Slam of the door behind him, the thing was coming after him. He turned, his face stung by the wind, and almost fell on the narrow metal steps. The thing was only a few feet away from him, those big glassy blue eyes staring at him. He ran up the steps, the wind working against him as he ran along the deserted deck.
Where was he going? How would he get away from it? He pushed open another door into a little corridor. Numbers he didn't recognize on the polished doors of the staterooms. He looked back; the thing had entered the corridor; it was pounding after him.
"Damn you." His voice was a whimper. Out on the deck again and this time the wind was so damp it was like rain. He couldn't see where he was going. He clutched the railing for a moment, looking down at the boiling grey sea.
No! Get away from the railing. He rushed along until he saw another doorway, and ducked inside again. He felt the vibration right behind him, heard the thing breathing. His gun, where the hell was his gun?
Turning, he fumbled in his pocket. The thing had hold of him. Dear God! He felt a large warm hand close over his. The gun was wrenched out of his fingers. Groaning, he slumped against the wall, but the thing held him up by his lapel, peering into his face. An ugly light flashed through the porthole of the door, illuminating the thing in irregular bursts.
PART 1 Chapter 15
"A pistol, am I correct?" the thing said to him." 1 read of it when perhaps I should have been reading of Oxford, egomania, aspirin and Marxism. It fires a small projectile of metal at high speed, as the result of intense combustion within the chamber behind the projectile. Very interesting, and useless when you are dealing with me. And were you to fire it, men would come and want to know why you did it."
"I know what you are! I know where you came from."
"Oh, you do! Then you realize that I know what you are. And what you have been up to! And I have not the slightest scruple about carrying you down to the coal furnaces which fuel this magnificent ship and feeding you to the fires which drive us now into the cold Atlantic."
Henry's body convulsed. With every muscle he struggled, but he could not free himself from the hand that now locked on his shoulder, gently crushing the bones.
"Listen to me, foolish one." The thing drew in closer. He could feel its breath on his face." Harm Julie and I shall do it. Make Julie cry and I shall do it! Make Julie frown and I shall do it! For the sake of Julie's peace of mind, you live. There is nothing more to it. Remember what I say."
The hand released him. He slumped towards the floor, only catching himself before he actually fell. He gritted his teeth, his eyes closing as he felt the warm stickiness inside his pants, and smelled his own waste. His bowels had cut loose.
The thing stood there, its face veiled in shadow as it studied the gun which it held out to the grey light from the porthole in the door. Then it pocketed the gun and turned on its heel and left him.
A wave of sickness rose; he saw blackness.
When he awoke he was crouched in the corner of the passage. No one had passed, it seemed. Trembling, dizzy, he climbed to his feet and made his way to his stateroom. And once there he stood over the small toilet vomiting up the contents of his stomach. Only then did he strip off his soiled clothes.
She was crying when he came in. She had sent Rita off to supper with the other servants on board. He did not even knock. He opened the door and slipped inside. She wouldn't look at him.
She pressed her handkerchief to her eyes, but her crying wouldn't stop.
"I'm sorry, my Queen. My gentle Queen. Believe me, I am." When she looked up she saw the sadness in his face. He stood helplessly before her, the lamp behind him filling the edges of his brown hair with an uneven golden light.
"Let it be for now, Ramses," she said desperately." I can't bear it, the knowledge that he did it. Let it be, I beg you. I only want us to be in Egypt together."