The Mariner

“They all have their symptoms cured, but not their illness. They are still desperately unhappy people.”

“Then I suppose you’re about to tell me that you can fight the illness?”

McConnell smiled at the cynical challenge. “No, but Jesus can.”

“I’ve already found one cure, I don’t need another.”

“Nonsense!” snapped McConnell. “You saw the sign and you entered. You could have easily gone to Tetrazzini, you can’t miss his place, just keep climbing up! No, instead you came here, because you know you need something else!”

The Mariner didn’t answer, but instead rose and walked to a small box jutting from the wall. It had a small slit with an arrow pointing inside. Next to it was a drawing of a pair of eyes. He had to stoop to look, but not by much.

Inside was an amateurish tableau of a man and a woman walking across a beach so wide that the sand stretched into the distant horizon. The wife was heavily pregnant and riding a donkey with her bearded husband leading the wretched beast by the nose. A placard beneath explained, ‘Joseph and Mary make their way to Bethlehem’.

“The birth of Jesus,” said McConnell. “I built the miniature theatre to tell the story. The box you’re looking through slides to the right.”

Still keeping his eyes level with the box, the Mariner slid it as instructed and the small wooden frame juddered along a fixed track. One tableau was replaced with another, this time the pair sitting in a wooden barn lined with straw whilst their loyal donkey watched on.

“It changed!”

“It’s a series of compartments arranged in order. Nothing has changed, you’re just moving the viewing piece along to see the next set-piece. I use it to tell the story of Jesus’ birth to children. I remembered how effective films were and wanted to recreate the effect.”

“Films?”

“Moving pictures.”

“Moving pictures?”

“Never-mind.”

The Mariner moved the box further, sliding it four foot across the wall, every six inches or so revealing a different scene from their hidden stage.

“Very clever,” he said, finished.

“You like that, huh?”

“I do. It was lucky that Father Christmas guy turned up and saved them from King Heron.”

McConnell nodded gravely. “Yes it was.”

The Mariner walked back to the pews and sat on the one in front of McConnell, staring at the focal point: an alter built from odd bits of wood and crafted about a central spherical stone. “I don’t know where to begin,” he whispered.

“Start with tonight. How did you arrive at my door?”

“I was warned my ship was the target of an arsonist; one of the patients at the rehab centre likes to burn things. I guess the Neptune was too big a temptation.”

“The Neptune? The ancient ship?”

“Yes, she’s mine.”

“You’re a lucky man, she’s a fine vessel. The largest I’ve seen since the Shattering.”

“The Shattering?”

“We’ll get to that. You say this woman was tempted by the Neptune. Surely if she was being treated for a compulsion to commit arson, she should be prevented from doing so? Watched at all times if necessary.”

“That’s not how Tetrazzini’s theory works. He encourages—” A puzzle-piece fell into place as he suddenly remembered the fire that introduced the doctor. “He believes in curing through medication rather than behaviour.”

“I see.” McConnell said, although it sounded as if he had severe reservations.

“I went to stop her, but when I arrived others were already there. Thieves or vandals, it doesn’t matter; they were dead.”

“Dead? How?”

“Tasmanian devils guard the Neptune for me. Actually it’s not for me at all, they consider it their home and I’m just a tolerated guest.”

“The devils killed-?”

“The intruders, yes.”

“You didn’t instruct them, or train them to do so?”

“No.”

“Then there is no sin. These men were trespassers and thieves. Get rid of these dangerous beasts and put it behind you.”

“The fire-addict was also there, she’d indulged herself before I’d had a chance to intervene.”

“I haven’t heard the fire bell. Were you able to put it out?”

“Yes.” The Mariner chose not to share how he’d quelled the flames, slitting open the men’s bellies and emptying their fluids onto the fire.

“Excellent. I can understand your exhaustion, but you should be pleased. Crisis avoided!”

In the dark gloom of the church, the haunted expression had returned to the Mariner’s battered features. “I saw things. Things that weren’t there.”

“Visions?”

“Yes. Visions. Ghosts. I think they were things that happened on the ship before it was mine.”

“How can you be sure?”

“I’m not, it’s just a feeling. A feeling that that the Neptune was sharing moments of her past with me.”

“What were these visions?”

“Terrible things. Torture. Rape. Murder. Why would I be shown these sights?”

McConnell, sitting behind the Mariner, both surrounded by darkness, felt uneasy. Had this man really seen these things? Or had years at sea hammered a madness into his skull? “Perhaps God showed you to warn you from straying too far down damnation’s road?”

“If he did, then his message failed.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Because I enjoyed it.”