Chapter Text
What the hell went wrong this time? We did not kill the shaman, we saved the hunter… Is that bloody creature even under their control?
Perhaps Tuunbaq wanted them gone no matter what, missing the rather key element that the ship was blocked in the pack and could not leave without a thaw, something that would not happen before four or five months. That left more than enough time for the creature to murder every single man aboard. He remembered how it had grown sick from eating the sailors and their souls, not because the men were somehow evil or rotten, but due to the violence involved in the taking of their very being. That, and the fact the creature had never known when to stop, something Francis had learnt while talking with the elders of the community who had welcomed him. It was not in its nature to stop. It had been made to destroy everything in its path, and protect what it considered as its territory against any kind of intruder. It had killed Netsilik as well, before the shamans were established to keep an eye on it.
Goodsir had quickly autopsied what remained of Healey, and concluded that his head had been removed after death. What had killed him had been the blood loss following his disembowelment. He had concluded that the animal responsible was far larger than your average polar bear, which had done nothing to reassure the rest of the crew.
***
1848 really did not begin under favourable auspices, Sergeant Tozer thought while gazing somewhat mournfully at his empty plate. He had lost one of his Marines to an unknown predator without being able to do anything about it, the crew was growing antsy… and good thing the men’s activities had been reduced, else they would be exhausted by the end of the day due to the smaller rations. Three fifths of the usual portion made for a tiny meal… At least since they had switched to ice and snow directly melted on the stoves rather than going through the pipes, he believed his wrists and fingers pained him a bit less.
As he made his evening round in the orlop and hold, though nothing could have slipped inside without being noticed, he found Lieutenant Little sitting against the hull, his eyes closed and for once, back and shoulders completely relaxed.
“Sir?” Tozer called.
Little blinked, as if waking from a nice dream.
“Oh, good evening, Sergeant. My apologies, I seem to have dozed off…”
Tozer raised his hands in a ‘peace’ gesture.
“Don’t worry, sir. I’m not the captains, so I won’t say a thing. It’s easy to grow bored here. Even with…”
He cast a quick glance upward. Little nodded grimly.
“We can only hope the meal will be enough for that animal… though I have doubts about it.”
“How so?”
“According to Goodsir, the body, though in several parts, was relatively complete. There are no organs nor muscles missing, except what was damaged by the claws. Whatever this animal is, it did not eat Healey.”
“Could it be a man, then? Using a bear paw or a weapon that imitates it?”
Little shook his head.
“A man would not be strong enough to inflict such injuries so quickly. Something else came on the upper deck that night, and we do not know what, or why.”
Tozer shivered, and the lieutenant looked a bit queasy as well.
“Is there anything more pleasant we could discuss?” Tozer muttered, sitting on the floor near the lieutenant, who held a cigarette to him without commenting.
“What we will do when we reach Oanu?” Little suggested. “Or back home?”
“Oanu sounds good. I’ve never eaten pineapple, you know?”
“I tried it once, a few years ago. It should be really ripe, else it is rather tart. But just mature, absolutely delicious. Very juicy and refreshing.”
“Now I really want to get out of there.”
“Not for all the people waiting for you at home?”
Tozer smiled fondly.
“Ah sure. My mother and my youngest sister are still there, and I’ll bring them some lovely things from the Sandwich Islands. All the others have flown… here and there. Wish I could have brought something to Caroline, too. But…”
“Your wife?” Little ventured.
The sergeant nodded.
“I am sorry. Forgive my blunder, please.”
“Nah, it’s all right. You couldn’t have known. You have many folks back in England?”
“Both parents and ten siblings out of eleven still alive and overactive, thank you very much. One of my brothers is a captain in the Marines, by the way.”
“You are worthy of all my consideration, sir.”
They both laughed like schoolboys at that.
“Never crossed paths with a captain Little, though. Thanks for the smoke.”
“You are welcome, sergeant. And thank you for the laugh. I needed that.”
Tozer could believe him. The first lieutenant was more or less the captain’s secretary, and his workload did not decrease much just because they were iced in. When he tried to hand the cigarette back to him, Little shook his head and signalled him to keep it, before getting up with a groan.
“No rest for the wicked. Have a good night, Sergeant.”
“Thank you sir. You too.”
Doubtful, but Little still grimaced a smile in gratitude.
***
January passed with a few readings sessions in the evenings, organized thanks to Mr Bridgens, the most theatrical among the men taking the opportunity to shine as they played various characters from British literature. As often, Jane Austen and her caustic views on life and society were a great success. Francis believed the lady would have loved to know that even sailors entrenched so deep in the Arctic enjoyed her works.
Those simple and innocent pleasures were promptly swept our of memory when another man on watch duty, one Thomas Work, AB. They did not find any remain this time, just a puddle of frozen blood already turned dark when the men went outside to empty night pails.
After that the watches were more or less abandoned. Sailors and officers alike would go on the deck for ten minutes at most twice a day when the weather allowed it, but not a soul aboard would have accepted to face the mysterious attacker again. The bit of fresh air was taken in large groups, always with lanterns and weapons at hand. Not a silly thought, that. The last time Tuunbaq had gotten on Terror, it had been injured by fire. He merely cautioned the men to always bring a light with them, as animals were usually frightened of it, and not hesitate to break the lamp on the bear’s head or side should it ever get close to them. Better a broken item than a lost sailor.
That did little to reassure the crew, or Francis himself. Goodsir had tried to calculate the creature’s size from its paw prints and come back with a possible height of twelve feet or more when standing on its hind legs.
“Either it is a completely new species of polar bear,” he told the officers, “or this one specimen is an anomaly of nature. As the bears are quite solitary, however, I will have a hard time proving either one or the other theory. What is certain is that this animal did not find enough food to winter safely due to the horrible conditions we have been facing for two years now, and it sees us… as resources, unfortunately.”
“Do we have anything heavy enough to kill it?”
Fairholme, always practical.
“Well, if the muskets and rifles do not work…” Goodsir hesitated.
“Use rockets or the canon,” Crozier finished for him.
***
The lanterns did have some use three weeks later, when Tuunbaq appeared again during the evening, catching four sailors unaware on the deck. One of them, Edwin Laurence, did not have time to dodge the attack and was slain in a matter of seconds, but his colleague reacted quickly and smartly enough to save their own lives. While one opened the hatch, the other two opened their lanterns and threw them at the creature, hitting it in the head and side. The glass shattered, projecting burning oil over its fur and setting it aflame. The giant bear roared, from pain as much as anger, and took a wide swipe at the men, but they had not been waiting for it to recover from its surprise and had jumped inside, bypassing the ladder much to their legs and arm’s damage, the hatch closed shut behind them.
In the orlop, the sailors heard the creature stomp on the deck and scratch the wood in fury, but the sturdy boards held and after several minutes, it gave up and left. Nobody tried to get out again for two whole days. They only opened portholes and one hatch when the air grew too stale even for the most hardened residents of Manchester.
Crozier remained deep in thought after that episode, trying to puzzle what had triggered those attacks. Had the young hunter died from his wound after their departure? What could they do to drive it away? Somehow he doubted that the salt Mr Walls had sprinkled around the ship would deter the creature. It was the feeling that counted, he supposed. At least this time Mr Diggle had managed not to comment, and keep the peace. Crozier idly wondered why Tuunbaq had not carried Walls away when the man had gone topside for some fresh air. Perhaps he might have tasted as poorly as his cooking, but the creature would have done the crew a great service, for once.
I am growing far too cynical for my own good...