The Map of the Sky (Trilogía Victoriana #2)(17)
Griffin, who seemed increasingly upset about being questioned, reflected for a moment before replying.
“I needed to board a ship that offered no guarantee of return, sir,” he said at last.
Reynolds was unable to conceal his confusion. He recalled the advertisement MacReady had posted in the various New York newspapers in order to attract recruits, which when he had read it had made his blood run cold:
Crewmen wanted for Antarctic expedition in search of the passage to the center of the Earth. Perilous conditions: extreme cold and constant risk. No guarantee of return. Honor, fame, and a handsome bonus if the mission is successful.
“I never imagined that would tempt anyone,” said Reynolds, glancing at the little man with an expression bordering on respect.
Up until then he had thought Griffin was no different from the others, whom he assumed had been enticed to join the Annawan by the advertisement’s last sentence. Yet for this skinny sailor it had been the penultimate one. Apparently, the ways of the human heart were as inscrutable as God’s own designs. Griffin shrugged and walked on in silence, until Reynolds’s quizzical gaze forced him to speak, “I don’t know what reasons the others had for embarking, sir,” he confessed, continuing to stare straight ahead, “but I am here to get away from a woman. At least for a while.”
“From a woman?” the explorer asked, intrigued.
With a heavy sigh, the sailor continued.
“I had been courting a young lady for a little over four months, when suddenly, I’m not quite sure how, I found myself engaged to be married.” Griffin appeared to smile resignedly beneath the layers of cloth wrapped around his face. “And I’m not ready for marriage yet. I’m only thirty-two, sir! I still have so much I want to see!”
Reynolds nodded, pretending to comprehend.
“The day after I plighted my troth,” the sailor went on, “I signed up for this expedition. I detest the cold, but as I said before, the Annawan was the only ship that did not guarantee my return. That way I would have enough time to decide what I really wanted to do with my life.”
“I understand,” said Reynolds, who did not understand at all. “And what about her?” he added, assuming the woman in question would have broken off her engagement to someone who prior to their nuptials would embark upon a suicide mission.
“As you can imagine, she did not take kindly to this sudden postponement of our wedding for months, possibly years. Yet she understood my . . . my need for adventure.”
“I understand,” Reynolds repeated mechanically.
Griffin nodded, grateful for the explorer’s sympathy. As though having squandered the better part of the store of words he had brought with him for the voyage, he broke off the conversation, sinking once more into an unassailable silence. Reynolds gave up any further attempt at conversation and continued walking alongside Griffin, sharing his silence. An untimely fog closed in around them, the cold seeming to intensify.
In order to take his mind off his frigid extremities, Reynolds tried to recall the strange machine’s vertiginous descent. It struck him as particularly odd that it had occurred precisely when they were there, as though arranged for their entertainment. If they had not become icebound, no one would have seen the machine, and its occupant, assuming someone really was steering the thing, would have perished alone. Then he wondered what country had the scientific capability to produce a machine like the one that had hurtled through the air at such an incredible speed, but he promptly shook his head. There was no point in speculating. In less than an hour he would find out for himself, he thought, and so he focused instead on the majestic beauty of the landscape, that never-ending expanse of pristine whiteness surrounding him on all sides, like an imitation marble palace. As he did so, he thought it ironical that the very qualities that gave the landscape its beauty would probably be the same ones that killed them.
? ? ?
DESPITE THE THICKENING FOG, they soon caught sight of the machine. The object that had fallen from the sky was so enormous it stood out ominously in the distance, like a beacon lighting their way. When they finally reached the site of the accident, they could see it was indeed some kind of flying machine. Almost as big as a tram, but round and domed, the machine stuck up from the ice like an idol from some unknown religion. It appeared undamaged, although the impact had cracked the ice in a thirty-yard radius, so that they had to tread carefully as they approached. The object was made of a shiny material, sleek as a dolphin’s skin, and seemed to have no door or hatch. The only blemish on the glossy fuselage was a cluster of strange embossed symbols from which a faint coppery light emanated.
“Does anyone have any idea what the devil it is?” MacReady asked, glancing about inquiringly.
No one spoke, although the captain was not really expecting a reply. They were all mesmerized by the machine’s gleaming surface, which mirrored their astonished faces. Reynolds studied his reflection as if it were a stranger’s. He was so used to seeing himself broken up into what looked like lopsided fragments in the tiny mirror he used for shaving that he was surprised to discover the pitiful result when they all came together. No one could deny he was impeccably clean shaven, yet his eyes had a weary, feverish look from lack of sleep, and he seemed as slender as a wraith. Apart from that, the face peering back at him from the machine’s silky surface still had that same childish air that made it difficult for him to compete in the adult world, those plump lips that failed to command authority.