by Amy Cross
I turn to Frequenot.
"It's true," he says, not seeming particularly pleased. In fact, he comes across as a rather depressed little old man.
"You've never mentioned him before," I say to Duncan, still a little suspicious.
"It's not really something to brag about," Duncan says, putting his feet up on the table. "Besides, I didn't expect to see him for some time. I told him not to bother me again unless he discovered that something truly awful was about to happen."
"I see," I say, turning to Frequenot.
There's an awkward pause.
Frequenot clears his throat.
Duncan drinks from his pint of beer.
"Sir," says Frequenot slowly, "I come bearing news."
Duncan turns to him. The smile is fading from his face now, as he seems to be realizing what Frequenot's arrival must mean.
"He is returned," says Frequenot with great solemnity.
Duncan pauses. "Who?" he asks, but it's clear that he already has a damn good idea.
"Him," Frequenot says.
"Him?" Duncan asks, the color draining from his face.
"Yes, Sir," Frequenot continues. "Him."
"Oh," says Duncan, falling silent. He seems lost in thought.
"He has traveled the Wastelands of Pith," Frequenot says, "and he did not find what he was looking for. He has journeyed beyond the Solar Eye, and he did not find what he was looking for. He entered Helos itself, and he did not find what he was looking for. He sailed the dimensional winds, surveying the void, and he did not -"
"Did not find what he was looking for," I say. "I get it. So who is he and what does he want?"
Frequenot turns to Duncan, but Duncan seems too lost in thought to explain.
"You did tell me to come to you when I had news of him," Frequenot says.
"I know," Duncan says, "but I also told you that he's not real."
"He's real," Frequenot replies darkly.
"Of course he's real," Duncan shoots back, "I just didn't want to admit it." He sighs. "What's he doing here? When does he arrive?"
"He's doing what he always does," Frequenot says. "He's searching for something. And he arrives when he arrives. You can't hurry him, and you can't slow him down. He sails here at his own speed."
Duncan nods. "You've done well," he says, still lost in thought. "How did you hear the news?"
"I kept my ear to the ground," Frequenot says. "That, and I can feel it in my water." He pauses, and it's obvious that Duncan doesn't entirely believe him. "When have I ever been wrong?" Frequenot adds.
"Never," Duncan says, a solemn tone coming into his voice. "And that means trouble." He pauses for a moment, lost in thought once again. "When he gets here -"
"You'll know," Frequenot says. "Trust me, you'll know. Little things at first, then a few big things. You'll definitely know, even if nobody else does."
"Well that's just brilliant," Duncan says. He takes a deep breath. "See if you can find out anything else. I need to know more about him. I need to know how to deal with him if we come face to face. Ideally, I'd like to know how to completely and utterly avoid him."
Frequenot nods. "I doubt you'll be able to do that, Sir," he says. "Best guess is that he'll be here within a day. And after last time, I don't reckon he'll be happy to just sail on past."
"Beat it," Duncan says, seemingly descending into a sulk. "Go and sort it out for me."
Frequenot smiles and walks away, leaving me holding my pint of beer and wondering what, exactly, just happened, and what might be about to happen.
"Who -" I start to say.
"Not now," Duncan replies.
"But what -"
"Not now!" Duncan insists.
"But when -"
Duncan turns to me, all the humor gone from his face.
I sigh and take another sip. "You're gonna have to tell me eventually," I say. "Whatever it is, you can't keep me out of the loop forever."
"I can," Duncan says darkly.
I put my beer down. "Fine," I say, standing up. "Then I guess there's no point in me being here, is there? I'm going for a walk. I'll see you around." I pause for a moment, just to give him time to make me stay, but he just stares into the distance. Sighing, I turn and head out of the pub. The contrast between the darkness inside and the bright light of a sunny Camden afternoon is extreme, and I have to shield my eyes for a moment. Finally heading off towards the market, I decide to stay out for the rest of the day. If Duncan won't tell me what's going on, there's no way I'm going to beg any more, and if this is really how he's going to keep treating me, I'm not sure whether there's much point in me hanging around any longer. Maybe it's time to make a clean break.
Joseph
1889.
"Clara!" I shout, running along the harborside. "Clara!"
She doesn't hear me. Buffeted by the crowd, she's focused on trying not to get trampled. As always, she has come down to sell flowers to passing sailors, but no-one's interested in buying today. She'll be lucky to earn enough money to cover a day's food, but she has to keep trying. She has a family to look after, and she takes her responsibilities very seriously. Day in, day out, in rain or shine, she's down here by the water, selling her flowers to the few kind souls who take pity on her.
"Still running after that pretty young girl, huh?" says a voice behind me.
"Always running," I say, coming to a halt and immediately losing sight of her in the crowd, "and never catching." I turn to Duncan. "What are you doing here?" I ask. "Shouldn't you be a long way from here by now?"
"I should," he replies, "but I still haven't found anyone who can help me with this." We both look down at his feet: one leg is still clapped in irons, and without the key he'll never be able to get it off.
"Remind me again how you keep getting into these situations," I ask, smiling.
"I have no idea," Duncan replies, putting an arm around my shoulder and leading me away from the crowd, towards the mussel-houses. "Trouble just seems to keep coming along and forcing itself on me." He leans against the wall of one of the warehouses and tries desperately to pull the heavy metal cuffs from around his ankle. "That was the first time I've ever been in a chain-gang," he mutters, "and I'm damn well gonna make sure it's the last."
I nod, turning away to see if I can spot Clara in the crowd. It's no use, though. There are hundreds of people here to wave the boat off on its voyage back to Europe. Sailors, merchants and noblemen are milling about, bumping into one another, and generally paying little attention to anyone else. It's a chaotic scene, and it makes me feel a little uncomfortable. I prefer calmer places, away from busy towns.
"If you like her, go and tell her," Duncan says. "Life's too short to waste time longing for something when you can just grab it instead."
"Maybe," I say. For a moment, I think I catch a glimpse of Clara in the crowd, but then she's gone again. "I'm sure God knows what he's doing. He'll bring us together one day."
"Maybe," Duncan repeats in a mocking tone. "One day." He laughs. "I know what it means when you say things like that. It means you're never going to do it." He pauses. "She's pretty. Too pretty to be left hanging like this. If you don't make a move on her soon, I might swoop in ahead of you."
"You wouldn't do that," I say, smiling.
"Wouldn't I?" he replies. "You can't put a pretty girl up on the shelf forever and tell other men to keep back. If you want her, go and get her. Otherwise, someone'll make a move. If it's not me, it'll just be someone less charming and handsome."
"I'd like to hear you try to explain yourself to Anna," I say.
"Anna doesn't have to know everything," Duncan replies. "I've got to go. I'll be around tonight, though. And you'd better have some progress to report." He starts walking away slowly, dragging the leg-iron behind him. "Time's ticking, Joseph."
I turn and head back over toward the waterfront. I know Duncan's right, but he doesn't understand what it's like for me. I'm more than ten years older than Clara. She's nineteen, yo
ung and beautiful, and she'll be looking for a young guy. I'm thirty-one and I don't have anything going for me. Let's face it, if I was going to make it big in the world - if I was going to be rich, or powerful, or successful - it would have happened by now. Unless some hitherto-unknown uncle drops dead and leaves me a fortune, I'll just be a poor mariner making his living from short-term contracts and occasional trips over to Europe. It's not much to offer a young lady who's bound to be courted by all the men in town.
"Joe," shouts a familiar voice from nearby, and I turn to see my old Captain, Thomas Morgan, running towards me.
"I'm busy," I say, not wanting to get dragged into another of his desperate schemes.
"Yeah," he says, smiling, "you look it. I've got a job for you."
"I don't do commission work," I say.
"This isn't commission work," he replies. "This is a straight-up, honest night's work for a fixed fee. You'll even get paid up-front. Usual rate. Easy job. I'd do it myself, but I've got some prior engagements to attend to first."
"What's the job?" I ask, already regretting showing interest.
"You know the Port Horizon?" he asks, pointing at a large trading ship moored nearby.
"What about it?"
"It needs a test run, just out as far as Dorvey's Island and back. It'll take three, maybe four hours maximum. You don't even need a crew. It's a light run. What do you say?"
I sigh. I swore that I'd never do any more work for Thomas Morgan, but this does seem like the easiest possible job, and it'd be good to earn a little money under the counter. Although I try to think of a reason to turn him down, I find myself nodding. "Fine," I say. "This doesn't mean I'm back on your books, though. It's just a one-off."
"Of course it is," he replies. "Come on over to the office and I'll pay you right now."
I follow him over to his little office behind one of the warehouses. I guess I had nothing else to do tonight, other than sit around and pine for Clara. At least this way, I'll be out at sea, doing what I love doing the most: sailing a boat. There aren't that many people who're lucky enough to get paid to do the things I do, and I'm thankful for the opportunities I get. It's just that I wish my entire life were different. I wish I had better options. I wish I had Clara.
Jess
Today.
I stay out late. Really late. By the time I start thinking about going home, it's gone midnight and I've been gone almost twelve hours. Sitting on a bar stool in the corner of a little dive right at the northern end of Camden, I stare at the bottom of my empty glass and realize there's no point sitting here feeling sorry for myself all night. At some point, I have to go back and face Duncan.
Don't I?
For the past few hours, I've been toying with the idea of just leaving. I know he tracked me down last time, but I'm pretty sure I could cover my traces a little better now. I could just get up, walk out of here, head off into the London night, switch to my wolf form and run. I could be miles from here by morning. With a little luck, I could switch back to my human form and take a ferry over to France. From there, I'd be free to roam the European countryside. I could go south to Spain and Italy, or east to Poland and maybe even Russia. Hell, I could even head down towards Turkey and then into the Middle East. My horizons are vast. My options are limitless.
So why am I going back to Duncan?
Paying my bill and hauling my ass out of the bar, I wander along the dark street. I guess I feel like I still owe Duncan something. He helped me when I was in bad shape. He saved my life, even if the only reason I was in danger in the first place was because of him. He gave me a gift that most people would kill for. I mean, all the Londoners milling around in the street tonight would kill to have special abilities. So maybe I'm being ungrateful? Maybe I should trust Duncan more?
It's hard, though, when he keeps treating me like a child. I can't remember the number of times he's mentioned something interesting, only to claim that I don't need to know, or I wouldn't understand. Maybe if he'd let me into what's going on, I could help. As it is, I'm not really sure why he even wants me around. Am I just keeping him company, and helping him feel less lonely? Sometimes we share the same bed, but I'm not sure whether he sees me as anything other than someone to sleep with from time to time. He treats everything like it's a joke these days. I want more than that.
Reaching the little B&B where we're staying, I find the front door is open and I head inside. I climb the stairs and find that the door to our room, also, is open. Going inside and pushing the door shut, I immediately sense that Duncan's here. The room is dark, but there's some light coming through the window from a streetlamp outside, and I can see Duncan sitting on the bed.
"Hey," I say.
"Hey," he replies. He still seems lost in thought, as if he's nervous about something. I just wish he'd tell me what's going on.
"So we're on a quest to find a sword that doesn't exist, huh?" I ask, strolling over to the bed. "That's not going to be easy."
"It's not," he says, still staring into space.
"And there's some guy who's gonna show up," I continue, sitting on the bed next to Duncan, "and he's bad news. Right?"
"Right," Duncan says. He turns to me, and I can see that there's genuine concern in his eyes. He's truly worried about something. This is a side of him that I haven't seen for a long, long time. Suddenly I feel extremely guilty for having even considered walking out on him. There's clearly something on his mind, and I have no idea how to help him but I really do want to stick around and try. I've promised myself that in two weeks, I'll abandon human life forever and become a wolf full-time. I'm pretty sure Duncan is hoping to change my mind, but perhaps this can work the other way and I can change his mind?
"Do you want to tell me all about it?" I ask.
He shakes his head. "I don't really understand," he says. "The Mariner is... a legend. I wasn't even sure he was real."
I smile. "Just like you're not sure whether Excalibur's real?"
"Excalibur's definitely not real," he says. "The Mariner... He's real. He's very real, and if he's coming here, then I have no idea how to deal with him. We're not even from the same... anything. Not any more. We're totally different. I don't even know if I can communicate with him."
"Why's it your job?" I ask. "Why should you be the one to talk to him? And why does anyone need to do it?"
Duncan finally smiles. "You look good tonight," he says.
"Thanks," I reply, feeling a little uncomfortable. I know what Duncan wants, but I'm not sure whether it's a good idea. We've been fooling around for a while now, but it's getting to the point where I want to know what it means to him. If it's just about sex, maybe I should back away.
"Come closer," he says.
"I don't know if I should," I reply.
"Of course you should," he says, leaning closer and kissing me on the lips. It's a long, slow kiss, full of the passion that I want to believe is real. But I'm still not certain.
"Wait," I say, pulling away a little. "What is this?"
He stares at me, with a kind of lost look in his eyes. "I don't know what you mean," he says. It's strange, but the confident swagger seems to have been replaced by a startled expression that suggests he genuinely doesn't get what I'm talking about.
"You want to fuck me again," I say. "Why?"
He pauses. "I thought you liked it..." he says, his voice trailing away as if that's enough.
"It's not about that," I reply. "I'm confused. I want to know what this is. What we've got here. I want to know, so I know whether to rely on you or not. I've tried working it out from your gestures and your words, and I can't do it. So I need you to tell me, truthfully."
He stares at me. "I don't know," he says eventually.
"You came and found me," I say. "You turned me into a werewolf. You changed me so I'm more like you. Then you put me in danger, and then you saved my life. And then I ran away, and you came and found me and forced me to come with you. And now you say you don't know what I me
an to you?"
"You mean a lot," he says.
"A lot?" I reply. "Is that it? I mean a lot?"
"Isn't that enough?" he replies, and I can see from the look in his eyes that it's hopeless to expect more from him. He's lost in this little bubble of conversation I've created. The differences between us have never been so obvious before.
"Fuck you," I say, leaning forward and kissing him. I push him down onto the bed and climb on top of him, quickly pulling off my shirt and then unhooking my bra. I kiss the side of his neck, running my hands over his chest and finally unbuttoning his shirt. Maybe I was foolish to think that this could ever be an emotional relationship, or that he could ever actually love me. Maybe I should just accept that it's about sex. We're only here because we're good in bed together, in which case I might as well make full use of him while I still have the chance.
We make love roughly, and noisily, like animals. Once we're completely naked, he throws me down onto the bed and climbs on top, entering me and starting to make hard, passionate love to me. I reach my hands around him and feel the sweat on his back as he takes me. With each thrust, it's as if he's reaffirming the idea that this is all about sex and that there's nothing more to our relationship. This is blank sex, driven by a pure desire to just fuck until we're both satisfied. Finally, after a few hours, we both climax at the same time and I feel him finish deep inside me. We remain tightly entwined with one another for a moment longer, and then he slowly withdraws.
I want to say something, but there's nothing to say so I get up and go through to the cold little bathroom. The electric light is harsh and bathes me in whiteness as I grab some toilet paper and clean myself up a little. I catch sight of myself in the mirror, and it's hard not to notice how forlorn I look. You'd never know from looking at me that I just made love; you'd think I'd been attacked. I guess this is what happens when you walk into a room determined to find out how someone feels about you, and you get the answer you didn't want but you still fuck him anyway.
