The Mariner

The floating town appeared to be well populated. Often upon arriving at a settlement, the Mariner would find abandoned hovels and owner-less carts, empty clothes and plundered cupboards. But this time he could already make out citizens going about their business, mending roofs, carrying goods, selling food and mooring boats.

Civilisation.

The Mariner needed no other crew. Bizarre considering the Neptune was such a large vessel, but he never had any trouble controlling it. The ship docked easily, sliding in alongside the long wooden platform that served as the island’s only port. There were other ships, but the Neptune dwarfed them all. Other sailors turned to stare, immediately cowed by the sheer size of their new rival. No doubt each and every one was wondering how he could steal her for his own. The Mariner wasn’t worried. The devils wouldn’t tolerate anyone else aboard. They had their slave, and not until he was worn to the bone-marrow would they seek another.

After lowering the anchor and gangway, the Mariner gathered up a set of tools and stepped off the boat and onto land for the first time in months. A smartly dressed man, with an unruly beard that betrayed the care he’d taken in his attire, stepped out to greet him. Behind him, in sharp contrast to his jolly visage, gathered a small posse of men, whose sole purpose, it appeared, was to look stern.

“Greetings Sir,” he began, reaching out an open hand. The Mariner stared at it. He wasn’t accustomed to civil receptions, he was more used to bullets and screams. “I’d like to be the first to welcome you to Sighisoara. You won’t find a better trading port for a thousand leagues, I can guarantee that!”

The Mariner squinted at the man as he spoke, trying to shield his eyes from the brightness of the sun reflected off the water’s surface. In the crystal shallows below, large numbers of fish darted between rocks, colourful bodies distracting.

If the bearded man was offended by his palm left lonely and outstretched, he didn’t show it. “Just over there you’ll find Hawkins’ Inn, where you’ll find bed ‘n’ bread. If you’re in need of the spiritual, Reverend McConnell’s church is on the northern side, you can’t miss it. If it’s spirits of another kind you’re after, then Hendrick runs a very good brewery. Just turn left when you hit the road and look for a sign with a serpent on. The hisser-pisser we like to call it.”

At the mention of alcohol his stomach twisted and all of a sudden the Mariner’s mouth was dry as parchment. Perhaps food could wait, just for a little bit?

“There is no fixed price for docking at Sighisoara, we merely ask that you donate ten percent of all your trade to the island’s upkeep.”

The Mariner shook his head sadly. “I’m afraid I’m not here to do much trading, just enough to get stocked up and move on.”

Beardy looked crestfallen. “Oh, that’s fine.” He glanced up at the enormous ship that he’d pinned hopes of great riches upon. “If you change your mind, we could always drop it to five percent? You must have plenty of cargo to off-load.”

“No, no cargo. I’m not a trader.”

“Whatever.” The man scowled, his garrulous façade stolen. “Come find me if you change your mind. Let’s get the inspection over.”

“Inspection?”

“Yes of course!” The dock-master rolled his eyes with feigned nonchalance, though the pupils shot back to the Mariner like ferrets. “It won’t take long, we just need to make sure you’re not importing any banned goods.”

“Banned goods?”

The bearded man, demeanour transformed, barged past, followed by his gang of ‘inspectors’. They immediately began stomping up and down the deck, searching for any signs of goods ready to off-load.

“I told you I’m not here to trade—”

“What’s this?” declared Beardy as he waved above his head an empty bottle he’d found. “Wine eh? Something you’re not telling us? Any goods undeclared are confiscated, ain’t that right boys?”

“Right,” nodded the nearest one.

“It’s all gone,” muttered the Mariner, with more than a hint of sadness.

“Is that so? Then you won’t mind us searching, will you?”

It was then that a devil chose to venture above to see what the commotion was about. Its snout scanned left to right as if reading a book and almost immediately it began to growl. The guttural warning froze the intruders mid-plunder.

“What the fuck is that?” Beardy yelled, backing away from the terrier sized beast.

“They live here.”

“There’s more of ‘em? How many?” The whole gang backed away, seemingly unsure of how to deal with a creature they’d never laid eyes on before.

“I don’t know,” the Mariner shrugged. “I don’t go below deck very much.”

“You can’t dock here,” Beardy angrily remonstrated as he shuffled towards the gang-way. “What if they infest the town? Pests, I say, pests!”

“They won’t, they like to stay on ship.”