Page 41 of The Ambiguous Enigma of the Hunted Lady
“Well, yes actually.” Kenneth realized why he had entered the book store. “Frankenstein, do you have it?”
“But, of course.” the bookseller smiled wide. “Not too many people around here asking for it, though.”
“No, I don't doubt that.” Kenneth smiled.
“Have you read it, Your Grace?” the vendor went to a shelf nearby and retrieved a copy ofFrankenstein, or The Modern Prometheus.
“I cannot say that I have.” Kenneth replied, taking the novel in his hands.
“A wonderful read, truly.” The old man shook his head with bewilderment. “Whoever wrote it has done something special here, something new, but the snobs about town won't look past the subject material, if you don't mind me saying, Your Grace.”
“Not at all.” Kenneth paid for the novel. “The snobs tend not to like me much regardless.” He winked to the bookseller, tipped his hat, and went back into the street.
Kenneth went back to the office with the novel, which in all truth was three novels, tucked clumsily into his vest pocket, protected against whatever elements decided to show their face that day.
Upon rejoining his uncle, the two of them took their places in the conference chamber. They sat at a long, polished table in front of the room. Facing them were several other tables, set up almost like a courthouse, where the captain of the lost vessel would present his testimony. Officials from the East India Company were also present.
“In the matter of the merchant seamanEsmeralda, we shall hear testimony to determine the legitimacy of this claim.” Cornelius announced after clearing his throat. Thompson, the clerk, sat by with pen and paper as a scribe, to record every word said.
“Captain Bowridge, were you in command of theEsmeraldaon the day she was stove?”
“I was, Lord Wilson.” the gruff seaman responded. He had clearly been combed for the occasion by his employers and stood out clearly as a man accustomed to hard labor in comparison to the other occupants of the room.
“And what was the cause of this event?” Cornelius asked. “In your professional opinion.”
“Sunk by a storm, Lord Wilson, off the Horn.”
“And you are in fact referring to Cape Horn in Southern Africa, is this correct?”
“Yes, Lord Wilson. It's a right nasty bit of water down there, always a hardship.”
“How many times have you made the journey around the horn, Captain Bowridge?” Cornelius asked.
“This would have been my eighth trip round, Lord Wilson.”
“And what was different, this eighth time?” Kenneth asked. His uncle glanced over, evidently surprised to hear Kenneth speak in this setting.
Kenneth was surprised as well. Usually he sat by and absorbed everything said, watching patiently from the table, imaging Krakens and Sea Serpents writhing up out of the depths and dragging match box vessels down to darkness.
But today he chose to speak. Perhaps it was his conversation with the Marquess, perhaps it was the controversial novel in his possession, perhaps it was Leah's intense stare boring down into him constantly, haunting him like a ghost with no specific purpose, or perhaps it was a little bit of all of it, that caused Kenneth to include himself in the proceedings.
“Bad weather, Your Grace.” the sailor went on. “Worse than I ever seen. Kept us stuck against the coast for a week.”
“Why did you not put into port to avoid the storm?” the Duke went on.
“At the time, Your Grace, that was impossible.”
“And so, what did you do?”
“We made a run for the turn in a lapse of weather, Your Grace, but we couldn't make it.”
“Describe the events of the capsizing.” Cornelius said, reasserting control over the hearing.
“Made a run Sou' by Sou' West, Lord, through the gales come up from Nor' East. We were pullin' on maybe fifteen knots, couldn't keep her on course, wind was whippin' us every which way, and I–” Kenneth saw the captain catch himself, choking back what may have been a tear, or a howl of frustration. “I couldn't keep her on the way she was supposed to, we was dodging the icebergs, see, and I saw a big flash, I mean a real great flash of lightning come up, lights up the whole sky, the whole sea, everything, I tell you. Then I see it in that light, the rogue wave coming up starboard broadside. The Lord gave us that one last glimpse I suppose, just to hold onto somethin'. Wave took us over, Lord, wave took us over,” he trailed off, staring down at the table made of planks before him. “The wave took us over, and the ship was lost.” he concluded firmly.
“How was it that you came to survive, Captain? How many of your crew are accounted for?” Cornelius asked.
“She hit against some icebergs under water, broke all to pieces.” the sailor struggled to recount. “Some of us, we was able to hold onto some of it. Others got some of the skiffs unhooked before the wave. They picked me up in a skiff, we made a fire on an iceberg, waited for the storm to end. When it did, rowed out to the first ship we seen coming through the lane.”
