ostentatiously—and fell in, to hoots of derision. Tom laughed for the first time since Will’s death.
Dr. Harker put a hand on his shoulder. “That’s a view that always sets my heart to racing, Tom,” he said. He was looking past the commotion below at the mass of ships at anchor, their masts like a forest. “The sights those ships have seen, lad: islands of ice in the cold northern seas, the pyramids of old Egypt, the temples of India—a world of wonders. Oh, Tom, would that I were a young man again, I’d sail on the next tide.”
“You’re not so old, Dr. Harker,” said Tom, smiling.
“Thank you for that, young Marlowe, but I fear my traveling days are behind me. When my wife was alive, I could not wait to return. Now that she is dead, I have lost the urge to go. Strange, isn’t it? But wherever I went, I brought something back for her, something I thought would amuse her. Without her, traveling seems somehow less important. She was a marvelous woman, Tom. She would have been very fond of you, I’m sure.”
“And I of her, I hope,” said Tom.
“You must remember what your father lost when your mother passed away, Tom,” Dr. Harker went on. “I know that loss and the pain of it.”
“Yes,” said Tom. “I know it. I just wish he could... I don’t know...”
“Be more like your mother?” suggested Dr. Harker.
Tom smiled. “Did you know my mother, Dr. Harker?” he asked.
“I did not have that pleasure, Tom, sadly.”
Tom looked off into the distance. “Sometimes . . . ,” he said with a slight choke in his voice. “Sometimes I can hardly remember what she looked like.”
Dr. Harker put an arm round Tom’s shoulder. He looked back toward the ships and sighed. “It doesn’t matter if you forget her face, Tom. She’s in your heart, lad. Even when I sailed away for months at a time, my Mary was always here,” he said, patting his chest. “And she still is.”
“I wish I could sail away sometimes,” said Tom. “You’ve done so much, Doctor, and I’ve done nothing. I’ve been nowhere. And I’ll
never
do anything or go anywhere.”
“Come now, Tom. You’re young yet, surely.”
“But that’s just it,” said Tom. “I’m young. Too young. My father would never let me go. And he needs me. He relies on me.”
Dr. Harker sighed again. “Here’s my wings clipped by age and yours by youth. But still, if our wings have been clipped, there are worse perches than this, eh, Tom?” The two of them looked out, a breeze at their backs, out past the merchant fleet and the Tower of London to the river snaking its way out to sea.
Tom agreed, and they continued on their way.
They stepped off the bridge and walked along by the river, both a little nervous to be such a long way from their usual haunts. They had not gone very far before they both became aware that they were being followed.
Dr. Harker turned to face their stalker. “I have a sword!” he said grandly.
It was Ocean. “I see you’re still keeping that sword warm, Dr. Harker,” he said with a grin. “But I was thinking as how you might be needing a little company on this here jaunt.”
“We would appreciate that,” said Dr. Harker, smiling.
Ocean led them along the waterfront to a building that leaned at such a precarious angle, it looked likely to fall into the Thames at any moment. Plaster had fallen from the brickwork here and there, and a hole as big as a handcart gaped in the roof.
“Here we are, gents,” said Ocean, pointing to the grimy sign above their heads. “The Ten-Killed Cat.”
An open doorway revealed a steep flight of stairs tumbling down into a basement. Tobacco smoke and the sound of a woman’s tuneless singing rose from below and the three of them gingerly walked down to meet it.
It took a little while for Tom’s eyes to adjust to the gloom. The gin cellar was filled with the smell of sweat and perfume and smoke and the sound of whispering and drunken laughter. The singing they had
Dr. Harker put a hand on his shoulder. “That’s a view that always sets my heart to racing, Tom,” he said. He was looking past the commotion below at the mass of ships at anchor, their masts like a forest. “The sights those ships have seen, lad: islands of ice in the cold northern seas, the pyramids of old Egypt, the temples of India—a world of wonders. Oh, Tom, would that I were a young man again, I’d sail on the next tide.”
“You’re not so old, Dr. Harker,” said Tom, smiling.
“Thank you for that, young Marlowe, but I fear my traveling days are behind me. When my wife was alive, I could not wait to return. Now that she is dead, I have lost the urge to go. Strange, isn’t it? But wherever I went, I brought something back for her, something I thought would amuse her. Without her, traveling seems somehow less important. She was a marvelous woman, Tom. She would have been very fond of you, I’m sure.”
“And I of her, I hope,” said Tom.
“You must remember what your father lost when your mother passed away, Tom,” Dr. Harker went on. “I know that loss and the pain of it.”
“Yes,” said Tom. “I know it. I just wish he could... I don’t know...”
“Be more like your mother?” suggested Dr. Harker.
Tom smiled. “Did you know my mother, Dr. Harker?” he asked.
“I did not have that pleasure, Tom, sadly.”
Tom looked off into the distance. “Sometimes . . . ,” he said with a slight choke in his voice. “Sometimes I can hardly remember what she looked like.”
Dr. Harker put an arm round Tom’s shoulder. He looked back toward the ships and sighed. “It doesn’t matter if you forget her face, Tom. She’s in your heart, lad. Even when I sailed away for months at a time, my Mary was always here,” he said, patting his chest. “And she still is.”
“I wish I could sail away sometimes,” said Tom. “You’ve done so much, Doctor, and I’ve done nothing. I’ve been nowhere. And I’ll
never
do anything or go anywhere.”
“Come now, Tom. You’re young yet, surely.”
“But that’s just it,” said Tom. “I’m young. Too young. My father would never let me go. And he needs me. He relies on me.”
Dr. Harker sighed again. “Here’s my wings clipped by age and yours by youth. But still, if our wings have been clipped, there are worse perches than this, eh, Tom?” The two of them looked out, a breeze at their backs, out past the merchant fleet and the Tower of London to the river snaking its way out to sea.
Tom agreed, and they continued on their way.
They stepped off the bridge and walked along by the river, both a little nervous to be such a long way from their usual haunts. They had not gone very far before they both became aware that they were being followed.
Dr. Harker turned to face their stalker. “I have a sword!” he said grandly.
It was Ocean. “I see you’re still keeping that sword warm, Dr. Harker,” he said with a grin. “But I was thinking as how you might be needing a little company on this here jaunt.”
“We would appreciate that,” said Dr. Harker, smiling.
Ocean led them along the waterfront to a building that leaned at such a precarious angle, it looked likely to fall into the Thames at any moment. Plaster had fallen from the brickwork here and there, and a hole as big as a handcart gaped in the roof.
“Here we are, gents,” said Ocean, pointing to the grimy sign above their heads. “The Ten-Killed Cat.”
An open doorway revealed a steep flight of stairs tumbling down into a basement. Tobacco smoke and the sound of a woman’s tuneless singing rose from below and the three of them gingerly walked down to meet it.
It took a little while for Tom’s eyes to adjust to the gloom. The gin cellar was filled with the smell of sweat and perfume and smoke and the sound of whispering and drunken laughter. The singing they had
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