Wilson quickly interjected, “Of course you do, dear boy—and we would have you no other way—but perhaps you can draw the line just short of incest.”
The jest, although intended to be lighthearted, was ill-timed and earned a sharp and cautionary glance from an instantly dangerous Niles Byron. “Too soon, dear boy.”
Weyland eased in between the two friends, throwing an arm over each man’s shoulders. “Now that we have addressed this matter,” he said in a disarming tone, “let us retire to the inn and have a bath drawn for you. I can smell the filth of that lout upon you from where I stand.”
“Indeed,” said Niles.
The five gentlemen walked on together, continuing their banter and speaking of the local man’s impropriety as they made their way to the coaching inn on what was sure to be their only night in this particular village.
Entry Four
The morning which followed showed the five gentlemen rising and preparing to depart from the small fishing village, and more than one sore conscience. Niles, for his part, seemed unchanged, but a darkness lurked in his features, which spoke more to a sleepless night than the slumber of an untainted conscience. Yet when he joined his fellows in the common area of the coaching inn, he smirked as he did every morning, the vibrancy in his step speaking perhaps more to Rufus’ treatments than sound rest and a sober constitution.
Still it was clear that their sojourn into the countryside had produced a reviving effect on all of their number’s constitutions. Gazes were clearer and smiles far more frequent, with none of the somber studiousness which had infected them at University. Rather, they seemed freer, and masters of their destiny, forces which moved within the world, controlled only by their will and their Society as gentlemen.
It was with this somber realization that the other four sat about the single communal table of this small facility and allowed themselves to be served by a maid who made no effort to hide her frown. Still smarting from words both said and unsaid the on previous night, they hardly dared to meet each other’s gaze as Niles sat amongst them.
Silence filled their table, weighing heavily between them, as they stoically ate to fortify themselves against the oncoming, sullen day of traveling.
“I—” Weyland began, but before he completed his thought, the door banged open, and a man charged in, heedless of propriety.
“There you are!” declared the man. Wilson and Weyland half-stood, having immediately recognized this man as the fisherman from the night previous. Niles stood as well, but whether to continue his actions from the interrupted altercation, contrition aside, or to flee, it was unclear.
In that moment of indecision, the man neared, and the gentlemen discovered that he carried in his hands a small basket with a handkerchief neatly folded over, thus disguising the contents. He held the basket in front of himself like a shield and entreated them with a demeanor quite unlike his irreverent disposition the night previously. “Please gentlemen, before you grow angry and we repeat last night’s events, hear me out.”
“Why should we pay heed to the likes of you?” asked Niles, seemingly near-ready to resume his pugilistic stance and return to the manner of communication which he and the fisherman had concluded with the night previous.
“Niles,” cautioned Rufus, reaching up a steadying hand to place on his friend’s arm.
“Please, I … I was in the drink last night. I never would have said such things to fine gentlemen in my right mind. This is not about me, it’s about my sister …” The man’s face scrunched, and for a horrified moment, all five Fellows thought that he might break into tears. It took him several moments before he was able to regain his composure. “The sea hag has taken her.”
“I was under the impression that no one here believed in such things,” said Weyland.
“We don’t much like to talk about it,” said the fisherman. “But with ye being the sort to look fer such things I thought that maybe … well, perhaps ye might be willing to intervene.”
“Intervene in what, exactly?” inquired Wilson.
The fisherman looked around as if trying to see if anyone was observing them. With the absence of the serving girl, the common room of the coaching inn was empty but for the Fellows and their abrupt guest. Instead of telling them his purpose, he proffered the basket he held in his hand. “Before it slips me mind, me ma sent me with these, as a way of apology.”
Niles rolled his eyes and sat down, but Weyland perked at the prospect. “What are they?”
“Biscuits.” The man removed the handkerchief and offered them the basket.
Weyland, having no shame when it came to sweetened goods, promptly took one. “Thank you for your kindness.”
“We couldn’t possibly—” Friedrich began, but Wilson interrupted, “Yes, thank you, the gesture is most kind. Let us speak no more of last night’s unpleasantness.”
“Agreed then. And thank ye so much for being forgiving of me actions. Yer assistance means more than ye can know.” The fisherman smiled and placed the basket on the table between the men.
“Then tell us of this intervention for which you require our services,” said Wilson.
Rufus, eying Weyland as he munched happily on one of the biscuits, took one for himself as well and ate it. The fisherman smiled at this, and then spoke. “There is a ceremony where a woman is given to the Cailleach to be sacrificed. I mean to rescue my sister from this fate and request your help in so doing.”
Entry Five
The late September morning blustered its way across the beach as the Fellows walked after the fisherman with varying degrees of enthusiasm. Weyland walked this way and that, distracted one moment by the sea, the next by the dunes, as if he searched for signs of the Cailleach’s presence. Rufus kept his hands in his pockets and stepped carefully, as if fearing that in which he might step.
Wilson eyed Niles, waiting for him to lose his temper with the man who had come to them for aid. For his part, Niles followed at the tail end of the rest, puffing on his pipe and attaining an air of complete nonchalance and disinterest. Of the five, only Friedrich followed the fisherman closely, listening to the folklore of the Cailleach as the man led them to their destination.
According to the fisherman, the Cailleach was either some sort of witch, or perhaps a goddess of an older mythos, and the man evaded the question more often than not when it was posed to him in a variety of forms. All he would say, when pressed, was how the creature would threaten their livelihood if not given the proper sacrifice.
His patter returned constantly to his concern for his sister and his fear for her safety, wherever she may have been taken by this creature. There was mention of a cave of some sort further up the beach toward the cliffs, but whether this was the lair of the creature or merely a storage space for its sacrifices was left unclear. In Niles’ opinion, there was very much that was unclear that should not have been, and his suspicions raised the longer he listened to Friedrich speak with the man. Rhetoric, though Niles doubted the man knew the meaning of the word, was being used to obfuscate something of his intent.
Before he could raise his concerns with the other fellows, they arrived at their destination.
“Gentlemen, this is the place!” exclaimed the fisherman.
A spire of rough stone stuck up from the beach, as if set there by some giant’s hand. Ropes lay around the base of the stone, as if they had been recently used to affix a person to the pillar. Among the ropes lay a woman’s dress, and heaped over that was a strange sort of gelatinous substance that oozed and swayed with the tide that rose and fell around the base of the stone.
The Fellows stared at the stone for a moment in silence, awed by its size and presence. It was as tall as any of them and must weigh tonnes. The fisherman allowed them a moment before speaking on.
“They call it the Cailleach’s tooth,” he said, his voice low and reverent. “We tie our women here, one a season, and they’re always all right. But this time … this time we only found this.
My poor sister is gone!”
“Where are the rest of the villagers?” Wilson asked. “Are they out searching as well?”
“No, they … they pity me, but know the worth of the sacrifice. My sister will be remembered, but they say it is for the greater good. This must happen. What is one life compared to many? Our livelihoods rest on the Cailleach’s good graces.”
“Then, given that you believe all this is real, why would you sacrifice all that for the safety of your sister?” Rufus asked.
“Because it’s not right! She is my sister, by damnation!” The man’s vehemence startled Weyland, who took a step back from him, nearly placing his foot into the gelatinous substance. The other men watched the fisherman with curiosity as he continued. “Because the world has moved on, and all we do is feed this creature and remain backwards. Don’t you think, Lord Byron, that we should progress? That we should try our damndest to try to find a way to better our lot, to work toward improving ourselves?”
Niles frowned around his pipe, unsure about finding himself in a position of possibly agreeing with this man who had so grievously insulted him and his, a mere half a day prior.
“What, exactly, do you believe happened to her?” Friedrich inquired.
“She had to have taken her,” the man said, “due to the deposits. They’re a sure sign of the Cailleach’s influence.”
“They look like … jellyfish.” Wilson said, crouching down next to the clothing and the mass of gelatinous substance.
“Aye, looks can be deceiving though.” The fisherman nodded sagely. “She leaves it there to let us know she’s been. Usually, the women are covered in it.”
“What makes you think that she didn’t just get tired of being covered in this material and walk off?” Weyland asked.
“The ropes,” the fisherman said, pointing. “If you will look closely, you will see that they remain tied where they were when we left her last night.”
“This is all too ridiculous,” Niles said finally, as he had reached his limit of tolerance. “Do you seriously expect us to believe that your sister was left tied up here all night —while you were drinking in the common house, mind you—was contacted by a mythical creature, covered in goo, and then subsequently disappeared? For what purpose? What kind of fools do you think us?”
The man looked down, swallowing hard. When he spoke, his voice was low. “They say that she eats them … the girls, that is, their souls. Not their bodies. That’s how she remains young looking through the winter.”
“Wouldn’t it be a little late for your sister to be saved, then?” Niles asked cruelly, but frankly calling out the issue at hand.
“As long as her body remains unfound, I can still hope.” The fisherman met his eyes, refusing to look away as Niles fumed.
“Are their bodies usually found?” Friedrich inquired.
For a moment, it seemed as if the fisherman would not answer, but that moment passed, and he broke eye contact with Niles to shake his head. “Not here, but close by.”
“I daresay that this is rubbish. Didn’t you tell us that the girls are left unharmed?” Niles felt great frustration weighing upon him. Why could his friends not see this man for the liar he was?
The fisherman’s back straightened a bit. “I said many are not taken. We had thought she stopped. But I am not so old as to not remember the times when she took them all!”
“I think it behooves us to at least investigate that place as well.” Wilson stood from where he had crouched and turned to the other men.
“Then you will help me?” the fisherman asked.
A silence fell as the other four Fellows looked to Niles. After a moment, he frowned and looked away from their regard. “I suppose it behooves us, as you said.”
Entry Six
As the men traipsed after the fisherman, Weyland and Rufus fell behind. Niles noticed their pallor and wondered if something in the sea air disagreed with them. The shore here was redolent of fish, and seaweed clogged the tideline. Small crabs scuttled here and there, seeking refuge as the men approached down the beach. The smell, simply put, was not the more agreeable. This time, the fisherman led the way alone, resolute, as the Fellows conferred behind him.
“What do you think the likelihood is that this is real?” Weyland asked in a low voice, placing his hand on his stomach. Wilson frowned, concerned. Weyland’s pallor was worsening, and beads of sweat were welling on his forehead.
Niles gave Weyland a withering look. “Since when have any of these turned out to be genuine? We chase like the fool of proverb on his daily rounds. Is that not the essence of why we adventure? To debunk.”
“Although that is a fair point, I think the question we should truly be concentrating on is—what happened to the girl? Supernatural or natural, either way she appears to be missing, and her brother seems quite concerned about her,” Friedrich pointed out. “As gentlemen, it falls to us to ensure her welfare at the behest of her brother.”
“Well stated,” agreed Wilson with a decisive nod. “Then we shall remain, whether it be truth or fiction. Either way, our station requires that we at least ensure that the girl is returned to the safety of her brother and home.”
“Look at this!” the fisherman said, oblivious to the occurrences behind him. “And that!” He pointed at a nearby impression in the soft beach. “They look like giant footprints!”
The men stopped and looked at one of the indentations, turning their heads this way and that. Gathering around it, they analyzed with a curious, yet critical, approach. It was three feet long by one foot wide, strangely attenuated for a footprint, but the spacing was more than enough to give the similar impression. Two sets of the indentations matched each other like an even stride across the sand, heading toward the bluffs on the far end of the beach, where even now a small cave could be discerned.
No conclusions were drawn, for though the impressions gave the appearance of legitimacy, each of the fellowship was thinking of a dozen ways such imprints could be made. They continued on.
“A moment please,” Rufus said from behind them. The Fellows turned and saw their companion was an unbecoming shade of green.
“What ails you?” Wilson asked, striding to put his hand on Rufus’ shoulder.
“I—” Before any of their number could intervene, Rufus toppled to the sands, clenching his stomach. Seconds later, Weyland committed the same action, leaving the remaining three men standing in shock.
The fisherman turned back, as if concerned, but Niles caught a glint of satisfaction in his gaze. Rushing at the man, he demanded, “What have you done?”
Wilson and Friedrich grabbed Niles and forcibly held him back as he struggled to attack the fisherman, who remained steadfastly out of range.
“Get ahold of yourself, man!” Friedrich said. “Assaulting him is not the way to comport yourself. You have no proof his hand is involved. Help us see to Rufus and Weyland.”
“What have you done?” Niles repeated, meeting the fisherman’s eye. “Do not force a repeat of last night’s performance.”
The man shrugged, a slight smirk on his face. “A simple mixture. It will provide discomfort, nothing more.”
“Is this your twisted idea of revenge?” Friedrich asked. “Bringing us out here to this barren stretch, only to revel in our misery at your own hand? What of your sister? Where is your sense of decency?”
“You earned, this, all of you with your overwhelming sense of entitlement, your scorn for us common men. You, especially you”— he pointed at Niles —“with your privilege. You know nothing of what is necessary to live, the things we must do to get by. When was the last time you went hungry? The last time you felt the cold of winter?”
“Where is your sister?” Friedrich nearly shouted, stepping toward the man as he released Niles. “What did you do with her?”
“Safe at home, no thanks to men like you.” The fisherman rushed back as Niles broke Wilson’s grip and ran at him.
Friedrich gaped at him,
half-torn between fury and confusion. “Then why …?”
“You still don’t understand?” The fisherman yelled back at them as he ran down the beach, back the way they had come. “Then you deserve to die.”
Niles gave steadfast chase, then paused, seeing his fellows’ plight. They would need his help to carry them back to the inn. Growling with frustration, he turned back.
Entry Seven
What had taken a mere hour and a half for them to arrive by when hale took them now over three hours. Friedrich supported Weyland whilst Niles and Wilson half-carried, half-supported Rufus. They paused from time to time as one man or the other heaved against the poison coursing through their systems. A rancid scent came from their skin, the poison seeping through their pores and emitting noxious odors about their bodies, of an almost nidorous nature.
Wilson paused their caravan to check Weyland’s pulse. “He grows weaker. We must make haste.”
“What do we do?” Friedrich asked as he helped Weyland back to his feet.
“Once we return to the inn, I will be able to come up with a charcoal solution that should help cleanse and purify their bodies. Now we must hope that I can apply that solution in time.” Wilson shouldered Rufus’ other arm again and stoically helped move him from the last several feet of beach and to the pier.
They struggled through the village, studiously ignoring the curious villagers who stepped from their homes and business to watch their shameful procession. No one stopped to help them, instead watching impassively as they walked by. A few even laughed.
Fearing what they would find at the inn, they hurried their steps, wanting to cease the torment as quickly as possible. Weyland grew paler and paler, his feet stumbling as he lost his ability to maintain equilibrium. Rufus fared slightly better, but he succumbed too often to the retching that afflicted both men. At this point, neither had more than bile to lose, but the motion forced a pause to their steps regardless.
Finally they arrived at the inn, finding it much as they had left it, which is to say, empty. They rushed the two men inside and up to Weyland’s room, laying them out on the beds and arranging them as comfortably as possible. Friedrich went to Rufus’ room to gather his medical supplies, while Wilson did similarly for his own equipment. Niles went downstairs to inquire as to whether there was any charcoal to be had, and received some, as well as a pitcher of water from a consternated serving girl.
The Dandy Boys Mysteries (Vengeance Book 0) Page 12