The Mariner

But as they glided closer, the falsehood of this became apparent. There was something beyond the water, some stone behind the froth and mist. And as they scrutinised the origin of the falls they began to notice that there was something surrounding the water’s mouth, a grey casing from which the liquid fell.

“It’s a building,” Harris’ voice was saturated with wonder. “Look up there, those are windows. The water’s coming from inside the top floor.”

And indeed, once he’d drawn their attention to it, the Neptune’s crew could clearly see the block’s outline. Some parts of the grey concrete had crumbled away, most noticeably the majority of sections between windows, but the roof remained intact; a thin dark outline above glistening white falls, an ugly mouth through which beauty spewed.

Heidegger shivered. “It’s an office block. Just an ugly office block.”

“Croydon used to be full of them,” McConnell said. “But none that gushed an endless supply of water. That’d have to be a hell of a burst pipe.”

“Where do you think it comes from? Is it being pumped up from the inside?”

No-one had an answer to give. The Mariner expected McConnell to make some statement about the source being God, but surprisingly the reverend kept his mouth shut.

They watched for some time as it slowly drifted along the horizon, at first ahead, but then slowly sliding along to the left. None had any desire to go near it; the falls filled every last passenger with a deep fear, though what of, none could precisely say. Perhaps simply its scale was intimidating enough. Harris muttered to himself fears about the world filling up, but most kept their paranoia to themselves, though despite their reticence, none could remove their eyes from the spectacle.

All apart from the Mariner, who felt quite the opposite. Something about the waterfall disgusted him, every time he looked upon it, nausea would swell in his throat and the pit of his stomach. He tried to tell himself it was the alcohol he’d consumed, but this was a blatant lie. Something about it made him jittery. Instead of looking at the falls, he found himself idly staring at the dark choppy waters below.

Something slick and dark caught his eye.

It was the briefest of flashes from in the depths, but just that was enough; the Mariner had learned to recognise these creatures through pain and blood. An old wound in his crotch throbbed, a reminder of the extreme lengths he’d gone to escape such creatures before.

“Everyone below deck!”

“What is it?” Heidegger’s eyes frantically studied his face for clues.

“Eels!”

“What?”

“I encountered them before; they pull fantasies from your head as bait.”

“Sirens? Like those old myths?”

“They’re Anomenemies!” Harris pulled his shotgun from its holster. “They need to be destroyed!”

“No!” The Mariner grabbed the gun by the barrel and yanked it from his hands. “This is my ship and we’re not taking the risk! If you like, return later and hunt the damn things with harpoons. We’re going to find the Pope and the Wasp and I’m not going to let you derail that!”

Harris barely had a chance to resist as the Mariner forced him below deck. The others followed, herded by the alarm in the Mariner’s voice.

He hastily ushered them down into the cabins. “No-one’s to venture above, no matter what you hear. Not until I say so. Am I clear?”

Confused and in shock, the crew agreed, and the Mariner began to leave.

Grace grabbed his arm, alarmed at his departure. “Where are you going?”

“I need to put up a few defences, make sure the ship is going to take us through without harm. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.” He didn’t give her a chance to protest, he slammed the door shut and ran back up the stairs.

Outside, the ocean was still fairly quiet, the only sound the distant roar of the waterfall. After such an explosion of activity, the Mariner felt disorientated by his own thudding heart in the still climate. His eyes searched the waters for some sign that his fears had been true.

For a time he saw none, yet slowly the eels began to show themselves. They didn’t seem to be the same as the last shoal, who had streaked about his boat in frenzy. These seemed sluggish and tired. He found himself wondering if they were the same creatures. Were they starved? During his first encounter, they had seemed desperate.

Transfixed by the slow moving eels, the Mariner trembled with anticipation. He should be below deck, hiding from the sea-monsters, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave. What he’d told Grace had been a lie; there were no defences to erect, no preparations to be done, he merely wanted to see what the eels had to show. The very hint of them had summoned something other than fear: lust. There was no resisting.

Perhaps those same beauties he’d seen before would return to copulate? He’d just watch this time, he felt stronger, more in control. No going overboard. This time he would use the eels, rather than them use him. The Mariner felt himself becoming aroused at the thought of the wonders he might see.