Excerpt: Sandwich of the Sea

He said hi to the people working in there, who ignored him, and then he knocked on the door to the Captain's room.
"In!" barked a voice from inside the room.
"What?" said Sandwich.
"In!"
"What?"
"In!"
Sandwich hesitated, then, hating himself, said,
". . . What?"
There was a pause, then the door was flung open. Captain Tumor was a small man with a medium voice.
"I said 'in!' As in 'come in!'"
"Oh," said Sandwich. "I just heard 'in,' and it seemed more like a sentence fragment than a command."
"It was both!" said Captain Tumor.
"No, I meant, it sounded like a fragment of a sentence that was merely a statement, not an imperative."
Captain Tumor went back to his desk to get his revolver and shoot Sandwich, but he stopped before he had completed the action.
"Hell^," he said. "What do you want, then?"
"Sir," said Sandwich, "Jobble Wrillis told me you wanted to see me. Is there a reason you're loading a revolver?"
"What? Oh, no, no, just making sure the. . . bullets weren't. . . too gray. Yeah. I mean, stolen. Making sure they weren't too stolen."
"Yes, sir."
"_Who_ told you I wanted to see you?"
"Jobble Wrillis, sir. He's your secretary."
"Oh, oh, Wrillis, right, right. Right. Wrillis. Where is he, anyway?"
"I just saw him down on deck, sir."
"Eh. He's taking forever to get to his work again. I wish I could straighten him out."
"Sir, is there something wrong with your gun again?"
"What?"
"You've started loading your revolver again, sir. Just when you said you wished you could straighten Jobble out."
"Eh? Oh, oh, I see what you mean, what with the revolver in my hand and all that. We'll just put that back in the desk."
"You keep that gun in your desk for protection, sir?"
"Yeah. Yeah, why else?"
"Oh, nothing, sir, I just was curious why you didn't keep it loaded."
"Hell, you don't know anything about gun safety, do you, boy?"
"I'm thirty-one, sir."
"What's that?"
"I said, I'm thirty-one, sir. I don't think I'm really a 'boy.'"
"What do you want me to call you, then? 'Girl?'"
"I see what you mean, sir. So what about gun safety?"
"What about it?"
"You said I don't know anything about—"
"Yes! Exactly. You want to know why I don't keep this revolver loaded? What if a kid got in here, started playing with it? If I kept this thing loaded, he'd probably blow his own fingers off. Can you imagine that? Terrible. Terrible! Now. You see?"
"I suppose so. . ." Sandwich frowned. "Are there any kids down here?"
"Eh?"
"I said, are there any kids down here? We're a few miles underwater."
"Hell! How am I supposed to know how kids find their ways into the places they do? Sneaky little buggers, if you ask me, they are."
"Yes, sir."
"God knows they get into every _other_ place you think they can't. And make a mess there, as well!"
"Yes, sir."
"I have a few kids, you know? Up top? And they're all the same. Oh, I don't mean that. But they are. But I love them. But they really are."
"Yes, sir."
There was a drawn-out silence during which the captain gazed dully at the locked case in which he kept various types of ammunition to guns that he did not own. Sandwich shifted his weight from foot to foot, trying now and then to shift it to both at once.
"Alright then, Sandwich," said Captain Tumor finally. "You're dismissed."
"Yes, sir." Sandwich turned to leave when the captain jumped and said,
"Oh, oh! Wait? Now. Did you want something?"
Sandwich thought very hard. "I don't believe I did, sir."
"Then why were you in here?"
"Because you wanted me, sir."
"Oh. Why did I want you?"
"I don't know, sir. Job— Wrillis said you wanted me."
"Oh, oh, right, yes, right, as it were. Ah. Hm, but I didn't. No, not really."
"Ah, yes, sir."
There was another long silence. Sandwich tried desperately to think of which one of them was obliged to speak at this point. Perhaps he ought to just. . . go?
"I'll just. . . go, then, shall I, sir?"
"Ah!" said Captain Tumor, so loudly and suddenly that Sandwich jumped and knocked his head up against the top of the door-frame. "No, no, I have something for you after all. Yes. Ah, yes! Of course. You can show Miss Kerch around!"
"Ah— Miss— what?"
"Kerch, Miss Kerch. She just arrived. Not by design, mind. Rather a nasty accident. But she's here now. Eh? Make the best of it? She's a rather important public official, don't you know?"
"Uh— no, I didn't. Was that her sub, out there?"
"Yes, yes, rather a nasty accident, I'm told. Something about a stygian shark."
"Oh. Ah."
"Quite. Anyway, it would be quite helpful if you would show her around."
"Show her a— what?"
"A _round_," insisted Captain Tumor. He was sitting very still and staring at Sandwich in a way that suggested that the latter's head might ignite. Sandwich was growing increasingly uncomfortable as he realized that he might very well be getting into a good deal more than he had initially expected. He considered diving out of the open door and onto the deck and then into the pool to hide underwater for a few weeks until the captain simply forgot about him.
The captain continued, seriously: "Listen, Miss Kerch was on her way to the Vernderbitz rig some leagues from here. The sub was wrecked but she's OK, and for the time being she's stuck here because of that shark. So in the meantime, we need to, you know, show her a decent time. This is a _very important person_ we're talking about. Someone with a lot of say. If she likes what she sees here, well, it could mean good things for us. Eh? Increased funding? Maybe enough money to buy some of the things we've been doing without, like plates, and keys to some of the doors we've accidentally locked and have never been able to get open again."
This seemed reasonable enough to Sandwich. "But," he protested, "what am I supposed to show her? The guest habitat? The communal kitchen? This isn't really much of a luxury rig."
"Eh!" said the captain. "I don't know. Show her to the guest habitat, obviously. Beyond that, I don't know, show her the library and the tower. Really ham it up."
"The tower's locked, sir."
"What's that?"
"I said, the tower's locked, sir. Remember? It's one of the keys we've lost."
"Ah, ah. Well, get Joe to open it up for you. Or Jimmy. Old conker's good at getting to weird places, seriously."
"Ahm."
"Yes. Maybe you can have Oglvrthy show her the power room, as well. You know how much he loves his worthless little gizmos and stuff."
"You mean the heat collectors. And the generators."
"Yeah, those."
"The ones that keep us alive, sir."
"What? Yes— yes, _those_ gizmos. Whatever."
"Sir, I really don't think I'm the best—"
"Hell! I'm _sure_ you're not the best. But we haven't _got_ the best so you'll have to do."
"Ah— as you say, sir. I mean, yes, sir. I suppose. Sir."
"Yes."
"Ah."
Confused, Sandwich wandered out of the room and down onto the bridge of the machine deck. Jimmy was where he had been, still sitting with his fishing pole in his hands, a kindly air about him. As Sandwich walked past him, he hesitated in such a way that he lost his footing and nearly lurched into the water. He steadied, barely, both hands on the suface of the bridge for support.
"Hey, Jimmy," said Sandwich. Jimmy didn't answer, which Sandwich took as a _Yes? What is it?,_ and he continued, "Hey, do you know how to get into the tower?"
Jimmy turned with the slowness of an ancient skeleton turning to the man who had killed him by driving a sharpened flagpole through his head.
"Why?" he rasped.
"Oh, no reason, it's just, well, it's hard to explain, but it'd be helpful if I could, well, get in there, in the near future, you know."
Jimmy turned back to his fishing, even more slowly, if possible, and didn't say another word, a reaction which altogether Sandwich took to mean _Oh, no, I'm sorry, I don't know how, but I do hope that you find the solution in a timely manner, young man. Pip chop!_.