“N-no. I would expect it too, as lively as things are tonight. He’s become a lot happier lately for some reason, hasn’t he? What do you want of him?”

“Business matter.”

“Business, forever business,” Freiwald said. “I swear your personal amusement is fretting. Me, I’ve got a better one.” He hugged Jimenes to him. She snuggled. “Have you called his cabin?”

“Naturally. No response. Still, maybe—” Reymont turned. “I’ll try there. Later I’ll come back for that schnapps,” he added, already leaving.

He took the stairs down past crew level to the officers’ deck. The music followed. “—Iesu, tibi sit gloria.” The passageway was deserted. He pushed Fedoroff’s chime button.

The engineer opened the door. He was clad in lounging pajamas. Behind him, a bottle of French wine, two glasses, and some Danish-style sandwiches waited on the dresser top. Surprise jarred him. He took a backward step. “Chto— you?”

“Could I speak with you?”

“Um-m-m.” Fedoroff’s glance flickered. “I expect a guest.”

Reymont grinned. “That’s obvious. Don’t worry, I won’t linger. But this is rather urgent.”

Fedoroff bridled. “It cannot wait until I am on duty?”

“The thing is, it had better be discussed confidentially,” Reymont said. “Captain Telander agrees.” He slipped around Fedoroff, into the cabin. “An item was overlooked in the plans,” he went on, speaking fast. “Our schedule has us changing over to high-acceleration mode on the seventh of January. You know better than I how that takes two or three days of preliminary work by your gang and considerable upsetting of everybody else’s routine. Well, somehow the flight planners forgot that the sixth is important in West European tradition. Twelfth Night, the Eve of the Three Holy Kings, call it what you will, it climaxes the merrymaking part of the holidays. Last year celebrations were so riotous that nobody thought about it. But I learn that this year a final feast and dance, with the old rituals, is being talked of, as something that would be pleasant if only it were possible. Think what such a reminder of our origins can do to help morale. The skipper and I wish you’d check the feasibility of postponing high acceleration a few days.”

“Yes, yes, I will look into it.” Fedoroff urged Reymont toward the open door. “Tomorrow, please—”

He was too late. Ingrid Lindgren came around its edge. She was in uniform, having hurried up from the bridge when her watch ended.

“Gud!” broke from her. She stopped dead.

“Why, why, Lindgren,” Fedoroff said frantically, “what brings you here?”

Reymont had sucked in a single breath. Every expression went out of his face. He stood moveless, except that his fists clenched till nails dug into palms and skin stretched white across knuckles.

A new carol began.

Lindgren looked back and forth, between the men. Her own features were drained of blood. Abruptly, though, she straightened and said: “No, Boris. We’ll not lie.”

“It wouldn’t help any more,” Reymont agreed without tone.

Fedoroff whirled on him. “All right!” he cried. “All right! We have been together a few times. She’s not your wife.”