He greeted the man on watch who awaited him for relief and also greeted the helmsman. His responsibility, Mr. Spedder had told him, was to keep accurate time by the belclass="underline" one bell in thirty minutes, two in one hour, three in ninety minutes and so on. The hour-glass’s sand was already running for the first half-hour of the morning watch, and thus Matthew began his initial round of the deck.
The Nightflyer was flying smoothly this night. The waves were kind to the girl’s hull, and kind also to a landlubber’s stomach. The sea all around was dark, not a light showing. Temple’s Revenge had gone its own way, carrying Professor Fell to his next crime against humanity.
Matthew was on his second round when he was joined by a figure wearing a gray cloak. Her red hair was still tangled and matted, and her feet were still dirty. She was still a mess, but she was a welcome sight on this silent voyage.
“May I walk with you?” Berry asked.
“Of course.”
They walked without speaking. They were comfortable in their quiet. Then Berry said, “I’m sorry I caused you trouble.”
“It’s all right.”
“No, really. I stuck my nose in where it didn’t belong. I regret putting you in the position of looking after me.”
“I managed,” he said. “I just thank God you weren’t hurt.”
She nodded. They reached the bow and started again toward the stern, as the Nightflyer spoke softly around them and the sails stretched wide before the currents of night.
“You are changed,” she told him. “Forgive me for saying this. But Matthew…you never came back when you went after that man.”
“Yes,” he had to say. “I know.”
“You can tell me. What happened, I mean. I’ll bear it for you.”
Something in her voice broke him. It happened just like that. A voice, offering to listen. Just like that. He resisted, because it was so awful. Because the Gray Kingdom still had him, and it was so very strong. Because this world was not the world he’d imagined it to be, and because he was lost in its harshness.
“Oh,” Matthew said, and it was nearly a tormented moan. He stumbled in his progress, and just like that he knew the moment had arrived to unburden himself because Berry Grigsby had offered to listen.
“Tell me,” she said. She took his hand. “I can bear it for you.”
He clasped her hand. Tightly, and more tightly still. She was holding him, it seemed, to the earth. Without her grasp, he might be swept away. He stopped, and they stood together amidships on the Nightflyer, and he looked at her in the moonlight and starshine and saw her blue eyes gleaming. When he opened his mouth he didn’t know how he would begin; he just trusted that it would all make sense.
He told her. About everything. About Tyranthus Slaughter and his crimes and horrors, about Lyra Sutch, about the sausages made from human flesh, about the hideous cellar where the bodies were hacked to pieces, about the moment when he knew he would have to kill the woman or be killed himself, about what it felt like to drive an axe into the flesh of another human being.
And, in so telling, Matthew opened up his box of pain and began to weep.
He wept not only because of that experience, but because he was changed. Because he could never go back to a place of innocence, and because this world had tainted him. Because he had not asked for this, but because this had been thrust upon him. And his weeping became crying and his crying became sobbing for the lost boy who had been Matthew Corbett, who now had to become a man whether he liked it or not. And not only any man, but a man who knew what dark things hid underneath the stones. Professor Fell was in him, and how could he get that disease out? There was only one way…to destroy the professor, and the evil that he did. Only one way…to continue the course he had been set upon.
As Matthew sobbed, Berry put her arms around him. She did not tell him to be calm or to be quiet, for she knew he needed to sob, to clear his eyes and his mind and his heart, for she knew also he had so much ahead of him.
She kissed his cheek, and held him, and when he had finished his recounting of this tale of terror and tribulation she whispered into his ear, “You did what you had to do.”
It was the truth, plainly spoken. Matthew said with an effort, “Yes. I did.”
And though it was the dark of night, a little sunlight broke through.
“Never,” she said, “doubt yourself. Yes, it was terrible. But never doubt, Matthew…that you are where you are, for a reason.”
He nodded, but he could not speak.
“As God said to Job,” Berry said. “I will demand of thee.”
“Yes,” Matthew answered, as he stared out at the unfathomable sea. “I understand.”
She kissed his cheeks and took the tears. She held his hand and walked with him a distance further, and he realized he was late in turning the hour-glass and ringing the bell. But he didn’t hurry for he felt as if he had all the time in the world, that the gray kingdom was a passing country of the soul, and that it might take a while longer…but day by day, if he concentrated on getting there, he would get closer by small steps once again to the realm of joy.
Berry left him to return to her own hammock and a few more hours of much-needed sleep. Matthew was on his way to the poop deck when a shadow moved at the mainmast. A tinderbox sparked, a flame stirred, and a clay pipe was lighted.
“Matthew,” said the captain, “do you not know that I am always aware what time it is, whether the crewman on watch rings the bell or not?”
“I’m sorry. I was—”
“Talking with your friend, yes. I wandered over that way, and heard a bit. I hope you don’t mind. After all, this is my ship.”
“I don’t mind,” Matthew said.
“Nice night for a talk, isn’t it? All those stars. All those mysteries. Yes?”
“Yes,” was Matthew’s reply.
“You’re a terrible watchman and a worse time-keeper,” said Falco. “Those errors should get you whipped.”
I’ve been whipped before, Matthew thought, but he said nothing.
“Getting me off my floor where my bed used to be.” A spout of smoke drifted up and was blown away by the breeze. “I should whip you myself.”
“It is your ship,” Matthew said.
“For certain, she is.” Falco leaned against the mainmast, a slim shadow in the dark. “As I say, I heard a bit. A little bit, but enough. I will say this, and mark it: every captain must realize, sooner or later, that to progress his ship sometimes means casting things overboard that are no longer needed. Do I make myself clear?”
“Aye, sir,” replied Matthew.
“Now you’re mocking me. But I will give you that, Matthew. I will also give you one minute to get to that bell, ring it twice for five o’clock—though you will be nearly twenty minutes late—and turn the glass. Then you will continue your rounds and you will pay attention to your duties. Clear again?”
“Clear,” was the only possible answer.
“Go,” said the captain. As Matthew started to hurry away, Falco gave out a voluminous puff of smoke and said, “And thank you for ruining my taste for sausages for the rest of my life.”
Matthew couldn’t help but smile.
It was a very good feeling.
Thirty-Three