A/N: Just a quick note for my readers: in the following chapter, I refer to a sea ship and her crew that is used by the Holy Order, as well as a small secluded town in the Scottish Highlands. Neither of these, nor the people I include (the captain of the ship) are real. I made them up strictly for the purposes of the next chapter and those to follow. What can I say? I'm too lazy to find a real secluded town that existed in the 1800's in Scotland, or the name of the ship that was seen for about two seconds on the film. =) Hee, hee. Welp! Enjoy!
╔╪Van Helsing 2 :: Shades of Gray╪╗
by: Ayame
╓Chapter Four╖
┌Winds Foreboding┐
The wind had picked up from a light breeze and turned into a shady gust, casting the cool air over the starboard side of the vessel. Gabriel stood on the quarter deck, gloved hands resting on the dark oak rail. He watched the patterns being traced into the murky ocean currents by the rudder, as the sea craft passed through, and dissipate against the waves. The evening was cool, as was to be expected on an ocean voyage: cool and calming. While the sounds of the surf washed over him, behind he could detect the reverberation of human existence, be it organic or inanimate. The soft creaking of the ships wheel as it tilted softly from one side to the next reminded him that he was currently the only member of the vessel on the quarter deck. On the main deck, sailors could be heard tending to the shrouds as well as the sails of the main and fore masts. The resounding groan as the main sail's boom and gaff, as they were prompted into an angle to allow the sail to best catch the wind, did little to compete with the echoing ocean waves and the hum of speech. Above the ocean currents and the creaking of the ship, the voices, shouts, and whispers of the crew rose and fell: the captain gave his orders and the sailors complied, argued, or conversed. But beyond that, the singular voice that stood out to him belonged to none other than his consort. Carl's animated tone rose above the others as he was in his raconteur mode, no doubt entertaining his new apprentice, Albert - as well as any listening sailors - with his heroic exploits. Gabriel couldn't help but smile as he cast his gaze in the direction of the main deck.
The tawny haired inventor spoke as he gestured with his arms, attention on him like that of a story-teller weaving fables of mystery and intrigue to appease the interested spirits of his viewers. Wearing his simple brown robes, which marked his status as a friar, the thin, wiry man made prodigious, but very precise, hand movements as he told his tale and wound his way around the hatch on the deck – a very lively sight, indeed. Locks of unruly blond hair falling in disarray from the rest of his stylish cut, the young man held up a lantern, balancing himself against the sway of the ship that rocked with the ocean waves. His blue eyes lit up as he reenacted past events for the high time of the watchers and listeners. "And so, thinking that I was with Amelia, I continued down the corridor, a little worried at the heavy breathing and heavy footfalls she was producing: but not too much, not too much." He shook his head at the 'not too much' as thought to emphasize that he had been perfectly calm. Then he grinned. "When she growled, I thought about writing it off as a bad cold, but when I turned around to ask if she was alright, I was face to face with none other than a werewolf. Amelia actually stood a few yards behind it, white as a sheet, shaking her head frantically."
"What did you do, Brother Carl?" Albert spoke up in earnest. While both the monster hunter and the friar were young and robust – Gabriel being a far better candidate with the latter than Carl – the young brother-in-training now under Carl's wing was able to best them both with it came to juvenescence. He had a face that was quite youthful with smooth, fair skin. His hair was cleanly cut short to the nape of the neck, but still managed to sport a small cowlick which refused to go away no matter the brushing. Oddly enough, the hairstyle fit nicely for the apprentice friar and it, along with his looks, made his age apparent. He was probably the youngest person aboard this ship, thus his inquisitiveness and curiousness was refreshing. He certainly had the boyish enthusiasm down. Straight ebony hair falling like fine wisps of silk across his forehead, his dark brown eyes focused on Carl who currently held the attention of many mariners as well – those sitting with Albert as well as those who were still busy with their chores. With a small smile, glad to be traveling with Carl and Van Helsing, he tucked either hand in the opposite sleeve of his gray robes. Carl grinned and continued.
"Well, we had left the ballroom, you see, on our way to see Van Helsing who had been busy somewhere in the manor, probably starting up trouble. Van Helsing is good at that, as you all know. And I constantly have to get him out of those jams." Carl paused as snickers and small chuckles dispersed lightly across the crowd before continuing. "Amelia had found information concerning her father's disappearance. So, when I saw the werewolf, being the calm, patient person I am, I simply said that, although I was quite flattered for the attention, my dance card was full and I didn't think I'd be returning to the ballroom anytime soon."
Although the humor was partially lost on Albert, the crew members careened into grand bouts of laughter. It was no secret that Carl often shied away from the face of danger and, even though it might have been very likely that his words to the werewolf were true, he by no means had been calm, cool, and confident about it. And the crew knew it. As some of them continued on with their work, hoisting and releasing the sails, moving past Carl to get through the hatch and check on securing any goods in the hold, other members of the crew who had no immediate tasks to go through, stayed leaning against barrels, the masts, or the railing, listening, or waving off Carl's brave antics with a dismissive gesture.
The crew of the A.S. Finder manned a ship that was used specifically for the Knights of the Holy Order. The brotherhood of Order, the hunters and hallowed meant to do God's work by physical means, had access to the sea craft when travel by land would not get them efficiently to their destinations. Disguised as a merchant ship, Lady Finder – as the vessel was often called by captain and deck hands – took on voyages which were hardly ever questioned via a suspicious nature; the men aboard were always able to transport various items that a trade ship would be expected to present upon docking at any harbor. The crew was a worthy sort, being part of Lady Finder's expeditions for the past few decades. Changes in the fleet were seldom discussed, much less endorsed, so those who were currently aboard knew a great deal about Van Helsing and his exploits, as well as Carl, and many others who had been asked and scheduled to sail in the name of the Order.
As the churchman stood on the main deck, defending his honor and his pride from the sailors who knew him too well to let him even pretend to be cool and calculated, Van Helsing let his gaze drift out over the darkened sea once again, that small smile fading from his lips as he did so. He watched the waves fight against the chill wind, which had started to pick up, and the demanding push of the ship's rudder. As it had so many times before, his mind began to wander. There was something hypnotizing about the rock of the ocean vessel and the sway of the waves against the atmospheric currents. It made his thoughts tread to events of the past, as well as the future. They were heading for the British Isles – should actually be close to the foreign shores – and now that he was nearing them, he began to think about what he could possibly find there with the non-existing information he had. Although he was given orders to gather the details and send them in, he really had to wonder just what they expected him to find… or not find, for that matter. It had been their way of giving him a break, but Gabriel couldn't help feeling that he was going to stumble upon something. That sixth sense of his wouldn't let his mind be sated. Perhaps it was the ocean air that graced the early morning's black skies, but whatever the feeling was, he couldn't seem to shake it. Ever since he had set foot on British soil due to the Order's first request just over only a month ago, the sensation had settled into his bones, and he wasn't sure what would jar it out.
"The Lady of the Sea is agreein' with us this morning. Nice and smooth. We'll make it to Scotland well before noon." The voice of A.S. Finder's master drifted to Van Helsing's ears as the big burly man approached the rail and stood next to the hunter. Gabriel didn't start or even turn to look at the man as he drew near. Commodore Matthew Baldwin was a man in his mid-forties, with salt and pepper hair, and a green and black greatcoat so defined in its design and origin that he was recognized more by that, then anything else. He had been the commander of Lady Finder for over twenty years, working for the Order during all of its years of tasks, missions, and adventures. Now, he stood next to Van Helsing, taller than his passenger despite hunching over the railing in a relaxed posture. His forearms were slung casually over the banister, as he gazed over the surface of the sea, gloved hands clasping unceremoniously as he did so. The captain turned his dark brown eyes to Van Helsing and smiled pleasantly and spoke again, as though a question had been asked.
"Yes… we'll make good time." Looking over his shoulder at Carl, then back to Van Helsing, Captain Baldwin clapped the monster hunter on the shoulders before letting out a bellowing laugh. "But, once you get to shore, try not to make such a ruckus that we aren't invited back! We're merchants, after all. Good are needed, and we need to keep our reputation clean." With that, he straightened and left at the beckoning call of his first mate, to go about preparations for the rest of the day. Left in silence, Gabriel let out a long sigh, and continued observing the ocean. It didn't look all that agreeable to him, but then, he wasn't a sailor. He was only a passenger.
"Van Helsing!" Carl's voice quipped up beside him, in almost the same spot that Commodore Baldwin's had been in. "The chefs have just finished the preparations with the meals for the morning. Come on." He tugged at the sleeve of Gabriel's coat, like that of a beckoning child waiting for the parent to come along. Although the cooking was done in a small area beneath the forecastle deck, and even though it should have been enough hot meals to serve a crew of forty, plus a few passengers here and there, any signs via aroma that a meal was being cooked was washed away by the ocean currents and scents. Carl started away from the forecastle, heading toward the main deck, where some of the crew members were gathering, and those whom he had been telling his tale had yet to even leave. Albert was easily spotted in the fray of bodies, and Carl waved him over. Van Helsing stood on the forecastle for just a bit longer, eyes narrowing as he directed his gaze to the sea. Baldwin had said it was agreeable, and perhaps it was. But there was that something about the atmosphere, Gabriel could sense, that wasn't quite right. Looking back toward the main deck, he headed in that direction, unable to stop puzzling, if not silently, over the mood of foreboding that rose in the pre-dawn sky.
It was a lazy evening, the sun riding low in the sky, on the verge of setting, hanging just above the treetops. The ride through Lochaber, from the coast, and on into the northern part of Inverness-shire had taken the better part of the afternoon. When Lady Finder had docked well before the sun had reached it apex, the idea of traveling inward to the mainland had seemed like it would have been a breeze, but procuring the correct amount of horses for Van Helsing, Carl, and Albert had been a difficult task, and they had to travel to a few different cities in order to get what they sought. After having that settled, they had traveled the distance without too many stops, only proving the journey to be a long and difficult one: long, difficult, and exhausting. The small Scottish village rested a few hundred miles from the busy city of Inverness, which was named after its shire. Quite, secluded, and out of the way of many of the main roads, the town was north of Loch Mullardoch, and far to the east of the Locharron area. The welcome sign skirting the village beckoned travelers to enjoy their stay at Innis Ceannai, which gave the impression that there were, from time to time, visitors, but it didn't seem likely that many would have stumbled upon this place. As it were, for the six nights and days that Albert, Carl, and Van Helsing had ridden, it seemed only by sheer luck that they had come across the hamlet. Now, in the early evening hours, few denizens walked the dirt roads that led from one small area of their village to the next, and few came and went from the little pub, and to their homes, or vice-versa. Innis Ceannai was definitely not a place to boast tourist attractions. The buildings were small and squat, made mostly of rickety, unstable looking wood structures, the streets were unpaved, and there seemed to only be a handful of homes and buildings. But despite the ill construction of the buildings and the living area, the place seemed to be peaceable, and the inhabitants were very cheerful.
In the stables, located just inside the village area, Albert
tended to the horses, speaking softly to them as he groomed them. Unlike many
other livery stables, where the horses were cared for by stable-masters and
stable-boys for a set price, this one was self serve. The riders could let their
horses stay here for the time being, as long as they cared for them themselves.
When they had tethered up their equine charges, Albert had offered to stay
behind and make sure they were taken care of while Carl and Van Helsing sought
out lodging. Now, in his apprentice robes of light and dark grays, he went about
his business with a fluid hand, as though he were very used to the work of
tending horses, rather than the work that one would learn at monasteries.
"What do you think of these two, eh?" He spoke quietly as he
brushed out the mane of the mare that was his own horse. He glanced back at the
other two horses – Carl's a gelding, and Van Helsing's another mare – all three
of the Irish Draught breed. His mare was a chocolate brown color, with a white
diamond on the forehead, and white markings on each leg, just up to the knees.
Carl's horse was a solid brown color, with no distinguishing marks, just a shade
or two lighter than Albert's. Van Helsing's mare was completely gray, almost
black. Albert smiled at his mare, which he called Buttercup. He wasn't referring
to the other two horses when he spoke to his own, however. He referred to Van
Helsing and Carl.
He wasn't exactly sure what he thought of the two of them. So, he supposed that the opinion of his horse might tell him something. She only nickered and started to chew on the sleeve of his robes preventing him from brushing her any more. With a chuckle, he pulled his arm back, but her insistent chewing wouldn't allow for him to move back very far. Patting her on the head with his free hand, he gave a sigh. He knew he liked Carl well enough, and was glad that the Holy Order had given him the chance to learn from the inventor. Carl was quite jovial, and when he had the chance, he was very talkative, which really lent a bright feel to the otherwise drab and serious portions of the missions that Albert knew his pedagogue often went on. From what Albert could see, Carl was the perfect example of what a monastery would want its apprentices and students to imitate: good-willed, often trying to see the brighter side of things, humorous, a little mischievous, but not in any horrible way the could never be forgiven, and most of all, good-spirited and very kindhearted. Studying beneath Carl's tutelage would be something Albert would definitely not come to regret, he was sure. That was what he thought of the friar.
As for Van Helsing… he was an intriguing character. As Albert was leaving the years of childhood and moving into that of teen where he now rested, he had always heard stories and had been fascinated by Van Helsing. He was especially fascinated by the wanted posters that had come with the monster hunter. While his suspicions that Van Helsing worked for the underbelly of the Roman Catholic Church had been confirmed upon meeting the hunters just three weeks ago, it had done little to alter or influence his thoughts on the man. Truth be told, Van Helsing represented the rebel that every little boy wanted to be, the hero that they strove to be, and the mysterious and nefarious madcap adventurer that they would never admit to admiring. Albert found it an honor to be Carl's apprentice, as well as working with the demon hunter in the name of the Holy Order.
Buttercup had resigned nibbling on Albert's sleeve and had taken to slobbering in his dark hair. With a grimace, the young apprentice moved away from the mare, dismayed to have his hair sticking up from the saliva. He patted it back down, rather disgusted by the idea that there was horse drivel on his head, but his thoughts were diffused rather quickly by the shuffling of feet and the light sounds that he recognized as crying. A frown touching his features, he set down the grooming brush and moved outside of the stables. He found no one nearby, but his ears were still accompanied by the sounds of soft crying. Deciding to inspect the outside of the building, Albert left the stables and the nickering horses and moved around the northeastern end, where the road that led out of Innis Ceannai was located. Walking slowly down the path, he spotted a girl, no more than four years old, maybe five. Strawberry-blonde curls bobbed about her round face as she stopped walking and turned a slow circle, rubbing her eyes. The tears that slid down her cheeks didn't halt as she did, though. When she moved her hands from her eyes, she spotted Albert, looked rather startled, but didn't budge. He did, walking slowly, ignoring the dust being kicked up and clinging to the hem of his robes. Stopping about three feet from her, so as not to alarm her, he hunkered down and gave a reassuring smile, his dark brown eyes assessing her bright green ones.
"Are you lost?" he asked gently. He was pretty sure that her answer would prove the positive. She nodded and began to speak in a small, teary voice, one hand reaching up to rub her eyes again.
"I cand catch up wif my mommy and papa. Dey wen to da markee wif da big wagun an… buh I tink dey fowgaw me." Albert studied her for a moment as she struggled to piece together a viable and understandable sentence. Casting a quick glance over his shoulder he studied the lay of the land and the small town that rested upon it. When he, Van Helsing, and Carl had come to Innish Ceannai, he noted that there didn't seem to be an influx of good that could be purchased at the small village marketplace. So, doing some quick calculations, he figured that perhaps this young girl's parents were responsible for traveling the distance to bring goods back. Why they'd forget their daughter, though, was beyond him. She was in a commoner's little dress that fell past her knees, and on her feet were well worn slippers, that told tales of being used to walking- probably with her parents on the merchant journey. With big green eyes, reddish-blonde curls that bounced every time her head bobbed, and a spray of freckles across her button nose and round cheeks, she looked like a little doll, albeit, a sad little doll. Getting to his feet, he smiled reassuringly.
"You said they went down this road?" He pointed, as though the pathway away from the hamlet wasn't obvious. The plains of the highlands stretched on for a while, only showing a slight scatter of trees beginning to form into a thicket and a dense wildwood off along the horizon. The little girl nodded. "Well, why don't we see if we can catch up to them? I'm sure they thought you were with them, and once they realize they've left you behind, they'll head back this way. Why, I'll even bet they're on their way right now. Shall we go meet them on the road?" The child's teary-eyes expression broke into a happy grin. Holding out his hand, the tiny girl took it and the two started down the roadway: the friar's apprentice and the lost child. "By the way, young one, what is your name?"
"Brighid." quipped the young voice.
"Well, hello, Brighid. My name is Albert." he said with a smile.
The lazy evening sun had dipped just below the horizon by the time Albert and Brighid had reached the expanse of trees that rested along the highway. The sky had darkened from soft blue into an angry scarlet that hastened into a dark plum. Albert had yet to see any signs of the girl's parents, and though the child had been cheerful, only speaking sporadically during their walk, which was a relief from the tears he had witnessed earlier, he didn't see that there was any chance of finding them before the sky became black. Looking over his shoulder, back toward the tiny town of Innis Ceannai, which looked as nothing more than a minute shadow with the flickering of firelight torches against the twilight haze, Albert began to feel a sense of apprehension drift over him. What would he do if he could not find the girl's parents? Surely he couldn't take her along with him on the quests that Carl and Van Helsing were to go on. That would be completely unheard of. Not to mention, it would be rather dangerous. He was about to speak when a soft rustling crept from the trees to his left, catching his attention, and that of Brighid.
With a squeaking gasp, the little girl stopped, her cheerful disposition gone, and grabbed a handful of the robes that Albert wore, letting her gaze drift into the darkened weald. A crease forming across his brow, Albert tried to make out any figure in the opaque tenebrosity that had settled over the trees. Giving a light squeeze to the child's shoulder, he whispered, "Brighid, we should head back to the village and see if your parents are there looking for you now." He felt a slight nod, and with a smile, looked down at the little girl. But it was that motion that ended up being his downfall.
The instant his eyes left the forest grove, a sharp snapping of branches and rush of footsteps resounded from the timberland. Brighid screamed and jumped back as Albert instinctively moved in front of the little girl. Out of the corner of his eye, as he turned to face whatever beast it was that now rushed at them, he saw her fall hard as she tripped. But she was pliant, getting to her feet almost instantly, eyes wide, as she looked past Albert and toward the trees. The young apprentice didn't get a single look at what was doing the attacking as he was grabbed roughly, arms locked to his sides, and back to the person or creature, then knocked to the ground – only a blur of motion, and the impression of a man-sized figure. Brighid screamed again and started toward him, but stopped, obviously at a loss of what she should do… either that, or she was frozen by fear. Getting to his feet, he shouted for her to run several times, but when he was grabbed again by a binding force, he realized then that the little girl had nothing to be worried about. It wasn't her that they were after, oh no. It was him. But why…? the thought pulsed through his mind as he felt himself be pulled off the road and quickly into the lingering trees.
The view of the Highland fields broke into jagged images, as well as the scene of Brighid running back toward the village, as the branches of the trees around him obscured his vision. Swallowing hard, he kicked and fought, but his battle skills were limited, and his captor had ways of silencing and disabling his ineffective attempts. He felt a cool, damp cloth move roughly across his nose and mouth, a strange odor overtaking his senses strong enough to cause him to cough, rather violently. Breathing became more difficult, and his vision more skewed, though no longer by the fault of the trees and their protruding branches. The young apprentice struggled as best he could, but fighting was not his forte, and against the constant movement of this foe, not to mention overpowering strength, he found he could do little. By what he could tell, he was pulled further into the trees, as the roadway was no longer clear, and he couldn't see Brighid anymore, or hear her: just the sound of rushing in his ears. He only prayed that she'd made it into safety's arms. Still, as his energy drained, he struggled, but much to his dismay and to his memory, the struggle only ended in a quiet dark.