The Mariner

The immediate striking difference between the Neptune and the Beagle, was that the ferry was metal throughout. Every footfall upon her echoed back to their ears and it felt to the Mariner as if he’d been shrunk to the size of a bullet, rattling around in the barrel of a gun. Grimy white walls felt stark and impersonal, further emphasised as they entered her gut, an area behind the mouth he’d been so alarmed by. The cavernous chamber was crammed with goods and supplies, a horde teeming with a crew, each man and woman sorting and cataloguing.

“The rewards of hunting Anomenemies,” Harris said, indicating the plenty. “Sometimes traders give us a cut for the protection we provide, other times they are simply the spoils of war.”

The Mariner was gob-smacked. “Is all this food?”

“No, not all. See those bags over there? Coal. We got some barrels of petrol as well somewhere. Guns are what we’re after most, but there’s never enough of those. Our teams usually have to share, think World-War-Russia and you got the right idea.”

Despite the activity, the cargo room was dimly lit, lights some thirty feet in the air emitting a low orange glow, bestowing little but shadows on the workers below. The crew had supplemented the luminosity with their own oil lamps and battery powered torches that created little pools of light amongst the crates.

“Whilst some supplies are plentiful, fuel for the Beagle is low,” Harris explained. “In fact the ship hasn’t moved for some months now, engine on emergency power only.”

“You didn’t mention anything about this before,” the Mariner said. “I thought she was well travelled?”

“We are!” Harris’ defences shot up, a brief flash of anger at being doubted crossing his features. “Just because the Beagle doesn’t sail any-more doesn’t mean that her eyes don’t roam. My Kraken has seen many sights, I can assure you.” He strode ahead, pulling open a heavyset door that led into a tight corridor. “Follow.”

As they were marched ever more centrally, they passed further members of the Beagle’s crew, and unlike when they’d arrived at the zoo, these were uninterested in visitors, concerned only with their own tasks. Countless blank faces bathed in a dim light.

“It’s like being back in a city,” McConnell said, his voice carefully quiet yet still echoing. “It’s been a long time since I’ve felt a part of a multitude. Strangely comforting in its way.”

The Mariner received no similar comfort. He couldn’t help but feel that they were once more captives; Harris another Pryce leading him to Mavis. most likely a tin-pot dictator like Diane, another fraud and monster.

At least this monster might have some spare wine.

“Stay here,” a gruff escort commanded, pointing his gun at the Neptune’s crew. While they obediently waited, Harris was shepherded through a set of doors, still no warmer in construction then the metallic ones they’d touched before.

The Mariner turned to speak with McConnell, keeping his voice no more than a whisper.

“What do you think of our chances of seeing him again?”

“You’ve got to trust someone.”

“What evidence do you have for this?”

“If they were going to kill us, they’d have done so by now.”

The Mariner raised his eyebrows. “You’ve lived a sheltered life, reverend. People are far sicker than you’d believe.”

Finally the door opened and a guard beckoned them through.

The room beyond was as dimly lit as the rest of the ship, though the multitude of desks inside were scattered with lamps, their shades directing beams onto notebooks, papers, beakers and microscopes. It gave the impression of a thin strip of light, horizontally arranged with darkness above and below. Between them he could see a waistline moving back and forth in a shuffle.

“Come in, come in,” he heard an ancient voice whisper. Each of them stepped through, the guards departing and closing the door behind.

As the Mariner’s eyes adjusted to the differences in light, a wizened face swam from the gloom. Mavis was small, no more than a sack of bones with a smiley face slapped on top. The light bounced off her pearly dentures, and with the skin so tight about her skull, she gave the impression of a skeleton rising from the dark. He didn’t flinch though; her eyes were warm and welcoming. If she were a skeleton she was a noble one.

“Ma’am, it is my duty to introduce to you—”