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There was but a single bed to spare, in the cottage of the fisherman who had helped to pull the Nautilus’ skiff ashore. Though Ned and Conseil had both been exhausted and soaked to the from a night of hard rowing through a maelstrom, the Professor had been in a much worse state, having taken a nasty blow to the head. They’d insisted he stay in the house, while the two of them made themselves as comfortable as they could in a neighboring barn.
After seven months at sea, the solid wooden floor and earthy, grassy smell of a hay bale was more comforting than the finest feather bed could ever have been.
They’d been here nearly three weeks now, and the monthly steamship that brought the post was due to arrive at the Lofoten Isles the following day. Once they reached mainland Norway, Aronnax would doubtless make his way back to France. Conseil, of course, would go with him. And Ned?
Ned wanted to go back to Canada. He wanted to see his sister, and his sister’s son– the boy would be thirteen now, near old enough to go to sea himself, if he wanted to. But to go back to Canada– that would mean leaving the man who had been his closest companion for seven weary months, who had seen him in the blackness of his deepest despair and still stood stalwartly by him with steady, simple optimism, even in the face of near-death. Hell, Conseil had saved him from death more than once, though the young man didn’t know how close a thing it had been. How many times had Ned thought of lancing himself on the spine of a lionfish, or simply stepping off the platform into blue water to die a sailor’s death, only to be drawn back from the edge of hopelessness by a firm hand on his shoulder and stolen kiss in the corridor, followed by a hasty return to their berth and a rushed, desperate passion that left Ned unable to think or anything other than the man who had stayed beside him through even the darkest parts of the voyage.
If Ned didn’t take action, then tomorrow, Conseil would look at him once more, with those eyes like soft-boiled eggs, and he’d say goodbye. Ned could admit to himself that he would miss the professor’s company as well. Pierre Aronnax was stubborn, obsessive, and altogether too trusting of the man who had kept them prisoner for seven months or more; but he had seen right eventually, and he was one of only three living souls who had shared the experience of such a remarkable voyage. But although Ned regarded Aronnax as a dear friend, the professor’s absence wouldn’t leave an aching hole in his heart.
It would not be so easy to get used to life without Conseil.
Life without the man he loved.
He wanted to chide himself at the thought, but it was true. Somehow he, Ned Land, despite all the bitterness of this voyage, had fallen in love. Conseil was not the first crewmate whom Ned had taken as a sexual companion during a long stint at sea. But Conseil wasn’t like those sailors, with whom he could simply part ways upon return to port with only the slightest hint of melancholy. He’d thought at first that this would be the same. But three weeks now on terra firma, under the open sky, and he could think of nothing but their impending separation.
Ned Land was in love , and he had reason to believe he was loved in return.
That hadn’t happened for a long time.
Not for seventeen years, if he was counting, which he wasn’t.
He huffed under his breath. There was no possibility of falling asleep with his mind so full of wild thoughts. Careful not to disturb Conseil, already sleeping soundly on the floor beside him, Ned slid out from under the blankets, pulling on his trousers and slipping a jacket over his nightshirt- he needed a walk to clear his head.
A few sheep bleated softly at him as he passed, still unsettled in the twilighty darkness of the Northern summer night. Conseil’s voice echoed in Ned’s mind: Ovis aries , of the family Bovidae, order Artiodactyla, class Mammalia. Even back on dry land, the younger man simply could not resist classifying every animal he saw. And Ned, though he’d never really had a head for science before, couldn't help but hang onto every word.
As he walked further from the barn, Ned’s hand drifted to his jacket’s left breast, fingers running over the reassuring circle of metal there. “It’s been a long time, Elise,” he said to the twilight, once he judged he was far enough from the house and barn that his companions wouldn’t hear him.
He’d been married once, many years ago, but his wife had died not even three years after their wedding day. He hadn’t witnessed her death- he’d been on a whaling voyage somewhere off the coast of Alaska when her mother’s letter came. The girl was long buried by the time he returned to Quebec, but they’d given him her wedding ring. He’d tried to wear it, at first, but it barely fit Ned’s littlest finger. So instead, he had sewn the ring into the lining of his jacket for safekeeping, and there it had remained, just over his heart.
Conseil’s hands were small, and his fingers slender. The ring would probably fit him.
Ned kicked a stone down the road, feeling treacherous at the unbidden thought. “Of course, I never said I wouldn’t remarry,” he said aloud. Elise couldn’t have objected, he thought, not after seventeen years dead and buried. “I would have expected you to find another husband, if the typhoid had taken me in your stead.” He kicked the stone again, watching it skitter along the unpaved path. “But I’ve been a widower for so long. I’ve grown used to it. Could I really give my heart again?”
He could give his heart again. He had already done so.
But he could not give his hand .
Not here.
Not now that he was back in Europe, amongst civilized people.
He scoffed. Civilized. That was the one thing the damned Captain Nemo had gotten right. Love was love, no matter who it was that did the loving. They’d tried to be discreet, at first, but it soon became clear that plenty of the crew had open affections of their own.
He’d heard stories of islands, in the South Pacific, where folks would take up with whomever they wished. He’d learned the art of harpooning from such a man, a muscular chap covered head-to-toe with tattoos, as was the way of his race. He had tried to teach Ned to shave with his harpoon, a habit Ned had long since abandoned after one too many cuts. They had met again, by chance during a gam, and the harpooner had introduced another sailor as his husband, though Ned had attributed this to a mistranslation- the man spoke little English and even less French.
Now, though, Ned considered the possibility. Suppose that he and Conseil did privately commit their lives to each other? Ned knew better than to expect Conseil to ever leave his employer, but Professor Aronnax would almost certainly give his blessing, and keep their secret.
The rest of society was another question. Although the law was rarely enforced, men accused of buggery in Canada could face a lifetime in prison. After his capture on the Nautilus, Ned was unwilling to entertain such a risk.
France, however, had no such law. He leaned against a fence-post, hands still toying with the fabric of his jacket. Ned’s sister would doubtless be delighted to see him at first, but she would tire of his presence after a month or two. If Ned wished a stint on dry land (and surely, he’d earned a bit of shore leave after Nemo’s long voyage!) he would need to find an accommodation. And it was hardly unheard of for two working-class bachelors- well, a bachelor and a widower– to share their living quarters: that would be no stranger in Paris than it had been at sea.
Ned removed his jacket, running the fabric through his hands. There was no reason that Conseil couldn’t have the ring, if Ned wished to give it. It would not, could not represent a legal union, but Ned’s love for Conseil was no less true than his love for Elise had been. So why shouldn't a bit of gold symbolize that fact?
After a moment, Ned drew his knife and slit the fabric of the jacket’s inner lining, letting the ring tumble out into his palm. Despite the garment’s frays and patches, the gold still looked untouched, pristine, as pure as it had been all those years ago when he’d placed it on the finger of his bride. Ned twirled the band between his thumb and forefinger, then carefully placed it in his trouser pocket. He’d offer the ring at dawn, the moment Conseil awoke. If he refused, Ned would find work on a whaling vessel and make his way home from Norway, never to speak of the matter again. But if he accepted… Ned thought that they would be very happy, indeed.
His mind made up, Ned returned.