The Map of the Sky (7 page)

“If you are engaged in some other activity, then you could have fooled me,” Reynolds replied sarcastically.

MacReady gave a disdainful laugh.

“I don’t think you’ve quite understood the situation, Reynolds. Let me explain it to you. Being stuck in the ice in this godforsaken place isn’t our only problem. Do you know what those sporadic groans are that wake us up at night? That’s the ice, Reynolds. The accursed ice, slowly crushing our poor ship so that when it finally releases her, assuming it
does, her hull will be so damaged she’ll probably no longer be seaworthy. That’s the exact situation. I haven’t told my men because I don’t want to alarm them, although I imagine most of them suspect that those groans don’t bode well. But since you are in charge of this expedition, I thought you ought to know. And what can we do about it? I’ll tell you before you ask: we can abandon ship and cross the frozen sea until we reach the coast, taking with us the team of dogs, the provisions, the lifeboats, and at least two iron stoves with enough coal to keep us from freezing along the way. Tell me, does that strike you as a plan that could succeed?”

Reynolds made no reply. Naturally, this suggestion struck him as crazy. No one knew for certain how far the coast was or in what direction, and traipsing blindly across that landscape bristling with icy peaks, which they would have to circumnavigate with their loaded sleds, would only exhaust them. Except for that crazy plan, the only one Reynolds could think of was crazier still. He had heard that, in similar situations, some captains had ordered their men to build makeshift camps on a block of ice and then let those improvised vessels be pushed by the currents, although the number of times a far-fetched plan of this sort had actually worked could be counted on the fingers of one hand. The storm-wracked waves and winds had drowned the rest, without the slightest sympathy for those amusing examples of human ingenuity. Reynolds did not dare even mention this option to MacReady. Perhaps it was preferable to stay in the shelter of the ship and just drink rum while they waited for something—anything—to happen. But he did not intend to simply do nothing while awaiting a miracle. It was preposterous to come all that way and not explore the area.

“What about the mission?” Reynolds asked, at the risk of angering the captain. “I see no reason why we cannot proceed with it. It might be the best way to cope with the boredom, which I am sure you know can quickly turn to madness.”

“Oh, yes . . . your mission,” MacReady responded sardonically. “Your attempt to find the opening that leads to the center of the Earth, which
you believe is inhabited and illuminated by a sun smaller than our own, or is it two suns?”

Hearing MacReady scoff at his ideas, Reynolds could not help being reminded of his partner Symmes and the laughter they had endured during their exhausting lecture tour concerning the Hollow Earth.

“Believe it or not, Captain, that is the aim of this expedition,” Reynolds replied, undeterred.

MacReady let out a guffaw that echoed across the white desert.

“Your naïveté is touching, Reynolds. Do you really believe the aim of this expedition is that altruistic? Mr. Watson of the Scientific Corps doesn’t give a fig about finding your entrance to the Earth’s core.”

“What are you implying?” the explorer demanded.

The captain smiled contemptuously.

“We didn’t organize all this to prove or disprove your ludicrous theory, Reynolds. Our sponsor wants what all the world powers want: to determine the strategic importance of the last unconquered territory.”

The explorer looked at the captain with feigned disbelief, while smiling to himself contentedly. With these last words, MacReady had confirmed that he had taken the bait. Reynolds knew that John Frampton Watson believed wholeheartedly in his Hollow Earth theory, as did the politicians, the government institutions secretly supporting them, and the handful of private backers who preferred to remain anonymous. But they had all decided to be cautious and to conceal their true aims, at least for the time being. If the expedition turned out to be a disaster, Reynolds would be the only one publicly disgraced, mocked, and humiliated. Those who remained in the shadows, on the other hand, stood to lose only a few dollars: they could wash their hands of the matter, claiming they had quite different aims, that they had never given that poor lunatic much credit and had simply used him for their own ends. As things stood, it was preferable not to let the public think they were wasting money on such reckless ventures. And Reynolds had accepted the role of scapegoat in exchange for a confidential agreement. If he succeeded in
finding that other world, which he was convinced he would, his dreams of wealth and glory would be amply fulfilled, for tucked away in his lawyers’ safe was a document, inspired by the Capitulations of Santa Fe between Christopher Columbus and the Catholic monarchs, stating that Reynolds would be named admiral viceroy and governor general of all the land discovered beneath the Earth’s crust, as well as receive a tenth of any riches found in the conquered territories. So MacReady could carry on thinking Reynolds was a puppet manipulated by obscure masters. Actually, it was preferable: the less the captain knew the better. Reynolds did not trust MacReady. In fact, he did not trust anyone: the world was full of men who had usurped the discoveries of others, stealing all the glory for themselves and dooming the true pioneers to obscurity. Reynolds did not want to run that risk. Thus the more stupid MacReady thought he was, the greater the advantage Reynolds had over him.

The captain observed Reynolds’s silence with a mocking smile, awaiting a response. Having confirmed his role as naïve idealist, Reynolds was about to say something else about the businessman when a huge noise from the sky shook the earth beneath them. Reynolds and MacReady looked up, stunned. The other members of the crew also gazed at the sky, convinced the thunderous roar could only mean that it was falling in on them.

If the flying saucer had managed to impress a man like Wells, with his vast scientific knowledge and an imagination capable of dreaming up similar artifacts, imagine the fright it must have given that handful of rough sailors as it suddenly appeared on the horizon. It hurtled toward them, passing above their horrified heads and deafening them before disappearing toward the distant mountains, leaving behind a thin slash of light on the dark stain of the sky. They had only been able to see it clearly when it flew over them, but evidently none of them understood what the huge, flat, circular object was that seemed to spin on its own axis as it thundered through the air. Shortly after it disappeared behind the frozen peaks, they heard a tremendous bang, as though a tenton object, possibly made of iron or some equally heavy material, had
crashed into the ice. It was a couple of minutes before the echo from the collision died away. When it did, the ensuing silence felt intolerable, as if they were all submerged at the bottom of the ocean. Only then did MacReady dare to speak.

“What the d-devil was that . . . ?” he stammered, not bothering to hide his bewilderment.

“My God, I’ve no idea . . . A meteorite, I imagine,” Reynolds replied, his mystified gaze fixed on the distant ridge.

“I don’t think so,” someone disagreed.

It was a skinny sailor by the name of Griffin. Reynolds wheeled round and looked at him curiously, surprised by the conviction with which the man had contradicted him.

“Its path was too . . . erratic,” the sailor explained, somewhat uncomfortable at feeling all eyes suddenly upon him. “When it reached the mountains it turned sharply and tried to gain height, as though wishing to avoid the fatal collision.”

“What are you trying to say?” asked MacReady, who was not one for riddles.

Griffin turned to the captain and answered his question, a little hesitantly. “Well, it looked as though someone was trying to guide it in a particular direction, Captain. As though it was being . . . steered.”

“Steered?” MacReady exclaimed.

Griffin nodded.

“He’s right, Captain. That’s what it looked like to me, too,” agreed Wallace, one of the other sailors.

MacReady looked at Griffin without saying anything, trying to digest what he had just heard. Alarmed by the noise, the rest of the men still aboard the
Annawan
had descended the ramp and were gathering round their fellow crew members, asking what had happened.

“Perhaps it is some kind of . . . flying object,” Griffin ventured, ignoring the others and addressing the captain, who was deep in thought.

The sailor’s assertion surprised Reynolds. A flying object? But what sort of object might that be? he wondered. Not a balloon, clearly. It had
crossed the sky at a devilish rate, as though something was propelling it, although he had seen no steam engine attached to it. Looking more like the statue of an explorer, Captain MacReady surveyed the distant mountains as if he were planning to build a house there.

“Well, there’s only one way to find out,” he declared at last. “We shall go to where it fell.”

With a rush of energy, as though he had suddenly remembered he was the captain of the ship, he studied his men, called out a list of names, and within seconds had organized a search party. He left Lieutenant Blair in command of the
Annawan
and of the remaining sailors. Then he gave the explorer another of his condescending smiles.

“You’re welcome to join us if you wish, Reynolds. Perhaps we’ll come across your hole on the way.”

Reynolds did not deign to respond to the gibe. He bobbed his head as if to say yes, then followed the other men aboard to kit himself out with everything needed for a journey across the ice. Reynolds attempted to ignore the wave of heat from the stoves and kitchen that hit him as he descended to the lower deck. He dodged the confusion of beds and hammocks and, guided by the faint light of the lanterns, managed to reach the narrow passageway leading to the officers’ quarters. Once inside his cramped dwelling, dimly lit by the pale rays filtering through the porthole, Reynolds cast a melancholy eye over the uncomfortable room where he now spent his days: the built-in bunk with its lumpy horsehair mattress, the tiny desk, the table and two stools, the armchair he had insisted on bringing from home, the small larder, containing mainly bottles of brandy and a couple of cheeses, the washbasin in the corner, its water now frozen, and a few shelves lined with books, which he scarcely dared displace, for he had discovered a new use for the great classics that had never occurred to him before: as insulation from the cold on the other side of the wall. As soon as he was properly outfitted, Reynolds went back on deck.

Twenty minutes later, the men MacReady had picked were outside on the ice once more, warmly wrapped up, armed, and accompanied by
a couple of sleds and a handful of dogs. In addition to Reynolds and the captain himself, the group consisted of Doctor Walker, Gunnery Sergeant Allan, and seven ordinary seamen with whom Reynolds scarcely had any association: Griffin, Wallace, Foster, Carson, Shepard, Ringwald, and the Indian Peters. After making sure they were all present, MacReady gestured energetically in the direction of the mountains, and without further ado the group set off.

III

D
URING THE JOURNEY,
R
EYNOLDS AVOIDED POSITIONING
himself next to the captain, although that was the most appropriate place for him. He did not want to be drawn into a verbal battle with MacReady while they crossed the ice, so he deliberately hung back, until he found himself walking beside Griffin, the scrawny sailor whose remarks had aroused his curiosity. He remembered that Griffin had signed up for the
Annawan
at the last moment, when the ship’s crew was already complete, overcoming MacReady’s misgivings with his insistence on joining the discovery team and proving that not only was he genuinely passionate about the voyage but also able to surmount obstacles, including a boorish, stubborn captain. But, Reynolds wondered, why was it so important to Griffin to be there now, in that freezing cold?

“I think you’re right, Griffin,” he said as they drew level. “No doubt we will find some kind of flying machine in those mountains.”

Griffin was surprised that the man leading the expedition, who scarcely fraternized with the sailors, should address him in the tone of someone wanting to engage in pleasant chitchat. Visibly awkward, Griffin simply nodded his head, reduced to a ball of kerchiefs and scarves with a frozen nose and mustache poking out. But Reynolds was not put off by his reticence and resolved to strike up a conversation with the mysterious sailor, whether he liked it or not.

“Why were you so keen on joining our expedition, Griffin?” he asked him outright. “Do you believe in my Hollow Earth theory?”

The sailor looked at him for a moment, aghast. His thin mustache was caked with frost, and it occurred to Reynolds that when they returned to the ship, Griffin would have no choice but to chop off the frozen hair. This was precisely why Reynolds himself insisted on continuing to shave, even though he had to do it with a basin of melted ice. Clearly Griffin preferred not to put himself through that torture every morning.

“The idea is very poetic, sir,” the sailor replied at last.

“Very poetic, yes . . . But you don’t believe it,” Reynolds deduced, looking askance at Griffin. “I suppose like all the others you are here because of the money. But in that case, tell me why you were so keen to come aboard the
Annawan.
The wages are the same on any other ship, possibly higher, and the conditions less dangerous.”

Griffin, who seemed increasingly upset about being questioned, reflected for a moment before replying.

“I needed to board a ship that offered no guarantee of return, sir,” he said at last.

Reynolds was unable to conceal his confusion. He recalled the advertisement MacReady had posted in the various New York newspapers in order to attract recruits, which when he had read it had made his blood run cold:

Crewmen wanted for Antarctic expedition in search of the passage to the center of the Earth. Perilous conditions: extreme cold and constant risk. No guarantee of return. Honor, fame, and a handsome bonus if the mission is successful.