condensed master

Will Bonner
It was a relief to get away from the confinement of the ship for a short period
each day, especially after a long voyage.
The weather was dull but mild, as he looked beyond the ships to the other side
of the Firth. The rolling hills were unusually clear, prompting him to spend time
picking out the detail. His thoughts wandered to the rural countryside, around the
village in England where he was born, and the family still lived. The quietness of
this particular setting was overpowering, serving as an insight to what he would
experience when he finally got home. In contrast, the constant engine noises and
pounding of the sea against the ship were still apparent from the voyage, and Will
knew that it would take a few days ashore to get their effect out of his system.
A chill passed through his body shocking him back to reality, as he became
aware that the wind had suddenly turned colder. A glance over his shoulder at the
old clock on the building across the street, told him that it was time to get back to
the ship.
Picking up the mailbag he walked down the cobblestone incline towards the
security gate. The guard, a thickset middle aged man, wearing seafaring garb,
acknowledged his wave with a nod of his head, indicating that it was okay to go
through. Will had only been stopped on his first day through the gate, after that,
being a regular visitor required only a wave of the hand to enter and exit.
As the engine burst into life Will began to concentrate on the trip back to the
ship. He was on his own and needed all his faculties to navigate safely through the
convoy. On approach, the ship looked deserted, which was usual with only a few
crew members aboard.
After securing the boat he made his way up to the purser's office to deliver the
mail. He encountered no one on the way up, his footsteps echoing through the
empty corridors.
Miles Cavanagh, the assistant purser, was sitting in his cramped office. As Will
approached he made his way to the counter, and stood nervously waiting. He was
a thin, sharp featured individual, his movements quick and jerky, like a squirrel.
Will was always amazed at his ability to type with his two forefingers at machinegun
speed. He rarely smiled and when he did, you had to be quick to catch it.
Dressed impeccably, no matter what time of day, his uniform fitted perfectly.
Precisely pressed and groomed.
In contrast, his superior the purser who was away on leave, was a short, tubby
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