‘Look, we want you on board, okay. You seem a good sort, and if you got jip with Escha, we’re your people too. I’m Menz. This is Yayle.’
Yayle leaned forward to shake the man’s hand. ‘There’s three others coming along too. Two women and someone else. You’d better come back and have a chat with us. We’re staying at another tavern a few streets back. You got digs here?’
‘Yep, been staying here a few weeks now. The name’s Gabryl.’
‘Pleased to meet you,’ Menz said. ‘What exactly was your line of work?’ Gabryl flicked his hat. ‘Navy. Was thrown out six years back.’ ‘What for?’ Gabryl said, ‘Killing another officer.’ Menz and Yayle looked at each other, still standing at the side of the table. Menz said, ‘Why?’
“Cos he didn’t follow my orders. We were months away up the north coasts. Some of the tribes’ people up there didn’t like us being there, so they got nasty, started being all difficult with us, not cooperating. Got messy. One night, my second-in-command decided he’d take one of the local women into the forests. I caught him raping her, saw it all. Saw her face full of tears and teeth marks. So, I dragged him off and gave him the beating of his life. Beat him for ten minutes solid, which is a long time when you’re hitting a man. Ten long minutes and the tribes woman watched, then she thanked me, so did the rest of the tribe when they found out. They even paraded his body afterwards. Didn’t mean to kill him, but I got furious. You just don’t do that. Gives us all a bad name. But we had to pull up after that, and we came back shortly after, and I turned myself in. My crew tried to persuade me otherwise, but I’m an honest man, Menz. Apparently, our government seems to think that the natives are a lesser people than our forces.’
Menz looked at Gabryl, who glanced down. Menz turned to the barman. ‘Can we get three beers here?’
Gabryl stared vacantly across the room. Menz thought he smiled, but couldn’t quite see under the beard. ‘So before you know it, I’m out of work and away from what’s been my whole damn life. Been messing around on schooners here and there. Hired knowledge and so forth. Ain’t the same, though.’
‘Listen, can I trust you to keep something to yourself?’ ‘Do I look like a gossip? Does it look like I know many people at all? ‘Right, well, have you ever heard of... ‘Menz leaned in closer, and whispered, ‘Ever heard of Quidlo?
The bearded man’s face darkened. ‘Yeah. You don’t wanna be sayin’ that too loud, you hear? Not round the coasts anyway. What in Has-jahn are you talking about that for?’
Menz sat back. ‘We’re going to get it.’
‘You don’t get a thing like that?’ The bearded man took a long sip from his glass then gasped after swallowing. ‘So, you actually know of it then?’
Menz smiled, ‘Seen it. So’s the lad.’ He indicated Yayle. The bearded man looked at the purse, to Yayle, back to Menz. ‘What you want me for? What the hell d’you want Quidlo for?’
‘We’re taking it to Escha, or at least trying to. Sounds crazy but we got it all worked out. You don’t have to come that far necessarily. We just need you to get us there. We got everything planned in detail you’d never imagine. We got plans, notes, sketches, maps. Got the lot.’
There was a pause while the bearded man looked out of the window then back to the table, pouted his lips, narrowed his eyes. ‘Well, it looks like you have yourselves a captain.’ He extended a blistered hand that was as thick as a blacksmith’s.
‘What’s your full name then, captain?’ Menz asked, shaking it.
‘Captain Gabryl Miller Fontain.’ He nodded to the two seats next to him, and took the purse. He opened it briefly, tied it shut, buried it inside his coat.
Lula lay on the bed, a newspaper resting on her chest. Her eyes were closed, but Jella could tell that she wasn’t asleep. Jella sat at a small table in the corner, by the window, which overlooked an alleyway. You could smell the rubbish piled up outside the tavern, two floors below. On the edge of her chair, Jella could just about see the harbour front, the litter that blew around. Earlier she had seen men cutting nets of fish, allowing the cargo to spill into crates.
Allocen sat at the table, too. He leaned over and his fingers formed intricate shapes. Using hand movements, he was trying to communicate with her, starting with simple things such as his name, his weaponry, objects around the room. Jella made notes, in an attempt to bond with the Qe Falta creature. His hood was, as always, hauled over his head, but she could clearly see the light from the window shine off of the numerous shapes that formed his eyes. She felt a strange bond forming between herself and Allocen. Perhaps it was because of the fact that they were both isolated individuals, that they both felt unable to connect to the world in a normal way-albeit for different reasons. They had been brought together, with a common aim of destroying Escha.
There was a knock at the door. Jella looked up, but was reassured by Allocen’s lack of action. Lula reached for her musket that was on the bed next to her. Jella pushed the chair back along the floorboards and walked to the door. She pulled it open. Menz shuffled in, Yayle behind.
Menz said, ‘Afternoon.’
‘Hey, Menz.’ Jella turned, sat back down at the table. ‘So. Did you find anyone?’
‘Certainly did.’ Menz and Yayle stepped aside. ‘Presenting ex naval Captain Gabryl Miller Fontain, thirty years service in the Eschan forces.’
Gabryl stepped in, hunching as he stepped through the door. His boots were loud on the wood and he stretched out his hand to Jella, looking at the back of the cloaked figure sitting opposite. ‘Please to make your acquaintance.’
‘Likewise,’ she said. At the instant she heard the fact that he was in the Eschan navy, she felt defensive. Why would these two idiots have brought someone from Escha?
With a gesture, Menz said, ‘This is Jella and over there is Lula.’ Lula gave a slight wave. ‘And this is the other chap we were telling you about. Allocen.’ Menz leaned across to Gabryl, whispered, ‘He’s Qe Falta.’ ‘By the balls of Arrahd ... ‘Gabryl took a step back as Allocen stood up, inches higher than the bulk of the new captain, stared right at him. Jella could see that this man he could feel the immense and complicated eye structures analysing him. ‘He’s a quiet one,’ Yayle said, ‘but he grows on you. And he’s saved us all once, so we’ve decided we like him.’
Gabryl nodded. Allocen sat back down and Gabryl watched him all the way. Even after Allocen had settled, Gabryl’s eyes were still wide. Jella regarded this man, his large frame, his bearded face. She never trusted beards: you couldn’t see people’s full facial expressions.
Yayle broke the silence. ‘Well, now we’re all friends then, when shall we set sail?’ ‘Tomorrow, I guess.’ Jella looked around and everyone nodded. ‘But let’s just check this guy out first. I take it we can trust him.’ ‘The sooner the better,’ Gabryl said. ‘I can’t wait. And of course you can trust me.’ Jella said, ‘So you’ve worked for Eschan forces. You still got any links with the city?’ Menz answered on Gabryl’s behalf. ‘He don’t like ‘em, he don’t care. We’ve all ready briefed him.’
‘I’m a simple man of the sea. And I can’t wait to see Quidlo.’
‘You’ve heard of it then?’ Jella said, suspicious.
‘What man of the sea hasn’t? I didn’t think it was alive though. I didn’t think it was real.’ ‘Oh yeah, we’ve seen it.’ Jella nodded to him. ‘So Menz said. But listen, you’re going to need a lot of whale. One thing I don’t understand is how you’re going to get that. We ain’t got the skills.’
‘We’ve got to intercept a whaling ship on the way,’ Jella said.
‘Menz never mentioned that.’
‘Didn’t he?’ Jella looked up at Menz who had retreated to his bed.
He fell on it, sighed, flailing an arm, his tail twitching by his side. ‘Small print. Won’t be a problem, will it?’ Gabryl smiled. ‘No, I guess not. I tell you what though, you guys sure are bad hosts.’
‘What do you mean?’ Jella asked.
‘H
aven’t been offered a drink, and I’ve been here five minutes now.’
‘Think he’ll fit in nicely,’ Yayle said, reaching in a bag. He drew out a bottle, grabbed a metal cup from a shelf. He opened the bottle and filled the cup, then offered it to Gabryl. ‘Here you go, captain. Rhoam wine, vintage. Took it whilst at a rich man’s house.’
Gabryl frowned, rubbed his beard, took the cup with his other hand. He swigged from the bottle, gasped, raised his lower lip to remove liquid from his facial hair. He felt the drink fall down nicely. ‘You know, think I will fit in nicely. I think this calls for a celebration. Yayle, do we have more wine?’
Jella opened the window to let some of the cool night air rid the musky smell that a group of people tended to produce. Gabryl sat at the table, Lula on the bed. Behind were Menz and Yayle, leaning against another bed. Allocen was sitting on a stool in the far corner, oiling his blades. Jella could smell the fresh air and it felt pleasant on her face. She sat back opposite Gabryl and topped his glass up, being careful not to knock the candles over.
They shone on Gabryl’s face, and his eyes seemed full of life, despite his age. It suggested an eagerness about his character. ‘Thank you, young lady. More for yourself, too?’
‘Sure, why not.’ She poured her cup full. Gabryl leant back, said, ‘So that, Menz, was my last battle. The navy was under funded and decreasing in size each year.’ ‘Always the way with the military, ain’t it?’ Menz said from behind, between from his cup. He crossed his legs.
A thought-filled silence descended.
Gabryl rolled the wine around his mouth. ‘Look. I’ve been meaning to ask. Why’s it you plan to use Quidlo on Escha? What do you hate so much about that place?’ Jella glanced over the candles and Gabryl’s shoulder to Menz and Yayle. The men nodded approval.
‘You might as well tell the man,’ Menz said.
Gabryl saw her wide eyes. ‘Look, I’ve seen a lot of shit in Hasjahn. I know that people have agendas of their own. This continent’s seen its fair share of deception, of slaughter.’
‘Over ten years ago, we lived in Lucher,’ Jella said.
‘Oh yeah, east coast.’ Gabryl nodded.
‘Yes,’ Jella continued. ‘For whatever reason, ten years ago, our homes were destroyed.’ ‘Poisoned,’ Menz called out. ‘Poisoned,’ she said. ‘Our homes were poisoned. Escha dumped a load of toxic substances, amongst other things, into our waters. The concentrations were phenomenally high. It accumulated in our food chain, which means it got more toxic through the fish we ate. It destroyed our mangroves, every single tree. That meant that there was nowhere for marine life to breed and we were susceptible to the elements. We were a communal city; we used no money. Thousands were poisoned. I was only a little girl at the time. My father went missing.
‘I remember seeing a cousin of mine-she must’ve been ten years old.’ Jella shook her head. ‘When our families prepared to leave, I watched that girl. I watched her on her bed and you could see the blood come out of her mouth when she coughed and you could see it all on the walls. I remember her white hair going pink at the ends, where my aunt tried to wash it. She cried to have her doll but she vomited on that, too, but she wouldn’t let go of it. When you see that happen to a girl you remember it. A ten year old girl holding on to a blood-drenched doll, she wouldn’t let go. Then, two days later, they had to burn her body to stop the contamination from spreading.’
Gabryl looked down at his glass.
Jella went on. ‘We had to leave the city and go to Rhoam. Lucher was uninhabitable, and soon desert clans came to take what they could. Took advantage of the refugees that left. I’ve got ain’t memories of my sister leaving me on the way, but we were luckily not affected by the clans. Unlike Yayle.’
‘Yeah,’ Yayle said.
He took a gulp of wine, as if to help. Jella had heard his story a dozen times, but it still caused her anguish. Her own narrative she could tell with some boredom. She’d internalised her rage, focused her anger.
Yayle’s tail flickered. ‘I was sixteen when the clans came. Came from a family that lived on the edges of the city, so weren’t hit by the greatest contamination. Our water supplies were stocked and kept in tanks. For a while we were fine. Anyway, when the refugees left in the first wave, the clans came to take what they could. My family had some decent things-nice pictures on the walls, lovely jewellery-all hand made of course. Nice stuff.
‘My mother and father were preparing a basic dinner, since food was rare and we were about to set off for Rhoam, when our windows were smashed and our doors were kicked in. I was upstairs and looked out of my window to see four men climbing over our whitewalls with the roses on. They were wearing rags and carried machetes, and so I ran into my parents’ room and grabbed two pistols then ran to hide in a cupboard. I heard my mother scream, which is something no one should hear. From the cupboard I heard people run upstairs, and I remember hearing things sliding off of tables and strange voices I had never heard. I heard the clansmen go away and I ran to the window to see three of them throwing a bag over the walls and then jumping over after.
‘I walked to the top of the stairs and heard my father call out something but he was cut off. Then I walked downstairs, carefully, and loaded the pistols. At the foot of the stairs, I heard my mother crying. Through the kitchen door, which was half open, I could see her lying on the kitchen table, and a dirty clansman pushing up her skirt. Without thinking, and I still don’t know how I had the know how, I fired one of the pistols. The clansman gasped, grabbing his shoulder. He turned and came towards me, and I could see blood on his blade, and he started to swing so I lifted the other pistol and fired, but as I did the machete struck me on the thigh. It was my fault -I should’ve shot him right away. I shouldn’t have hidden in the damn cupboards.’ Yayle moved his leg, perhaps self-consciously. ‘I stumbled back and he fell forward, holding his stomach and when he was on the floor I could see his eyes were wide, really wide, and he opened his mouth to say something but nothing came out. I ran to the kitchen and saw my father on the floor, not moving, and my mother crying on the table, and I remember seeing the dinner was still on it and it looked nicely laid-out as my mother had wanted to make a good meal. She had wounds to her head and she was crying, but almost not, it was strange. She died minutes later from the bleeding.
‘I buried both of my parents by the rose bush in the back garden, and after some time I went back in the house and saw that the clansman had moved. I thought he was dead, but he had inched towards the kitchen. I saw his machete on the floor so I picked it up and looked at the long, curved blade. Then at the strange rags of the man, and saw the tiny animal trophies-teeth and feathers-he’d used to make a necklace. Then I hit the clansmen in the arm with machete. It was a strange feeling. It was like chopping wood and I had to put my foot on his body to pull out the blade. Hell, I was young. I kept hitting until my arms ached then went outside. It was evening, and cool, and only then noticed the wound in my thigh. It was about that same moment I saw Menz.’ Yayle turned to smile sensitively at the older rumel, who was nodding in the dark. ‘He had been fighting off a group of tribesmen in front of my house.’
‘Aye. I remember it well,’ Menz said. He pushed himself up off of the floor, walked to the table. Jella smiled at him, her eyes raw with sadness. He poured his cup full, patted Gabryl on his shoulder. Gabryl looked past Jella, out of the window, where there was only the night.
Menz said, ‘We hadn’t had much of an army for several years. We’d no need to. So I took to making weapons, mostly ornamental. Kept a little place about a five minute walk towards the centre and coast. An old lady had spotted some of the clansmen coming up the hill, and she walked, quickly, to my house to find me. Took what weapons I could and headed up the hill. Took down about three of them, but there must’ve been ten more that got away. Saw young Yayle there, pistol in his hand, clutching his front gate. Couldn’t let the lad be, so took him under my wing. Two days later, we joined the refugees heading north
to Rhoam. That was one hell of a walk. Then, over the years, we all met up, didn’t we lass?’
‘Yeah.’ Jella nodded. ‘Yes, there were more of us, too, but that’s another story. I think we’ve bored Gabryl enough for tonight.’ Gabryl looked up. ‘Why don’t you hate me, then? I mean, I’m from Escha, aren’t I?
‘Good question,’ Jella said. ‘You’re helping us, so I guess that counts. Anyway, it’s not the individuals we hate, it’s the whole city, the whole government or whatever, the whole damn thing. They say it’s people that make up a society, but that’s just crap. People do what a handful at the top will say. People just get on, do their thing. They don’t give a fuck about ethics and values. They just want to live. Anyway, you were chucked out. You’re not an Eschan anymore. As you know, we hope to just damage the place. If people die then so be it. We have our reasons.’
Gabryl stared into his cup. ‘I think I should head back to my room for the night. Drunk a lot tonight so should try and recover for the morning. Shall I meet you here around midday, and you can show me this vessel of yours?’
Jella nodded.
‘Right-o. ‘Night everyone.’ Gabryl stood up, swayed a little. He paused as if to say something. He rested his hands on the table as he straightened up to walked to the door. Everyone wished him good night.
Jella watched him leave the room, and after he’d gone she stared at the door, and the room was painfully silent.
Sixteen
Manolin woke with the sun. He rubbed his eyes, sat up, saw that Santiago was in the doorway, leaning on a folded up pair of breeches. He was snoring, his musket on the floor, about a foot away from his reach.
Manolin stood and stretched. His body ached from lying on the wooden floor of the hut. He could hear the sound of the waves. He walked up to Santiago, nudged him with his foot. ‘Hey. Wake up.’
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