Flight of Dreams Read Online Free PDF Page A

scuttle out of a room when Knorr enters, or to press himself against the corridor wall when they pass one another. A sort of reverence turned to abject terror, even though the man has never so much as spoken to him. Until now.
    “If you’re going to kick something,” Knorr says, his voice a low rumble, “make sure it’s the door and not that trunk.” He points at the letters LV stamped in gold filigree across the leather. “It costs more than you’ll make all year. Understand?”
    Werner nods his head. Drops his eyes. “Yes, Herr Knorr.”
    Ludwig ruffles his hair. “And steer clear of Kubis for a while. He’s in a rage today. It’s the dogs. He hates dogs.”
    Heinrich Kubis checks the tag on the trunk next to Werner. Then he orders one of the riggers to take it to the cargo area instead of to the passenger quarters. He tics a box on the clipboard in his hand and moves on to the next item. Beside Kubis is a large provisioning hatch that opens onto the tarmac below, where a pile of luggage is waiting to be lifted into the ship. The tricky part is determining whether the items go to the cabins or the cargo area. Kubis is unruffled, however, and gives orders without the slightest hesitation.
    There is a frantic scrambling and clanging as the dogs are raised on the cargo platform. They spin and bark and whimper, making their wicker crates rattle. Werner knows the poor little beasts are terrified, but Kubis shows no sympathy. “To the cargo hold,” he orders, and the cages are lifted by two riggers apiece and carted away through the cavernous interior of the ship.
    “I will never understand,” Kubis mutters, “why these fools insist on traveling with their pets.”
    After ten more minutes of Kubis griping about live cargo, all the luggage has been dispersed except for one leather satchel. This he hands to Werner. “Stateroom nine on B-deck. Set it neatly on the bed so Frau Adelt will see it upon entering. She is, apparently, quite particular about her things.”
    Werner takes the satchel and heads toward the passenger area. He is as familiar with the layout of this ship as he is with his parents’ apartment in Frankfurt. He turns the corner near the gangway stairs a bit too fast, almost knocking a young woman to the ground. But she has great reflexes and an even better sense of humor. She dances out of the way with a smile.
    “I’m so sorry, Fräulein.” Werner blushes.
    She ignores the apology. “Have you seen my brother?”
    Werner is typically quick on his feet and quite affable. But this girl is
very
pretty. And she looks to be about his age. She’s staring at him, waiting for an answer to her question. He can’t seem to remember what she asked, so he stands there with the satchel clutched stupidly to his chest.
    “My brother?” she asks again. “Have you seen him? He’s eight and blond and I’m going to wring his neck when I find him. Mama is in a state looking for him.”
    “No.” Werner clears his throat so his voice won’t crack. “I’ve not seen him.”
    “Well, if you come across the little imp, would you send him to the observation deck?”
    “Of course. What is his name?”
    “Werner.”
    “That is my name also.” He almost doesn’t ask. It isn’t technically appropriate. But the question is out before he can reel it back in. “What is yours?”
    Her eyes widen a bit, but in surprise, he thinks, not objection. “Irene.”
    He’s careful to give her a small subservient nod. “Nice to meet you.”
    Irene almost says something to this—her lips are parted slightly as though to reply—but she appears to change her mind. She pauses for a moment, then flounces off without another word. But when she turns to go up the stairs to A-deck, Werner can see a smile playing at the corners of her mouth, and she betrays herself by giving him a quick backward glance before she disappears. He stands there, watching her go, wondering why he wishes she would come back and make some other