The Mariner (28 page)

“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

A
LWAYS 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.

“Mindless,” 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!”

“See?” Diane’s eyes lit up in triumph. “The murderer’s accomplice shows his true colours! He defends not only the murderer, but the demon itself! They are as guilty as each other.”

“Are you going to take her word for all of this? Why put the group’s faith in just one? What’s wrong with you all?” McConnell wailed as he was dragged to the Mariner’s side. His words might have struck a chord, if not for an immense sound echoing across the zoo, one of wood cracking against stone. It lasted only a few seconds and all eyes searched the surrounding structures, looking for the building that must have crumbled, for it sounded like wooden planks tumbling and splitting.

Finally the strange noise died away and was replaced by even greater monkey chatter.

Diane, eager to regain the focus of the crowd, clapped her hands. “Collect wood for a fire, justice must be done.”

“Justice? What justice is this? At least hold us until his story can be checked? Send a ship to Sighisoara, find the truth in his words! It happens, people turn Mindless, you don’t need to judge now!”

Diane shook her head. “I’m sorry, but it must be done right away. I have sensed a chance to challenge Déjà vu whilst the demon-servants burn. It’s what’s happened before. It’s what’ll happen again.”

The two men were forced to the ground, whilst a bonfire was hastily constructed. Somewhere behind, amongst the crowd they could hear Grace crying.

“For God’s sake, don’t let her see this!” McConnell begged. “She’s just a child!” But his pleas were ignored; all were duty-bound to bear witness to Diane’s justice.

It didn’t take long for the pyre to be laid out, large enough for two men spread across. Gasoline was splashed across, the monks careful to keep their torches a safe distance.

“Bind their hands!”

Whilst their arms were pulled behind their backs and ropes wrapped around their wrists, McConnell gave a last ditch attempt to convince the crowd.