The Archipelago Ferry – Part 1: Engine Room

For two weeks, the chief engineer did not speak to her.

Elsa had been a deckhand on the Ingrid for fourteen days, and in that time Joakim Berg had said exactly seven words to her, six of them "Mind your head" and one of them "Thanks." He was thirty-four, tall, taciturn, with grease-stained hands, cropped brown hair and a way of disappearing into the engine room that made him seem part of the ship.

She was thirty, new, brisk, a former sailing instructor from Gothenburg. She coiled lines. She sold tickets. She chatted to tourists. She waved at the engineer through the hatch and got a nod.

On the fifteenth day, a clanking noise rose from below, and the ferry shuddered to a halt in a calm blue channel between two pine-clad islands.

"Engine," said the captain, with a sigh. "Elsa, go down. Joakim needs a torch."

She descended into the hot, humming dark. Joakim was crouched over the starboard engine, a spanner in his teeth. He glanced up, surprised. Then, slowly, he held out his hand.

"Torch."

She held it. He worked in silence for forty minutes, dismantling a fuel pump, wiping it, swearing mildly in Swedish. She directed the light where he needed it. Sweat ran down his neck. She found herself watching his hands.

"That's it," he said at last. "Clogged filter."

The engine caught with a roar. The whole ship shivered and hummed. Joakim sat back on his heels, grinning, a smear of oil on his cheek.

"Can I ask you something?" said Elsa.

"Yes."

"Why have you ignored me for two weeks?"

His smile faded into something shy. "I wasn't ignoring. I was... nervous."

"Of me?"

"You laugh a lot. It makes it difficult to concentrate."

She laughed. He winced. They both laughed.

"Green?" said Elsa.

"Green," said Joakim, wiping his hands. "Very green. Come back tomorrow. Bring the torch."

Continue the story: Part 2 – Midnight Sun Run.