Chapter Text
‘Now you go back to Mr Collins, and you tell him – from James’s personal stores.’
Jopson lingers outside the cabin, tilting his head to catch the words.
‘Sir…’ Little’s voice is hoarse. ‘I already-’
‘I said, go! That's an order.’
A pause. Then-
‘Yes, sir.’
Boards creak. Jopson busies himself with one of the lamps, pretending to adjust it as the door opens, but he feels Little’s eyes upon him as he passes. From the cabin, nothing – only the shuffle of footsteps and a long, long sigh.
Jopson should see to Mr Hornby’s personal effects, or else follow his orders to fetch up the bottles of whisky from the supply that has finally run to nothing, but he does neither of these things. Instead, he treads carefully through the ship, eerily quiet now that most of the crew are berthed on Erebus, and knocks four times upon Edward Little’s door. Tap-tap, tap-tap. Their signal.
‘Come in.’
Little’s voice is barely a whisper. Jopson opens the door and steps into the cramped space.
‘You heard,’ Little says. It is not a question.
‘Yes.’
Little shakes out his slops, sending half-melted ice spattering onto the boards. ‘Are there really only two bottles left?’
Jopson nods. He wishes that he could give some other answer.
‘Damn.’ A piece of ice thaws on Little's cuff, turning reluctantly from white to blue as he sets the slops down on his chair. ‘I’ve been ordered back to Erebus.’
'What will you tell Mr Collins?’
‘Whatever excuse I give him, he won’t believe it.’ Little sighs. ‘Let Fitzjames come. The Captain might listen to him.’
Jopson doubts it. The two hardly have a harmonious relationship.
‘Perhaps…’ He touches Little’s hand, then draws back sharply. ‘Gods, you’re freezing.’
Little’s lip twitches. ‘It is rather cold out there.’
The wind mounts a fresh attempt to pummel through the hull of the ship, making the boards whimper.
‘You can’t make another trip to Erebus.’ Jopson presses Little’s hands between his own and blows on them, letting his breath whistle between his teeth in an attempt to eke some warmth into his fingers. 'It's too much.'
‘I have my instructions.’
‘Send someone else.’
'The Captain ordered me - you know that he will not trust this to anyone else. And it is not too far.’
‘Mr Hornby is dead because of that not too far.’ It is not his duty to question orders, but he cannot help but question this. ‘What about the beast?’
‘We’ve had no sign of it for days. I shall take Tozer with me – he’s a fine shot.’
He makes to step back, but Jopson holds on, gripping Little's hands so that he can feel the hard ridges of his knuckles, the roughage of chapped skin on the folds between his fingers. As if he can somehow keep Little safe between his palms, even as his throat clenches. They both know that Tozer being a fine shot will not stop the bear, should it come.
I’ll not put your things in store, Jopson wants to snarl. Not even for the Captain. I will not do it.
‘Be careful,’ he says instead. The words are flat, hopeless against the promise of what waits beyond the ship.
Little nods. ‘I will.’
Slowly, Jopson releases his hands. Little picks up his damp slops and begins to pull them on, sending flakes of ice dancing over the floor. Jopson lingers for a moment, the sting of cold still whispering between his palms, before he squares his shoulders and goes to see to Mr Hornby’s things.