“It will be.” Martin smiled. “You’ll be ready for bad weather, won’t you?”
“Bad weather? Is that the report?”
“Well, yes, but it’s also a joke of ours that whenever we haul a Chaplain we have bad weather.”
O’Mahoney chuckled uneasily. “Well, that’s the way those things go, I suppose.”
“Yes, it’s probably just an invitation for you to walk on the water.”
“What? Oh, yes.” O’Mahoney was not quite sure if this was blasphemy or not. He decided it was not. “Are you Catholic, Mr Martin?” he asked. He usually asked that question.
Martin shook his head. “I’m not much of anything,” he said. He could see that the Chaplain was tempted to inquire further. He did not, though. Instead he changed the subject.
“The Captain at the Transport Office did tell me that the weather might be unreliable at this time of year.”
“That’s right, but it shouldn’t be bad.” Martin spoke as if the sea and the weather had no secrets from him. Often he marveled at how professional he sounded.
“I’m certainly glad to hear that. I suffer terribly from mal de mer.” He spoke the French self-consciously and Martin wondered if he was going to translate it or not. He decided to save him the trouble.