The Mariner

by Ade Grant

  “Heidi,” he called to her. “Why do they hate me? They can’t all hate me.”

  “They’ve heard of you,” Her voice was low as if afraid to be seen conversing with him. “They know what you’ve done.”

  “But even so? What are my crimes to them?”

  “Justice hasn’t been done in a long time.” She stopped and looked him in the eye, and in that moment he wanted to scream and flee, such was the cold certainty of his fate. “To move forward, someone must pay what’s due.” As she moved away he saw the gallows, constructed just for him. They stood, stark against the blue sky above, perfect and bold like the crafting of a child.

  “I can’t die,” he cried, and Heidi’s demeanour slipped for a single moment, though still the words were like frost.

  “Yes, Arthur, you can. You’ll find it’s all too easy.”

  The door to his church protested and whined under force, but McConnell slowly inched it open. Since returning to Sighisoara, such a short time ago, through a span that now felt epic, he hadn’t stepped foot in his old place of worship. He hadn’t been able to. The whole place seemed like a lie. Not a deliberate one, but a lie nonetheless.

  In all his years on Sighisoara, had he really done any good? Had the people gained any spiritual nourishment from his preaching? His Shattered Testament? Probably not. He could see that now. He’d been too distraught with his father’s death, too eager to find meaning in what was a meaningless situation, that he’d embraced his old man’s closest-held beliefs. Had he thought he could bring him back? Make sense of a meaningless death? Perhaps. The motivations were hazy now.

  Those early days in Sighisoara were a dream to him, a time in which parts of his old life seemed to evaporate and a new one form. His confusion had led him to despair and despair to opium. That numbing had allowed the evacuation and muddle to continue unheeded. Of that he was sure. New ideas meshed together from old ones. How much was real, and how much was bullshit? His faith, he feared, was the latter.

  McConnell strolled through his long abandoned church, feeling like an intruder in that which he’d built with his own hands. He stopped by the picture-show of Jesus Haych Christ, the one the Mariner had inspected so closely. Briefly he reached for the viewing piece, but the trembling in his hands forced them back to his side.

  The deed would soon be done.

  The main entrance, door left slightly ajar, opened fully and Harris entered. Harris, who’d been so instrumental in putting McConnell’s plan into process. A man, emotionally distant, yet with the drive to push for a new beginning. It marvelled McConnell to think how quickly opinion had swung behind the two men. Word got round that a change of direction was being endorsed, and by the time they’d arrived at Sighisoara, power had pretty much slipped. Mavis was old, too old to handle such a bold venture, and ever since her failure to stop the Mariner’s brutal disgrace, Heidi had become withdrawn. She hadn’t protested at Harris’ assent, and had even encouraged McConnell’s part in it.

  Sighisoara itself had been the same ragtag of gangs, individual interests with little guidance towards anything but the next meal. Sighisoara, the town that Gregory McConnell had preserved with rigorous thought, had descended further into petty squabbles and infighting. The acceptance of the Beagle, and submission to their rule, had taken mere hours. No contest.

  “Christopher?” Harris said. “It is time. Will you not come witness?”

  “Are there others present?”

  “Of course. Everyone. The whole town has turned out. It’ll be marvellous, the first proper act of justice and law in years.”

  “Marvellous?”

  “Necessary,” he corrected. “The first step in accepting our new future. The people will want to see you there.”

  McConnell waved his hand. “I promised never to look at him again, and I intend to keep that promise. You go, one of us should be there.”

  “Is this your church?”

  McConnell gave a snort of derision. “Yes. Silly isn’t it? I think it was my way of apologising to my father. I killed him. I’ve never told anyone this, but I’ll tell you now. We drove from London to Sighisoara, via Germany and Prague, but by the time we got here his mind was gone, and it wouldn’t return. To cease his violence I cut his throat with a shard of broken glass. That stopped his heart beating, but I’d murdered him long before that. Perhaps if I’d been a better son, he wouldn’t have lost those memories of me so quickly? Perhaps he wouldn’t have forgotten me first of all?”

  Harris put a hand on McConnell’s shoulders and the reverend bowed his head in silent tears.

  “I’ll stay with you Christopher. We don’t need to see the bastard hang. We’ll stay in your father’s church until the monster is dead. And then, when he’s paid for all his sins, we will emerge reborn, ready to rebuild all that was lost.” McConnell patted his friend’s hand and hoped it was so.

  The Mariner mounted the steps of the gallows, his body quaking uncontrollably, terror causing his vision to blur and lungs to quiver. Heidi was still with him, and she stood on the stage like a narrator to a theatrical performance, of which this, he assumed, would be. A dance was about to be done, albeit one in solo.

  As his head rose above the crowd an enormous roar greeted it, as every man, woman and child cheered at the sight of the prisoner, and the promise of what would transpire. Their joy at his demise seemed to emphasise the righteousness of the punishment, justice was being served. This was right, how could he argue with so many certain minds, so many faces hungry for a hanging?

  He owed it to them to go through with it.

  He owed it to Grace.

  But he was so terribly afraid.

  “Heidi?” he asked, voice rising and falling like that of a small boy. “What happens when you die?”

  Just loud enough so he could hear, “Don’t worry Arthur, it doesn’t end.”

  But that brought him no solace, and he twisted where he stood, howling like a trapped beast. He opened his eyes and searched the crowd, looking for some sign of rescue, but all he saw were armed guards. Any rescue would fail, there were too many guns, loaded and ready to fire at the sign of escape. Besides, who would rescue him? He searched his memory and couldn’t think of a single soul who hadn’t condemned him to this end. Not even the devils. And given who he was, he couldn’t blame them.

  As his eyes scanned the combined peoples of the fleet and Sighisoara, they met those of Mavis. She was towards the back, raised by a grassy slope, looking like just any other elderly lady. Had she protested her stripping of power, he wondered? Or was she relieved that her meddling in the world’s affairs had come to an end? Whatever her feelings, Mavis was looking forward to the hanging as much as anyone, struggling for a better view as the crowd worked itself into a frenzy.

  “Heidi,” he pleaded once more. “I don’t want to die like this. Not with so many people watching.”

  “You have no choice Arthur. It is time.”

  “Then at least let me apologise.”

  Heidi held up her hand, and the crowd lapsed into a tense silence. He could see their eager eyes darting from her to him, tongues wetting their lips. Sensing the moment near, children were hoisted onto shoulders. This was not to be missed.

  “Arthur Philip,” she began, her voice echoing across the courtyard. “You are guilty of rape and murder. Your crimes are a violation, and it is society’s duty to see that those crimes paid for. You will hang from the neck until you are dead.” She turned her head slightly, so although she wasn’t looking at him, he could see the profile of her face against that of the crowd. Looking at him directly was something she was no longer prepared to do. “You have a few moments to make peace; with us, with God, and with yourself.”

  “Thank you Heidi.”

  Her voice cracked. “Goodbye Arthur.”

  The Mariner stepped toward the jeers and hisses. They rose in volume, but not so much he wouldn’t be heard. His words were all part of the act.

  Thank you Heidi, he thought.
Thank you for letting me speak. It is more than I deserve.

  “It is true,” he began as loudly and clearly as he could. “Of what I am accused, I did. Of what I owe, I must pay. But I’m afraid. So terribly afraid.” He looked down at his feet, fighting a battle inside that he knew he would lose.

  Resigned, and with a heavy heart, he looked back up and out to his audience. “I’m sorry. But before I go, there is something you should hear.”

  I’m sorry Heidi. I’m sorry McConnell. But I’m afraid to die. I’m so terribly afraid. And this is my only chance.

  And so the Mariner spoke. He told them of the Shattering. He told them of the Wasp. He told them what each and every one had forgot.

  Elli Heidegger sat upon the wooden bench, enjoying the warm sun upon her face. Not far away, the people of London continued to drive the cogs of the city with their ceaseless endeavours. Streets hummed and roads roared, but this little patch of greenery proved an oasis, a tiny square of life in the great grey desert. She was determined to make the most of it.

  Not that she would lower her guard though, she was still in a major city and there were plenty of undesirables about. The clement weather may try to lull her into submission, but she would not falter. Not when there was a little one to care for.

  The toddler ran up to her knees, holding three daisies that had been identified and picked for her mother’s approval. The tiny hand was held aloft, small granules of dirt peppered about the fingernails.

  “They’re lovely darling! Are they for me?” Heidi asked, bending towards the small girl.

  Grace nodded and passed the small flowers to her mother, giggling a tiny response before returning to the grass. Heidi supposed she should get the child more interested in the swings and see-saw, but for now saw no harm in her playing on the green. The patch of land had already been scouted for needles and dog-shit. As far as she could tell, it was safe.

  “Elli?” a voice behind made her jump.

  Oh no, not him! Not today!

  “Elli Heidegger! It is you!”

  Oh fuck off Harold!

  The man leaned over the back of her bench, a grin broad beneath his bald head. “I knew it was you!” He wiggled a finger in the air as if it were a wand. “I saw you across the street and said to myself, Harold, there’s an ex-employee I haven’t seen in an age!”

  Heidi forced a smile. “I’m surprised you remember me.”

  “Nonsense,” he quipped, skirting around the bench so to sit beside her. “Beautiful young ladies are unforgettable, whilst boring old farts like me are ten-a-penny, it is you who should be forgetting me!”

  “How could I forget you, Harold? I see you every day.” She deliberately took the bait and flattered his ego, despite wanting to vomit inside. “Hardly a day goes by when a leaflet isn’t pushed through my door.”

  Harold grinned, knowing full well how prominent his face had become throughout the city. “I know! Who would have thought it, eh? Your boring old boss, the next mayor of London?”

  The votes aren’t in yet you conceited prick.

  “You should come to the celebration party! Ground-breaking stuff, the people of London giving a huge fuck-you to the establishment! No more of these PPE educated toffs running the place. A truly independent mayor, sticking up for London!” His eyes glazed over with the imagined glory. “The party is going to be fabulous, a real celebration for the people. Of course, it’s strictly only for the elite movers and shakers, but with the right dress on I’m sure you could move and shake like a pro, hmm?”

  He didn’t waste any time, did he? Heidi inwardly rolled her eyes at his advances and instead gave a polite, yet conservative smile. “I’m sorry, Harold, but I think I’ll be looking after Grace, babysitters are so hard to find.”

  “But the night is still a long way off,” he protested, and then with a hint of malice behind a veneer of ignorance added, “Can’t the father help out?”

  You shit.

  “Harold,” she said calmly, despite the rage growing inside. “If you try, I’m sure you’ll remember the father’s gone and that was why I had to leave your company, to look after Grace. I needed flexible hours and your business didn’t offer it.”

  And I should have sued you.

  “Of course!” he said smoothly, as if his memory had simply lapsed. “I’d forgotten, and who could blame me for assuming a pretty young thing like you had simply gotten bored with the insurance industry?” Perhaps regretting his barbed comment, Harold retreated somewhat. “Well, if you do find a babysitter, I’d be happy to pay for them. Call my office any time to accept the invitation.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Is that your daughter?” Harold asked, pointing towards Grace. The toddler had approached a middle-aged gentleman, sat upon a bench and eating a sandwich, and was happily offering him a daisy.

  “Yes, that’s her,” she replied, suddenly alarmed at the stranger conversing with her child. The initial rush of concern was soon neutralised though. The man looked safe, more like a doctor than a pervert, and besides, Grace had approached him.

  Harold wasn’t so convinced. “Probably a paedo,” he sneered. “It’s something I’m going to crack down on once I’m elected. Tougher laws for lone men in parks.”

  Strengthening laws and regulations was Harold Alcott’s central philosophy. Potent Policies, he called them, which was where he got his nickname, Harold ‘Absinth’ Alcott. He glared at the stranger whilst lighting up a cigarette.

  “A lone man in a park is one on the prowl,” he growled, the white stick wiggling in his lips like a rising prick.

  “You’re alone in a park,” Heidi pointed out.

  “And indeed, I am on the prowl. But not for children,” his eyes darted to her breasts, none-too-subtly, and the compulsion to vomit was strong once more.

  “Listen, Harold,” she protested, losing patience with his leering, when suddenly the nauseous urge became too much. She bent forward, bile rising in her throat.

  A peculiar feeling was filling her head. It felt like a rush of blood, except the blood carried with it a multitude of thoughts and feelings, billions in number. They swirled around like angry – Wasp! - hornets infuriated at the disruption of their nest.

  Yet in their astonishing number, all were united, driven by some greater hive understanding, their focus a man, someone she’d never met, yet for a brief moment understood. She saw within him, as did the billions of others. She felt what he felt, she tasted his self-loathing and disgust.

  What the fuck was happening? Had her mind broken? Had that pervert Harold Alcott poisoned her with some date-rape drug? She forced an eye open and saw this was not so, for he too was clutching his head, screaming as the thoughts ran riot in his mind.

  And if she listened closely, were there not his thoughts in her head too? One voice among billions?

  But it was not Harold the multitude were concerned about; it was this other man, the one whose eyes they looked through, the one they desperately wanted to flee from.

  A great tearing began, the community mind that had moments before been incomprehensible, now left, her psyche torn apart like dough. The thoughts departed as a frightened herd, and having lost them, she once again wailed in frustration and pain. Alone. She’d never truly understood such a feeling until this moment, when the voices lapsed into silence.

  Heidi opened her eyes and looked around, trying to see her daughter. She opened her mouth to call out the girl’s name, but no words came out. The name of her only child had been removed from her head, along with countless other memories. All gone with the Wasp.

  And like single particles drawn by gravity to the multitude, further parts of her were sucked away by the departed mass. One moment she was searching for a child, the next she was blinking, confused, motherly bond forgotten.

  Shaking, Heidi got to her feet, and began to run. The world was shifting around her. Two buildings nearby shimmered and became one, as if she’d been cross eyed the whole time and they’d merely
been the same object observed twice. Trembling ground threatened to throw her to the floor, and every nerve in her body screamed for her to curl into a ball and pray for safety.

  But an overriding urge to flee was more potent. Not from the shifting world, not from the shaking ground, not from the confusion, but from a tall office block that overlooked the park. An office block that contained the mind that had disgusted every other in existence, the mind that had frightened the Wasp away.

  Unable to resist, she turned and looked, somehow sensing a monumental change was about to take place in the fabric of the world. Windows on the top floor shattered, fragile beneath the awesome tonnage of water that suddenly poured through, a river-worth tumbling from the office without any possible source. It cascaded down, crashing into the streets below, tossing cars and frightened pedestrians in its wake.

  Heidi averted her eyes and ran, never looking back, not even when water lapped at her heels. Not even when the world she’d known became lost.

  All this, Elli Heidegger would have remembered if that experience hadn’t faded from her head, just as it had from everyone else’s; gone to join the Wasp. The event existed only in the Mariner’s, who’d lost it to the Pope, only to have it returned years later.

  And as the Mariner reminded her of this, Heidi’s mind tried to retrieve the memory. Just as Absinth had of Claude. Just as Pryce had of the stars. And just as before, the search found no trace of the Wasp where trace should lay, the needle skipped the record, the human within awoke.

  And so too did every other who heard his story.

  Mavis craned her neck and bent her head to try and hear what the Mariner was saying. It was no use, her tired old ears just didn’t catch any-more. Getting old was tricky business, every passing day brought new bodily failures. Long ago she’d become accustomed to the digestive issues, but it was the slow degradation of the eyes and ears that gave a sour taste. They should stick with you till the end! How long would she have to go without? When would they finally give up the ghost? She’d rather die than live without, it would be terrible to linger on, deaf or blind.