Depths - By Henning Mankell & Laurie Thompson Page 0,45

not possible to pick just one.'

Rake stood up to indicate that the conversation was over.

'My question was a general one. We are expecting to dock at Skeppsbron tomorrow at nine in the morning. I'm afraid we can't travel at top speed.'

'Engine trouble?'

'An unfortunate decision made by Naval Headquarters. In a mistaken attempt to nurse the engines, top speeds are allowed only in actual battle situations. There are very few engineers and officers with technical qualifications at headquarters. Engines need to be stretched, not often but regularly. Otherwise there is a bigger risk of engine trouble when it really matters.' Rake gave a laugh. 'It's the same with people. We too need to be forced to work at the limit of our abilities. The difference between a machine and a person isn't all that great'

Rake opened the cabin door and looked forward to seeing him at table that evening.

Tobiasson-Svartman went back to his cabin and lay down on his bunk. He was soon fast asleep.

He awoke with a start an hour or more later. A plaintive scraping sound was spreading through the ship's hull, indicating that anchors and cables were being pulled aboard. He got up, put on his jacket and went out on deck. The Blenda was out of sight. The Svea's engines were throbbing, smoke was pouring out of the four big funnels. The ship turned slowly on its own axis and then set course to the north-east.

He stared hard at Halsskär, but could see nothing. The sea was frighteningly deserted.

There's something I don't understand, he thought. A warning. I am right now making a mistake, but I do not know what it is.

Halsskär faded into the mist.

Tobiasson-Svartman thought about the spot he had been looking for, the point where his sounding lead never reached the bottom of the sea.

PART V

The Dead Eyes of China

Figurines

CHAPTER 69

He had slept badly the night before he arrived back in Stockholm. When he blew out the paraffin lamp he began to feel that a catastrophe was approaching. It could arrive at any time: a single German torpedo fired by an unseen submarine racing through the dark water. He lay in his cabin with sweat pouring off him and listened to the sound of the powerful engines. Rake's assurance that he would not expose the engines to undue strain did not help him. The boilers could explode without warning, create big holes under the waterline and sink the ship in less than thirty seconds.

That was his greatest dread: being trapped inside a bubble of air deep in the innards of a ship that was sinking to the bottom. Not even his screams would leave any trace. He was afraid that death would be totally silent.

It was not until dawn when the vibrations had lessened and the ship was in the inshore channel of the Stockholm archipelago that he managed to fall asleep. But the vibrations followed him into his dream.

He was in an engine room. The heat was unbearable, he was surrounded by groaning and screaming stokers with black faces, backs covered in oil, and he knew everything would soon be over. Then he noticed that one of the sweating stokers was the dead German sailor. He had a shovel in his hand, but his eyes were missing, there were only two bloody sockets.

At that moment he managed to kick himself free of the dream and rise to the surface.

He was very tired, but he got dressed and went on deck. The sea was grey, the dark, rocky skerries came and went through the mist. His exhaustion led to his eyes playing tricks. Sea and sky merged to form vague points of light, an interplay of light and shade.

The temperature had fallen during the night. He moved to the spot where nobody could see him. He stayed there until they had passed Oxdjupet. Then he returned to his cabin, closed his suitcases and examined his face in the mirror.

His father was more evident now, the wrinkles drawing his eyebrows closer together, a feature that made him look bitter and had always frightened him as a boy. Against his will he was on the way to inheriting his father's tortured face. His father was trying to reclaim the power he used to have, to resurrect himself in his son's face.

He breathed on the mirror until it misted over, and the face disappeared.

I am drawing a line under this journey, he thought. It is over now. I fulfilled my mission. I have done what was expected