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“Make your decision,” Hickey said. “But be sure. And don’t waver. You’ll be needed.”
“Drop your weapon, Lieutenant.”
Little freezes where he is, his hand tightening on his gun. He knows the voice, that low broad-accented rasp. Something comforting in it, too, though Little tries to ignore that. It’s probably a trick anyway. The yells of the men sound far away now, lost in the fog, as if Little is underwater and the only one who can see him is the shaggy-haired Marine with a gun to his back.
Little hears the click of the safety. “I won’t ask again,” Tozer says. “Don’t make me do this – don’t wanna shoot ya but I will if I have to.”
Little doesn’t doubt him. He turns to face Tozer, his hands in the air but still holding his gun. Little’s heart races. Tozer’s face is calm. “Look, if you give me a moment to explain,” Little says, and tries to keep his voice from shaking.
“Don’t need a moment.” Tozer moistens his dry lips with his tongue. “Gun down.”
“Fine, fine.” Little drops the gun, hears it clatter onto the rocks at his feet. “Tozer. It’s not what you imagine. It’s not, if you hear me out.”
“No, I’m sure it’s not.” Tozer’s eyes are on Little, calm and unperturbed. Watching. Seeing. “Thought you were a smarter man than’d let Hickey get his claws in you.”
No one’s claws are in Little, not anymore. He’s free. He’s thinking for himself, for maybe the first time in his life, letting himself act on his own feelings rather than following someone else’s whims. “It’s nothing to do with Hickey,” Little says. “But he’s right about a – a thing or two.” It is hard to ignore the things Hickey has presented him with. Harder still to say Hickey’s wrong; he must not have told Tozer everything he told Little. Hickey’s not a good man, but Little is a naval officer, if Little knows he’s doing what must be done then who can say he was wrong?
Tozer smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Is he now?”
“Crozier was going to leave us all. Abandon the ships and walk out on his own. I saw his resignation letter myself,” Little says. Hickey had shown him, and no, Hickey shouldn’t have had the letter in the first place, but when Little read it he couldn’t be angry at Hickey. How could he? It’s not Hickey meant to be leading the expedition. Not Hickey who had planned to abandon the one hundred and twenty-nine men whose lives he was responsible for. That was Captain Crozier.
Little’s arms are starting to ache from keeping his hands in the air. Where is Armitage? “And when Crozier couldn’t leave he turned to his drink, made me keep his secrets, did you know that? That when he disappeared for weeks it was because he was ill, not from scurvy or whatever’s in those tins, but because he couldn’t function once the whiskey was gone?” The words bubble up inside him and Little spits them out with more vitriol than he knew he possessed. “Every step of the way – every decision Crozier’s made – it’s better men than he propping him up!”
“Better men like yourself?” Tozer’s voice is so gentle, so – so calm. Little isn’t getting through to him and he can’t understand why. “Edward – that’s your name, isn’t it? Edward?”
Tozer’s first name is Solomon, Little knows, but Little would never presume to call him by it. And Little isn’t vain but he knows he’s always tried to be good; it’s all he’s ever wanted, to be a good man, a good lieutenant, a good leader and friend, but all of Crozier’s shortcomings only amplify his own. How can Tozer still put his trust in Crozier, after all that’s happened? “Do you not see?” Little can hear the plea in his own voice. “Do you not know, then, that Crozier doesn’t care, not about you or any of us – you know what happened to your own men under his leadership -!”
“It weren’t Crozier that killed Bill Heather,” Tozer says gruffly, cutting him off. “Weren’t him killed Irving either, come to that.” He meets Little’s eyes. “Really didn’t take you for that. Not that type of disloyal.”
It’s a low blow to mention Irving. Little’s breath leaves his lungs in a rush, leaving him as dizzy as if Tozer had actually hit him, because all he can see is Irving lying there cut open, desecrated, dead as anything, dead like Heather and Gore and Sir John and Strong and Evans and everyone else who didn’t deserve to go the way they did. A small part of Little screams – I’m sorry John I’m sorry John I’m sorry John – but what does he have to be sorry for? He doesn’t know the truth of it. All he has is the Captain’s word against Hickey’s and Little doesn’t trust either to tell him the truth. No, Little can’t make sense of Irving’s death, so he doesn’t think about it, pushes it aside, thinks about where he needs to go from here. He cannot dwell on what can’t be changed or he’ll drown in it.
From the corner of his eye he sees a figure in the fog and with relief he recognizes Armitage. If he keeps Tozer talking long enough Armitage can disarm him. If he keeps Tozer talking long enough he might convince him to join them.
“Come with us,” Little says to Tozer. He chances a step closer; Tozer keeps the gun on him so Little freezes again, lowering his head and moving his hands higher to show he’s no threat. “Sergeant, you’re needed. I don’t trust Hickey, of course I don’t! But if we both go, we can keep the rest safe.” He lifts his gaze enough to meet Tozer’s eyes.
Tozer shakes his head. “I won’t do that, Edward.” Sure and steady. It’s one of the traits that makes Tozer so admirable, that confidence, something Little has never possessed.
“There’s still time,” Tozer goes on, all earnest, reassuring hope. “You don’t have to do this! Crozier will forgive you, you know he will.”
Little shakes his head. No. No, if there’s anything he knows about Crozier it’s that he won’t give Little another chance after this. Little has no other option now.
Tozer pauses. A twitch in his arm, like he’s about to lower his gun. “Edward, don’t do something you’ll regret.”
So he nods to Armitage, who’s crept up so quietly, and Armitage brings the butt of his rifle down on the back of Tozer’s head. Tozer collapses with a soft “oof!” and he’s out like a light.
Armitage snatches Tozer’s gun and softly says, “Sorry, Solomon,” before looking up at Little, anxious.
There’s a feeling deep in the pit of Little’s stomach, that sinking sensation he only gets when something is terribly wrong, deep and inescapable, something he did, something his fault. It twists, dark and unpleasant, in his gut, making room for itself like it’s there to stay.
He can’t dwell on it. When Tozer drops, everything comes flooding back, all the sound and chaos around him, and Little knows they have to go before the captain finds them or worse. With the floor ripped out from underneath him, Little can’t do anything but let himself fall.