The Dry Dock – Part 2: Launch

"Yes," said Kamil. "I'd like that very much."

The kiss was salty and tender. Dominic's hand rose to Kamil's face, big and rough and shaking a little. Kamil laughed softly and pulled him closer, running his fingers through the heavy beard. Overhead, the old masts creaked in the wind.

"I think she approves," said Dominic.

"She's had eighty years of practice."

"She is very wise."

The day before the dock was flooded, the yard was empty. The cranes stood still. The last of the workers had gone home. Dominic took Kamil's hand and led him up the long ladder to the deck, and then down a narrow stair to the captain's cabin, a small panelled room with a brass lamp, a built-in bunk and a round window.

"I have restored it myself," said Dominic. "I thought... if she is to be afloat... she should have one night in dry dock first."

"Are you sure?"

"I have never been surer."

They undressed slowly in the lamplight, laughing at heavy boots and stubborn buckles, and under the thick wool blanket their love-making was warm and unhurried, with the ship creaking and settling around them and the Baltic wind whispering outside. The old wood held them like a hand.

In the morning, the dock flooded, and the ship rose slowly on the green water, light as a leaf. Kamil stood on deck beside Dominic as the hull settled, and the crowd on the quay cheered.

"She floats," said Dominic, in wonder.

"She floats."

"Your report?"

"I wrote it last night." Kamil smiled. "One line. Recommend: sail."

Dominic laughed and kissed him, in front of the whole yard.

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