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Sometimes when Hickey can’t sleep – which isn’t often, he is good at sleeping when necessary, even if he is somewhere noisy and cramped – he looks around at the men that sleep around him and wonders at the way they have their daemons.
Take Tom Hartnell. His little blue tit, a stupidly fragile little thing. She sits at his head on the hammock. If Hickey ever wished to, he could simply reach out, grab her, crush her in his hand before Hartnell even woke. Does Hartnell not see the danger? Why does he not cradle her in his hands, tuck her beneath his chin? He would not crush her, no part of his body would allow such a thing, just as no part of the blue tit daemon would let it happen. They are one. Outside is where the risk lies, not inside.
The other men are nearly all the same. Manson sleeps with his rabbit sprawled on his chest, her little nose at his chin. Hickey could snap her spine if he wished to. He could probably kill half the men in this room because they don’t look after their daemons, even when they are awake. Even Pegler, a man who seems quite sensible, lets that otter of his sleep far too obviously – though at least his hand tends to rest close to her. It would be harder to grab her without him waking.
His girl, she is always safe. When he sleeps, she is in his hands, tucked up close or beneath his shirt. Nobody will ever grab her and hold her away from him again. Nobody will ever hurt her while he’s helpless. If other men are too stupid to understand it, well. That’s their lookout, isn’t it? They’re lucky not to know but stupid not to have thought of it themselves. A daemon isn’t just a fussing part of you that gets in the way, it is yourself and a man ought to protect himself at any costs.
If sleep still won’t come, he closes his eyes, lets Dahlia – Dahlia, what a name! He still isn’t really used to it, even though he and she have taken other names before – sniff lightly at his neck in a little rat’s kiss and wonders about the men he can’t see. The locked doors, the sleeping stewards and lieutenants and captain in his own space. Do they understand the risks? Do they hold the daemons close? Lieutenant Irving doesn’t, he knows that. His pretty bird will stand away from him, perhaps as far away as Irving can cope with. He lies with his back to her, Hickey bets. Pretending that she doesn’t exist or that she looks like something else, never looking his true self in the eye. Lieutenant Hodgson cuddles his, he is sure, but probably not to protect her. He does it because he wants to pet her, stroke her, feel comforted by her. He indulges his needs but does not necessarily understand them. Lieutenant Little ... well, he could hardly protect her, that sheep but Hickey thinks she’ll stay close to him in sleep, lying near the bunk. Does he rest a hand on her woolly back? If Hickey had a daemon that big, he would rest on her, make sure that she was comfortable with him and that he was as close with her. He thinks Little doesn’t feel the same but Little is harder to get a handle on than Hodgson and Irving. Little keeps something back from everyone, perhaps even himself.
Billy’s Sophronia sleeps on his bed always. He knows that, he has seen her. She stands neatly apart in the day, tidy and proper, but at night, they stay close. Billy understands the need to keep himself safe. He bets Jopson is the same. He’s watched that trim little cat. She looks sweet and inoffensive as she follows but Hickey’s seen the claws, the teeth, the way she can flare. He’s seen the way she looks around, watching everything. Yes, Jopson will sleep with that cat close, just as she’ll want to be close to him.
What about Captain Crozier? Does he hug that funny creature of his? (Hickey has tried to find out what it is without asking but nobody has ever said and he doesn’t want to admit that he does not know.) He thinks not, although not because the Captain doesn’t understand danger. No, the Captain knows. But he’s too high up, thinks he’s untouchable now. Thinks he’s safe in his little cabin. Doesn’t remember. Maybe doesn’t know. And his daemon will sit near but not near enough.
Over the ice, what of them? They are less interesting to him, though not unimportant. Fitzjames with his stupid dog, oh, he fears nothing that one, or says he does but there’s nobody with a dog daemon that doesn’t fear something, in Hickey’s experience. Le Vesconte and that bird ... he needs fear nothing, that bird could take most men. It is the only daemon on these ships that worries him, if he is honest. He does not know where he would begin the fight, hopes it will never come to that. Lieutenant Gore’s dog would be easier to take – another boring dog. So many boring creatures on the Erebus, he can hardly bring them to mind. Doctor Goodsir and his bumbling, tumbling creature? Yes, Hickey things. Doctor Goodsir holds her safe to him. He is a man who knows the value of his inner self. Hickey has seen him loving and cuddling the funny animal, has seen her pet and cosset Doctor Goodsir back. Goodsir knows. Even if he has never had to fear, he knows that the self must always be kept together.
Another little rat’s kiss to his chin, followed by a scolding nip. They must sleep in this moment when they have the time. Tomorrow is another day but they are ready for it.
Together, they are ready for anything.