The Mariner

The main entrance, door left slightly ajar, opened fully and Harris entered. Harris, who’d been so instrumental in putting McConnell’s plan into process. A man, emotionally distant, yet with the drive to push for a new beginning. It marvelled McConnell to think how quickly opinion had swung behind the two men. Word got round that a change of direction was being endorsed, and by the time they’d arrived at Sighisoara, power had pretty much slipped. Mavis was old, too old to handle such a bold venture, and ever since her failure to stop the Mariner’s brutal disgrace, Heidi had become withdrawn. She hadn’t protested at Harris’ assent, and had even encouraged McConnell’s part in it.

Sighisoara itself had been the same ragtag of gangs, individual interests with little guidance towards anything but the next meal. Sighisoara, the town that Gregory McConnell had preserved with rigorous thought, had descended further into petty squabbles and infighting. The acceptance of the Beagle, and submission to their rule, had taken mere hours. No contest.

“Christopher?” Harris said. “It is time. Will you not come witness?”

“Are there others present?”

“Of course. Everyone. The whole town has turned out. It’ll be marvellous, the first proper act of justice and law in years.”

“Marvellous?”

“Necessary,” he corrected. “The first step in accepting our new future. The people will want to see you there.”

McConnell waved his hand. “I promised never to look at him again, and I intend to keep that promise. You go, one of us should be there.”

“Is this your church?”

McConnell gave a snort of derision. “Yes. Silly isn’t it? I think it was my way of apologising to my father. I killed him. I’ve never told anyone this, but I’ll tell you now. We drove from London to Sighisoara, via Germany and Prague, but by the time we got here his mind was gone, and it wouldn’t return. To cease his violence I cut his throat with a shard of broken glass. That stopped his heart beating, but I’d murdered him long before that. Perhaps if I’d been a better son, he wouldn’t have lost those memories of me so quickly? Perhaps he wouldn’t have forgotten me first of all?”

Harris put a hand on McConnell’s shoulders and the reverend bowed his head in silent tears.

“I’ll stay with you Christopher. We don’t need to see the bastard hang. We’ll stay in your father’s church until the monster is dead. And then, when he’s paid for all his sins, we will emerge reborn, ready to rebuild all that was lost.” McConnell patted his friend’s hand and hoped it was so.

The Mariner mounted the steps of the gallows, his body quaking uncontrollably, terror causing his vision to blur and lungs to quiver. Heidi was still with him, and she stood on the stage like a narrator to a theatrical performance, of which this, he assumed, would be. A dance was about to be done, albeit one in solo.

As his head rose above the crowd an enormous roar greeted it, as every man, woman and child cheered at the sight of the prisoner, and the promise of what would transpire. Their joy at his demise seemed to emphasise the righteousness of the punishment, justice was being served. This was right, how could he argue with so many certain minds, so many faces hungry for a hanging?

He owed it to them to go through with it.

He owed it to Grace.

But he was so terribly afraid.

“Heidi?” he asked, voice rising and falling like that of a small boy. “What happens when you die?”

Just loud enough so he could hear, “Don’t worry Arthur, it doesn’t end.”

But that brought him no solace, and he twisted where he stood, howling like a trapped beast. He opened his eyes and searched the crowd, looking for some sign of rescue, but all he saw were armed guards. Any rescue would fail, there were too many guns, loaded and ready to fire at the sign of escape. Besides, who would rescue him? He searched his memory and couldn’t think of a single soul who hadn’t condemned him to this end. Not even the devils. And given who he was, he couldn’t blame them.

As his eyes scanned the combined peoples of the fleet and Sighisoara, they met those of Mavis. She was towards the back, raised by a grassy slope, looking like just any other elderly lady. Had she protested her stripping of power, he wondered? Or was she relieved that her meddling in the world’s affairs had come to an end? Whatever her feelings, Mavis was looking forward to the hanging as much as anyone, struggling for a better view as the crowd worked itself into a frenzy.

“Heidi,” he pleaded once more. “I don’t want to die like this. Not with so many people watching.”

“You have no choice Arthur. It is time.”

“Then at least let me apologise.”

Heidi held up her hand, and the crowd lapsed into a tense silence. He could see their eager eyes darting from her to him, tongues wetting their lips. Sensing the moment near, children were hoisted onto shoulders. This was not to be missed.