by Julia Hughes
‘Once we get back Wren thinks we might not remember. This is Henna.’
‘Like Henna.’ Wren corrected. ‘More of a tea-dye.’ As though it mattered.
And he’d sketched out a tiny image around two inches square. He added the last few strokes.
‘There. All done!’
Carrie sprung up from the sofa and danced over to the mirror.
‘I can’t see, I can’t see. Hold that hand mirror up!’
Wren wiped his hands on a towel, smiling happily at Rhyllann, then did as she ordered.
‘What the …’ He would never understand his cousin. He’d spent his last few hours with Carrie drawing on her back.‘
Ohh – its beautiful.’ She danced back to show Rhyllann.
‘Look Rhyllann – isn’t it darling?’ She pirouetted to show off her bare back.
A tiny cherubic looking dragon sat on its haunches waving at him with one taloned paw. The other clutched a sword against its chest, wings soared above its head to sweep behind its back forming a heart shape.
‘Darling.’ Rhyllann repeated.
But she was already swinging an arm round Wren, the other still clutching a scrap of material to her chest. Rhyllann realised it was a lacy vest of some sort and averted his eyes but couldn’t avoid hearing her whisper.
‘I’ll never forget you now.’
‘At least not for the next couple of months or so, that’s how long it’ll last.’
Rhyllann gritted his teeth; way to spoil a romantic moment Brawd he thought. Carrie put her top back on, thrusting her arms through and pulling the vest down. The semi-tattoo still clearly visible under the spaghetti strap.
‘Do Rhyllann! Do Rhyllann!’ Carrie dragged at his arm, pulling him over to the chaise lounge.
About to shrug her off and demand to know what they thought they were both playing at, he actually opened his mouth to ask if they’d forgotten the biggest maritime disaster since the ark sailed was about to commence; when he caught sight of Wren’s face. It held a mixture of despair and extreme soppiness, silently beseeching him to play along.
Unbuttoning his shirt Rhyllann tugged it over his head.
‘I’m not laying face down on that couch.’ He warned, and pulled the table up to an armchair. Kneeling up against its back, he placed his arms over the headrest and waited.
‘Well?’
‘What d’you want me to draw?’
Rhyllann’s mind went blank.
‘Go ahead. Nothing too soppy. And no Latin sh.. script.’
With that he rested his head against his arms and closed his eyes.
It was a strange sensation. He could feel the little pointy stick plucking at his shoulder blade, the chilly dye being positioned under the broken skin, the heel of Wren’s palm resting against him, now and then his finger tips brushed as though wiping something away. He could hear the low wheezy gurgle he associated with Wren’s breathing, a legacy of the time he drowned on Bodmin moor. Now and then he felt Carrie’s warm breath on his other shoulder, she spoke occasionally to assure him that he was really going to love this.
Rhyllann grew curious, he tried to work out the design from the direction of the pin pricks but his shoulder started twitching like a horse shaking off a bothersome fly and Wren told him sharply to keep still. Carrie giggled and started to ask.
‘Is that his star …’
‘Ssshh.’ Wren warned and carried on plucking. Rhyllann began to cramp and grew bored, and a little woozy. He could swear there was something he wanted to tell Wren but it couldn’t be that important. If it weren’t for that little stick pick plucking at his skin he could almost nod off. Finally he felt a soft damp material dabbing on his skin and knew he could stretch now.
Twisting to look over his shoulder, all he could see was a splodge. Wren had a little smile on his face as though watching the opening of a birthday present he’d spent hours wrapping.
‘Well?’ Wren walked across to the drinks cabinet as he spoke, glasses tinkled and liquid gurgled as Wren poured out three whiskies.
‘Oh Rhyllann! You’re going to love this.’ Carrie’s face shone with excitement. Rhyllann decided that no matter how much he hated it, he would rave over it.
Carrie dragged him in front of the large mantle mirror, tilting the hand mirror up over his shoulder. He had to duck a little to see and it was a mirror image of a mirror image, but a wide grin spread over his face.
Wren really had nailed it. A larger design than Carrie’s, but his shoulder was larger. He preened this way and that, and the more he looked the more he liked it. Wren had tattooed a yin and yang design of two mischievous faced mermaids, tails entangled in each others’ hair as they lay almost horizontal on his shoulder blade. When he hunched his shoulder they undulated as though waving or dancing. They swam in a circle of stars and Rhyllann loved it.
Carrie was hanging round Wren’s neck again, they looked like two cheeky urchins waiting for a favourite uncle’s approval.
‘Well?’ They said together.
‘Brilliant. Absolute dog’s bollocks!’
Carrie gasped in mock horror then wrapped her arms around him, Rhyllann moved in to hug Wren and they stood for a couple of seconds with their arms round each other, celebrating Rhyllann’s new tattoo.
‘What I don’t understand.’ Rhyllann said, pulling his shirt back on and flapping it into a more comfortable position, ‘Is how someone with such crappy writing can draw like this.’
‘He’s left handed.’ Carrie said with as much pride as someone announcing the winner of a noble prize.
Wren grinned. ‘I am an artiste!’
‘Yeah well, nice to know you can always get a job in a tattoo parlour.’ Rhyllann jeered.
Wren opened his mouth to retort when the room jolted knocking him against Rhyllann and Carrie into the armchair. Imaginary or not, Rhyllann heard the grating of metal against a sharp jagged object.
Wren pushed himself upright, swaying a little. ‘It’s started. But it’s only 11.30.’
Rhyllann stared at him, wiping a hand against his mouth which had suddenly dried he said.
‘God’s sakes Wren! Ten minutes early! Big whoop. Put in a complaint.’
Wren ignored him. He crouched in front of Carrie.
‘It’s alright Carrie, it’s alright. Me and Rhyllann are both here, we’re going home. Come on Carrie, big deep breaths now, it’s going to be alright, I promise.’
Rhyllann’s eye was drawn beyond Carrie to the lump of metal he’d grown so accustomed to seeing he barely noticed it anymore. It started flickering, the glow increased and with a brief zapping noise seemed to swallow all the light in the room before blazing with a bright blue light.
‘Brawd.’ He swallowed hard. ‘Brawd, look – look at Caliburn.’
Sparing the unearthly sight a quick glance Wren replied absently, ‘I was counting on that.’ To Carrie he said. ‘Come on now, do you want me to dress you?’
Colour returned to her face, she pushed upright against him. ‘No, it’s ok, I can manage.’ She walked like an automation to the bed, and slipped her arms through the sleeves of a white tunic.
A rap sounded, a steward’s head appeared round the door.
‘Nothing to worry about but could you please put your life preservers on and go up on deck Sir.’ And it sounded too pat, as though he was an actor in a well rehearsed play.
Then he was gone to rap on the next door, voices sounded, some anxious, some annoyed, wanting to know what the problem was. Rhyllann’s blood chilled. For a moment he seemed to float above his body. This was real. This was happening.
Drawn like a magnet, he drifted towards Caliburn wanting its solid weight in his hand again. That’s when he noticed the dish above the mantelpiece, sitting on a nest of tooth picks. If he were to look closer, he knew he find the dish full of water with earth crumbled around.
He closed his eyes, groaned, then glared at Wren.
‘The virgin. We need a virgin’s blood.’
‘Take your pick. There’s two in the room.’ Wren said causally.
Rhyllann blinked in astonishment. ‘You’re shitting me.’
Carrie finished buttoning her top and came to stand beside Wren, her fingers entwined theirselves in his and squeezed. Wren gazed fondly at her, before pulling her close and kissing her bowed head.
‘He really was teaching you judo throws?’ Rhyllann asked, disgusted. They both coloured up but seemed to be choking back laughter, as though they’d expected this reaction from him.
Shaking his head at Rhyllann as if to say I don’t have time for this, Wren took Caliburn and swiped its blade against the mantelshelf. Paint scraped away revealing a rather nicer bluish granite type stone that reflected Caliburn’s light.
Rolling back his shirt sleeve he fixed first Rhyllann then Carrie with a stare: In an even voice he said.
‘Hold tight.’
Caliburn flashed above his head and swept downwards with a rush. Rhyllann looked away, towards Carrie, with her hands clutched in front of her chest, those large greeny brown eyes on Wren. She had such very small hands just like her Gran’s Gran …
Rhyllann’s blood thundered in his ears. There was just time to leap across the hearth and grab at Caliburn’s hilt over Wren’s hand, clattering it awkwardly to one side. Carrie screamed.
‘Annie!’ Wren spat, white with anger. ‘What d’you think you’re ….’
‘There’s something I’ve got to do! Something important.’ Oh god, very important! His blood still thundered, turning cold at what he’d almost allowed to happen.
‘Christ sakes Annie! You should have said your goodbyes before. It’s too late now.’ Wrenching Caliburn away Wren bared his arm again.
This time Rhyllann stepped in front of him placing both hands against Caliburn, now spluttering and blazing with blue flames.
‘It had better not be.’ He glanced at Carrie’s bewildered face. ‘You’d better get down on your knees and pray it isn’t too late.’
‘What have you done Annie?’ Wren’s eyes bore into him, Caliburn twitched lazily. Rhyllann shuddered. He’d seen that expression before. He tried not to look at the sword in his cousin’s hand.
‘I’ve made a mistake. I’m sorry. So sorry. Give me Caliburn, give me my sword and I’ll put it right.’
Caliburn flickered, then rose. For a moment he thought Wren meant to strike him. Instead he reversed the blade, holding it hilt out. A tremor ran through Wren, his eyes were an impenetrable steely blue. Wren didn’t trust himself. But he still trusted Rhyllann. A shock of thankfulness rushed through Rhyllann. He couldn’t let him down. He couldn’t fail.
‘I’m sorry, so sorry.’ He said again backing towards the door, pushing Caliburn into the Cumberland band at his waist. Without waiting for a response, he turned to hurtle down the corridor through bodies swarming the other way, towards the boat decks.
‘Wait! I’m coming with you!’ He thought it was Carrie’s voice but in the confused chaos it could have been Wren. He looked back to see a blond and brunette bobbing against the tide of people.
He waited at the staircase, the elevator doors were clanging, an explosion sounded from somewhere above, Carrie screamed, ducking with her hands over her head. Wren’s voice rang out reassuring her and others around him.
‘It’s only a rocket going off. They’re sending up rockets.’ His words had the opposite effect, people surged forward more urgently.
Rhyllann reached out to grab Carrie’s hand, pulling her towards him, her face twisted in pain as she squeezed between the corridor wall and the crowd, he tugged harder; miraculously she was in front of him in a pocket of space on the landing. Red faced Wren barged his way through to them. Grabbing Carrie’s hand from Rhyllann’s, he started down the stairs.
‘Where is she?’
For a second Rhyllann actually wondered how he knew, before remembering this was Wren, always three steps ahead of everyone.
‘In the infirmary – she wouldn’t stop screaming. The steward gave her a sleeper.’ That didn’t sound too bad.
Wren shot him a look of contempt.
They hurried past the next landing, when Rhyllann hesitated, Carrie jerked him forward.
‘This way.’ They stumbled after Wren striding as purposely as he had back on the moors, ignoring the reassuring murmurs, worried calls and anxious yells echoing through the ship.
A few people passed them on the stairs, they could hear the elevators winding slowly in their shafts, once down on C Deck there was barely any urgency.
Rhyllann wanted to scream at people to move quicker. Feeling Wren’s eyes on him he kept his mouth shut.
The infirmary door opened and Carina stood in the corridor. She took one look at Rhyllann, yelped and tried to scuttle back inside the sick bay.
Moving like lightning Rhyllann thrust himself between her and the door, grabbing her as she turned to run the other way. Suddenly she stood very still staring at Carrie, her pupils so dilated her eyes seemed black.
Pushing Rhyllann’s arms away she walked towards her Granddaughter’s Granddaughter like a person in a trance, the laudanum hadn’t quite worn off.
Carrie reached out for her hand. ‘Come on, we’ve got to go.’ Carina nodded dumbly then pulled back.
‘Martha – the children …’
Wren was on her other side now, throwing a life preserver over her head, tying it round her waist, pulling out her long auburn hair to flow over it.
‘Jimmy has already got them on boat deck. Come on. That’s my good girl.’
Putting his head against the wall Rhyllann let out a sob of relief before following.
Chapter Forty-Six
There were maybe twenty people on the boat deck. Looking down to A Deck Rhyllann spotted Andrew’s curly head rushing from person to person, checking life jackets and stationing people into groups. He looked up directly into Rhyllann’s eyes, spoke to a crew member nearby, then disappeared, reappearing seconds later on the boat deck.
‘You’re right, we’ve got to get them up here. We’re sending them up now.’ He shouted directly into Rhyllann’s ear.
Then he dashed off to supervise, herding passengers onto a lifeboat, Carina amongst them. In a daze Rhyllann watched as Carrie drew a chain over her neck and placed it in Carina’s hand. A ghost of a smile appeared on Carina’s face. Rhyllann understood at last the reason for Caliburn’s fade out. It had been trying to exist in two places at one time. As though feeling his eyes upon her Carina looked over, but if she recognised him she didn’t react. He watched as first Wren then Carrie kissed the bewildered little figure. A crew member helped her into the boat, urging Carrie to get in beside her. Carrie backed away into Wren’s arms, and they turned to walk back to him. Andrew popped up into view again shouting and waving his arms, preventing the lifeboat from being lowered, urging the next group to step forward and make haste. Rhyllann turned his head to port side where another lifeboat was slowly lowering. He counted six people in it. Everything happened in slow motion, still Wren and Carrie were walking towards him. Wren shouted something, at him but he couldn’t hear a word. His ears filled with the tremendous whooshing of steam. It poured from funnels exhaustibly, swelling, filling the air, rendering it impossible for anyone to talk or even think.
A stout figure strode onto deck from the Bridge House; Captain Smith. He passed a pair of binoculars to one of the cabin boys and pointed out to port. So they did have binoculars after all, they found some from somewhere, Rhyllann thought and somehow that seemed important. He followed the Captain’s pointing finger. There against the horizon just as Wren predicted, very faintly he could see lights twinkling. A ship. A ship that never moves. Another explosion sounded a faint pop pop phizz, barely audible above the torrents of steam and he craned his neck to watch thinking “Fireworks – they’re letting off fireworks.” Though he knew that was wrong. He flinched as Wren grabbed him with fingers of steel frogmarching him towards the wide metal staircase leading to Deck A.
Deck A was a lot calmer. Music drifted over to him, he thought he was hearing things but no – the orchestra or the string section anyway, suited and booted played ragtime, doing their best to soothe ragged nerves. Rhyllann’s heart swelled at such gallantry. Away from the torrents of steam it was easier to think.
Wren spoke urgently. ‘We’ve got to go. Now!’
Still people were taking their time, refusing to climb to the boat deck, demurring and waiting for the next lifeboat – ‘let the other women and children go first – I’m staying here with my husband.’ Rhyllann actually overheard a woman saying that. Men dressed in pyjamas with their great coats slung over their shoulders, brandy glasses in hand puffed at cigars. He spotted Jennifer Cartwright and the twins in one boat, fur coats over their nightgowns, clutching at each other, confusion in their faces, trying to comprehend that adults could be as powerless as children. The fat auntie saw him and waved him over. One of the oarsmen barked something at her and she looked away. That boat carried around twenty women and eight crew members, cables creaking as they inched through metal pulleys. Rhyllann began to understand how this tragedy had unfolded.
Wren tugged at him again, supporting Carrie under one arm. His face was haggard and pale.
‘Annie! You’re wasting time. Come on!’
Still the band played on, their sweet music throbbing through the freezing night air, competing with the rattle of metal pulleys, shouted orders from the crew and now and then a voice shrilling for a loved one. Rhyllann’s legs unlocked.
‘You’re right. There’s no time.’ He darted forward racing back down the corridor, now there were only a few stragglers making their way on deck to see what the rumpus was about. He threw himself around the landing and hurtled down the stairs. Then staggered against the banisters as a weight like a sack of potatoes walloped against his back.
It was Wren. Pulling Rhyllann up, he rammed him against the wall, his face now parchment white, eyes blazing.
‘What the hell do you think you’re playing at?!!!’
