Content Note: Violence, cannibalism, suicide, murder, the Sigil-Ridden Navigator and communism.
The cover is created using images from the game-icons dot net, which were made by Delapouite (Ship's wheel) and Lorc (At Sea, Candle Light, Anatomy). The font used is Population Zero BB and is from blambot dot com.
Dedicated to my sister, who occasionally leaves the Neath.
Thousands of candles shone brightly in the darkness. They were visible for kilometres – Davids was pretty sure everyone else would have said miles, but she didn't like the imperial system. The very name rankled and it was a mess. If she didn't use metric they'd probably all be dead by now.
She nodded along as White told her how he was looking forward to the feast the chapel offered all travellers. It was the main topic of conversation since they had left the Avid Horizon, so she'd heard it all before. But swabbing the deck didn't require too much attention either.
As he reminisced about the dishes they had been offered the last time business took them to this corner of the Unterzee, she imagined the food herself. All types of meats, perfectly prepared and available in abundance. She smiled. A good nosh-up would be most welcome. They never went hungry aboard, but her criteria for purchasing supplies were durability, price and scurvy prevention, not taste. She wished she could share the coming meal with Andy, but the past was past. His guts wouldn't really have been up to it anyway.
Davids' only problem with the chapel was that she didn't like religion. Hell being a cheap place to buy fuel and something called souls being available on the open market weren't about to rid her of her atheism. Neither of these things were actually proof that god existed, no matter what the clergy bleated. And regardless, religion remained a tool of the powerful to convince the masses that they should trade the demands of the present for a false hope of life after true death. If that wasn't enough they always had hellfire to threaten, equating the Neath's hell with the place of their fantasies.
This made taking meals as a guest of the clergy awkward, no matter how charming and open minded the smiling priest was. Davids tried to remember his name, but couldn't. Actually, she didn't think he'd ever stated it, although she must have asked. Probably called himself the Smiling Priest in that London fashion.
The chapel's bell started to toll. Four deep, cracked clangs wafted across the stillness of Void's Approach. As the last of the sound faded away, Sigil cried out.
Davids dropped her broom. A sudden scream was bad news. Sigil was standing right at the prow, clutching the railing with both hands, staring straight at the chapel. His whole body was shaking.
Swallowing hard, Davids stared out into the murk. Mt. Nomad was said to haunt these waters. There was certainly some exaggeration in the tales, but how much? An ordinary lifeberg was already a terrible threat. The candles of the chapel aside, it was hard to make out anything beyond the steady light of their ship, but she could see no movement. "What have you seen? Everything alright?" Had the bell tolled a warning, not merely a greeting or time check?
No answer. She turned to the others on the deck. Had they seen something? They too were watching Sigil, but seemed equally uncertain. Then the main light was switched off, plunging them further into the darkness. Douglas was probably thinking along the same lines as she was.
Davids took another look at the shadow that was Sigil. She had to do something, find out what he had seen. She moved carefully, hoping to avoid tripping over anything in the dark. Hesitantly, she placed her hand on his shoulder.
He jumped and she pulled back. The touch seemed to have broken his trance. He turned to face her. "The bells and the lights!"
"Lights can go back on," she called up to the wheelhouse. After that fright, discovering that it was probably just Sigil being neurotic was a relief, even if her heart was still beating fast as the main light flickered back on. Perhaps she should ignore Sigil now as not to encourage such behaviour, but that seemed rather mean. She kept a tone of friendly concern as she talked to him. "What about them? They seem pretty much the same as last time-"
He shook his head frantically. "That was before! Before last night's dreams!"
"Dreaming of the next port isn't that unusual? And we're all looking forward to a good meal." When had "last night" been for him? That sort of thing held little natural meaning in the perpetual darkness. But he'd last gone to bed shortly after they left the Avid Horizon.
"You don't understand!" he howled, "This will be the key to recovering my memories! It has to! The sight and sound have removed all doubt that this is the place."
"I hope so," Davids said, although she didn't believe it. He was probably suffering from irrigo exposure and the chapel was extremely unlikely to be able to help. But well, Sigil had always been a bit strange and had probably been so even before he had lost his memories. He'd had that bizarre tattoo done right on his forehead after all.
She started to walk away from him again. Although... The Avid Horizon was uncanny. Perhaps visiting it really had awakened some forgotten memory. She didn't want to think too much about that place though. More than anything else, it was shatteringly cold.
A thought struck her. She looked over her shoulder at Sigil. Surely he wouldn't? But it was better to be safe. "We're heading to the chapel right now, Sigil! You'll be no faster if you swim, you'd drown! Stay aboard!"
He seemed to nod, but she found herself glancing nervously at him until they were ready to dock.
As soon as they pulled up alongside the pier, Sigil vaulted over the railing. Davids breathed in sharply. Yes, they were close to the shore, but the water was still cold and the ship would probably plough over him. She grabbed the boathook. No splash, but the engine sounds could have covered it up. If he was lying under the ship, possibly unconscious, it would be hard to fish him out, but it was her duty to try.
Just as she was about to raise the alarm, she spotted him. He was not in the sea at all, but already running towards the chapel, the candlelight throwing his rapidly moving shadow in all directions. Couldn't he be a little more considerate of her nerves? Would it have killed him to have waited another thirty seconds? Well, not literally, no, but he clearly was in a bad state. Had there not been times in her life when she had felt at the edge of madness and had she not then wished for sympathy?
"There's someone who can't wait for his grub," Jones said as she picked up the mooring ropes.
"I think I'd better follow him." Davids hoped that someone would affirm her decision, but as no such thing seemed forthcoming, she added, "Before he puts off our host." That at least got some reaction, even if it was just a "I hope he doesn't," from White and a "Suit yourself," from Jones.
Davids swung herself onto the pier. After a few steps to find her land legs again, she started jogging up the uneven path towards the chapel, trying hard not to slip on the snow. She was somewhat out of breath by the time she reached the summit.
Unfortunately, Sigil was not similarly winded. The priest had come out to greet them and seemed to be regretting it, as Sigil was standing right in front of him, clutching his red cassock in his fists and jabbering like only a madman could.
"I think you should let him go," Davids said, trying to catch her breath.
"I must agree with the captain's assessment," the priest said and Sigil fell silent. He didn't let go though, leaving the priest to pry his robe from clenched fingers.
Davids smiled awkwardly. "I do apologise." This was not the right time to correct his misconception. The Red Herring had no captain. Decisions were reached democratically and she was actually the ship's secretary. She could have been the captain, but that would have been wrong.
"It is really no problem." The priest flashed her a brilliant smile in return as he brushed out the creases Sigil's desperate grasping had left. "No problem at all."
"Can you help me?" Sigil asked.
"You'll have to repeat your problem more slowly before he'll be able to answer that."
"Oh no, no, no! I understood the first time. It's an interesting problem." The priest started tracing Sigil's sigil with his index finger. "I am most certain that we can help you. Answers are always hard to find, but we will be able to suggest a path that will allow you to find what you seek."
"Thank you! Thank you so much!"
But the priest held up his hand. "As much as we wish it could be, gratitude alone is not sufficient. We require your help in exchange."
Sigil blinked hard. After a few moments he said, "I'd give everything. Everything. I need to know."
Davids guessed they'd want money. London's poor had to make do with scraps, but in the end, people wanted money. Actually they wanted the opportunity, amenities and power that money represented, but that was a different story. The priest would probably call it a donation though. Well, assuming it wasn't too outrageous, the Red Herring had the funds. It could be docked from Sigil's share at a reasonable rate. She ought to warn Sigil that he would almost certainly be paying for platitudes and mystical nonsense, but that probably wouldn't dissuade him.
"It is our mission to feed the hungry and so give comfort to the wretched travellers of the zee. However, our supplies are running low and it is hard to replenish on this cold and rocky isle, so far from civilization. The zee gives, but only so much and, alas, the miracle of the loaves and fishes remains the domain of Lord Jesus. Besides, we yearn for heartier fare."
That was reasonable enough. And they were generous to all with their food, so she wasn't even bothered that they were likely to get nothing out of the trade. Davids nodded. "We will gladly share our supplies." She was perhaps overcautious in provisioning, but it did mean that they had some to spare.
The priest's smile briefly morphed into a frown. "The Chapel's Bounty must be fresh. The fresher the better. Still alive is the best."
Davids mentally ran through their stock and suppressed a sigh. Things like salted meats, dried fish, fungal bread, hard wheat bread, rice, tatties, onions and lime juice just didn't sound like they might fit the priest's criteria. Sigil's anguished expression was painful even to look at though. Think. While it didn't really count as supplies, some of their cargo might be of interest. "What about salt?" She'd heard they were interested in that. It helped keep things fresh, even if it did not fit there itself.
"We grind our own from eoliths. Can you offer us those?"
A strange source. "No, normal salt."
The priest shook his head. "It just wouldn't taste the same with such common stuff."
What else did they have? "A sack of fine Darkdrop coffee beans then?" They'd still have plenty for the Irem delivery, so the others would forgive her, particularly if she said that this meant the rest of them got a bonus taken from her and Sigil's shares. They could work out at what rate he should repay her later. She didn't need much money for herself, but she had causes and people to fund.
"I'm afraid coffee doesn't interest us either."
"Well, you can't expect us to carry livestock aboard. Perhaps some other time." She didn't like the idea and doubted the others would be terribly excited either. Animals simply made for awkward cargo. They had a ferret, the other survivor from the Dreaming Rose, and that was bad enough.
The priest walked up to her and placed his arm around across her shoulders. "Not exactly livestock, no. But that doesn't mean that your ship holds nothing that interests us. Stay docked here tonight, post no guards and ask no questions."
"Excuse me?" His intimacy was unwelcome and now he was getting cryptic. What could he be so sure they had on board and did not wish to be witnessed taking? Was this some kind of test of faith? She wasn't going along with this. Faith might be praised to high heavens, but good bookkeeping was necessary for survival.
But before she could articulate any of that, the priest pressed his index finger against her lips. "That's a question, but let me tell you this. Strange things happen at zee and zailors are often lost. We shall be quiet and it shall be painless. And after such a night, you will join us for breakfast and all questions shall be answered."
Her world ground to a halt. Davids stared blankly ahead at nothing. The place suddenly seemed very still indeed. The sound of waves crashing against the rocks and the distant chatter of her friends seemed like a far-off echo of reality. Her breathing became heavier and her breath frosted over in the cold air.
Surely that couldn't be what he meant? Sigil was just standing there, showing no reaction. But he must have heard? Then again, he had said he'd give everything and she supposed that he really meant it... As horrible is it was, the implication was there.
Davids elbowed the priest in the chest and struggled free. She staggered a few steps forward until she stood next to Sigil, then turned to face the priest again. "You want to eat us!" Her funny bone hurt from the blow, but the pain was almost welcome.
The priest clutched his chest. "I suppose that's an accusation rather than a question. But you have feasted of the Chapel's Bounty."
She had, yes. And now those exotic meats she had eaten had a source... A revulsion overtook her. She had been a cannibal. An unwitting one, but she had feasted on human flesh all the same. What to do?
Get away for a start. Davids seized Sigil's wrist and tugged. The first step was a stumble, then he followed her running. Just as well, she didn't want to literally drag him, but she would if she had to. She had mass and gravity on her side.
The slope was steep and the path slick with snow. A more rational part of her was screaming at her to slow down unless she wanted to break her neck and die on this candle haunted island. But fear and disgust kept her running until she slipped.
The next thing she knew she was lying face down in the snow. It was cold but not deep enough to really cushion the impact. A knocked over candle lay next to her, extinguished.
She forced herself to sit up to see if they were being followed. Apparently they weren't, so she allowed herself a moment of respite.
At least she hadn't brought Sigil down with her. Her right palm had been scraped open breaking her fall, so she must have let go of his wrist. He seemed to have stopped the moment she stopped pulling. She wished he'd say something.
Douglas and Wood were hurriedly walking towards them. Thank goodness for her friends. Wood squatted down next to her. "Are you all right?"
"No."
"Anything particularly painful?" Wood asked.
"It's not the fall." The landing was hard, but she didn't think that anything was broken.
"No, I'd think not. You were running like your life depended on it. What the blazes got into you?" Douglas asked.
"I'll tell you, but let's get back to the ship first. We need to leave." That and it would give her a little more time to think about how to break it to them, although she already knew that she wouldn't manage anything good. Perhaps because that would be impossible.
"You've definitely spooked me now," Douglas said, shaking his head. He knelt down next to Davids and grasped her right upper arm.
Wood then took her left. "Are you ready?"
Davids nodded and they hauled her to her feet. They brushed some snow off themselves, then started walking back to the ship. The two were ready to support her, but she didn't need it. The fall had been painful certainly, but she was able to walk.
After a few steps, Davids realised that Sigil wasn't following them and looked back. He was still standing where she had fallen, staring up at the chapel. She shouted, "Come on, Sigil! We're leaving." After a moment he followed obediently, so hopefully his behaviour could be attributed to shock.
Did she grab him and run because she feared that he would start negotiating with the priest when he should come aboard and whom he could take as his blood toll? Perhaps, but she wouldn't mention that to anyone. That was not only an unfair accusation, he was coming along without protest now after all, it was the kind of distrust that tore crews apart.
They arrived at the ship soon enough. The rest of the crew was already clustered on the pier. White spoke first, "Are we still going up there to eat?"
"No, never again," Davids said.
"Was Sigil's performance that bad?" Jones asked.
"No, it's not Sigil. It's that the priest is a cannibal." At least she'd said it.
Shepherd pulled a face in disgust and Jones muttered, "Oh, fuck."
White looked up at the chapel. "Does that mean that our previous meals have been..." He didn't finish the question, but there was no need for that.
"How would I know exactly what he served us? Probably, but I'm not going up to ask."
"Let's go." It was Shepherd who expressed the sentiment first.
Davids was glad to troop back on board with the others and they made ready to leave. She would report this to the admiralty, useless as they were.
oOo
In the beginning, there was nothing. Yet there was a point where nothingness acquired a substance of itself. The expanse was vast, darker than the Neath and silent. Every part of it was identical in its emptiness. There was no horizon and she didn't know if such a concept even made sense in this place.
None of this mattered. Knife in hand, Davids had a burning purpose, although she didn't know what it was. She walked onwards confidently and easily, despite the ground being covered with a shallow liquid, black as tar. It didn't actually seem to be wet. Her footsteps made no sound, but she left behind a trail of ripples.
Time was a strange creature in this realm and she didn't know how long she had been walking when Wood appeared before her. Even in this dark void, her features were perfectly visible. She didn't say anything, but no words were needed.
Davids raised her knife. In a single, almost graceful, motion, she slashed her across the throat. Wood fell without a cry. Droplets of blood hung in the air, defying gravity in their primal redness. Then they were gone.
Her gaze turned downward to her fallen comrade. Wood lay on her back, eyes wide open, but blank, staring upwards at nothing. Blood flowed freely from the wound. Davids knelt down next to her and touched Wood's wrist with her left hand. A steady pulse remained.
Carefully, Davids pressed the tip of the knife against Wood's collarbone. She stabbed downwards and pulled the blade through the ribcage. Neither flesh nor bone offered resistance.
She let go of the knife and it too was gone, for it was no longer needed. Davids placed her hands into the cut. The flesh was pleasantly warm in this cold place, although it only became clear in contrast that it had a temperature at all. She tore the chest open.
The prize was revealed, the heart lay bare. Davids ripped it out with both hands, ignoring Wood's quiet whimper. Wood was her friend, but what was friendship compared to this?
She could wait no longer. Performing a ritual she only half knew, she raised the heart to her lips and took the bite. A sharp pain, the taste of blood.
Now she was lying prone in a somewhat brighter shade of dark. A light weight pressed down on her. Was she to be eaten next? She'd not be willing victim. She pushed herself up with all her strength.
Her world exploded in pain as she bashed her head against the cabin ceiling. She cried out and sank back onto the bed. A dream. It was a dream.
The taste of blood was real though. She'd bitten her tongue, but compared to what she'd done to her head, the pain barely registered. Davids took a deep breath and tried to clear her thoughts, but lying there with a blooming headache that was easier said than done. She was still feeling somewhat sore from the fall too. But the worst of the pain faded quickly. When she felt up to moving again, Davids cautiously climbed down from her bunk and switched on the lights. Electric energy was beautiful.
Superstitiously, she looked at the bed beneath hers. Wood was curled up there, snoring.
Davids shook her head. Obviously she was, had she expected the nightmare to have any bearing on reality? No, dreams were a strange process, mixing experiences, fears, hopes and the imagination of the sleeper into hallucinations, absurd constructs that yet seemed unquestionably true until waking. This one had been altogether too vivid, but pleasant dreams were not to be expected the first time one slept after discovering that one had been a cannibal.
The thought that there might have been something more terrible about that dream was quickly pushed aside. Superstition thrived in the darkness, but dreams were dreams and that was that. Reciting the Internationale would help. Anyone who had slept through her howl of pain was unlikely to be woken by familiar, quietly spoken French.
Once she'd finished all six verses, she glanced at Wood again. At least she was sleeping soundly. As a whole, the crew seemed to be taking this better than she was. Good. Distraction led to mistakes and, while she tried to plan in a margin of error, the sea was unforgiving.
Shepherd was clearly distressed though. If everyone reacted like her, they'd be making terrible time. She was an aspiring artist who had gone to sea to try and find some depth to infuse into her works, so perhaps this was only to be expected. Davids liked her more for it anyway. It was nice not to be totally alone with her misery, even if shared unhappiness wasn't going to improve matters.
If only she could extend that sort of charity to Sigil. He was even more obviously unhappy than Shepherd. But she couldn't. It was probably unfair, but she couldn't shake the feeling that his misery was not actually shared at all, but rather due to the fact that he had not received an answer.
They had done nothing wrong at the Chapel of Lights. She had not known what she was eating, none of them had. Her mistake had merely been to trust a priest offering a meal. An obvious error in hindsight, but not something one could honestly have expected. There was no reason to feel bad about what had happened. It was not their fault that they had wound up in what would make a plot for a penny dreadful, albeit not a good one.
Sigil on the other hand had his hopes of recovering his memories robbed from him. She should feel sorry for him for that, even if it had been a false hope. After all, Davids could not imagine living without hers. That would be functionally the same as dying. What remained wouldn't be her.
Deciding that she'd had enough of these depressing thoughts, Davids started heading to the galley to make herself some coffee. She was feeling a bit hungry too. Hopefully, Sigil would have chosen some other place to mope, but the Red Herring was a small ship.
At least she would be in transcendent Irem in a few hours. It was a place of such beauty that dreams were soothed and time itself was easily forgotten. Irem would bring relief.
The past could not be changed. It was a taboo unknowingly trespassed. Disgusting as it was, she would have to live with it. Everyone aboard would have to.
oOo
Davids didn't like London. Up until this voyage, she'd have ranked it as the worst place in the Neath. Objectively, it was still more terrible than the Chapel of Lights. The lords of industry devoured people by the thousands, working them to death in their factories and then leaving them to die in the rookeries. And down here, death was not even the end of one's exploitation. The wealth of the capitalists was slick with the blood of the working class. To claim that they weren't cannibals merely because they didn't eat people was absurd.
But cruel absurdity was society's operating principle. Kill one and you were a murderer to be hung for the amusement of the public. Slaughter thousands and you were an accomplished gentleperson. But the Smiling Priest and his shadowy congregation were unimportant enough criminals that the law wouldn't mind acting against them. At least that's what Davids had thought when she went into the admiralty's office.
It seemed that the clerk begged to differ. "Are you absolutely certain that this is what he implied?" He was as neat as a pin and a total pinhead.
Had she just imagined it? She'd wondered that herself often enough, but then why hadn't Sigil corrected her? It would have been very much in his interest. Perhaps he was doubtful enough of his sanity to rely on her interpretation. But while it seemed probable that the priest was a murderer she had to try and do something about it. "Yes, I am. I even accused him of wanting to eat us and he did nothing to deny it."
The clerk dipped his pen into the ink pot. "In that case, I fear you must have fallen to female flights of fancy. Men of God do not do such things."
Davids clenched her fists. Female flights of fancy indeed! But a remark about how his stupidity was not based on his genitals would not help matters. "The ones in the Chapel of Lights do. Look, I'm not accusing the Bishop of Southwark. It's one group near Void's Approach. That part of the Unterzee is not exactly conductive to sanity."
"As a zee captain I suppose you know all about. But for the sake of the argument, let us briefly assume that your fantasies are true. The priest at the Chapel of Lights suggested that he would kill and eat one of your crew in exchange for some spiritual advice. Is that correct?"
Maybe they were getting somewhere despite the condescension, so she decided not to distract from the matter at hand by explaining that she wasn't really the captain. That would only weaken her position and direct unwelcome attention to herself. "Correct."
"But he did not actually take any of your crew?"
"No, we left immediately upon hearing his offer." Obviously.
"There you have it. He did not actually cannibalize anyone. No crime has been committed."
"Excuse me?" She realised that she was raising her voice, but he was taking the piss out of her now.
"No crime has been committed and I think that this topic has been exhausted. I would like to get back to serious work."
And she'd had enough. Davids slammed her fist onto the desk, knocking over the ink pot. "I'm not saying that one of my crew got eaten! I'm saying that the priest of the Chapel of Lights has eaten other people! Doing something about that would be serious work-"
A door at the back of the office opened and a tall man wearing dark spectacles and a dress uniform stepped out. "Is there a problem?" His voice wasn't loud, but it carried an air of undeniable authority.
An insult died in her throat as Davids' angry bravado melted away in an instant. She made an effort to look straight at him. "Yes."
"Very well. Come into my office then and don't disturb all of Wolfstack." Not waiting for her reply, he turned on the spot and walked back into his office.
"You've gone and done it now. That's the admiral," the ink splattered clerk whispered. There was an unmistakable satisfaction in his voice.
Davids swallowed. Nothing for it. She edged past the clerk's desk and into the lion's den.
"Close the door and take a seat," was the first thing the admiral said when she stepped over the threshold.
Wishing that she was on the other side of it, she carefully closed the door. She sat down at the admiral's massive desk.
"Just to get the formalities aside, I'd appreciate it if you stated your name and vessel."
"Alexandra Davids of the Red Herring," she said and he wrote it down in shorthand.
"If I heard correctly, your issue is that you believe the priest of the Chapel of Lights is a cannibal."
"That's right, sir."
"Then the first action I suggest you take is to moderate your voice."
"I'm sorry, sir. The clerk wasn't taking my complaint seriously." She hated being polite to someone of the brass, but she didn't dare be rude.
"Then you will be pleased to hear that I do take it seriously."
"Thank you." That was unexpected.
The admiral stood up and walked over to a wall cabinet. He took out a bottle of brandy and two glasses. "Would you like a drink?"
Actually, she didn't. She just wanted out of the office. Drinking was something she did with friends and an admiral could never be a friend. Who knew what his true motives were? In vino veritas the saying went, so perhaps he was trying to exploit that. "Yes, please." Something had to be done about cannibal priests. He probably wasn't going to question her about her political leanings and even if, she could hold her drink well.
The admiral poured a little of the dark amber liquid into the glasses, then took his seat again. His eyes were hidden, but if anything, the dark spectacles only heightened the intensity of his gaze.
Admirals were definitely as bad as cannibals, but Davids steeled herself and started recounting her meeting with the priest again. He didn't interrupt her, but she noticed that he wasn't making any notes.
Once she had finished, he nodded. "Do take a drink, it's too good to go to waste." His expression was hard to read, but he seemed to look unhappy.
She raised the glass to her lips, paused a moment, then took a sip.
"Good, isn't it?"
She nodded. It was excellent stuff, probably the best alcohol she'd ever tasted. Somewhat sweet, with just the residue of the fungal taste. But drink lived by its company, so it was really worse than the cheap stuff she'd quaffed with Andy and their Edinburgh friends.
"Then you'll at least have had something positive out of this meeting."
For a moment she thought that she was going to choke. "Does that mean you don't believe my account? Is the evidence too thin?"
"I consider you a perfectly credible witness. The evidence would be a little weak on its own, but it corroborates other reports I have received."
Davids frowned. "Other reports?"
The admiral quickly confirmed her suspicion. "You see the problem then? This is not the first we have heard of this."
"And nothing is being done?" She supposed that was to be expected. All forces were needed to oppress the people, they wouldn't have anyone to spare to arrest a cannibal. And to be honest, it was quite far out.
"If I had my way, something would have been done long ago. I'd have sent the Bishop of Southwark along for good measure."
Davids felt like saying that the priest's possible heresies were pretty insignificant considering, even if misunderstanding communion was the source of the problem. It was the wrong company for that sort of talk though. If all she was going to get was excuses, she wanted him to hurry up and let her go. "And if I had mine, the same would happen, despite me being a mere sailor. If you can take no action, I do not wish to further presume upon your time." She stood up slowly. It was probably safe to do so.
"I am deeply sorry. The reason is simply that we have the greater good of London to consider."
"Of course." Couldn't he hurry up and dismiss her?
"The priest has some use you see, or at least that's what one of my colleagues tells me. I find it distasteful, but he is a valuable informant and reports to us on the kind of character he encounters."
"I suppose he encounters quite some characters indeed." Had she confided anything incriminating to the priest? No, her dislike of the clergy had probably protected her from that. She had confessed nothing more damning than a lack of religious zeal.
"Indeed he does. And needless to say, that information is confidential."
"Of course, sir." But why tell her in the first place? Was it an attempt to alleviate guilt? Perhaps he felt better, but it didn't improve her opinion in him in the least. She supposed that literal and figurative cannibals would stick together. And, sadly, she couldn't think of anyone who could properly utilise that information. Perhaps someone would still occur to her.
The admiral rose from his chair and held out his hand. "All the same, I am grateful for your report and you will receive due compensation for it. I wish you a good day."
She shook it. As expected, he had the firm grip of a true scoundrel. "It was a pleasure." A pleasure to leave, anyway.
Just as she laid her hand on the door latch, the admiral said, "A word of warning: Don't go around telling everyone about the priest's culinary tendencies."
Davids turned around. "Why not?"
The admiral smiled. "That question alone would tell me that you are a surfacer. In a sunlit port they would indeed take the information as a warning or as a sign that you are raving. But down here, things are different. Let me just say that many people would take it as a recommendation."
"Understood." Davids hated getting sensible advise from an admiral, but he was probably right.
oOo
When contemplating what provisions to buy for the next voyage, Davids decided to go easy on the meat. She'd put it to vote of course, but she didn't think anyone would feel like coming up with an alternative. It was irrational really. She didn't harbour that serious suspicions about the suppliers she frequented, but the associations were too strong for her to feel like she'd enjoy it, even considering the normal culinary delights of provender. If it weren't nigh impossible to get any variety in durable, affordable foodstuffs in the Neath she'd have cut it entirely. Jones' reports from Demeaux Island made it quite clear that fungus was to be consumed in moderation though. Damn, she missed the surface, but she'd been down too long to return.
Having done the inventory, Davids decided to head out into London and do her part in commission hunting. After a moment's thought she decided to try her luck in Veilgarden. As London went, it was a nice enough place and there was a fair chance she'd meet some scandal haunted character seeking urgent passage to Venderbight. Maybe she could get something nice to eat while she was at it. Roasted chestnuts would be just the ticket, but were perhaps a little pricey.
Besides, the real alternative was searching in Wolfstack and she wasn't feeling too happy about that at the moment. Last night's trip to the pub had revealed that tensions were high, although she'd be safe enough. Many dockworkers were blaming the clay men for their miserable conditions. They had indulged her arguments that the golems were not the cause, she'd been buying the round after all, but she doubted she'd made any impression. Perhaps if she had made the point that their real enemy was a common one more forcefully... But chances were that there was a police spy among the pub-goers, so it was probably for the best. She'd just have preferred a more pleasant evening after the ordeal at the admiralty. The food hadn't been any good either, but at least she'd done her duty in keeping up good relations with the dockers.
Walking across the deck, she saw Sigil standing on the pier, looking miserable as usual. She gave him a shout and he waved back. Davids waited for a moment, but as he didn't step onto the gangway, she walked down to him. "Back from shore leave already?"
Sigil shook his head. "Actually, I never left. I really need to talk to you."
"Sure. What about?" This was somewhat odd. They were all on good terms, but in her experience, sailors tended to stay away from each other when in London, except when planning the next voyage. Spending months with the same company in close quarters with a repeat of the experience to look forward to did that to you.
"I don't want to hold you up," Sigil said, looking at his feet. He looked more haggard than usual, but she couldn't quite put her finger on what it was.
"We could talk while we walk," she said, setting off towards Veilgarden at a leisurely pace. "So what's on your heart?"
He swallowed noticeably. "I'd like to return to the chapel."
Oh no. Was the reason he wanted to talk to her now because he didn't want the rest of the crew to hear? "I don't think that's a good idea." Should she point out again that he was probably just suffering from irrigo exposure?
Sigil gave a weak smile. "No one needs to get eaten, he only said he needed fresh food. We could buy livestock and-"
"I guess you could. Do that if you want. Propose that plan at council, but you won't get my vote and I don't imagine you'll get anyone else's either." Being matter of fact was probably for the best.
Sigil didn't answer, but kept walking on beside her, spreading an aura of glumness. It matched the London atmosphere, despite London being much brighter than the sea. Perhaps this was something to like about the city, but the light was wrong. There were candles here too, but she needed the sun.
Davids tried to ignore him, instead focusing on the fact that Londoners had some cheek to complain about the Chelonate's smell. The reek of rotting flesh might have been more primally disgusting, but at least it didn't burn on the way down like the smog did. It was perhaps hypocritical to complain, as the Red Herring's engine added to the pollution, but it could never match the intensity of the factories' acrid output, the cheap candles and the thousands of coal fires warming the homes of the wealthier classes. And to make matters worse, there was no proper weather to wash it away. She'd have never imagined that she'd miss the heavy rains. Conventional wisdom held that hell was quite nearby, but she knew better. They were already there.
"Please," Sigil suddenly said, jolting her out of her thoughts.
She tried to keep a light, conversational tone. It was difficult. "How do you know the priest will be of any help at all? Sure, he claimed to know, but all priests like to make fantastic and insubstantial claims."
"You wouldn't understand, but he will. I felt it." Sincerity, thy name is Sigil. His tone and expression suggested the kind of irrational fervour that there was little point arguing with.
It didn't mean she could indulge him. "I can't help you. Make a plan, present it at council. I'm no autocrat, if it somehow passes, I will abide." This was true.
"It won't pass without your support." This was also likely true.
"Probably, but I don't think it would pass with my approval either." This was quite possibly false. It would not be the first time she had been overruled, the most notable incident being when naming the Red Herring, but normally the crew voted for her suggestions. Would they agree to go back to the chapel if she supported it? With a yea from Sigil, she'd only have to sway two out of the remaining five for the majority. But that number game was a moot point, she didn't want to go. Calling upon the council would dilute the blame of turning Sigil down though. "I'm the secretary, not a captain."
"I need to discover what happened to my memories," Sigil said.
Davids stopped. She made a point of looking him in the eye. "I'm sorry about your memories, but no." Feeling a need to strengthen her argument, she continued, "I'm not convinced he'd even accept livestock."
"You might be right." He'd seen sense! She was about to praise him for it when he continued. "I don't like this either, but surely we can find someone disposable."
How had she given the impression that she could possibly approve of such a plan? There were people who she felt the world would be better for their irreversible removal, but they were people like the industrialists and the Smiling Priest himself. But even so, those were not the ends she wished for them. Besides, such people were well guarded, he probably meant drunks, petty criminals, the destitute.
Sigil took a step backwards, raising his arms defensively. Her posture must have betrayed her desire to strike him. It took all her willpower not to, but she was surprised at how calm her response was. "Desperate or not, sending some poor sap to get eaten is despicable." The first item on the council would be a motion if Sigil should remain part of the crew, no matter how useful it was to have a proper navigator.
"But this sigil is devouring me! It's growing and I'm forgetting! Look," he said, rubbing his chin, "when I stood before the mirror this morning, I'd forgotten how to shave!" His beard did look more unkempt than usual, now that he mentioned it.
"That's bad, but it doesn't justify-"
"How dare you give me your smug judgement? You go on and on about your ideals, but none of it's real. I'm dying and you don't care!"
She wasn't going to have a dissection of her personality and ideology. Certainly not on the London streets. "Maybe your tattoo is eating you because you are letting it define you? Named yourself after it, for goodness sake!" Davids took a step towards him. "Forget priests, if your tattoo's the problem, get a tattoo artist! There's a famous one right here in London. Claire's or something. They won't want payment in blood!"
"You think Clathermont's will be able to help me? The sigil is more than mere ink! Haven't you noticed that it's growing all the time?"
Now he was just messing with her. "Of course it's growing! You're adding to it, aren't you? I bet you pay for some new squiggles whenever we're here! Perhaps you're right, you don't need a tattoo artist, you need a doctor, you-"
"Idiot. Neither Clathermont's nor the Beth will be able to help me."
"And neither will I."
"Then forget it. I'll find a captain who cares more about the lives of their crew than the nebulous proletariat." He spat in her face. It hit her left cheek, just under the eye. Stunned, she let him turn around and start walking away. The rift between them was already insurmountable and it was widening with every step he took.
Davids stood there watching for a while, then yelled after him, "Just get out of my sight! Run off and get another squiggle for your tattoo!" He was entitled to a final pension payout, but if he was going to walk off without it, she wasn't going to remind him. Not in these circumstances.
As glad as she was to be rid of him, she was certain that he'd be able to find a captain willing to pay someone else's pound of flesh to possibly discover the secrets that might lie in his past. It probably wouldn't even be particularly difficult. There was nothing she could do to stop him, short of committing her very own murder, right there in Wolfstack Docks and making sure that it stuck. She wouldn't eat him, but that wouldn't actually improve matters. It would only be more wasteful.
Even that possibility vanished soon enough. Sigil walked round a corner and out of sight. She doubted that she would ever see him again.
Despite herself, she felt relieved. Davids unclenched her fists and wiped away the spittle. Then, with Sigil gone, she realised that she was standing perhaps twenty metres from where Andy had been gutted by a police bayonet all these years ago. He'd recovered, but it had damned them into this gloomy realm.
Not wanting to dwell on that memory, she tried to work out something that could be done about Sigil's plan. Should she try to put aside her hatred of the police for a moment and ask for their help? No, there was no point to that. In the unlikely case that they could be bothered, they might well succeed in finding him in time, he had a prominent and distinctive tattoo after all. But then Sigil would just accuse her of being a revolutionary. She'd hang and he'd walk free.
What about suggesting to her friends that they could attempt to pre-empt him so that even if he arrived on that forsaken isle with a sacrificial victim, there would be no priest to do the rites?
But the Chapel of Lights was a long way out and they'd just lost their navigator. Sailing there without being able to tie it into some profitable endeavour was also not something they could just afford. It wouldn't completely bankrupt them, but it would remove their cushion. There'd be no wages or pension payments out of it either. And that was before even considering the specifics of getting rid of the priest.
Davids didn't think she'd be able to convince the crew. She was the secretary, not a dictator. And, to be honest, she didn't think that half-baked plan would even get her vote.