02. I have not Served a Patient to the Utmost of my Ability

[bestsir]

[ Within an hour or so of the ship being restored, this goes up. Harry writes quickly, particularly when he feels it's urgent. ]

I do not deserve it, but I humbly beg Forgiveness of each of you, for subjecting you to the Horrors of my own Guilt made manifest in that most dreadful of Nightmares.

I am sorriest in particular for what I, possessed by a Nightmare Soul, perpetuated against Mr. Dorian Gray and Miss Trixie, and I do not know what manner of Amends I may make. Mr. Gray was tortured terribly at my hands in the Pursuit of Scientific Inquiry, which in no way excuses my Crimes and indeed only renders them all the more Reprehensible. I treated Miss Trixie in a cold, High-Handed manner that she did not deserve, for she was only attempting to come to my Aid. It is She I have to thank for restoring me to my Senses, and I believe all should be grateful to her for that.

To everyone I owe some manner of Explanation.

My brother and I were students of one Dr. Robert Knox, notorious in Edinburgh for his association with the infamous Murderers, Burke and Hare. My brother always believed him Innocent of any Complicity, and perhaps he was, but I think I always harboured a certain Dread that one day my own Passion for Knowledge would overtake my Morals, just as may or may not have occurred with Knox.

Before I woke here, in this Dream-world, I was in the last extremity of the Arctic expedition, and there I committed certain Deeds that I regret to this very Moment. I permitted myself to be coerced into desecrating a Body at the behest of a Villain of the highest degree—the purpose being to prepare the poor man's flesh for Consumption—after which I engineered my own Death so as to also encompass that Villain's Destruction as well. When the Tuunbaq attacked us last week, I believed it was a Punishment for which I had been waiting all along. I dare say that it has been apparent to all that I have not been well since then—since some time before then, perhaps. In the depths of my Guilt and Self-Recrimination, I believed I had become that which I feared—a Beast on the order of the one who destroyed me, a Monster without Humanity.

Whilst I still have much to Repent, I believe I see Matters more clearly now. I am sorry—most deeply sorry—for not having sought Help before, and for inflicting the Events of the last Three Days upon you all.

If there are any Questions you would like to ask, I am at your disposal.

Sincerely and with great regret,
HDS Goodsir
Surgeon, HMS Terror

[ After writing this, Harry resists the natural urge to hole up in the sick bay again and instead ventures out into the galley, ready for anyone who wants to talk to him. He is also fully expecting Dorian Gray to beat him within an inch of his life, and while he'd prefer if that didn't happen, he can't really blame the man. He just hopes that someone will be around to at least stop him from getting murdered outright. ]

Comments

[brushoff]

For all his struggling, Dorian didn't realize it was Jopson holding him until he heard the man speak. He pauses for a moment, still brimming with anger before he stops struggling.

"You don't have to force me," he grumbles to Jopson. "I can walk."

But he wants to get in one last word before they leave. Dorian turns to look at Harry, scowling down at the man. "If you ever lay a finger on me again, I'll kill you where you stand."

Having said his peace, he backs up a little, ready to follow Jopson wherever the other man leads.

[bestsir]

"I'll not touch you again, sir; I promise that," Harry says. Relieved, at least, that another attack is not forthcoming, he grabs on to the nearest stationary object and starts to scramble to his feet.

[wishiwasatree]

Trixie sees Harry start to climb up from the floor and quickly rushes to assist. "Up you come," she says softly, her hands shaking from the rush of adrenaline. "Let's get a good look at you."

[bestsir]

Harry lets her help him up. His side aches, just below the ribs where Dorian kicked him, and his face throbs. He makes his way to the nearest bench and sits down heavily.

"I expected that," he says glumly.

[wishiwasatree]

"Jesus," Trixie mutters, turning his face towards hers with just the tips of her fingers. She doesn't sit, but hovers. "Your eye...your goddamn neck...he would've done you in..."

She touches the reddened part of his neck tenderly. "Would've...would've killed you..."

Fuck. She nearly had him too, and to see that look in his eyes makes her want to be ill.

[bestsir]

"It would have been quicker than what I—what he—" How to talk about that twisted version of himself? "Quicker than what happened to him twice over. Thinking on it now, it is one of the cruelest, most grotesque things I've ever seen." He prods at his cheekbone and winces. It's probably already starting to bruise, but he reckons he's lucky; that punch could have smashed his nose or cracked his jaw. "Also one of the queerest, but I doubt I shall have a chance to ask him about it now."

[wishiwasatree]

"He put himself back together," she says, standing upright. Put himself back together.

Trixie bites at one of her nails and shakes her head. "Fuck, you're gonna stay the fuck away from him, you hear me? A man like that...a man like that will hold a fucking grudge, whether you was in your right mind when you hurt him or not. Now I'm gonna fetch some salve for the bruises. You just...you stay."

[bestsir]

He nods. Yes. Grew back eyes, a heart, and more—Harry feels queasy thinking about it now, no matter how fascinating it was at the time.

"I'll be right here," he says, obedient. "And you needn't tell me twice—I shall give him as wide a berth as this vessel permits."

[wishiwasatree]

Once in sick bay Trixie starts looking through the various shelves and cabinets for what she needs, pushing aside bottles of sloshing liquids and powders until her eyes are too blurry to see anything at all.

"Cunt!" She presses the heels of her hands into her eyes. "Fucking pull yourself together. A man's fucking entitled to his secrets, and you to yours. You've fucking seen enough by now this shouldn't be a shock..." She trails off, crossing the room to find the balms next to the liniments.

A few moments later she returns to Goodsir and hands him the balm. "Put it on your neck. Skin's been rubbed raw."

[bestsir]

"Thank you." The arnica compound, just what he would have chosen. He applies it gingerly, wincing at a few spots where Dorian's nails left their marks.

[wishiwasatree]

She sits down beside Goodsir and watches him apply the balm.

"Does it hurt?"

[bestsir]

"Yes. But it's of no consequence, not really," He replaces the lid on the jar. "There are other—"

He breaks off, aware suddenly that there's something in his waistcoat pocket, something creating a small bulge next to his watch. He reaches into the pocket and pulls out a small piece of carved walrus ivory, not much bigger than two of a man's fingers together. It has a bear's body, an elongated neck, and an odd, flattened face.

"Good Lord," he murmurs.

[wishiwasatree]

Trixie wants to take the strange little sculpture and chuck it across the ship. It unsettles her for reasons she can't verbalize.

"What is that?" she whispers.

[bestsir]

"Have you heard the story about why the Tuunbaq came to harass us?" he asks. "Not here, I mean—in—in the world, before the dream."

[wishiwasatree]

She has, in bits and pieces. "When one of you killed its..." She waves her hand, not remembering the word. "Killed him, on accident?"

[bestsir]

"Its priest, yes. Shaman, I think, is another word." He says this without condescension, merely relaying an interesting fact. "Des Voeux shot him in a panic, meaning to shoot what we then thought was an ordinary bear. We brought him back to Erebus and I tried to save him, but he was too gravely injured, and he died—belowdecks, not under the sky as his daughter begged us. And then Sir John ordered the poor man's body to be disposed of in the fire-hole, like so much refuse." He shakes his head. "No wonder, then, that the Tuunbaq pursued us so angrily."

Trixie might notice that he pronounces the word differently than the others, with an odd glottal stop in the middle.

His hand has closed around the little amulet; he opens it again and looks down at it, brushing his thumb over the smooth surface. "The shaman had many small amulets about his person, including one the dead spit of this. Why I have this now, I've no idea."

[wishiwasatree]

Trixie thinks she might have been angry too if her priest was shot and then had his body crammed into a hole in the ice.

She rubs her hands on her skirts, still looking at the figure in his hands.

"Maybe it means you're forgiven."

[bestsir]

"Perhaps." The possibility actually makes him smile a little, sadly. He brushes his thumb across the object's surface again and tucks it away in his pocket. He'll look at it again later.

[wishiwasatree]

Forgiven is better than the alternatives anyway, and for Goodsir's sake she does hope he's forgiven at least himself.

"Anyways, maybe it'll bring you luck. That's always a nice thing to have."

[bestsir]

"A little luck would not go amiss for any of us," he observes. A deep breath; he considers his bruises again. "Well. I think I shall be none the worse for wear in the end. Thank you for your help, and for summoning Jopson. I am not eager to experience yet one more death."

[wishiwasatree]

She takes his hand and gives him a little squeeze. "What are friends for, if not to make sure the other don't get killed?"

Trixie gets up to her feet. "I'm gonna finish my earlier perambulations, and give you a moment to yourself. But I'll be by later if I don't see you at dinner."

[bestsir]

He smiles, holds her hands for a moment, then lets her go. "I'll see you then," he says, getting to his feet as well and turning toward the sick bay.