The Perfumer

Chapter 1-3

Another explosion rocked the ship. Wood and metal twisted with a grating screech as the ship listed to the starboard side, rolling like a wounded whale. The ship groaned and folded under her own weight, frigid saltwater pouring into her open wounds.

Jon struggled to his feet. “Take my hand, Danielle, we must reach the lifeboats. This way, Max.” Jon dragged Danielle behind him. “Nazi bastards.” He stopped, and pulled his shoulders back. He turned to face the dazed crowd behind him.

“Attention.” Jon’s voice rang with urgent authority. “We must proceed quickly and calmly to the lifeboats.”

Amid the chaos, people turned to follow.

Danielle reached for Jon’s hand again, stumbling on something in her haste. She wiped stinging water from her eyes and blinked. A woman she’d met yesterday lay bloodied at her feet. She smothered a scream, and then reached down to help the woman.

Jon caught her arm. “Don’t, it’s no use. She’s gone.”

“No, she can’t be,” Danielle cried. She’d never seen a dead person before. Except for the blood soaking the deck beneath her, the woman appeared merely unconscious. This can’t be happening. Then she saw that the back of the woman’s skull was gone, and she started to retch.

Jon shoved his handkerchief into her hand to wipe her mouth. “Keep going,” he yelled.

Soon they came upon a lifeboat that dangled above them like a toy.

“Max, give us a hand, we haven’t much time. Danielle, wrap your arms around the rail.” Jon slicked his wet hair back from his eyes and grabbed a line. Max fought for balance, staggering to the lifeboat.

Water poured over the rail and mixed with the dead woman’s blood, sloshing across the deck and staining it a deep crimson. All around them people slid across the tilting deck, screaming in hysteria. Danielle lost her balance, along with one leather pump that tumbled into the pandemonium. She kicked off her other shoe and clung to the railing.

Jon and Max began to toss life vests from the boat into the crowd.

Danielle’s heart raced at the sight of the life vests. “Are we...are we going to sink?”

Jon’s jaw twitched. “Just put on one of these.”

“But I can’t swim,” she cried, her voice rising with fright.

“You won’t have to if you’re wearing this.”

Despite her panic, Danielle fumbled with the strings on the vest. Jon and Max worked feverishly to free the lifeboats. Within moments, several crew members arrived and began to herd women and children into the boats.

Max checked her vest, tugged her knots to strengthen them, and kissed Danielle while the first boat was lowered. “Go now, I’ll see you soon.”

She peered at the lifeboat and terror gripped her chest. No, not this. She’d never liked small crafts, had nearly drowned off one when she was a child. Danielle stood rooted in horror at the thought of climbing into a boat.

Jon waved his arm at her. “Get in,” he roared, his voice gravelly.

She turned to Max, her eyes pleading with him. “Max, I can’t.”

“Yes, you can. I’ll be right behind you, my love.” Despite the bulky life vest, Max pressed her to him and kissed her again, reassuring her.

Jon grabbed her arm with such force that Danielle yelped with pain. “Danielle, people are waiting.”

“No, Jon, I–I can’t get into that boat. I’ll stay with Max.”

“Bloody hell, you will.” Jon’s eyes flamed with urgency, startling her. “For God’s sake, woman, get your wits about you. What happened to your famous French courage?”

Max threw Jon a wary glance, and then nodded to her. “He’s right, you must go now.”

Indignant, Danielle jerked her arm from Jon. “I’ll show you courage.” She stepped into the boat, barefoot, still clutching her purse.

As she settled unsteadily into the boat, a man with a sobbing young child rushed toward them. “Please, will someone take my boy?”

Danielle thought of her own little boy, shot a glare at Jon. “I will.” She reached for the frightened child.

“His name is Joshua. You will take care of my boy?”

“I give you my word.” She prayed someone would do the same for her Nicky, if need be. She hugged the tearful child, sweet with a milky smell, to her breast. Joshua was the same size as Nicky, and it was all she could do to keep from calling his name.

Jon gave the signal and the lifeboat plunged into the choppy ocean. Danielle squeezed her eyes shut and bent over the boy to protect him as a wave hurtled toward the boat and broke against the wooden bow, blasting them with an icy shock and plastering their hair and clothes to their skin.

Her teeth chattering, Danielle looked back at the great ship. She was taking on water fast. All around them lifeboats crashed into the sea amid the most heart-wrenching cries she’d ever heard.

She strained to see through the fog and the frantic crowd, but couldn’t spot Max or Jon. The Newell-Grey Explorer, the fine ship that bore Jon’s family name, was giving way, slipping to her death. For a moment, the ship heaved against the crushing weight of her watery grave.

Danielle’s eyes were glued to the horrific scene. Then, she remembered something she’d once heard. We’ve got to act. Alarmed, she turned to the young crew member with them. “When a ship goes down, the force can suck others down with it. We’ve got to get out of here.”

Dazed with shock, he made no reply.

Frustrated, she turned to the elderly woman next to her. “Here, take little Joshua, hold him tightly.” She gave the woman her purse, too.

Another woman let out a cry. “But what will we do?”

“We’ve got to row,” Danielle shouted. “Who’ll help me?” She had watched her brother Jean-Claude row often enough. Surely, I can manage this, she thought desperately.

A stout Irishwoman with coppery red hair spoke up. “I might be third class, but I’m a first-class rower.”

“Good.” Danielle’s resolve hardened and she moved into position. She tucked her soggy silk dress between her legs, its dye trailing green across the white deck, and grabbed an oar.

“Together, now stroke, and—no, wait.” When she lifted her arms to row, the life vest bunched up around her neck, inhibiting her movement. She glanced at little Joshua and realized he had no life vest. She tore the vest strings open, shrugged out of it, and gave it to the elderly woman. “Put it on him.”

“All right, now stroke,” the Irishwoman called. “Steady, and stroke, and stroke.”

Danielle pulled hard against the oars, struggling for rhythm, though splinters dug into her hands and her thin sleeves ripped from the strain.

They were some distance out when she looked up. The immense ship, the jewel of the fleet, gave one last, mournful wail as she conceded defeat. The ship disappeared into the Atlantic blackness, leaving only a burgeoning swell of water and a spiral of smoke in her wake.

Where’s Max? And Jon? Did they make it off the ship? She couldn’t watch anymore, she turned her back to the ship, numb to the cold.

And there, in the distance, she saw it. A strange vessel was breaking the surface. As it crested, she saw on its side in block print the letter U and a series of numbers. A U-boat. Treacherous, Jon had said. And deadly.

Danielle narrowed her eyes. So, this is the enemy, this is who holds Poland—and my family—captive.

A scorching rage exploded within her and sent her to the boat’s edge, her hands fisted white, shaking with fury. Look at them. Surveying their handiwork, the vile creatures. Steadying herself on the bow, she cried in a hoarse voice into the gathering nightfall, “Someday, there will be a day of reckoning for this. C’est la guerre. And I’ll never, never surrender.”

“You tell ’em, dearie,” yelled the Irish woman. As Danielle and the other lifeboat occupants stared at the U-boat, a mighty force began to gather below them. Silent as a thief, a swift undersea current drew water from beneath the bobbing craft.

Danielle sensed an eerie calm.

She turned and gasped.

A wall of water, born of the wake of the Newell-Grey Explorer, rose high behind them.

The wave crashed down, flipping the lifeboat like a leaf. Grappling for a handhold, Danielle screamed, and then plunged into the swirling current. The lifeboat completed its airborne arch, and an oar hurtled toward her. She tried to twist away, but it cracked her on her head, stunning her to the core.

Her moans for help were muffled as she sank into the frigid depths. She flailed about, desperate to swim the short distance to the surface, but her efforts only sucked her farther into the unrelenting sea. At last, she felt nothing but the icy claws of the Atlantic. Her breath gave way and she slipped into darkness.