The Deptford Histories

by Robin Jarvis

  Both were too absorbed in what Captain Chattan had told them to pay attention to anything else. The world now appeared to be more full of shadows than before and they almost wished they had never met Mulligan. It was he who had opened the entrance to this dark and sinister world and they found themselves yearning to slam the door shut again and escape to some carefree land where none of these horrors had ever been heard of. Yet even as they considered this, they knew that should Suruth Scarophion ever return then nowhere would be a refuge from him.

  Miserably, the mice emptied their bowls and stared dolefully into them as if the solution to their troubles might be hidden there.

  Eventually Thomas lifted his eyes and, turning to the captain, said, “If we have to go to this city of yours, then we’d best make a start. The sooner Woodj and me get all this over and done with, the better.”

  “And me!” Dahrem pleaded. “Don’t forget Dimmy—what’d he do stuck out here all on his lonesome? Let me come with you.”

  ”Come then!” Chattan declared, rising to his feet. “Karim, see that the fires are doused, whilst I take our honoured guests to the Chandi.”

  Down the shore the captain strode, towards the waiting wall of mist and, with his gauntleted fingers, he beckoned the three mice to follow.

  “Do not be afraid,” he told them as he stepped into the outlying wisps that flowed over the sands, “the fog is but a simple enchantment and will not harm you.”

  In spite of his assurance, Thomas and Woodget ventured forward cautiously and Dahrem eyed the vapour with trepidation. What if the magic arts of this uncouth rabble were capable of detecting his true identity? Would that cloaking mist permit a member of the Scale to pass?

  There was only one way to find out. Chattan was already becoming lost in the enshrouding fog, fading to a vague outline and so, with his paw clasped upon his satchel, Dahrem rushed forward and leapt after.

  Thomas coughed nervously as the pale grey mouse was swallowed up by the obliterating cloud, then with a nod to Woodget they both entered the swirling mist and its furling fingers wrapped close about them.

  Woodget shivered. It was cold inside that encircling fog, where the hot Cretan sun failed to penetrate and it was as though he had been struck by a sudden blindness. Only a dense, white blankness reared before him and at his side even Thomas’s sturdy shape was veiled and blurred.

  In his paws Mulligan’s fragment grew chill, the gold glinted like ice and the pulsing light dimmed within the jade.

  “I doesn’t like this, Tom,” the fieldmouse murmured, but his voice fell flat and dead against the billowing cloud.

  “Don’t worry,” his friend uttered, although the sound seemed to come from a long distance away. “Just keep on walking.”

  Woodget obeyed, faltering only when his toes found the water’s edge and he jumped back in alarm.

  “It’s freezy!” he cried.

  Thomas’s dim silhouette was a little way ahead of him. “You get used to it,” he promised, wading a little deeper into the water, “but I don’t think there’s much further to go. The mist’s breaking up here.”

  Ignoring the goosebumps which prickled over his body, Woodget went splashing after until the waves were lapping against his middle then, suddenly, the fog parted and he emerged into the warm sunshine once more.

  “Oaks and Ivy!” he declared, gazing around him in wonder.

  Before him, bathed in a shaft of brilliant sunshine, Thomas stood spellbound by the sight that met his eyes and, beside him, Dahrem was similarly transfixed—yet envy and malice gnawed at his heart when he looked on the lovely spectacle unveiled before them.

  Only Captain Chattan turned when the fieldmouse emerged from the mist and he grinned at him with a proud light twinkling in his dark eyes.

  “Behold the Chandi,” he said.

  The fog bank was in the form of a great, wide ring and in its centre, sitting with immeasurable grace and symmetry upon the glimmering sea was the most beautiful ship Woodget could ever have imagined.

  A quarter of the size of the Calliope was she, for here was a galley built by the shipwrights of Hara, whose only crew were the folk of that great, fabled city.

  White as winter frost were her shapely timbers, resembling an exquisite sculpture chipped entirely from a single and immense block of ice. Over her slender prow and bluff stem, an intricate, overlapping latticework of images, symbolizing the beneficent powers of the world, clustered—richly embellished with the brightest silver.

  Two great emeralds which burned with a fire like the unstoppable, bursting might of spring, blazed in the eyes of the large and lifelike figurehead that was carved in the shape of the Green Mouse, and they shone brightly over the sea, guiding the Chandi through any waters, however fierce the weather or dark the night.

  All around the elegant vessel, seeming to hem it within a fence of upraised spears, the long, lean oars pointed out and upwards and from the deck, like tall and stately trees, three masts rose into the clear blue sky. Each tapering trunk was bound with further examples of the silversmith’s art and from the ornate bands a delicate web of fine rigging was strung.

  Yet surmounting all of this, and sitting atop the main mast, was a crescent moon, also of silver, and it sparkled and glittered above the rest of the ship like a fallen star, whose glare was so bright that it pained the eyes to look on.

  “She’s beautiful,” Thomas marvelled. “Makes the Calliope look like a rusting bucket.”

  Captain Chattan laughed, then he raised a tiny whistle to his lips and blew three short blasts upon it.

  In response, from the galley there appeared a small rowing-boat which swiftly came towards them. At the oars of this craft there was another mongoose but this one wore no armour, only a light blue cape and a belt to which was attached a long, pearl handled knife.

  “Hail, Mahesh!” Chattan declared. “See, I have brought three guests to accompany us on our return.”

  When the rowing-boat pulled alongside the captain, its occupant stared intently at the mice but said nothing and merely bowed politely.

  “Now my friends,” Chattan told them, “you must climb into this craft if you are to board our ship. Let me assist you.”

  One by one the mice were helped into the rowing boat. First went Thomas, then Dahrem who made a ludicrous fuss as he scrambled over the side and nearly capsized it entirely before finally sitting down. Then, with Chattan’s aid, Woodget clambered in beside him and the captain joined them.

  With an expert dip of one oar into the sea, the boat was whirled about and the serene shape of the Chandi grew larger as they swept towards it.

  Into the centre of the open space, which lay concealed from all outside eyes within the mysterious bank of fog, they went and soon the white timbers of the galley’s smooth hull filled the mice’s vision until their little craft came to a halt with a gentle bump.

  From the deck above, a rope ladder was lowered and Captain Chattan ascended it first in order to show them how it was done.

  Eventually they were all standing upon the Chandi’s upper deck, where the rest of her crew were gathered in two regimented lines awaiting the return of their captain.

  All wore blue capes about their shoulders and, to Thomas and Woodget’s surprise, they saw that, as well as mongooses, there was a complement of small, long-tailed creatures, with dark bars striping their fur, which they later discovered to be palm squirrels whose agility in the rigging was unparalleled.

  Once he had introduced the three mice to the curious crew, Chattan gave instructions for the other rowing-boats to return to the shore and bring back Karim and the rest of his warriors.

  “Well my young friends,” he beamed at his guests, “you are most welcome and the freedom of the ship is yours.”

  Thomas and Woodget thanked him, and with an ingratiating grin fixed upon his face, Dahrem babbled idiotically.

  “Splendiforouscruisydreadnoughtslooper!” he yapped, wagging his head up and down. “Lor—if only my Aunty
Lily could see her Dimmy now!”

  “What I don’t understand,” Thomas began, staring round at the enveloping mist, “is how you manage to see where you’re going?”

  At that Captain Chattan laughed out loud. “The Chandi knows all waters,” he replied, “yet her mariners have many charts to consult if she should stray and there is still the sky above, for we steer for the most part by the stars.”

  “But I still don’t see,” Thomas grumbled. “How do you know where the shore is? How do you avoid the rocks and reefs?”

  The mongoose grinned. “When we set forth I shall show you,” he promised.

  Just then Woodget, who had been scowling to himself as his thoughts troubled him, asked, “How long will it take afore we reach your city, Captain?”

  “My land is far from here,” he replied, “yet the Chandi can travel with great speed when the wind fills her sails. If we are fortunate then the journey will not take much more than fifteen or sixteen days.”

  “As long as that?” the fieldmouse murmured unhappily and, clutching the fragment, he wandered to a corner of the deck that was covered with a canopy of white silk and sat down upon a heap of cushions.

  Chattan watched him then turned to Thomas who was standing with his head tilted right back, admiring the towering masts and shielding his eyes from the glare of the sun.

  “It is a difficult burden that has been given to your friend,” he said.

  Thomas looked at him then peered over to where Woodget was sitting with his chin in his paws. “Oh it isn’t Mulligan’s treasure, nor what lies ahead that’s bothering Woodj,” he commented. “Once he says he’ll do something that’s it and no complaining. No, the Scale and all the dangers we might face are the furthest things from his mind at the moment. I know what’s bothering him, he figures that it’ll be at least a month before he can get home and see Bess again. Poor Woodj, if it wasn’t for me none of this would’ve happened and he’d still be back at home.”

  “Do not condemn yourself too sternly,” the mongoose told him,” ’for I believe it was meant to be this way. Destiny has a way of guiding the paths of those she requires to do her bidding—if you had not led him to this point she would have found another method.”

  “All the same,” Thomas shrugged, “I wish Mulligan had given me the fragment instead, then Woodj could’ve returned home straight away.”

  Chattan’s eyes narrowed as he considered the little fieldmouse and he shook his head slowly. “No,” he said. “He would not have deserted you, even as you do not desert him.”

  Listening to all that they had said, Dahrem suddenly bounded forward. “I’ll go sit with Woody!” he cried. “Dimmy can cheer him up.”

  “Wait!” Thomas snapped, pulling the pale grey mouse back. “Let him be for a while.”

  An obedient grin spread over Dahrem’s face but he raged inside and he wondered how he could bear to remain upon this hateful ship with the ninth fragment so tantalizingly close without being able to claim it.

  “A chance will present itself,” his seditious mind thought, “a moment will come when the vigilance of these fools is wanting. Then shall I strike and the agonies of My Lord’s blood shall eat into them.”

  But Dahrem was not permitted to dwell on these delightful musings, for Karim and the others were climbing aboard—their armour clattering and clanking as they hoisted themselves onto the deck.

  Then Captain Chattan called for the anchor to be raised and the sails to be unfurled and Thomas watched the crew set about these duties with great interest, wondering if during the length of the voyage they could teach him some of their skills.

  With a ruffling of the canvas overhead, the wind filled the sails and the mice saw that they were of the purest white and embroidered with a pattern of intertwining green leaves about the edge. Then, gracefully, with the surrounding mist moving with her—the Chandi began to skim through the water.

  “Just think, Dimmy,” Thomas murmured excitedly to the evil creature at his side, “we’re setting off again, to a land I’ve only heard of in old tales, one of the most mysterious and fabulous places there is—India.”

  A distinct sneer formed upon Dahrem’s face before he could stop himself, then he gave a theatrical sigh and said, “Yes, but who knows what might happen ’tween here an’ there?”

  In the days that followed, the white and silver ship of Hara steered first towards Egypt and passed secretly through the great canal one early morning, like a shred of dawn mist.

  Yet its crew and three passengers saw little of the lands that they voyaged past. Only the snowy walls of the enchanted fog which enveloped their vessel could they see, and the mice quickly tired of it.

  But, keeping his promise to Thomas, Captain Chattan showed them how they could peer through the cloaking vapours if they so wished. To a place directly behind the figurehead he brought them, and where the light that shone from the emerald eyes touched the ethereal, obscuring curtain in front, they could see vague images as if they were gazing through a hazy window. Dim outlines of desert hills they saw and enormous figures hewn from stone, worn smooth by the scouring of thousands of years and abrasive, sand-filled winds.

  But the temperature became horribly hot and both Thomas and Woodget were amazed that the mongooses could even contemplate doing any work, let alone pull on the oars when the breeze dropped—for all they were able to do was lie beneath the silken canopy, wiping the sweat from their foreheads and panting wearily.

  Dahrem however was unaffected by the extreme heat. He was well accustomed to arid climes and with his heavy lidded eyes, he slyly spied the ways of his enemies, contemplating what his next action might be. To his overwhelming disappointment he soon realised that a constant vigil was kept upon the deck and even in the middle of the night five mongooses stood fore and aft—alert and watchful.

  No, to consider taking the fragment by force whilst surrounded by this despised throng was an insane notion and he bided his time, amusing himself with thoughts of murder and hideous cruelty.

  Down the Nile, the Chandi journeyed—then out into the Red Sea.

  When the sun dipped below the rim of the enshrouding fog and the air became cooler, Thomas would wander around the galley and chat to the crew, learning from the squirrels the art of rope weaving and, with much merry laughter at his expense, how to hitch up the sails.

  Sometimes Woodget accompanied him, and the fieldmouse excelled in climbing the rigging, but mostly he preferred to stand behind the figurehead and hear tales of the foreign lands they had passed from any who was willing to tell him. Occasionally the galley would drift over shoals of brightly coloured fish and once a porpoise delighted them all by leaping in and out of the mist, seeming to derive much amusement from the curious, chill cloud. For an entire afternoon, it travelled alongside the ship, calling up to the faces which gazed down upon it and emitting a high pitched chatter in its peculiar clicking voice. Then, after accompanying them for many miles, it gave a final call of farewell and plunged out through the fog—never to be seen again.

  At night the temperature dropped dramatically and, when the starlight glimmered cold and white upon the deck, the captain would join his guests and tell them stories of his city. But it was Karim who brought the stories to life, colouring them with descriptions of those who dwelt there and Woodget’s homesickness ebbed a little as he looked forward to the prospect of visiting the fair sounding place.

  Of Hara’s history and legends they learned much, how it was founded many ages ago in the deeps of the Coiled One’s reign by a wealthy warrior king who wished to build a stronghold in the mountains. But coming there, he beheld a vision of the Green and thereafter the monarch renounced his riches and power, and though his kin built the city around him, he remained on the mountain communing with the Green spirit until the day he died.

  “Always in the years after,” Chattan continued, “has there been a Holy One—a sadhu, at the top of the thousand stairs. They are a most blessed order and the one who
sits there now is counted amongst the wisest.”

  “Some say he is the embodiment of the Green himself,” Karim put in. “The mother of my dear wife believes him to be a divine spirit clothed in mortal flesh, but then she is the sister of Nakir, the fruit merchant who once spent three months living in the banana trees to see if he could catch a glimpse of the Green spirit.”

  “And did he?” chortled Thomas.

  Karim pulled a woeful face. “Poor Nakir,” he murmured drily. “He eventually returned with a raving tale of whispering voices and insisted that the bananas spoke to each other in the night, plotting how to take their revenge upon the macaques who devoured them. Ah—you may scoff, my little friends, but to this day no one has ever seen Nakir eat a banana and he will not suffer the very name to be mentioned in his lunatic presence, neither does he sell them upon his stall.”

  Woodget smiled, then became thoughtful. “Do you think your Holy One will know what to do with Mulligan’s fragment?” he asked.

  Chattan nodded. “If the sadhu does not, then no one can,” he answered. “For he is the head of the Green Council and all revere his words—they are few and seldom, yet never without value.”

  And so the days melted into weeks and across the Arabian Sea the Chandi voyaged. Then a day dawned when there was much excitement, for through the enchanted mist a distant coast had been sighted and their charts told them that there at last were the shores of their homeland.

  For the rest of the morning the squirrels leapt about the rigging, ensuring that the sails caught every breath of wind to speed them on their way, and the vast strip of land upon the horizon gradually grew closer.

  Standing behind the figurehead, Thomas, Woodget and Dahrem looked on the breathtaking sight in silence. It seemed as if a limitless continent of solid darkness was spreading over the sea, stemming the wide expanse of the immense waters, declaring an end to the deep’s untame realm and usurping it with another, equally wild and hazardous region.

  “That is my home,” Captain Chattan’s voice breathed softly behind them, “a land most beloved in my heart. Never can my eyes look on her without great emotion stirring in my breast. Lovely is she, yet deadly to the unwary traveller. The forests are filled with monstrous beasts of tooth and talon, but the main peril creeps along the ground or swims through our rivers—even the sea writhes with them.”