The Halcyon

Chapter VI: In The Memory Of

Captain Yermak gently lowered a meticulously chiseled glass onto the table's surface, and the distinctive sound it emitted upon contact resonated through the room. This unmistakable chime served as an unequivocal indication to the assembled officers that the time for dining had concluded, and the moment for engaged conversation had now commenced. The Russian cleared his throat, and all the officers gawked towards him. His unspoken authority amazed me, like a lion amongst cubs. Frankly, it was an eerie sight. He casted an assessing gaze upon each one of us, his scrutiny bordering on the unnerving. Even his officers, individuals with whom he had ostensibly shared the vast expanse of the seas for numerous years, did not escape his penetrating look. Yet, when his discerning eyes met mine, I peered into the depths of his very soul, only to discover a void lurking beneath the façade of that enigmatic man. Finally, he looked towards Mr. Collins, and spoke in a low, tame manner.

"Have ze maps been brought up?"

"A- aye, captain." Mr Collins replied.

"And?"

Mr. Collins nudged Mr. Van Haak, who also spoke in an accent.

"By de looks of it, captain. We'll be landing on de south-western shore of Narvish. De Danes were dere before us and set up a few signal points to guide us in."

Narvish? Were these fools talking about that seemingly absurd guise of Iceland? Deep within, a small glimmer of me hoped the veil of secrecy would reveal itself this very night, revealing our true destination. It appeared that, indeed, Mr. Darrow and the captain alone possessed the kernels of wisdom among this assembly. Yet, a nagging thought tugged at my consciousness—why had Mr. Wu refrained from inquiring about the concealed chloroform below decks? Was he genuinely so naive? However, such musings were momentarily set aside when I caught Captain Yermak's sidelong glance toward Mr. Darrow, who in turn cast his gaze downwards, his fortitude evidently sapped by the lie hanging in the air.

"I thought we agreed upon King's Port." Mr. Bernard interrupted, to everyone's surprise. To which Mr. Collins shot a glance towards the Russian, hoping his superior would intervene, but no help arrived.

"We striked that possibility out last week, maybe if you..." Mr. Collins trailed off, pondering his next words carefully before proceeding.

"Maybe if you were coherent that morning you would've recalled King's Port would mutilate the Halcyon's hull."

I could have sworn I detected a faint chuckle emanating from Mr. McCullough's lips, prompting a reproving glance from the doctor that served as a nonverbal warning for him to maintain his silence.

"For heaven's sake, Mr. Bernard, this reckless drinking of yours must come to an end. Just last year, you nearly missed our departure altogether." Continued Mr. Collins.

"Do you test my abilities as the third mate?"

"Nay, but I fear I set my standards too high."

"Y-"

"Kapitein..." Mr. Van Haak explained "Wha' we're trying to say is 'dat we are well-prepared for navigating de treacherous ice near th' Narvish ports, no matter how thick they might be. I've had a discussion vith Mr. Köhler, who assured me that the engines are in optimal condition. However, I happened to overhear some of de deckhands, and 'wit find ourselves pondering the duration of dis voyage. I don't intend to intrude, but it's common knowledge among most of us that we've been provisioned for a journey spanning an entire year, vich appears rather excessive considering our current trajectory, welke is far from a northerly course."

"Do you regard our caution as ambitious, Mr. Van Haak?"

The balls on him! The balls displayed by Mr. Collins in voicing such a query before the captain could interject left me momentarily incredulous. Regardless of the drama one might encounter within the confines of a theater, this moment eclipsed all, standing as the paramount pinnacle of suspense a man could ever bear witness to in his lifetime. This assembly, like a strategic chess match, unfolded with the deployment of chosen words and wit. It begged the question: to what extent must the victor navigate this complex verbal battleground to attain not less than a proclamation of his own manhood?

"C- certainly not! But considering our experience as seamen, it strikes me as rather uncommon for da Halcyon to bear such a substantial cargo f'r what should be a straightforward poaching job."

Mr. Collins, emboldened by his momentum, pressed the issue.

"Dutchman, nothing is straightforward."

Dutchman? That's seldom unfamiliar. The officers usually display a means of mannerisms, yet Mr. Collins seems pretty direct with Mr. Van Haak. At that moment, Captain Yermak made a subtle gesture in the direction of Mr. Darrow, whose gaze remained fixed intently upon the captain.

"My financiers held discussions with the Halcyon's shareholders, reaching an agreement for an initial down payment and subsequent payment upon the voyage's completion. There's no predefined duration for our expedition. The termination of our journey will be counted upon the animals of Iceland, the luck of our hunting endeavors, and, naturally, the ability of the crew."

A faint scoff emanated from somewhere across my vicinity; the origin of this utterance eluded me, yet it appeared as though Mr. Darrow's remarks had inadvertently slighted the competence of the crew. However, I paid little heed to this affront as Captain Yermak conducted himself with a measured sense of dignity, visibly straightening his posture as much as his spine would permit. His penetrating gaze traversed the poachers one by one: from me to Ms. Garett, then to Mr. McCullough, and finally settling on Mr. Darrow. Suddenly, he slouched back into his seat and extended a pointed finger towards the dimly lit wall behind him. His gesture singled out a black tablet embedded in the wall, its inscribed writing proving barely discernible due to the considerable distance. But due to my amazing eyesight it read:

SACRED, IN THE MEMORY OF

JOSEPH PALADINO, BRIAN KENNY, JAMES LONG

WHO, IN THEIR YOUTH, LOST THEIR LIVES TO POLAR BEARS

THIS TABLET IS ERECTED IN THEIR NAME.

And another one:

SACRED, IN THE MEMORY OF

THOMAS HAYES

WHO, AT EIGHTEEN, WAS LOST AT SEA

THIS TABLET IS ERECTED IN HIS NAME.

What kind of callous individual would dredge up memories of the deceased immediately following such a sumptuous meal? Was he intent on causing us to regurgitate our dinner at the thought of a man being mauled by a polar bear? I find it peculiar, though, that this vessel has these dedications—not peculiar because of their fondness for their fallen comrades, but due to the captain's use of their deaths as a means to instill fear in the ship's passengers. It's not uncommon for a ship to lose a sailor now and then due to various circumstances, whether at sea or on land. However, the way Captain Yermak casually referenced these engravings troubled me. He appeared to be a man who cared for his crew, yet he divulged these details to us with disconcerting ease. It left me wondering whether those commemorated in history had simply sacrificed their lives in pursuit of greed, and the captain was serving as a warning to Mr. Darrow, or perhaps even attempting to assuage his insatiable thirst for wealth.

"Mr. Darrow, and the rest of your hunters. Look at these tablets, vhat kind of authority or mandate do they carry, you see? This ain't your usual venture into the Pacific, where wild goose chases happen aplenty. No, we're currently setting sail on a northern expedition, vhere the unforgiving cold climate allows no room for mistakes. My crew is all set to provide you vith the necessary resources f'r capturing these exotic creatures, but this endeavor calls for the utmost seriousness, da."

I found myself momentarily rendered speechless, gripped by a perplexing uncertainty. What did the captain intend with his words? Was he covertly conveying messages to Mr. Darrow through the veil of Iceland, or was he simply disregarding the rest of us, focusing solely on the charade involving Iceland's façade? Mr. Darrow, unphased, maintained his unwavering gaze upon Captain Yermak, persisting until Mr. Darrow' affirmative nod signaled his agreement. Subsequently, a heavy silence descended upon the table, and for an entire, uncomfortable minute, none of us knew quite what to say. Our collective discomfort was mercifully interrupted by the resonating blare of the Halcyon's foghorn. This prompted the officers to excuse themselves, thereby affording our poaching crew a suitable pretext to depart as well.

So there sat Captain Yermak, alone, listening to his Russian melodies.