“I think they are special.”
Fortunately for the Mariner, McConnell stopped there, feeling a bit foolish. No-one laughed though, Heidi and Harris studied the three travellers closely, mulling over McConnell’s speech. The Mariner could feel their minds whirring. “Enough,” he said even though they’d been sitting in silence for a minute or so. “We’ll explore other ideas once we’ve found the Pope, whoever he is, and make him talk.” Stretching out on the deck, he took a swig from his hip flask, forever kept full now they’d been able to resupply at the Beagle. It hurt his stomach, but felt nice to have the thoughts in his head subdued. “This is my ship, so my rules. Shut up and get some sleep.”
The journey north lasted several weeks, and in that time the people aboard slowly began to become acclimatised to each other. Mavis’ foot soldiers, twelve in total, intimidating in their initial anonymity, revealed themselves in truth to be a varied collection of refugees, with stories similar to any other in the endless sea. Lives spent in confusion at being torn away from a world that made sense, into one that did not.
Eventually McConnell overcame his reluctance to share his faith, and soon set to preaching his Shattered Testament to any who’d listen, which, surprising to the Mariner, was a fair number of Mavis’ followers of ‘science’. Fortunately, McConnell never explained the link he’d made between his faith and the Mariner, but he did catch Heidi glancing in his direction when McConnell had spoken at length of Christ’s return.
The devils never overcame their distrust of the new shipmates, only venturing above deck to pester for food or to get a quick pet from Grace, who was enjoying the fresh bustle of the Neptune. Harris in particular spent a great deal of time with her, teaching her how to shoot. McConnell had disapproved, though couldn’t voice a genuine reason why she shouldn’t learn. Self-defence was invaluable.
Slowly, day by day, the weather grew colder. Furs and blankets became necessary to shelter from chilly winds, and rain ceased to provide refreshment and now became a miserable huddled affair.
They navigated using the sun, heading roughly, yet steadily north, though after a week talk amongst the crew began to grow doubtful. How did they know they were on the right track? Where was this Moor the Oracle spoke of? Had it all been a cruel trick?
And then, just as it looked like they would have to give in and consider an alternative route, they saw it. The Waterfall.
Rising out of the ocean like an impenetrable wall, the waterfall tumbled from an invisible river, cascading down from an aperture a hundred feet in the air, with no landmass or other source to be seen. The roar from it soared across the sea, sounding like a constant growl of some gigantic beast. Around the waterfall was a thick mist, water vapour constantly blown out and away from the tumbling tonnage, saturating the air and soaking the clothes of every person aboard, even though they must have been a mile or so from the actual fall itself. The sheer volume cascading down into the ocean was immense; this was not a thin stream, but a long rectangular sheet of water, humbling in its majesty.
However, it was not the scale of the waterfall that had them all dumb-struck, but the source — the water was falling from the sky. It were as if some lining in the air had torn, allowing an infinite amount of water to come tumbling through. It was beautiful in its simplicity, a single vast column of water, forever falling to violent collision with the world beneath.
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.