Captcha prompt: naiades 1977
I keep getting captchas with 1977 in them! And water. Oh well, here's the Roche incident from Grice's POV.
Grice crossed the river on the way home. It was a long walk across the bridge, but better than the ferry. He hated the wait, and he hated being so close to the water. The water could reach him on the ferry and he didn't trust it. He trusted solid things, like knives and cleavers, and flesh and blood things that could be made to obey, like dogs and little girls.
Water wasn't like that. Couldn't be gripped or controlled, beaten into submission, or cut into pieces too small to be a threat. Even on the bridge, he could see the water twining below. It was always moving, never just sat there like a natural part of the landscape, always twisting and twitching, reflecting light of some parts and nothing but black depths in others.
It was easy to imagine shapes moving in it. Sharks, squids, ghosts of all the drowned, undulating under the surface like mating snakes. Even when he tried not to look, the corner of his eye would catch the light on the ripples and the surface of the river would look like a mass of limbs, like an orgy of sirens and water nymphs waiting their chance to get him.
The river couldn't be kept still, or quiet, or removed when he couldn't stand the sight anymore. The waters weren't afraid of him, wouldn't obey. They were stronger and he hated them for that, especially on the nights before he did it, when he thought maybe it would be better to give up and just jump. He never did though, and afterwards laughed at himself for being so dramatic. He was always calmer afterwards.
What did he have to worry about after all? The deed was done, the mess was clean, and once he was back on solid ground, he didn't have a care in the world. Even when his dogs didn't bark to greet him, his good mood didn't falter.
