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Billy stares at his bed and for a horrible moment, he thinks that he might actually cry. It’s been a ghastly, ghastly day, ghastly week and now ... now ...
“It’s because of what you said about rats,” Soph whispers, her ears drooping. “Why did you say that about rats? You knew they’d be upset about what you said about the rats!”
“I had to hurt him,” he says numbly. “You know that. We had to end it.”
“I told you not to even start it,” she says and for half a moment, he wants to kick her but he doesn’t because kicking her is kicking himself and what’s the point? She’s right. He knew it was a bad idea and he did this to himself anyway.
*
Cornelius Hickey’s daemon was the first thing that he actually noticed about the man. You didn’t get many men with rats as daemons on ships. Although the navy claimed that it didn’t allow superstitions about daemons, there were still officers who would outright refuse to let a man with a rat on board. Obviously no one on the Terror had felt that way and Hickey’s rat danced around him, looking at everything, peering into corners, then darting back to scramble up his body and whisper things into his ear.
Some of the other men didn’t like her. There would always be some men who weren’t sure about any daemon that wasn’t a nice regular creature, and this was a rat to boot – and a nosy rat at that. Billy wasn’t absolutely sure how he felt it himself.
“Oh, relax,” Soph says. “Why do you care?”
“She sneaks.”
“He’s always right behind her, it’s hardly sneaking. Anyway, why do you care? She’s not sneaking at you. Just ignore him and pay attention to your job.”
He sighs, scratches the back of her head gently, then smoothes where he has scratched to make sure she looks neat. He has to do well here. He has to fit perfectly. Perhaps that’s why he’s worrying about seeing a man that doesn’t quite fit, just a way to not think about himself, though it is foolish. A neat dog daemon almost never stands out, even a tall, thin one like Soph. She is always perfect but it’s him, it’s him who needs to take care ...
“We’re fine,” Soph whispers. “You’re fine. They like you already. Did you see the way Lieutenant Irving smiled at you this morning? He thinks you’re good. You are good. Just relax. They don’t know anything about you except what you give them.”
He checks they are alone, then kisses the top of her head lightly. She gives her tail a quick wag. Soph understands, thank God. She understands he isn’t perfect and she helps him through those imperfections. They will be fine. They will not falter.
This is their step up and they will not waste it.
*
For a while, he forgets about Cornelius Hickey.
It’s quite easy. He’s busy, getting used to his duties, getting used to the way the ship runs, making sure he fits in, working out what is required and how best to be. The officers all seem decent men, on the whole. The Captain is a little aloof and Billy quickly suspects the man is fonder of drink than is prudent but he is not unkind with it. His fellow stewards are pleasant enough, probably never likely to be close friends – but Billy finds it hard to make close friends generally. There is so much of himself that he feels the need to fold away, to push deep. It is hard to make friends when you must always remember what you can and cannot say.
He listens though. He’s good at listening, even if he mostly doesn’t bother to remember it all. He hears snatches of talk all over, little bits and pieces that sometimes, he puts together into useful knowledge. Which is why he overhears some of the men saying Hickey is a Mary Anne.
They aren’t saying it particularly aggressively but Gibson can’t stop himself shivering all the same. How do they know? Has Hickey done something? Said nothing? The men are not saying it as though they have caught Hickey or he has asked them for things, they are just saying it like it is fact, like they know.
Soph licks his fingers softly, whining at his distress. He shushes her frantically. Nobody must know he is upset. What reason could he give? This is a nothing, Hickey is not even a man he knows, there would be no reason to be distressed outwardly. Control. Calm. Show the right face and keep everything inside.
But he keeps an eye out for Hickey. Hickey is an inexperienced man in this environment. He has friends but if they are not the right ones, they may not be warning him or telling him how his behaviour is coming across. Billy wants to look out for him. It’s only right to try and help another man. Only right to try and assist a fellow crew member.
Soph doesn’t tell him that he’s making excuses. She doesn’t need to. He knows.
*
They find Mr Hickey quite by accident, heading down for supplies. At first, Billy shies back, thinking the man is with someone but Soph nudges him and he realises that the voices are only Hickey and his daemon, squabbling with each other.
“You’re doing it wrong.”
“I’m not doing it wrong, you irritating little beast. Do you want me to paint you with it?”
“Oh yes, that would help, turn me blacker, why don’t you?”
“I’ll just stick you in the bucket and see if you sink. Don’t bite my ear, I’m trying to work.”
Billy gives a soft cough to announce his presence. The rat whips around on Hickey’s shoulder, fixing beady eyes on them and for a moment, Billy thinks she’s baring her teeth. But then Hickey turns and there’s a friendly expression on his face and Billy supposes he must have imagined it.
“It’s ... Mr Gibson, isn’t it?”
Billy’s a little surprised – and maybe a little flattered, yes, he can admit that – that Hickey knows his name.
“Yes,” he says. “You’re Mr Hickey.”
“I am. Did you need something from me, Mr Gibson?”
“I ... no. No, but I wanted to find you.”
Soph presses against his legs lightly. She’s holding herself tall and sleek, looking perfect as always. She’s looking up at the rat that’s now left Hickey’s shoulder, shot down his body and is now perched on his foot, looking at Soph with that same tilted head.
“I just ... I thought you should know,” Billy says, keeping his voice low. “There are ... rumours.”
“Rumours?”
“Yes. About you ... about you being ... a sodomite. I’m not going to report or anything, I just ... You don’t want that sort of rumour getting around, not on a voyage like this. It can be damaging, to yourself and any relationship with command. Some men will not care but some will be very hostile and it can be most unpleasant.”
Hickey stares at him. The rat has now moved from his feet to come closer to them. She’s so little compared to Soph. Soph bends a little to sniff her and the rat gives a soft chirrup of friendliness.
“We’re much obliged to you,” Hickey says and he smiles. “That was very good of you, Mr Gibson, coming to help me when you had no reason to.”
“I don’t like any man on his first voyage to suffer,” Billy says. “Someone should look out for you. No reason why it shouldn’t be me.”
“Not everyone feels that way. As I said, we’re much obliged, Dahlia and me.”
“Dahlia?” he repeats. “That’s pretty.”
“No, it’s not, it’s terrible,” the rat says, startling him a little. A lot of men prefer their daemons not to talk too much in front of others. He is always shy of having Soph speak. Dahlia however, talks cheerfully and Hickey does not look worried by it.
“Do I look like a flower to you?” she adds, reaching up with her paws to bat her own slightly torn ears.
“At least it’s short!” Soph scoffs before Billy can hush her. “Do you know what they saddled me with? Sophronia. You try carrying that around!”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Hickey says easily. “At least you’re tall enough for it.”
Billy can feel his face flushing. It’s not like Soph to talk to another man’s daemon so easily. He nudges her a little, not quite sure if he wants her to stop or just to remind her that this isn’t supposed to be, well, anything, just them helping another man out, just being kind.
“Sophronia,” Hickey repeats softly and looks at Billy. “It’s the name of a lady, that.”
Billy knows that’s a true compliment from Hickey, a man who adores his daemon probably more than most. He smiles.
“She is a lady,” he says. “Much more of a lady than I am a gentleman!”
“Well, you’ve shown your gentlemanly qualities today!” Hickey says warmly. “Thank you again, Mr Gibson. Actually ... while, I have you here, I couldn’t ask you a favour? Which I know is terrible impertinence, given that you have just done me one but then, you can put it owing to me, can’t you?”
He is grinning as he says it. Billy feels a heat on his cheeks. Heaven help him, he cannot be blushing?
“What favour?”
“Help show me how sew?” Hickey says. “Dahlia here can thread needles like anything and I always know how to start but somehow, it always goes terrible. I never had to sew neatly before coming aboard. I keep getting into trouble.”
“He lacks concentration,” Dahlia says. “It’s a true tragedy. I should have been the soul of a lord.”
“I shall step on your tail,” Hickey informs her. She scrambles up him, snuggles against his neck and he reaches up to stroke her, still looking at Billy, his smile now a softer, shyer look.
“I can give you sparkling conversation?” he offers and Billy cannot help but laugh.
“All right,” he says. “We will find each other and I will help you sew better. I expect the conversation to be truly sparkling, Mr Hickey!”
Hickey’s shy smile widens into a grin.
“Oh, you have my word, Mr Gibson,” he says, then turns back to his pitch.
*
“You must be careful,” Soph whispers to him.
“I’m being careful!”
“You like him.”
“So do you! You, you were talking with his daemon about your name like we were all friends!”
“It doesn’t matter if I make friends,” she says sharply. “You’re the one who has something to fear. You think he’s attractive, I know you do even if right now, you’re pretending you don’t. You know you must be careful.”
“I’m being careful. I, it can’t hurt to ... ”
It can hurt. He knows it can. Soph knows too. She sighs, leans up and puts her thin face to his.
“I want you to be happy,” she says. “Please be safe with it.”
He allows himself to hug her, stroke her soft fur. The weather is getting colder. Soon, he will have to dress her in the strange coats and leggings provided for men with daemons that cannot snuggle into their men’s pockets or easily fit into the lined bags that have been specially made. He knows it will be hard – Soph isn’t good in the cold. But she will cope and he will look after her. It won’t be for so long and the money is good.
“It’s just friendliness,” he says. “I promise I won’t do anything.”
Soph doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t need to.
*
The conversation is sparkling. Hickey has a wicked tongue and an obvious eagerness to share his observations. Billy tries to look serious, scold him a little when the remarks are too sharp but he cannot help laughing and whenever he does, Hickey looks almost thrilled. His rat skips lightly over him as they chat, up and down and around and Billy can’t help watching, comparing her to his quiet and still Soph.
“Doesn’t that make you giddy?” he asks at last when Dahlia scrambles briefly up onto Hickey’s head and then promptly down over his shoulder and arm to look at his sewing (it is going badly. Again.)
“Why should it?” Hickey says.
“I mean ... she’s always moving.”
“I like it.”
“You don’t think you might be able to focus more on your sewing if she wasn’t fidgeting so much?”
“Probably,” Hickey says cheerfully. “See, gorgeous? It’s all your fault.”
“Shut up, you silly man,” Dahlia says and threads another needle with her tiny paws. Billy reaches down and touches Soph’s head gently. She’s very good at staying still, looking almost regal sometimes as she waits for him to finish his duties. He can’t imagine having her shifting all the time, fidgeting, moving. It is a bizarre idea. But Hickey clearly does not mind. He is clearly so happy, so relaxed.
Billy likes it.
“I’m going to make a project of you,” he says. “I’m going to teach you to sew properly if it kills me!”
“It might well,” Dahlia informs him. “He’s doing it wrong again.”
Billy takes Hickey’s hand, telling himself it is only to help guide him. Only that. Hickey does not flinch from his touch. He leans closer to see what Billy is showing him. His breath ghosts over Billy’s hand.
Soph nudges his leg gently. He knows what she is saying. He knows he should listen. But he can control this, can’t he? He can have a little pleasure without doing anything truly foolish. He can be sensible and yet have a friend. There’s no actual evidence that Hickey is like that anyway. Rumours start about all sorts of men, quite innocent men. He probably isn’t like Billy anyway so Billy does not need to worry.
Hickey looks at him, smiles. He has a nice smile.
“Thank you, Mr Gibson,” he says softly.
Billy prays that he is not blushing.
*
Sometimes, Hickey seeks him out. Sometimes, he seeks out Hickey. Billy tells himself it is in fun; a simple friendship and that there is nothing strange about the fact that they almost never speak to each other if there is anyone else close. They find their moments secretly. At first, they have their excuses. Then they do not.
“Oh Billy,” Soph says to him quietly but she does not try to stop him any more than that. She like Dahlia as much as he likes Hickey - “Cornelius, you can call me that if you like, I’m sick of always being Mr Hickey.”. Sometimes now, Dahlia will leave Hickey’s side and perch herself on Soph’s shoulder, kneading her little paws against Soph’s ears in an affectionate way. It is intimate. He cannot deny that. But Hickey – Cornelius – is a man who is very close to his daemon. Maybe he doesn’t really notice how potentially inappropriate it is.
“He does,” Soph whispers as Billy gets into his bunk, settles to try and sleep. “He knows, Billy. He likes you. You know he likes you. You like him. You want him.”
He swallows. All right, he does. He does look at Cornelius and think that his mouth looks nice and that it would be good to run his fingers through Cornelius’s hair. He does think about what Cornelius might look under his clothes. He does wonder if Cornelius’s hands would be more skilled on his body than they are with a needle.
“I cannot help it,” he whispers to her. “I am sorry. I am sorry that I am this way. I’m sorry I let you down.”
She springs up with him, settles behind and licks the back of his neck softly, soothingly.
“You don’t. You don’t,” she whispers. “You cannot help what you are. I know you try.”
She keeps licking him and he closes his eyes and thinks of how it would be if Cornelius pressed near and he knows with a dragging feeling of inevitability that it will happen now. He does not know when but he has let himself fall and there will be a reckoning. And if Soph is right (and God, he wants her to be right), Cornelius will fall with him and he can’t even be sorry for it, even though everything tells him it is a stupid, stupid risk.
*
It is the day that they realise they are frozen in that they finally tumble.
Billy has been listening to the talk at the officers table for a while and so is not terribly surprised. It was always a risk and there, it has happened. But he sees the look on Cornelius’s face, the way Dahlia jerks and crouches close and still against his neck and he knows that his friend hadn’t imagined this event at all. He waits for his moment, signals for Cornelius to come and meet him in one of their favoured places, then goes and waits.
“You shouldn’t worry about it,” he says.
“I’m not!” Cornelius snaps at once, obviously considering this a suggestion of weakness. “I’m just annoyed. Months of this? I only wanted – I mean, I never thought ... bad enough that winter at Beechey ...”
He trails off and Billy feels sorry for him. The impression he has, from Cornelius and Dahlia both is that they hate to be trapped. And can a man ever be more trapped than this?
“It won’t be for that long,” he says. “Think of the extra money we’ll get.”
Cornelius gives a low laugh.
“Rich beyond the dreams of, eh?”
“Something like that,” Billy agrees and is pleased when Cornelius smiles a proper smile.
“At least I’ll get some more time with you,” he says, his head tilted up, the smile on his face softening to sweetness and he looks so nice and Billy doesn’t let himself think, he doesn’t look at Soph to remind himself of what he has to lose, he just ducks his head and lets their lips meet.
Cornelius gives a little sigh. He leans into Billy’s kiss, his mouth soft, deliberate. No hesitation. No confusion. Just kissing and then his arms are around Billy’s neck, pulling him nearer. The kiss deepens and they press together and Billy has to bite back a little whimper when he feels Cornelius mould against him.
“What does he like?” Dahlia’s voice is soft.
“W-what?” Soph sounds giddy.
“What does he like, love? Cornelius is an obliging sort. He’ll provide. We’d like to make you happy. Just say.”
All the while, Cornelius is still kissing him; long, sensual kisses, tongue dipping into Billy’s mouth to brush over his. Billy’s never done it like this before, kept kissing and touching while the daemons discuss what they do. It makes him feel strange. Excited. Commanded.
“He likes it when you touch the back of his neck.” Soph says. “He likes to be scratched there.”
Cornelius digs his nails in instantly and Billy’s knees nearly buckle. He grabs Cornelius’s hips, starts to fumble at his clothes and Cornelius gives a happy little groan, already hard as anything.
“Oh,” Dahlia says and she sounds delighted. “Oh, this will be lovely.”
Billy knows she is right.
*
They take some insane risks in those first heady weeks.
Billy never takes risks. Never. Every time he’s ever given way to this, he has been careful. But Cornelius and Dahlia are temptations the like of which he and Soph have never faced before. Cornelius will seek him out, find him when they are barely private and kiss him swiftly, grinning as he does. Dahlia drops from his shoulder, scrambles down him and winds lightly herself around Soph’s legs, making her shiver. Billy knows he should crush this, tell them both to stop being so reckless but God, he’s giddy with it. He wants Cornelius and Dahlia to touch them all the time. He wants Cornelius’s hands and hips and his glorious hot mouth on his skin. Perhaps it’s being trapped in the ice that makes him want it so much. The growing cold and dullness, the longer and longer nights ... it is nice to have something to cheer him up.
The best times are when they can find long moments. When it isn’t snatched and fumbled and frantic. Cornelius is good at finding warm places for them to nestle in together, to give them privacy for more experimental things. Cornelius knows a lot of these, it seems. Billy did not expect to learn but then, as Cornelius teasingly tells him, it is the discovery service.
“You’re awful,” he murmurs into Cornelius’s ear as they curl up together after a rather passionate coupling. “You’ll have us both flogged.”
“Might be fun too,” Cornelius says cheerfully and Billy looks over at where Dahlia is lying between Soph’s paws.
“Bite him,” he orders and Dahlia immediately obliges, bounding over and nipping Cornelius’s finger before bouncing back to settle between Soph’s paws again. Cornelius gives a heavy sigh.
“What did I do to deserve all this?” he says, as though he’s a tragic martyr.
Billy nuzzles the space between his neck and shoulder, knowing by now that Cornelius likes to be nibbled there. Cornelius makes a pleased noise and leans back into him. He likes to do the most amazing things to Billy but in return, he and Dahlia appear to enjoy being lavished with affection after. Billy is happy to give it.
“We really do need to be more careful,” he murmurs against soft skin. “You know we do. If we’re caught, it’s the lash for sure.”
Cornelius gives a sigh, nods his head.
“I know. But you are so tempting, Billy. You bring out the worst in me.”
He grins, nips at Billy’s jaw and then strokes his hands up Billy’s legs. Billy knows he’ll be late if he takes too long. Knows he should push Cornelius away and tell him no.
Instead, he presses close and moans and hears Soph give a soft whine of pleasure as Dahlia nibbles her ears. There’s a heat in him, a heat that’s quite unconnected to the lust that also bubbles inside.
He doesn’t want to think about what it means.
*
Billy is standing on deck, watching one of the football matches that the men are enjoying so much. Really, it is too cold now, it’ll likely be the last game anyone can play till spring. Billy had been invited to play but he avoids going on the ice as much as he can. The pain that is causes Soph is just too much. She has her fluffy jacket and leggings and there are socks for her but they make her slide uncomfortably. He prefers to stay on the ship, where at least, she can be partly comfortable.
It’s very strange to see so many men with their daemons largely hidden, almost disconcerting sometimes. You could look at some and think they have no daemons at all. It makes him shudder slightly. Even Lieutenant Irving, standing close to him now, if you look at him from a certain angle, you can’t even see the bag where his daemon huddles.
“Staring at our good Lieutenant?”
Cornelius’s voice is soft. Is there a touch of jealousy there? Billy can’t help being a little flattered by it. He shouldn’t encourage Cornelius to talk to him out here – they have no real reason to speak to each other and although there’s nothing wrong with having a casual association, Billy doesn’t want anybody to have a reason to look at them too closely. But still, he wouldn’t want Cornelius going away feeling sulky. Cornelius has hold a tendency to hold a grudge. It’s one of his less attractive qualities.
“Just thinking about his daemon actually,” he murmurs equally softly. “Do you think she’s uncomfortable in that bag?”
“Probably,” Cornelius says. “And he probably hopes she is too.”
Billy looks at him in surprise. Cornelius looks back, shrugs.
“Have you never noticed that he never looks at her if he can’t help it?” he says. “She always stands behind him, out of his eye line.”
“That’s not anything, that’s just how Navy men stand and Lieutenant Irving’s is a bit – ”
“Different?” Hickey cuts in, smirking. “She’s a pretty bird, isn’t she? I don’t think Mr Irving is the sort to want a pretty bird.”
Billy sees the double meaning in the comment and decides to ignore it. Cornelius is grinning.
“You can tell a lot about a man from how he treats his daemon,” he says. “Almost anything, in fact.”
“No you can’t,” Billy says before can stop himself. Soph nudges him but it’s too late. He’s invited Cornelius into conversation by challenging him and Cornelius is smirking.
“Yes, you can,” he says. “Why do you think you can’t? That’s a part of a man, that’s a bit of his soul made into flesh. What she looks like, that’s got a meaning. How he treats her – or she treats him – that’s got a meaning too. Lieutenant Irving, he’s got that big, unusual bird and he doesn’t like to look at her. Now, what else could that be but a man that’s not comfortable with his own nature?”
Billy doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t like it when Cornelius runs on like this. Not because he’s wrong necessarily but because there’s just something uncomfortable about it. Cornelius has a hand in his pocket and Billy knows he’s holding Dahlia like he always does. He fights an urge to clutch Soph to him. Doubtless Cornelius would read something into that too.
“If you watch people, you see it,” Cornelius says. “Which men play with their daemons, which make them stand apart. Even the way their daemons interact with others gives you a clue. You ever noticed that Lieutenant Hodgson is always friendly but his daemon nearly always stays round his neck or in his pocket?”
“She’s a tropical thing,” Billy says, not quite sure why he is so defensive. “She’s cold.”
“She was like that at the start, Billy.” Cornelius sounds almost pitying now, as though it’s Billy’s stupidity that’s stopped him noticing all this. “She sticks close. Why is that? A secret he doesn’t want to admit? Scared that she’ll be beaten in a fight? His daemon is a small thing. Perhaps something terrible happened to her once. Or perhaps there’s things he’s afraid she’ll say if she’s not right by him at all times.”
Billy can’t say why this conversation bothers him so much, but it does. Soph is pressing tighter to him and he knows she doesn’t like it either. Perhaps it’s the feeling that Cornelius is looking at everyone, slicing people up to get at their insides and try to see what makes them tick. Does he do that to Billy too?
It’s not a thought that he likes.
“I have to go,” he mutters. “I’ll see you later.”
He heads down quickly, glad to be out of the cold, unusually glad to be away from Cornelius. He takes advantage of removing Soph’s outer layers to pet her, stroke her and she licks his hands softly in comfort.
“I’m not afraid of what you might say,” he tells her. “I’m not. I trust you.”
“I know,” she says and wags her tail gently. “I love you, Billy. Don’t fret. Cornelius likes to talk too much, you know that.”
He does know it. Cornelius seems to realise it too – he slips into Billy’s room that night, wakes him with a soft kiss to the lips and a murmur of “You’re upset with us, aren’t you? Shall we make it better?” and then he does some truly wonderful things with his mouth while Billy sucks on his wrist frantically to stop himself crying out and listens to Soph pant close by.
“You’re mad,” he breathes when it is done. “We’ll be caught if you do things like this!”
Cornelius just grins wickedly at him in the dark and Dahlia scampers around his neck and he takes his leave.
In the morning, Lieutenant Irving sees the mark on Billy’s wrist as he serves him tea. He gives Billy a worried look.
“Did you knock yourself into something? You must be more careful, Mr Gibson. It looks painful.”
His friendly solicitude makes Billy feel guilty. He is sure Irving would be repulsed if he knew what the mark really was. Irving is a strange man, he can be terribly kind and terribly sharp in short order. He has never been so to Billy but that is because Billy knows how to be careful around a man like that.
He cannot help noticing that Irving’s daemon stands behind him, neatly positioned, well out of Irving’s eye line. She looks at Billy with one dark, inscrutable eye. He wonders what she is thinking. He wonders if Cornelius is right about them both. It is all well and good to claim it is Irving’s naval status that means he does not look at her but Lieutenant Hodgson fusses over his daemon all the time. Lieutenant Little leans against his sometimes, as though she is helping keep him up when he is weary. Irving is different. He avoids his daemon. Sometimes, in fact, he behaves as though she is not there at all.
He decides not to think on it too much. He doesn’t need to dig into people and their daemons and probe at them. Cornelius can if he likes but that isn’t Billy. It never has been. Better to keep out of it all, to stay back and sensible and not let yourself get too involved with things that aren’t your business.
*
The winter turns to spring but the only difference is in the light. It creeps towards summer but there is still no change.
His wild need for Cornelius fades but it is replaced with something deeper, something he tries not to think on. They meet when they can, secret and private and they kiss and they laugh and they fuck and Billy does not say the word “love”, not even to Soph because it’s not a good one but he is beginning to think that maybe, just maybe, it is how he feels.
And then everything crashes down.
They are in the orlop, private, secret, fumbling hungrily with each other. Cornelius’s tongue is doing the wicked things that it does so well and Billy is losing himself joyfully in it, so joyfully that he does not recognise the steps for what they are until a voice says “Is someone there? Answer me!” and his heart stops. Cornelius stares at him, eyes wide with shock and they are pulling apart when a shadow falls across them and there is a huge, gangling bird staring with one dark eye and then she drops back and Billy stumbles panickedly to his feet, clawing for an answer, an excuse, oh God, oh God, what has Irving’s daemon seen? What will she say?
She does not say anything. But Irving knows anyway. The look on his face is one of frozen horror. His daemon’s head is turned away from them. Billy can feel Soph beside him, trying to hold herself tall as though they are innocent but her back is drooped and her ears are down. Billy feels awful.
Cornelius does not seem to feel nearly so anxious. In fact, he seems almost casual about it, smoking a cigarette, lazily stroking Dahlia, who sits on his lap for her caresses.
“Doesn’t he understand?” he whispers in Soph’s side when they crouch in his cabin later. “Doesn’t he understand what it means?”
“I don’t know,” Soph says. “I think it doesn’t matter to them so much.”
“It’s our lives. Our lives!”
Soph doesn’t say anything. Billy clings to her and hates himself. He’s been a fool, a fool and now he’s mired in this and he’ll lose everything and Cornelius doesn’t even care. They’ll be lashed. Doesn’t Cornelius see the humiliation in it? It’s not the pain (although Christ, it will hurt, he’s seen men after, strong men sobbing in agony.) It’s the shame, the way they’ll look at them, the way they’ll look him. All of the men, mocking him, thinking of him as nothing more than a molly. Cornelius’s molly.
“What do we do?” he whispers but Soph just shakes her head.
*
Soph does not try to stop him. And though he hasn’t told her what he means to do, she knows, he is sure of it. She must know. And she is not trying to stop him so it cannot be the wrong thing to do. Can it?
Lieutenant Irving lets him into his cabin with obvious reluctance, then stands back as far as he can. His daemon stands behind him, watching silently. Billy tries not to look at her. He looks at the floor instead and talks, letting the words flood out of him before any part of him can try to keep them back. This has to be done. It has to be. If they are flogged, it will end everything and there are no leads, they will almost certainly be trapped here another winter.
After, he is not quite sure of his actual words, only the meanings of them. That he is sorry, he did not mean to, he truly did not, he isn’t like that, he is not, it was so dark and cold and Mr Hickey seemed kind only then, then and then he could not see how to stop without disgrace but he did not mean it ...
Only one exchange sticks in his memory with horrible clarity. Mr Irving stepping forward, putting a hot hand on his arm and saying in a oddly pleading way “He pressed you, then? He would not let you stop?” and his own pathetic voice agreeing. And Irving relaxing slightly, squeezing his arm gently and Billy knew he had thrown Cornelius over but still, still ...
“I will not report it to command,” Irving says quietly. “I should, you know it but I will not see ... I know you to be a good man, you do not deserve to be punished for another’s sin. But you must repent, Mr Gibson, you see, don’t you? You must pray for forgiveness.”
“I will,” he agrees fervently. “I promise, sir.”
Praying is a small price to pay for dignity. He prays then, willingly with Irving, who speaks with a strange sort of desperation about banishing temptation and sin whilst his daemon stays back from him, her head hung low.
Soph does not talk to him about it, even when they are alone. She sits with her back to him and he knows that he has disappointed her. He doesn’t dare mention it himself, even though justifications seethe through him: it was necessary, we have so much to lose, it doesn’t matter what we said as long as neither of us are flogged, Irving will leave us all alone now ...
Besides, it does not matter so much, does it? Not really. It’s only words, words that have protected them both. Irving cannot have Cornelius lashed now because that would get Billy lashed too and Irving has promised. They are both safe, Billy has saved them.
But Cornelius and Dahlia do not see it that way.
*
“And to think you’ve been such a good wife to me all these months.”
He would not have been so cruel if Cornelius had not said that. He’s sure he wouldn’t. He didn’t set out to be cruel at all, he never meant any of this to happen, it just did –
But wife. As though Billy’s been some simpering woman, Cornelius’s girl, when they’ve been equals all along, when they were friends. Cornelius couldn’t have jabbed the knife in harder if he’d tried and so Billy had done the same back.
(and besides, he isn’t like Cornelius, not exactly, he has wants, yes, but it is not, this is, it is complicated, it is the ice that has made it so desperate, that is all, it is not him ...)
Dahlia goes entirely still on Cornelius’s shoulder when he spits about rats and filth. Cornelius is already still, staring at him coldly but Dahlia’s stillness, that is different. She quivers, as though she is going to leap at Billy’s throat and after a moment, Cornelius calmly lifts her and takes her in his hands, holding her between his cupped palms. He holds her there for the rest of their conversation and when he walks out, she’s still concealed there.
“That was cruel,” Soph says very quietly. “That was very cruel.”
He doesn’t answer her. He feels cruel, cruel and cold. Fuck Hickey. Fuck Irving. He didn’t want any of this. It isn’t fair.
Soph puts her head on his lap. He strokes her ears, leans wearily down to put his head against hers.
“I’ll apologise,” he says, knowing even as he says it that Cornelius won’t accept it, that Cornelius will take that as a sign of weakness, that he has burned that bridge and it must stay burned, for Irving will be watching and any “slip” will be enough to ruin the story he has spun. Soph sighs too, licks his face.
As it turns out, there is no time to even consider an apology. Everything goes to hell so suddenly and so sharply that there is no time to think of anything else. A bear kills Captain Franklin and they are all in disarray. There is a feeling of grief and bewilderment that hangs over everyone. How can this have happened? Bad enough the Erebus lost Lieutenant Gore, that there are no leads found but now this? Captain Franklin was in control of everything, the marines were supposed to kill the bear, how can any of this be?
It is all enough to throw Cornelius from his mind entirely.
*
But obviously not him from Cornelius’s.
*
They tell nobody. One thing he has always been good at is concealing things. Nobody will ever, ever know what Cornelius did. It is shaming, almost more shaming than the lash would have been. Oh, Cornelius and Dahlia would get in trouble for it, be punished but everyone would know. They would gossip and laugh, talk about what Billy did to earn Hickey’s wrath and he cannot stop remembering the word “wife” and they’ll be here another year now, another year and it’s going to be hard enough without that.
(he thinks of the bleak, blackness of winter without Cornelius’s hot hands and mouth and affection to see him through. It makes him shudder.)
*
Cornelius does not look at them the next day. But Dahlia does. She turns her little head as Billy passes, stares at him with cold eyes. It’s all she does. It is enough. A door has been slammed and he is the one who has slammed it and he must accept it, move on and if it hurts and if he is afraid, it is his own fault.
He knew it was a bad idea. He knew.
He ought to have been stronger.