The Mariner (42 page)

“Dad,” he began carefully, meeting the creature’s furious glare. “We’re almost there. You wanted to go to Sighisoara and I’ve taken you there. Do you remember? Sighisoara?”

The zombie-like monster that wore the mangled disguise of his father snarled back and threw itself forward. McConnell was drained of tears, instead his eyes just throbbed.

“Last time, Sighisoara brought you back. Can you try that now? Sighisoara? You grew up there. Sighisoara.”

But what had worked before now failed, and the creature continued to thrash about in the back-seat. Trembling, McConnell started the car and began the final stretch to the town his father had once remembered so fondly.

And as he drove he kept whispering over and over like a prayer, “Sighisoara. Try to remember Sighisoara.”

The car ran out of petrol just as the vehicle rolled into town. McConnell looked at it in wonder, a hill surrounded by medieval turrets, a mighty clock-tower, and a beautiful decaying church at the highest peak.

It was just as he’d imagined.

39
EVERY MAN HAS A HOME

S
IGHISOARA. TRY TO REMEMBER
S
IGHISOARA.

McConnell sat beside the body of Grace, a bedding sheet gently laid over her body. It seemed wrong to wrap her in such claustrophobic surroundings, but the ruin that remained was something he simply couldn’t look at. He didn’t know how to proceed; should he notify someone? Was there law in this small town? He doubted it. Leaning over, he caressed the bump in the shroud that was her head, delicate tears wetting his lashes.

Amidst him, the rest of the inn was in uproar. The landlady held Harris and Heidi responsible for the murder, though the gravitas of the situation seemed to be limited to concern for stains. A greater source of fury was the raided cellar, significantly drained by the Mariner before his heinous crime. The captains were busy buying her off whilst simultaneously arguing about Harris’ decision to allow the Mariner to leave.

How had he not seen this coming? The Mariner, Arthur–
fucking
-Philip (or whatever he called himself now) had appeared like a lunatic since day one, so why had he trusted him?

Because you were mistaken, that’s why. Because of that bullshit you allowed yourself to believe. That bullshit that made you think he was special. That she was special.

But he’d been proven wrong. Grace wasn’t special, she was dead. And the Mariner her rapist.

Perhaps he’d been wrong from the start? If he was wrong about the Mariner, perhaps he was wrong about the whole thing? Perhaps his Dad’s final thought had been nothing but nonsense, the confused babbling of a mind slowly taking wing of its fleshy nest?

What do you know? What do you know for certain?

He knew that somehow Grace and the Mariner had brought the zoo back, and they did so by remembering. Later, the Mariner had pretended he’d played no part, but he’d heard him say ‘I remember’,
he’d heard it
. And just after, the island drew itself upon the horizon like a stripper from a cake. If
they
weren’t special, perhaps what they had
done
was?

“I should not have let you leave Sighisoara,” he said, still stroking her hidden hair. “It was just a zoo, not a home. And we were fools, not fathers.”

After another few minutes, long enough for dawn to properly break and cast its glow directly through the window, McConnell had decided what needed to be done. He knelt, drawing away the cloth to once more look upon the child’s face. In death, he’d hoped she’d look serene, but there was no glimmer of comfort to have in that poor beaten face. Only misery and regret. He leaned down and planted a single solitary kiss upon her forehead.

“Goodbye, Grace O’Hara,” he whispered.

And that was that.

Downstairs, Harris and Heidi were still arguing, having placated the landlady with more supplies as payment for the plundered booze. McConnell approached them, unnoticed whilst they yelled.

“They’re probably not far ahead, we can still catch him!” Heidi was saying.

“And what then?” Harris snapped. “Follow him all the way until we find the Pope? Let’s face it, you would kill him, I would kill him, probably that timid bugger upstairs would even have a go. This way we get both the Pope and Philip. Barnett’s professional, he’ll see to it, I promise you.”

“He needs to be put on trial.”

Both turned, surprised by his entrance. Heidi looked sympathetic, her own eyes ringed with red. Harris, on the other hand, appeared more embarrassed by the terrible situation than anything else.

“This isn’t like the old days, we can’t formally charge him and send him to the Old Bailey. The only trials we have are for Anomenemies.”

“Who’s to say he isn’t one? He has no past, knowledge he can’t account for, a strange ship manned by wild fucking beasts, sounds a lot like an anomaly to me!”

Heidi turned to McConnell, agony in her eyes. “I’m so sorry, it’s all my fault!”

He didn’t move as she embraced him, holding him close whilst she sobbed.

“He spoke her name last night, I thought that meant he just
interfered
with her, I didn’t think…” she trailed off, tears pouring down her face. “I thought I had time to deal with it.”

McConnell patted her back, faking comfort he couldn’t genuinely give. “We all missed the signs and she paid the price. So let’s not miss any more.”

Heidi pulled away, wiping her face. “Like what?”

“In all your years of killing Anomenemies, has the world gotten any better?”

“No,” Harris replied, to a faint but impotent protest from Heidi. “Mavis believes there’ll be a tipping point when the old rules of science snap back into place.”

“What do you believe?”

“I’m in the market for new ideas.”

“I’ve seen a part of the world come together. I’ve seen an island reappear that had once drifted beyond the horizon. We’ve been living though the Shattering, chunks of the world vanishing, a shrinking land and growing sea.”

The others nodded, remembering the symptoms if not knowing the cause.

“But I saw some of it draw together. And I think we have a chance, a remote chance, of bringing it back. We need to return to Sighisoara, and all the other settlements you’ve come across.”

“Why, reverend?” Heidi asked, perplexed.

“We’ve forgotten too much, and allowed ourselves to drift for too long. I know how to pull us back from the brink.”

“Whatever your plan is, we’ll have to run it past Mavis.”

“Then let’s get back to the Beagle. But promise me something, you’ll send another ship back here to look for Philip. If he’s alive, I want to see him hanged.”

Harris agreed. “He’ll be dead, but just encase, sure. We will need to return for the men I sent after him anyway. If they haven’t killed him by the time they return, I’ll have him arrested for you.”

“Not for me,” McConnell said with a cold twinkle in his eye. “For the world we will create.”

Grace’s body was sewn up in the cloth they’d used to cover her body. The journey back to the fleet (even further to Sighisoara) would be too long to transport her, so they decided to bury her corpse upon the moors. Standing at the top of the cliffs, looking out at the great expanse of land, McConnell found himself hoping the Mariner would survive out there, just long enough so he could watch him die.

The only ship at their disposal was the Neptune, and as they rowed towards it, the number of their party reduced by six, Harris warned everyone to have their weapons ready.

“He’s on the moors,” McConnell reminded him, not understanding the concern. “He wouldn’t come back to the ship if he thought answers were ahead. It was all he cared about.”

“Not him,” Harris shook his head, loading his shotgun. “His monsters.”

Heidi patted McConnell on the shoulder. “I know she was fond of them, but they have to go.”

“I understand,” he said, feeling a morsel of sympathy for the beasts. “She is dead, and they were always his.”

But aboard the Neptune, the devils couldn’t be found. Where once intrusion had been sharply resisted with growls and gnashing teeth, there was now an eerie silence. And with the devils, so went the ease the ship had sailed before. Instead it performed stubbornly, like a spooked mare. It were as if the magic had died along with Grace.

“Or perhaps its ghosts no longer see the need to haunt,” Heidi suggested. Perhaps there was some truth in this. If there was ever a man who deserved haunting, it was the Mariner.

“The principle is sound,” Mavis said, her notes scrawled across a mishmash of blank papers ripped from scavenged books. “It’s based upon Schrödinger’s Cat.” Behind her, hidden amongst various crates and bottles of toxins, the distinct sound of choking emerged. It was muffled, as if the voice struggled against a tightly placed cloth and accompanied by a scuffling, legs kicking whilst growing weaker. McConnell tried to ignore it, especially as the old lady’s eyes were locked with his and showed no sign of wavering, much like a small white haired terrier after a rat. “Schrödinger believed in multiple outcomes existing side-by-side, locked with indecisive stasis by lack of observation. A cat, both dead and alive at the same time, both murdered by poison and quite healthy simultaneously. Unobserved death, that’s the key.”

McConnell shifted his gaze, and Mavis took pity on the weakness. “But I’m getting ahead of myself, you’re not a man of science are you, Christopher? You strike me as a person of rigorous faith, am I right?”

Not long ago, he’d have leapt at a chance to debate religion, now however the conversation left him edgy, eager to move to safer topics, one that had been on his mind ever since leaving the moors. “I want to build a library.”

Their haphazard journey to the Beagle had lasted some weeks, the crew doing their best to follow landmarks dotted about the great expanse of water. Sometimes the wind would die and they’d be stuck adrift, an old relic bobbing aimlessly in frustrating stasis. The time hadn’t been wasted though, McConnell used to it plan their course of action. Harris warmed to the ideas instantly, though Heidi wasn’t so enthused. As much as Grace’s death had galvanised McConnell into action, it had knocked all hope from the woman. The Mariner’s actions had broken some intrinsic quality. The sparkle had died.

But in the end the winds had returned and they found the Beagle, still inactive, anchored near a small archipelago of distinctly hilly islands.

“A library?” The old lady squinted, more perplexed than disapproving of the suggestion. In the recesses the scuffling ceased.

“A store of knowledge; so the Darwins and Schrödingers can never be forgotten. A barrier against the slippage of thought”

Her wrinkles curved into a multitude of smiles. “That seems most... appropriate. But what of the man you travelled with? The captain with the kindly eyes?”

“We left him behind. He’s a cancer. A monster. He’s gone now, as is the little girl we travelled with.”

Mavis drew her eyes from his to Harris. “Dead?” He gave a solemn nod and she took McConnell’s hand in her leathery one. “I’m so terribly sorry.”

“I don’t think the world can be restored, but I’m sure we can stop it breaking down any further. I’m done being a priest. I don’t want to give answers any-more, all I want is to preserve the ones we already have.”

“I respect your emphasis on education. It must be through reasserting the laws of science that we bring stability to our world. Where will you build this library?”

McConnell already knew the answer. Sighisoara. The only place left he could call home. They’d welcome the Beagle, with her supplies and power. Perhaps the combined strength would form the basis for a new society? A future free from the contagious ignorance?

“I’m so sorry about the child,” Mavis consoled again. “She was a sweet thing, a true innocent in all these terrible times.” She reached up and clasped his head in her hands, drawing the tall man down so she may kiss his cheek. Afterwards, she held him close, turning his head so she may speak in his ear. “We will go to Sighisoara and do as you ask. Here we are, refugees of a world blown apart, setting to rebuild a knowledge cruelly stolen from us. We may the the last chance anyone ever has.”

“Of that I’m quite sure,” McConnell agreed with grim certainty. A grimness tinged with hope. They had a path, he could see it now. Devised from their own will, not the whispers of a ‘Pope’ or the dreams of a madman. What could they possibly learn from the meeting of a sexual deviant and a demon?

McConnell was sure they’d made the right choice. The Pope, the Oracle, the moors, the waterfall, the Mariner; all a distraction. All a lie.

No truths could be found in them.

No truths at all.