull malice and the patience of a hunter waiting for his prey to move out of its hiding place.

         With sudden decision he removed the cap from the test tube. It hung on a nylon thread that he let down. The tip of a tentacle reached out of the water, feeling around the air like a swimmer, dipping a tentative toe into the water. Tom stood motionless until the arm had disappeared. The glass touched the surface, and it took a few moments to sink under. Tom watched in horror as an arm kicked the tube around playfully. He jerked at the nylon and caught the tube. He plugged the cap on and stepped back, his back hitting something soft.

         “What do you think you are doing here?” It was Morten.

         Tom showed him the sample.

         “You are crazy.”

         “It's nothing.” Tom tried for a casual posture, leaning against the rail and crossing his feet. A breaker, hitting the hull, made him think better of it. “We were playing soccer.”

         Morten narrowed his eyes. “Are you kidding me?”

         “It almost made a goal, but it's too much of a dribbler, and I snatched the tube away.” Tom giggled.

         Morten wrinkled his nose. “You fool, you mark my words. Look!”

         A tentacle raised out of the water and crept over the deck's surface. Morten stood at the railing trying not to attract the mollusk's attention, and Tom found himself infected by his fear. But he didn't want to give in. He grabbed the ship pole and poked at the animal. Immediately the arm slung around it. Startled Tom let go. The squid lifted its prey, swung it back, and jerked it down. Tom and Morten jumped aside, and the pole hit the rail between them. The beast raised its toy again.

         “What's wrong with the aviation system?” Walter's voice came angrily across the deck, accompanied by the quick scurrying of his feet.

         Tom eyed the hose at the other end of the well, through which the water was constantly aired. Something appeared to be stuck into it. When he perceived a movement out of the corner of his eye, he raised his hand in front of his face. But the pole hit him on the head. Tom went down.

         He crashed on the slippery deck. The test tube broke. The pole hung in the air. He tried to crawl backwards, but he soon jammed into something hard. Morten, he thought, who didn't think about moving. Instead he kicked Tom and swore. The pole came down again. Tom curled into a ball and let his back take the brunt of the attack. He felt Morten's boot in his side, shoving him closer to the rim. Tom jumped up and caught another hit at his shoulder. “What are you doing?” he yelled and charged against Morten's breast.

         “Let's see who ends up between the beast's teeth,” Morten said. He fended off Tom's attack with embarrassing ease. He held Tom at arm's length and pushed. Tom bent his back, trying to keep his position. Morten inched him toward the basin. Every step Tom feared he wouldn't feel the deck under his feet anymore. He screamed. He didn't know what possessed him, the terror that came from Morten's look or the horror of the creature in the basin.

         His scream was followed by others, and Tom recognized the wailing of the fulmars. Suddenly the air was full of them. Tom felt the tip of a wing brush his shoulder. Morten let go of Tom's arm, but his fist still clenched his jacket. The bird spat. Yellowish oil landed on Morten's face. It stank, and he jerked his arm up to wipe it off.

         “Hell, what did you do?” Niels' voice resonated over the noise. “Walter, get over here.” He clapped his hands and hissed.

         Tom felt the pressure of Morten's hand lessening and swung his fist. It connected with Morten's jaw-bone, and Tom jumped for the rail. Niels stepped in and forced the machinist to retreat.

         “What's this, a kindergarten?” Walter's voice oozed contempt.

         Dizzily Tom massaged his knuckles. His mind replayed the punch in slow motion. Again he saw Morten's face contorting.

         “No reason to feel smug, son. Where's the sample?”

         Tom barred his teeth. “Take it yourself!” he said, crunching the glass under his feet.

         “Got an attitude, have you?”

         “I didn't work for you to get killed, either by that beast or by that bastard.” He jerked his head in Morten's direction. The machinist rubbed his jaw but stopped when he saw Tom's look. His hands went to his pockets. Tom bet he was forming fists.

         “Now you all calm down.” Niels looked furious. “We'll do it this way. Walter and Tom will do their tests tonight, so we can get rid of Jørund by midnight. I don't fancy having him on board either.”

         Morten's mouth formed a single line. He didn't reply.

         Niels held his eyes. “Go down. You're safe below deck.” Morten didn't move.

         Walter looked startled. “Of course, we are not releasing the squid. What's the purpose of catching it in the first place?”

         “You can't take him on land. Either we release him, or he'll leave on his own. We have no power over Jørund Blekkstrupp.”

         As if to prove the point, a tentacle raised out of the water and slung around the rail. Morten ran.

         “You've got about five hours,” said the captain.

         “I don't believe this.” Walter was panting. He fumbled in the pockets of his jumpsuit and produced the stun gun. “Niels!”

         The captain eyed the gun. “What else, Walter?”

         “You're not going to release the fish.”

         “So?”

         “You're going to take us to the coast as fast as possible.”

         “Am I?”

         “I can't lose the squid. It's a significant find in the history of ocean biology. But I need it on land. And you will take us there.”

         “If we don't release Jørund pretty quickly, he will turn his anger against the ship." Niels sighed. "Do some tests and be content. It's the best you are going to get.”

         “I'm sick of your attitude. Don't you see this?” He jerked up the gun. The arrow that carried the narcotic was in place.

         “I don't see what you could win. Jørund will leave. You can't even steer the ship. And I doubt Morten or Erik are going to help you out.”

         The professor's posture was rigid. The narcotic could stun a giant animal for a few hours, but for a human it would be lethal. Walter took a step back and raised the gun. For the first time, Tom detected a flicker of fear in the captain's eyes. An urge of adrenaline went through his body. He watched Walter, dimly lit by the spotlight on top of the wheelhouse. Walter's mouth twitched. The movement couldn't have taken more than a few milliseconds. For Tom it was a slow motion film of an animal, barring its teeth. Carefully he set his feet apart and balanced his weight equally on them. When Walter took a second step back, he jumped.

         The gun went off as Tom tried to twist it out of the hands of the crazy professor. The arrow hissed into the air. Birds screamed, and a swarm of fluttering bodies surrounded the men.

         In a flash of light, Tom saw the face of his mentor with a clarity he couldn't explain. Walter's eyes were slits, full of contempt. His mouth was hanging half open in an analogy of greed. Disgusted Tom pushed the old professor hard against the rail.

         With a scream Walter fell on the deck. His foot was caught in the grip of a tentacle. Tom looked at the beast in the fish-well. Fireworks of flashes ran through its organism, originating in the rostrum. In a moment Niels was by Walter's side, stabbing a knife into the meat that held the professor captive.

         The eyes of Jørund Blekkstrupp, large as soccer balls, looked dully at the scene. Their empty blackness expressed nothing.

         “Keep still, you fool!” said the captain and swung the knife above his head. But Walter kept kicking and Niels lost his balance. With a splash he fell into the well.

         The tentacle let go of its captive and retreated into the water. Niels spluttered as his head reappeared on the surface. He wrestled the knot of arms that held him in a strangely intimate embrace. His eyes went to the side of the well, and Tom saw the knife discarded at the rim. Without thinking, he grabbed it. In one movement, he opened the zipper of his jacket and shrugged out of it. It would only drag him down.

         He slipped into the water. The cold took his breath away, but he plunged on. The captain's head disappeared under the water. His arm raised above the surface, and Tom lunged forward to grab it. He felt the arms of the beast around himself and kicked. A foot hit him in the stomach. Then he had Niels' arm, but in the slippery water, he lost it again. He got closer to the captain and started slashing at the tentacles. A hand was clutching at his shirt.

         Suddenly Tom's legs were caught in an arm's loop that lifted him up, then dragged him away from the captain. His shirt tore, and the captain yelled. Tom couldn't feel his legs any longer, and he feared his hands couldn't sustain the strength to hold on to the knife. Panic rose, and he drove the knife into the next limb he found. He heard Niels scream, then he was dragged underwater, taking one last breath of air.

         The knife was gone. Frantically he searched the water. “Open the eyes!” he ordered himself. The salt burned, and his vision blurred. A shock of electricity went through his body. The tip of an arm slipped around him as if in a caress, then his body was caught in the chain of the beast's grip.

         “So this is dying,” Tom thought. He grabbed the tentacle, but he couldn't move it. His lungs burned, and pain pierced his heart.

         “I can't breathe.” As the words went through his mind, he was lifted, and his head was raised above the surface. He coughed and gulped in as much air as his lungs could bear. He went under again.

         A jolt of electricity made him limp. The sound of the air, bubbling from his mouth, was magnificently loud. There were other sounds, too. “Maybe it's the aviation system,” Tom thought.

         An answering thought appeared from nowhere: “It's the sea.”

         Helplessly, Tom listened. It wasn't a tone; it was more diverse, like a symphony, a song. Tom realized that all the creatures in the sea produced it. As the song filled his head, he understood that it was sung since time began and would go on in eternity.

         “We'll be there when you are gone.” A voice spoke in his head.

         The sounds changed. They became shriller. Tom saw in his mind animals fighting for life against their predators. He saw swarms of fish flee the attack of sharks, he saw a Portuguese man of war devour its prey, he saw big fish and small fish, crabs and mussels, devouring others, surviving and dying.

         A discordant note caught his attention. Before his eyes rose the image of a net, dragging across the bottom of the sea, sweeping the ground. It left behind a desert.

         “I take revenge,” said the voice.

         Blackness overcame Tom's eyes. He was moments away from fainting. Yet, he still heard piercing high notes, underlined by a heavy thumping rhythm. Dimly as if through smoke, fleeting shapes passed his vision. The numbness of his body had vanished. He was looking at himself. There was a gleaming object. A knife in a tentacle. His tentacle. In a moment, he'd open his mouth and shove his prey in. Bones would crush and he'd suck the juicy jelly from the shell. Tom tried to scream, but his lungs were empty, and just a few bubbles rose to the surface.

         “For your sins,” said the voice, and Tom felt his head being covered.

         “It's not enough,“ he screamed in his head. The movement stopped. Tom's mind floated in a salty emptiness, and it cost him an extreme effort to produce the next thought. “We kill the sea too fast.”

         “I'll be faster.”

         “You've almost lost.” Tom sent a flurry of images through his head: the small fish, the disappearing coral reefs he had documented so assiduously in the weeks before. “I'm bargaining with a squid.” He tried to suppress the thought.

         “You want to live,” said the voice, “you protect me. Me and my kind.”

         Water entered Tom's lungs. His head was bursting and his heart hurt beyond bearing. Blackness came again, and Tom knew this time it would be forever. Where was his will? The image of the captain rose in front of him: “You've got to respect the sea.” Tom saw himself nodding, then nothing.

         “Let me sleep,” he thought as he felt something crushing his ribs. “Stop bothering me.”

         “Tom!”

         “That's my name,” he thought.

         “Coming,” he answered, but it came as a cough instead.

         A new sensation bothered him. “Why are they slapping my face?”

         “He's coming to. Go on.”

         Tom decided to open his eyes and saw the captain, who was sitting astride his belly. He coughed and vomited on the deck.

         “So you're back. Crazy bastard.”

         Slowly Tom remembered where he was. “I stabbed you,” he said.

         “No. Saved my bloody life. The knife hit Jørund and I got away.” Niels climbed off Tom and perched at his side. “Was knocked out for a bit. Sorry I couldn't do anything.”

         Tom turned his head and looked at the fish-well. It was empty.

         “That's Morten's work.”

         The machinist stepped into Tom's field of vision, nodding and grinning. “Baited him with a piece of cod and shoved him overboard with a derrick.” Morten pointed at one of the cranes. “Had it planned all along.”

         “Where's Walter?”

         Niels jerked his head toward the stern.

         Tom sat up. His lungs sent him piercing signals, and he coughed again. Walter stood at the rail, peering out into the dark.

         “What's he up to?”

         “Don't know.” Niels shrugged. "He kept shouting at Morten. Now Jørund's gone, he's shut up.”

         “Must've hit him hard.” Tom watched Walter turning around and coming. He was limping and holding the rail for support.

         "I'd better leave. Or else." Morten winked at the captain and went.

         “Take this.” The captain held out a jumper, and Tom realized he was shivering. The shreds of his shirt clung to his wet body. Tom coughed again as a needle of pain went through his breast. He rubbed his sternum and found a large red mark where the pain originated. He looked at Niels, who nodded. “Quick!” he said.

         Tom slipped into the jumper. "Me and my kind." The voice filled his ears.

         “I can't believe you did that,” Walter said. He looked pale and spent.

         Tom looked up, a gratified smile on his lips.

         “You sabotaged my work.”

         “Shooting the captain?” Tom shook his head in disbelief.

         "If necessary."

         “Leave him alone. You never knew who you were facing,” Niels said.

         Walter laughed mirthlessly. “I should have known I couldn't trust you. You've been running rings around me for months. You're fired, Niels.”

         “Good,” said the captain, “I don't want to meet Jørund again.”

         “You are planning another trip?” Tom asked.

         “Not now. I'll publish what I have." He held up the camera. "That should get me some funding. No need to hire amateurs.”

         Before Tom's eyes rose the vision of a fleet of research vessels. A sting of pain went through his breast and he clutched it. Niels was rubbing his neck.

         "More strangers poking around.” The captain shook his head.

         “There's one thing I don't understand, Niels.” The professor's eyes were alive with righteous anger. “Why did you take on the job? It was to make sure I failed, wasn't it?”

         “No.” Niels shook his head. “I was curious.” He drew a circle with his foot on the deck. When he looked up again, he searched for Tom's eyes: “The sea is a strict master. Maybe I didn't want to be a slave anymore."

         "Or fish bait." Tom smiled.

         The captain smiled back.

         The professor turned to Tom. “You'll have to look for a new mentor. I won't have time for you while I'm preparing the publication of the results.”

         “Sure." Tom was still smiling as he held out the hand for the camera. "Can I have a look?”

         The professor handed him the camera with a quick movement. “Save them on hard disk!”

         Tom took the camera and switched it on. He flicked through the images of the creature that was going to be his companion for life.

         “So there'll be more searching, won't there.”

         “Of course. And I won't be alone. The squid will be caught."

         Tom felt the familiar pain in his breast. He couldn't let it happen. The sea needed its guardian to keep the balance.

         “What are you going to do with this ship?” he asked.

         “Sell it.” The professor sniggered. “Maybe Niels is interested.”

         The captain shrugged.

         “You need company?” asked Tom. “I could continue my studies.”

         “Well, first things first. Store the pictures. It's all we know about the squid.” Walter gave an impatient wave.

         Tom looked up. He weighed the camera in his hands before he threw it over board.

         “What squid?” he asked.

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