"Indeed we do," Goodsir says. "Come in. I'll make some tea, if you like."

Goodsir puts the kettle on while encouraging Crozier to make himself at home—there's a couple of comfortable chairs by the woodstove. When the tea is ready, he brings over a pot and a pair of cups and settles down.

"This is about the—the incident, isn't it."

"I'm forced to agree," Goodsir says. "It was ... simpler, perhaps, when it was only Hickey, Little, and me. As long as he caused no trouble, I felt I could afford to stay silent, and ..." He sighs. "I knew that if I attempted to speak against him, he would have no hesitation in telling everyone of the things that I did. But now—the past can stay buried no longer. Particularly—" he pulls a face, "—when one abruptly finds that one's thoughts can be perceived by others. Poor Miss Marsh ... she learned things from me from which I meant to protect her, and now ..."

Goodsir chuckles softly, despite himself. "I'm afraid that condition cannot be helped, Francis," he says. "Being such myself—I do not think I can find it in me to forgive any of the crimes that Hickey has committed, and I certainly will not forget them. But at the same time, I see the danger—fighting amongst ourselves endangers us all. Just as it did in the Arctic."