A ‘war to end all wars’… We all know how that turned out… Nev thought with silent interest, recalling her knowledge of First World War history.
“Well… all power to ‘em, but I’ll believe it when I see it,” Godfrey replied to Arleigh, pulling a face and sounding uncharacteristically negative. “It’ll be a cold day in The Underworld when Harald bends his knee to anyone, right or wrong. We here, are we?”
“Second ship on the right… the Sea Skimmer…”
“Cameron Garbutt…?”
“Right enough,” Arleigh confirmed with a nod as he dropped the reins and poked his head through the hatchway for the first time.
“Been a few years since I saw him last,” Godfrey admitted, recalling fond memories with a faint smile. “He still drink like a fish?”
“Like the man had gills of his own…”
“Don’t worry,” Godfrey assured Nev, expecting the fleeting, unseen expression of concern that flickered across her face in the darkness. “Cameron Garbutt’s a better skipper drunk than most are when they’re sober. Now I know they all say that…” he added quickly, leading Nev to wonder who ‘they’ were more than anything else “…but in this case, I promise you it’s true. I worked with him off the north-east coast a while back, and he’s solid. Sea Skimmer’s a good ship – she’ll see us right.”
“And he can tell us where we’re going?”
“Probably,” he grinned, shouldering his rucksack and pushing the rear doors open as Nev scrambled for her own bag. “Keep that sword hidden if you please, and pull the hood down over your eyes ‘til you get on board: the guards’ll ask questions about a woman being out this late carrying a sword, and they’re well known to pay bonuses to informants…”
“What a wonderful world this is…” Nev growled, zipping the katana inside her bag and slipping it over her shoulders. With a little manoeuvring, she was able to hang the cloak over the whole thing as camouflage: it was still obvious she was carrying a backpack, but at least the appearance of her very modern duffel bag wouldn’t raise any unwanted questions.
“You’ve got no idea,” Godfrey muttered drily, jumping down onto the hard concrete of the docks and waiting with Lester’s pack in his free hand as Nev joined him.
“Let’s not hang about eh, Westy…” Lester suggested in a far more serious tone than usual as he collected his own pack and shouldered both it and the crossbow. “Too many strange eyes about for my liking…”
“I hear ya, brother…” he agreed with a dour nod. “Hammond! Many thanks, my friend: we owe you…!”
“I’ll send the bill to Harris, shall I?” Arleigh called back with a chuckle. “Take care o’ yerself, boy – you and your own there.”
“Is it a Westacre I see before me?” Another voice called out from behind them as Arleigh flicked his reins and the horses moved off again, dragging the van behind them. They turned as one to see a smallish man standing a few metres away who looked to be in his mid-thirties. Reed-thin and weathered of face, he was smoking a huge, hand-rolled cigarette and wore ragged blue clothes that might’ve passed for a naval officer’s uniform in years past.
“Captain Garbutt,” Godfrey acknowledged immediately, stepping forward and shaking the man’s hand, both clasping the other’s wrist firmly as part of the greeting. “A long time between voyages… good to see you’re still hale and hearty.”
“Hale and hearty… ale and hearty…” Garbutt chuckled in a voice at least two octaves deeper than should’ve been possible from such a small-framed man. “All one and the same to me, boy, and you know it! Good to see you’re well also. Is that Lester now?” He added, staring around Godfrey as he took in the other two. “He was shorter than me last I saw him! What’s it been, lad: three years?”
“Close enough, Skipper,” Lester nodded, beaming as he too stepped up and shook the man’s hand in similar fashion. “Growin’ big and strong these days,” he declared with pride, flexing a scrawny arm as if to show off non-existent muscles. “Those greens Westy keeps makin’ me eat are doin’ some good.”
I can see that,” Garbutt laughed out loud, slapping a friendly hand on the boy’s shoulder before gently moving him aside and taking a few slow, purposeful steps toward Nev, who was now standing alone and watching the exchange with suspicion. “And who do we have here…? Is this the person we’ve been waiting for all this time, Godfrey… finally here…?”
“That’s what they keep telling me…” Nev answered softly, standing up straight and making a show of not appearing scared.
“Aye, Westacre: there’s definitely somethin’ interestin’ there, and no mistake,” the captain observed shrewdly, his eyes narrowed as he regarded her with an intense stare. “…Not sure what her purpose is… and not my business to know… but there’s definitely somethin’…! Enough about that though…” he continued, nodding vaguely in her direction as a subtle show of greeting and respect before turning back to the other two. “There’s naught gain and much danger in hanging about on these docks without purpose. Get yourselves to the ship and we can talk more in private.”
“We’re of a similar mind on that score, Cam,” Godfrey agreed, moving to stand beside Nev once more, hovering close off her right in an overtly protective manner. “We’ve been lucky so far but there’s no need to tempt fate too much in one day.”
“Let’s be away, then,” Garbutt suggested, turning and extending an arm in guidance as he addressed Nev personally. “Miss, be so kind as to fall in between us and we’ll escort you to my ship, such as she is. I’d feel better that you were safe and sound there rather than out here in the open where idle hands and eyes look too readily for mischief.”
Glancing across to Godfrey and receiving an imperceptible nod of approval, she did exactly as he requested, moving off in the direction he’d indicated as the three men formed an informal guard around her. As a group they moved at a steady, purposeful pace toward the nearest of the piers, where a number of single and dual-masted sailing ships lay moored, activity all around.
The Sea Skimmer wasn’t a large ship… at least, not by comparison to the ocean liners and super-tankers Nev knew of from her world, although the vessel appeared to be at least the equal of the smaller warships moored nearby. Perhaps twenty-five metres long and eight metres at the beam, she was a round-bottomed craft of simple, clinker design known as a cog, fitted with a single, square-rigged mast and carrying around fifty crew.
It was built to open-hull plan, with cargo stored on the central main deck, and was fitted with neither forecastle nor quarterdeck, although there was a small covered area at the very stern. It was there that Garbutt guided them, sheltering beneath the wooden bridge deck and seated at a large, round table that appeared to have been built directly around the steering gear than ran directly between the rudder below and the wheel mounted on the open rear deck above their heads.
Glass-enclosed candles hung from the ceiling for illumination, and a small, cast-iron stove popped and crackled at the rear of the covered deck, its chimney bending backward and venting through the wall close to the sternpost. It generated minimal warmth at best in such an open environment but it was welcoming all the same as the faint sounds and smells of burning wood filled the air around them.
“It’s not much…” Garbutt admitted apologetically, casting a hand around to encompass a half-dozen wooden cots topped with ragged bedrolls, “but what we have is yours as long as you need it. We’ve plenty of fresh water and smoked meats, and we’ll be away on the morning tide at dawn. Four days’ sailing – maybe five if the wind isn’t in our favour – and we’ll be at our destination…”
“Any chance of tellin’ us where that is exactly, Cam…?” Godfrey asked immediately, pre-empting Nev’s own question regarding the same.
“West… bound for Despair…” he replied without hesitation. “The Coven’s been waitin’ for you for some time, miss…” he explained, directing his next words at Nev personally. “They’ve not told me why, but wherever it
is you’re from, they knew you were coming right enough.”
“Despair…?” Godfrey repeated with surprise. “What on earth would The Coven want with her? I didn’t even know they still existed: didn’t Harald and the Crowedans burn them out of Kings’ Coat a few years back?”
“That they did,” the captain agreed with a wry expression, “but you know how it is: you can find ‘despair’ anywhere if you go looking for it. Seems they didn’t get everyone, and the survivors have set up shop again sure enough. Get some rest now… we’ll need y’all up bright and early to help get her out to sea before sunrise.”
“‘Despair’…?” Nev asked nervously, the moment Garbutt had left them alone. “This is a place I want to go to because why…?”
“It’s just a name…” Godfrey assured quickly. “I knew of it when I was a boy, but I honestly thought it had been destroyed years ago, if it ever even existed at all…” He took a quick breath and released it as a short sigh. “Despair isn’t just one place, really… it’s wherever The Coven is, and a coven is where…”
“Where witches meet, yes… I know… how could I not…?” Nev growled in exasperation, having believed they’d gotten beyond the whole ‘witch thing’ by now.
“That’s where the name comes from,” he countered evenly, “but it’s not what they do in this case… at least, not what I’ve heard….”
“Which is…?” She asked, not ready to stop being annoyed at this point.
“Well, Despair used to be something mothers frightened their kids with to make ‘em behave: somewhere they’d end up, captives of ‘the witches’…”
“How lovely…” she muttered sourly.
“When I got older however, I found out that there might actually be a real place behind the stories. The stories go that in the ‘Old Days’ – hundreds of summers ago – there were a lot more witches around than there are now… that just about one in every third or fourth woman or girl could see the Keepsakes and The Brotherhood and the local armies were being run ragged just tracking them all down.”
“How terribly inconvenient…”
“Well, the story goes that it was often impossible. Families and whole villages at times refused to give up their womenfolk to the Quisitors, hiding them away instead, keepin’ ‘em safe and claiming they’d run off or outright disappeared in puffs of majik. The Brotherhood probably knew they were talking rubbish most of the time, but they could hardly argue with claims of majik when that was what they were accusing the witches of in the first place…”
“Were these women all ‘witches’, then?” Nev asked with scepticism.
“Haven’t a clue,” he answered honestly, “but stands to reason some of ‘em weren’t. Even nowadays, it’s not unknown for the Quisitors to conveniently discover that people who’ve been giving them trouble for some other reason turned out either to be a witch or married to one: it’s amazing how quickly disagreements can disappear when there’s accusations of witchcraft getting thrown about. Anyway, it goes that there ended up bein’ a problem with what to do with all these women in hiding…” he continued, getting back to the topic at hand “…and someone came up with the idea of sendin’ ‘em somewhere safe; as far away from the prying eyes of The Brotherhood as could be managed. That was when Despair came into being: a place – a secret place – where women accused of witchcraft could go to live out their days in safety. They may not be with their families, but at least they were still alive and able to make lives for themselves somewhere else.”
“And this Brotherhood found out where they were: this ‘King’s Coat’…?” Nev asked thoughtfully, recalling history lessons on the Underground Railroad of the 18th and 19th Centuries, sneaking African-Americans out of the US Slave States and away to the relative safety of ‘free states’ and to British North America (Canada).
“So the story goes,” he nodded. “Back a few years ago, the Crowedans and Blackwatch were a lot friendlier with each other than they are now, and legend has it they joined forces to land at both ends of the island and drive everyone to the centre, killin’ anyone who got in their way. Surrounded and slaughtered the rest at the end of it all and left ‘em to rot. No one goes there now: the Crowedan navy don’t let boats anywhere near it, or so it’s said.
“It is just a story,” he added with a shrug, “but old tales like that often have a grain or two of truth in ‘em. The Coven was the name for the small group ‘o women who were running the whole thing: the ones who organised everything and kept contacts throughout the Osterlands. Many of ‘em weren’t accused of bein’ witches themselves, but that was useful ‘cause that meant they were still able to move around in relative safety without fear of the Quisitors.”
“Quisitors… as in, ‘The Inquisition’…?” She asked slowly, momentarily forgetting that no one else present would have any knowledge of the history of the Catholic Church.
“Witch hunters…” Godfrey almost spat. “The Brotherhood’s bully-boys, with all the authority that comes with The Shard at their back, and no one dares get in their way for fear of denouncement. There was a time not so long ago when no one would think about criticising The Shard or The Brotherhood: anyone who questioned ‘em often ended up ‘disappearing’ or being found to be heretics, like I said. I’ve heard tell things have been less strict of late – that people have started using these new machines in spite of The Brotherhood denouncing them as evil, and there’s been talk of some silly fools paintin’ images of Nethug himself on city walls here and there – but it don’t pay to take the Quisitors for granted, all the same.”
“So they maintain control through fear, mostly?” Nev observed, deciding questions about the ‘machines’ and this mysterious ‘Nethug’ were best left for another time.
“Everyone fears the Quisitors,” Lester observed darkly from the other side of the table. “They’re no better ‘n animals, the bastards…!” He’d been happy to simply sit and listen until then, but the tone of his voice now suggested a personal connection, and not a good one.
“Lester’s sister was accused a witch…” Godfrey explained, drawing a surprised reaction from Nev as the boy turned away from them, hiding his face in the relative darkness. “T’were a long time ago, when he was only little, but he remembers well enough…”
“She weren’t no witch…” he mumbled haltingly, and it was clear he was fighting back tears as he spoke. “Only thing she did wrong was refuse a lord’s proposal… a lord who was in good with the Brotherhood. Those dogs took her… took her away…”
“How awful…!” Nev said softly, realising the statement was completely inadequate but not knowing what else to say. “How awful for you and your mum…!”
“Me ma kicked me out after that…” he sobbed softly, all the bravado and pretence of a twelve-year-old melting away in that moment of vulnerability. “Said it were my fault they’d taken her… that she should ‘a just married that prancing git, and that it were my fault somehow that she’d said no…”
That unexpected revelation struck Nev like a physical blow, her stomach tightening and churning as the boy’s heartfelt admission landed far too close to home. Even from the few basic details he’d given, it was already clear that Lester’s mother had probably been suffering from grief – possibly some kind of mental health issue like PTSD, from what little she knew of that condition – and otherwise decent people often did wild or irrational things when placed under moments of great stress… or loss.
His words had also dredged up a mountain of her own unpleasant memories however, and sitting there in that other world so completely different to her own, having just faced life-threatening danger several times in the space of twenty-four hours, Nevaeh Anderson found that for the first time in six years she was able to look at what had happened in her own life with a totally different perspective. Every part of her being from the old world she’d grown up was howling for her to remain silent – to do anything other than share her own pain with strangers – but she instinctively knew
that what she’d already been through with them during that last twenty-four hours had nevertheless formed a bond that deserved better.
“You know, Lester…” Nev began haltingly, surprising Godfrey with the emotion in her voice as a single tear formed and trickled down her cheek “…when I was ten, my mother did something terrible…”
There was a moment or two of loaded silence before Lester turned on his seat toward her, snuffling and using his sleeve to wipe self-consciously at his nose and eyes.
“What… what did she do…?”
“Well…” Nev continued, voice almost breaking in that moment, “…my father caught her cheating with another man... somebody she knew from work…”
“Did – did he beat her, your father?” The boy asked carefully, imagining reactions he’d seen so many times in his own world over such transgressions. “Did he throw her out…?”
“No…” she breathed softly, shaking now as she fought against the emotion that was building up inside. “He didn’t do anything. He loved her very much, so he tried to forgive her… we both did…”
“What…?” Lester began to ask, but Godfrey could see there was far more to come yet in the tale she was telling, and he quickly leaned across and rested a gentle hand on the boy’s arm, silencing him.
“They tried so hard to work things out, but… but my mother couldn’t stand the guilt… couldn’t forgive herself for what she’d done…” Tears were streaming freely down her cheeks now as she went on. “It was six months later she killed herself… Dad came home and found her lying on their bed, as it it’d been no fuss at all. He said – he said it was like she was just sleeping… just taking a nap in the afternoon…”
The terrible, shattering pain that Nev had hidden and bottled up inside for so long came flooding out now, eager to be set free after so many years locked away. She couldn’t look at either of them as she spoke, instead staring fixedly at a point on the back wall of the deck near the crackling stove.
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