The Mariner

So strange that now, years — possibly even a lifetime — later, he would find himself within a gang, several men strong, on their way to commit an act of arson and, if they were lucky, a murder too.

The escalation of violence had happened within minutes. What had first looked like a run-of-the-mill rape (when had he started thinking of them in those terms?) had suddenly turned into a blood-bath leaving several of his close friends dead.

Well, not so much ‘close friends’, but mutual beneficiaries. Partners in crime. And if they could be killed, just like that, then who was safe?

“That’s his ship up there,” he hissed at his two colleagues as they made their way along the dock, keeping to the shadows cast by the setting sun. “He’ll come running as soon as we start the fire.” The others muttered their agreement. It was unanimously decided that they needed to lure him away from the doctor’s lodgings. Whilst being a bit strange, Tetrazzini was popular amongst the people of Sighisoara and storming up there to take the criminal by force would lose them medical privileges. Better to set a trap and let the monster come sniffing.

Schiff was looking forward to seeing the Mariner hang for what he’d done. Rumours were abound that not only was he a murderer, but a grave robber and arsonist too. One could say that torching his boat was justice for the arson, as was a hanging for the murder. Something else would need to be thought of to pay for the robbed grave. Schiff looked forward to coming up with something particularly gruesome to do to the man’s corpse.

For a moment a small part of Schiff registered moral doubt over what he was about to do. This Mariner deserved it, yes, but did this sort of revenge make Schiff one of the Good Guys? He dismissed the objection. There was no law in Sighisoara. No law anywhere any-more. Not since the Shattering, or whatever it was the reverend called it. Schiff didn’t remember a dramatic holy event, a curse by God as McConnell insisted it had been. It was more of a foggy shift of the mind, a gradual separation of everything, from communication and friendships to nations and lands. But he supposed ‘Shattering’ was as good a word as any.

They neared the boat and, for the first time since their afternoon drinking binge, felt apprehension. The Neptune loomed large and dark against the reddening sky, its mast more like an enormous tombstone than the support for a sail.

You could say it’s the sail’s skeleton. Morbid. Just what the hell was getting into him?

Schiff pulled a large bottle of brandy out of his satchel and took a deep drink, hoping for courage. The other two disapproved, but then submitted to temptation and drank as well. It was not the act of drinking that caused them to view him so, but the source from which he supped. Brandy was the fuel they aimed to set the Neptune alight, and the three men recklessly drained their reserves.

“Come, let’s be quick about it.” Schiff boarded the ship first, affording himself a quick glance back along the dock, making a mental plan of where they would hide and lay a trap.

The Neptune was silent apart from the occasional creak of its wooden body. The sun bathed the three faces in a red glow that ended at their necks. Three bloody severed heads. He shook his to dislodge the thought. Best to focus and get the job done. This Mariner was a monster. Schiff would be infinitely more relaxed when his body twitched on the end of a rope.

“We do it here?”

Schiff looked around. His accomplices were feeling the nerves too, they hopped from foot to foot as though they each carried a full bladder. He shared their desire, it was tempting to get the deed over with, but they couldn’t afford to mess it up through haste.

“Let’s get below deck to set it, we don’t want to be spotted too soon.”

The three crept their way through a large oak door and down a set of stairs. Schiff felt right about what they were doing. This was all hunky-dory. For now the sun would mask their fire, but soon it would lower its head below the horizon and any flames would be easy to spot. Down here though, the fire would feed and grow strong, secret until too late. That was using his head. Oh yes. Like a Good Policeman should.

“Here?”

“No,” said Schiff. “A little further.”

For some reason Schiff was becoming excited. Earlier fears were sent into retreat as his curiosity emboldened. Where had this stranger acquired such a large ship? And how on earth did he sail it? Perhaps there were secrets to be found in these dark halls?

“Andy? Andy?” hissed Jeb, the more nervous of the two.

“What?” Schiff snapped.

“Here? Please?”

There was no reason not to, but still Schiff refused. “Just a little further,” he whispered and inched them to a door and the end of the hallway.