The Mariner

by Ade Grant

  “Absolutely not,” she sniffed. “The key is to break déjà vu as it occurs, not run away from the experience. Trying to shift the Cog by acting on ‘feelings’ is completely impractical, they may merely be feelings after all.”

  “Quite.”

  Diane narrowed her eyes and gave him a haughty look before turning away. “Now, if you would excuse me, I have to get back to work.” At that she picked up her book and began to read, ending their conversation with icy silence.

  That was the closest he got to being schooled in the ways of the monks. Grace, whilst being enthusiastic about living in the zoo, had no intention of being silly like the shift seekers. McConnell was outright hostile to the idea, yet he still carried out his chores to the letter. Like the Mariner, he enjoyed seeing Grace content, and was willing to swallow his religious zeal to make it happen. McConnell and the Mariner didn’t speak again of the reverend’s suspicions, though McConnell watched him closely in the days that followed, seeking for a clue into the Mariner’s thoughts.

  Diane’s memory of the stars had surprised him. He’d assumed because McConnell had forgotten them, so would everyone else, but then he reminded himself that Grace had remembered the zoo, whilst Tetrazzini hadn’t. Was the process random? Was it a disease, striking indiscriminately as Tetrazzini had eluded?

  He’d tested the theory with the resident cook Megan, approaching the conversation carefully, with enough space to back away if he sensed trouble.

  “Diane and I had a little chat when I delivered the fruit.”

  “Oh yes? You are fortunate, it’s rare to be allowed to converse with the Priestess privately.”

  “It was only brief,” he said, approaching the topic whilst bracing himself for the slightest hint at trouble. “We were discussing how difficult it’s been to see at night recently..”

  She turned to him, speaking low, her manner like that of a rabbit that had seen a hawk. “Where have they gone? Henry thinks it’s a gas in the air, something thick enough to keep the light out. I think it might be a sign though, you know, of the déjà vu beginning to crack? We must be getting close. That’s it isn’t it? Good news?”

  He nodded thoughtfully, and under her desperate and fearful gaze felt the need to reassure her, even though no assurance could be given. “Yes,” he lied. “That’s probably it.”

  Twice a day the Mariner would visit the Neptune and check on the devils. In the morning he’d travel with Grace, allowing her time to play with and feed them. Every visit they would greet her like excited puppies, all scrabbling for her affection. Whilst she entertained them, the Mariner took the time to check on the ship for signs of intrusion. He never found any. It seemed the monks were content to let the ship remain unexplored.

  The second daily visit was made in secret. Just after sundown, while the sky still had a glow about it, he would row by lantern and spend an hour alone. It was there, within the tight confines of the ship, that he liked to keep his thoughts in check, sometimes by whip, other times by knife. There was no desperation to the act, nor any masochistic enjoyment, it was merely a routine distraction. During the day the welts and wounds would throb, but this was the intent; it kept him focused. But throughout all the self-mutilation, he never strayed the blade to his face, neck or hands. Self-harm was a private affair.

  If asked, he would have said they’d been on the island for two weeks before his infamous talk with Pryce, when their spell of peace would come to an abrupt end, though in all honesty it could have been longer. Unlike Tetrazzini, no-one on the island had much call to keep track of time, and one day merged into the other.

  It was on a return trip from the Neptune, in the dead of night, whilst his back slowly seeped blood into his shirt, that the Mariner heard Pryce call to him from the pitch black, starless night.

  “Captain? Is that you?”

  Surprised, the Mariner turned in the direction of the voice, holding his small lamp aloft.

  “I’m over here! On the rock. Come closer, and bring that light!”

  Following the instructions, the Mariner found Pryce’s smiling face amidst the gloom, sitting in the same spot they’d first found him.

  “Well met, my friend!”

  “What are you doing out here?” the Mariner asked, a little annoyed and embarrassed at being caught during his secret routine.

  “Just thinking. It’s so peaceful out here. I often like to get away from the crowd, the hustle and bustle! It’s so hectic in the camp.”

  The Mariner nodded, humouring Pryce, though he couldn’t have conceived of a quieter existence than among the monks.

  “How’s trying to save the world?” the Mariner asked, grinning. Pryce laughed in return.

  “Unsuccessful, but we will get there. I wonder what the world will be like once it’s returned to its correct path? Will this island exist? Will civilisation be rebuilt? One thing I’m certain of though: it will be wonderful!”

  Pryce gesticulated theatrically as he spoke, and the Mariner happily sat next to him in the darkness, their legs illuminated by the lantern. Somewhere in the blackness in front he could hear the waves as they broke against the shore.

  “Do you really think this world can be wrestled from the hands of the demon?”

  “Oh yes,” Pryce said with certainty. “Diane says so. Absolutely.”

  “And you trust Diane?”

  “Of course. That woman knows more truth than a thousand others put together. A hundred thousand even!”

  “And if you don’t accomplish this... Shift soon, you will continue here?”

  “Until the day I die, and then I will continue in the next life, and the life after that.”

  “Working here. Serving her.”

  He felt Pryce fidget uncomfortably. “Of course.”

  “Pryce?”

  “Yes?”

  “It’s bollocks. You know it. I know it. She’s using you all to serve her. You grow her crops, make her food, protect her. She’s spun these lies to distract you; whilst you hope for this Shift you aren’t concerned with the fact that you’re slaves, and until you free yourselves of this nonsense you will remain trapped forever. Fuck the next life, think about this one.”

  He’d expected Pryce to react with horror, rage or even ridicule. Instead the man was quiet and thoughtful.

  “But what else is there? What else can we do to fix our lives?”

  “McConnell believes we need to find the son of God, who will sew the world together.”

  “And you? What do you believe?”

  The Mariner took a deep breath. He hadn’t spoken of his calling since Absinth.

  “I am looking for an island, an island that holds all the answers. I’ve been looking for it for as long as I remember, and will continue to until I die.”

  “How will you know when you find it?”

  “Because all this will finally make sense.”

  “Then what are you doing here?”

  “There’s something significant about this zoo, I don’t know what, but there is. For some reason, it came back. We were on Sighisoara and suddenly it appeared within sight.” The Mariner looked into the direction of the populated island they’d sailed from. Nothing, just darkness. “And yet there are no lights. Where are Sighisoara’s lanterns? We should be able to seem them, and yet we can’t. We’re separated again, and I don’t know why.”

  Pryce reclined, amazingly calm for a man whose belief system was under threat. “For a long time now, I’ve been coming here at night. I like the solitude, just me and the ocean. Perhaps Sighisoara used to be closer? I say this because I used to be able to look out and see the waves, the pale sand, the outlines of trees. Now it’s all just dark.”

  “No, that wasn’t Sighisoara, it were the stars, and now they’re gone too.”

  Pryce was lying across the rock so only his lower legs were made visible by the lantern. They trembled.

  Silence followed. “Pryce?”

  A low gurgling floated out of the gloom.


  “Pryce?”

  The stars...

  Out of the blackness, the creature that used to be Pryce emerged, all nails and teeth, mad eyes roving wildly like a dying cow’s. The Mariner recoiled, yet in this position there was nowhere to retreat. Pryce clawed at his face, drawing blood, thrusting his body on top, using his weight to pin the Mariner down.

  “Pryce! Pryce don’t do this!”

  A mad screeching was emanating from the monk’s throat. How had he ever confused the random jabbering of the monks with this? Their noises were random, yet deliberate. The sounds that came from a Mindless were inhuman, as if a foreign body had seized control of the voice box and didn’t yet know how it worked.

  “Who was Winston Churchill? Who was Winston Churchill?” he screamed, but there was no respite. What had worked on Absinth now failed.

  The Mariner was keeping Pryce’s teeth at bay by holding him about the neck with both hands. This however left the monk’s arms free to scratch and claw at the Mariner’s head. He craned back as far as possible, tilting to avoid the fingers as they came dangerously close to his eyes, brushing the lashes. It felt like he was wrestling with a snake, rather than the man that had welcomed him some weeks before.

  He had to get his gun. It was there, holstered in his pocket, but how to buy the time to reach for it? He only needed a second, but a second was a luxury he did not have and Pryce’s fingers were inching closer. Something had to be done! With a deep breath, he released one hand from Pryce’s neck and used it to feel for the Mauser. Halving his strength had a disastrous effect; Pryce suddenly lurched closer, fingers reaching the Mariner’s left eye. Tips dug deep, agony flaring inside his head. White and dark lights swirled as he thrashed in agony. The Mauser, only just in his grasp, fell free, making a metallic scratching sound as it slid across the rock into the thick smoke of night.

  Pain had a galvanising effect upon the Mariner. He heaved, screaming at the top of his lungs, and pushed Pryce to his side. The man fell onto his back, squirming like a wild animal, thrashes that knocked the lantern over. A brief wavering flicker showed this, and then... nothing.

  Partially blinded by the pain in his eye and now totally blinded by the extinguished light, the Mariner scrambled across the stone, trying to put some space between him and the Mindless. He could hear it howling incoherently in its fury. Fearing the worst, he braced himself for another strike... none came. Pryce was just as blind as he.

  The Mariner kept as still and quiet as he could. It took strength of will, but he managed to get his breathing under control. Haggard breaths became shallow; subsequent dizziness unpleasant, but necessary, his chest quivered with the exertion, reluctantly succumbing to his commands.

  The feeling of oppression was immense. A strong breeze and sound of waves were the only betrayal that he was outside with space to flee, otherwise he’d think he were trapped deep underground with the Devil itself.

  Pryce grew quiet, his growls and hisses subdued. Was his Mindless spell fading, as it had done for Absinth?

  Was it over?

  Suddenly, the bestial creature was about him, screaming and snarling. Yet the attack was a lucky guess and it seemed to surprise Pryce as much as it had the Mariner. Their limbs tangled in the confusion, both figures once again crumbling to the ground, each trying to pin the other down. A puff of wind against his cheek and a bony snapping sound horribly close, told the story that Pryce was trying to bite his face.

  Now it was the Mariner’s turn to get some luck. He lashed out, his fist connecting with Pryce’s nose. It squashed under the blow, blood squirting out, warm and wet about his fingers. The Mindless creature howled in pain, giving the Mariner just long enough to scramble away in the direction of the extinguished lantern.

  He moved quickly, tracing the surface of the rock with his hands. Behind him he could hear Pryce desperately searching, jabbering incoherently. The Mariner knew he didn’t have long, the Mindless would soon hear him and react.

  Pryce was getting closer, attacking the night air over and over, hoping to find his victim.

  The Mariner kicked something by his feet. It skidded with a familiar metallic scrape.

  Pryce roared with triumph and sped towards his position. Only a pace or two away.

  One.

  Two.

  And then he found it! The Mariner grabbed the Mauser off the rock, turning and firing wildly into the dark, Pryce’s mad rictus grin revealed in the flashes as the gun vomited hot lead. The first three missed completely, the fourth hit Pryce in the throat, turning his roar into wet deflation. The fifth shattered the man’s jaw, cocking his head forward painfully.

  If he hadn’t felt blind before, the Mariner certainly did after the flashes died, leaving the image of Pryce’s imploded face lodged in his brain.

  A wet crack followed – the sound of Pryce’s head hitting the rock.

  Echoes in his mind all that were left.

  Exhausted and in pain, the Mariner lowered himself onto the stone. The wind was picking up and it felt cool against his skin. He turned his head into the breeze, tasting the salt in the air. Nearby, Pryce made a last few gurgling sounds as he died, finally leaving the Mariner alone in the dark with his pain.

  He stayed there, unwilling to move and thus risk injuring himself, stretched out by the shore. And it was thus that the monks found him a little while later, lying prone next to an unarmed and very bloody corpse.

  29

  GETTING TO KNOW ALL ABOUT YOU

  ALWAYS ERR ON THE SIDE of caution. That’s what the Mariner reminded himself as he was dragged through the overgrown foliage towards the central dolphin pool. It was a pity he hadn’t stuck by that maxim when the monks had found him moments before. In hindsight, he should have used the Mauser to keep them at bay until he’d had a chance to explain, but he’d been too relieved at having normal human company again. That was Grace and McConnell’s doing, he thought bitterly. In the old days he’d never have been so careless.

  The Mauser now lay somewhere behind on that damn rock. He hadn’t felt the need to pick it up when they’d arrived, drawn to investigate by screams and gunfire. Only when hoisted to his feet by rough hands did he realise something was amiss.

  Explanations tumbled from his lips, but a swift blow to the face silenced further pleas. Pryce had been popular and he a stranger.

  Sighisoara all over again.

  Except this time he didn’t deserve it! In Sighisoara he’d been a grave-robber and thief, the hatred justified. Here, he’d acted in self-defence! Were they not aware of the Mindless? Had they not seen how easily one could slip into barbarism?

  Flaming torches lit their path, huge shadows cast amongst the trees. Monkeys, awoken by the commotion, began screeching in panic, and their voices were soon joined by the monks, as more and more were alerted to the congregation.

  “Murder!” they cried, though soon the declaration of the act turned instead to broadcast of the accused. “Murderer! Murderer!”

  The Mariner stumbled. Thinking he would hit the ground, he closed his eyes ready for impact, but found strange arms beneath his shoulders holding him aloft.

  “Plenty of time to lay down later, you evil fuck!” snarled the man supporting him. The Mariner looked at him shocked, surprised to see someone who he’d only ever seen quietly meditating, now so animated with venom.

  “Please,” he mumbled, but a woman leading the way turned and sucker-punched him, knocking all air from his lungs.

  They emerged where he’d first been presented to Diane, and once again she was ready for him, though this time standing before her throne instead of reclining, ready to judge rather than rule.

  “It is as I feared!” she declared. “What deed did this man do?”

  The many responded. “He killed Pryce!”

  “Shot him in cold blood!”

  “Arthur, what happened?”

  The Mariner turned and saw McConnell being held by two monks. Word must have spread quick.

  “Mi
ndless,” he managed to gasp. “Pryce turned Mindless.”

  “Silence!” Diane bellowed, and the crowd complied. “Is this true? Is Brother Pryce dead?”

  “It is. I saw his body myself,” the man holding the Mariner growled. “Shot and killed.”

  She looked at the Mariner with cold reptilian eyes, and for a moment the Mariner was taken aback by what he saw. You shouldn’t have mentioned my book, they seemed to say with a petty jubilation.

  “He came here to plot against us, to spread dissent,” she spoke with the smallest hint of a smirk. “He’s an agent of the demon, come to maintain the Déjà vu. I’ve suspected this for some time, as did Pryce.” She strolled along the bridge, coming ever closer to the Mariner. All watched her with awe and reverence. “But Pryce came too close to discovering this fact and you killed him, didn’t you? You thought you could contain your true identity, a secret sealed in blood! But you’ve been found out, demon-lover!”

  You don’t believe a word of this, the Mariner thought as he looked into her eyes. But these poor bastards do, and that’s enough.

  All around him the crowd began chanting again, though this time ‘murderer’ had been replaced with ‘demon’.

  Diane was almost upon him now, smiling in her victory. He hadn’t realised how threatened she’d been by his small dissent on the beach, but now he knew. They’d read each other’s cards quite clearly, though perhaps his far more than hers.

  “This is madness!” McConnell’s shrill voice rose above the din. Diane angrily turned her glare to him, hoping he’d be cowed into silence, but the only silence it brought was from the crowd. If Diane was to converse, then they should honour it. “I know you’re angry,” he said, “but it is not this man’s fault! You’re blaming him for a universal truth. Surely we’ve all witnessed it? Brother turning against brother, father against son, peaceful women violent as if by a change of the wind? Why would Arthur kill Pryce if not in self-defence? He was defending against a man turned Mindless, not acting on behalf of some mythical demon!”