Page 112 of Atlas: The Story of Pa Salt
‘You’ve taken a fall, sir. Don’t worry, we’ll make sure you’re all right.’
I tried to stand up. ‘I... need... to get off.’
The steward held me down. ‘Easy, sir. There’s no getting off now. The next stop’s Egypt.’
I tried to resist the steward, but the exertion proved too much. ‘No, I...’ was all I managed, before my world descended into darkness.
I awoke in my cabin, a man in a tweed jacket looking over me.
‘Hello, Mr Tanit. Feeling better, are we?’
I blinked hard. ‘Yes. What’s going on?’
The man in the jacket smiled. ‘I’m Dr Lyons, the ship’s medical officer. I have to say, I didn’t expect to be called into action so early in the trip, but there we are. You had a bit of a fall on deck, Mr Tanit, do you remember that?’
‘Yes.’
The doctor took out a small torch from his pocket and shone it in my eyes. ‘It’s quite understandable, I think. You seem to have had a bit of a day of it.’ He raised an eyebrow at me. ‘The steward on your floor says that you’d asked about the captain performing a wedding?’ I nodded, still in a daze. ‘I read the note that was in your hand. Hard luck, old man. That’s very difficult to accept, I’m sure.’
A surge of dread ran through me as I recalled the eventsthat had led up to my collapse. ‘Oh no. Oh no!’ I sat bolt upright in bed.
The doctor put a comforting hand on my shoulder. ‘It’s all right, Mr Tanit. Here, take this.’ Dr Lyons offered me a pill and a glass of water. ‘It’s a mild sedative which will put you to sleep for a few hours.’
I didn’t want to sleep. ‘I need to get off this ship!’
Dr Lyons gave me a sympathetic shrug. ‘That’s not going to be possible, Mr Tanit, which is why I suggest you take the sedative. I promise you, it will make the time pass quicker.’ He practically forced the pill into my mouth, and I gulped it down. ‘There’s a good chap. That should knock you out for a while. I’ll be in to check on you later.’
Dr Lyons stood up, and before he was out of the door, my eyes had closed.
When I awoke, I turned here, to my diary, to record my final thoughts.
For the sake of my own sanity, I have to believe that my life has not been a lie, and that Elle did truly love me. As for why she didn’t board the ship... I can only surmise that she felt unable to continue her life plagued by the constant threat of Kreeg Eszu and his mission to do me harm. In this regard, who am I to blame her? Our lives have been spent living under a cloud, with the heavens threatening to open at any moment. She deserves so much more. I know that I truly love her, because in this regard I am glad.
But I know that without her, there is nothing left for me here.
And so concludes the story of Atlas Tanit, or Bo D’Aplièse, or some amalgamation of the two – however you have come to know me, reader. I will put my pen down, and walk up to the deck. I hope my Seven Sisters shine for me one final time.
I do not fear death, but I hope the process itself is relativelyquick, and that the cold of the Atlantic envelops me to save me many painful hours floating in the nothingness.
What will I do with the diamond? Should I... bequeath it to someone? Is there a way of getting it to Mr Kohler in Switzerland, perhaps for young Georg and Claudia, I wonder? But if Kreeg ever discovered its location...
I will pen a will before I jump, leaving my estate to the Hoffmans, with the proviso that the two young children are cared for. Perhaps it is best that the blasted diamond accompanies me to a watery grave. That way, it cannot cause more harm than it already has.
Before I finish these pages, something has begun to nag at me, reader. This diary begins in Paris in 1928. It is amusing to me, now, how cautious I was when penning those initial pages. I would not even record my name. Of course, such protections became moot when I was discovered by Eszu in Leipzig. If you have stuck with me this far, I believe I owe it to you to present you with the full picture of my life, and the precise events that led to the chaos which has tainted my existence.
Kreeg, if this diary ever finds you, I will, once again, address below the exact circumstances of your mother’s death. Please, I beg of you, accept that the following account is given by a man at the end of his life, with nothing to hide, and nothing to gain from lying.
Tyumen, Siberia, April 1918
On reflection, my birth was an auspicious day, not that I was aware of it at the time. The end of the Romanov dynasty caused great unre
Apologies, reader. During the writing of that sentence I was interrupted by a knock on my door – Dr Lyons, who had come to check on me. He told me that a young orphan girl named Sarah from third class had enquired about mywell-being during his visit to assess the health of the children below.
‘She was very kind to me,’ I said truthfully. Suddenly, I had a thought. I felt the diamond, still secure against my chest. ‘I would like to thank her. Would you happen to know how I get to third class?’
‘Yes, if you’re sure you want to brave it. All our orphans are in fine fettle, but I’m rather afraid that personal hygiene is not a priority for them, Mr Tanit.’
I managed a slight laugh. ‘It’s really not a problem, Dr Lyons. Which way, please?’
