Laura was greeted at her state room by an attendant in a neatly pressed, dark suit. He was about thirty years old, with dark hair and a neatly trimmed short beard. He was handsome and looked flirtatious, in a way that reminded her of a waiter at an expensive restaurant. He smiled broadly and offered her a glass of champagne streaked with small bubbles. He had dimples and perfect teeth.

“Champagne as you settle in?”

“It’s not my usual, but why not? Thanks.”

“Did you have a long journey?”

“No, thankfully. I live in Seattle. This was about the same as my usual commute.”

“Fantastic. We’re delighted to have you on board.” He winked in a small, sly way. “The couple next door flew in from Dubai for this. I’d take your trip, hands down. My name is Francis, and I will be your cabin steward aboard the Cecaelia. Great choice of luggage, by the way. Is that a Zero Halliburton?”

“It is! I’ve never had anyone recognize it. I think it will last until the end of the earth.” She didn’t mention she knew this because she bought it used. It had likely lapped the globe before she owned it.

“When you check as many people in as I have, you get a taste for these things. May I show you the room?”

“No thanks, I’d like to settle in on my own.”

With that, Francis nodded. He lightly touched her elbow as he glided past her in the hallway, and continued on soundlessly. She caught a whiff of expensive cologne that smelled like amber and a fireplace.

The hallway was wide and gracious. It was paneled to her waist in blonde, satin finished wood. Maple, maybe. Laura didn’t know much about wood. But it had appealing ripples and swirls, and the panels were matched in mirror images, like pages in a book. Above them, the walls were painted a muted dove gray. Understated nickel light fixtures hung from the ceiling. The carpet was supple and the color of natural wool. It was a brave color choice. They probably had to steam clean it constantly. Altogether, it reminded her a bit of an Apple store. It was far nicer than the hotels she had stayed in on the road in the FBI. She didn’t book herself anything more deluxe traveling for work. It ate into her margins.

She leaned forward to pull her amulet from its lanyard and touch it to the small screen to the side of the door. It chimed and pulsed green. The screen showed her photo and a welcome message. The door unlocked with a soft clunk. She grasped the brushed nickel handle and the door slid open with a soft swish on well oiled hinges.

The room was large. She walked first into the bedroom. It had the same spare and nordic look. Laura smelled a faintly herbaceous and sweet, warm smell. Was it vetiver? It was lovely. The bed was made with soft, creamy satin sheets. A saffron yellow wool blanket was draped across it, with a small label from Iceland. The lighting was jewel-like, and a large abstract oil painting hung on the wall in a black frame. She set her champagne on the night stand and rolled her suitcase against the bed. She sat on it and took off her flats with a deep exhale.

Walking into the living room, she smelled the sweet musk of lilies. A small, minimalist ikebana arrangement sat in the center of an impeccably clean glass coffee table. She wondered if this had been Helen’s doing. Francis had dutifully plucked the pollen from them. Lilies had always been her favorite. When they lived together, Helen would often bring a bouquet home from the grocery store, wrapped in crinkly plastic. They would settle into their sagging thrift store couch and watch episodes of Eligible. It was their ritual. Men would line up in suits, and the bachelorette would pin corsages on her favorite men. The others would be eliminated. It had been on the air for ages, since anyone could remember. They still watched it, but separately now. They were both in a Corsage League, a fantasy competition to guess the winner. She had learned to stop telling her male coworkers about it. They would laugh and roll their eyes, all the while playing fantasy football. No difference, really.

The table had bent metal legs, like a delicate sculpture. A chestnut colored leather sofa sat against one wall, floating on nickel legs. Across the table, an Eames lounge chair was perched next to a long mahogany side table. Laura shook her head. The chair, if it was real, was more expensive than her car. She had no reason to think it wasn’t. A slim TV spanned above it, surrounded by what looked like a picture frame. It was playing a relaxing video of a calving iceberg.

A glass sliding door opened into a balcony. The floor and balcony furniture were teak wood, smooth and bleached by the salt air to a silvery sheen. The teak railing was supported by a seamless sheet of frosted glass. She could feel a pleasant marine breeze.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

A soft chime sounded, and the intercom carried a woman’s voice with a crisp upper-class British accent. “Attention guests. We trust your embarkation was smooth and pleasant. Welcome aboard the Cecaelia. As a reminder, our welcome drinks reception and dinner will begin shortly in the Wayfarers Lounge. We can’t wait to meet you all.”

Laura put her shoes back on, and made her way to the dining room. The elevator bank was playing Brian Eno’s Ambient 1/Music for Airports. An elevator opened, full of impeccably dressed guests. Laura stepped inside. The elderly woman to her right was wearing jewels the size of lozenges, with earrings that sparkled brightly under her dove gray hair. Her husband smiled and nodded. Laura noticed a Breitling Navitimer Chronograph on his wrist, encircled with small diamonds. Laura had read about them once. The dial could be used as a slide rule for calculus, from the days before calculators. On her other side, a man was dressed down in a linen shirt and boat shoes. He was tan and fit. He looked like he just stepped off his own yacht to spend time on this giant yacht, for novelty.

The elevator opened on the fifth deck. A wide atrium stretched in front of Laura. On her left, a long gleaming desk with attentive employees helping guests. At her right, a small bar was nestled into an alcove. A bartender was shaking a cocktail over his shoulder, and she could hear the shunk, shunk, shunk of ice.

Continuing further, the space divided in two to form a large mezzanine. On the fourth deck below, she could see a casino. It looked different from the smoky, loud slot machine casinos she had been to. This was quiet, and populated with felt covered card tables and roulette wheels. A group of men stood between tables. They were dressed in an upscale but recognizable version of a card dealer’s uniform with a cleanly pressed white tuxedo shirt, an arm band, and a visor. They looked to be having a pre-game huddle before guests arrived.

On one side of the top of the mezzanine, a shop sold jewelry and watches. The display cases were clear, long rectangles with metal frames set into wood tables. Laura wondered what kind of person impulse bought expensive jewelry on a cruise. But then again, she hadn’t spent much time around the hyper-rich. Maybe they proposed to their third wives on the ship, and needed a ring on short notice. Maybe they bought a Rolex on every vacation and had it engraved, the way normal people collected fridge magnets.

To the other side, a desk was loaded with neatly rolled towels. Employees stood in head-to-toe white. One was checking a woman in on a tablet, nodding attentively. A couple emerged, in matching bathrobes, looking serene. They must have boarded early to get their massages in on the first day. A sign above advertised it as the Lotus Eaters’ Spa. Laura wondered about the analogy. Hadn’t the lotus eaters spent all day eating narcotic fruit, instead of attending to life’s concerns? Was that a parable being taken literally, or a little bit of tongue in cheek? She decided it was probably the latter.

Past the Casino, the space opened even wider. The sides open to two-story windows overlooking the water. The entire space was a giant atrium. Or a lounge, as they called it. She descended a spiral staircase. It was one of three in the large space. The center was filled with an abstract blown glass sculpture, lit from within. It resembled a jellyfish, and the light pulsed slightly to mimic a gentle floating motion. Below another staircase sat a coffee bar. It had a large orange juicer, and a chrome tube filled with ripe oranges spiraled the opposite direction through the center of the staircase. It was an impressive sight. Laura wondered how they refilled it.

At the center of the atrium was the Wayfarers’ Lounge. It was a collection of smaller seating areas, each with leather armchairs and couches. The chairs still smelled of rich leather. The columns and edges of the staircases were decorated with parts diagrams from old biplanes and Land Rovers, exploded to show their nuts and bolts. The side of one staircase was decorated with a large roundel made of old British Lee-Enfield rifles, with their bayonets fixed and pointed to the center. Below them were a patchwork of persian rugs and end tables made of old riveted suitcases topped with glass. The whole theme felt like an old hunting lodge mixed with a safari outfitter and Amelia Aehart’s hanger. Maybe a dash of the Jungle Cruise in there. Somehow, implausibly, it worked.

At the edge of the tangle stood a tall, sandy blond man in a cream colored raw silk suit. He was lean, with long legs and pronounced cheekbones.

He raised a microphone with a long trailing wire. “Good evening, everyone. Hope your journey here was safe and comfortable.” His accent was unmistakably Australian. “My name is Arthur Wilson. I am your Cruise Director aboard the Cecaelia.” He paused as the shuffling crowd began to settle into seats. “Some people ask me what a cruise director does. It’s simple! I am the entertainment man. If you’re not having fun, my head will roll.” He smiled and scanned the room.

There was a scattered light laugh from the group. More people were filing in. “The only things I don’t laugh about are ‘shrimps on the barbie’ and ‘crikey!’ If you joke about the late, great Steve Irwin, God bless his soul, I WILL throw you overboard. Myself. And I can’t throw you that far. I’m a gangly one.” This got a large laugh.

“Well, now that we’re all settled in. We have a lovely cruise planned. We will be stopping in Ketchikan, Glacier Bay, Anchorage, and finally Dutch Harbor. We’re here for 13 nights, all told. So, we should get to know each other. Let’s have some drinks and get our cruise started!” A phalanx of wait staff swirled into the group from a tight circle, towels folded over their arms. They were carrying trays of cocktails. “Crikey, they’re quick, aren’t they?” He swung a playful wagging finger around the group. “I can say it, but you can’t. It’s simple.” He laughed. “But please, enjoy some drinks and appetizers. Afterward, our lovely chefs have a delightful dinner planned for you.”

Laura leaned back into her chair. The couple across were in their early sixties and looked comfortable. To her left, a man in his mid thirties smiled. He was tan, with carbon-black hair and brown eyes. He was wearing a fitted polo shirt that hugged his hard biceps. He extended a hand. “I’m Brian Park. Pleased to meet you.”