White Silence Read Online Free

to be made.”
    Together they descended the narrow wooden staircase that was almost a ladder and made their way down the corridor to the cabin that they were sharing.
    It was on the small side, though well-appointed. If they had been willing to delay their departure, more spacious accommodations would have been available. But each man, for his own reasons, wanted to be on his way, so the three booked what was best available.
    At the door, Duncan felt the presence of another Immortal. Fitz, too, hesitated a split second. Though they both knew it was Danny, Duncan opened the latch cautiously.
    Oh, yes. It was definitely Danny. Inside, the odor of sickness was strong, and from the shadowy recesses of one of the lower bunks, a weak voice whispered hollowly.
    “Hugh? Could you maybe be taking my head now? Please?”
    Fitz moved past Duncan and went to attend to the young man. He emptied the slop bucket out of the porthole, and replaced it by Danny’s head. Then he poured cold water from the pitcher on the table into a basin, soaked clean cloths in it, and laid them gently on his forehead.
    Duncan busied himself by lighting the oil lamp, removing the maps from the bag where they were stored, and spreading them on the table.
    He marveled at Fitzcairn’s solicitousness and wondered about Danny O’Donal. He’d talked to his friend a bit further about the young Immortal, gotten the basics of his background. Still, Fitz had played many roles in the years Duncan had known him—and teacher had never been among them. That he had taken on Danny O’Donal said much about the young man. So Duncan could not help but be curious about the details.
    Well, there would be time for that discussion later. Now, by lamplight, Duncan trailed his fingertips over the thick paper that covered the table, tracing the outline of the landmass that made up the territory of Alaska. Over half a million square miles, the maps all said. Bought by Abraham Lincoln’s secretary of state, William Seward, from the Tsar of all the Russias, for a pittance. Which, Duncan reflected, had seemed to be about what it was worth. Until just last year, when gold was discovered. Now, as had happened sixty years before in California, the rush was on.
    Fitz left Danny, who had fallen into a fitful sleep, and joined Duncan at the table.
    “Some rum, then?” Without waiting for a reply, he produced a bottle and two cups, and proceeded to pour them each a generous portion.
    So they sat there, far into the night, drinking good dark rum, studying the maps, arguing about the days to come, these two Immortal men who had known one another for centuries. While nearby another of their kind, a child by their reckoning, moaned and tossed in his sleep.
    So cold, it was. And wet. He’d woken up not knowing whether it was morning or night
—
they never did, down in the hold. He’d woken up in his mother’s arms, and she’d been cold, colder even than he was. And he’d tried to snuggle closer between her breasts, had clung to her, waiting for her to hug him back. But she didn’t. No matter how hard he’d squeezed, she didn’t. She was still. And so cold. And he began crying them, soft sobs that grew louder and louder still, until one of the other women saw what had happened. She called her man, and they pulled him from Katie O’Donal’s arms, as the great ship pitched beneath them. And Danny screamed, and closed his eyes, and pretended it was but a night terror, brought by a pookah. But it wasn’t.
    Danny O’Donal did not get his sea legs at all quickly. Fitzcairn continued to care for the young Immortal, cheerfully it seemed. He kept him clean. He fed him clear broth, when the lad could keep something on his stomach. And he woke him gently in the middle of the night, when Danny would cry out wordlessly in his sleep.
    Finally, Danny felt strong enough to be up and about. And once he was no longer captive to the slop bucket, he was increasingly impatient to reach their