Day 9 at Sea: Passengers

Why scientists make poor shipmates

The Paranormal Dinner Club is a work of fiction told in dispatches from The Invisible Man’s assistant and brother back to him.

New to the project? You can find a Table of Contents here.

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Brother,

We’re through the storm. It was a long night and day, but the captain and crew have done this before and have carried us through none the worse for wear. We are finally nearing the island.

After our last pickup in Africa, there are 22 “guests” in total on the ship in addition to the crew. I find myself in snatches of conversation with each one of them at different times and struggle to keep track of who is who. The difficulty is that they expect me to know who they are—and of course I pretend I do.

— “I’m Dr. Hoskins, biologist, of the recent study that caused a bit of a stir…”

— “Of course,” I said, and had no idea what paper he was referring to.

— “And I’m Dr. Lemmings, anthropologist, recently returned.”

— “Welcome back!” I said, and had no idea where he had returned from.

And so on.

They are experts of various fields—astronomy, biology, botany, medical science. One of the foremost experts in paleontology is onboard as is a deputy minister from England and he is a distant nobleman of some fashion or other.

Due to my age, they never know whether to treat me as a scientist myself or an assistant of some kind or part of the crew. I can feel them running their eyes across my face and struggling to place it. (I’m sure you’d know them, brother, and they’d know you.) My face is just similar enough to yours to give them pause, I think. It, at least, keeps them from ordering me around like the poor crew.

As you’ve pointed out before, if I dress like a child I can pass for 12 or 13, but if I dress like a man in a smart jacket and bowler hat I can pass for 25 or 30. But here, dressed in short sleeves and casual pants, I look like what I am—a gangly teenager of 16 years with an unruly mop of hair.

My American accent doesn’t help matters either. You know how easily our cousins across the pond in Europe dismiss us. It doesn’t matter that we moved to England at an early age, or that we spent our childhood in English schools, or that we feel as European as anything else. I know it took twice as much for even someone of your intellect, brother, to distinguish himself among this sort. On the ship here I’ve seen more than one eyebrow raise as my accent comes through.

But not socializing much onboard is for the best in the end. I’m coming to realize that scientists, as a whole, are not a fun sort of people to share a long ocean voyage with. There’s not much in the way of entertainment other than lofty debates and squabbles about papers. Nor are scientists an attractive sort of person—mostly lots of bald spots, round middles, and weak arms.

Yet, there are some who are of interest. Edmond Cagely, for example, the famed African Explorer. His square jaw and cold gaze would strike fear into the fiercest of creatures. His mustache is loose and bushy and seems to be a wild animal itself. He doesn’t say much but when he does it’s in a low baritone and he makes each word count.

When asked who he is — “Cagely.”

When asked what he aims to offer the expedition — “Experience.”

When asked if he’s enjoying the journey — “We’ll see in the end, won’t we.”

A man’s man, as they say.

As I talked to Cagely today I began to wonder—was he the man I saw watching the castaway of the life-raft come aboard? The one who kept him from escaping? I dare not ask.

There are few women on board. There are two lab assistants and only one female scientist who seems all spectacles and little actual face. The crew has afforded them what comforts can be provided onboard as well as a separate sleeping area.

Oh, and there is one more girl.

Have you heard of a Sir Van Helsing? I’ve gathered he’s a distant bit of Anglo-Franco royalty mixed up in the blood of the Netherlands. Quite a mysterious figure apparently, dangerous too, and a collector of strange artifacts. Well, his daughter is here. I assumed her to be a reporter because onboard she mostly wears a smart jacket and is perpetually either taking notes or referencing her collection of notebooks.

Yet, when I inquired what her role is in all this, she was quite mysterious.

“Oh you know—a bit of herbology, a bit of history, a dash of occult expertise—the normal. Or perhaps rather, the paranormal.”

“Ah!” I said, “Of course.”

I couldn’t tell if she was joking or not.

“Of course?” she replied. “That’s your response? That doesn’t strike you as odd?”

She looked all of 16 or 17 but had the poise of a much older woman.

“I mean, yes that’s odd,” I said, “But not that you are odd—I mean that the paranormal thing is odd—or it could be—or your comment about it might be—at least—could be seen as odd…”

I trailed off and swallowed hard, picking up a book and pretending to peruse it. I glanced at the cover only to discover I’d picked up The Mating Rituals of Dung Beetles Described and Examined, Part One.

Then she laughed. Her laugh was so unexpected, you know, coming from under those sharp eyebrows. And not disagreeable.

“Even I think what I do is odd,” she said. “I’m sure you yourself do something perfectly normal.”

“Actually, what I do is quite odd as well.”

“And that is…”

“I am a research assistant of a sort,” I said running my hand through my hair nervously, trying to think of what to say without divulging too much. “I track down difficult-to-obtain items for my employer. Some of them end up being quite…a challenge to locate. I’ve seen some very odd things and done some very odd things. So you’re not—you know—alone in that. The oddness I mean.”

She smiled and returned to her book. But she said from behind the pages:

“Odd people tend to be the most interesting. I’m glad of the company.”

Then she disappeared into her notebooks again.

But back to matters at hand—I’m continuing preparations of my instruments. Your instruments. They should be ready by the time we arrive if a demonstration is required. I’m taking every precaution and care, so you need not worry.

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Thanks for reading. This is a work of fiction in process with help from readers. Have an idea, question, or suggestion? Comment below. Know a friend who might like this too? Forward it along.