by Joseph Kiel
Devlan called up to him: ‘What’s up with it?’
‘Think she must be in a bad mood with me.’
‘Let me have a look when we get back. I’ll have her fixed in no time.’ It was no exaggeration. Devlan had a genius ability to fix malfunctioning mechanical devices. Getting his hands on old rusty engines was actually something he loved doing more than anything else.
‘That you will,’ Harp agreed as he cheerfully began whistling one of his old sea shanties.
Their spirits hadn’t dampened yet, even though they were yet to find any clues as to the whereabouts of this sunken pirate ship. On the third day, the divers had come across an old war plane, a Spitfire, which only encouraged their thirst for discovery.
As long as Floyd was willing to pay then they were all content. Even if they were to be out there for months and find absolutely nothing, Devlan didn’t care. It was something to do.
Devlan’s thoughts were interrupted as Captain Harp began singing his shanty:
‘Her eyes were as pale as the moonlight’s glow,
As she stood by the shore, her heart full of woe,
Her love set sail,
To search for that grail,
And nevermore would he know, how she loved him so.’
‘Not heard that one in a long time,’ Devlan said.
‘No. Me either,’ replied Harp.
He started on the second verse, the boat slowly chugging its way back to the harbour.
When they arrived back, Devlan slid beneath deck to examine the engines. Harp stayed on board while the divers all went home to get their rest.
‘Seen what’s wrong with her yet?’ Harp shouted down the hatch.
‘Your injectors are playing up,’ Devlan replied.
‘Blasted things. Want me to fix a brew?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Sure you don’t want a light down there?’
‘No, I’m fine.’
Devlan heard Harp’s footsteps walking across to the galley. Below deck, the damp air smelt thick with cloying fumes and oil. As he reached for a ratchet, Devlan paused. Strangely, he was now picking up the hint of another scent down there. Aftershave. He knew that Harp didn’t wear any and the deodorants the divers applied to their bodies were washed away by the end of the day.
He stayed still like a panther waiting for the rogue predator to come closer. As intuitive as he was at fixing mechanisms, he could also sense when there was danger about. Right now it had come to him in the scent of expensive cologne.
There soon came the unmistakable sound of further footsteps creaking on the boards above. He detected three people. Were they the divers? What would they be doing back?
‘Hello. How can I help you?’ he heard Harp ask them. Gone was the chirpy tone with which he’d been singing his shanties. These people definitely weren’t the young mariners.
‘Captain Harp,’ one of the uninvited visitors said. ‘Made any healthy catches today?’ He was smooth-voiced but sounded too friendly.
‘No. No, we haven’t gone a-fishing today.’
‘You’ve been out every day this week. And every day last week. But nothing to show for it. How curious.’
‘We been boating on other purposes. Private purposes, if you please,’ Harp informed him.
The spokesman of the group perched himself on the side of the boat. ‘Indeed. We assumed so. Not escaped our eyes at all.’
Devlan’s muscles were rigid like cement. There was no need to announce his presence yet. Not until he had a better idea as to what was going on.
‘Thinking of finding yourself sunken treasures out there in those waters, are you?’
‘I don’t see how that’s any of your business,’ Harp replied.
The spokesman began laughing, a laugh that would fail miserably in a James Bond villain audition. It certainly did not impress Devlan who was now readying himself to pounce.
‘Some things are best remained lost, Captain Harp. You never know what sort of trouble you may uncover if you find them.’
‘We don’t want no trouble,’ Harp replied.
‘I thought as much. By we you mean..? I’m assuming you’re not doing all this off your own back. It would be of great assistance if you could tell me who you’re working for.’
That was it. Devlan couldn’t risk him spilling his guts to them. It was time to even things up.
Springing up through the hatch, Devlan landed firmly on his feet in the middle of the deck with a rumbling thud that seemed to shake the entire vessel. The spokesman immediately shot up like someone had just burst a balloon under his seat. One of the other men involuntarily shouted: ‘Oh my God! That’s Devlan!’ as all their coolness dispersed. Devlan stared menacingly at the three of them, and looking back at him without the shades was an experience that generally made anyone’s blood run cold.
The spokesman swallowed hard. Although he still had three against two, on account of Devlan being one of the two, he could not help but feel he was vastly outnumbered.
Devlan glared back at him, his mouth turning into a snarl. The man was young, only in his twenties, cocksure and arrogant.
‘Herb,’ the man whimpered.
One of the goons who apparently had the name of Herb stepped forward. He was at least six foot three. Most probably lifted weights at the gym every day.
Herb charged towards Devlan, reaching for his throat. He was far too slow, and much too weak. Devlan darted out of reach in a blur of a move and Herb found himself with Devlan’s hands wrapped round his face. In a monstrous flick of his body, Devlan then tossed him face first into the sea.
Devlan then turned to the young man with the expensive aftershave. ‘It would be of great assistance to me if I knew who you were working for.’
But by now the man and the other remaining thug were backtracking their way off the Alchemist. They clambered hurriedly back onto the quay and waited for the humbled Herb to drag himself out of the water.
‘I thought that, of all people, you should know.’
With that, they scampered away.
Tentatively Harp walked up to Devlan. ‘Well, I think we handled that well.’
Devlan chuckled. ‘That tea ready yet?’
‘Those bigheaded bastards!’ Floyd roared as he kicked his chair across his office. The room, part of the arcades complex, was decorated in a steel grey emulsion, no pictures on the walls, just a cheap paper calendar that was a freebie from a local Chinese restaurant. The air in the room always smelt stale like flat, morning-after beer.
‘That’s it,’ he went on. ‘Tomorrow morning I’m going to see Henry and have it out with him.’ He held his bony fingers up in front of his face and stretched them out before clenching them into a fist, as though he could already picture the fight in his mind.
Devlan hadn’t seen him so pissed off in years. ‘Floyd, if I were you I would just keep quiet. Like I say, I’m pretty sure they weren’t the Fires.’
‘Ah, this has got Henry Maristow written all over it!’ Floyd spat.
‘But I know most of the Fires operatives, and I tell you none of these guys I’d seen before.’
‘Who else could it be?’
Devlan paused for a moment as though considering whether he really wanted to entertain the thought. ‘Come on. You know who else there is,’ he replied.
Now it was Floyd’s turn to be quiet, his small jittering eyes fixed in one place for a moment, as if they were about to bulge out of his head. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and paced up and down the room.
‘You think they were sent by… him?’
‘Why not?’
Floyd shook his head. ‘They don’t know I’m running the gig?’
‘They saw me. I would guess they worked it out from that.’
Floyd scrunched his eyes shut, not wanting to deal with his train of thought. ‘Nah, I’m going to see Henry and rub it in. Can’t wait to see his face when I tell him exactly what I’m up to.’
Devlan rolled his masked e
yes. Deep down he was still the same old Floyd, reckless and headstrong. And a complete loudmouth too. He couldn’t say anything to him. Floyd was like a runaway steam train when he got going, and nothing he said to him would get past Floyd’s impulses. The best thing to do was just temper him.
‘Okay. But maybe leave it a few more days. At least until we’ve got the Donna Bank covered.’
‘Yeah. Maybe.’
Devlan got up. He’d had enough. ‘I’d best be going. Got another busy day tomorrow.’
‘Think you’re getting close?’ Floyd asked as he began to calm down.
‘Who knows? All I know is, someone out there is worried that we might be.’
‘That’s good enough for now,’ Floyd replied as he picked up his chair again. He sat back at his desk, the steam train coming to a rest at the bottom of the hill.
For now.
Chapter 3.2
Wednesday evenings were becoming a masochistic routine for Danny. At five o’clock he had a lecture at college, this evening’s being on post-romantic literature. In the warmth of the lecture theatre and with the monotonous tone of the lecturer’s voice, Danny found it a difficult task keeping his eyes open tonight. He never used to be like this. Recently his enthusiasm was like a dying fire.
After this lecture he would have normally gone straight home, but a few weeks ago he’d inadvertently stumbled upon an interesting discovery, something that was like throwing paper onto his fire - it reignited the flames again, but only very briefly. He knew it was pointless to do this, but that was what he’d continued to do. After missing the 1823 bus one evening and catching the 1906 bus instead, he’d made sure to continue getting this particular bus over the following weeks.
Danny felt a little awkward as he stood at the shelter. The curls of hair on his head were twisting around in the evening breeze like leaves in a storm. His mind was just as agitated, fixed on the one thing that it always was, that enchanting beauty who’d hijacked all of his desires and emotions: Stella. Her name echoed throughout his mind constantly, as though it beated along with his pulse.
Stella Stella Stella Stella Stella.
Danny was seriously worried. His lust for her had only increased since he’d found out about her engagement. He knew it was a lost cause now, but why couldn’t he give her up? Why did he still keep chasing after this silly dream? He’d completed his poem now. That was supposed to be the thing to help straighten out his emotions but all that had seemed to do was make them worse!
He knew he should be up in the lounge with Michael and Larry at this moment, playing on the Playstation or talking about how badly their coursework was going. But instead, like an idiot, he was at the shelter, waiting to catch this stupid bus.
The 1906 bus.
It was early by about five minutes. Danny climbed on board after the half dozen other people congregating at the shelter. After he paid for his fare he turned and faced the seats. Which one to sit on? He eventually picked one away from everyone else as it had plenty of empty seats around it. Once he made himself comfortable, he then waited for what inevitably happened. She would turn up.
He glanced out of the window. Just a little way down the road was a leisure centre that had early evening classes. He figured that Wednesday’s class at six o’clock was a yoga session because when she walked towards the stop she would have what looked like a yoga mat under her arm.
He could see her. Immediately he felt uplifted, the fire blazing brightly once more as though a breeze of oxygen had been blown into the flames. As she walked along the pavement, Danny closed his eyes. It was a funny thing for him to do. Usually he would be totally absorbed by her and taking her in with as many senses as he could. Perhaps he’d closed his eyes in a vain attempt to cut himself off from her spell.
He heard her delicate footsteps as she alighted. He heard her soft, melodic voice as she said hello to the driver and ask for her ticket. He heard the exchange of coins and her ticket winding out of the machine before she then made her way to her seat.
Danny wished that he’d opened his eyes two seconds later than he actually did, for at that precise moment, Stella was walking past him in the aisle and was looking directly at him. An electrifying surge juddered through his body as his throat went dry and his palms went sweaty. He immediately looked away, instinctively scared about what may have been given away in that fleeting moment as she’d looked into his eyes. Connecting with her like that made him feel naked, like she was able to look deep within him at all the powerful feelings that flowed throughout his being. It was best to keep them hidden. She’d be freaked out if she truly knew about them.
He gazed out of the window, but still he could not escape her. He could see her reflection, and he could make out that she had decided to take the seat directly opposite him. So, instead, Danny gazed at the pattern of the headrest’s fabric in front of him. It was still no good as she hovered like a nebula in his peripheral vision. There was only one thing for it and so Danny shut his eyes once more.
The driver revved the engines and Danny felt a jolt as the bus started moving down the street. Why oh why was he here again? Why would he submit himself to this torture and soul-destroying frustration? There was no way in the world that she would ever be his now. There was no way that someone with such angelic beauty would even take a remote bit of interest in him in the first place.
Just at that moment, a curious thought struck Danny. Exactly what did he want? It had seemed too obvious before, but at this moment, he wasn’t sure if he could quite answer this question.
He knew how Larry would answer it. What else would he want to do besides going up to her room and having the most mind-blowingly passionate time with her that he could possibly imagine? But that wasn’t it exactly. These thoughts had gone through his mind, but not that often. So just what was it? Maybe he just wanted to own her. Maybe she was like some beguiling gemstone that he’d spotted on a beach and just had to have. Perhaps. She just seemed too delicate, too serene to be so physical with, like connecting with her in that way was too base, too crude. It seemed that there was something higher that was leading Danny in all this.
Something higher.
Just what was the connection he was feeling with her? Why did she seem to get right into his very essence? Was it some sort of metaphysical part of his self that was dragging him along this journey, yearning for her? Danny sat up in his seat a little. It felt like these thoughts were leading him somewhere. Would it really be too crazy to think that he and Stella could be lost soulmates? There had to be a reason why the universe kept making their paths cross so often.
He dared another glance over at her. She was staring idly out of the side window. What the heck was he thinking? I’m nothing to her! Here was Danny thinking all these deep and wonderful thoughts and there she was probably wondering what she was going to get herself for tea. Or rather, what she was going to get herself and her fiancé for tea.
This had to be lust, so intense that he was mistaking these feelings for something else. Something that really was much more down to earth. He was going to have to do something about all this. He couldn’t keep catching this bus for one thing. That would be a start. Maybe he would have to get lost in his college work a little more. It certainly needed a lot more attention. So did his circle of friends. Danny had grown a little distant from them during the past couple of weeks. Maybe tonight he would go home and suggest they all go out for a drink, if not tonight, then soon. A lads’ night out. Straightforward, no hassle enjoyment. He knew he could always rely on his friends for that. Maybe he should even start looking at the other girls out there.
They continued to trundle down the road into the town. He knew how this would go. Stella would get off at the same stop as Danny. She would go one way down the street and he would go the other. He would casually glance over his shoulder as she got smaller and smaller in the distance, the fire dying down to a pile of meaningless ash.
But tonight when he got off the bus he would just
keep walking. This time he wouldn’t glance over his shoulder at her at all. And this time next Wednesday Danny would already be home, arguing with Larry about whose go it was next on the Playstation.
Chapter 3.3
The spring semester was fluttering along languidly and Michael began to wonder if he’d made the right decision in choosing the subject of Halo of Fires for his Journalism assignment. But that was the thing with Michael, he was never any good at making decisions. It was the curse of being a Libra apparently, as he read in his horoscope that Friday morning:
Is life becoming a little too predictable? Or are you becoming a little too predictable with life? You don’t always need to take the same train route. Perhaps a change of your mental tracks will open up new possibilities to find the success you’re looking for. Don’t be afraid to make some firm decisions now and again!
He folded up the newspaper and pushed it aside. Somehow he had to focus himself. He was supposed to be reading the newspaper articles, not the extraneous crap that came with them. Still, he would perhaps save the crossword for later that evening, until Larry dragged him out to play pool.
He decided to take a break from studying and get a coffee. Friday mornings in the library were usually quiet, the ideal time to get in some quality study time, but Michael had other things on his mind.
He wandered down to the canteen, bought a decaf and a sausage roll, then sat down on one of the stiff, metal chairs. He could hear the radio set behind the till playing a Beatles tune, All You Need Is Love.
Lennon. Another Libra.
Michael reached into his bag and then brought out the letter that he’d received in the post this morning. There were five pages, ornately written words on summer sky blue writing paper. As he flipped through the pages, Michael caught the hint of a fruity perfume. It was another letter from his pen-friend Faridah whom he’d been writing to for nearly a year. They’d met when he was in the first year. She was an exchange student at the college and had attended church each Sunday. It hadn’t taken long for Michael’s eye to be caught by her exotic and sophisticated beauty.