The Mariner (36 page)

But from the sounds beyond the boat still ringing in his ears, the Mariner’s demons remained. So he dug the knife deeper.

35
THE BEST FISH AND CHIPS (GUARANTEED!)

C
LIFFS SO DARK THEY WERE
almost obsidian stretched across the horizon, the tops bathed in a deep mist. The mass of land was eerily wide, dominating the ocean as if in mockery of its former majesty. The Mariner had never seen such a vast island, and the rest of the crew were given a bitter reminder of how the world used to be long ago, before the Shattering.

It had been less than a week since passing the waterfall. Fortunately the crew had obeyed the Mariner’s commands and not ventured above until he’d given the all-clear, and he hadn’t dared look himself for two days, finally peeking his head out like a scared rat. He wouldn’t have risen at all had it not been for the devils and their ever present hunger. After a prolonged period of claws scratching on wood he’d finally opened the door to a dozen unimpressed furry faces, each unconcerned with the inner turmoil plaguing their servant; why should they care for a monkey when there were bellies to fill?

Returning to sunlight presented a cold grey ocean. Bitter, joyless, even hopeless in its stubborn blank uniformity, but the waters were free from eels. Safely assured, he allowed the others to ascend. No-one mentioned the fresh blood stains upon his shirt, they were used to the mysterious red blots, and knew not to ask.

And now they’d finally arrived, though faced with an impenetrable circle of stone.

“Are these the moors?” McConnell asked, staring at the landscape as if it were a world-wonder.

“I would guess so,” the Mariner said, wondering just how they would get up on top of them. The sheer scale of land made him dizzy, how could something defy the sea so brazenly?

Heidi didn’t seem fazed. “We keep sailing around until we find a place to land. If the Pope gets visitors, then there must be a dock. Perseverance will give him to us.”

The Mariner agreed, and the Neptune began to circle the landmass, following it east, though after two days the cliffs did not abate, and the land showed little sign of ending.

“Incredible,” Harris said at dawn on the following day. “Perhaps we should be settling here? Huge expanse of land and easy to defend. If there’s fresh water up there, think of the possibilities!”

“And be only a couple of days from that waterfall?” McConnell shuddered. “I don’t think so. I want to be as far from that thing as possible.”

The cliff-face never relented, but later that day a groove appeared, running steeply down from the top into a small alcove, and to their surprise in this break in the rocks nestled a small collection of buildings, each tall and imposing, squashed into their small patch of land, yet tall like flowers straining for the sun.

“A village!” Harris laughed. “Well I’ll be damned! How perfect!”

The village was built in an upside down ‘v’ shape, the point running some-way up the slope towards the summit, whilst the widest end straddled a small dock crammed with dainty fishing vessels. Despite the daylight, the town was mostly in shadow, and street-lamps were lit, giving the crevices between homes an inviting glow. After being entombed within the Neptune, the idea of stepping foot on dry land tempted each and every one aboard, even the Mariner who grew evermore restless.

As the ship closed in on the port several figures could be seen unloading fish from a trawler into a cart. Harris pointed them out. “Populated. Perhaps we can trade for some food?”

The Mariner shrugged, never one for trading. “With what?”

“We have plenty of weapons. People always need bullets.”

“I’m not sure I want anyone here to have bullets.”

Harris shook his head in disbelief. “Everyone’s armed, Arthur. This way we might get a proper bed for the night. No offence, but the Neptune isn’t exactly comfortable.”

Harris held the majority opinion, and just beyond the dock where the water was still deep enough, the Neptune halted and they lowered anchor, preparing to disembark. As if in support of their decision, a biting wind began to whip at their backs, urging them on the swifter.

“Shouldn’t we leave someone behind to guard the ship?” Heidi asked as they began boarding the small row-boats to take them to shore. “What about pirates?”

The Mariner chuckled. “The devils will be protection enough, believe me; I think they’d welcome the entertainment.”

The short journey to the dock was choppy, and it took several trips to bring the whole crew to shore, with each person dashing down the promenade into the shelter of the tall buildings as soon as they hit land, some pulling coats up to shield their faces from the hail that peppered the bluster.

“I think that must be an inn!” Harris shouted above the whistling wind and pointed down a dark street towards a large building with an ornate wooden fish hung outside it. A sign proudly displayed ‘The Drinking Carp’, written in large curly letters.

Grace, shivering despite the coat Harris had wrapped around her, spotted another welcoming abode, this time entitled ‘Robin’s Cave’. In fact, as they looked around, they realised the village was made up of nothing but inns, all lit up, some quiet and grim, whilst through the windows of others, large crowds could be seen, drinking to the tune of mercenary bards.

“We’re spoilt for choice!”

“How about that one then?” Grace was pointing down an alley to their left. Other than the main sign reading ‘The Drunken Pigeon’, was a secondary one claiming ‘the Best Fish and Chips – Guaranteed!’ Eager to get out of the cold air, the decision was unanimous, and they dashed as one, soaked to the bone by rain and sea-spray.

The door opened to a wide bar, decorated with soft chairs and the pungent smell of spilt beer. Several travellers were sat in the corners drinking from steins. They looked up, but didn’t seem surprised to see such a large crowd entering and returned to their private conversations, muttered secretly over frothy ale. The focal point of the room was the bar itself, with a plump and tough looking woman standing behind, chewing on a cold chicken leg, the grease about her lips looking like thick lip-gloss in the light from the nearby fireplace. She eyed them with a mixture of contempt and boredom. “Not enough room for you all. Got room for eight. Rest of you try next door, they’ve got spares.”

Harris, pulling rank, ushered most of Mavis’ followers back out the door into the rainy street to try elsewhere, whilst Heidi spoke with the publican, haggling over the price of rooms. The landlady seemed pleased with the boxes of shotgun cartridges offered and opened a draw containing keys.

“Food’s not included. Pay for a second night or be out by daybreak. No smoking or drinking unless in the bar. I’ve got enforcers if there’s trouble,” she added, glaring at the Mariner above the rest.

“We’ll be gone early tomorrow,” he said in similarly hostile tones, though his decision was quietly (yet hotly) dissented by Grace, who tugged at his jacket. “Can we get to the moors from here?”

“Of course you can,” the woman’s eyes narrowed even further, until they were tiny coin slots. “Everyone does.”

“Get lots going up there, huh?” Harris asked as he returned to the bar, the din of rain on stone vanishing the moment the door swung shut.

“A fair number, yeah.” The woman shrugged, non-committed, and though her body did its best to remain nonchalant, her eyes shrank further to tiny dark craters on an enormous fleshy planet. In the corner, her other patrons had stopped their discussion and were listening intently.

“It’s their first time,” Heidi said loudly enough for their eavesdroppers to hear. “I’m taking them up there.”

“Never been myself,” the woman muttered, still appraising them. “Don’t much want to, got all I need right here.” With that she slammed the keys down on the counter and sauntered off, as if to serve some other patrons, though of course all the custom her business could handle were gathered right in front of her.

Heidi suggested that they do their best to dry off, a concept widely agreed upon. Soon a light cloud of steam was rising from their damp bodies as they gathered around the fire, shivering despite the warmth. Not long later, Harris bartered for a round of strong spirits ‘to shake off the rain’, though McConnell snatched Grace’s before she had a chance to try it.

“You’re too young for such things,” he scolded as if the drink were a terrible and destructive sin, though still he held onto the beverage for himself. He lifted the glass to his lips and sipped, wincing as the heat hit his throat. He looked to the Mariner, who was already eagerly supping at his. Ever since they’d topped up supplies at the Beagle, the Mariner had kept himself in an almost permanent inebriated state. Not so much as to be unable to function, but never totally sober. McConnell didn’t know if that was something to be concerned about or not. Best to worry about other things than the personal habits of such a dubious man. “So tomorrow we head up onto the moors, and then what?”

“We find him.”

And that was that. It seemed no-one wanted to dwell upon the mysteries of what lay ahead, least of all those who seemed to be making the decisions for the rest. So instead, McConnell began to sing in a voice little more than a whisper competing with the fire’s own crackling song. The song was one of melancholy, a mixture of English and Eastern European dialect. The tune was received with bafflement, none recognising the strange mix.

“They used to sing it in Sighisoara. I hadn’t heard it before...” McConnell waved his hands in disdain. “... all this. I lived in Croydon back then. Such different times, before the Shattering.”

“Do you know what I miss?” Harris said, leering over his whiskey. “Ozzy girls. I went travelling to Australia when I was younger and had a few. Up for anything they are! After that, I was always checking out pubs in Acton. That’s the part of London they all used to live.
Off to Acton for some action
. Sometimes it paid off too.” He sighed and looked back into the fire. “No Australians now. Just fucking Brits.”

“Funny that isn’t it,” Heidi said, though her tone insinuated there was nothing funny about it at all. “Ever since... I’ve only ever found Brits. And nearly all of them English.”

Almost surprised to have some evidence to the contrary, McConnell spoke up. “We had a French couple turn up in Sighisoara.”

“What happened to them?”

“Kept to themselves, no-one could speak French, not properly. Eventually they got stuck in an altercation over booze and got themselves killed. Bit difficult to resolve disputes with no common language. And this was before Tetrazzini showed up, so no-one knew any medicine-” He tensed, knowing he’d mentioned a name he shouldn’t have. Grace stiffened too, her eyes low.

“Who’s Tetrazzini?” Harris asked, curious.

An awkward silence followed, finally broken by Heidi. “So you’re from Croydon? I’m from North London, Hampstead Heath.”

He gave her a solemn smile. “Small world huh? If only our friend here could remember his origins?” He patted the Mariner on the shoulder. “Perhaps he would turn out from a similar neck of the woods? Bromley? Clapham?”

“Perhaps.” The Mariner didn’t see much point in trying to work out the insanity in which they lived. The Pope would tell them what the Oracle couldn’t. He placed his glass down with a hollow thud. “Done.”

Not long later, Harris negotiated a second round.

“I don’t miss him,” Grace whispered lightly over the crackling fire. It was towards the end of the evening, when most had crawled off to bed, leaving only those obsessed with the pursuit of oblivion chasing it like a dog after a butterfly. The Mariner had thought her asleep, her small figure, curled up in Harris’ coat, hadn’t moved for hours. McConnell, still by her side, had fallen asleep, lulled into unconsciousness by the disarming heat, and yet she’d remained awake, staring at the fire through slits so fine she’d appeared to slumber.

“Who?” he asked, more as a delaying tactic than an actual question. He knew full well whom she meant: Tetrazzini. Who else? She hadn’t said a word since McConnell had mentioned the man. And now she wanted to voice those demons. Why couldn’t she keep them locked away, like he did? Surely that was best?

“You know who,” she replied, calling him out in one swipe.
“Him.”

I guess I do, but I don’t want to talk about him. I don’t want to think about leaving him to burn for what he did, because somewhere deep inside I think I’m the same. And if that’s true then I should burn too. I should burn as surely as he did, as surely as Absinth was ate. But I’m scared. I’m far too scared to burn.

“Christopher wants me to talk about... what he did, but I don’t want to, I don’t want to even
think
of him.”

“Christopher?”

“Yeah.” Her pristine forehead furrowed and realising she theatrically rolled her eyes. “The reverend.”

The Mariner was surprised, McConnell had never told him his first name. Funny. Names were strange things, meaningless and yet given so much weight.

“I understand. I don’t like to think about someone too.”

“Who?”

Everyone I’ve hurt. Everyone I’ve killed.