[Goodsir has yet to look at any history books relating to the ill fated Franklin Expedition. He isn't sure that it even existed in this world. But he won't be surprised to discover that so few of them were ever found. Upset, but not surprised.

He studies Tim's face and, seeing no judgement there, he continues.]

You spoke earlier of vampires. Those, sir, are monsters. Monsters cannot help their nature, can they? But men can.

Yes, men can.

[Goodsir sighs and sits back. His voice stays even, but his eyes are haunted.]

I was taken by the mutineers. They wanted a medical man for their sick, and an anatomist for their dead. To spare them, you see, of the reality of what they were going to do.

I saw a man stabbed to death. He died in my arms. Before the day was out I was butchering his body. I was coerced, but that seems a piss poor excuse for slicing a man into steaks.

I did not ever eat anything but what provisions we had in tins. In that sense, at least, I am innocent.

[He smiles sadly at his new friend. He thinks of lying by omission, of simply leaving his story there. It's tempting - he could be an innocent, a heroic man doing his best.]

But you may think me a monster still, Tim. I butchered one man and tried to kill eleven more. Yes, I believe they ate me. I hope they did. I was quite thoroughly poisoned.