15. In which the ice tightens its grip and no rules were stipulated
IN WHICH THE ICE TIGHTENS ITS GRIP AND NO RULES WERE STIPULATED
There seemed to be no end to the pack ice.
“It feels as though we’re hardly moving. I’m sure that’s the position you showed me last week.” Charlotte sat on the edge of the settee in the chart room, hands clasped in her lap.
Hester grimaced as Peggy stabbed the callipers at the chart spread on the table before them. “We’re close to land, but still so far.” She tapped her bottom lip with a pencil.
Hester sighed. “Winston’s technique was working well—weaken the ice at half speed and then ram at full speed. But I think the ice is worsening. We haven’t moved forwards in two days.”
Peggy slumped onto the table. “We’ve been ramming into it for more than a month now. For seven hundred miles! But Valerie’s recordings show the ice worsening. And the gyre will drag us clockwise to the west from here.”
Charlotte picked at her fingernails.
“It’s fine,” Hester said, placing a hand on top of Charlotte’s. “We’ll just keep battling forwards or wait for the weather to improve. The Intrepid are no further along than we are.”
At least there was that. “Alright. If you’re certain,” Charlotte said.
The ice creaked against the sides of the ship, the sound hateful in Charlotte’s ears, like every groan and shudder heralded their doom.
“She’s strong enough?” She had asked it often enough but found it incredible that the ship could put up with the tonnes of ice that surrounded them.
“Oh, yes. She’s cross-braced for strength, built for being within the ice. Her sides are over two feet thick,” Hester said with a reassuring smile. “Fear not, friend.”
Charlotte smiled grimly. She would take Hester’s word for it.
The clock caught her eye. “Time to feed the dogs. See you at dinner.” It was a relief not to talk of such things any longer.
She bade farewell to Hester and Peggy and walked out of the chart room and up the companionway onto the frozen deck.
The air clouded in front of her face, and she wrapped her coat closer against the bite of the gentle breeze that blew, the sails flapping lazily above.
Arnold waited with a bucket of seal meat, dressed in the white overalls and the tinted snow goggles that they wore for hunting on the ice.
“I waited for you,” he said, smiling as she approached.
She returned his smile, her shoulders falling, and delved into the bucket, throwing a chunk of bloody meat to Marjorie, and then to Snowball.
Marjorie nipped Snowball on the rump and stole the meat.
“Oh Marjorie, that was very cruel. Stealing from your own daughter, no less.” She hand-fed another piece of meat to poor Snowball, who was spinning in circles looking for her food.
Arnold chuckled. “She’s a wily one. I’ve been meaning to ask. Why the name Marjorie? You don’t see many dogs called by that name.”
Charlotte sighed. “I named her after my grandmother. She was quite something, like a grandmother from a fairytale. Perfect in every way. She died a few years ago and yet I still think about her most days.”
Arnold squeezed her shoulder. “Some people stay with you, no matter how long ago they passed.”
Charlotte nodded, highly aware of the pressure of his hand on her shoulder. He removed it and delved into the bucket of meat. The moment passed, sliding away into the vast white beyond.
Charlotte cleared her throat. “You managed to shoot some seals today, then?”
“Indeed. The dogs look fit on it.” He threw a slab of meat to Romeo, who snatched it out of the air.
Charlotte chose another piece, and her fingers touched against Arnold’s.
She paused, looking up to see his eyes locked on her.
She smiled and withdrew her hand, then threw the meat to Samson.
She often caught him looking at her. But perhaps that was because she looked at him so often, which was totally inappropriate, of course.
She was newly widowed, and she was sure he didn’t look at her in that way.
At least she was wearing a hat and he couldn’t see her ears burn.
Arnold cleared his throat. “They love the seal meat.”
“Does it bother you? Shooting them?” Sometimes she wanted to go with him, out onto the ice, but she didn’t think she’d have the nerve.
“Not really. It’s a choice between shooting them or the dogs starving.”
“I suppose.”
“I find shooting the penguins harder,” Arnold said, grimacing. He pulled his goggles up onto his head. “Hold it there, I’m going to photograph the dogs.”
He returned with the camera and tripod, setting it up. “Stand just there.” He pointed, looking through the camera.
“Oh, don’t get me in the shot. I’d only ruin it.”
He raised his eyes to hers. “Nonsense. You needn’t smile for the camera or anything. I prefer natural shots. Pretend I’m not here.”
Charlotte carried on feeding the dogs, trying not to look at Arnold and the camera.
“Do you fancy a game of chess and a cup of tea after this?” he asked.
She looked up and smiled. The camera clicked. “Oh, yes please.” She had come to enjoy beating him at chess. It was different to playing Ernie, who had always won. “I’ll go and boil the water. Though—are you sure you wish to lose again?”
Arnold chuckled and the camera clicked again. “You haven’t won every game.”
“No, I let you win sometimes,” she said, winking.
23rd January 1915, Weddell Sea
Vahsel Bay was so damned close.
Hester stood at the wheel next to Fliss. Ice stretched out as far as the eye could see. She burrowed her chin further into the neck of her fur coat, hiding from the bitter chill in the air.
“I’m calling it,” she said, reaching for the tube that ran down to the engine room. It was useless burning the coal now. It would be better to conserve the fuel they had left. “Put the fires out, Arnold.”
Fliss rocked from one foot to the other, her breath misting in front of her. “Stuck.” She tucked her gloved hands under her armpits. “Stuck fast. And with Vahsel Bay right there, too.”
“But we cannot risk the Antarctic crossing if the ship is stuck,” Hester said, absent-mindedly brushing ice from the wheel.
“We’re at the mercy of the floes now. Let us hope she can take it.
” She patted the wheel. It was a waiting game now.
Waiting for the ice to thaw, for the ship to be free and drop them ashore.
It was that, or they would be dragged into the current of the floe as it swept its way clockwise around the Weddell Sea, to be spat out the top.
The goal now would be to keep morale up while they waited.
Because she could not use her magic. Could not attract the orca’s attention.
“Your orders?” Fliss asked, giving the wheel a pat too.
“Gather the crew down below,” Hester said, heading for the companionway as the engine gave a final rumble and died.
Hester waited in the galley in her usual chair, leaning back, an ankle resting over her knee.
“What’s going on?” Winston asked, taking a chair opposite. “You had the engines turned off?”
Hester nodded. “Wait till the others get here. I don’t feel like explaining nine times.”
Winston grumbled, crossed his arms and sat back in the chair.
Hester drummed her fingers on her boot as she waited. Soon enough all the chairs were filled, all eyes resting upon her.
“You may have noticed that the engine has been turned off,” she began. “We need to conserve fuel. It looks as if we may be stuck for the winter, but we shall see. The ice may break up yet. And we get to spend at least another eight months in each other’s company, isn’t that fine?”
There was silence around the table as the crew digested the information.
Mei broke the silence first. “We have plenty of stores, but we should increase supplementing with seal meat, Captain.”
“Good, yes. Any other concerns?” Hester’s heart fell at the downcast faces of the crew.
“Cheer up,” she said, slapping her palms down.
Morale building was where she excelled. She wouldn’t have them being miserable.
“We shall have a fine time, stuck or not. Mei, fetch the rum and the whiskey, I have an idea for a game.”
The crew groaned, and Hester winked.
Arnold leant to Charlotte and whispered, “She always makes us play drinking games when we’re in a fix.”
“I heard that, Arnold!” Hester said, pointing her finger at him.
Mei returned with the bottles and set them in the middle of the table.
“This is a new one that I just thought up,” Hester said, and Winston groaned, slumping in his seat.
“Don’t be petulant, Winston! We take it in turns to come up with a ‘person most likely to’ phrase and then vote by pointing.
The person with the most votes has to drink the grog.
I’ll go first,” Hester said, stroking her chin in thought. “Who is the person most likely to…”
“This is so stupid,” Winston said, covering his eyes with his hand.
Hester grinned. He’d given her the perfect fodder. “Who is the most likely to complain when I come up with a game?”
All fingers pointed to Winston, who sneered and then poured a shot of whiskey, knocking it back.
“Who is the person most likely to get into a brawl?” Winston asked, winking.
All fingers pointed to Hester, who laughed and drank her shot of rum.
“See? You’re getting the hang of it. Who is the person most likely to eat all of the stores?” Hester asked.
Rufus won that vote and took his measure of rum. “Who is most likely to…fall into the harbour because she drank too much?”
Again, all fingers pointed to Hester, who rolled her eyes and drank her measure. “The person most likely to be found with the dogs?”
Equal fingers pointed at Charlotte and Arnold, who smiled ruefully at each other.
“Both of you drink. Charlotte, you ask the next question,” Hester commanded. She was enjoying this. She sat back and basked in her own genius in thinking it up.
“Alright…the person most likely to go to jail,” Charlotte said, then knocked back her measure and pulled a face.
All fingers pointed to Hester, who narrowed her eyes. Were they all choosing things she would do? “I’m being stitched up. I’m sure of it.” She drank another shot. She should have known they’d turn on her. “The person most likely to help if you’re in a bind?”
Four votes were counted for Betty, and six for Valerie, who drank the rum from the bottle.
“The person most likely to fall off the ship?” Valerie asked, suppressing a laugh. “Too soon?”
Hester glowered as the crew’s fingers pointed to her, and she drank again. Too soon indeed.
“The person who is most loyal?” Hester asked, pointing to Fliss, who won that round by six votes, Charlotte gaining the others.
“The person who would borrow your things and forget to give them back?” Fliss asked, her mouth quirking to the side.
“What?!” Hester cried as everyone pointed to her. “This is a fix. You cannot all say things that relate to me. It isn’t fair.”
“You didn’t stipulate any rules against that, Captain,” Winston said, smirking. “Drink up!”
“Fine. The person most likely to have a secret,” Hester said, folding her arms, then pointed at Arnold, who won the vote and drank. Opposite, Winston shifted in his seat, rubbing the scar on the side of his neck.
“The person most likely to get pregnant by accident,” Arnold said, his smile broad.
Quite a few fingers pointed between Hester and Fliss, and then Charlotte pointed to Marjorie and a few of the others laughed and changed their votes, so that Marjorie ended up with six votes, Fliss with one, and Hester with three.
“Well, Marjorie can’t drink, so it’ll have to be you, Hester,” Arnold said.
“I’m hardly likely to get pregnant when no one will f—”
“I’ll take the shot,” Fliss said with a laugh. “For you, my friend.” She raised her glass and downed it.
Half an hour later, Hester was slurring her words. “The person—hiccup—most likely to—hiccup—fixallyourproblems.”
Winston won the vote, and Hester clambered onto the table, standing up and pointing at the crew in turn. “You are all—hiccup—completely out of order—hiccup. I was trying to do something—hiccup—nice for you. Trying to cheer you up—” She swayed and fell off the table.
Winston stood and cried, “Person most likely to fall off a table!”