First Officer Will Murdoch stared at Ransom as if he were mad. “Quarantine? But all the bills have been paid, I assure you.”
“Not a financial quarantine but a medical one, man. What is your name and rank?”
“First Officer Murdoch, sir, but there is no medical problems aboard
“We must see your captain; we must stop this ship’s voyage at once.”
“They say a murderer has boarded the ship, Will,” Lightoller said to Murdoch. “And if it’s so, it must be reported to the captain, and every crewman aboard alerted to the appearance of the miscreant so as to hunt him down, slap him in irons, and put him off with these men in Queenstown.”
“And here we are just finished boarding and are this minute weighing anchor,” began Murdoch, pacing a little, while passengers on the promenade at this level went by unaware of the danger onboard. He ended by meeting Ransom’s eye. “I can’t believe this! I saw your ship approach us in Southampton, the schooner, but we had no idea. Why didn’t you wire us?”
“Trinity has no Marconi shack—likely never will. Look at her,” he pointed to where the schooner rested alongside the pier. From the rail, each man took in Trinity’s beauty even with her sails furled. Murdoch began talking about his early days on a schooner class ship and how he missed those days. Then remembering himself, he said to Ransom, “And as for the distress flag, no one saw it in time.”
“We assumed you people ignored it.” Ransom felt a wave of panic wash over him; he hadn’t had a sip of alcohol since the day Reahall had arrested him, and he’d hoped to find drink aboard Trinity, but as it turned out, McEachern, a highly religious man, had not only sworn off drink years before, but he demanded it of every man who sailed with him, and he enforced it; as a result, not a pinch of rum or booze of any sort could be found aboard Trinity—not even in the galley for cooking. As of the day before, Alastair was entertaining the shakes as a result, and he feared himself on the verge of delirium tremens now. That would not do, not if he would to speak to the man in charge and not if he wished to be convincing.
“Do either of you officers have a flask?”
“A flask?” Lightoller was incredulous.
Murdoch handed the old constable a shiny silver flask. Ransom took a long swill from it, the brandy proving of high quality; it burned all the way down from gullet to gut. Ransom hesitantly returned the flask.
“Keep it; I have a feeling you’re going to need it,” Murdoch replied.
Lightoller frowned. “No doubt.”
“Here now,” began Murdoch, regaining himself. “You wish for us to disturb Captain Smith for an audience regarding stopping
Declan handed the autopsy photos to Murdoch, adding, “Sirs, this evidence is irrefutable and it indicates a new kind of killer—a new sort of plague unlike any seen before.”
“What sort of health plague?” challenged Dr. Murdoch. “There’re no health violations aboard this ship! No plague!”
“Contamination from a virus,” replied Thomas. “It’s serious. You must listen.”
On viewing the photos, Murdoch blanched and shoved them into Lightoller’s hands to rid himself of the unsightly things. “Murder and contamination all at once?”
“All at once, gentlemen,” Alastair addressed both officers. “Just so happens, yes, this time out.” Ransom kept up a strong voice, belying his own fears.
“Contagion indeed…” Lightoller had gone a bit white.
“But contagion we can fend off.” Murdoch acted as though manning up to it could beat any contagion. “We have the finest medical team afloat.”
“Yes, yes,” agreed Lightoller, he and Murdoch nodding at one another.
Murdoch spoke up, his voice resonating with a deep timber. “Our ship’s doctors may wish to hear of this first to assess your… your concerns.”
“Before we bother the captain with it, you see,” added Lightoller.
“You mean another petty officer?” asked Ransom. “We need to get these facts to the man in charge and now before the ship gets too far off.”
“That would be our ship’s doctor,” insisted Murdoch. “You must first see Dr. O’Laughlin.”
“Look, we haven’t time for middle men,” Declan declared.
Shakily, Ransom held a hand up to Declan. “Let me handle this, Dr. Irvin,
Dr. Coogan.”
“Awfully young to be doctors,” replied Murdoch, closely examining the Belfast interns. At the same time, Murdoch’s eyes widened to see Trinity at harbor growing smaller in the distance since
“Mr. Lightoller and half your officers look as young if not younger than Dr. Coogan and Dr. Irvin.” Ransom’s smirk spoke volumes. “How old are you, Mr. Murdoch? Twenty?”
“Thirty-four, sir,” replied Murdoch with pride.
Lightoller, a baby-faced fellow preferred to keep his age to himself, but he did say, “I’ve been sailing since a child, sir.”
“Follow me,” said Murdoch. “We’ll take the quickest route to the doctor’s clinic.”
Thomas whispered in Declan’s ear, Ransom overhearing: “Man, I hope they don’t fit us for asylum wear.”
Ransom caught up to Murdoch, clearly the man in charge at the moment. “You must take us to Captain Smith, now.”
Murdoch gritted his teeth and stood his ground. “I’ll not bring some frivolous demand over some nebulous health issue aboard to my captain when protocol to quarantine a ship must come from the man in charge of such matters—Dr. William Francis Norman O’Laughlin, Ship’s Surgeon.”
“Hold on,” said Ransom. “How many ship’s surgeons do you have?”
“I think that was one man’s name,” said Thomas. “Declan? You know so much about
“Yes, there’s Dr. O’Laughlin and an assistant surgeon,” replied Declan.
“That’d be Dr. Johnny Simpson,” said Lightoller, “and we have six nurses, two medical stewards and a state of the art hospital.” Lightoller watched Murdoch’s expression change to one of boredom as he spoke. He then quickly added, “But Mr. Murdoch is quite right. There exists rules and protocol aboard ship that demand you take your concerns to our ship’s doctor. He in turn, if so moved, takes all medical matters he feels beyond his control upstairs… to Captain Smith.”
Murdoch, looking starched, added, “This is just how it is done. Always has been, always will be.”
“All right, all right,” Ransom relented. “Perhaps your medical man has as much intellect as he has names! Obviously we are wasting time. Take us to your Ship’s Surgeon then, please!”
Ransom felt his patience at an end. He looked on the verge of striking the two younger men, regardless of his need for their good will. As Murdoch and Lightoller had them follow deeper into the belly of the ship, they found yet another lift. Behind the officers’ backs, Declan had slipped Ransom a small bottle taken from his bag. Ransom serendipitously took the laudanum which would help steady his nerves and calm his ire. Thomas, seeing this, asked, “Is there a chance we might have a brandy or shot of whiskey from the bar, Officer Lightoller?”
“Whiskey?” Murdoch spun on his heels. “Aren’t you two a bit young for spirits?”
“We are of age, sir,” promised Declan.
“In Belfast, everyone’s of age,” countered Lightoller with a smile which made them all laugh save Murdoch, who stepped onto the lift with Lightoller behind him.
Murdoch said to Lightoller, “I knew they were primitive but—”
“Twas but a joke, Will; ease up. How’ll you make it to New York at this rate, sir?”
“Ah, I see… I knew it was a joke.” Murdoch valiantly tried to make up for his lack of mirth.
The lift took them to D–deck and stopped, the brass filigree doors partimg from one another at the center. The lift opened onto a massive corridor through which they walked far too slowly for Ransom and the young surgeons. The ship had indeed pulled away from France for Queenstown—its final stop before going westward into the sun for New York and America.
