THE AMERICAN

The American leads Werner into the dining room before he speaks. But it becomes immediately apparent that the young Doehner girl is a distraction. The cabin boy is watching her situate her brothers at the table nearest the observation windows. And she must know it because her chin is lifted at a coy angle and there is an exaggerated awareness in her movements. Women do learn early.

The American clears his throat. “What do you know about dogs?”

Werner tries to mask his confusion. “They stink.”

“Sometimes. But more to the point, do you like them?”

“Well enough. My grandfather breeds Doberman pinschers.”

“Are you afraid of them?”

“They can be nasty dogs if treated poorly. Or trained to guard.”

“Not pinschers. Dogs in general.”

Werner hesitates a moment too long. “No. I don’t suppose so.”

“You’re lying.”

“It depends on the dog. I was bitten once. Right here.” Werner rolls back the cuff of his jacket to reveal four pale scars on his forearm.

“You should be afraid of them. Dogs are animals after all.”

“Why are you asking me this, Herr…?”

The American doesn’t offer his surname, merely peers at the boy and waits for him to ask the obvious questions.

After an awkward silence the cabin boy continues. “Why do you want to know if I like dogs? And if they scare me?”

“Because there is a dog on this aircraft that I would like you to care for. I’ll pay you to do it. But if you’re lazy or a coward or cruel I need to know up front. I’d rather not waste my time or money.”

“I’m none of those things.”

“I didn’t think so.” He likes the boy. Werner is frank and bright and has just the right amount of confidence to accomplish this task.

“You don’t mean the acrobat’s dog, do you? Because I doubt he’d like me interfering.”

“No. Not that one. There’s another dog in the cargo hold that seems to have been forgotten about. I want you to feed it and change the papers in its crate twice a day. I’ll pay you ten American dollars to do the job. That way you’ll have spending money once we land. Maybe you could buy something for your mother?” The American looks over Werner’s shoulder at Irene as she pretends not to watch them. “Or maybe a trinket for Fräulein Doehner?”

Werner’s eyes narrow in suspicion. “How do you know what’s in the cargo hold? Passengers aren’t allowed outside of the passenger areas.”

Oh, he likes this kid very much. Werner cleanly ignored the bait and went straight for the jugular. “Neither are cabin boys, from what I hear.”

Silence.

“But given the fact that I saw you in the belly of this ship not half an hour ago, I would say that you and I are both people for whom exceptions are made.”

“I don’t—”

The American holds up a hand to stop him. “No point in lying. I don’t care what you were doing. You are clearly ambitious and clever, but those are tools that you should make the most of elsewhere. The only question you need to answer, Herr Franz, is whether or not you would like to make a bit of extra money.”

The cabin boy clears his throat. “Of course,” he says. “But not if I’ll get in trouble for it. I can’t afford to lose this job.”

“You won’t get in trouble. I can promise you that. Simply ensure that the dog is cared for. And if anyone asks what you’re doing back there, you can tell them the owner paid you to care for it since he isn’t allowed in the cargo hold.”

“You own that dog?”

“No. But no one else needs to know that.”

Werner considers this proposition for a moment. “What’s its name?”

“Owens.”

“Is that actually his name?”

“Hell if I know.”

“What if it won’t answer to Owens? Dogs are smart.”

“Trust me. It will answer to anything.”

“Why are you doing this? Why pay to care for an animal that isn’t yours?”

Sometimes a bit of compassion and decency is reason enough to do something out of the ordinary. This isn’t something he will say aloud, however. “That dog doesn’t deserve to be abandoned, starved, and left to shit itself.”

“I’ll do it, then. But you will pay me up front.”

The American pulls a ten-dollar bill from his wallet and hands it to Werner. “Agreed.”

The boy scrutinizes this windfall for a moment as though to make sure it isn’t counterfeit, as though he’d know the difference. Then he tucks it into the small breast pocket of his steward’s coat. He gives the American the serious nod of one gentleman conducting business with another.

“Now I’d like to know what we’re having for breakfast. I’m starving. And I’m also quite interested to learn everything you know about a certain passenger on board this airship.”

“Which passenger?”

He rocks back on his heels, arms crossed, anticipation written into the lines around his mouth. “Leonhard Adelt.”