by Robin Jarvis
"What?" Miriam bawled, "That's idiotic! You can't dump corpses by the bins for collection. It will be discovered."
"Silence!" squealed the fishmonkey. "At the precise hour of three this night, something will come. The carcass shall be taken—have no fear. It will be as if your sister had never existed."
Hillian nodded her agreement. "It shall be done," she said, "but what of the boy? How are we to complete your master's wishes? Are we to resume what we have begun?"
The yellow eyes closed fully as the creature considered this and he reached out with his thoughts.
"No," he said at length, "that route is now barred to us. The mortal scum is becoming aware of his own strength. It is vital we do not arouse his suspicion any further—not yet."
"Then what must we do?"
"Waiting is all. My master must construct a new design. When the rest of thy coven is assembled, then we shall try again."
The fishmonkey's voice began to fade and its movements became ever more laboured. "My time is over," it uttered. "Summon me only when you are ready." And with that the eyes closed and it became a lifeless preserved curiosity once more.
Hillian looked at her sister. "So we wait," she sighed.
The large woman eyed her dubiously. "Are we really going to lug Plain Little Susie outside and put her in the alley?"
"Of course. What else can be done?"
"But what if someone sees us?"
"No one shall. Now make haste—there is a shop to get back in order."
At three in the morning, a squelching darkness crept over the cobbles of Church Street and moved purposefully towards The Whitby Bookshop.
The bloated shadow flowed through the alleyway, its quivering membrane brushing over the walls and coating them with slime.
Half hidden by the bin sacks, the forsaken body of Susannah O'Donnell lay upon the wet ground, a fine dew sparkling over her face.
Taking a break from cleaning her premises, Miriam Gower realised the time and peeped curiously out of the first floor window which overlooked the alley.
A black, formless shape had obliterated the place where she and Hillian had deposited the corpse and Miriam shuddered.
"Never did like that ugly Quasimodo," she sneered. "Now at last that voice of hers is silenced forever." And she resumed the cleaning, humming pleasantly to herself.
When the dawn came, no trace of the body remained. But the plastic of the bin sacks where Susannah had briefly lain had melted and the contents were spilled over the ground.
No one ever noticed the wisp of red hair that was glued to the cobbles by a peculiar trail of slime, for in the afternoon the rain came and the last fragment of Susannah O'Donnell was washed away forever.
5 - The Horngarth
With her baggy trousers rolled up to her knees, Nelda ambled slowly through the shallow waves at the water's edge and flapped the hem of her gansey.
She had walked some distance from Whitby, for that afternoon the tourists were swarming everywhere and the beach beneath the cliffs was filled with their clamour. Dozens of human children scrambled over the rocks, shrieking at one another and daring to explore the shallow caves set into the cliff side.
The fisherfolk half dreaded the fine weather which the month of May brought with it; the brilliant sunshine inevitably heralded this riotous invasion of holidaymakers. The aufwaders hated the constant noise which their cars, radios and raucous picnics caused. In the past they had always retreated further into the grottoes beneath the cliff to escape the landbreed babble but now that was impossible, and in the entrance chamber behind the great doors the human voices echoed from outside and resounded around the walls.
This, combined with the baking heat, had turned the cavern into an unendurable place in which the fisherfolk either sweltered or were driven to distraction. For many of the tribe it had proven too much and they ventured above the ground to seek a secluded refuge free from noise, hoping that the blistering weather would cease.
Yet the parched month continued and it seemed that the sizzling spell would never break. Summer had come early and showed no sign of dissipating, for today had been the hottest yet.
Beneath the thick wool of her gansey and the leather jerkin she now wore, Nelda felt as if she was melting. It was stifling and unbearable, yet she dared not remove the thick layers of clothing for she needed them to conceal her stomach, which she felt was growing larger every day. The young aufwader's condition was still a secret known only to herself and Old Parry, but Nelda knew she could not keep it from her grandfather for much longer.
"I must tell him," she muttered, patting her belly morosely. "He isn't blind and there's folk enough who'll notice even if he were."
Almost wilting from the heat, Nelda waded a little deeper into the sea and let the waves splash around her waist. She was tired, the unborn child sapped all her strength and she yearned for an undisturbed night's sleep without the constant ache that twinged and cramped in her back.
Scooping up the salt water in her hands, she threw it over her scorched and sunburned face then shielded her eyes to squint at the cloudless sky. The afternoon was nearly over and she yearned for dusk when the heat would subside and peace return to Whitby's shores.
Eventually, as the sun blazed orange and swollen above the horizon, her solitary figure padded back through the waves towards the cliffs. The familiar rocky stretch drew closer and Nelda was relieved to see that it was now deserted—except for two small shapes sitting upon the great stones, watching her as she approached.
Eurgen Handibrass and Judd Gutch drew on their long clay pipes and regarded the girl with sour expressions graven on their weathered faces. Normally they were two of the kindliest members of the aufwader tribe, but no glimmer of a smile twitched over their whiskery mouths as Nelda came nearer.
Perched upon the rocks, they averted their eyes when the youngster greeted them and concentrated their gaze upon the calm waters of the sea.
"A fair evening," Nelda said warmly. "Tis a lovely sunset. I hope the caves are cooler this night."
Neither of the aufwaders looked at her and she raised her eyebrows in surprise at this uncommon lack of manners.
"At least all is quiet now," she persisted. '"Twas a mighty crowd afore. I did fear one of the bolder children would find our dwelling."
Judd sniffed then shuffled round on the boulder until his back was facing her. Nelda stared at him in confusion, then to her dismay Eurgen slowly removed the pipe from his mouth and spat at her feet.
"Master Handibrass!" she cried. "Why do you mistreat me so? What have I done?"
The other aufwader snorted and Nelda grew fearful at their spiteful silence.
"I... I must find my grandfather," she mumbled, pulling the leather jerkin more tightly about her as she hurried towards the cliff face.
Eurgen cleared his throat and tugged at the tobacco-stained whiskers upon his chin.
"Tha won't find Tarr in yon cave!" he called after her. "Im's not theer!"
Nelda turned slowly, feeling a cold dread wash over her. "Where... where is he?" she asked.
Eurgen scratched his large ears and exchanged several low muttered words with Judd before answering. "Shrimp's in the main entrance!" he said curtly. "Tha'll find 'im theer."
Nelda clasped her hands in front of her and stared up at the cliff. Since the destruction of the fisherfolk caverns, her grandfather had only returned to the entrance chamber three times. As leader of the tribe he was obliged to sit in judgement there and listen to all complaints brought by other aufwaders. Shivering in spite of the heat, she wondered what had compelled Tarr to go there today.
A glance at Eurgen and Judd brought her no comfort.
"Tha'd best seek him," Eurgen told her. "Theer's summat to touch thee theer."
Nelda left them and walked cautiously towards the hidden tunnel entrance which led to the great chamber.
With her heart in her mouth she passed within a narrow and dripping passage, her wavering steps carryi
ng her up a steep slope. The tunnel was dark and humid, filled with the ponderous sound of falling droplets that steadily ticked the time away like a landbreed clock. Yet Nelda wished that it would never end, for she could guess what kind of reception awaited her.
Suddenly the cramped way opened out into a much larger space and, turning a sharp bend, she found herself in the entrance chamber behind the cliff face.
The cavern was large and lit by the silver radiance of many small lanterns. Their pale flames shimmered through layers of fishing nets like the moon behind the leaves and their dim beams rippled over the high walls until they appeared as fluid as the sea. Quivering pools of pearly light shone over the stone floor and played on the faces of those who were assembled there.
Nelda looked timidly before her. Standing in the glimmering gloom, waiting in grave silence for her to arrive, was the rest of the tribe.
Every old and weather-beaten face stared across at her with accusation and reproach burning in their solemn eyes.
Footsteps behind her made the girl turn around and she saw that Eurgen and Judd had been following. The two aufwaders brushed past and joined the others without uttering a word.
Nelda eyed them fearfully, then took several hesitant steps forward.
As one, the crowd parted and there, sitting behind them, was her grandfather. His grand and stately chair of office was made of rusting cogs and pieces of the mechanism which once operated the huge doors. Flanked by two enormous spindles of corroding iron, it had become the throne of the tribe leader and he only sat upon it when a judgement was to be proclaimed.
One look at Tarr's cold and blighted face told Nelda all she needed to know. He was stiff with pain and pride but his ancient countenance betrayed no emotion. He was as immovable as granite and his steady, condemning eyes seemed to bore right through her. Across his lap Tarr gripped his staff, and only in the almost luminous whiteness of his knuckles could his inner grief be glimpsed.
A malicious hiss issued from a squat figure standing at his side, but Nelda paid Old Parry no heed. The evil crone had done her worst and she was not going to gratify her with any acknowledgement.
Fixing her eyes solely upon her grandfather, Nelda approached.
The other aufwaders backed against the rocky walls as though she carried some infernal contagion, and their mouths twisted into ugly scowls. A few of the elderly seawives shook their heads with pity as the girl passed them but they feared and were revolted by her all the same.
When she stood before the chair, Nelda gazed sorrowfully at Tarr and in a subdued voice uttered, "Is aught amiss, Grandfather?"
The leader of the fisherfolk lifted his eyes to a point just above the girl's head so that he did not have to look at her and cleared his throat to summon his cracked and faltering voice.
"Hearken to her!" Old Parry shrieked before Tarr could speak. "Brazen as you please—the foul hussy!"
Nelda winced at the bitterness contained in that harsh voice but she continued to stare up at her grandfather and waited desperately to hear what he had to say.
"Go on!" Parry urged. "Make her admit it! Then tha'll see if'n I don't speak the truth!"
Tan threw the hag a flinty look then returned his attention to his granddaughter.
"Be this true?" he managed at last in a husky voice. "Is the poison which drips from her barbed tongue a vile fact?"
Old Parry huffed in outrage but no one took any notice.
"What poison has she uttered?" Nelda asked meekly.
"Tha knows."
"The wretch brims over with malice," she murmured. "How can I tell which deceit or venomous tale she has told? There have been so many."
"Must tha make me give voice to it?"
"If I am to know, then yes."
Tan's pent-up rage suddenly erupted from him and he slammed his staff upon the floor. "The bairn!" he roared. "Have tha been carrying a child these past months?"
There, he had said it, and on hearing his own, violent accusation, Tarr felt a part of his soul perish within him.
Tears sprang to Nelda's eyes and ran down her burning cheeks before she could wipe them away.
"Yes," she said, her voice battling to overcome the lump which was choking her.
Disapproving and contemptuous cries echoed around the cavern as the horrified fisherfolk vented their anger. Only Old Parry appeared pleased and she lunged forward to rip aside Nelda's jerkin.
"See!" she screeched as the girl pulled away. "Her belly's already swellin'!"
Nelda pushed the crone from her and hastily buttoned the jerkin over her gansey once more. Everyone was jeering at her now and she looked beseechingly up at her grandfather but it was no use.
Trembling with anguish and fury, Tarr glared back. "Art tha mad?" he wailed, joining in the ranting cries of the tribe. "Dost tha not know the mortal peril that burden of thine puts each and every one of us in?"
"I think of naught else!" she sobbed. "I cannot sleep for the fear which freezes my blood—the same blood which will turn to brine when the time comes."
Old Parry raised her arms to address the others. "Woe and disaster!" she announced in a doom-laden voice. "That's all this whelp will bring upon us. Never mind frettin' about her salty death, 'tis the rest of us who'll suffer for her wanton stubbornness. 'Tis the tribe who'll feel the brunt of the Deep Ones' wrath long after she's withered and oozed into the sands."
"Cast her out!" one of the aufwaders demanded. "Exile the selfish fool!"
"Aye!" agreed another. "Let us prove to the Triad beneath the waters that we want no part of this base madness."
"This is why our nets are clogged with stinking weed! She is the reason our catches have diminished!"
"Let us be rid of her!"
"Out! Out! Out!"
Nelda stared wildly round at the hate-filled faces, then turned to her grandfather. "Listen to me!" she pleaded. "What am I to do? The babe is the result of a bargain I made with Esau. I had to lie with him; our very existence depended upon it."
"Yet now the fruit of thy bargain threatens us also!" Tarr snapped. "The displeasure of the Lords of the Deep will grow daily. Already are we suffering—what more evil signs are we to endure?"
"But what would you have me do?" she cried. "I am sorry I kept this secret from you, yet I was afraid. Oh Grandfather, what am I to do?"
Tarr hung his head.
"You know well enough!" snarled Old Parry. "What does it take to convince your feeble brains? Did I not warn you? Did you not scorn my advice? Advice founded on years of toiling with the labours of others."
"Leave me be!" Nelda implored her, but Parry would not be quelled. Striding up to a shelf carved into the rock, she took down a large conch shell and carried it reverently back to the young aufwader.
This was the horn of the fisherfolk, the ceremonial trumpet which few could sound and whose mighty voice boomed out over the sea—reaching even the far-off realm of the Deep Ones. It had been given to them in the beginning and was one of the few treasures that remained from the time of the tribes.
A cruel glint shone in the crone's eye as she lifted the conch to Nelda's ear and forced the girl to listen.
"This is why I told the others," she said, "for this very day I did put mine ear to the shell and this is what I heard.
As she listened, Nelda's eyes grew round with terror and she whimpered in fright.
Instead of the usual roaring of the sea, the shell was filled with screaming voices. It was as if she was standing at the gates of Hell and the tormented souls were yelling and shrieking in their agony, drowning in a cacophony of despair and desolation.
Yet even as she listened in stricken horror, Nelda grew faint. One of the tortured voices grew louder in her ear and her scalp crawled as she recognised it—the voice was her own.
Old Parry kept the conch there longer than was necessary and a triumphant leer stole over her ugly face. "Tis another sign," she hissed. "By that unborn maggot we are all doomed. For is it not the result of a un
ion which the Lords of the Deep and Dark themselves forbade? Did their herald not warn you against marrying Esau? Did you not flout their ban? Are we all to pay for your wilfulness?"
"It wasn't like that!" Nelda protested, looking round at the rest of the tribe. "You were all there, we couldn't stop Esau. He was the ruling elder—I had no choice!"
"Maybe!" Parry bawled. "But you have a choice now!"
Nelda stared at her blankly, then turned to her grandfather for support. But Tarr was still cradling his head in his hands, unwilling to involve himself any further.
The young aufwader felt totally alone. All around her the members of the tribe were agreeing with Old Parry and shaking their fists at the girl for placing them in such danger.
"Do as she says!" they called. "Show some wisdom at last, child! Even now it is not too late!"
From the middle of the insistent fisherfolk, Maudlin Trowker, a seawife who had arrayed Nelda for the Briding, stepped up to her and put a tender hand upon her shoulder.
"Dinna fret so," she soothed. "Tis nothing—I should know. When I were young 'twas Parry I looked to when the curse fell over me. For the good of all, entrust thissen to her care—she knows best in this."
Aghast, Nelda dragged herself from the insidious and sympathetic comforter. "No!" she stormed, disgusted and appalled at the suggestion. She could not believe that the whole tribe was urging her to get rid of the baby and saw each one of them as if for the first time.
Through their fear, they had become callous, depraved creatures and Nelda was at once alarmed and aggrieved to witness the base transformation.
"Purge the evil from you!" they called. "Cast it aside! Kill the wicked spawn of Esau!"
As this insane uproar filled the chamber, Nelda looked once more at her grandfather, seeking one last time for his assistance and understanding.
"Help me," she beseeched him, "please."
But Tarr could not even raise his head from his hands. "Ah canna," he said flatly. "As leader ah mun look to our safety. The Deep Ones will punish us."
