The Mariner

Inside smelt rotten. In the initial confusion that had seen Harris dive to the safety of the ocean, many of those who hadn’t succumbed to mindlessness had been torn to pieces and left to decay. Their putrid bodies now lay scattered throughout the water clogged passages; corpses ridden with crabs and other scavenging pests. The salt in the air gave their stink an almost pickled quality and several of the scout parties were forced to stagger, retching into the shallow pools.

As they climbed, rising higher through the internal body of the Kraken, Mavis’ disciplined soldiers flanked them, always taking turns to scout out the passageways on all sides, forever on the lookout for Mindless. None were found, the boat was deserted.

Because of the dim light and the slanted angle of the Kraken’s demise, the ascent was slow, yet this was Harris’ ship and he was able to direct the group on the fastest route to the brig. In and out. No distractions. No talk of rescuing or repairing the ship itself; it had been claimed by the elements. The Kraken had died.

“We’re here,” Harris whispered, cradling a long ornate double-barrelled shotgun, silver trim glinting in the light of a dozen flash-lights. “That door there.”

One of the guards moved to open it, but the Mariner restrained him.

“No, let me. If she sees a familiar face, she might not struggle.”

He crept forward and inched open the door.

Inside was a large room, half bare, the chairs and desk that once adorned it now laying upturned in a corner. The other half was separated into three barred cells, with little more than a wooden board jutting out of the wall acting as a bed.

Only two of the cells were empty.

The Oracle sat in the third, like a dignitary about to play host, just as ethereal in beauty as he’d first experienced. If Harris had been hoping that her incarceration would have weakened her, he was going to be disappointed. Flesh glowed with health, eyes sparkled. One could think her reclining within the cell of her own free will, and only for a matter of minutes, rather than locked there for several weeks, the last of which without nourishment.

Her eyes widened with delight as he entered the room.

“Claude! Oh Claude! How wonderful to see you again. I was saddened by your abrupt departure, there was so much to discuss. And how silly of me not to recognise you. I recognise you now though. Very clearly.”

The Mariner slowly walked towards her cage, the others filing in behind. The Oracle’s smile faltered as she saw his accomplices.

“Oh, Claude, you’ve fallen in with bad company. How sad.” She began searching their faces with her piercing eyes, finally falling on Harris. “And the captain! Back for more games?” Her silky words slithered through the bars. “Loose lips sink ships, wouldn’t you say?”

“Look at the ground, don’t speak to her. Unless you want to end up like the last crew.” The Mariner glared at those behind until they averted their gaze from the caged creature.

“Claude, how could you?” she chuckled in mock anguish. “The least you could have done is bring your friend, he was delightful. So many stories, so much history. Delicious.”

“He’s dead.”

The Oracle shifted uncomfortably. “Dead? Oh my, how sad.”

It doesn’t like not knowing, he thought as he stared at her, powerful yet vulnerable in her enclosure. It’s not used to having to ask. It prefers to take.

“Not interested in my thoughts?” Her sour expression, oh so brief across an expertly-honed mask, betrayed the truth in his teasing.

“That would be rude wouldn’t it?” she retorted, smooth once more. “I just want to talk. If only we’d talked sooner we could have both avoided falling in with our mutual friends here.” She leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially. “They will be the death of you, you know.”

But the Mariner was not going to be diverted. “You tried to steal my thoughts before, but couldn’t. Why not?”

“There’s nothing to steal!” she snapped, bitterness returning. “Nothing in your head at all!”

Ice deep in his chest. The Wasp took everything else.

“That’s not all.”

“No, you’re right, it isn’t!” she spat, suddenly seeming childish and petty, striking out to hurt.

She’s an infant, he thought, suddenly understanding an aspect of the creature before him. It’s subtle, but it’s there; she’s merely a child, and she doesn’t understand what’s happening.

“Your mind stinks! It makes me want to puke. Urrgh! Yuk! I wouldn’t eat a thought from your head if I’d been in this cell a thousand years. I think a Gradelding must have snuck up during your sleep and shat in your skull. Or perhaps you fell in the sea and the Ethusmanier laid eggs in your ear? Yes, perhaps that’s what must have put that stink in there?”

“Or perhaps it was the Wasp?”