29. BUTCH
As usual, Martigan was double-checking her work. She watched him, marking the map with a black wax pencil, exactly duplicating the lines she had made only a few hours ago in red, except that he made his marks thicker so hers would be completely overwritten. He was frustrated, obviously, at how little his work deviated from her own. She folded her arms, waiting for him to stop.
“Enver, take a walk,” she said finally to the helmsman, “I’ll take the wheel.”
Enver tapped his hat in gratitude as she took the wheel from him.
“You don’t have to do that every time I navigate a course,” she said to Martigan after the door to the bridge had closed.
“I know,” he said gruffly, not bothering to look up at her.
She tapped her foot in irritation, waiting for him to finish. She mutter
