The Witch Watch

by Shamus Young

  They were standing in the barracks. Gilbert had finished his renovations. The outside was whitewashed. The roof no longer leaked. The gaps in the walls had been mended. The broken furniture had been repaired or replaced. The stove no longer leaked smoke into the room. The tub now held water, so that the men could, in whatever miraculous circumstances might impart the urge, bathe. Gilbert had spent most of his pay and his off-duty time accomplishing this. The only thing wrong with the room now was the blood on the floor and the bruised men at his feet.

  “I never liked you, Maypole. You always thought you were better than everyone else.”

  “A soldier is never better than his work. Or worse,” Gilbert replied calmly. The fight had begun when he found one of the men defacing the wall. He tried to make the man clean it off, the man refused, there was a brawl, and some others joined in. Gilbert suspected Ivar had put them up to it.

  “Well now, I’ve got three men who can’t work. It wouldn’t do to send them out all beaten up like this,” Graves said, kicking one of the men at his feet. A groan came in answer.

  “They had me outnumbered. If they lost then the shame is theirs, not mine.”

  “We’ll see what His Lordship thinks of the way you’ve treated his property.”

  Gilbert was about to ask if Graves had really intended to call the men “property”, when a new voice surprised him. He spun to see that Barrington Oswald Mordaunt, Viscount of Ravenstead, was standing in the doorway of the barracks. This was the first time he’d been in the same room with his employer.

  “I have many enemies. I have reason to believe that some of them may come here with the intent of doing me harm,” said the viscount.

  The men on the floor struggled to their feet. The others in the room jumped up and, for the first time in their careers, stood at attention.

  “I expect you to protect me. I expect you to fight. I expect you to not be duped by disguises, lies, or tricks,” he continued.

  The viscount was not a tall man. Most of his hair was gone. He was clean-shaven. He looked dangerously thin, perhaps even malnourished. His cheekbones stuck out and his dark eyes were set deeply in his head. He walked with an ornamental staff in one hand, as if he was a member of the clergy. He looked very proud and imposing, despite his modest stature.

  “You will kill anyone who comes here with intent to harm, or you will die in the attempt,” he concluded.

  The men agreed eagerly and quickly. Some bowed, or nodded, or saluted (incorrectly) to show their acceptance. Then the viscount turned and left.

  “These men need a day to recover from their injuries,” Graves said once the master was gone. Then he turned to Gilbert. “You’ll take the next four shifts to make up for it.”

  “Gladly,” Gilbert said defiantly, but inside he was crushed. The master didn’t seem to care or even notice his efforts. The men were dogs, and the viscount was content to employ dogs, and wanted nothing more. He mistakenly thought that Ravenstead was lacking in discipline, but what it really lacked was honor, and he had no cure for that. He had wasted his time trying to teach shiftless men to live by a standard they couldn’t comprehend, for a man who couldn’t tell the difference.

  He wanted to quit now that his project had failed, but if he left without serving his punishment it would make him look like a hypocrite and a coward. The men would never have discipline, but he was going to show them what it looked like before he left.

  It would be time for him to sleep soon, but instead he was going to have to guard the manor for the next thirty-two hours.

  Once Graves had left, he began polishing his boots.

  “I’m no longer tired. Why don’t you take the bed while I work?” Alice suggested.

  “I’m not tired either,” Simon responded. “I’ll help you with your work, and when you’re tired you can have the bed.”

  Gilbert sighed. This had been going on for over an hour. Both of them were tired, but both of them insisted that they would sleep on the couch and the other person should sleep on the bed.

  “Simon, would you do me a favor?” Gilbert said suddenly. “Would you see if there’s anywhere on this ship where you might acquire shoe polish? My shoes are in ruinous shape.”

  Simon blinked, “At this hour? Surely everyone else is asleep. Wouldn’t it make more sense to wait until morning?”

  “Would you be willing to look anyway? I don’t have anything to do here but listen to the two of you talk about sorcery.”

  “I’ll do what I can,” Simon said agreeably. He donned his hat and strode out of the room with a purpose.

  “Stick to the upper deck, don’t go below!” Gilbert called after him.

  “Thank you!” Alice said once Simon was gone. “He is surprisingly stubborn,” she yawned. She put one of the pillows on the couch and began to make it her bed.

  “Actually, I asked him to leave so that I could insist that you let him have the couch.”

  Alice looked at him in surprise. “I couldn’t possibly. No, he deserves the bed.”

  “Why?”

  “You know why!” she said in bewilderment. “After all the boy has been through. He deserves the bed.”

  “So you’re saying you want to give him the big, luxurious bed because he’s had a hard life? Because you feel sorry for him?”

  “Don’t you?”

  “Of course I do, and that’s why you should take the bed yourself. He’s young and naive, but he can tell you feel sorry for him. Making him take the bed will shame him.”

  She shook her head. “I’m not trying to shame him, I just want to take care of him.”

  “He doesn’t want to be taken care of. He wants to help. He wants to be brave. He wants to be strong.”

  “He wants to be like you,” Alice suggested.

  “I know. I’ll admit he certainly could have chosen a better role model, but the fact is that he doesn’t want to be a burden.”

  ‘We could share it,” she suggested. “The thing is enormous.”

  “Out of the question,” Gilbert said.

  Alice raised an eyebrow. “I did not expect you to be so prudish, of all people. I got the impression you were something of a scoundrel with regards to women.”

  “Among other things. I’m not worried about the two of you having an illicit affair while a walking corpse is sitting in the same room. I’m just concerned for Simon. Do you realize he’s probably never spoken with a girl his own age before?”

  “I hadn’t thought of that,” she admitted.

  “You’ve spent most of your life around men. You’re comfortable around them. You sleep next to them in the field without a second thought, don’t you?”

  “It’s only practical,” she said defensively. “And practicality should come before propriety.”

  “I agree. But Simon would be scandalized by the very suggestion. When I was in the military-”

  “You say that often,” she pointed out.

  “It comes to mind often. Anyway, when I was in the military, I spent about ten months in a bad place. In all that time, I never saw a single woman. No girls. No mothers. No grandmothers. Nothing. Ten months of nothing but men. When I went on leave, I... purchased a bit of company for the night.”

  “Wouldn’t it be more accurate to say the company was rented?”

  “As you like,” Gilbert shrugged. “This woman was not very healthy and did not have a comely face. She was ragged. She stank. She was rude and thick.”

  “I hope you’re not searching for sympathy.”

  “No. You don’t understand. After ten months, that woman was the sun. My heart was pounding in my chest just talking to her. And that was with a homely woman, after just ten months. Imagine what it must be like for poor Simon, who has been alone for a lifetime, who is faced with a stunningly attractive lady, and who must regard women as a complete mystery.”

  “On the point of my allegedly being ‘stunningly attractive’-” Alice began.

  “Do not deny it or I will become cross
,” Gilbert warned.

  “Very well, I will allow the assertion to go unchallenged for the sake of not antagonizing you. I guess your description does explain why he goes red in the face whenever we speak.”

  “Imagine how much more intense his anxiety would be if he were in the same bed with you. He would never fall asleep.”

  “I would make sure to wear something-”

  “You could fall asleep in the clothes you’re wearing now, and it wouldn’t make things any less scandalous for him.”

  She stood up from the couch and began moving her things over to the bed, “Very well. He may have the couch.”

  “Thank you.”

  “He is a remarkable boy,” she said, stifling another yawn. “To have suffered so much and not become hardened or bitter. He is very gentle and kind, even though not a single person in his life ever taught him so.”

  “I’ve seen cases where good, decent people ended up with an unaccountably malicious and villainous son,” Gilbert said thoughtfully. “I guess the reverse can sometimes be true as well. Although, I’ll wager it’s rarer.”

  “Like finding a rose growing amongst poison ivy.”

  “A rose? A few days ago you condemned him as a sorcerer,” Gilbert said.

  “And you rightly pointed out that I was one as well. But our job was never to simply go after sorcerers. My father’s belief - and indeed the entire point of the ministry - was to oppose dangerous, harmful sorcerers. But I don’t think anyone can look at Simon and conclude he’s interested in hurting others. I’m sure he’s probably done evil things, but not of his own volition.”

  “I imagine the Headmaster takes most of the blame for any evil perpetrated by Simon’s hands, as well as the evil inflicted on him.”

  “And yet the boy doesn’t seem inclined to revenge.”

  “I can’t say the same. I plan to run the man through as soon as the opportunity presents itself.”

  “I do find it curious that both you and Simon have had dealings with the man. How is it that you met him?”

  “His title is ‘headmaster’, but he was really just the viscount’s right-hand man. He ran whatever staff worked at the academy, and he ran the men who guarded the manor. Twisted fellow.”

  A few minutes later the door shot open and Simon rushed in. He slammed it shut again and leaned against it. He looked around the room, wide-eyed.

  “Are you alright?” Alice asked.

  “Headmaster. I saw him. He saw me. It was... I came around the corner and there he was, grinning with those awful teeth of his.”

  “Blast it,” said Gilbert. “I’m sure he’s in steerage. I didn’t expect him to be prowling around the upper decks.”

  “I would like to have gone a bit longer without him knowing we were trailing him,” Alice lamented.

  “I’m so sorry!” Simon said.

  “It’s not your fault”, Alice said gently. “I’d rather blame the one who sent you out on so frivolous an errand in the middle of the night.”

  “Oh! That reminds me,” said Simon. “I found you some shoe polish.”

  Gilbert felt like the walking dead. He staggered into the barracks, listing like a sinking ship. He’d been awake for, what? Two days? Since the last time he slept he’d finished repairing the barracks, gotten in a fight, and stood watch in front of the manor for thirty-two consecutive hours. His vision had narrowed. The world around him seemed muffled and distant. The only thing he could perceive with any clarity was the relentless pain in his legs and back. His head drooped forward, and it took a great deal of concentration to keep from going face-first into the floor.

  Gilbert shuffled across the room and stopped. Ivar was standing between him and his bed.

  “The scullery maid looks tired out after all her cleaning. Maybe she wants to go to bed?” Ivar grinned.

  Gilbert looked around, wondering what scullery maid Ivar was talking about. The punch in the side of his face woke him up a bit, and he realized what was going on. He lunged forward to repay Ivar for the unsporting opening, and found his arm was caught on something. A blow to the opposite side of his face gave his mind another jolt, and somewhere in the back of his mind he became aware that he was in trouble.

  He tried again to strike but his other arm was caught as well. He realized someone had grabbed him from behind. He threw himself backwards into the wall, crushing the man behind him. A yelp sounded, and he recognized the voice as belonging to Soot. Ivar drove his knuckles deep into Gilbert’s sternum, which put a stop to his breathing for a few seconds. Gilbert stumbled onto his hands and knees, at which point his attackers switched to kicking.

  Gilbert looked up. Before he passed out he saw that the walls of the barracks had been defaced. Ugly, lewd scrawls covered the walls around his bunk.

  The Saloon of the SS Callisto was a grand hall that extended the entire width of the vessel. Generous portholes opened to give patrons a view of the sea. The top of the room opened to a great dome, which was crowned with a skylight. Beams of richly colored wood crossed below this, with pots of green plants hanging from them. At the front was a piano that filled the air with gentle music.

  “You don’t remember your parents?” Alice asked.

  Simon shook his head. He opened the corner of his mouth to draw in a noisy draught of air as he chewed the enormous mouthful of meat pie. After some furious work the food was driven home, and his fork immediately delivered another.

  “Do you remember anything about your life before you began serving the viscount?”

  “Rrphnage,” he gulped.

  “Orphanage?”

  Simon nodded and his fork scooped up another heap of pie.

  “My goodness, Simon,” Alice said when his appetite showed no signs of diminishing, “Did Gilbert feed you at all while you were with him?”

  “Lots,” he choked.

  “Then why do you eat so ravenously?”

  Simon looked down at his food, and then he met Alice’s eyes. He gave a slight, apologetic shrug and returned to work.

  “I see. He fed you well but didn’t bother to teach you any manners. Typical. This won’t do! You’re making a spectacle of yourself,” she warned.

  Simon slowed and looked around to the other patrons. The saloon was sparse at this hour, being slightly past midday. Some passengers were travelers, connoisseurs of cultures and exotic sights. Others were industrialists, men of wealth and power conducting their trans-Atlantic business. Simon and Alice were among the youngest of the passengers, and a few people took them for newlyweds. (Since they could apparently imagine no other reason that two people of their age might be sharing a room across the Atlantic.) One man even shook Simon’s hand and wished him well, although the man’s eyes had been on Alice while he did so.

  At the moment, a few people were glaring at Simon. The rest were pretending they didn’t see his display, lest they become enraged and so spoil their own meal. The center of the room was brilliantly illuminated by the sun streaming in through the windows, but their table was in one of the dim spots at the edge of the room. It was hardly secretive or even private, but at least it didn’t bring them additional attention.

  “Sorry,” Simon said, once his mouth was properly empty. He sat looking at the food for a few moments. After what seemed like a polite interval, he took a more conventionally proportioned bite, and then began chewing furiously.

  Alice winced. “Slowly!” she pleaded.

  Simon stopped his chewing and sat for a moment with the food still in his mouth, as if waiting for permission to begin again.

  “I didn’t say stop. Just... eat tiny bites if you must, but try to slow the rate of your intake. You should not need to gulp for air.” She held up her own fork and took her own small bite in demonstration.

  Simon nodded and did his best to emulate her.

  “Nobody will snatch the plate from you, and I’ll be happy to order more if you need it.”

  “Thank you!” Simon grinned through another bite of food. As his m
eal drew to an end he looked down at his plate thoughtfully. “I’m sorry again for my manners,” he said.

  “You already said so,” Alice said dismissively. “With practice I’m sure you’ll learn the art of eating without drowning in your meal.”

  “It’s just that... at the academy... we never got to eat like this. We were only given a few minutes to eat, and groups of us often shared a common bowl. If you didn’t eat quickly, you wouldn’t get enough.”

  “Well take heart,” she replied. “Those days are behind you now.”

  A shadow passed over the table. Alice ignored it, thinking the waiter had returned prematurely and was trying to hurry them along. But then a foul smell reached her nose. She looked up and saw a man in a ragged suit standing over them, leering menacingly.

  “What do you want?” she demanded. She assumed he was just there to beg. She was not normally against charity, but this fellow had an unwholesome look. She glanced across the table to see that Simon was paralyzed with fear. His eyes were open wide and he was clutching the tablecloth desperately.

  The man took a seat without asking, grinning at Simon. “Having fun, Mouse? Got your belly nice and full?” His accent revealed him to be a man incapable of pronouncing the letter ‘H’.

  “You must be this ‘headmaster’ I keep hearing about,” Alice said hotly. “Get yourself below decks before I call for help. Steerage passengers aren’t permitted in the saloon.”

  He laughed at this, “Abominations aren’t permitted on the ship at all, I’d imagine. Along with a couple of traveling witches. If you give me up, I’ll make sure to return the favor. We’ll see who comes out worse for it.”

  “Make your accusations if you like, assuming you can find an ear among the crew willing to hear them.”

  Graves lowered his voice, “The master is very displeased at what you’ve done, but he’s of a generous disposition right now.”

  Simon let out a fearful squeak at this, which amused the headmaster. Alice glared at the boy, but he was transfixed by the headmaster and would not look away. “Is he really?” Alice replied. “And what can a traitorous, dead, cursed, failure like Lord Mordaunt offer us in his generosity?”