Page 28 of A Most Abhorrent Vessel

“I appreciate your help, regardless.” I take the tray from my legs and place it between us on the settee, the leftover meal utterly useless to me now.

“I would give you more, but I’m afraid it would only sustain you for mere moments. My ichor is not limitless.”

“I couldn’t ask this of you,” I say.

“There must be another way. An explanation. Something.” He lets out a frustrated huff.

“I wondered this, too. I live a rather simple and dull life. I did nothing extraordinary when it started.”

“Your life doesn’t seem very dull to me,” he says, the quirk returning to his lips.

I appreciate his attempt at levity, but it offers no comfort.

“Would you describe what you did leading up to this change?” he asks. “Perhaps, I can discern something that you might have overlooked.”

“The day before I first felt unlike myself, I went on a small excursion. Like I’ve done countless times.”

“An excursion? What was its purpose?”

“I like to dig,” I say sheepishly.

He lifts an eyebrow.

“It was only for a day. About two hours west.”

I try to act nonchalant, but Moreau looks as if he’s expecting a proper explanation. How can I put it in a way that doesn’t make me sound barmy?

“I like to dig. Sometimes I hope to discover something. Anything really. Artifacts, perhaps. But I’ve never found any.”

“Fascinating,” he says, leaning closer, making me feel like my words matter.

“Well, I—” Everything shifts, and I have to grip the Chesterfield. With my other hand, I push against my temple.

“Are you unwell?”

“I… Something is changing,” I say, unable to describe the strange sensation surging through me.

“Do you need to repose?” Moreau’s hand finds my shoulder.

“No. I think I’m alright,” I try to reassure him.

He watches me for a moment before he speaks again. “Please, continue. You mentioned you’ve never found anything. Not even that day?”

“Well…no, but…it was really just a stick,” I shrug.

“A stick? What manner of stick?”

“At first, it was so crusted in soil that I couldn’t discern that it was a simple stick. So I took it home. Once cleaned, I saw it was just a petrified twig. Not anything of note.”

“Have you considered it might be more?”

I look at his hand, which remains on my shoulder. Even though I am still quite translucent, he must notice me glancing at it, because he takes it back and places it in his lap.

“No. If you were to see it, you would understand.”

“Could I see?” he asks.

“Well, yes, but…you must know, I have staff. They are quite concerned, and I wouldn’t know how to explain your presence without mine.”