He knows Jopson’s been closely observing him. Jopson was the newspaperman of the ship, but in turn Crozier always kept his eyes on his young steward. They’d been close, a left and right hand working in tandem. He knew he’d decided to live close to his igloo on purpose.

“I’ve found an old cabin half a minute up the road from the ice hut. I’ve been living there.”

"It's been suitable," he replies, smiling to himself. "Any more than that would be too much." And he knows Jopson understands the feeling.

"You could come keep me company." He doesn't need a steward.

Crozier snorts softly. Tea on the ships, tea as they hauled across King William Island, and tea now in the middle of the wilderness. But he won't say no to something so comforting to them both.

"Tea would be grand."

"I don't mind the plain water, but do you know what I find myself oddly missing? Coffee. Isn't that strange? I never used to drink it."

He sighs. Yes, that sounds about right. He missed bread too, of all things. Fresh bread, with a little butter -- he'd give the rest of his left arm for some bread.

"What do you crave the most?"

Whiskey.

"Bread," he answers. It's a half-truth, but he can't say out loud the thing he really craves. He knows Thomas Jopson, of all people, can see through the lie. "Fresh bread. And the smell of morning rain on grass."

Hell, he even finds himself missing the brackish water smell of the Bann, or the muddied, salty miasma of Greenhithe. Unpleasant smells at the time, but exotic to him now.

"When I was in England I would miss the sea, when I was on the sea I would miss England. That's just the way of things, I suppose. Although we should be certain we're feeling nostalgic for the sake of it." And not because scurvy's taking hold again, god help them all.