The Map of the Sky (Trilogía Victoriana #2)(40)

“Possibly, sir,” the sailor acknowledged, somewhat intimidated by Reynolds’s words.

“For example, you and I are human beings and therefore recognize each other’s expressions. You see me smile and you know I am happy.”

“I’m very glad to hear it, sir,” Carson said, visibly bewildered.

“No, no . . . I do not mean I am happy this very minute,” Reynolds explained, “only that if I were, you would have no difficulty knowing it, because we share the same codes. By the same token, I could read your face like a book and name any emotion reflected on it. Such as fear, for example, or despair—emotions I, too, am familiar with, and have even experienced at times in my life. Do you follow me?”

“I think so, sir,” the sailor replied, his face devoid of any expression.

“Good. Now reflect on this,” Reynolds requested. “The differences between the creature and ourselves are no doubt so great that we are sending each other the wrong messages. Our mutual attempts at communication, such as they are, must have gone unnoticed by the other. Rather like someone raising a white flag before an army of blind men.”

Carson remained silent.

“What is your view on the matter?” Reynolds was obliged to ask.

The sailor gave him a faintly startled look.

“That only an army of fools would surrender to an army of blind men, sir,” he replied at length.

Reynolds observed him silently for a few moments.

“Indeed, that would be so if this were not a metaphor, Carson. What I am trying to explain is the idea that a peaceful gesture would not be interpreted as such by the other,” he said. “Now do you understand?”

Carson gave no sign of having done so.

“Very well, we shall forget that example,” Reynolds said, visibly impatient. “Something else concerns me, Carson. We found no hole in the ship’s hull through which the creature could enter or leave. Are you not concerned the creature might still be among us?”

Hearing this, Carson gave a look of terror, which Reynolds found somewhat exaggerated.

“God forbid, sir,” replied Carson, trembling. “If that’s true, then you can take it from me we’re all doomed.”

The sailor’s reply sent a shiver down Reynolds’s spine. Saints alive, he told himself, that gave every appearance of being a threat. Was the creature warning him to let the matter drop, telling him how dangerous it would be to upset the seeming calm on board?

Reynolds tried not to become agitated. He must not let fear cloud his thinking. Not now when it was imperative he hold his nerve if he wanted to bring the conversation to a successful conclusion. He cast a furtive glance toward the cupboard. At that moment, he would have given anything to know what Allan thought of Carson’s words.

“You may be right. But what concerns me most now is to find out how the creature came aboard the ship,” Reynolds went on pensively, avoiding as best he could the presumed threat. “What do you reckon, Carson?”

“I don’t know, sir.”

“Have you no theories on the matter? I find that hard to believe. Why, the thing almost killed you in the infirmary. And its appearance terrified you so much that it left you in a state of shock for almost an entire day. I am sure you see it each time you close your eyes, or am I mistaken?”

“No, sir, you aren’t mistaken,” the sailor conceded.

“Good. In that case I am sure the question of how it got onto the ship has been bothering you as much as it has me. What have you concluded?”

“I’m afraid I haven’t concluded anything, sir,” the other man replied with a puzzled grin.

Once more, the sailor’s manner sowed a seed of doubt in Reynolds’s mind. Was the creature mocking him or was he unconsciously imbuing the little man’s words with a sinister tone they did not have? He could not be sure. All he knew was that he was getting nowhere and there was no longer any point in beating about the bush. The time had come to try a different, more perilous approach. He shot a glance at the cupboard, hoping Allan would know how to interpret it.

“On the other hand, I do have a theory. Would you like to hear it, Carson?” he asked, smiling through clenched teeth, as though he had an invisible pipe in his mouth.

Carson shrugged, clearly beginning to tire of the conversation. The explorer gave a slight cough before continuing.

“I believe it came up the ice ramp the same way as the rest of us.”

“But what about the lookouts?” the sailor declared, astonished. “None of them saw it, did they?”

Reynolds smiled at him with amused benevolence.

“D’you know that something curious happened to me a few hours ago?” he said, ignoring Carson’s question, his hand moving surreptitiously closer to the pistol lying on the table. “I went for a walk in the snow and stumbled upon a dead body.”

He paused so that he could study Carson’s response. The sailor held his gaze. He was no longer smiling, and when his face showed no emotion it had the same stupid expression. And yet, once again, Reynolds fancied he saw something flicker deep inside the eyes, alert and uneasy.

“And do you know whose it was?” Reynolds asked.

The sailor contemplated him rather cagily. “No.”

“It was Carson’s,” Reynolds declared, staring straight at him. He let his revelation hang in the air for a few moments before adding, “I assumed you had followed me when you saw me leave the ship, and that you had been unfortunate enough to cross the path of the monster from the stars. Yet when I returned, I found you on deck. And now here you are sitting opposite me, alive and well, even though only hours ago I saw you dead in the snow, your chest sliced open. What conclusion would you draw from all this?”