fallen against a propaganda poster, pasted to the wall, one he’d seen many times before. It showed a caricature of a moustached, jodhpured figure complete with bulldog, a supposedly typical Englishman. ‘He’s the cause!’ the poster screamed. ‘Why is our life controlled by rationing?’ There was a whole lot more, ending with: ‘England is our deadly enemy’ and ‘Victory for Germany!’.
The sailors, as he had hoped, looked from him to the poster and laughed. Anthony could follow their thoughts as if they’d spoken them aloud. He couldn’t be an Englishman because an Englishman looked like the man on the poster.
‘He’s all right,’ muttered the sailor who held his papers.
‘I am,’ Anthony agreed with intoxicated earnestness. ‘Only, dash it, I keep falling over. Problems with m’ legs.’ He took back his papers and put them carefully away. ‘Must be off. Bishiness aqua . . . aqua . . . friend. Want to come?’
‘I only wish we could,’ said one of the sailors with a laugh. ‘Good night.’
Anthony wobbled away, swayed across the square, turned the corner, saw the street was deserted and leaned against the wall in utter relief. For a few moments at least, he looked as inebriated as the traduced Mr Kolhmeyer.
He was on Jensenstrasse. The outer door to The Mermaid stood open, sending a yellow wedge of light onto the wet pavement. Anthony walked into the pub, feeling he had gained some sort of sanctuary.
He was well known in The Mermaid. Lassen, the landlord, was a Dane, one of the many in this north-eastern corner of Germany. When war was declared, the Germans, who had always treated the Danes with suspicion, ordered all men between twenty and forty-five to enlist. That, in Anthony’s opinion, was a mistake. He knew Lassen, who had two sons in the army, bore a burning sense of injustice. It was too much to say he was pro-British but he was resentfully anti-German and there were plenty of informers who felt the same.
Lassen was careful not to be curious about Dr Etriech who frequented The Mermaid. Perhaps, for men had learned to avoid awkward questions which could lead them to still more awkward truths, he simply accepted that the doctor liked conversations with all classes and types of customers. If he noticed that those customers were frequently better off as a result, he never mentioned it. Anthony didn’t pay much but any extra, in this time of great hardship when even the bread on the table – the miserable gritty K-bread, part flour, part potatoes – was rationed, was welcome.
Anthony made his way to a table close to the stove. The heat made him wince as the circulation returned to his frozen fingers. For a few moments he could think of nothing but warmth and would have given anything for a hot bath and a change. His clothes had begun to steam in the heat before he could bring himself to turn away from the stove.
Lassen stood behind the bar, quietly polishing a glass. ‘What can I get you, Herr Doktor? You look as if you need something to keep out the cold.’
‘I’d like some coffee and an aquavit,’ Anthony replied. ‘And . . . er . . . would you take a drink with me, Herr Lassen?’ He nodded at the chair on the other side of the table.
‘I’ll bring the drinks round,’ said Lassen.
Anthony dropped into the chair. He recognized most of the men in the room. The Mermaid was a comfortable, homely place, smelling of fish, engine oil and wet wool, with its pine boards turned the colour of oak by years of placid clouds of tobacco. It was quiet, with the murmur of conversation broken by the occasional click from a game of draughts and the scrape of chairs on the wooden floor.
Lassen put the tray on the table and pulled out a chair. ‘Trouble?’ he asked softly.
‘Yes.’ Anthony picked up the aquavit – an acquired taste – and drank it at a gulp, feeling it sting his throat. No one was paying them the slightest attention. ‘I have a passenger for Captain Johannson.’
Lassen stroked the stubble on his chin. ‘Yourself?’
Anthony nodded.
‘A private passage?’
‘Very private.’
‘I see . . .’ Lassen took his pipe from his apron pocket. He didn’t seem remotely surprised. He studied his pipe for a long moment. ‘You can pay?’
‘Yes.’
‘Captain Johannson will not be here for two or three days. Is that a problem?’
Anthony bit his lip. He’d been afraid of this. ‘It could be a great