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as Martha pushed her way through a deserted map room to the bridge proper.
    â€œAbsolutely. I’ve already been up snooping around and the captain was up here and told me that the bridge is always open to us, unless he clamps down because of bad weather or dangerous navigation.”
    It felt weird. The only other ship I had ever been on had not allowed anyone on the bridge except crew.
    â€œBesides, we’re here on official business.”
    I looked at her in surprise.
    â€œI told you the captain asked to see you.”
    â€œWhat does the captain want with me?” But Martha had already stepped onto the bridge.
    We emerged onto the brightness of the deck and a magnificent, foggy view of the ship. Spread out three decks below us was the bow of the ship, with its tangle of anchors and cables, and about twenty tourists hanging over the rails to look at the sea below. Just beyond the fog was Frobisher Bay, where in the late sixteenth cen – tury, Martin Frobisher led three explorations in search of the Northwest Passage and to mine gold. He struck out on both counts. The gold he found was worthless marcasite, and the strait did not lead to the mysteries of the Orient but to a huge inland sea — Hudson Bay. He struck out with the Inuit too. His uncompromising char – acter did not sit well with them. When five of his men were captured he seized three Inuit in return and took them back to England as curiosities. They died soon after.
    I could hear someone’s raised voice knifing its way through the bridge. “Admit it, Jason. You damn well blew it. You’re the goddamn captain of this ship and it’s your responsibility to hire the right people.”
    I turned to stare at the source of the problem, the cadence of the voice familiar. Without her wet weather gear hiding her face I was once again astonished by how beautiful Terry was, her golden blond hair fashionably messy, her clear blue eyes and pale chocolate milk skin, her trim figure, dwarfed by the man beside her.
    â€œI don’t hire the tourist crew,” he said.
    â€œBut as captain of this ship you are ultimately respon – sible for everyone’s welfare.”
    â€œFor god’s sake,” he said. “It was an emergency, Terry. If she hadn’t taken over the boat who knows what would have happened.”
    â€œI’m not talking about O’Callaghan. She at least tried to fix the mistake.”
    â€œThen who…?”
    â€œDon’t be so dense.”
    â€œYou mean Peter?”
    â€œYeah, I mean Peter, if that’s the name of your incompetent driver. Can’t even keep his own passen – gers under control so that we were left with a total greenhorn to bring the Zodiac home. That’s got to smack of negligence.”
    â€œWasn’t it you who stood up?”
    â€œOf course it was me, but if he’d let us know every – thing was okay, that the waves were manageable, I would never have panicked.”
    â€œLet it go. You’re blowing it up out of all proportion.”
    â€Oh I am, am I? I could have been killed!” She raised her hand to the side of her head. “I’ve got a lump the size of a golf ball on my head and it didn’t just magi – cally appear. I’m lucky I don’t have a concussion and O’Callaghan is lucky she didn’t drown us all. A few calming words from this Peter guy would have prevented all this, including his own injury.”
    I was wondering what a golf ball sized lump would do to your judgment when apparently Terry read my mind. She turned and looked right at me, her anger changing disconcertingly to sweetness and light, a daz – zling smile creasing her face in all the right places. “Oh, look who we have here: Cordi O’Callaghan — heroine.
    Thank you so much for saving my life.”
    I couldn’t tell from the tone of her voice whether she was being genuine or sarcastic, but Jason