Titanic Sinking: Episode 1

  * * *

  The boy had only just left the square when a man of similar wealth and status to Mr. Hornsby and stood nearby. If Hornsby was the smiling showman of the duo, the other was clearly the grim businessman.

  “Success?” the newcomer asked.

  Mr. Hornsby answered. “Yes, our estimations of the boy’s enthusiasm were entirely accurate. If anything, he may be even more excited than we expected.”

  “And you believe he has the potential to do what’s needed?”

  “Of course. Even if he would never admit it to himself, his lust for power and life is evident in his eyes. He is hungry for recognition.”

  The men discussed the matter as if it were no more important than a game of chess between old friends. A young man’s life hung in the balance, and their indifference was, quite frankly, alarming.

  “We should find a contingency plan while we are here in town in case your suggestion dries up,” the other man said, observing the few farmers on their way back from the market. The passersby gawked for an uncomfortable few seconds as they walked past, but, to their credit, they did not try to make conversation with men who were clearly in a different social standing.

  Mr. Hornsby smiled at the suggestion. “You’re certainly welcome to try to recruit another legitimate candidate from this cesspool, but you’ll quickly find young Mr. Stevens to be our only viable option.”

  Hornsby stepped over and sat down at the edge of a fountain. “We’ll begin training tomorrow in earnest, so we’ll need to make sure the facilities are ready.”

  “That’s all been taken care of. I’ve secured a building for appearance’s sake, and our teams will have the necessary corridors and lifts in place by morning.”

  “Excellent.”

  Mr. Hornsby looked around with that same predatory smile and watched the townsfolk pass by. “Our work today has set in motion events that will create a lasting impression on the history of this planet. To think that it’s beginning here in this tiny backwater town. Amazing.”

  3.

  My dreams became mere flashes after that moment. I watched as the boy sat through lecture after lecture from the tall man who had originally doubted Edward’s potential. At one point, the boy referred to the teacher as “Master Whitman,” I believe.

  No matter how many scenes of the boy growing into a man I saw, my dreams constantly returned to those secretive training sessions between Stevens and his mentors.

  I am not at all versed in the ways of the seas, so nautical terminology bounces off my understanding. In alternating sessions, each man showed the boy specific skill sets that I had never heard of from the few sailors I’ve known, and I would wager captains employed by Her Majesty’s fleets would not even know.

  The one called Whitman seemed particularly interested in sharing information about the stars. He claimed time and again that Stevens would be able to pilot a ship by the stars alone if he could understand them clearly enough. When Stevens questioned the importance of the teaching with all of the modern innovations in technology, Whitman scoffed and called the Navy’s nautical gear ludicrous quite a few times, though he himself was supposedly British-born.

  It was in these transitional glimpses that I saw things that my mind still cannot accept as real. In some of the glimpses of the tutor’s office, the boy seemed to be merely sitting through another lecture, yet in other moments, he stood in the middle of the room as though piloting a ship. In my dream, I could see the ship he supposedly captained and the water he sailed upon.

  I don’t know if it was a trick of my mind, or if these tutors used some dark art to cast spells of fake reality. Whichever reason for the false sea in the middle of a house located in the middle of our nation, I began to understand that there was something quite unnatural about the “men” who worked with young Stevens.