Episode 29

A grey mist hangs over the land, the hazy sunshine too weak to penetrate its depths. The mist seems to suck up any sound and dampen their footsteps. They feel like they are walking in cotton wool.

The mist gets up Clytemnestra’s nose and she sneezes, waking up the old lady. The boy notices and puts his hand on her foot, giving it a loving squeeze. The old lady smiles down at him – glad to be reunited. She thought she’d seen the last of him. Happily they walk on, but soon the mist is so thick that they cannot see the ground at their feet.

“I think we should rest now,” says the messenger and brings the camel to a halt. Everybody stops and listens to the eerie silence. When the messenger speaks his voice sounds muffled and distant.

“Demona is not going to find us in this. Down girl,” he says to the camel, and she drops to her knees with a groan. She hates getting up and down with her cranky old bones. The boy helps the old lady off and gives her a warm hug when she is on her feet. They stand for a long time in each other’s arms while Senjur sets up camp; the old lady only responding to the boys touch, never initiating, never touching him in need. This way she doesn’t drain his energy. She doesn’t ‘take’…in these situations she just returns his love.

The messenger is glad to be out in the desert again. This is where he belongs. The Garden of Eden is fine – for a while – but there are too many dangers hidden in the lovely greenery. Too many places for traps and treachery. At least the desert is honest. It has nothing to hide. What you see is what you get. In the garden you have to watch every step. A snake hanging from every branch…a tiger lurking behind every tree, and every seemingly innocent flower full of potential poison. Too many treasures being fought over by too many creatures. In the desert there is only one treasure. Water.

Soon they have eaten their fill and sit silently staring at the fire. There is nothing to say. Their thoughts are as woolly as the fog tonight. Then they hear a long low hooting sound like a sandhorn in the fog. Our intrepid explorers look at each other in consternation. It could be Demona but common sense tells them she wouldn’t be broadcasting her approach like that. Perhaps it is just a trick of the fog…the sound of a dune collapsing…amplified by the mist. They listen for a while but there is no reoccurrence of the sound and they settle down for the night. The boy and the old lady now lie together under her blanket, tightly wrapped together. Ever since his abduction she is reluctant to let him go and clasps him to her body at every opportunity. As they snuggle together he feels her warm loins against his and his lips reach out for hers. She submits to his searching desire and lets him explore her mouth with his tongue. They are in paradise. The night creeps on and the two lovers entwine happily under the thin blanket.

In the morning they are soaked with dew from the mist. Even Clytemnestra’s fur is damp and spiky. Shivering with cold they crowd around the campfire, waiting for the thick black coffee to boil. The messenger in the meantime is squeezing every available bit of moisture from their clothing and blankets into a leathern container. It comes to nearly a litre and a half. A king’s fortune. The mist still hangs heavily about their ears. The old lady and the boy hold hands. They have eyes for no one else, their cheeks aglow with love and peace…and a calm acceptance of the universe and all her little foibles.

The messenger smiles at the fire. He feels privileged to be a witness at such an event. Even Clytemnestra purrs contentedly in the afterglow of their union. She too is happy that things have worked out so well. So much so, that when the old lady is tucked up on her back and she is told to get up – she does so willingly and without complaint.

It is a happy band of travellers who set off into the misty, confident that whatever the fates have in store, they will be able to weather it…one way or the other.

By midday the sun is burning through the upper layers of cloud, bringing a touch of warmth to its creatures below. A golden light filters through the fog as the boy walks – his hand ever resting on the old lady’s foot – one and the other, forever together – he feels complete, confident, and more than a little grown up. He doesn’t feel like a little boy lost anymore…and they don’t feel like grown up strangers to him. They are his family now.

The sound of the sandhorn cuts through all their thoughts and the caravan comes to an abrupt halt. Whoever is out there is very close now. They peer cautiously through the hazy sunshine, anxiety knocking at their breasts.

It is not long before they behold a most wondrous and strange spectacle. Out of the mist appears in front of them a ship. A ship sailing as it were, in the desert: three-masted and square rigged full-four, t’gallants flapping as it tilts and sways in the high breeze. As she emerges, for a ship is always a she, they see that she is being dragged by a ream of men with ropes afore and wheels beneath the massive shore-line of the wooden Galleon. Fifty Aurochs join the fray to drag and sway and sweat their way through the soft desert sand.

Then comes into view the flag. The black and white skull and cross bone motif so much favoured by the pirates of old, and a shiver runs through the timbers of all who see such a sight. And on creak and squeal the oil-less wooden wheels sinking deep under such a weight, and the pirate crew pull for all they’re worth. Three hundred men or more pull for some distant shore, with ropes and tackles and guts galore. Salty sailors, sand-washed and parched: dirt and dust crunching between their teeth as they grind on with their merciless task.

The little group watch in awe as this great Juggernaut approaches them in a cloud of dust and effort, whips cracking at every quarter, strains and refrains of pain and toil, boil in the close heat of the day. ‘Keep moving’ comes the constant cry, for if the wheels should stop then they would sink into the sand – never to set forth again.

The messenger leads his little group off to one side as they watch the megalith go on by…heat and dust and flies rising up into the skies – a dirty business by all accounts. And then a cry of ‘ho there’ hails them from the crowd and a group of horsemen approach nearby. A sailor upon a horse is a sad sight to see, for he sits so uncomfortably…and these fellows were set in a rather bad mood.

“And who in Hades are ye three?”

“Travellers,” says the messenger. Clytemnestra eyes the horses with suspicion. She doesn’t like them one little bit.

The pirates have no time for niceties.

“Come with us,” says the gruffest of the bunch and indicates towards the ship, the cutlass at his hip all the authority he needs. He turns and heads towards the ship, confident that they will follow, his friends riding on either side.

Soon they see the entourage at close hand. The sweat…the mud…the fierce struggle against God and his elements.

“There,” says the pirate, pointing at a rope ladder hanging from the side of the ship. It seems a long way up and the boy worries for the old lady.

“All of you, up.”

The messenger whispers in Clytemnestra’s ear and unhooks her reins. It will be better for her to be free to follow at a distance. Who knows how hungry these fellows be, and they say that camel meat is sweet. The camel takes off and the pirates don’t bother to follow. They know their horses will never catch her. Not on this terrain.

“Up,” he says again. “The Captain’s gonna love you.” He gives a knowing smile, and points with his cutlass.

The boy goes up first, then the old lady with the messenger behind to help her along. It is hard going at first, climbing up a swaying ladder, but soon they get used to the rhythm and make good progress. Suddenly the top is in sight and they tumble over the rails onto the deck.

Dust everywhere. It looks like half the desert is up here. The boy reaches over and helps the old lady up. They stand holding hands, waiting for something to happen.

There is a crash and a curse and a sailor comes running out holding his head in his hands.

“Lazy scoundrel,” shouts a voice. “If I catch you sleeping again I will keelhaul you.”

The sailor is over the side in a flash and skimming down the rope ladder.

“Keep moving,” says the pirate behind them. He has followed them up. “Thataways.” He points his cutlass aft.

The deck jerks and sways as the little trio make their way aft. They stop in front of a door which the pirate hammers on with the handle of his cutlass.

“Yes, dear Jesus, can’t you knock like an ordinary person. Come in. Give me a heart attack with that rat tat tat.”

The pirate opens the door and steps in. “A coupler visiters ta see ya c’p’n.”

“Well show them in.”

“In ya go,” he says, showing a full set of black rotting teeth. The smell is appalling.

“I thought you said a couple. There’s three of them.”

“Tha’s wha’I said. A coup’l.”

“Never mind. Thank you, and don’t slam the…..”

The cabin shakes on its foundations.

“….door.”

 “Well hello. How do you do?” The Captain offers a genteel hand somewhat reticently, for the little trio look travel-worn to say the least. He takes out his handkerchief and holds it under his nose.

“You are quite dusty,” he observes. “Are you someone important?”

It was like stepping into another world. Inside the cabin was cool and clean and sumptuously decorated. There was a silver tea service on the table, sparkling under the crystal chandeliers above, which would tinkle every now and then when the ship lurched too violently. Teak chairs and a table that gleamed a golden brown under the candlelight, with red leather upholstery fixed with brass pins. Silks and satins of every colour and design adorned the huge four poster double bed. In the corner was a commode of the finest painted porcelain with a matching washbasin. Twinkling on the table was a cut glass decanter with a ruby red port-wine inside, and stained glass windows lit up the room like a rainbow. The boy stared in awe and wonder…as did the other two. On the walls were bookcases with seafaring volumes. Charts and maps there were aplenty, each beautifully illustrated with wild and fanciful creatures that were presumed to inhabit the most far-flung reaches of a world they didn’t recognize at all.

“Yes, nice, isn’t it. But I ask again. Are you someone important?”

The messenger and the old lady know better than to answer such a question from a pirate, no matter how fine his manners, or how coutured his clothes.

“I don’t know,” says the boy after waiting for the others to speak. “But there is someone following us.”

“Ah. Then you are in trouble. On the ‘lamb,’ so to speak? And you?” he says, looking pointedly at Senjur. “Don’t I know you from somewhere?”

“Everyone knows me. But you have never seen me before.”

“Well I didn’t want a riddle in return. That was a pick-up line,” he grimaced. “But I suppose you aren’t that way inclined. Pity.”

“What way?” asks the boy, suspiciously.

“Never mind,” says the Captain, turning back to Senjur. “What is your name then?”

“I am the messenger.”

“Oh,” says the Captain. “And what is your message?” he asks facetiously.

“Abstention,” replies the messenger quick as a wink.

“Ha, ha. How very droll. Just what I needed. A bit of dry humour. Very well, ‘don’t kill the messenger’ they say, however, I am sorely tempted to kill myself.” And at that moment the chandeliers tinkle quite violently and the Captain rushes from the cabin clasping his mouth and stomach and moaning something awful. After a while he returns, looking pale and fragile.

“Land-sickness,” he says, tucking his kerchief into the lace ruffles round the cuff of his sleeve. “Do you have any valuables with you?” he asks. “Although I think not.”

“I have some rock-salt,” says the boy proudly. He has wandered over to the desk and marvels at the wonders thereupon arrayed, especially a golden cutlass, with a huge ruby on its pommel and a silk ribbon tied to the guard; obviously a favour bestowed by some beautiful damsel.

“Careful. Don’t touch that,” says the Captain, leaping to his feet. “It’s not a toy you know.” The Captain replaces the item with millimetric precision, his delicate fingers tap-tapping it into place. “That is a very precious item. It was given to me by my mother. It is the only thing I have left to remind me of her and her exaggerated expectations of me, so please don’t touch it.” He gives a wistful sigh, obviously remembering dear mama. “She would have been so proud of me. Not right now of course. We’re in a bit of a pickle as you can see, but generally I have done alright by her. I have been very successful at my chosen trade. Anyway. That’s enough about me. Tell me about this person who is pursuing you. And why?"

“She’s a demon,” says the boy.

The Captain looks at the messenger with a quizzical eyebrow.

“He’s a bit fanciful isn’t he?” says the Captain, and gives a bit of a laugh. “I think someone’s been pulling on your leg, son.”

The messenger puts a cautionary hand on the boys shoulder.

“He’s still young,” he says. “You know how boys are. Great imaginations. Of course there are no such things.”

“But you said…”

“You must have misheard me,” he says, squeezing the boy’s shoulder quite hard.

“Ouch.”

“Someone’s been taking the Michael with you,” says the Captain. “Care for a cup of tea?”

“Thank you,” says the messenger. The old lady puts her arm around the boy to try and distract him.

“I know it’s a nuisance,” he says, setting out the cups and saucers, “…but I am going to have to take you prisoner,” the Captain says apologetically. “I mean, you’re hardly dangerous ‘buckaroos’ or anything like that…” he says, eyeing the boy and the old lady. “But you’ll have to do.”

The trio stand quietly.

“I have to do it you see, or else the men will get disgruntled. I have a reputation to uphold. I have to swashbuckle every now and then to maintain their confidence in me…especially after the last debacle…with the mermaids.”

At this the boy looks at him with interest.

“Mermaids? Real mermaids?”

“Indeed. That’s why we’re in this pickle. Didn’t you think it a teeny bit strange that we are sailing across the desert instead of the ocean? Not by choice I can tell you.” The Captain gets that strange faraway look in his eye that often afflicts sailors in particular, and adventurers in general.

“We had broken our mainmast in a storm and had hove to in this particular bay to fashion a new one. It was soon done, but as we set off these mermaids started calling and crying to us in a most heart breaking manner, sitting on the rocks near the shoreline and wailing out their woe. As sad a sound as ever I heard. Well, the men just couldn’t resist. They lowered the longboat and crowded in as many as they could. I tried to stop them but…” He shrugged his shoulders. “The reef split them open like an oyster, and the mermaids helped carry them down.” He paused to look out the window. “We waited all night, but there were no survivors. Thirty odd men drowned.” There was a tear in his eye. “The next day they were back again, singing their siren songs, but the boys were wary this time, and we set about a plan to get rid of them. These creatures were terribly dangerous. Who knows how many ships they had lured onto those rocks…how many lives lost?

“We plugged up our ears and broke out the harpoons…well, I’d rather not go into details with the boy and the lady present. It wasn’t pretty. Killed them all…except one; caught her by accident in one of the fishing nets. They brought her onboard and put her in a sea-water tank on deck.”

“A real one?” says the boy.

“You keep saying that.”

“Onboard?”

“Yes.”

“Can I see it?” The boy’s eyes are nearly popping out of his head and he is dancing a little jig of excitation and expectation.

“First let me finish and then see if you are so keen to meet her.”

The kettle begins to bubble on the fire place and the Captain moves to fetch it.

“Please sit,” he says, and proceeds to pour the tea. It smells like mint and spice, and the trio’s mouths are watering.

“Turns out it was the worst thing we could do. These creatures are cursed. The killing of them caused us to delay too long; and the roving reefs closed in behind us. We were trapped between the rocks and the desert. Of course the irony of it was that the mermaid knew the way through these reefs but she would die before telling us. Anyway, my jack-tars are a hardy, imaginative sort when it comes to makeshift adventuring, so they set about building a brace of wheels and harnesses and a month later we hauled the ship up onto land. What a sight that was.”

The Captain begins pouring the tea, an almost impossible job with the juddering, lurching motion of the ship. “But be damned if I like travelling this way. Shakes a man’s insides out.”

“But what about the mermaid?” says the boy.

“I wouldn’t be so keen if I was you, she’s a tricky sort of creature. Plays with your emotions. Next thing you’ll be jumping from the yardarm just to please her. Nothing good comes of talking to them. They may look beautiful, but they’re deadly.”

The boy folds his arms together in a huff.

“Don’t set your eye at me like that, young man. I know little boys have a thing for weird and wonderful creatures, but this one’s not to be tolerated.”

The ship lurches again and so does the Captains stomach. “Oh dear sweet Lord deliver me from this wretched place.” He takes out a bottle of smelling salts and wafts it under his nose.

“If you don’t let us see the mermaid I shall tell your crew that you’re a nancy.”

“A Dandy. There’s a difference. No shame in that. And if you’re so strong set on seeing her, then see her you shall. Come on. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

She is indeed a beautiful creature, with soft sad eyes and smooth grey skin like a seal. Her hair, like soft green seaweed, falls in folds about her shoulders, her eyes, big and black, dart here and there as if searching for an escape route. In all respects, except for her skin colour and her fishtail, she resembles an ordinary woman.

The boy stands transfixed by the sight. This is what adventures are all about. The Captain stands with his fingers in his ears.

“Best not listen to her too closely, boy.”

But the boy pays him no heed, and indeed, just looking at her makes him start to feel quite sad. The old lady slips her hand into his and all the memories of last night flood back into him, the feel and the taste of her…holding the sadness at bay.

And then the siren lets loose with a wail that curdles the blood in their veins. Never was such a heart-wrenching heard; as if the sorrow and pain of all womankind was in that call; all the sufferings and persecutions ever visited upon the female sex, all in one terrible anguished cry.

The boy feels like he has been ripped open by a boat-hook. She calls to the infinite sadness within him. She is irresistible. He is impelled to go to her. The old lady squeezes his hand and holds on tightly, hoping the bond between them is strong enough to fight against the lure of his deep longing. There is the taste of salt in his mouth. He has bitten his lip through and there are tears in his eyes.

“There you go, smart-arse,” says the Captain rather loudly, for he still has his fingers in his ears. “Don’t listen to your elders.”

This caustic comment, like nothing else, helps to bring the boy back to reality. He remembers again who he is, and what is happening. But he still feels sorry for the captive creature.

 “Can you speak?” he asks her. She breaks off her lament and looks at him with surprise in her huge eyes. Her mouth doesn’t move but he hears her voice as clear as day in his head.

“What are you doing here?” she asks. “You are not dead.”

“I am waiting,” he says. “I am on my way to the Silvern Sanctuary.”

“That is a long way….by land.”

The boy shrugs. He doesn’t really know how long is long.

“I know a shorter way…by sea.”

The boy looks around to see if anyone else is hearing them. The old lady simply looks back at him and squeezes his hand. The messenger knows that something is going on, but not what, and the Captain has his eyes shut as well, so he sees and hears none of this. He is taking no chances with the mermaid.

“How will we get there?” he asks her.

“If you come to me at midnight and open my tank, I will sing them all to sleep. You can lower one of the longboats over the side and fill it with water. It won’t be too much trouble then to hitch it to a couple of bulls who should be able to pull me back to the sea. But I cannot be out of water for more than an hour, so you must work quickly.”

The next morning a terrible sound assails the ears of the Captain as he awakes. It is the sound of silence. He looks around. Nothing is shaking. Everything is still. His stomach is not lurching back and forth. There is no movement. Everything is peaceful and quiet. He rushes out on deck and looks overboard. The ship has come to a halt. The men lie where they have fallen…fast asleep….or dead. He can’t tell which. A terrible fear grips his bowels as the implications of this stationary-ness begins to dawn on him. Marooned. His ship is stuck fast and they are marooned in the desert. Then the cause of the matter dawns on him and he rushes to the siren’s tank. Empty! The visitors. He marches into their cabin and is greeted with the same emptiness.

“Master of the watch!” he shrieks in a falsetto so beloved by his crew. “Beat to quarters. The prisoners have escaped!”