left his heater off most of the time, and we both suspected the good doctor’s magic mix had something to do with our sudden acclimatization.
It was also what killed the cook.
****
back to toc
****
Thirteen
The First Death
The chief of the kitchen staff’s name was Morrow. He was the oldest member aboard the ship, and in my professional opinion should never have been allowed to travel with us to begin with. Lightbridge hired the man from a local restaurant, and often bragged of the man’s culinary prowess. Morrow died aboard the Fancy because he could poach the best egg in all of Kentucky.
Granted, he had a certain talent in the kitchen, poached eggs and all. But what he didn’t have was a strong heart. Despite his advanced years, he was subject to the Regimen just as the rest of us, and that’s what did him in. Overexertion, combined with extreme doses of ephedrine and God knows what else she hid in those injections, proved too much for the old soul. Seven weeks into the trip, he suffered a full cardiac arrest.
It was ill timed, though I suppose a heart attack always is. But in this case it was doubly so. We had just passed into the Arctic Circle proper, and had spent the entire previous day celebrating the milestone with food and drink and song. The next morning, the man slumped over a sink full of dishes and didn’t get back up. Geraldine and her medical students did what they could. He hung on for a few days, but in the end, he lost the fight and passed from this life into the next. It was sad and shocking news to be sure, but nothing would top the announcement Lightbridge made following his explanation of Morrow’s death.
He gathered the crew into the mess hall, a tight fit for all of us, but we managed. As he looked out across the sea of sad faces, everyone upset by the death of such a good man, Lightbridge delivered a speech I shall never forget.
“This morning our beloved cook and close friend passed from this Earth, and with his death we are poorer people. Not only have we lost a friend, a fellow crew member and a capable chef, I feel we have also lost part of our family, and that is the cut that runs deepest of all.”
Heads bobbed as the crew groaned in agreement. Geraldine wept openly, as did some of the men. I did my best to retain decorum, but I admit it was most difficult. I did not owe my emotional state to the loss of the cook, whom I admit I barely knew. What troubled me was the impending end to our journey. I had just begun to enjoy the idea of what we were engaged in, and now it was over. We were so close, a few days or so from our goal, only to have the whole affair shut down by one man’s weak heart. It would be a sorry return trip to be sure, bearing not only the corpse of such a fine man, but the corpse of our failure as well.
Lightbridge continued, “In light of his death, we are left with a choice. As captain of this crew, the choice is by tradition mine alone. Yet I do not feel it is up to me, for the implication of such a decision affects us all. Therefore I turn to you, my steady crew, for a vote.”
I was confused. What choice did he speak of?
“I put it to you,” he said. “Do we stay our course, or do we return?”
There was a mumbling amongst the crewmembers as they weighed his words. I was overwhelmed with a sudden sickness at the situation. Lightbridge meant for us to maintain our journey in light of a man’s death. How could we? What sacrilege was this? Before I could rise to voice my opinion on the matter, a young man stood and spoke. His badge named him as Herron.
“Sir,” he said. “I think I speak for all of us, Morrow included, when I say that we should keep going.”
I was sure the young man was mad, yet the entire crew gave a loud ‘here here!’
“Are you sure?” Lightbridge asked.
“We are sure,” Herron said. He wore the whites of the kitchen staff and was probably closer to Morrow than anyone aboard. How could he be so callous over
It was also what killed the cook.
****
back to toc
****
Thirteen
The First Death
The chief of the kitchen staff’s name was Morrow. He was the oldest member aboard the ship, and in my professional opinion should never have been allowed to travel with us to begin with. Lightbridge hired the man from a local restaurant, and often bragged of the man’s culinary prowess. Morrow died aboard the Fancy because he could poach the best egg in all of Kentucky.
Granted, he had a certain talent in the kitchen, poached eggs and all. But what he didn’t have was a strong heart. Despite his advanced years, he was subject to the Regimen just as the rest of us, and that’s what did him in. Overexertion, combined with extreme doses of ephedrine and God knows what else she hid in those injections, proved too much for the old soul. Seven weeks into the trip, he suffered a full cardiac arrest.
It was ill timed, though I suppose a heart attack always is. But in this case it was doubly so. We had just passed into the Arctic Circle proper, and had spent the entire previous day celebrating the milestone with food and drink and song. The next morning, the man slumped over a sink full of dishes and didn’t get back up. Geraldine and her medical students did what they could. He hung on for a few days, but in the end, he lost the fight and passed from this life into the next. It was sad and shocking news to be sure, but nothing would top the announcement Lightbridge made following his explanation of Morrow’s death.
He gathered the crew into the mess hall, a tight fit for all of us, but we managed. As he looked out across the sea of sad faces, everyone upset by the death of such a good man, Lightbridge delivered a speech I shall never forget.
“This morning our beloved cook and close friend passed from this Earth, and with his death we are poorer people. Not only have we lost a friend, a fellow crew member and a capable chef, I feel we have also lost part of our family, and that is the cut that runs deepest of all.”
Heads bobbed as the crew groaned in agreement. Geraldine wept openly, as did some of the men. I did my best to retain decorum, but I admit it was most difficult. I did not owe my emotional state to the loss of the cook, whom I admit I barely knew. What troubled me was the impending end to our journey. I had just begun to enjoy the idea of what we were engaged in, and now it was over. We were so close, a few days or so from our goal, only to have the whole affair shut down by one man’s weak heart. It would be a sorry return trip to be sure, bearing not only the corpse of such a fine man, but the corpse of our failure as well.
Lightbridge continued, “In light of his death, we are left with a choice. As captain of this crew, the choice is by tradition mine alone. Yet I do not feel it is up to me, for the implication of such a decision affects us all. Therefore I turn to you, my steady crew, for a vote.”
I was confused. What choice did he speak of?
“I put it to you,” he said. “Do we stay our course, or do we return?”
There was a mumbling amongst the crewmembers as they weighed his words. I was overwhelmed with a sudden sickness at the situation. Lightbridge meant for us to maintain our journey in light of a man’s death. How could we? What sacrilege was this? Before I could rise to voice my opinion on the matter, a young man stood and spoke. His badge named him as Herron.
“Sir,” he said. “I think I speak for all of us, Morrow included, when I say that we should keep going.”
I was sure the young man was mad, yet the entire crew gave a loud ‘here here!’
“Are you sure?” Lightbridge asked.
“We are sure,” Herron said. He wore the whites of the kitchen staff and was probably closer to Morrow than anyone aboard. How could he be so callous over
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