32. In which there is sharp-shooting and a difficult decision
IN WHICH THERE IS SHARP-SHOOTING AND A DIFFICULT DECISION
“We need a break. Look at that,” Hester said, gesturing to the broken floes that lay ahead. The midnight sun hung in the misty sky, illuminating it all. “It’s been seven days of man-hauling those lifeboats and we’ve only travelled, what?”
“Seven and a half miles,” Septimus said, shaking his head, their hands entwined as they looked out over the impassable ice.
The days were long and difficult, physically exhausting, and to keep morale high was mentally draining too. They were aiming for the edge of the pack ice, aiming for the waters they could launch their lifeboats into and sail for land.
During the long, relentless days of physical work, Hester looked forward to the night-time skiing trips with Septimus, when they would scope out the next day’s route and lay little flags to follow on their way back to the sleeping crews.
She longed for the peace, longed to have him to herself, like they were the only two people in the world.
It took her back to days on the open sea, salt in the creases of her face, wind blowing through her hair.
She leant into him. “The crews are almost at breaking point. And we still need to go back for the last two boats. Let’s make camp here and wait for the ice to harden. We have food to hang on a little longer.”
“Not much longer, though. Ten days of flour left. And I’m surprised no one has gotten scurvy yet.” He wrapped an arm around her, the weight of him settling something in her.
The tether to him was strong and bright, right there in her chest. She could feel him always, and if she gave a little tug on that tether, he would tug back. It was comforting to be linked in that way. Strange, but comforting.
“We could send out more hunting parties,” Hester said. “Last night I had a dream I was eating dog food and loved every mouthful of it.”
Septimus wrinkled his nose.
She brought a biscuit out of her pocket, picked some fluff from it, then nibbled the edge. He looked at it longingly.
“Want some?” she asked.
“I’m fine. You have it.”
“Now you’re being chivalrous. Here.” She broke it in half and gave him the larger part.
“Thank you.” He took it. “I had a dream a few nights ago that I was eating bread and butter. A big stack of it.”
“Mmm. Bread and butter.” She rolled the stale biscuit crumbs around in her mouth, swallowing with difficulty. “I’d give my right arm for bread and butter. Say, what’s your favourite food?”
His jaw worked, chewing the biscuit, and he coughed when he tried to swallow it. “I don’t know. Maybe rare beef, or oysters. You?”
Hester laughed, bent over at the waist. A vision of being trapped in a cellar over a year ago came to her, of a plate she had kicked across the room. He thought he’d given her the most wonderful food, and she’d thought he was trying to poison her.
“What’s so funny about that?” he asked.
She patted his shoulder. “I just realised how long you’ve been head over heels for me.”
He rolled his eyes. “What’s your favourite food, then?”
“Chocolate cake. Favourite colour?”
“I’ve never really thought about it. Blue?”
“Mine’s green. If you could be any animal, what would you be?”
“Why are you interrogating me?”
“It’s a game we play on the Val—” She fell quiet, kicking the end of her ski into the snow.
He pulled her into his chest so hard that she stumbled in the ski bindings and almost toppled them both over.
She gripped him tightly and closed her eyes.
The wound still cut deep. But she couldn’t let the pain out. Couldn’t let Orcus find them.
“I’ve got you,” he said, kissing the top of her head. “I’ve got you.”
2nd April 1916, Patience Camp
Arnold poked his head inside the tent. “I need someone to come hunting. Fancy it?”
Charlotte smiled and set aside her book.
She’d just gotten to one of Hester’s folded-down corners and hoped the cold hid the flush in her cheeks.
She still, months into sharing a tent with him, hadn’t plucked up the courage to roll over and kiss him, or tell him how she felt.
“I assume you’re asking me along for company. I’m still not a great shot.”
“You’re learning. It takes time, but the company would be nice, yes.”
“Maybe I’ll finally shoot something today.” She had a feeling in her bones. Today was her day.
“Maybe!”
They walked past Septimus’s tent, and Charlotte covered her ears against the cries that came from inside. “Must they go at it so noisily, so often?”
Arnold laughed. “The captain has a lot of lost time to make up.”
“It’s been months now! I cannot imagine sex is that good, I mean—” She stopped, heat rising to her cheeks at Arnold’s knowing smirk. “Well, maybe it is then. But they’re not even married!”
“Married? That’s important to you, is it?”
Charlotte hesitated. She hadn’t thought herself prudish, but perhaps she was. “I’d always imagined one would be married in order to…you know.”
“I see.” He had a thoughtful look on his face.
“I shouldn’t judge them. I don’t, in fact. I’m just going to be quiet now.”
They hitched Marjorie, Hercules and Samson to a sled and were soon skimming along the snow, Charlotte driving, Arnold sat in front of her. The cold wind bit at her raw cheeks, stinging.
He pointed ahead. “Stop here. I shot a penguin at this spot the other day, maybe there are krill beneath the ice. There’s a break in the floe just up ahead.”
Charlotte called for the dogs to halt, and stepped from the sled, loading cartridges into the rifle and then practising at aiming, peering down the sight.
Arnold walked over to the crack in the ice sheets, peering down into the sea.
She laid the rifle by the sled and blew into her mittens, trying to warm her hands.
“Shit!” His voice rang out, laced with panic.
Charlotte looked up, her heart almost stopping as a leopard seal surged over the ice towards Arnold, who was skidding, his arms flailing. He fell to the ice.
She screamed and snatched up the rifle, flinging herself to the ground and propping it in her hands, shaking so hard she thought there would be no chance at all of hitting the beast.
Oh God. Arnold.
“Charlotte!” Arnold’s cry was desperate, the seal almost upon him, gnashing its jagged teeth.
She took aim.
Crack.
She squealed in horror.
She’d missed. Of course she had. She snapped the gun open, reloaded another cartridge, settled down again and took aim.
Crack.
Another miss. The seal snapped at Arnold, its curved teeth inches from his foot as he scrambled away from it.
Charlotte reloaded.
Crack.
Arnold punched the air. “You got it! Shit, it’s still alive. Again!”
She aimed. Please God, let me hit it.
Crack.
“Yes!”
The seal fell dead.
Charlotte hurried forwards, dropping the rifle and crashing into Arnold, holding onto him tightly. Her heart beat so hard against her ribs it might have burst through. “I thought it was going to eat you!”
“I think it was. Good thing you shot it.”
“Eventually.” Charlotte covered her mouth against the rising nausea, the sky spinning overhead.
“It’s huge. Hell. I thought I was a goner.”
“I thought you were too.” She pulled back from his arms, looking him over, checking him for injury.
“I’m fine. Thanks to you.”
Charlotte blushed and dipped her head, but he pulled her closer. What would she have done if it had eaten him? Tears sprang to her eyes. She wiped them away with shaking fingers.
“Charlotte.” He grasped her hands. “Charlotte,” he said again, his eyes shining, full of longing.
Charlotte gasped, because she could see what he was thinking about saying, but there was no way he was going to say it before she did. And she wanted to explain first. Wanted to tell him everything, in case he changed his mind. She raised a finger to his lips. “Wait! Don’t say a word.”
His smile faltered, and she hated to do it when she couldn’t tell him why. She squeezed his hands and pulled him towards the seal. “Let’s get it back to camp.”
“Right,” he said, his voice flat.
They loaded the seal onto the sled and made their way back to the cluster of tents. She was going to tell him, but she wanted to be alone, where no one could see or hear her.
“Wow, that’s a sizeable beast, well done Arnold,” Winston said, clapping Arnold on the back. He drew out a knife and set about cutting the beast’s stomach open to catalogue its diet as part of the scientific recordings.
“Not me,” Arnold said, “Charlotte saved me from its grizzly maw.”
Winston raised his eyebrows. “My apologies for presuming! Well done, Boss.” A deluge of undigested fish slithered out of the seal as Winston tore his knife away. “Wow! Fish supper for us!”
Charlotte grimaced and mustered a fake yawn. “I feel awfully tired after that. I think I’m going to go to bed.” She hoped Arnold would take the hint and follow her.
Arnold frowned and took out his pocket watch. “It’s only seven o’clock. Isn’t it a bit early? Besides, I’d love a bit of fish.”
Maybe he needed more of a hint. “You look tired too.”
“I do? Thanks…”
“No, I mean. Oh, fine, let’s go and sit with the others.” She knew it had been silly to think a man could take a hint. She felt a little guilty, because he looked ready to drown his sorrows. Not that there was any alcohol left.
They walked to sit in the middle of the tents, where the crews were gathered, some kind of argument going on.
“It’s time. Everyone is on the verge of starvation. We can’t keep feeding them when we need the food ourselves,” Septimus was saying, to the nodding heads of some of the crew. Hester was seething next to him, her arms folded, face red.
“What are you talking about?” Charlotte asked, trying to make sense of the words.
“I’m for it,” Rufus said. “I’m starving to death here. We could eat them.”
“I agree,” Frank said.
“I absolutely refuse! If you shoot Snowball I will never speak to you again,” Hester said, folding her arms, her chin jutting forwards. “Satan, though, you have my wholehearted approval. How that wretch has survived the ice, I have no idea.”