It's an irony that will never cease to turn Harry's stomach a little. So many of the men who sailed—himself certainly included—were ambitious, eager to do something that would immortalise them in history. And they have been, just ... not at all in the way any of them would have preferred.

He finds the painkillers—two pills in a little paper envelope—and hands them over.

"I have been told," he says, "that the fate of our expedition is a mystery to those who came after us." Charging right at the elephant in the room. "You will forgive me, I'm sure, if I am reluctant to shed much light on the mystery. Save to say that it is entirely fair to call the Franklin Expedition 'lost', for surely we were."

There's a chance, if Simon becomes a friend, that he might learn more someday, but now is definitely not the time.