Alan placed the letter back on the desk, her face etched with the seriousness of what she had just read. Francis turned away, but the slight tremor in his shoulders betrayed him, his head bowed in silence. After a long pause, he inhaled deeply and ordered Alan to search the room.

“What am I looking for, sir?” she asked.

“Whatever she used to—to put the children to sleep,” he replied. “It doesn’t look like she suffocated them with a pillow or strangled them. They appear to have gone quietly, as if they simply went to sleep, tucking themselves in for the night. At least, that’s what I like to believe.”

“That’s a comforting thought, sir. I also think that's what happened to them.”

I knew at once what he meant. The moment we had entered the bedroom, I caught an unfamiliar scent—a sweet foreign aroma, lingering in the air like a wispy cloud. Leaping from Alan’s lap, I circled the room, my tail swaying from side to side as I let the scent guide me, the gears in my mind turning. 

I hopped onto a chair by the desk, where three plates, dotted with crumbs from slices of bread the kids had enjoyed for dessert, lay abandoned. Beside them were three empty glasses, their rims still clinging to the sweet-smelling residue of a drink. 

Yet, the aroma that had caught my attention wasn’t coming from there. It was wafting from somewhere else in the room. I inhaled deeply, trying to trace its source. It drew me to the trash bin nestled in the shadowy corner of the room. I rose up on my hind legs and braced my front paws against the bin, pressing it until it toppled over spilling its contents onto the floor. 

It’s in here! I called to Alan, though I knew my words fell silent between us, lost in the chasm of our differing species and the languages that danced just beyond our reach. But, in that moment, she grasped what my actions conveyed. 

She knelt beside the overturned bin, her hands sifting through the jumble of broken fishbone quills and crumpled dried fish-skin papers. Amidst the debris, she discovered it—a small brown bottle, no larger than a thumb, along with its cork. 

She brought the vial to her nose and took a tentative sniff, her eyebrows knitting together in confusion as she tried to decipher the unfamiliar scent. I had reacted similarly when we first entered the room. I had caught a whiff of it from the children’s partially opened mouths, but I had been too much in shock over their passing to truly comprehend its significance. 

“Captain, I think this is it,” she said, handing the vial to him. He took it, bringing it to his nose for a brief, cautious sniff.

“Have the doctor examine it,” he ordered. “And find out where Sarah might have acquired it.”

“What should I do once I discover who sold her the poison?”

“Bring them in for questioning. There's a strong chance they could be charged as an accomplice to murder.”

“I'll get on it, sir.”

Alan bent down, her fingers gently scratching behind my ears, sending a delightful shiver through my body.

“Good boy, Page,” she murmured. “I suppose I’ll take you along. You’re proving to be quite the partner in this investigation.” 

Her touch, warm and reassuring, set my nerves tingling, while her words swelled my heart with pride. I was more than ready to follow her, eager to assist in any way I could, and to help bring closure for Mrs. Kelping and her family. It was, I knew, the very least I could do.

When the ship's only doctor, Willis, arrived, his eyes were wide with disbelief, as if the very marrow of his bones had turned to ice. With a visible effort, he shook himself free from the grip of that initial shock, his face hardening as he moved toward the small, lifeless forms to confirm that there was no life in them.

The room was suffused with the unbearable stillness of death, broken only by the soft rustling of the dark green kelp sheets as the steward began to unfurl them, preparing to shroud the bodies. But then, something flickered in the corner of my vision. Across the room, Joe and Anne stood in their long pajamas, pale figures bathed in an ethereal light. Of course, no human could see them—only I possessed that sight. It must be some innate ability of my kind, a gift that allowed me to peer beyond the veil of the material world into realms unseen by human eyes.

Joe and Anne's faces were tinged with sorrow, mourning their short lives. There was a serene peace about them, however; a quiet acceptance of their fate. But Sam was not among them. His absence sent a jolt through me, a sudden, undeniable realization. My heart quickened, and with a sudden burst of urgency, I leapt onto the foot of little Sam’s bed, crying out, desperate to make the steward stop before it was too late. 

The steward attempted to swat me off the bed, but I stood my ground. I climbed onto Sam’s chest, hissing fiercely, my back arched in defiance. My paw shot out, claws unsheathed and poised to strike, a clear warning to the steward that I wouldn’t be moved so easily.

"Out of my way, Page," the steward barked.

But Alan stepped forward, her voice calm yet commanding, like a captain steadying the helm in a storm. "Wait!" she interjected, her face flashing with conviction. "He’s trying to tell us something." Her gaze shifted to the surgeon. “Check his vitals once more, if you please.”

Dr. Willis, though skeptical, moved with the seriousness of a man who had witnessed too much to dismiss even the faintest hope. His brow furrowed, deep lines carving his face like furrows in the earth. He approached the boy's bedside. Leaning in, he placed his ear near Sam’s mouth, listening intently for the faintest breath, that fragile thread binding life to flesh. Next, he reached for his stethoscope and placed it over the boy’s heart.

For a heartbeat, there was nothing, only the heavy silence of a room holding its breath. Then, Dr. Willis sprang up, a tremor in his voice as he announced, “The boy—he’s still alive!”

Francis gathered Sam into his arms, cradling the boy with a tenderness that belied his usual stern demeanor, and rushed from the cabin with Dr. Willis running at his side. Alan and the steward remained behind, wrapping the other bodies in the dark kelp sheets.

I bolted after the captain and the surgeon, my paws barely touching the cold metal floors as I raced down the winding corridors, darting left and right, then down the steps, my heart pounding in time with the heavy footfalls behind me. Captain Francis was breathing hard, clutching Sam tightly, as though by sheer force of will he could keep the boy tethered to life.

At last, we reached the infirmary. Francis gently laid Sam down on a bed, his hands lingering for a moment before Dr. Willis stepped in, barking orders to the nurse. She set up the oxygen tank and prepared the intravenous line. This might be their last chance to pull the boy back from the abyss.

After a few agonizing minutes, I leapt onto the foot of the bed, waiting for any sign of life. Then, at last, he began to stir, and his eyelids fluttered open, a faint spark of life rekindling in his gaze.