by Robin Jarvis
"I rather think that is highly unlikely," she replied.
Without warning, the Lord of the Frozen Waters let out a wrathful shriek that shook the cavern.
"Then begone from this place!" he roared, rising from the throne, thrashing his snaking limbs. "Thou art dismissed!"
At once the glimmering images behind the wall of water were engulfed in darkness and Miss Boston gazed grimly at Tarr.
"It would appear the audience is over," she observed.
A rush of froth and foam signalled the return of the small rowing boat and it floated back to the surface. Still crouched within, the tortured remains of Irl gazed at Miss Boston from beneath the hood of his cloak and he spoke urgently.
"Quickly—thou must make haste. The way back to thy world will soon collapse!"
Miss Boston and Tarr hurriedly clambered aboard the boat but as soon as they were seated, the immense barrier of dark water trembled, and with a tremendous rending crash, the might of the Deep Ones was withdrawn and the freezing torrent came flooding into the chamber.
The pinnacle of rock was thrown down and the seething tides hammered into the quartz-covered walls, snatched the lanterns from their huge iron hooks, and smashed against the vaulted ceiling.
But the small wooden boat was already tearing through the dimly-lit grottoes beyond. Carried on the racing currents, it soared wildly through the passages hewn into the mountain and pitched uncontrollably as the incredible forces of the whirling vortex clutched and seized it.
Out into the cold deeps the little boat shot, hurtling back along the spinning tunnel, but the journey was faster than before and Miss Boston was thrown from side to side as the craft darted wildly forward.
The eyes of the herald sparkled in alarm as he stared behind them and saw that the spinning walls of the enchanted way were closing. Violent surges thrust the boat onward as the tunnel snapped out of existence, unravelling with a furious turbulence that tore apart the ocean floor, leaving a path of foaming destruction in its wake.
Over the drowned continent the vessel rampaged, but swiftly the decaying cities vanished from sight as the tunnel convulsed and buckled, threatening to dash the boat to pieces at any moment.
"Hold on!" the herald yelled and his voice rang with fear. "Save us, oh masters! The way fails too swiftly—we shall be torn apart!"
Only the savage, screaming waters answered him as they stampeded malevolently and raced for the boat. The spray of the collapsing vortex blasted into Tarr's face as he glanced round and saw that the terrible, churning cataclysm was only metres away. Beyond the roaring confusion of the unwinding tunnel, the murderous pressures of the deep were waiting, eager to crush and kill.
Tarr wrenched his eyes from the horrendous sight and stared anxiously at the herald. "We'll not make it!" he bawled.
"Have faith, Mr Shrimp!" Miss Boston cried. "They wouldn't dare let anything happen to us, otherwise Nelda will destroy the guardian. This is just a show of bluster."
Suddenly her hat was plucked from her head and sucked into the darkness behind. The old lady snorted tersely. "Steady on!" she shouted into the storm.
At a breakneck speed the boat flew through the cold reaches, rocketing ever upwards until, with a sickening jolt that rattled its timbers, the little craft was hurled from the sea and flung out beneath the fading stars.
The waves lashed and the wind tore at Miss Boston's cloak as the mouth of the gigantic whirlpool toppled and came raging down, smiting the waters and splitting them asunder in its ruinous downfall. A tempestuous cauldron steamed and foamed within the sea, its choking vapours hissed into the air, obliterating the heavens with billowing clouds of thick white mist.
Wraith-like, the rowing boat sailed noiselessly through the mist and its occupants took great glad gulps of the cool night air, relieved to be above the waves once more. Neither Tarr nor Miss Boston ventured to speak; they were both thinking about what they had learned and the vile knowledge angered and depressed them. As they drifted towards the distant shores of Whitby, their spirits sank ever lower and with downcast faces they floated into the night.
Finally it was the herald who broke the forbidding silence.
"There is fear in the Deeps," he said in a soft and conspiring voice. "For only the second time in the history of the world the cold regions are filled with dread—the Triad is afraid."
Miss Boston was startled out of her despondency and Tarr stared at the huddled figure keenly.
"Messages and rumours spread swiftly beneath the waves," the herald continued. "Many are the frightened tales spreading from the bitter realms. 'Tis said that the Lord of the Frozen Wastes is especially fearful and has despatched many spies to watch the shores of my ancient home."
"Theer's nowt to see theer," Tarr said sourly, "save misery and hopelessness."
Leaning across to Miss Boston, the tormented remains of Irl whispered to her anxiously. "Cruel and devoid of compassion are my masters," he began, "yet they are wise beyond all others. Use the thing they have given to thee, rub the salve well into the boy's eyes. His sight is a curse and only woe shall befall him and those he loves."
"I'm afraid you cannot persuade me," she answered stubbornly. "I swear here and now as God is my witness that I will never use their despicable ointment."
So adamant was the old lady that she took the jar from her pocket and stretched out her arm ready to throw it back into the sea, but the herald called for her to stop and the command in his voice was so compelling that Miss Boston wavered.
"I beg thee not to cast it aside," he cried. "The gifts of the Deep Ones should not be lightly surrendered."
The folds of the sea-green cloak stirred as the hideous shapes within uncoiled and a putrescent, snaking tentacle emerged—creeping towards Miss Boston.
For a brief second she feared that the creature was going to strike her, then she saw that bound about the tapering tip of the extended limb was a piece of carved jet, suspended on a fine gold chain.
"Unto thee do I now give this," Irl said gravely. "I fashioned it in the young long ago, when I was a leader of my tribe and resolved to quest for the moonkelp."
Holding the carving high above the tendrils of mist which still clung to the boat, the herald gazed on his craftsmanship sorrowfully, then gave the amulet to Miss Boston.
The old lady received the dark jewel silently and peered at the intricate detail. In her hands, the bright moonlight curved over a tiny squat figure whose face was hidden beneath a veil embroidered with the ancient script of the aufwaders, and emblazoned over the back of the black, glimmering gem was the symbol of the Triad.
"'Tis the very charm I devised to conceal me from the vigilance of the Lords of the Deep and Dark," Irl told her. "When it is worn around the neck it renders my masters and their countless agents insensible to thy presence. Without it I could never have stolen the shining treasure and wrought the guardian to keep Morgawrus entombed."
"I cannot accept such a precious gift," Miss Boston said, reaching out to return the ancient pendant, "but if anyone has a claim to it then surely it would be Mr Shrimp and the rest of the fisherfolk?"
The herald shrank from her and the hood shook from side to side. "The last tribe is doomed," he said flatly, "and I fear that thou mayest yet have need of the charm's properties—the spies of my Lord of the Frozen Wastes are ranged about the town. May this assist thee in evading them."
"I am most grateful," Miss Boston breathed, "though I pray it won't be necessary."
Irl's tone grew cold and ominous. "I assure thee it will," he uttered, "yet its power to withstand the piercing gaze of my masters doth wane after a time. Use it only in the direst need and remember that they are capable of anything. Nothing is beyond their reach—do not forget that. They do serve only their own ends and thou knowest already how merciless are their punishments."
Tarr stared at the cloaked figure and could not stop a look of revulsion creeping over his face. The herald noticed it and gathered the cloak tightly about
his grotesque form.
"Do not provoke them further," he told the aufwader. "'Tis better for thy granddaughter to die sooner than be damned to eternity as I."
Guiltily Tarr lowered his eyes and not another word was spoken for the rest of the journey.
***
Upon the shore beneath the cliffs many of the fisherfolk were asleep when the blue light of the boat's lantern reappeared in the distance.
Ben and Nelda were sitting upon a coarse blanket and wrapped in two more, struggling to remain awake, when the aufwader on watch leapt up and called to the others.
"They're here! They've returned!"
Rubbing the sleep from their eyes, they lurched to their feet and waited in fearful silence as the vessel sailed closer.
"Are Aunt Alice and Tarr all right?" Ben asked.
"They are," Nelda replied, but her hopes plummeted as she realised how still and quiet her grandfather seemed. Even before the boat came to rest at the water's edge she hung her head and murmured, "The Deep Ones have denied his pleas."
Tarr glanced across at her forlorn figure and a large tear trickled down his round nose. "Ah dinna know what to tell her," he wept.
Miss Boston put her arm around him. "Be honest with the girl—she deserves that."
"Aye," he sniffed, "and a 'ell of a lot more that I canna give."
"May her ending be swift and without torment," the herald said gently, "and may courage be granted to thee, Tarr of the Mereades, for the full face of doom is staring at thy kind. A ninefold blessing upon thee and fare as well as thou art able."
Tarr looked at the herald and bowed his head in respect. "Ah would ask tha to join us," he said. "A mighty honour would it be for Irl to come amongst the descendants of his folk."
"No," the cloaked figure refused, "and if thou dost indeed honour and revere my old name, then forget this meeting. Irl died an age and more ago—let not his esteemed memory be clouded with the horror I have become. Go to thy people, Tarr, but mention me never."
The aufwader understood and with a quick nod, he clutched his staff and clambered from the boat.
"Thank you for all you have done," Miss Boston said.
"Heed my warnings," the herald urged her, "for thy peril is mounting. My masters will not be content until thou hast done their bidding. I say to you, Alice Boston—beware."
"Where will you go now?" she asked.
"Back to them, back to the world of darkness and cold—such is my punishment."
The old lady made to scramble from the boat, but at the last minute she reached forward and before the herald could stop her, reached into the shadows beneath the hood.
"Goodbye," she said warmly, as her hand caressed the scaly flesh hidden within.
A strangled cry broke from the herald's mouth as the unexpected and unlooked for touch pierced his heart.
"Go now," he murmured thickly.
Miss Boston smiled and with Tarr's help alighted from the boat.
With the water lapping about their knees, they waited until the wooden vessel had turned and sailed into the distance before wading on to dry land and speaking to the others.
Nelda needed no explanation. She could see from her grandfather's sombre expression that she and her unborn child were going to die and she staggered into his outstretched arms.
"Come, lass," he croaked, "let us return to our cave."
The fisherfolk covered their faces as they too understood and one by one they trailed back to the cliffs.
"Wouldn't they listen?" Ben asked in dismay. "Aunt Alice, what happened?"
Miss Boston stooped down and hugged him fiercely. "Oh Benjamin!" she murmured. "I think we should return home too. At this moment I want to feel safe and surround myself with my familiar clutter—a strong cup of tea wouldn't go amiss either. It won't be long before dawn, why don't I tell you everything over breakfast?"
With her tweed cloak hanging heavy and wet from her shoulders and the boy's arm wrapped around her waist, Miss Boston wandered over the gloomy shore into Whitby.
11 - Over Tea And Cheesecake
The early crying of the gulls jolted Jennet from an uneasy sleep. Nightmare visions of the coven had pursued her throughout the night and, looking into the bedside mirror, she saw that dark circles rimmed her raw, swollen eyes.
When she had returned, the girl had found the cottage empty, and thinking that Aunt Alice and Ben were still enjoying themselves at the wedding reception, Jennet had gone straight to bed. But she had spent most of the night weeping into her pillow and the feelings of betrayal, horror and isolation were just as strong in the bright sunshine of the morning.
Slung over the end of her bed were the tattered remains of the bridesmaid dress and the girl quickly snatched at them and stuffed the ripped mass of satin into a drawer.
Mechanically, she pulled on her clothes—wincing as her jeans dragged over the yellow bruises and scabbed scratches that covered her legs. Then, yawning, she opened the door of her room and went downstairs.
In the kitchen she found that her brother and Miss Boston had already eaten their breakfast and the old lady was busily recounting her astounding experience beneath the waves, with many wild sweeping gestures of her hands.
Aunt Alice paused as the girl entered and greeted her profusely. "Jennet dear!" she exclaimed. "I do hope you're feeling better this morning—help yourself to toast and there are some scrambled eggs in the pan, if you feel up to them."
The girl hastily recalled the lie she had told to excuse herself from the reception. "I'm fine," she lied again, "but I'll just stick with the toast, thanks."
Taking a seat at the table she thoughtfully chewed her breakfast and was so preoccupied with her own worries that it was only after several minutes that she noticed the circles around Ben's eyes were larger and darker than her own.
"Are you all right?" she asked. "Ben, you keep nodding off."
With his head resting on his hand the boy gave a weary grunt and Jennet looked to Miss Boston.
The old lady poured herself another cup of tea then folded her arms upon the table. "I'm afraid neither of us has had any sleep," she said.
Jennet put her toast down and a dreadful thought struck her—what if she had cried out in the night about what had happened? "Why... why was that?" she stammered. "Did something keep you awake?"
"That's putting it mildly," Aunt Alice replied, eager to tell her all about the Lords of the Deep.
"I'm sorry," Jennet said hastily, "I had a nightmare, that's all."
"Did you, dear?" Miss Boston clucked. "You poor thing, I thought you looked a trifle peaky—and have you done something with your hair? Anyway, let me tell you what happened to us!"
The girl listened in astonishment as the old lady gabbled about the Deep Ones and what they had said—she did not however disclose what she had learnt about the children's parents.
"And this", Aunt Alice announced, slamming a small green jar on to the table, "is what they gave me to anoint Benjamin's eyes—can you believe such a thing?"
After her own terrifying ordeal Jennet thought that she could believe anything. But she merely shook her head and let Aunt Alice continue.
Yet it was Ben who spoke first. Staring thoughtfully at the jar and peering at its contents, he said, "Why don't they want me to see Nelda again?"
"Is she really going to die?" asked Jennet. "Was there nothing you could do?"
Miss Boston shook her jowls regretfully, "Alas no," she muttered, "I'm afraid the fisherfolk are doomed."
Ben pushed his plate away and stared at the floor.
"Why don't you go to bed?" Aunt Alice told him. "You must be shattered. I'll wake you this afternoon and if you feel any brighter you can go and call on Nelda."
When the boy had risen from the table and shambled out of the kitchen, Miss Boston tutted. "It'll be a most difficult time for him when Nelda dies," she said. "She's the only young friend he's got."
"He's got me," Jennet murmured, but she knew that was not true
for her recent unkindness had driven Ben away from her and now they hardly ever talked to one another. Swilling the toast down with a gulp of tea, she said in an apologetic whisper, "Aunt Alice, I've been a pig lately—I'm sorry."
The old lady smiled at her. "Don't be silly, dear," she said, "I haven't noticed..." Miss Boston faltered as she remembered one of the accusations the Lords of the Deep had charged her with. "Neglect..." she whispered, "yes, perhaps I have been guilty of that."
Shaking herself, she snapped out of the unpleasant memory and took hold of the girl's hand. "Don't you worry," she cried, "it's going to be very different around here from now on. Jennet dear, I've been so preoccupied with my ailments that, to my shame, I haven't made any time for you. Is there anything you'd like to tell me? How are you getting on at school? Wasn't there some talk of your work slipping—is that because of me?"
"No," Jennet quickly replied, "that's all sorted out—it was my fault but I'm going to try harder from now on."
"So what have you got planned for today? It's another beauty. Am I mistaken or did that fool of a nun mention you'd made friends with a group of musicians? Will you be seeing them this weekend?"
Jennet shivered. "I don't think so," she said. "In fact I'd be quite happy to stay in until school on Monday."
"As you wish," Miss Boston muttered clearing the breakfast dishes into the sink.
"I'll do them," the girl offered.
Mildly surprised, Aunt Alice stepped back and allowed Jennet to take over. "Goodness," she grinned, "we are eager to please this morning."
"I just want to make up for the past few months," Jennet shrugged. "If there's anything else I can do..."
"Well, if you really want to help, I was going to turn that sickroom back to how it was before my illness. Heaven knows where Edith put half the stuff I had in there. At least a dozen of my ornaments and corn dollies are missing—I bet she threw them in the loft or put them in the church bazaar. Do you remember what she did with Prudence's African souvenirs—the ones she left me in her will? You know, the moth-eaten zebra skin and the Zulu shield with the spear? Why, Jennet, wherever did you get that necklace?"