The Map of the Sky (Trilogía Victoriana #2)(41)
Carson’s habitual dumb expression intensified.
“Since I am here, sir, I’d think you were mistaken,” he replied, bewildered. “Perhaps it was another sailor you mistook for me.”
“Hmm . . . possibly,” Reynolds acknowledged, “except that I checked and no one else is missing from the ship. Moreover, I know what I saw. The body I found in the snow had your features, Harry Carson’s features.” He paused for a moment to make his voice sound more harsh, his heart beating with such force he thought it might burst through his chest. “Now imagine for a moment that I am convinced of what I saw. What conclusion do you think I reached? I shall tell you: I believe poor Carson was killed during the first expedition, that the monster assumed his appearance, and that is how it slipped on board. That explains why we found no hole in the ship’s hull, and how it was able to kill the surgeon and then vanish.”
The sailor stared at him blankly for a moment. Suddenly, he burst into fits of laughter. Reynolds observed his charade with a frown.
“I’m sorry, sir, but that is the most ridiculous thing I ever heard,” Carson said when he had finished laughing. Then he shook his head slowly, gazing at Reynolds with sudden curiosity. “What does Captain MacReady think of all this?”
Reynolds did not reply.
“Oh, I see. You haven’t dared tell him,” the sailor concluded with a sad look the explorer found grotesque. “I understand, sir. It must be difficult to find someone who would believe such a load of nonsense. That means you are the only who knows about it, doesn’t it? And now me, of course.”
Reynolds felt every sinew in his body tighten. He glanced anew at the cupboard, wondering whether the gunner was also alert, ready to leap out as soon as the Martian confirmed that threat. Beads of cold sweat broke out on Reynolds’s brow and trickled down his temples. He wiped them away with a trembling hand, while Carson watched him impassively, with the blank expression of a simpleton. If at that moment, Reynolds reflected, someone was asked to judge their guilt based on appearances, he would certainly be the one condemned. He gave a grunt of irritation and decided the time had come to end the charade by addressing the monster directly.
“At all events, you disappoint me,” said he, making no attempt to hide his vexation. “Can’t you see I am giving you the chance to talk before exposing you?”
Carson went on staring at him in silence.
“We humans are not an inferior race. You and I can communicate as equals!” Reynolds declared, but the sailor showed no sign of being interested in his offer. Reynolds gave a resigned sigh. “I assume from your behavior that you disagree. I truly regret it. I honestly believed our two races could learn a great deal from each other.”
Carson sniggered unpleasantly, as if to say the human race had nothing to teach him. Although, of course, it could also have been interpreted as the desperate laughter of a sailor who did not know how to respond to the ravings of his superior. When he stopped, he resumed staring stupidly at Reynolds. The explorer settled back in his armchair and contemplated him in silence for a long time, wondering how to resume their discussion. It was obvious he had been unable to conduct it with the skill and discernment he had promised Allan, and he imagined the gunner shaking his head disapprovingly inside the cupboard. Somehow he had lost control of the conversation, and now it was at an impasse. How could he revive it? Should he continue goading the Martian until it revealed itself simply to stop him from talking? But nothing prevented Carson from walking out of the cabin and going to complain to the captain. Reynolds had no doubt that this would provide MacReady with the perfect opportunity to accuse him of mutiny or some other trumped-up charge and throw him in the hold. He looked beseechingly at the cupboard. What more could he do, for the love of God? He rested his elbows on the table and looked straight at Carson.
“You may be surprised to know that our species is a lot more intelligent than you think,” he said, a hint of desperation in his voice. “And I can assure you my intentions are entirely honorable and well meaning. My only wish is to talk to you, to reach an understanding. However, if you persist with this attitude, I shall have no choice but to expose you.”
“Sir, I—”
“Confound it, Carson, stop playing games!”
The sailor sighed and leaned back in his chair. Reynolds shook his head, disappointed and disgusted by his stubbornness.
“And you’re mistaken if you think I am the only one who knows your secret. I took the precaution of covering myself before revealing my discovery to you. So, if anything happens to me, someone will raise the alarm, and I can assure you there will be nowhere, and no body, left for you to hide in on this ship. We outnumber you, and once the others know your secret they will waste no time in cornering you. Only by then I will no longer be there to offer to speak with you. Believe me, they will shoot you down. And despite having seen what you can do to an elephant seal, I am afraid you won’t be able to slaughter an entire ship’s crew before they slaughter you,” he said, aware of how ridiculous he felt addressing those words to the diminutive man in front of him.
“Oh, of course I couldn’t, sir!” the sailor exclaimed, shaking his head in despair. Then he added in hushed tones: “Only the monster from the stars could do that . . .”
“Are you threatening me again, Carson?” Reynolds said, more annoyed than afraid. “Yes, of course. The monster could do it. But not you, because you are a simple sailor, aren’t you?” Reynolds looked straight at him, and added: “A simple sailor who came back with his foot so badly frostbitten that the doctor recommended amputation, and who is now miraculously able to walk around. Do you suppose a simple sailor could cure himself in that way?”