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.

40. THE WASP AWAKENS

“THERE IS NO TRUTH. ONLY the Wasp.” The Pope spoke with mocking certainty that both enraged and terrified the Mariner in equal measure, rooting him amongst the flagellating congregation, unable to move.

“Where is the Wasp?”

“First I must return what I took.”

“I don’t remember you.” The Pope looked at him as if he were mad, stupid or both. “You know who I am?”

“Of course. I know a great deal of you.”