The Medal

"Radio down. Now."

Three words, spoken flat. Dorian's hand stopped halfway to his mouth, the black radio in it. Behind me, Amos had stepped up to the boarding desk with the urn against his chest, and the whole Anchor Lounge, all two hundred of them, had turned to look.

Dorian leaned over the white counter and pointed at my face. "You don't get to give me orders."

"I'm not giving you an order," I said. "I'm giving you a chance."

"Ellis. Get her out of here."

Ellis didn't move. Neither did anyone else.

I drew a steel chain up over my head from beneath the gray sweater. It held two things: a plain wristwatch, and a heavy brass medal, eight-spoked, cut in the shape of a ship's wheel, hanging from a faded green ribbon. Nothing on it announced anything. It was just old, and dented on one edge, and worn smooth by a lot of thumbs.

Without a word, I unclipped it and set it on the white desk beside the champagne bucket, and let it land.

It made a small, definite sound on the marble.

Dorian looked down. "What is that supposed to be?"

Behind me, a shoe scuffed the floor.

Amos Beale had stopped leaning on the counter. He had set the urn on the end of the counter with the care of a man laying down a sleeping child, and now he took off his faded navy cap, the green ribbon pinned inside it, and held it at his chest. His back, which had been stooped all morning, straightened one vertebra at a time.

He raised his right hand to his brow and saluted.

The old quartermaster held it. His hand did not shake.

"Twenty-two years on the ships," he said, in a voice the whole lounge heard, "and I have seen that wheel on exactly one person's neck. His father wore it, and then she did. Nobody else has ever been allowed."

"That's a prop," Dorian said. His voice had climbed. "It's a toy from a gift shop."

"Then pick it up," Amos said.

Dorian's fingers were on the radio, and they stayed there. He did not pick up the medal. The brass wheel sat on the white desk with the morning coming through the glass onto it, and I watched Dorian's mouth open and shut on nothing.

In the back of the lounge, a phone came up. Then another. Then so many that the room made a sound.