Something Fishy
Late that afternoon, the trio unexpectedly heard not one, but two pairs of footsteps crossing the floor above them. They tensed as the rug was flung back and the trap door opened, but the old man climbed first down the ladder, saw their faces and reassured them. The second man was a younger version of the first, his face lined and weathered from endless days on the sea. He stared closely at each in turn; they waited silently for him to speak first.
Surprisingly, it was in fairly good English, with a distinctly Scots accent. "An' what are ye doin' so far from home, then?"
Jared spoke up, putting on his own highland accent and giving the story they'd agreed on earlier – for at least the first part of their journey. "My wife's mam was from London," he began, indicating Jackie with a dip of his head, "before the bomb. They were away at the time, visitin' her husband's relatives up in Trondheim, so there they stayed. Now he's passed on, and she's comin' to live wi' us in Edinburgh."
"An' how did ye end up here, back o' beyond?"
"We were to be picked up on yon beach, but they ne'er made it." He shut his mouth on any further details, like a good underground railroad traveler.
The man's eyes narrowed further, smelling something fishy, and not just his clothes. But he couldn't find a reason to turn down such obvious foreigners, with such a patent need to stay out of the authorities' hands. Whoever they were, the sooner they were on their way, the better. "An' do ye have money to pay for the passage?"
"No, it was all ta'en by the others. But I can get more when we reach Scotland." Hopefully my sonic still works on this world's cash machines.
"If ye've no cash now, then ye must work the passage. I run a fishing boat out of Bergen, and can take ye to meet another out of Aberdeen halfway across. Will ye work the lines?"
As they had no choice, they couldn't refuse, so they each nodded. Then the fisherman's eyes picked out Jackie. "Ye'll never do for a linesman. Can ye cook? Ye can work in the galley."
"How long is the trip?"
"Depends on the fish. Could be five days. Could be two weeks. Can't turn west until the hold is full." He grinned suddenly at their dismay, though they tried to hide it. "We sail in two days. I'll come for ye tomorrow night."
^..^
The fish must have been running well, because Captain Thorsen turned west after only six days, his holds bulging with silvery cod and whitefish. Rose was too exhausted to care. Even with his usual crew of six, there was so much work to be done every minute that each of them got only six hours of sleep per night, and were running at full steam the rest of the day – including Jackie. Jared's gob miraculously shut after the first few hours; he was as glad as the two women to stagger across the makeshift gangplank over to the next boat, barely glancing at the icy, swirling waves inches below his feet.
Luckily, the holds of the Mairie Culloden were already full, and Captain Macrae immediately turned for Aberdeen. One look at his new passengers and he waved them below, grinning. A boy came running at his shout to show them a set of empty bunks; they fell into them and were asleep literally the moment their heads hit the pads – no pillows. They slept without moving for sixteen hours.
They woke in time to help with the offloading – nonchalantly walking right past the bored port inspectors – and casually climbed aboard the truck previously (quietly) identified by Captain Macrae. The driver got in a few minutes later, nodded silently at them, and drove off the docks. He took a detour on the way to the cannery, dropping them off at a noisy portside pub with a name: Ian.
Ian proved to be the bartender, and was also expecting them. He nodded them up the stairs to the boardinghouse above, with the key to number three. This came with two beds and a private bathroom, and for a few minutes, it looked like a serious battle was about to commence for the first privilege, but then Rose backed down and Jared deferred, so Jackie slipped into a heavenly hot bath, promising to be out in fifteen minutes. She took twenty, but they were still too exhausted to care.
Finally free of the stench of fish ("I may never eat fish and chips again!" Rose moaned, as the others nodded in sympathy), back into their own clothes (the ones they'd been living in nonstop since putting them on in the old man's cellar now piled in a filthy, stinking heap), the trio set to the hearty supper brought up by Ian an hour later with the best appetites they could ever remember having. Ian took away the pile of clothes, saying they'd be washed and returned to them the next day. Jared asked where a cash machine might be; there was one only two blocks away. He slipped out and was happy to find his sonic did indeed work on it; withdrawing an only slightly unreasonable amount, he gave a decent chunk of it to Ian both for his own trouble, and to send back to the two Captains.
To both women's undying gratitude, he also popped into the tiny shop that caught his eye on the way back, bringing in not one but four different kinds of skin lotion. "Oi! Save some for me!" he whinged as they fell to, holding out his rough, red, rope-burned and water-tortured hands in a transparent ploy for sympathy. It worked. Rose, tsking and aww-ing, slathered them with cool, vitamin-enriched lotion, and then dabbed his wind-and-sun-burned cheeks with facial over his (strictly pro forma) protests. He then brought out his other two prizes: a bottle of aspirin for their aching muscles, and an indulgent box of chocolates. They were hard pressed to decide which was more welcome.
Free now of the need to stay strictly hidden, though they were still cautious of the ubiquitous soldiery, Rose and Jared decided to go for a walk that evening, strolling hand-in-hand through the nearby streets and browsing shop windows. The city – that part of it, anyway – seemed subdued; some shops were empty, most windows less than full, and the people just a bit less than their usual openly friendly selves. Jared mused quietly that the long occupation had taken its toll on the people and the commerce, but not as badly as he'd been afraid of, out here on the fringes of the empire.
When they returned, Ian followed them up the stairs and slipped inside their room. "You're heading on to Edinburgh, yeah?"
"Actually," Jared hedged, glancing at the other two, "our final destination is Cornwall. However much help you give us we'd be grateful for, though."
"Cornwall, eh? Well, that puts a different light on it. I canna get ye past Edinburgh." He thought a moment, then nodded. "Let me see what I can do. Get a good night's sleep, but be ready to pull out tomorrow."
The following morning he served them breakfast, with three bus tickets to a small town on the moor half a day south. They were met at the tiny station by a man in a tweed jacket and matching hat, who, as arranged, greeted them with – just loud enough for the nearby official to overhear without having to be obvious about it – "Ye're down from the Aberdeen agency, then?"
They nodded, and he led them towards a large station car. "New help, then, Mr Reed?" asked the official.
Reed gave a snort. "Can't seem to keep 'em more than a fortnight any more. Hope this lot's got more stomach for it."
As they pulled out of the town and headed for the countryside, Reed turned and smiled. "Harald Reed. Ye're bound for Cornwall?"
Jared nodded, returning the smile, and gave their aliases. "Camille is comin' down to live with us, but we couldn't travel on the public routes."
Reed nodded. "Not many can. We see a fair bit o' traffic. I canna send ye the whole way, but I can send ye to the next station." He went on, telling them he was the butler at the nearby MacLaren Estate, whose laird turned a blind eye to the constant minor turnover in the hired help. "Ye'll not be needed to actually work; it so happens we're sending a large shipment of game birds down to the Glasgow packers tomorrow. It won't be a comfortable trip, but it'll get ye on your way. My contact at the packers will send ye on further." He chattered on a bit, telling them they'd no informers on the estate, but "best ye keep to your rooms tonight. I'll be putting you up in the carriage house, the old groomsmen's quarters. They're mostly unused these days, so you can keep out of everyone's way there. My wife is the housekeeper; she'll send some supper down, and I'll send a boy for ye in the morning."
They thanked him warmly, and quickly got out of the car when he paused by the carriage house, on the far side from the main house across the lawns, Jared pressing a couple of bills into his palm as he shook hands. Reed glanced at them and nodded appreciatively, then pointed to the inside. "Upstairs with ye, then, last doors on the left."
They scuttled inside the door, but as they were crossing to the stairs, Jared glanced out the windows on the far side and stopped cold, then crossed over to peer closer. "Rose... do you know where we are?"
Rose walked swiftly over to peer out the window beside him. He turned to leer at her, and she held up a hand to stop him saying it, pained amusement closing her eyes. "Just tell me it's not a full moon tonight, OK?" He cracked up at that, with Rose a beat behind, Jackie rolling her eyes at their misplaced levity.
Through the windows could be seen the unmistakable silhouette of what, in another world, had been called Torchwood Manor.