The Map of the Sky Page 10

  “Good God . . . ,” Captain MacReady murmured, unable to take his eyes off the surgeon’s ravaged corpse.

  When he managed to regain his composure, he walked over to Carson and questioned him about what had happened, but the sailor was in a state of shock. MacReady shook him a couple of times, then began frantically slapping him, but Carson seemed unable to respond. At last the captain realized he was wasting his time, and, thrusting Reynolds aside, he addressed his men.

  “Listen, everyone. The thing that did this to Doctor Walker is probably still inside the ship,” he said. “Go to the weapons store, take as many guns as you can carry, and search the vessel from top to bottom.”

  All at once Reynolds found himself lying on the infirmary floor, while in the distance he heard the captain barking orders to his men, organizing a sweep of the ship. Trying not to retch, he glanced once more at the gruesome remains of the surgeon’s dismembered body. Then he looked at Carson and wondered whether he was shaking because he knew they were all going to die, because his stupefied mind had grasped that the demon from the stars was so terrifying that no human being stood a chance against it and they might as well give themselves up for dead. The creature would finish them off one by one, on that distant lump of ice, while God looked the other way.

  VI

  FOLLOWING MACREADY’S ORDERS, THE SAILORS scoured every inch of the ship. Muskets at the ready, they inspected the coal bunkers and the powder store, where the gunpowder and munitions slept their uneasy sleep. They even peered inside the boilers in the engine room and laundry. The demon from the stars was nowhere to be found. After hacking the surgeon to pieces, the monster had apparently vanished into thin air. There was no trace either of any damage to the ship’s hull, no hole through which the Martian, or whatever it was, could have slipped aboard the Annawan. Incredible though it might seem, the creature had found a way to enter and leave without being seen. Unnerved, MacReady’s only answer was to double the number of lookouts. He even posted a few men outside on the ice, forming a ring around the ship.

  But, regrettably, his strategy did nothing to wipe the fear from the eyes of the sailors, who went on obsessively searching the ship and grilling Carson about what he had seen. They needed to know what the monster looked like. But Carson’s account was only sketchy. The sailor had been stretched out on one of the cots in the infirmary, semiconscious from the laudanum, so that he felt the teeth of the saw as little more than a pleasant, harmless tickle, even though the surgeon was about to take off his right foot at the ankle, when a huge shadow entered the room and hurled itself at the unwitting Doctor Walker. In a matter of seconds, the apparition had torn the surgeon to shreds, pieces of him flying about the room in a hail of bloody lumps of flesh and broken bone. Unsure if this was a hallucination caused by the laudanum, or, however insane it seemed, if it was really happening, the horrified Carson prepared himself to meet the same fate, wondering whether he would feel anything more than a pleasant tickle when the creature began to dismember him. But luckily for Carson, his fellow sailors’ movements had alerted the demon, and it had fled the room. Carson could only offer a vague and incomplete description of the monster that added nothing new to the information Peters had gleaned from its footprints. The Martian, indeed, did have claws, not hooves, and was terrifying to behold, but they could get no more information out of Carson, not even about the color of its skin. Carson was a man of few words who knew when to unfurl a sail to make the most of the wind but whose vocabulary was too limited to describe a creature that probably resembled nothing he had ever seen before. When Carson had recovered from the shock, they dressed the tiny incision on his foot made by the saw, although none of them dared finish the amputation the doctor had started. They left him in the infirmary, hoping for a miracle or that a game of cards would decide who would wield the saw and put an end to Carson’s suffering.

  The following morning, they buried the remains of Doctor Francis Walker in a coffin expressly built by the carpenters, although what they placed inside it was little more than a smattering of fragments. They dug a grave in the ice with shovels and pickaxes, and they lowered the box into it, draped in a flag. Marking his final resting place was a simple plank of wood, with the following inscription:

  In memory of Doctor Francis T. Walker, who departed this life on 4 March 1830 on board the Annawan, at the age of thirty-four years.

  Peters took upon himself the task of driving the wooden plank into the ice with an enormous mallet. They performed the ceremony close to the ship, and although it was meant to be a solemn affair they could not help carrying it out as quickly as possible, since no one wanted to spend too long exposed to that bitter cold, especially when the monster responsible for what happened to the doctor was still at large.

  • • •

  AFTER THE BURIAL, REYNOLDS retired to his cabin and, lying on his bunk with his eyes closed, mulled over recent events. After seeing the doctor’s fragmented body it was logical to assume the monster had no interest in fraternizing with them but rather seemed hell-bent on death and the annihilation of all forms of life, whether elephant seals or skilled surgeons. Still, Reynolds had not given up his idea of conversing peaceably with it. Must he rule out that option simply because the monster had not shown Doctor Walker the proper respect? Perhaps it had felt threatened by the frail-looking surgeon. Or perhaps it had still not grasped that they, too, were intelligent beings, and that it could therefore communicate with them if it so wished. Perhaps to the monster they were simple cockroaches, so that it had no moral scruples about crushing them. Reynolds abandoned that line of reasoning when he realized he was simply trying to find a way of justifying the monster’s violent behavior, whereas perhaps what he ought to be doing was accepting the fact that, for whatever reason, the demon was intent on destroying them, giving them no choice but to kill it before it killed them. Although he could not be sure of that either. They lacked information, and staying posted around the ship, ready to blast away anything on the snow that moved, whatever its size or shape, was clearly not the best way to get any. The explorer sighed and sat upright in his bunk. Something prevented him from giving up hope of communicating with a being from another planet. Perhaps they would succeed if they dealt with the situation a little more calmly instead of giving way to panic. They had the opportunity to establish diplomatic, peaceful relations with another world! They should not rule out that possibility simply because they did not yet know what they were up against, he told himself. Reynolds stood up and, brimming with resolve, made his way to Captain MacReady’s cabin to discuss the matter with him.

  MacReady greeted him with his usual lack of interest. The captain’s cabin was almost four times bigger than the explorer’s, spanning the breadth of the ship’s stern. It boasted a substantial library and an enormous food store crammed with hams, cheeses, pots of marmalade, sacks of tea, bottles of excellent brandy, and other delicacies paid for out of the captain’s own pocket. But more significantly, it was fitted with its own privy, where MacReady could relieve himself away from the stresses and strains of his command. Reynolds envied him this tiny closet on the starboard side, which he considered a great luxury, a slice of civilization as comforting as it was incongruous. The captain offered him a glass of brandy and gestured wearily toward a chair.

  “Well, Reynolds, to what do I owe the honor of your visit?” he said sardonically as soon as his visitor had sat down.

  The explorer gazed pityingly at this giant of a man who, despite being aware he was defeated, utterly overwhelmed by circumstances, insisted on exerting his authority with a kind of crude malevolence. For perhaps the ship becoming icebound was a foreseeable event, a setback that years of experience had prepared the captain to face with professional equanimity, imagining perchance that the arrival of summer would bring the long-awaited miracle: the thaw that would liberate them. Yes, the accursed icepack would eventually break up, and the Annawan, less damaged than they had feared, would be free to sail away from th
ere, down the channels that would widen with their passage, in a genuine apotheosis of human will, but above all in a celebration of life, shared by petrels and skuas flocking gaily overhead, as well as shoals of cod and herring and even Arctic whales, which would escort them home in a majestic convoy. Reynolds took a sip of brandy and went straight to the point.

  “Captain, I think we need to talk about the strategy we should follow in the current circumstances.”

  “The strategy we should follow?” MacReady repeated in astonishment, looking Reynolds up and down as if he had just walked in wearing a clown’s outfit. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “It is very simple, Captain. As organizer of this expedition, I am the one in charge of any discoveries we might make along the way, and although we are clearly no closer to finding the passage to the Hollow Earth than we were when we left New York, we are nevertheless on the brink of one of the most significant discoveries in the History of Mankind, one that I believe requires us to establish a plan of action and a set of criteria.”

  MacReady carried on gaping at the explorer for a few moments before throwing his head back and letting out a loud guffaw. Spluttering, he dried his eyes with his chubby fingers and, regaining his composure, declared, “For Heaven’s sake, Reynolds: you never cease to amaze me! So you want us to discuss criteria . . . Well, mine are very simple. As soon as that thing, whatever it is, shows its ugly face around here, my men and I will shove a musket up its backside, cut its head off as a memento, and providing its flesh isn’t too disgusting, we’ll feed it to the dogs. That’s my plan of action in the current circumstances. In the meantime, if you wish to carry on playing explorer, be my guest, only kindly do it in the confines of your cabin so that you don’t get in the way.”

  Reynolds had to make a supreme effort to keep calm. He knew the captain would not make it easy for him, but he had gone there with a clear purpose, and he refused to allow MacReady’s continual provocation to deflect him. He took another sip of brandy and waited for a few moments before responding, resorting this time to flattery.

  “Captain,” he said, “you are not a simple drunken sailor, like the rest of the crew. You are a gentleman, an experienced ship’s captain, and intelligent enough I am sure to grasp the magnitude of what is going on. I have been speaking with Sergeant Allan, who as you know is a man of letters, well versed in, er, astronomy, and he agrees with me that the creature doubtless comes from Mars. Do you realize what this thing is we are fighting? A Martian, Captain! A being from another planet! I refuse to believe you do not appreciate the enormous significance of such a discovery and how reckless it would be of us not to consider carefully every possible alternative. Allow me to give you an example: if we kill the creature before communicating with it, how will we know where it comes from? And more importantly, if all we take with us to New York is a strange animal’s head, how will we prove the thing really is from another planet? It won’t give scientists much to go on, will it, Captain? And this leads to my next request. I would like you to organize another expedition to the flying machine.”

  “Are you out of your mind?” said MacReady, genuinely taken aback. “I’ve no intention of sending my men out there with that thing lurking in the snow. I would be sending them to their death. Besides, that machine is impossible to open, we can’t even touch it, or perhaps you’ve forgotten what happened to you.” MacReady tilted his chin toward the explorer’s still-bandaged hand. “And anyway, why the devil would we want to do that?”

  “Primarily because if we manage to get inside the machine we will probably find some information about the creature that is attacking us,” Reynolds explained patiently. “This could prove essential if on the one hand the creature’s intentions are peaceful and we simply need to learn how to communicate with it, and on the other if they are not, because we may find some clue as to how to destroy it, a weapon even.” Seeing that the captain was still staring blankly at him, Reynolds realized he must take a different approach, and so he tried enticement. “Supposing that were the case—I mean, supposing we had no choice but to kill the creature, and, assuming we succeeded, and then the ice thawed and we sailed home, don’t you think we would be entitled to some compensation for all we had been through? For I assure you, if we arrive in New York with the Martian’s head, together with some proof from the machine that this is indeed a being from another planet, we will be showered with more money and recognition than you can imagine.”

  “I still don’t know if you are a visionary, a complete idiot, or both, Reynolds,” MacReady said. “To begin with, I don’t understand how you can go on doubting the creature’s intentions after the courteousness he showed poor Doctor Walker. I assure you I need no further proof. I know exactly how we should communicate with that thing. As for the flying machine, how the devil do you intend to get inside it? Through sheer brain power?”

  “I don’t know, Captain,” Reynolds confessed, irritated by the officer’s mocking tone. “We could try blowing it up with dynamite . . .”

  The captain shook his head, as though he were conversing with a lunatic, and a sullen silence descended on the two men. Reynolds tried to think. He was running out of ideas.

  “I’ve never understood men like you, Reynolds,” MacReady suddenly murmured, gently swirling his brandy. “What is it you want? To be remembered by History? Of what use is that to a God-fearing Christian once the maggots have finished with him? I told you the other day, Reynolds: I don’t give a fig about your Hollow Earth. The same goes for that creature’s origins. It could come from Mars or Jupiter or any other planet for all I care. My job is to bring this ship and her crew safely back to New York, and I’ll be well paid if I do. That’s all I care about, Reynolds: saving my skin and getting my money.”

  “I refuse to believe you have no other desires in life,” Reynolds hissed, with as much contempt as he could muster.

  “Why, of course I do. I dream of a cottage in the country, with a garden full of tulips.”

  “Tulips?” the explorer asked in astonishment.

  “Yes, tulips,” the captain repeated, defensively. “My mother was Dutch, and I still remember her planting them in our garden when I was a child. I hope to have saved enough by the time I retire to live a quiet life and devote myself to growing tulips. And I assure you, I won’t give up until I have grown the most beautiful tulip on our side of the Atlantic. I shall name it after my mother and enter it in all the flower shows. That’s all I want, Reynolds: a beautiful tulip garden and a sitting room with a fireplace, above which I shall hang the head of the monster you are so intent on communicating with.”

  Reynolds gazed at him in silence for a while, trying to thrust aside the alarming image of the captain, a pair of pruning shears in one hand and a basket of tulips in the other. Could a brute like MacReady hold a tulip without crushing it? And if his tulip failed to win, would he take the loss with a smile, or would he shoot the judges? The explorer leaned back in his chair, trying to gather his thoughts while taking another sip from his glass. He had to admit that whereas he had failed to win over the captain with his arguments, MacReady had almost succeeded in convincing him with his. What did he hope to find inside the flying machine? Perhaps it would be best if he took the captain’s advice and saved his skin so he could return to Baltimore and carry on with his dreary, pedestrian life. Compared to what he was going through on that vast expanse of ice it did not seem half so bad, and maybe if he took up gardening it would be easier to bear. He set his glass down on the table, surprised that part of him longed to surrender to that life. But the other part, the part that had poisoned him with dreams of glory and had brought him there, sank its fangs into him once more. What the devil was he thinking? He had not come all this way for nothing!

  “Tell me, Captain, has it not occurred to you that the creature may be unaware that it is behaving in a malevolent fashion?” he blurted out, in a tone of bitterness born of despair. “Perhaps the monster’s thought patterns are so dif
ferent from ours that it sees what it has been doing as comparable to crushing a spider underfoot or pulling up weeds.” He paused to allow MacReady to digest his words, then added, “Can you really not see what I am driving at, Captain? Whether we intend to communicate with the creature or to kill it, clearly we must first understand it. Moreover, I am sure any one of the sailors will readily accompany me to the machine when I explain it’s our only hope of survival.”

  MacReady stared at him coolly.

  “Have you quite finished?” he asked, addressing the explorer with unnerving slowness. “Good! Now listen to me, Reynolds. I shall ignore your veiled threat of mutiny, for which I could have you locked up in the ship’s hold until you rot. But, although you don’t deserve it, I shall be lenient and simply inform you that the circumstances of the expedition have changed radically. We are now in a state of emergency, which gives me complete control over this vessel, whether you like it or not. You no longer have any say in the matter. From now on, I decide what action we take against the ruthless enemy that is attacking us. We shall wait for it to come after us, that is what we shall do. If you disagree and want to return to the flying machine, I shan’t try to stop you. Take as many weapons from the armory as you can carry, but don’t count on the support of any of my men. They will stay on the ship with me, waiting for that thing.”

  At first, Reynolds had no idea how to respond. With obvious satisfaction, MacReady had relieved him of his authority, thereby leaving him with only one possible line of attack.

  “I can assure you that when we reach New York,” he said, “I intend to hold you fully responsible for the failure of this expedition: I shall accuse you of causing the ship to become icebound through your inept navigation, of refusing to explore the area in search of the passage to the center of the Earth, and, above all, Captain, I shall hold you to account for every death that occurs from now on, including that of the first visitor from space ever to set foot on our planet.”