Chapter 118 – Ghost Ship (3)

“My apologies. I was lost in thought, so I was startled without meaning to. By the way, are you the captain?”

“Yes. I am the captain of this ship, Edward Smith. May I ask what you were thinking about? If it’s a long story, we can go over there to the lounge, if you don’t mind. How about it?”

With that, the bearded Captain Smith points toward the direction where I had been earlier. I have no reason to refuse.

“By all means. But Captain Smith, aren’t you busy?”

“Unless an accident occurs, my only job is to listen to the passengers like this. Besides, this Titanic is an unsinkable ship, built with the latest technology. Even if I were to drown myself in liquor and fall asleep, it would still arrive safely in New York.”

He declares this boldly and lets out a hearty “Wah-hah-hah!” His voice is so loud it sounds as if he’s addressing the people in the restaurant rather than me, and the guests also listen intently to Captain Smith’s ‘speech.’ It feels as if I’m watching a scene from a movie.
Though I’m a little put off by the theatricality of it all, I let myself be guided by his words—”Now, this way”—and move into the lounge next door.

There, Captain Smith orders the boy in the room to “bring some drinks and something light,” and courteously offers me a seat, treating me as a lady should be treated.

“Now then, before the drinks arrive, may I hear your story?”

He suddenly begins like that. And I feel as though he is looking at me with some sort of expectation in his eyes.
I want to believe it’s just my imagination, but the “pressure” is far too strong.

So, while making sure not to be overpowered, I speak my thoughts.

“Yes. I said I was lost in thought, but what’s on my mind is how long this ship will stay afloat. It would be troubling if I couldn’t return.”

“Ha-ha-ha! What an amusing thing to say. In just a day and a half, the passengers, yourself included, will have disembarked, leaving only us crew on board. At that point, you won’t need to worry about whether the ship is still afloat.”

(Hmm, he’s not taking the bait. Does that mean this man is innocent? Well, let’s keep going.)

“Indeed, you’re right. I apologize for saying something strange. But it does concern me. After all, that was what came out in a fortune-telling.”

“A fortune-telling, that this ship will sink? By the way, how, and when exactly, did it say the ship would sink?”

“Just before today’s date changes, when the moon reaches its zenith, a great calamity will strike this ship, and by the time the church bells toll for matins, the ship will perish along with many offerings.”

“Hmm.” Captain Smith mutters this, then after thinking for a moment, speaks.

“That’s quite specific, but the crucial part is vague. Do you not know what this great calamity is supposed to be?”

He’s taken the bait just as I intended. So I, too, strengthen my performance a little.

“I cannot say for certain, but if it is a calamity capable of sinking such a massive passenger ship within a few hours, the possibilities are limited, aren’t they?”

“Exactly so. To sink it with a single blow, you would need something like the bombardment of a warship. Otherwise, unless a medium or larger vessel rammed into her side, the ship would not sink even if one wished for it.”

“…What about a large iceberg?”

“An iceberg, you say? True, at this time of year there are many reports of icebergs along the North Atlantic route. But rest assured. For this voyage, I’ve had the course set a little further south, just in case.”

(He’s only saying exactly what was recorded in the testimonies. Looks like this is as far as it goes.)

“I see. I became so unnecessarily worried that I even turned to fortune-telling, which only made me more anxious. But Captain Smith, your words have put me at ease.”

“That is most reassuring. However, there is one point that does not sit right with me, may I ask?”

“Yes, if it is something I can answer.”

“Tonight the moon is hardly visible at all. And considering the moon’s path, the part about it reaching the zenith is also strange. Could it be some kind of allegory?”

“I don’t know. It was just amateur fortune-telling, so please don’t concern yourself with it. Rather, may I ask something from my side?”

“Anything at all.”

“I heard that the person who designed this ship is aboard. I would very much like to meet him and express my gratitude for being able to sail on this wonderful ship’s maiden voyage.”

“I see, very well. If a beautiful lady were to say such words, Mr. Andrews would surely be greatly pleased. Someone, go and find out where Mr. Andrews is. At once.”

As he says this, beckoning someone with his hand and giving crisp commands, I can certainly feel the dignity and leadership of a captain.
But from our conversation, I can once again tell that this man is not the one who called me. 

He doesn’t even take up the hints I offer, so I should assume he is simply bound within the timeframe before the sinking.

With that thought, I continue to make light conversation with Captain Smith until Mr. Andrews’s whereabouts are discovered.

During that time, Captain Smith did not say anything unusual.
And just when I thought we would be kept waiting for quite a while, two men arrived escorted by a crew member. 

One was Thomas Andrews, the designer of the Titanic. The other was Mr. Bruce Ismay, president of the White Star Line.

(Interesting. This will be worth seeing—how will they react?)

Both a survivor and one who perished have come together.
I thought this would be something to witness, so I deliberately delayed my initial greeting just a little.

“Ah, Captain Smith.”

“Why, Mr. Ismay. What brings you here?”

“Well, when the crewman came to fetch Andrews, I heard you had called him, so I thought I’d drop by and see your face. Shall we go then?”

No sooner had he said it than President Ismay urged the captain to move along.

Yes—just as if I weren’t even there.

But Captain Smith turned his gaze toward both President Ismay and me, then gestured with his arm in my direction. Yes, Captain Smith can perceive me. And most likely, so can Mr. Andrews.
Their gestures and actions are responding to me.

“No, wait a moment. Mr. Andrews, this is the young lady who wished to meet you.”

“How do you do, my name is Reiko. This truly is a marvelous ship. I have been nothing but deeply impressed.”

“How do you do, I’m Andrews. To know you are that pleased makes all the effort of designing her worthwhile.”

And then, we shook hands.
Come to think of it, since boarding this ship, apart from the wireless room, this was the first time I had actively interacted with someone.

While thinking that, I observed President Ismay. Naturally, his expression was one of bewilderment.

“What are you two doing, playing at pantomime? Is this some kind of performance for me?”

A natural reaction of “Huh?” “What?” came from the other two.

Now that I think about it, I could have tested this pattern of situation earlier with someone else.

But since these three are practically the top figures on this ship, jumping straight to the goal shouldn’t be a problem.
With that in mind, I composed myself calmly and shifted my gaze to each of the three in turn.

I could tell that two of them could see me, but the other’s eyes darted in confusion. His face clearly read, “I don’t understand.”

And finally, the other two also realized the situation.

“Mr. Ismay, you can’t see this young lady?”

“That can’t be. We even shook hands. Um, Miss Reiko?”

“Yes. I am right here. Isn’t it rather he who is strange? After all, in just about three hours, he will be the one fleeing this ship.”

At my firm words, the expressions of the two dead men changed drastically.
At first, they showed surprise, then their faces twisted slightly. That distortion gradually deepened.

Meanwhile, President Ismay, unable to grasp the situation at all, only grew more confused.
All he could say was things like, “What on earth is going on?” and “Enough with the joke, will you?”

And then it happened.

“So it really was as I thought.”

Ignoring the bewildered President Ismay, Mr. Andrews, who had been looking slightly downward, spoke words that were far too heavy.

The atmosphere shifted all at once.
It seemed he was now taking on the role of representative for the 1,513 victims. As the ship’s designer, he was a fitting one.

And with Mr. Andrews’s words, President Ismay suddenly froze in place. He became like a finely crafted wax figure. Several others in the lounge also turned the same way.

The rest of the people continued moving as before, but they no longer reacted with surprise to the situation.

Yet something felt off. It was as if they had become like background characters in a game, only capable of preset responses. Even Captain Smith, who had been speaking, surprised, and confused just moments earlier, was no longer an exception.
Meanwhile, Mr. Andrews quietly sat down on a chair across from me at the same table. 

He no longer looked at the captain or the president—only at me.

Then he gave a slight bow.

“First, I must apologize. And would you listen to what I have to say?”

“As long as you return me to my proper place, in my proper time.”

“That won’t be a problem. You yourself are safely asleep in your cabin on the Olympic.”

“Then, is this a dream?”

“I believe so. Forgive me for being vague, but even if it is a dream, I don’t know whether it is mine, yours, or perhaps a third party’s. However, I do call out to those who pass through this place, and from time to time, someone who responds will come to visit. This time, it happens to be you.”

(If he says ‘this place,’ then does that mean the Olympic is currently sailing on the seas near the Titanic?)

“Most likely, the situation is just as you think.”

Perhaps my thoughts had shown on my face, because he saw right through them.
Well, now that I understood the situation somewhat, the things I needed to ask became clear.

“I see. And what business do you have with me? Also, will I wake up normally?”

“If you wish, you may spend an eternal single day here without end. The guests who respond to the call and come here are all people who wish to escape from reality.”

Indeed, I had wanted to escape reality. But to repeat the same day over and over in such an empty place—no thank you.
So I pressed him in a firm tone.

“Then, you don’t actually want me to do something for you?”

At my question, he gave a faint, lonely smile.

“If something could be done, of course I would want you to go back in time and prevent the sinking of the Titanic. But I also know it cannot be done, and I understand that it must not be done. For someone who knows what will happen to alter history—that would be nothing short of blasphemy. Don’t you agree?”

His words felt as though they were directed squarely at me—the one who has been bending history.
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When the church bells toll for matins:
“Matins” refers to around two in the morning, in medieval timekeeping.