The Map of the Sky (Trilogía Victoriana #2)(26)

So that the monster’s arrival would not take them by surprise, MacReady had posted four lookouts on deck, one at each compass point of the ship, and had ordered the men to take two-hour watches. Despite having been exempted from lookout duty, whether because of his status as leader of the expedition or because of his wounded hand, Reynolds would occasionally come up on deck to take the air and escape the long hours of confinement that made his already cramped cabin seem even narrower. However, on this occasion it was not to escape his cabin, but rather because his room was too close to the infirmary in the ship’s prow, and he had just learned that Doctor Walker, who had been so merciful toward his scalded hand, was intent upon amputating Carson’s right foot before it became gangrenous. Having been subjected a few moments earlier to the hellish screams of Ringwald, who had only lost three fingers, Reynolds preferred to be freezing on deck than to face such brutal evidence of the cruel conditions endured by members of polar expeditions, such as the one he had so merrily organized.

Judging from the intense cold that hit him as he stepped outside, the temperature that afternoon must have been forty degrees below zero. A fierce wind roared above the stunted masts and up the ramp, blowing the snow hither and thither. Reynolds wrapped himself in his oilskin and glanced about. He was pleased to see that Allan was one of the lookouts. The gunner’s figure, which seemed to be made up of long, slender limbs like those of a spindly bird, was unmistakable even beneath several layers of clothing. The sergeant was scanning the horizon attentively, cradling his musket in his poet’s hands. After watching him for a few moments, Reynolds decided to engage him in conversation. After all, the youth from Baltimore was the only man in the crew whose impressions of what was happening might interest him.

As he had done with Griffin when they were walking over to the flying machine, Reynolds had first approached Allan to discover why someone who had so little in common with the others had signed up for his expedition. Allan stood out among those loutish men, with their vulgar tales and simple vices. From the very beginning, Allan had proved a brilliant conversationalist so that the explorer contrived to bump into him whenever possible, in order to lift his spirits. As the days went by and Allan also seemed at ease in his company, Reynolds had decided to invite him to his cabin to help him make inroads into the store of brandy he had brought from America. As a result, Reynolds had been able to witness the devastating effects of drink on poor Allan: if the first sip turned him into an eloquent speaker, the second made him ramble, losing himself in his own discourse, and the third left him sprawled across the table, semiconscious, a nearly full glass in front of him. Reynolds had never met anyone with less tolerance for alcohol than the gunner.

Those erratic, exalted discussions had allowed the explorer to form a clear enough picture of Allan’s life. He discovered that the poet had joined the crew of the Annawan for no other reason than to escape his atrocious relationship with his stepfather. After years of discord, and even threats from both sides, which had rendered the atmosphere in the family home intolerable, the exhausted Allan had devised a way of placating the obdurate tyrant who had become his guardian following his parents’ demise: he would offer to enroll at West Point. As Allan had anticipated, his stepfather accepted, relieved that the tiresome youth had at last found the path that would deliver him from idleness. However, as the day of his enrollment dawned, Allan realized there was nothing he would like less than to go to West Point. All he wanted was to disappear, for the earth to swallow him up or, if not, to find a place where time would stop miraculously and he would be able to think, gather his strength, decide what he wanted to do with his life, perhaps to write the new poem he could feel emerging in his mind, without having to worry about where his next meal was coming from. Was there such a place apart from prison? He realized there was when he heard about the expedition of the Annawan, which gave no guarantee of return but offered plenty of adventure.

And so, thought Reynolds, that motley crew consisted of men who were running away from something. In fact, neither Allan, nor Griffin, nor any of the crew on the Annawan gave a damn if the Earth was hollow. They were simply a group of desperate men fleeing their demons. And yet, in their flight to nowhere, the crew members’ destinies had converged, and now they faced a real live demon, and probably a death worse than that of being relegated to oblivion.

Reynolds shook his head at his own thoughts. He was taking too much for granted, he told himself, as he approached Allan with a look of resignation on his face. How could he be sure the object’s origins were not earthly? Did he trust the suspicions of an Indian who could not even follow a trail? His intuition told him the creature was from another world, but since that was what he was hoping for, his intuition was surely biased. And as for the creature’s intentions, well, it was best not to dwell on them. Despite his desire to establish contact with the monster, Reynolds had been infected with the same fear as the rest of the men and had started going to bed with his pistol under his pillow, scarcely able to sleep as he imagined the monster outside, circling the ship.

Reynolds positioned himself alongside Allan, greeting him genially. For some minutes they maintained the respectful silence of two people sharing a box at the theater, admiring the spectacle of the white, icy terrain stretching out before them. The wind rocked the lanterns nailed to the posts forming a cordon around the ship, lending the scene a magical air, as though hidden in the snowy distance a ring of fairies were dancing. Were they being watched at that very moment? Reynolds wondered uneasily. Finally he cleared his throat and asked the gunner the question he had been longing to put to him from the very beginning.