The Mariner (27 page)

“They are
not
disciples! They are vicious overgrown rats who would devour both of us if they could get by without someone to shovel their shit into the sea! Beasts! Monsters!”

“Of which number twelve.”

“That means nothing!”

“By itself, I agree. But I’ve seen all the proof there is. You sewed some of the world together. You undid a part of the Shattering. God punished us by splitting our world apart. Only Jesus can piece it back together. Only he.”

“It wasn’t me.”

“Who else was it? I was there. I saw.”

“If that’s the reason you got aboard, you’ve made a big mistake.”

“We’ll see,” McConnell stood, eyes still aflame. “And the sooner you abandon this cult the better. You won’t find any answers with then, the answers are within you. They have been all along.”

Once McConnell left, the Mariner lay awake for several hours. He felt bad for McConnell, the man was mistaken and the misconception had evolved into outright delusion. But was it any
more
crazy than what was being preached on this island? Jesus Haych Christ on one side, Déjà vu on the other. And somewhere between, still out of sight – the Wasp.

Concentration began to wane as he felt his addictions creeping back. His inner demons had been kept at bay by the distractions of the day, but in the dark confines of his own mind they slithered into prominence, tempting, taunting, tormenting.

Fortunately he’d kept the cat ‘o’ nine tails close, and he knew just what to do.

28
GETTING TO KNOW YOU

S
OMETHING OF A ROUTINE FORMED
during the subsequent days. By sunlight the three would perform mundane tasks in exchange for food, shelter and guidance supplied by the cult, though when it came to guidance there was little, if none. For the time being they were told to observe the other monks and learn from their example. Not even Grace, who’d been the most believing, could see anything to learn from watching others randomly burst into song, gibberish, or dropping to the ground doing squat-thrusts. Indeed, at times it felt like they were living within an insane asylum, if not for how rational and calm the inmates acted between spells of déjà vu.

Of Diane they saw almost nothing. Only once did the Mariner speak to her again, and only the briefest of exchanges. It was on a morning when he was asked to help prepare food, mostly chopping and de-seeding fruit and veg. Megan, a young lady who seemed to be in charge of the kitchen, carefully took him through the various dishes that could be easily prepared and in the quantities necessary. Cooking for such a large community required an astonishing amount of foresight, but fortunately Megan had all that in hand, and all the Mariner had to do was follow basic orders. Mostly the work was washing and chopping, though somehow he could never get the sizes quite right and was regularly admonished.

“No, no, no!” Megan said, pulling the knife from his grasp. “You’re squashing them!”

He looked down at the tomatoes. “I thought I was chopping them.”

“Well that’s certainly what I asked you to do,” she snapped again, pushing him aside. “Take the Priestess her plate. I’ve prepared it, all you need do is deliver it. You can’t get that wrong.”

The plate was a large silver disk, piled high with the choicest fruits. He carried it as carefully as he could, though clearly not careful enough from the concerned glances he received.

He found Diane sitting on a small beach on the north side of the island. She was sitting with her feet stretched out, the incoming tide gently lapping across her toes.

Diane looked up from a book she was reading. “Hello captain. How are you finding our little community?”

“Very pleasant.” he replied, handing the plate to her. She took it, eyes feasting upon the fruits carefully arranged for sampling. Like a spider on a thread, her fingers dangled above the delicacies, wiggling in anticipation. The actions had a curious elation to them, despite the serious look on her face.

“Your arrival heralds much, captain,” she began, drawing her eyes away from the plate and onto him. “Were you aware the stars vanished just before you came to our island? Literally dark times ahead, I fear.”

He was surprised. “You remember them?”

“The stars? Of course I do, why wouldn’t I? I thought they might come back, but they haven’t. Did
you
scare them off perhaps?”

“I’m as in the dark as you are.”

“Ha! Pun for pun! Yes indeed.” The words were spat with little mirth and her eyes darted along the horizon, only lightly flicking higher, as if to gaze too long at the sky would bring its great weight tumbling down. “My people are strong; we are used to the strange tides of our world and know not to openly panic about such things. To panic is to declare yourself to predators, isn’t that so? But under the calm I can feel them thinking.
Wondering
. Just where have the stars all gone?”

The Mariner had no answer, and he watched her pop a slice of apple into her mouth and chew. The dark mood upon Diane lifted, momentary joy passing across her lips. “Wonderful! I was just growing weary. Please take some yourself.”

Despite the offer, Diane didn’t hold the plate any closer to her guest, instead keeping it firmly on her lap.

“What were you growing weary of?”

“It is tiresome, focusing all your energies to connect with the forces of Déjà vu; trying to shift the Cog, day in, day out.” Theatrically, Diane lifted a hand to her brow, leaning her head back as if her psychic strength was being tested. Somehow it seemed preposterous, given that she sat upon a calm beach eating fruit.

“I see,” he said, traces of sarcasm peeking through as he noticed the well-thumbed romance novel tucked beneath her leg.

Diane saw him looking and indignantly puffed herself up. “When you become as practised as
I
in dealing with the déjà vu, you start to sense situations in which you can confront it. Today I knew, I
sensed
, that I would connect to my previous lives through reading this book.” Defensively, she held the book aloft as if it were a shield, rather than a luxury item she’d deemed to hide. “Just as I knew that I would confront déjà vu when eating this fruit. Even now I am struggling against a déjà vu in this very conversation. It is
most
exhausting.”

The glare he was subjected to told him to leave it, but the illogic couldn’t remain untested.“If you sensed that you would confront a déjà vu whilst reading that book, why didn’t you do something else instead? Wouldn’t that have the same effect as challenging it once it had started?”

“Absolutely not,” she sniffed. “The key is to break déjà vu as it occurs, not run away from the experience. Trying to shift the Cog by acting on ‘feelings’ is completely impractical, they may merely be feelings after all.”

“Quite.”

Diane narrowed her eyes and gave him a haughty look before turning away. “Now, if you would excuse me, I have to get back to work.” At that she picked up her book and began to read, ending their conversation with icy silence.

That was the closest he got to being schooled in the ways of the monks. Grace, whilst being enthusiastic about living in the zoo, had no intention of being silly like the shift seekers. McConnell was outright hostile to the idea, yet he still carried out his chores to the letter. Like the Mariner, he enjoyed seeing Grace content, and was willing to swallow his religious zeal to make it happen. McConnell and the Mariner didn’t speak again of the reverend’s suspicions, though McConnell watched him closely in the days that followed, seeking for a clue into the Mariner’s thoughts.

Diane’s memory of the stars had surprised him. He’d assumed because McConnell had forgotten them, so would everyone else, but then he reminded himself that Grace had remembered the zoo, whilst Tetrazzini hadn’t. Was the process random? Was it a disease, striking indiscriminately as Tetrazzini had eluded?

He’d tested the theory with the resident cook Megan, approaching the conversation carefully, with enough space to back away if he sensed trouble.

“Diane and I had a little chat when I delivered the fruit.”

“Oh yes? You are fortunate, it’s rare to be allowed to converse with the Priestess privately.”

“It was only brief,” he said, approaching the topic whilst bracing himself for the slightest hint at trouble. “We were discussing how difficult it’s been to see at night recently..”

She turned to him, speaking low, her manner like that of a rabbit that had seen a hawk. “Where have they gone? Henry thinks it’s a gas in the air, something thick enough to keep the light out. I think it might be a sign though, you know, of the déjà vu beginning to crack? We must be getting close. That’s it isn’t it? Good news?”

He nodded thoughtfully, and under her desperate and fearful gaze felt the need to reassure her, even though no assurance could be given. “Yes,” he lied. “That’s probably it.”

Twice a day the Mariner would visit the Neptune and check on the devils. In the morning he’d travel with Grace, allowing her time to play with and feed them. Every visit they would greet her like excited puppies, all scrabbling for her affection. Whilst she entertained them, the Mariner took the time to check on the ship for signs of intrusion. He never found any. It seemed the monks were content to let the ship remain unexplored.

The second daily visit was made in secret. Just after sundown, while the sky still had a glow about it, he would row by lantern and spend an hour alone. It was there, within the tight confines of the ship, that he liked to keep his thoughts in check, sometimes by whip, other times by knife. There was no desperation to the act, nor any masochistic enjoyment, it was merely a routine distraction. During the day the welts and wounds would throb, but this was the intent; it kept him focused. But throughout all the self-mutilation, he never strayed the blade to his face, neck or hands. Self-harm was a private affair.

If asked, he would have said they’d been on the island for two weeks before his infamous talk with Pryce, when their spell of peace would come to an abrupt end, though in all honesty it could have been longer. Unlike Tetrazzini, no-one on the island had much call to keep track of time, and one day merged into the other.

It was on a return trip from the Neptune, in the dead of night, whilst his back slowly seeped blood into his shirt, that the Mariner heard Pryce call to him from the pitch black, starless night.

“Captain? Is that you?”

Surprised, the Mariner turned in the direction of the voice, holding his small lamp aloft.

“I’m over here! On the rock. Come closer, and bring that light!”

Following the instructions, the Mariner found Pryce’s smiling face amidst the gloom, sitting in the same spot they’d first found him.

“Well met, my friend!”

“What are you doing out here?” the Mariner asked, a little annoyed and embarrassed at being caught during his secret routine.

“Just thinking. It’s so peaceful out here. I often like to get away from the crowd, the hustle and bustle! It’s so hectic in the camp.”

The Mariner nodded, humouring Pryce, though he couldn’t have conceived of a quieter existence than among the monks.

“How’s trying to save the world?” the Mariner asked, grinning. Pryce laughed in return.

“Unsuccessful, but we will get there. I wonder what the world will be like once it’s returned to its correct path? Will this island exist? Will civilisation be rebuilt? One thing I’m certain of though: it will be wonderful!”

Pryce gesticulated theatrically as he spoke, and the Mariner happily sat next to him in the darkness, their legs illuminated by the lantern. Somewhere in the blackness in front he could hear the waves as they broke against the shore.

“Do you really think this world can be wrestled from the hands of the demon?”

“Oh yes,” Pryce said with certainty. “Diane says so. Absolutely.”

“And you trust Diane?”

“Of course. That woman knows more truth than a thousand others put together. A hundred thousand even!”

“And if you don’t accomplish this...
Shift
soon, you will continue here?”

“Until the day I die, and then I will continue in the next life, and the life after that.”

“Working here.
Serving
her.”

He felt Pryce fidget uncomfortably. “Of course.”

“Pryce?”

“Yes?”

“It’s bollocks. You know it. I know it. She’s using you all to serve her. You grow her crops, make her food, protect her. She’s spun these lies to distract you; whilst you hope for this
Shift
you aren’t concerned with the fact that you’re slaves, and until you free yourselves of this nonsense you will remain trapped forever. Fuck the next life, think about this one.”

He’d expected Pryce to react with horror, rage or even ridicule. Instead the man was quiet and thoughtful.

“But what else is there? What else can we do to fix our lives?”

“McConnell believes we need to find the son of God, who will sew the world together.”

“And you? What do you believe?”

The Mariner took a deep breath. He hadn’t spoken of his calling since Absinth.

“I am looking for an island, an island that holds all the answers. I’ve been looking for it for as long as I remember, and will continue to until I die.”