The Mariner

by Ade Grant

And there was a box before him, one he hadn’t noticed until now. It was large and made of cardboard. The Mariner had seen many boxes of this type before, usually they were sealed up with tape and could contain anything from dried food to children’s toys. This one seemed battered and well used, the top joins torn and mottled by damp.

  “A cardboard box?”

  “See what’s written upon it?”

  The Mariner looked again and saw that there was indeed writing across its side. Large letters penned in black ink: THE MARINER.

  “It contains everything that is you, everything that makes up your consciousness. All that is in your head and heart lies in that box.”

  “Can I look?”

  “Be my guest.”

  With trepidation the Mariner crawled forwards. Absinth watched, nodding encouragement with each hesitant shuffle.

  The Mariner looked inside.

  Empty.

  “There’s nothing there.”

  Absinth shook his head. “Look again.”

  The Mariner did as he was asked. At first nothing, but then it caught his eye: a small tissue bunched up in the corner. He reached inside and picked it up, the thin paper feeling brittle between his fingers. He lifted it to his nose and sniffed the sweet smell of dried semen.

  “Is this it?” he asked. “Just a soiled tissue? Is that all?”

  Absinth nodded with deep regret. “Yes. The Wasp took everything else.”

  Wakefulness brought with it sorrow and shame. These were the emotions that dominated the Mariner’s life and they rushed to meet him like excited puppies, yapping and howling for attention. And like any loving guardian he couldn’t help but nurture their demands.

  He opened his eyes to his cabin, faintly illuminated by dim candlelight. He was lucky to wake when he did, the wick was down to its last nub and when finally snuffed out the room would be plunged into darkness. He groaned and rolled towards it, lifting the small block of wax to another, doubling the light and creating a synthetic sunrise.

  Beneath him the ship refused to stir, a faint echo of a creak the only sound from her slumbering form. No waves. No wind. All was quiet.

  The Mariner stood and undressed, doing his best to ignore the lusts and horrors that jostled for attention within his head. There had been a time when he’d have been easily overwhelmed by them, but not now. No longer a novice, he’d learned how to keep his demons in check.

  With ritualistic determination, the Mariner stripped naked and stood in the candlelight, hollow eyes staring into darkness. As a soldier would stand to attention, his posture was rigid. For twenty breaths he remained just so, the only movement his chest as it dragged in air and pushed it out again with an age-old weariness.

  Then, once the count was done, he swung a cat ‘o’ nine tails up over his shoulder. With a snap it struck his back sending searing white pain in response. The shock made his legs buckle, but the moment passed and he gathered himself upright again. Teeth gritted, he took another swipe. And another.

  Only once a trickle of blood ran freely from several wounds, congregating in the cleft between his buttocks, did the Mariner stop. Breath ragged and legs weak, his work was done. There were no more awful thoughts. All were dwarfed by the pain.

  He dressed, wincing as the fabric stuck, not only to the fresh wounds upon his back, but also to the many small incisions incurred on Sighisoara. Such was the price of control: a bloody back and a tiger-arm.

  Holding a candle before him, the Mariner made his way out of the small cabin, along a corridor and up a set of stairs that led to the top deck. The insides had been charred and singed, but the Neptune had survived the arsonists’ attack. He coughed, recoiling at the strong smell of smoke that lingered.

  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 s
ee 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.

  The Mariner had watched both feeds, amazed that every time she allowed their chops near her fingers she never lost a single digit.

  This morning was different, there was no more food to go around and the devils were beginning to gather expectantly.

  “She has them well trained doesn’t she?”

  McConnell appeared beside the Mariner, doing up his trousers from using the latrine. Both men watched the girl and beasts from the safety of the far side of the deck, having learnt from harsh experience that the devils liked to have priority when it came to breakfast.

  “No, they have her well trained,” the Mariner said as he checked his Mauser. “You think they’re fluffy little dogs? They’re not. I’ve seen those things strip a person to the bone. She thinks she’s the master because when they’re fed they don’t kill her, but they’re the ones holding the power. They’re the ones that choose not to kill.”

  “But she’s got no more food to give!”

  The Mariner looked at McConnell gravely and raised his pistol, ready for the first sign of aggression.

  “Right listen up you lot!” Grace called the devils to attention, clapping her hands as if addressing a classroom. “We’re going to be arriving at the zoo soon and I want you to be on your best behaviour!”

  A dozen small heads cocked to the side as they tried to understand why this monkey was chattering instead of dishing out grub.

  “There are lots of other animals there and you’re not to hurt any of them. You can play, but you can’t bite.”

  One eager devil, having grown impatient hopped out of the crowd towards Grace’s bare leg.

  The Mariner tensed his finger on the trigger.

  “Bluuuurg-”

  “No!” Grace swatted the devil on the nose. The beast’s eyes widened with dumb shock, its trap slapping shut in confusion. “That’s a bad Vivian! Very naughty! No tummy rubs for you.”

  Fully chastised, Vivian the devil grumbled and laid down, nestling his snout between dainty paws.

  “There’s no more food, I’m all out.” Grace held her hands out, palms open like a magician performing a magic trick. A dozen faces turned to look at them and then back to the girl’s face, trying to understand the complex concept. “But when we get to the zoo I will find you some breakfast, and then we’ll all eat together. Won’t that be nice?”

  For a moment, the Mariner was sure they’d all break rank and savage her, but then the girl clapped hands and, as if dismissed, the beasts meandered away.

  “She’s broken them,” the Mariner huffed, holstering his Mauser and refusing to look McConnell in the eye. Basil walked up to the two men to see if the responsibility of dispensing food had simply passed from one monkey to another. “Some guards you are!” he growled, lightly kicking at the beast, though avoiding actual contact. Grace would probably swat him on the nose too if he wasn’t careful.

  As the sun climbed into the sky, all three human passengers watched as the island grew closer. Unlike Sighisoara, the zoo had little height, instead its mass was broad and flat, nestled with trees and strange skeletal structures.

  “What are those?” he asked, pointing and squinting.

  “They’re cages,” Grace explained as an absolute authority on the matter. “They used to hold all the animals in them, but now the animals just roam about. It was cruel to keep them locked up.”

  “What sort of animals?”

  Grace shrugged. “Big ones, small ones.”

  The Mariner scanned the shore for a suitable place to dock, but unlike Sighisoara there didn’t seem to be any formal point. Instead, the entire circumference was littered with small bays and scattered rocks, shallow waters and beds of sand. All far too shallow to bring the Neptune anywhere near.

  “We’ll drop anchor here.” The Mariner was stern and resolute. “I’ll take a row-boat out to see if it’s safe and then return to collect the pair of you.”

  “How long will you be?” Grace frowned and stuck out her bottom lip. Having no experience with children, the Mariner looked to McConnell for assistance.

  The reverend however was more concerned about being left alone with the devils. He glanced nervously at the pack whose collective bellies were creating a steady rumbling hum. “Perhaps it would be best if we all went together? It’s just a zoo after-all.”

  “Yeah, plus we’ve been there before, and you haven’t!” This seemed to settle the debate for Grace. The Mariner shook his head, outmanoeuvred and more than slightly annoyed.

  Dropping anchor, lowering the sails and preparing the row-boat took more time than anticipate
d. Already irritated, the Mariner was vexed by how stubborn the ship was behaving. Tasks that had previously been performed so easily, as if the ship chose to do them herself, now proved a chore; long, almost back-breaking work. And even once they were completed an additional delay presented itself: persuading Grace they couldn’t take all of the devils with them.

  “They are the guardians of the Neptune. They can’t come with us.”

  “But I promised!”

  Is this what it’s like, wondered the Mariner, to live with other human beings? Them putting up resistance to every sane suggestion you make?

  “Okay, okay. You can take four with you this time. Perhaps others later.”

  Grace spent some time calculating which devils to bring along, seemingly by tallying up various small indiscretions in her head and grading each animal on its good behaviour. “Holly! Basil! Percy! Hedgehog!”

  Much to the Mariner’s increasing frustration the four beasts responded to her call instantly and allowed themselves to be picked up and placed in the boat. Each in turn snuggled down obediently, looking up at the sour Mariner with a smug expression on their fox-like features. “Bloody stupid names.”

  “Arf!”

  “How do you think it came back?” McConnell was asking questions again as the small row-boat finally hit the shore. It came to a jarring halt as it slid up the short beach, a generous portion of wave spilling over the stern.

  The Mariner shook his head at the reverend’s question, professing ignorance.

  “But you brought it didn’t you?” McConnell’s eyes searched the Mariner’s face for an answer. “Grace said you remembered and then it appeared?”

  “I didn’t-,” the Mariner stopped, not wanting to share the revelations he’d felt, yet wanting the conversation to end. “I was remembering something else. I’ve never been to a zoo before.”

  What could he say? In that moment, standing upon the dock of Sighisoara, back turned to the burning remains of his one chance at rehabilitation, he had not remembered the zoo at all. He’d been remembering... what? Intimacy? Love? Whatever it was, he struggled to recall it now.