Page 124 of Valour

They walked hand in hand towards the whaling station. Towards the ramshackle clapboard houses and warehouses that seemed like an oasis in a frozen desert. Hester was sure if she blinked, it would all disappear.

“Wait. Before we go further, I can see your backside,” Hester said, fishing safety pins out of a pocket. “We cannot have the women of Stromness seeing you thus.”

She pinned him up, then added a few pins to her own trousers.

Septimus laughed, slightly unhinged. “We look a sorry state.”

“Speak for yourself, I’m sure I look ravishing.”

Septimus huffed a laugh. “Your hair is matted, and you have been wearing those same clothes for a year.”

“Still, ravishing.”

He draped an arm over her shoulder, and they staggered into the outskirts of the station, dodging the washing hanging on lines strung between the houses. Two young boys stared at them from a porch.

Hester could hardly believe she was seeing anyone other than her crew. “Hail! Where is the Master’s office?”

The two boys turned tail and fled inside the house.

“Absolutely ravishing, clearly,” Septimus said, chuckling.

Hester whacked him on the arm, her grin wide. She felt as if she were dreaming. Perhaps she was still asleep up on the glacier, and this was all happening in her mind.

An old man came walking down the dirt track. “Hello, which way to the Master’s office?” Septimus asked.

The old man stared at them, as if he’d seen the devil himself, and hurried away.

“This is not the reception I had envisioned,” Hester muttered. She had imagined flags, fanfare, people marvelling at her, perhaps being borne high up in the air.

They made their way to the wharf, and Septimus asked a sailor there, “Is Mr Sorlle here?”

“Yes.” The sailor took a step back from them, his nose wrinkled.

“We would like to see him.”

“Who are you?” the sailor asked.

Septimus said, “We have lost our ship. We came over the island.”

“Over the island?” The sailor’s tone was disbelieving. “That is impossible.”

“Fetch Sorlle.” Septimus looked ready to punch the poor man.

The sailor disappeared into the office, and moments later, another man emerged.

“Well?” Mr Sorlle was assessing them, turning the end of an impressive handlebar moustache between his fingers.

“Don’t you know me?” Septimus said.

Mr Sorlle’s eyes widened, and Hester swayed, clutching Septimus, almost sending them both over.

“I know your voice. But can it be? Lord Septimus?”

Septimus smiled.

“Come! Come inside. Tell me where you have been all this time. We thought you must surely be dead.”

Later that afternoon, after the most blissful bath she had ever had, and wearing brand new clothing so luxurious she thought she might be sick, Hester, Septimus and Mr Sorlle stood on the deck of a boat, heading fast for the curve of King Haakon Bay.