Fortnightly Writing Competition -SERIAL (Results)

[JudasFm]

R&R - Part Two

I sat at my desk and felt sick.  I'd tried writing lyrics for our next song to take my mind off that damn failed mission, but it was two am and I hadn't been able to come up with anything.

My door beeped and I looked over my shoulder as Ken'ichi Sawada, navigator on the Nemesis came in. He didn't have to knock; the bridge crew have open access to every room on the ship, including the crew's.

I knew what he was there for.  Maybe that was why I hadn't bothered going to bed.

"The answer's no," I said before he could speak.

"You haven't heard the question."

"You want me to go back alone and rescue your sister.  Break into a labor camp, in fact, only this time I'll be doing it without backup, without a weapon and very possibly without any kind of escape route.  Ken, we only just got away." My protest wasn't just based on that; I did not want to end up in a labor camp myself and I knew damn well that was what would happen if I was caught.  "What's Cy going to say?"

"Don't worry about that; I spoke to him before coming."

I folded my arms.  "Uh huh.  And what did you say?  If you said Cy, I'm going to break into Neil's room at two in the morning to beg him to sneak out on some suicide mission then maybe we can keep talking.  If you just called him on the radio to say Goodnight, then this conversation is over."

Ken'ichi sighed.  "For god's sake, Neil, relax.  He knows all about it."

"Right.  Fine.  So you won't mind if I call him to confirm that."

I reached for my headset but Ken'ichi got there first, knocking my hand away.  "No!"

I sat back down again.  "So he doesn't know.  You want me to go behind his back, presumably steal a ship, take an unauthorized trip down to Mercury to break into a labor camp in the hopes of rescuing two crew members who might not even be there anymore!"

"Cy will never give permission for a raiding party to go into the labor camps themselves."

"No, because he doesn't have cat shit for brains.  In case you'd forgotten, I'm the lead singer for the Mavericks. My face is plastered on just about every wall that belongs to a female crew member." This wasn't quite true â€" my bandmate Jarvis and I were about neck and neck in the Poster-On-Wall stakes â€" but it was true enough to give Ken'ichi a little pause.  "There's no way Tomoko won't recognize me and if she gives the game away…" I shook my head.  "I'm sorry.  It's one thing to raid a road crew, but going right into the heart of their operation…I'd be lucky to even survive that."

"This isn't a raid, Neil.  It's more...you could think of it as active espionage."

"I think of it as complete insanity.  Ken, I'm sorry about Tomoko, I really am so sorry, believe me, but getting me killed and/or locked up won't help her.  You know that, don't you?"

"I'm not talking about you breaking in.  They…" Ken'ichi swallowed hard.  "They, sometimes...people go and pay…" he shook his head, lips so tight they'd all but disappeared.

I stared at him, shocked to the heart.  "You want me to pretend I'm some sick, perverted asshole who gets his kicks from raping twelve year old girls?  Even if I go in and even if they let me and even if they agree to bring Tomoko, what's going to happen when she turns up, sees me and reacts?"

"You could request she be unconscious."  When I didn't do anything except keep staring, Ken'ichi shrugged.  "Some people like that sort of thing."

"And you know that how?" I demanded.

He shrugged again.  "I talked to Vern before coming up to you."

"And Vern knows that how?"

"He's made something of a study of labor camps. I don't know why or where he gets even half his information from, but so far it's been accurate.  You know Cy and Aiko rely on him when it comes to planning raids.  He came up with a plan and I think it might work, but I need your help.  I can't go down there myself; if they do a DNA test on the gate and find out Tomoko and I are related, I'll never get near her.  Neil, she's my sister."

I was silent.  Isolated as we were on the Nemesis, forbidden from making planetfall anywhere, family bonds were the closest thing we had to sacred.  For many of us, a brother or a sister were all that remained of our family, and the rest of us didn't even have that.

"Tell me your plan, then," I said at last, very quietly.  "Goddamn you."

-

AN: I have a question: how soon after one instalment are we allowed to post the next? Only this is shaping up to be a little longer than I thought and I really want to finish it before the deadline

[Haggis]

DEEP SEA DANGER
Episode 59 â€" The Eye of the Storm

Despite having the aesthetic appearance of an angry hemorrhoid protruding from the water's surface, the Iron Turtle was a fairly nimble submersible. This was especially true when it came to submerging, predominantly due to the preciseness with which it mimicked a lump of metal tossed into a pool of water. Which, in effect, it was.

Within minutes the Iron Turtle had descended to the site of the Scuttling Scotsman. Baron Vaisteland folded away the periscope and eagerly pressed his pointed nose up against the porthole, watching as his own crew of deep sea divers converged on the wreck.

“I found it!” he babbled with excitement, hopping in the air. “With this discovery, I will finally be able to take my rightful place as the greatest treasure hunter of them all! No longer will I be a mere foot-note in the annals of history to all those other overhyped charlatans. People will write about me, people will write about Baron Vaistlande! No more Ethan B. Rake! Bah! Fake! Laura Kraft? Boo! Phony! Ohio Smith. Sell out! Frau… wait, I actually quite like him!” The Baron giddily rambled to himself, playing all the roles with a childish gusto. The two henchman piloting the craft glanced at each other, a clear look of this-isn't-what-I-signed-up-for etched on their nervous faces.

“But of course,” the Baron spat out “last and by full means least, the shameful stain on our profession, that sultry diving vixen, ‘Deep Sea' Doris.” He shaped each word of her name with a mixture of contempt and lust. Allowing a pause, he wiped a mock tear from his eye.

“Sadly she's one rival I won't have to worry about anymo â€" what in the blazes is going on down there?!”

The Scuttling Scotsman lit up ahead of them. Flashes of ice-blue light throbbed from deep within the rotting timber, giving the effect of a lightning storm viewed through thick low lying cloud.

The thunder followed.

A massive pulse of energy resonated from the wreck, as though the ship had taken a deep breath then exhaled with incredible force. A visible ripple of silt surged outward from the vessel across the ocean floor. As it rumbled by the Baron's divers they were thrown from their footing, scattered listlessly like a set of underwater skittles.

The Iron Turtle lurched violently as the turbulent wave of energy punched through the water around it. The Baron was sent sprawling across the floor of the sub, his face a portrait of open-mouthed shock. His dignity dented he pulled himself back to his feet, eye-balling his pilots with a look that indicated if they told anyone about this they'd be jettisoned quicker than a meat pie at a vegetarian dinner party.

Then the ocean was calm again.

The eye of the storm.

The Scuttling Scotsman exploded in an inky black eruption of ancient timber. From the darkness soared the fearsome tarantopus, its tentacles billowing and thrusting as it propelled itself forward with primitive intent, an inky black jet-stream trailing in its wake. Straddled atop it was Doris. Her suit gone, she was now a vision of supple flesh, understated muscle and flowing raven hair. Her modesty covered by a scarcely-there shell and seaweed combination. Her expression was one of stone-faced purpose, her eyes two pools of ice blue light that pierced through the darkness of the depths. With her left hand she guided the flight of the tarantopus. Her right was held aloft over her head. Within it she bore the trident.

A modern day Neptune*. Goddess of the sea.


*Post-op of course.


JOIN US TOMORROW FOR THE FINAL EPISODE OF DEEP SEA DANGER!

[Ponch]

AN: I have a question: how soon after one instalment are we allowed to post the next? Only this is shaping up to be a little longer than I thought and I really want to finish it before the deadline

I'm not the guy running this contest, of course, but I'd guess once every 24 hours would be acceptable? Maybe once every 12 hours if you're really trying to get paid by the word? I'm doing one installment every two days, but that's because I'm old and I need frequent naps.

[Haggis]

I wouldn't advise anything more frequent than 24 hours - not because I think it's against the rules, because it's burnt me out, my creative juices are spent!! If you have the stamina, go for it! You could do hourly mission reports - an update on the status of the rescue mission every hour starting at midnight tonight... running through to competition end!! AMAZING! I look forward to it

[Sinitrena]

Chapter 3: Master Simmons

“I swear to god I will find her murderer!”

I was sure he didn't think straight. Otherwise, he would know better than to basically tell everyone that he was in love with the girl. I was not even sure why he thought it was a good idea to return to the manor and talk to the master. But Doctor Whyte had returned and was now stomping up and down the dining room.

“I swear to god, sir, this monster will not stay free and alive for long!”

Master Simmons sat on one of the hard chairs. His back was straight but his head had sunken to his chest. His usually well-kept hair hung half over his swollen eyes. His rheumatism had flared up this morning and it was difficult for him to move. His legs were stiff and tired and his hands shook, unsteady. He had considered sending for the doctor this morning but ultimately decided against it.

The doctor had come anyway but he didn't care about the old widower's condition.

“Sir, I promise...” He began again, saying the same thing over and over again.

The old man finally lifted his head and stared at the other one. “What could you promise me? Why would you promise anything?” Even though his eyes showed obvious signs of his grief, they now stared cold and hard at the doctor, piercing his self-importance like a knife cutting through the flesh of a virgin.

“Sir, I now you are probably not aware and this is not the right moment...”

“I know!” He leaped up. Even the weak muscles of the old master were enough to throw the heavy chair back so that it tumbled down and crashed on the parquet. Unsteady on his old legs, he braced himself against the oak of the tabletop.

I rushed over to put the chair upright again.

“I know!” Master Simmons repeated, slightly out of breath. “Do you seriously think I hadn't noticed? Do you think I didn't notice the looks you threw at her? Do you think I don't know how you stared at her whenever she passed you in the hall? How you took longer every time you examined her? How you suggested more and more treatments she probably didn't need?”

“Sir, I...”

“Do not interrupt me! Don't you dare interrupt me!”

“I never...”

“Oh, I didn't notice it at the time, maybe. But then I came to think about it. You swear to avenge her? How could I know you didn't kill her?”

“Sir...” The doctor didn't finish his sentence. Instead he sank down on one of the chairs â€" interestingly enough the one Laura usually sat on â€" and buried his head in his hands.

Master Simmons advanced slowly on the doctor, one hand pressed against the tabletop, the other searching through one of the inner pockets of his jacket. I steadied him and he didn't even spare a look for me.

He pulled a letter from his pocket.

Damn

“Do you know what got me thinking about you?” He hesitated a moment but he didn't really expect an answer. “I found this.” He shook the letter open. “I found this letter in Laura's room. Do you know what this is?”

Doctor Whyte looked up and shook his head slightly.

“Of course not. It is not signed but I recognise the penmanship. I received a letter with the same handwriting just yesterday.”

“Sir, I swear I didn't write to you yesterday and I didn't write to Miss Laura, I...”

“Spare me your excuses. And don't bother fighting me. I've send for the inspector as soon as you were announced!”

No. No no no no no.

As if on cue, the butler announced the arrival of Inspector Lively and two gendarmes.

The inspector looked at the letter for just a moment when Master Simmons demanded it, then he said: “Doctor Warwick Whyte, I am terribly sorry, but this is rather damning evidence. You will have to accompany us.”

No. No no no. I didn't know. When I wrote this letter, I didn't know. No no no no no. What shall I do? No no no. I'm sorry, I didn't know. It was planned so well. I thought of everything. I didn't know. Why didn't she tell me sooner? I didn't know then that I would need his teeth. Why didn't she tell me sooner? I should have burned the second letter as soon as she did. I should have...

I felt the panic in my lungs. My breathes were too shallow. I had to go, to leave. They didn't pay me any heed. I slipped out of the room.

The blanket is thin. The ceiling of the room is slanted and hangs low. Blood drips from the tip of the knife. No, no, no, that can't be. It is dry. The blood is dry. It should be dry. My dress lays on the bed. There are cuts in it. Why are there cuts in it? Why are the buttons loose? Why is there blood on the corselet? It is dripping down. Down, down, always down. Drip. Drip. Drip. I watch it trickle down the blade. Down and down. My forearm hurts. And blood drips. It leaves points and splashes on the apron. I laugh. Why do I laugh? Why do I need the knife right now? The doctor is out of my reach. But Aphrodite wants him. But she is blind. She demands but doesn't see. I can't. No god ever sees. The powerful close their eyes. And the blood drips down and Aphrodite demands her dress and the buttons of my dress cannot be good enough. But she demanded. She demands. My blood. This is my blood. It hurts. It hurts it hurts it hurts. Her voice is so loud. It hurts. The knife, I need it still, I...

[Haggis]

This is what Downton Abbey should have been! MURDEEEER! I love it! But does this mean we'e reached the end! :O Or will the Doctor be getting a cell visit from a stabbed up amateur dentist?!

[Sinitrena]

This is what Downton Abbey should have been! MURDEEEER! I love it! But does this mean we'e reached the end! :O Or will the Doctor be getting a cell visit from a stabbed up amateur dentist?!

No, it's not the (intended) end, but I don't know if I'll have time before the dedline to write more. Sooo, maybe.

[Baron]

24 more hours, peeps.  I think all of our contributors have established the serial feel, so for the sake of closure I'll remove any posting limits (time/words) if you feel compelled to wrap things up.  If you need a short extension to make this happen, let me know in the next 24.  Otherwise, we will soon be voting!

[Ponch]

Thanks, Baron. I needed a few extra words, to be honest. I was in the process of sharpening the editing scissors for tomorrow's posting.

[Baron]

Well then, let the process of blunting the editing scissors begin!

[Haggis]

DEEP SEA DANGER
Episode 60 â€" Deep Sea Deity

The metallic pinging of mast rigging flapping in the breeze chimed the descent of the evening sun. It was still incredibly hot for this time of day. Certainly too hot to be working his brain muscle this hard thought Larry. Especially given he'd only regained consciousness thirty minutes ago.

“So, let me get this straight.”

Larry's brow was ruffled with confusion as he lounged on the deck of the Golden Bilge.

“You expect me to believe that, right now, I'm sat here sharing a beer with - ” He perched up on his elbow and leaned in towards Doris who was lying next to him, his voice dropped to a hush.

“A bona-fide Goddess?” His stubbled jaw hung open in disbelief while his eyebrows twisted into right angles above his ever squinting eyes.

Doris continued to stare at the sky.

“Yes,” she replied after a long pause.

Larry spread himself back out on the deck, his rolls of flesh melting outward like a stick of butter left out in the heat for just a little too long.

“Well.” He said thoughtfully. “Wait until I tell the boys down at MacGrory's* about this!”

Doris laughed. She didn't mind if Larry believed her or not. He was a salt of the earth and always worth having along for the ride.

“What I find hard to believe, D,” continued Larry, “is that you actually punched a tarantopus in the face! A tarantopus! I mean, come on, what do you take me for?!”

As if to answer his own question, he guzzled down the rest of his beer before cracking open another bottle with his teeth.

“You mean Curly?” replied Doris, fondly remembering her eight limbed underwater stallion. “It turned out he wasn't that tough. In all honesty, I think he was just a little bit lonely.”

And definitely on heat she thought to herself. It had certainly been an eye opener, watching Curly mount the Iron Turtle and subject it to what could only be described as a passionate act of love. She smiled as she recalled the look of absolute horror on the Baron's face as he witnessed the monster aggressively going to town on his ‘attractive' submersible.

“So where's that bastard Baron now then?” asked Larry, almost reading her mind.

“I decided he and Curly needed some alone time together” chuckled Doris, “if I'm in a good mood tomorrow I might go and collect him, spare him any further tentacled advances. Fancy a whiskey?”

The speed of Larry's drinking suggested he was recovering well. He chugged back his bottle, giving it one last shake over his outstretched tongue to avoid wastage.

“Does a sea sponge shit in the sea?”**

Doris descended below deck, into the cramped confines of the Golden Bilge's living quarters. Making sure Larry was preoccupied, which he almost always was, she unlocked the padlock on her wardrobe and stood admiring her latest treasure.*** Neptune's trident glowed as supernatural power coursed through its body, a power Doris was now connected to. She thought of Hamish McStaven. He had abused the trust of the gods, using the power of the trident for his own immoral desires. Ultimately he had paid for it with his life, for what the sea giveth, the sea can taketh away. Locking the trident safely away again, she grabbed a bottle and headed back to the deck.

“There's a chap here to see you,” advised Larry as she tossed him the bottle.

Doris jumped down onto the pier where a young man was waiting.

“Miss Doris, my boss sent me to collect you.”

Well it was about time, thought Doris.

“Larry, I hate to leave you at short notice but I've got an unmissable appointment,” she shouted in the direction of the Golden Bilge, already making her way along the pier to the waiting vehicle. “Don't wait up.”

Pierre and his ‘middleman' better be ready, this goddess still had needs!

Settling back onto the deck, Larry gazed out over the ocean. The sun was now half submerged behind the horizon. Was Doris really a goddess, he pondered? Swiftly he concluded that he must be sobering up. Grabbing his bottle, Larry contemplated the night's agenda. Like every night, this would be one to remember!****


*Most of the patrons of MacGrory's already worshipped Doris like a deity, but then those old fools were a sucker for a woman who could knock them out, and not with her looks.
**This was actually a heavily contested debate within the scientific community but, the way Larry saw it, anything that went in, had to somehow come out.
***The need for Doris to padlock her wardrobe originated from Larry's belief that skimpy lingerie benefited the curves of his body. “It just holds everything together,” he'd protested to Doris upon discovery, giving her an unwanted demonstration.
***Within two hours Larry would be unconscious again, having lost a heated argument with a coconut.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

This serialization was taken from the novel ‘Angel of the Deep' â€" an approximately factual third person account of the real life adventures of deep sea diver Doris Von Girdleshaft.

Note from the author â€" “For those who have questioned the accuracy of the novel, let it be known that I consulted with leading medical, underwater and mythology experts across the country in this particular area of expertise in order to verify the facts behind the wonderful life of Doris. Following this unofficial research I can confirm that a massive 54% of those we actually asked were in general agreement that there was a remote chance that the validity of the tales retold in the novel could, give or take a few [major] editorial adjustments, be considered theoretically sound and almost plausible. That certainly puts those arguments to bed.”

Join us next week when we begin our serialization of the next chapter of this almost best-selling novel â€" Revenge of Baron Tarantopus: The Dangers of Deep Sea Splicing
[Excerpt: The Baron laughed maniacally, adjusting the monocle with his tentacle. Unintentionally he released a cloud of brown and yellow ink. “Urgh,” he sighed quietly, “I really need to see someone about that.”]

[Stupot]

I'm out. Haven't got time to do another entry and the first was shite anyway. There's some good stuff here though. Well done folks.

[Sinitrena]

Chapter 4: Aphrodite

I retraced the steps Laura had taken just two days ago. The sun didn't shine on my path. It didn't reflect in the basin of the fountain. Only the moon stood low in the sky. Silvery beams glittered on ripples in the water.

Here, Laura had caught the light and read her book. Here, I had watched her last happy moments in life.

I let my hands glide through the water. I caught the light and it vanished through my fingers. A shiver ran down my spine. It was cold at night. The light sun of spring wasn't hot enough yet to warm the park throughout the night. I only wore a thin nightgown and a thinner cape to keep me warm. One of my two dresses was destroyed. I couldn't risk the second one, not right now.

I followed the same gravel path Laura had taken besides the violas and underneath the roses.

Heroes and gods stared down at me with blind and cold eyes. They looked but did not see. They never opened their eyes for me. They never talked. I had to reach the middle of the maze. There, Aphrodite was waiting for me. Aphrodite had called me. She looked at me. She talked. She would help.

The air was chilling between the high walls of hedges. There were whispers in the darkness. The wind blew leaves through the pathways. It hadn't rained in the last few days but there was humidity in the air and little drops of water on the plants.

Aphrodite's base was damp as well. No-one had dared yet to return to the goddess and wash the blood from the statue and no rain had done it for them either. It was dry now, only glistering because dew at amassed on it. It saturated the naked feet of Aphrodite, a sacrifice for her beauty.

But the goddess did not care about the person that had died at her feet. Impassive, she looked up to the sky or into the hand mirror she held high over her head. Long locks fell down her arched back and buttocks. Her legs were crossed and the swan's neck entwined them both. The head, the beak strained high, lay in her lap and the left hand of the goddess stroked it gently.

She was pale, paler even in the moonlight. Unlike the other statues in the garden, her body was made from a slightly yellow marble. The veins in her flesh, blue and grey, were more pronounced than those of her brothers in the alley.

When I came closer, Aphrodite's stiff form became softer and her cold disposition warmer. Her arm moved slowly down from the sky and she deigned to lower her head to me. Her cold, empty eyes looked into my face. I trembled.

“Mistress...,” I whispered.

She didn't move further, not even when she spoke. Her mouth stayed closed in a thin, disapproving line. But her voice was loud in my head, louder still than when I heard her in my room, demanding the teeth of the doctor for her dress.

“Mistress, I'm sorry...”

She knew this, of course. She knew of my plan and I thought she approved of it. But now she demanded a new plan. She had chosen me to sew her dress. There was nothing else to do but obey.

“I can wait,” I suggested, “wait until they hang him, take the teeth from his corpse...”

She didn't approve. The scream was loud in my mind, splitting my head in a thousand pieces.

“No, no, Mistress, you waited too long already. I waited too long after the old widow, I know. But it was Laura and...”

Again the scream, louder still. It hurt, it hurt so much. Please stop, please...

“There're other ways, maybe. I just... I... I just need to get him out of prison, prove that he didn't do it...”

That seemed to appease the goddess and a small smile spread across her lips.

[Haggis]

Stupot - You can't leave us dangling like this! There's a missing child out there! I thought your first entry was great, the intro was awesome and it finished on a nice cliffhanger.

Sinitrena - Yay! I can't wait to find out if Aphrodite will get her buttons?!

[Ponch]

Whew! Time to let my poor pulper have a good rest. I haven't pulped like that since I was young and optimistic and hopeful and stuff!
Also, word count on this last installment? 1,087. Thanks for the extra wiggle room, Baron.

“The Door At The Bottom Of The Ocean” (Part 7)
A Dry Rain

Doctor Lillian Price had been forced to cobble together an outfit from contents of her recovered luggage, the contents of which had been largely ripped to shreds. She was wearing sensible pants, but her fancy flat shoes were more suited to a day at the library. They provided no traction on slippery wood. The stairs leading down into the darkened interior of the ruined yacht were wet with seawater and old blood. She'd almost fallen headlong into the blackness as soon as she placed her foot on the first step. I'd told her to stay above deck while I checked out the interior with my gun and the flashlight I'd taken from the emergency locker of the floatplane bobbing forlornly out in the middle of the inky, murky waters of the sunken volcanic ring of PÃ,,“ Niho. I'd gotten no argument out of her as I descended into the foul-smelling gloom alone.

What I saw down there can't be related, not in any way that would convey the true horror of it. There were no bodies, but draped here and there, across the stove in the galley, over the furniture in the bunkroom, hanging from light fixtures in the hold, I'd seen the haphazardly spilled contents of the missing bodies: precious organs and other assorted pieces, scattered by unfathomable violence, thrown around carelessly, drying and curing in the open air, shown in the yellow beam of the flashlight.

“Did you find anything?” she asked as I staggered up from the lower deck and out into the sunlight and the cool air.

I coughed, pressed my knuckles against my mouth, and choked back vomit. I'd searched every room down there. The crew of this ship was gone. Mostly gone, I mean. Parts of them had been left behind. I clutched the grab rail. The world was spinning slowly around me and I blinked it back into focus.

“Nope,” I wheezed, spitting over the transom and into the sea, trying to get the taste of that stench out of my mouth. “Nobody here but us. They're dead. But… there's no bodies, Lillian. What in the hell happened here? Headhunters? I've never heard of anything like this before. Not even from those nuts over in Borneo. And those freaks are headhunters.”

She exhaled heavily, shuddering. She rubbed her temple, trying to focus. “Let's check the wheelhouse. Maybe there are maps. Or a logbook. Something.”

I bristled. “Let's just get to the damn plane and get back in the air.”

“We have to look, Tommy!” she implored. “We have to!”

I spat over the side again and led the way forward to the boxy structure that was the ship's compact bridge.

The door to the wheelhouse was thick, strong enough to stand up to typhoon winds. It was open, buckled and twisted, hanging from one bent hinge. I tried to imagine the force it would take to batter that door down. A bigger man than me could've thrown his full weight at that thing, running full tilt when he did so, and it wouldn't have budged an inch. There were claw marks here too, like I'd seen all over the rest of the ship.

I went inside first. I didn't want to, but what choice did I have?

This boat wasn't going anywhere; that was obvious. The controls were smashed. The instruments bludgeoned and shredded, smashed into scrap by the same hideous strength that had stove in the door. There was blood too, of course, two great sprays of it, one along the starboard wall, the other across the bridge window, dried and flaking, rusty red-brown. There were no bodies here either. Whatever had done this had carried them off. I suddenly felt very sorry for the witchdoctor I'd had a hand in marooning here a year ago.

Lillian squeezed around me, doing her best not to see the blood. She knelt down on the floor and began feeling around the planks, slender fingers sliding around in the foul slime.

“Bín'dii át'é,” I whispered, forgetting my English for a moment, urging her to leave the mess alone the language of my childhood. “Yówheh!”

She looked up, perplexed. “What did you say?”

“Let's go, Lillian. This place is bad.”

She returned to her search, dismissing me with a contemptuous glare. “I didn't come all this way to leave empty-handed.”

“Your father is dead,” I said firmly, on the verge of dragging her to the plane if I had to.

“Here!” she exclaimed suddenly. “It's here! I need something to pry with. Do you have a knife?”

I handed her my pocketknife. She unfolded the blade and began to pry at the edge of a plank. She worked the edge up, revealing a hidden compartment. Inside was an oilskin packet, tightly wrapped and waterproof. She opened it, pulled out a small, leather bound book and a neatly folded piece of thickish vellum. She wiped her hands on a rag and unfolded the page, revealing a charcoal rubbing. Most of it was old and slightly smudged, but one corner was new. I couldn't guess the meaning of the strange symbols that had been captured on that page, but I'd seen them on the shore outside.

She flipped through the diary, reading softly, translating the weird, crabbed cipher.

“‘The dry rain fell from the black stars, searingly cold and invisible,'” she mumbled, her green eyes scanning the paper vertically, decoding it column by column. “‘The flesh it touched rotted and blackened, soaked with a bloating foulness. The bearers screamed and died. The roof above was not proof against it; only the shadows cast by the strange candles wedged into the cracks of the glyphed pillars could protect us. We dared not move and stood safe in the darkness the flames made. Damp pools formed above the withering grass, glowing and rippling…'” She nodded. “A portion of Gruenwald's record. The right part of it. This is it. We need to go. Help me set fire to boat and then take me back to Toru Marama.”

It sounded like a damn good idea to me, but I had to ask the obvious. “Burn it? All of it?”

“Yes. Torch it. Sink it. We have to leave. Now.”

“What about your dad?”

“He was never my dad.”

Cold wind slammed into my back. I turned towards the transom.

The Iver Johnson had four bullets in the cylinder. I put every one of them into the inhuman face of the slimy, scaly thing climbing over the rear of the boat, reaching for me with long, glistening, webbed fingers.

[Sinitrena]

Chapter 5: Ethel Bridges

“Please, please do come in, Miss...?” the jovial inspector said and offered me a chair in his office.

“Bridges,” I said haltingly, “E... Ethel Bridges.”

“Miss Bridges. What can I do for you?”

The small office of the police station was clustered with all kinds of random knick-knack. On the table stood a single ink pot and the penknife as well as at least seven feathers lay scattered all over the tabletop. Underneath were files and single pieces of paper that seemed to have at least some spots of ink on them. Behind the desk stood a bookshelf that contained more files, interspersed by small wooden figurines of animals, mostly dogs and cats. On the wall hung a painting of a beautiful young woman next to an old dagger and pair of duel pistols. The case they belonged in lay on the shelf.

Delicately, I sat down on the hard chair in front of his desk. “I...,” I began and then stopped myself, looking at the older man shyly.

“Everything is all right, Miss Bridges. I know it can be difficult to talk to the police, especially when it is about the murder of someone important to oneself, but I assure you, you can talk freely.”

“Tha... thank you, inspector, sir. It's just, you see, I'm really not sure how to say this.”

“Everything you know can be useful and you can't do wrong by telling the truth.”

“Yes, yes, of course, sir.” I rubbed my trembling hands over the apron of my dress. “You see, I... It's just that I don't think the good doctor had anything to do with... with...”

“You don't have to say the word, I understand. Just tell me why you believe Doctor Whyte is innocent.”

“You see, sir, it's just... Doctor Whyte, he... Well, he was always so nice to the misses, and to us servants as well, and, well...”

“My dear, I'm sure you understand that this doesn't necessarily mean anything...”

“Yes. Yes, sir, of course, but... Well, you see, there is more. I... I didn't think it was important but... You see, who would think that... that a woman would do something like that to an innocent girl?”

“A woman?”

“Well yes, inspector, sir, you see, that morning, that morning when poor Miss Laura... I don't know who it was, but it was definitely a woman, you see...”

“You saw someone that morning, didn't you? Someone who went into the garden and wasn't supposed to be there?”

“Well, yes... No... I... I don't know! I saw someone. And it was a woman. And she was in the garden. Not Miss Laura, I would have recognized her, I know all of her dresses, of course. But this woman, I don't think she was supposed to be there. I thought she was friends with one of the stable-boys... You see, they smuggle girls into the grounds now and then and they stay for the night. The master doesn't like that, of course. And well, I saw her. It was a bit late for one of these girls to leave, with everyone up already and all. But Miss Laura had left the house just a short time before and this other woman went in the direction of the maze and Miss Laura was found there and... and... I just don't know. I don't want to raise trouble for one of the boys, but I don't think the doctor did it, or at least this woman might have seen him. I don't know, sir, I just don't know...”

“I understand, Miss Bridges, I completely understand. And please, don't worry that you did something wrong. You didn't. I'm really glad that you came to me. And please don't worry about Doctor Whyte, even before you came here, we had some clues that he might be innocent.”

“Re..really?”

“Yes, Miss Bridges. And it even fits with what you just told me. You see, we looked at the letters Mister Simmons and Miss Laura received and compared them with notes the doctor had In his study. The handwriting looks completely different. It actually seems like the letters were written by a woman.”

I wait for him at the corner of his street. It is late. The sun hasn't sat completely behind the horizon. Red light bathes the street in shadows and blood. Soon his blood will bathe the pavement too. The street is empty. It is away from the buzzing of the city centre with carriages and pedestrians. Here are no theatres, no gentlemen's clubs, no gentlewomen and exhausted servants. It is a nice, quiet part of town where the middle-class resides. Half an hour ago a lamplighter walked through the street with his ladder and matches but since then I saw no-one else.

Doctor Whyte arrives with a cab. He pays the driver and waits for the carriage to round the corner before he turns to the door of his house and practice. He doesn't notice me. He sighs. He looks tired and drained.

The knife in my hand feels heavy. It wasn't that heavy when I plunged it into Laura's body, or the cobbler's sister or the old widow. I want to scream. I can't. I'm not allowed to. I step forward, as silently as I can. I raise my hand, the same way Aphrodite holds the mirror over her head.

A pebble under my feet crunches. The doctor turns around. He sees me. He sees the knife.

“What...?”

I strike.

He catches my hand. I struggle. We fight. I scream.

The knife sinks into my breasts and I slide to the ground. Blood stains the corselet red. I have seen this before. My dress, red and cut. I lay in the arms of Doctor Whyte. He sees the blood on my dress, the knife in his hands, the blood on his hands. My breath is unsteady. The doctor puts me on the ground. Blood bathes the pavement. The last ray of sunshine blinds me. The doctor throws the knife to the ground. Quick hands tear apart my dress. Buttons fly away. I have seen this before. My buttons aren't good enough. I want to tell him that they aren't the right ones, that Aphrodite demands different ones. I am silent. I am mute. No words leave my mouth. Doctor Whyte shushes me. One hand presses a piece of cloth against my breast, the other slides my cap from my hair and then stays on my forehead.

“Shush, now, shush.”

There are others. They are blurry. They look, but they don't see. They never see. They never open their eyes for me. Aphrodite is there. She watches too, impassive as ever, cold and pale. Her touch is cold, so cold. Her voice is silent now.

“Hush, now, hush.” Someone else will bring me my buttons, someone else will open their eyes.

She doesn't make sense, not any more. It hurts.

It hurts no more. It is so cold, all so cold. Her face is dark, the corona behind her head is... is red... red like blood... like... like...

[Ponch]

I'm out. Haven't got time to do another entry and the first was shite anyway. There's some good stuff here though. Well done folks.

Don't do it, Stu! Hammer out some quick, pulpy dreck. It will still fit the theme!

[Sinitrena]

Epilogue (A proper one, not like the prologue... )

“Why did you kill her?”

The question echoes in his mind over and over again.

“I didn't mean to. She attacked me.”

The answer is always the same, in his dreams and waking moments.

“She thought I killed Miss Laura, maybe...”

“Miss Bridges herself came to the police to exonerate you.”

“I don't know, I just don't know... She did attack me, I don't know why but she did!”

They don't believe him.

He will be hanged three weeks later.

The End

--------------------

That was fun - and exhausting.
Now, time to read the other entries.

[Haggis]

I KNEW IT! Fantastic work Sinitrena.

That was fun - and exhausting.
Now, time to read the other entries.

[Stupot]

@Ponch - Haha. Sorry mate. It's not going to happen this time.