Dark Harbour: The Tale of the Soul Searcher (6 page)

Devlan moved the phone away from his ear a bit. ‘I’ve moved.’

‘I assumed so. Got yourself a nice place?’

Devlan looked around his room and decided to ignore the question. ‘I’m going to call Henry Maristow. See if he’s got any work for me.’

‘You’re that desperate? Things must be really bad.’

Devlan could hear the irritation in Floyd’s voice as it was no secret that he despised that man. He liked winding Floyd up though. ‘No one else seems to have anything going.’

‘Then maybe we should have a little chat then, Devlan.’

Devlan’s mobile made a beep. ‘Phone’s going dead. Want me to come down?’

‘Yeah, why don’t you meet me in an hour?’

‘Your place?’

‘Of course.’

‘What’s it all about then?’ Devlan asked him.

‘Oh this one’s a beaut. Grade A fucking stallion. Gonna shake things up in this town and rattle those motherfu…’

Although his phone was dead, Devlan stood staring at it as though it might reveal to him the scheme that Floyd was now concocting. No doubt it would be sheer lunacy. Floyd’s schemes always were.

Many people saw the two of them as a good pairing, for both were very much feared within the underground of Dark Harbour, albeit for different reasons. Devlan could illicit fear in people just through his very nature whereas Floyd had been quite the monster at heart in his younger years. However, these days Floyd was floating the mainstream of business enterprise, and had only hired Devlan for his engineering abilities. By the sounds of this call though, it didn’t sound like just another motor that Floyd wanted repairing.

He had to admit that the phone call had lifted his spirits. Suddenly he felt wanted again. It seemed so long since he’d known that feeling, not that he’d ever really been that much of a friend to it in the first place.

The twinges of apprehension were there, however, as he remembered the tenebrous and troublesome roads he’d been down with Floyd in the past. But Devlan had to follow this road of intrigue. Whatever was round the corner, he’d be able to deal with it. He hadn’t got this far without being able to cope with serious adversity and hardship. Devlan was a survivor.

And it sure would be good to get out of this place, he thought to himself as the tap in the next room began to drip again.

Chapter 1.3

Caught on the breeze of inspiration, Danny felt as though he was gliding all the way back to the flat. He arrived there in no time. Although he’d been searching intently for the right words for his poem to convey his feelings, no matter how hard he tried, whatever he found didn’t seem to be good enough.

He stepped into the flat and hung up his jacket. He had to close his eyes tightly and clear his head. Judging from the muffled voices he could hear, it seemed that his three roommates were all in and he didn’t want to bring the weight of his thoughts into the room with him. In a moment he’d no doubt be dragged into a more mundane conversation topic: which Bond girl was the most shaggable, or which teams were going to be relegated from the Premier League this season.

After a few deep breaths and a rub of his forehead, Danny made his way upstairs to their lounge area. Michael and Larry were both there. His other roommate, Eddie, was probably in his bedroom as usual. He didn’t really have a lot to do with any of them.

Wearing his sunglasses as he often did indoors, like he was attending some Hollywood pool party, Larry was sprawled over the settee shooting off whatever rubbish happened to be currently floating around in his head. Some empty crisp packets and two empty coffee mugs lay around him and it looked like he’d been having a heavy gaming session this afternoon.

Michael sat opposite him reading a journal, or rather he was
trying
to read a journal by the looks of things. There were few moments when he wasn’t studying.

‘Hey, Danny,’ Michael said, noticing him enter.

‘All right, guys?’

‘Completed your stupid game already, Danny Boy,’ Larry proudly bragged. ‘How long have you had it now? Only took me two days.’

‘Larry wants to put this fantastic achievement on his C.V.,’ Michael said.

‘Damn straight I do.’

‘Looks like we’re all having a thrilling time then,’ Danny muttered as he wandered over to the window.

‘What do you expect from students in a dead end town?’ Larry whined. ‘I can’t help that Dark Harbour is such a boring hole.’

‘Come on, it isn’t
that
bad,’ Michael said, quick to defend his hometown which he was very fond of.

‘Yeah, not bad if you’re into bingo or ballroom dancing, that is.’

‘Well, maybe you should spend more time studying.’

‘Oh give it a rest, homeboy…’

Danny could tell this was going to turn into another Larry versus Michael bickering contest so he mentally switched off. He peered out the window to watch the random strangers go by. Their flat wasn’t far away from the town centre so there were often a lot of people traipsing along with their lives.

Farther up the street he could see a woman. Although she was far in the distance, Danny knew who she was.

It was
her
.

He could sense her, just tell by her aura. Her beauty charged the air, and now, as it always did with him, Danny was completely entranced. It was becoming a little eerie. Recently she seemed to be everywhere he went and everywhere he looked.

He stared rigidly as she walked down the street, as though the pupils in his eyes had been magnetised to her body. With dusk setting in, she seemed to light up the entire street.

Larry interrupted Danny’s private moment as he waltzed over to him. ‘Hey look, isn’t that Stella Connoly down there?’ he said, lifting up his sunglasses.

Danny was startled by the intrusion on his private moment. He wanted her all to himself and now suspected she’d be tarnished by Larry’s smutty comments.

‘You know her?’ Michael asked, still sitting on the settee. He wasn’t really interested in ogling her as he only had eyes for his sweetheart.

‘Sure as hell like to!’ Larry said. ‘She goes out with a mate of mine, Sam Allington.’

That was the indeed truth of it, the cold fact that tormented Danny deeply. Although she was only a matter of yards away from him right now, she may as well be a million miles away. She was untouchable to him. Only special people like Samuel Allington were in her league.

‘Get out of here! You’re not friends with him,’ Michael protested.

‘I am.’

‘Really? How do you know him?’

‘Oh, I know people, my friend. I know people. I tell you, he’s one lucky chap that lad,’ Larry went on. ‘Got his father’s business empire to inherit and got the best looking girl in the whole town.’

‘And he’s got some fine looks himself too,’ Michael added.

Larry laughed. ‘I didn’t know you were that way inclined. Did you write that to your beau?’

‘I don’t think I’m his type. Just as none of us is her type.’

Larry looked out the window again and shrugged. ‘You never know…’

‘Okay,’ Michael said, ‘you guys want to hear the rumour about her?’

They both turned simultaneously to look at him. Being the only one of them who’d lived here all his life, Michael told many intriguing tales about the town, and he delivered them all in a curiously sincere tone.

‘Another one of your half-arsed stories?’ Larry asked.

‘Just something I heard about her. Someone told me it a while back. It’s a bit weird.’

They listened patiently.

‘Yes?’ Larry prompted.

‘The story goes that Stella is a siren, you know, like a sea nymph. She fell in love with someone, found her long lost love, so that’s why she’s stayed in Dark Harbour. You know, with Sam Allington. Maybe she might take him away one day.’

For a moment or two, no one said anything. Usually when Michael told them a story they would wait for him to say
juuuuuuust kidding!
even though it never came.

‘A siren? You’re certainly full of it, mate,’ Larry said. He finally went and sat down, his interest now waning.

‘It’s true!’

‘I thought sirens were supposed to lead men to destruction.’

‘They do?’ Michael asked. ‘I thought that was just women in general.’

They both laughed, but Danny did not join in. He was lost in his moment again, looking on as Stella disappeared down the street.

Larry yawned. ‘Anyway, who’s coming down
The Waggon
with me to play pool?’

‘I don’t know,’ Michael replied. ‘There’s a documentary on Channel 4 I was going to watch this evening.’

‘Oh, come on! It’s the weekend. How about you and Dan take us on at doubles again?’ Larry persisted.

‘You and Eddie?’ Michael asked, slowly starting to consider it. He was never one for making decisions of any sort. ‘I suppose it’s about time we gave you a good kicking again.’

‘What do you mean? We thrashed
you
last time!’

‘No you didn’t! Me and Danny beat you five-nil!’

‘Now you definitely are talking crap!’ Larry said as he got up.

‘Come on then, Diamond,’ Michael said. ‘Let’s go get ourselves a table. Where’s Eddie?’

‘In his room?’

‘I’ll go get him.’

Michael, being the diplomat, was always keen to include their elusive flatmate on things. Even though Eddie was clearly a young man who wasn’t bothered about fostering friendships, Michael still saw him as a part of their circle of friends, or the ‘square’ as he referred to it. He put his book down as he started to make a move.

Danny was still rooted to the window as he watched Stella finally disappear from view. He still couldn’t think of the right words for his poem, couldn’t even remember the lines that he’d been composing earlier. It was as if a hurricane had twisted through his mind and scattered his thoughts everywhere.

Every time he saw her the problem just seemed to get worse.

Chapter 1.4

Devlan felt a bit edgy being out in public again. Hidden underneath his hood he looked reasonably normal: a short and muscular body as sturdy as any tree trunk, his back forming into a slight hunch as though he’d been carrying a great weight most of his life. He wore blind man shades and woollen gloves; both were necessary to conceal his strange features. Without them he might blend in with the garish ghouls and monsters painted on the panelling of the ghost train that he stood beside.

Friday evening in late winter and most of the rides were either boarded up or covered in tarpaulin. The arcades were kept open all year so there were always people trailing through the grounds of Floyd’s Amusements: old age pensioners who would visit the coast at any time of the year, chronic gamblers, skivers. Nobody was paying Devlan any attention though, which was just how he liked it.

In recent years, Floyd had seemed quite tame and dispassionate as he’d laboured on with his business. The effervescence of danger seemed to have fizzed out of him with age. Devlan supposed that, at fifty-seven, Floyd was starting to get on a bit, starting to mellow and slow down, if indeed that was possible for a man like Floyd.

At first it had been plain bizarre to see him take on these amusements, but the story went that he’d acquired the business in a card game and quickly appreciated the money to be earned. Without such a quirk of fortune he’d surely be up to his usual tricks. Or he’d be dead by now.

‘Still busy then, Floyd?’ Devlan asked as Floyd crept up behind him.

It always unnerved Floyd how Devlan seemed to have eyes in the back of his head. ‘Yes, matey. Yeah, soon be getting the new rides. I’m expecting a busy summer.’

Devlan turned to face him and Floyd towered above him, all six feet and six inches of him. His beanpole figure had deceptive strength to it, as powerful as his coarse, bag-of-gravel voice. That voice of his could hit you as hard as a punch from his right fist. It was not enough to intimidate Devlan however; nothing ever did anymore.

The skin on Floyd’s face was rough like sandpaper, and his eyes were small and shifty, constantly jittering around so that nobody could focus on them. They were coloured a murky brown, like a stagnant swamp that would swallow you away.

He brought out a hand from his grey leather trench coat which he’d probably stolen from a Neo-Nazi, and stretched his long, bony fingers. They were inscribed with faded tattoos across his knuckles: ‘fear’ was written on this particular hand, ‘pain’ across the other. His hand was probably suffering a bit of cramp from the pen-pushing he’d been doing today, an activity that his hands were simply not meant for.

‘All right for some,’ Devlan said in his quiet, gruff voice. By habit, he rarely opened his mouth very wide when talking, and Floyd was automatically leaning in closer to hear him.

‘I’m sure you’ve looked after yourself, Devlan. Anyway, this new gig should keep you busy for some time.’

‘Go on then. Spill.’