Just as there had been a time when he’d had little self-control, there’d been a time when he’d slept in the open air every night. True, he still felt more comfortable under the moon and stars, but since travelling with Grace and McConnell, things seemed… different. Calmer. As if their presence had lulled the ship into sleep.
“Or the wind,” he murmured, shaking his head. As soon as they’d left Sighisoara the wind had died, leaving them stranded somewhere between one island and another, a place Grace called the zoo.
Being dead in the water was excruciating, especially because the three hadn’t packed any additional supplies. The Mariner had been in a rush to depart and McConnell hadn’t even planned on boarding until he’d stumbled across the gang-way, awe-struck by the return of the zoo to the horizon. Grace alone had anticipated the journey, but her childish mind had only contemplated enough snacks to get her through a day or so. Now they were gone, and everyone was growing hungry.
Of the three, Grace coped with the stillness the easiest. The devils were quite taken with her, and she played with them constantly. Mostly fetch, sometimes tug-of-war. The Mariner didn’t like to watch these games, he’d seen the devils behave in a similar way, but rather than pulling at a piece of old rope, they’d been yanking the intestines from a belly. Still, he had to hand it to her, Grace had these things as docile as pups.
McConnell, on the other hand, was a terrible headache. He questioned the Mariner incessantly, about his travels, his memories, his time in Sighisoara, all to which the Mariner gave as little information as he could get away with. He was done with others scrutinising his life. If Sighisoara had taught him anything it was that letting people into his world caused trouble.
Why had he even let them aboard? The Mariner struggled to remember his precise thinking, he’d been too caught up in emotion, and now the logic was hazy.
The sooner they got to the zoo the better, then McConnell could stay with Grace and he could be on his way; back to the endless sea, searching for the ‘island’ and the answers contained within.
Stepping out into the night air, the Mariner was struck by how dark it was despite being on the top deck. His candle illuminated the area in front and further along he could make out the shapes of Grace and McConnell, hunched over a small flickering lantern. But that was all. Beyond them was pitch black, a thick blanket that conjured a thousand monsters born of paranoia.
“Good job there’s no wind,” he said as he approached the pair. McConnell turned his head and held a finger to his lips. Grace slept beside him, wrapped in a thick blanket with a tazzy-devil in her lap. Like McConnell, the beast wasn’t asleep and gave the Mariner a warning glance of its own, but held back from growling. Neither man nor beast wanted to wake the young girl.
“Why do you say that?” whispered McConnell. “I thought still air spelled disaster? That’s what you’ve been saying.”
The Mariner nodded. “I was and that’s right, but not tonight. With cloud cover this thick we could sail right into a cliff-side and never see it coming. Best we wait here until it rains. After the rain we’ll get some light and some wind, you’ll see.”
But damn, it was dark. The Mariner stared at the sky, trying to get some glimpse of the moon poking through. Not a hint. It was as if they were within a cave, deep underground, rather than out at sea.
McConnell shrugged, dismissing the concern. “If you say so, you’re the sailor.”
“And you’re not? Spent your whole life on Sighisoara?”
“Oh no, I drove there. It was just after the Shattering, when it was still possible to do such a thing.”
“You remember the Shattering?”
McConnell shook his head. “No. Just the drive. A long drive across Europe. I was trying to get as far as I could from home, only after a point I could no longer tell which direction home was, or even if it still existed. To be honest, I don’t even know what I was running from. Sighisoara wasn’t an island when I arrived, and then — one day — it was.”
The reverend smiled grimly. “But that was long ago. The point I was trying to make was that I’m not a sailor, I’ve never spent time at sea, so I wouldn’t know how to read the signs like you do. Though when the sun went down I didn’t see a hint of cloud in the sky, and I don’t see how you could tell if there was one now.”
“Pardon?” Something’s wrong. Suddenly the Mariner’s breath became shallow, the hairs on his neck bristling.
“I mean,” McConnell continued, unaware of the Mariner’s alarm. “Who can tell what’s in the night sky? A dragon could hover right above and we’d never know.”
The Mariner paused and looked into the abyss above. There wasn’t even the slightest hint of light in any direction.
“But there’s usually some light…”
“From where?”
“The sky.”
McConnell grinned and shook his head. “My friend, you’ve either been at the bottle or touched by God, I’m not sure which. The night is the night, there is no light.”
The Mariner wanted to grab McConnell by the shoulders and shake him, force him to remember, but he knew better than that. If McConnell had forgotten about the stars and the moon, then for all their sakes he should avoid the subject. He remembered the change that had occurred in the philosophy teacher. He remembered the change in Absinth.
Absinth. He hissed the name through his teeth, remembering the dream from which he’d awoken.
“Something about the Oracle…”
McConnell didn’t respond and the silence was pleasing. The Mariner sought no conversation, instead he focused his attention on the surrounding blackness. The suffocating dark felt like a huge wall about to bear down. Oppressive and bleak.
McConnell had forgotten the existence of stars and who could blame him? There wasn’t a single star to be seen.
25. FRESH SHORES
JUST AS THE MARINER HAD predicted, the morning brought a breeze that slowly pushed the Neptune into motion. Contrary to his foretelling however, there was no rain. The Mariner watched the sky throughout the early hours until the rising sun changed the pigment from murky black to brilliant blue. His fears had been confirmed, there were no clouds. Had they cleared before dawn? The alternative seemed too daunting to contemplate.
“What are you looking for?” Grace asked as she’d awoke, rubbing her face to cast off the night’s grime.
“Nothing,” the Mariner lied. To mention the stars was a risk he wasn’t prepared to take, not with McConnell, and certainly not with Grace. “With the wind returning we should arrive soon.”
This seemed to bring a great deal of cheer to the girl, though the Mariner couldn’t understand why. The only place in the world he had a desire to be was aboard this ship, and even then it was out of necessity rather than affection. What must it be like to feel a connection to a place or time? Was the island he sought such a place? Would it be his home?
Like the previous two mornings, the devils busily gathered around Grace for their early feed. The Mariner had watched in disgust as Grace shelled out portions of her travel provisions to each of the beasts with equal measure.
“It won’t be long until the wind picks up, then they can find themselves food at the zoo!” the Mariner chided, but Grace had turned her nose up in protest.
“They are members of the crew, just like us. Aren’t you Basil?”
The devil, tongue and teeth dripping with drool, wasn’t interested in the notion of equality, merely the piece of dried meat in her hands.
“Bllleeeeeuuuugggghghhhhh!”
“That’s right, you are,” she’d said, patting the beast and allowing it to eat from her palm.