Waterwitch

[Keeper]

Waterwitch

The wind whipped the heavily falling snow into a frenzy making it hard for Lillian May Buxley to see more than dozen yards ahead.
A long heavy fur-lined coat wrapped tightly around her and woollen hat pulled over her head hiding her thick black wavy hair. A thick striped woollen scarf covered her face and snaked around her neck so that there was only a slit at the front, between it and the bright green bobble hat, for her see out of.
Lilly, as she preferred to be called, didn't like the cold at all. Born in the Great Metropolis, far away across the Atlantic, in England, where it only ever got really cold in the height of winter. The fog of steam ever present over the industrial heart of the British Empire, seemed to act as an insulation blanket over the city, keeping the heat in during the winter, but also preventing the glorious sunshine getting through in the summer.
Not like here, on the eastern seaboard of Canada.
Chesterfield Inlet was a small town built on an arid plateau on the western edge of the Hudson Bay.
A trading post, the town sported the only Zeppelin pylon for hundreds of miles. Not only did the loggers, miners, hunters and other hardy folk that made their living in the harsh mountainous and lake strewn land travel for days to get here and re-supply, but explorers, geologists, and the British Military came here, for whatever reasons they had for such an excursion.

Despite her dislike of the bitter chill, Lilly was grateful for the howling blizzard. No one would see her out here and she knew the place well enough, even under several feet of snow, to know where she was and in what direction she should be going.
The journey, which would normally only take ten minutes, took double that today.

Lilly stamped her feet on the porch of the large ramshackle cabin she had made her slow trek towards. Snow fell from both her heavy boots and her coat so that was quite a pile on the stained wooden planks.
Turning the handle she thrust the door open quickly and stepped through.

Inside the cabin was lit by numerous gas lamps, the wooden shutters drawn over the windows to protect them from the ferocious winds.
Tables, both square and round dotted the room and a long bar lined one wall.
It was early yet and so the tavern was fairly empty. Lilly smiled at two ageing and weather worn native Indians in the corner, who were sat silently contemplating life while gently sucking at the ends of their long pipes.
A fire blazed in the stone hearth, crackling and spitting as it ate into a fresh log thrown on by a young Indian boy who looked up at Lilly and gave her an embarrassed smile as she pulled the scarf down and her hat off, shaking her hair free.

“Mister White!” the young boy called towards the open door behind the bar.
Malcolm White was a very tall yet thick set black man, his head covered in a short cropping of black curls and dressed in a clean shirt and trousers. He didn't seem overly bothered by the cold that even permeated inside the bar despite the fire.

Lilly made her way over to the bar pulling furry mittens from her hands as she went.
White smiled, his pure white teeth in stark contrast to his almost ebony black skin.
“Miss Lilly!” he said delightedly as he placed the glass he had been cleaning on the shelf below the bar.
“Hi, Mal,” Lilly replied returning his smile.

“It's early in the day for you, isn't it?” White said genially. “Usual?” He reached for the brandy which he knew was Lilly's favoured tipple.

Lilly glanced across at the two old men in the corner, then in a low voice said, “I'm after something else.”

White's face changed. “Where?”
Again Lilly cast a furtive glance at the old men. “Er,” she hesitated.
“Don't mind them folks there Miss Lilly. Don't speak a word of English and are regulars here. They got no love for the authorities.”
“O-kay!” Lilly stretched the word out whilst she deliberated. “Xenotopia, please.”
The barman's expression relaxed, the tightness across his eyes leaving him and he smiled once more.
“I can do that.” He inclined his head towards the only other door in the bar area.
Lilly followed him across the bar and into the small passageway beyond. On either side were toilets for the patrons of the tavern. Opposite the door through which Lilly had just passed was another door. Heavy and locked and bearing a sign that merely stated 'Private'.

White unlocked the door, handing the key to Lilly.
“No one else here at the minute, girl. You go make yourself comfortable.”

Lilly squeezed passed the burly black man. Stairs led down to the cellar.
Here, White kept the stocks of beers and spirits for the bar upstairs, however at the far end of the cellar, illuminated by red tinted lamps were four single cot-beds. The sheets on each were clean and the beds made with hospital corners. There was a wooden chair alongside each bed.

Lilly stripped off her outside clothing and was pleased to find that it wasn't too cold down here, thanks to the small wood burner in the corner.
Perching on the edge of the bed Lilly straightened out her skirt that barely covered her knees, then began unbuckling the tall boots she had on.
A wry smile crept onto her face as she though how scandalised her mother would be if she could see her wearing such short skirts. Although the ankle length dresses and skirts of the Victorian era were still the norm in the cities and throughout the east coast of the Americas, this more practical form of dress was the fashion of the counter-culture in the frontiers.
She undid the lowest button of the tanned leather bodice she wore over her white blouse and started as she noticed Malcolm White standing before her.
He held out a folded square of brown paper.
She took it excitedly, then froze at his faint chuckle. “Er, how much do I...?”
“You pay me later, Miss Lilly,” White said with a friendly grin before turning away and diappearing from view behind the barrels of beer.

Lilly breathed in an out deeply for a few moments, calming herself and trying to make her mind as blank as possible. She needed to be open to what was about to happen to her and didn't want to resist in any way.
Laying back on the bed Lilly relaxed, staring blankly up at the dusty ceiling. She unfolded the paper and held the thin turquoise tab up to the light.
Placing it under her tongue Lilly let the tab dissolve. She waited.
The tab would kick in any moment, normally only taking a minute to take effect.

A laugh sounded from somewhere to her right, but on looking she saw the rough hewn wall of the cellar.
“Marty, hi!” said a man. There was no one there.
A door opened at the far end of the room, pouring a rectangle of light from within some of the crates of whiskey in the corner. The sound of hundreds of people talking, and random music, with no tune.
Lilly waited patiently for the transition from the Prime Reality to Etherspace to complete.

The dim light of the cellar finally gave way to the brightly lit foyer decorated in a classical style, like the theatres in the west-end of London she had seen pictures of.

She beamed. In the Scope once more...

[Keeper]

Nestor Wade gave a derisive huff at the news that the scrawny, gap-toothed youth had just delivered.
“Bloody captain's worrying about nothing,” he grumbled and the youth, Jonah Brewer, nodded agreeably.
“You are not leaving already, Meester Wad?” said a simpering French accent.
Wade looked at the buxom woman who was sitting in the bed beside him, the sheets pulled up to cover herself, and a pouting expression etched on her round face. The muscular man with short cut hair and the scorpion tattoo on his right forearm grinned at her.
“Mister Wad,” Wade said softly, mimicking the woman's mispronunciation of his name, “is not going anywhere, my sweet. Got to get my money's worth, aren’t I?”
Brewer sniggered but his face dropped at the glare he received from Wade.
“Fuck off then Brewer,” Wade growled and waved a hand at him as though shooing away a fly. “Unless,” he added with a sarcastic tone, “that little pecker of yours is getting all hard thinking about watching me hump a half-crown's worth out of miss Lar-oo here!”
Brewer started as though slapped across the face. “Er, what do I tell the captain?”
“Like I give a damn! Don't tell him anything.”
Wade gave a grimace as he considered his own words and took in Brewers terrified face. “Tell him you couldn't find me.”
Brewer nodded vigorously.
“And don't let the door hit you on the way out!” he called as he turned his attention back to his companion.

**

Captain Lindsey Holt paced about the bridge like a cage bear. Holt was a thin man of average height
with a thick mane of hair brushed from left to right, light brown in colour except at the sides where it had turned silver white.
Jonah Brewer kept folding and unfolding his old cloth cap nervously in his hands as he watched the skipper pace.
“Damn their eyes, man!” Holt barked as he stopped to grab the ornate yet tarnished ship's wheel.
“And you don't have any idea where they could be?”
Brewer shook his head.
“And everyone else is back on board?”
“Well, sir, no,” Brewer said optimistically. “Buxley's missing too.”
Holt fixed the scrawny youth with an exasperated glare making him shrink back.
The captain was about to shout that it was more than likely that she would be with, their chief engineer, or under him if she had her way, wherever the chief engineer may be. But he restrained himself. Buxley had confided in him and he was blown if he was going to betray that confidence with one of his deck-hands. Especially not one who was the lap-dog of Nestor Wade.
Wade was a cocky bastard, and was more than a royal pain in the arse, but he had been on the crew for years and was a damned good pilot.
Now there were three of his essential crewmen missing; engineer, pilot and now the navigator.
It amused him actually that the very young woman, Holt recalled her last birthday being her twenty-third, was such a marvel when it came to orientation.
He was also quite amused by the fact that Wade had to take orders from her. Although Wade was a natural pilot, he was also illiterate and had no concept of map reading.

The door behind Brewer creaked on its hinges and both men stopped to look as a girl stepped in. she was seventeen, just a year younger than the younger man. Brewer gulped and pressed himself against the navigator's map table to give the girl the maximum room possible.
Her long blond hair rippled and bounced as she hopped across the deck towards her father.
Brewer caught the faint smell of lavender and let out a quiet sigh that fortunately for him was missed by both the girl and her father.
“Daddy?” she said in her Americanised accent. “Are we leaving?”
“That was the plan,” Holt answered unable to stop some of the bitterness entering his voice.
“What's wrong?” she asked perceptively.
Holt sighed placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. “It's nothing honey. We have a few crewmen missing and it's just holding us back.”
“But what's the rush?”
Holt shook his head dismissively. “I just want to get out of here before this weather gets any worse.” It was a lie.
“Oh, okay.”
The girl held her father's eyes and he knew she knew.
“Hu... Hu... Hello Miss Paige,” Brewer stuttered, grinning so widely that his rotten teeth were on display.
Paige turned to face the tall gangly youth who was brushing one side of his lank hair out of his eyes and grinning even wider.
Dressed in a long, flower patterned dress, Paige would have looked right at home on any of New York's fashionable streets, or even London. She was in complete contrast to Brewer, whose waist-coat, shirt and trousers were frayed, patched and rather grubby.
Paige's nose wrinkled in disgust, but she quickly forced a smile. Brewer didn't seem to have noticed.
“Oh, hello,” she said with a slight pause, then added, “Jonah!”
Jonah Brewer gave Paige the creeps. It was the way he stared at her, blatantly undressing her with his eyes.
Of course he was always pleasant around her, courteous almost to the point of fawning.
Holt fixed Brewer with an icy stare that rivalled the cold outside and the youth's grin faded.
“We've got to leave, Brewer. Get back out there and tell Wade I need him back here. Then go and find the other two.”
“Yes, skipper, right away sir,” Brewer mumbled the words catching in his throat as he tore his eyes away from Paige and his face blushed red.
Holt dropped into the chair in the centre of the bridge and let out a long sigh.
“Don't be angry father,” Paige said softly. “You told the crew they had four days shore leave. They'll be back once they know you need them.”
“Hmmm,” Holt moaned. “Plans change my dear, but not everyone likes it when they do.”

[Keeper]

“Hi,” said a very attractive read haired girl in a tight black top with a large gold X emblazoned on the front and even tighter and very tiny pair of shiny golden shorts.
The woman smiled at the newcomer with a semi-friendly look in her eyes.
What the woman saw standing before her and staring around in amazement was another woman, this one with long black hair that flicked out dramatically from her face. She was wearing a tight black leather corset that thrust her breasts upwards, and a long skirt of black velvet, spilt at the front and flowing down to the floor in folds at the back, finished with a large black velvet bow at the small of her back. It was Victorian Chic. The thigh length leather boots with stiletto heel finished off the ensemble nicely and the woman gave an appreciative nod as she finished her appraisal.
Without saying so she preferred the newcomers look to the one she currently wore.
The newcomer started as she suddenly noticed the woman before her. “oh, sorry,” she said with an embarrassed giggle.
“Have you been to Xenotopia before?” the woman asked.
“Yes,” Lilly replied. She was still looking around at the ornately painted walls and the high domed ceiling of this ante-chamber.
“Oh!” the woman said, surprised then, “You have your mark?” She asked this with a smile that was a little warmer.
Lilly held out her left arm over which the woman placed a thick shiny brass ring, like an over sized bracelet. On the outside of the ring was a knurled black knob which the woman turned.
A blue glow illuminated the inside of the ring, causing an intricate symbol to appear on Lilly's forearm like a tattoo. After a moment a bell chimed within the ring and the glowing blue light turned a stark green.
“Welcome back, Miss Buxley. You have credit for two more visits. Enjoy the evening.” With that the woman removed the ring which disappeared and moved on to the form of a Roman gladiator who had just appeared in one of the comfortable chairs.

Lilly moved out of the ante-chamber, just behind a young couple who were discussing their desire to tell some minister or other to shove his job some place unpleasant.

The main hall was a huge chamber, very much like the Albert Hall in London, circular, opulently and classically styled with ornate pillars and a high vaulted ceiling, however there were gaudily coloured lights, a gigantic mirror ball, and loudspeakers fixed to the walls or hanging from the ceiling and although there were several rings of floors all looking in at the stage at the far end, there were no seats in the central area.
The place was crowded and noisy and Lilly guessed that there were several thousand people here all talking and laughing and drinking.
The din of the crowd was however being drowned out by the two hundred strong orchestra on the stage who were all going through their warm ups and instrument checks, playing odd notes at random times until it sounded more like torture than music.

Suddenly the noise from the orchestra faded away and the lights went out casting the large concert hall into absolute impenetrable darkness.
Instantly the crowd quietened, their voices reduced to hushed whispers.
Lilly's breath caught and she felt a rush of excitement. Someone in the darkness gave a shrill whistle, someone else clapped. This led to more whistles and claps and then cheers until the sound became a deafening roar.

Then the piano and violins started, playing one of Ennio Morricone's modern classics. A cornet, xylophones, bass, trombones, tubas, and a multitude of other instruments joined in, building the piece towards a crescendo.
As it neared its peak a bright spotlight shone onto an archway in the centre of the orchestra and four men dressed mostly in black with long hair came forward.

They were dressed not in the formal attire of the rest of the orchestra players, but were in t-shirts and black denims and heavy boots and all four sported various tattoos on their arms and even evident under their clothing.

The music around them flowed on to the end as the four men came to the front of the stage, three of them picking up strange looking guitars, and the last sitting himself behind a large set of drums.
As the classical piece ended the lights up in the ceiling flared to life covering the crowd in purples, reds, greens and blues and strobing whites.
One of the men began to play, plucking serene tuneful notes, backed by the violins, tinkling triangles and cornets.
Then the bass guitarist started up to much cheering from the crowd. Then the drummer started a steady beat with the bass drum to more roars of appreciation, all the time the classical orchestra in the background building up once more in harmony with the newer, more guttural sounds.

Next the tallest of the four, a man in his late twenties or early thirties with hair falling down over his shoulders and a friendly mutton chops beard began ripping out throaty chords and angry industrial riffs, all the time backed by the flowing melody of the orchestra.
Drummer and guitarists were playing frantically now, hands and arms a blur as they beat and strummed plucked out the tune.

Very similar to Mozart’s more aggressive classics, their music changed tempo throughout the piece, from grunting riffs to haunting melodies and back again.

All the while the coloured lights were shining and flashing and changing in harmony with the music.
Lilly moved through the bouncing crowd towards the front however she didn’t want to get too close. Close enough to watch the band and orchestra clearly but not close enough that the man at the front, playing guitar and not yet singing into the microphone could see her.

The first track slowed and came to an end in a massive uproar of claps, screams cheers and whistles.
There was nearly no pause as the group moved into the next track.
Powerful riffs, haunting violins, frantic staccato beats from the drums.
The lead man leaned into the microphone on its stand and said, “Who’s your Master?” in a Canadian accent.
The crowd cheered as the band moved into the song proper, the orchestra playing, the drums beating, the guitars wailing and growling, the bass blasting from the speakers with such force that that crowd could feel it hammering against their chests.
Lilly smiled, her foot stomping, her head nodding to the beat all the time watching the front-man as he sang into the mic.
One of the group of fans in front of Lilly tuned with a horrified expression and looked to his friends.
Lilly noticed that the man wore a t-shirt with the front-man’s image upon it and the band’s name; Etherica, above the image.
With looks of bitter disappointment the group closed in on each other in frantic discussion, shouting over the music but even this close Lilly couldn’t hear them.
Then they were gone, about a dozen of them all blinked out of existence.
Lilly knew they were all jacked in through cybernaughtic connection to the scope. Tab-jammers had a much slower and harder time leaving before the tab ran out.

The large gap that appeared in the crowd by their departure closed quickly but not before the singer, whose eyes had been drawn to the sudden space, had looked directly at Lilly’s smooth face.
They held eye contact even though the crowd had closed in like a tide.
Lilly allowed herself a delighted smile as without missing his cue for the nest line the corner of the singer’s mouth turned up.

Six thumping, grinding metal tracks later the front man announced there would be an intermission.
Lilly moved through the crowd heading for the bar, but now that the normal lights were on again the stared up as often as possible, taking in the grandeur of the place.
A hand grabbed her arm with enough force to turn her around but not enough to seem like an attack.
Lilly smiled into the emerald green eyes that glared at her.
It was the front man from the band.
“What are you doing here Lilly?” James MacLarren Hartfield asked in a reproachful tone.
“I wanted to watch you,” Lilly replied honestly.
“I told you not to,” Mac frowned at her. “I asked you to give me all your tabs.”
“And I did,” Lilly said, a hint of petulance creeping into her response.
Mac sighed. “Didn’t we discuss it not being a good idea you leaving yourself vulnerable?”
“I’m okay,” she said patronisingly. “I’m safe where I am.” Lilly tried to make her voice sound matter-of-fact. That she’d been caught here by Mac was disappointing, and she hated that he’d be both cross and possibly worried.
“I’m at White's,” she proclaimed. “He won't let anything happen to me.”
Mac shook his head. “White will look after you while you're at his place, but it's once you leave I'm worried about. Look, I've got to go back on. When your tab wears off stay at White's place, understand?”
Lilly nodded.
“Promise?” Mac asked looking more concerned than annoyed.
“Yes,” Lilly mumbled like a child who had just been told off.
Mac smiled at her. “As you are here, though, is it any good?”
“Hell, yeah! It's great. The music goes really well with the orchestra. And this venue is huge. There's so many people here!”
“Thanks. We were amazed when we got the call. Apparently one of the owners was at a gig we did in the Vancouver Spike. Gotta go!”

Lilly watched Etherica come back on stage. Now as the band and orchestra fired up once more she let herself go, letting herself feel the music and joining in with the enthusiastic crowd.

[Keeper]

The snow was a blasted nuisance, the gale force winds just made the 'swear-word-in-place-of-an-adjective' a bit of an understatement.
The two brothers were just glad they were on horses and not in a steam car, or worse still, a zep-car.
The steam car would simply not have made it through the snow covered pass. A zep-car however, in this wind could have ended up anywhere but where they wanted to be.

Side by side the two men struggled to guide the horses through the snow. Having been travelling for over two days, they knew they had to be somewhere near their destination, but it was hard to tell in the terrible weather.
Suddenly one of the men was thrown from his horse at it's legs sank into an unseen ditch.
The fallen man let out a startled and then pained cry as he landed.
“Jon? Are you all right?” the second man called jumping down from his horse. The snow came up to chest height.
“Jon?”
“It's okay,” Jon siad holding his chest. “I'm all right. Just winded by this fence post I landed on!”
Jon clambered upright revealing the round top to the post hidden, until he had landed upon it, under a foot of snow.
“Jon!” the man yelled over the howl of the wind. “There's a farm at the west end of the town. It's got a field where they keep horses surrounded by a fence. The road goes around the field and there's a drainage ditch alongside it. I think this must be it.”
The man rummaged under his coat bringing out a compass and consulting it. “We have to go in that direction,” the man shouted pointing off into the snow.
“All right then, Seb, you lead the way!” Jon called back, climbing up into the saddle with a pained grimace and holding his hand to his ribs again.
Soon they discovered the dark shape of a building looming out of the twilight before them.

The farmer was very surprised to see them out in such conditions but immediately roused the stable hands who had already called it a day.

Seb and Jon carried on through the snow on foot. It was easier going now as the townsfolk tended to clear the roadways of snow and so this blizzard had on laid knee deep.
“Where are we going?” Jon asked as they trudged on, puffing with the exertion of walking in the exagerated fashion people adopted when struggling through deep snow.
“The harbour. I've already arranged transport.”

[Keeper]

The concert was finally over, Etherica's last track ringing in her ears, or echoing around her mind. Lilly was crushed amongst the throng near the front, who were still whistling and cheering and calling for more. But the lights had gone out, yet the crowd and Lilly found herself joining them, continued to chant.
Then the orchestra started up again, the lights flared into life and the band blasted into a huge, thumping explosion of a song.
“Thank you! You've been amazing! Good night!” Mac called into the mic at the end of the song.
The lights went out, then dimmer, less harsh lights came on around the walls.
It was over this time.

Lilly wandered through the crowd, listening to the excited buzz.
Suddenly Mac was in front of her. “Hey!” he said in greeting.
“Hmmm...” she smiled at him. “Not bad!”
“Thanks,” Mac said. “Thought you'd have gone by now. But as you're still here you might as well come with me to this after show thing I've got to go to.”
eyes widening like a child on Christmas morning she nodded.
“Only til your tab wears off though.”
“Okay,” Lilly conceded.

[Keeper]

The horsemen moved steadily through the snow, following the churned up trail left by someone else.
The riders were all men, their hats low, collars and scarves high, and their coats thick.
Seven heavy, bulky shadows in the the gloom, the failing light making them like light grey silhouettes, ghosts moving through the world of the living.

The horseman in front wiped snow from his thick, wild, bushy beard. Without speaking he pointed to the churned up snow ahead of them.
Beside him another man, his face wrapped in a thick tartan scarf peered down and saw that the twin trails they had been following like the marks of a pair of gigantic snakes had come to a abrupt halt. There was a wide area where the smooth snow had been broken up. The second man imagined the snakes tussling, arguing about direction. A decision or a winner made the snakes turn aside. Looking harder both men could see the twin trails leading off again almost at ninety degrees from their previous direction.

With a wave of the bushy bearded man's hand the riders, who had paused momentarily as the two examined the trail moved off.

[Keeper]

There was a knock at the door, a light tapping as though the person doing the knocking didn't really want to.
Nestor Wade tried to ignore it, but after after the first two attempts the knocker still hadn't got the message and gone away, Wade was getting annoyed.
With a huff he threw back the duvet, shoved the naked woman who straddled him to one side and stormed, equally as nude, to the door of his room.
There he turned the dial causing the ether lights to flare up brightly and yanked open the door to stand on all his naked and turgid glory before the person responsible for interrupting his copulation.

Jonah Brewer gasped in terror, firstly at the sight of Wade in the all-together, his manhood tumescent and jutting out like some sort of obscene weapon, and secondly at the murderous expression on Wade's face which only got worse once the man realised who it was doing the interrupting.

“What the bloody hell do you want?” Wade growled making no attempt to cover himself.

Brewer choked on the words at first, then they came out in a rush, “Skipper's not happy. Wants you back on board right away, boss.”
“I thought I told you to tell him you didn't know where I was?” Wade said in a harsh tone.
“I did boss!” Brewer's voice was pleading. “But the skipper didn't believe me. Sent me to come and get you then go looking for Hartfield and Buxley.”
this last bit caught Wade's attention. “Hartfield and Buxley aren't on board?”
“No, boss.”
Wade grinned, grabbed Brewers arm and dragged him inside.

[Keeper]

The sounds of laughter drifted across the white landscape from an open rectangle of light that appeared in the gloom.
Jonathan nudged the man alongside him and poiinted in its direction as the light disappeared.
“That sounds like a pub, Seb. I'll but you a Scotch, or whatever passes for whiskey out here!”
“We don't have time Jon,” Sebastian replied.
“Oh, come on!” Jon protested, “You've come over here and pulled me out of a sticky situation. The least I can do for my brother is buy you a drink.”
Sebastian Reynolds paused in his trudge through the snow and turned to face Jonathan, placing a hand on each of the other man's shoulders. “Jon, you're a pain! But we really don't have time now. Once we're safe on board, then perhaps i'll have that drink, and gladly!”
Jon wouldn't be put off the idea though. “What's the rush? No one knows we're here, there's no one following us and they aren't going to be looking for us in this anyway!”
Seb's face hardened.
“There are people looking?” Jon's mischievous grin vanished.

Seb hadn't told his brother about the group he'd spotted as they left the mining town a few days ago. That was on the first day. The two had left a couple of false trails. Not that Jonathan had noticed, and it had thrown the men who followed, at least for long enough time to put a considerable distance between them.
However, Sebastian had a feeling that their many stops and one or two wrong turns may have cost them a lot of that head start.
He didn't want to hang around in a bar to find out just how small their lead had become.
“Yes, Jon, there are people following us. I have got to get you to a safe place.”
Jonathan looked both crestfallen and concerned in equal measure.

Moving on through knee deep snow Sebastian knew they were nearing the quay. The buildings were closer tigether and many were stores and there was a carpenters and next a chandler.

At last they came to the open white tundra of the waters of Hudson Bay, frozen solid and covered in snow. It looked like a large sheet of smooth white paper had been lain over the harbour.
Then what they had seen of the bay disappeared in a renewed flurry of snow.

[Keeper]

“There!” Sebastian called over the wind, pointing to a long grey smear alongside the quay.
As they neared the dark shape, Jonathan began to make out features.
It looked like the hull of a long cylindrical ship. The bow arcing forward, it's knife like edge designed to cut through the waves with ease.
About two thirds the way down the flat upper deck of the hull a round fronted superstructure jutted up like a shark's fin with the upper point cut off.
Halfway between the bow and the fin was an old crane and a set of huge hatch-like doors in the deck to the fore and aft of it.
The vessel looked oddly familiar to Jonathan and it wasn't until he and his brother were nearly alongside the fin that he realised what he was seeing.
The vessel, now he knew, was sitting much too low in the water.
Like an iceberg, the majority of the hull would be underwater. This was not a ship after all but was in fact a submarine.
Jonathan had always considered joining the navy, especially as his friend, Sam Brocklesby had got himself convicted to service in the Royal Marines. However, despite his upper class background and good education, his dislike of discipline, or least discipline directed at him, had stopped him from fulfilling that desire. He had however gained much knowledge on the subject of the the Royal Navy.

As the Reich had marched across Europe in the early part of the century, Britain had made only rudimentary noises against the forces of Germany.
However, once the flag of the Reich could be seen all along the French coast and it became obvious that their domination of Europe was firm, Britain's armed forces began to ready themselves for an invasion many felt sure to come.

The Imperial war machine ramped up its production and amongst the might vessels of the Royal Navy were the Abyss Class Battle-Submarines, huge submersible warships equipped not only with torpedoes but heavily armoured and fitted with a massive triple barrelled nine-inch gun turret, capable of destroying whole fleets of ships and disappearing back beneath the waves.

Very few of the gargantuan submarines ever made it into service, in fact Jonathan could only name two. But at least two dozen of the things had been built.

The Reich's push into Europe and towards Britain halted at the coast and relations with the new European Order fell into an edgy truce.

Although many of the hulls were scrapped, some of them had been laid up, those most complete, so that they could be reactivated if it turned out that the Reich's push had merely paused and not ground to a halt.
But that was perhaps fifty years ago.

Jonathan could now make out the old deck ring where the guns would have sat, cleverly utilised for the base of the crane.
The old boat was looking the worse for wear, big sections of the armour plating were missing, revealing the pressure hull beneath. She looked as though she had been patched up many times and in some places as though the patches had been patched.
There were also some odd alterations around the mid section of the hull as though it's cylindrical diameter had been increased, but the Reynolds brother couldn't make out why.

The massive fin structure looked just like the front of a frigate's, although more rounded, but there were thick glass windows just like a ship's bridge that Jonathan hadn't expected to see on a submarine. Light poured out into the darkness from these windows like a row of glowing teeth.

Sebastian led his brother to the brow which had been swept clear of snow. They crossed onto the deck of the submarine and a large heavy pressure door opened in front of them, a man in dirty denim jeans and a grease smeared shirt, the sleeves rolled up to reveal arms covered in tattoos greeted them with a scowl. He carried a sawn-off shotgun in his hands.

“Oh!” he said, his scowl vanishing to be replaced with a congenial smile. “Mr Ambrose, welcome aboard again sir. Cap’n’s expectin’ you. Follow me.”
He turned and stepped back into the warm atmosphere within the submarine, closing the heavy door and sealing out the cold.
“Paul ain’t it?” Sebastian asked in a Bristolian accent that made Jonathan do a double take.
“Aye, sir.”
Paul was a heavily built man, his exposed arms rippled with chorded muscles.
He led the two men in through the heavy door and up two decks to the bridge.

Jonathan was surprised to see the insides panelled with a rich coloured wood. He’d been expecting to see bare steel, painted of course, but this seemed more opulent, or at least it had been opulent once.
Now though, on closer inspection, the varnish was rubbed away or peeling in places, there were chips and scrapes in the wood work, the carpet upon the treads of the steeply angled ladders were threadbare, and if he wasn’t very much mistaken there were a number of bullet holes in the bulkheads and minor fire damage on the bridge deck.

Paul walked onto the bridge itself without knocking. “Cap’n,” he said announcing his presence to a distracted Holt.
Holt turned a curious eye on his visitors, then recognising Sebastian he looked surprised. “Ah, right, thank you quartermaster,” he said to Paul then added, “Any sign of the others?”
Paul shook his head.
Sebastian could see the expression upon the captain’s face and knew he wasn’t happy.
“What is the problem, Captain Holt?”
Holt’s face reddened. “Well,” he said drawing out the word whilst obviously searching for the right thing to say. “We weren’t expecting you so soon.”
“I did call ahead.”
“Yes, but then the storm front settled in and we thought....”
“You didn’t think we’d come tonight?”
Holt looked embarrassed now. “Well, frankly no. You see my crew were given shore leave and not all of them have been located yet. I didn’t think I’d have this little time.”
Sebastian Reynolds paced over to the windows and stared out into the dark snowy night. He saw the reflection of his brother standing near the doorway and looking a little awkward.
“My apologies, captain, I have been remiss in my introductions,” Sebastian said changing the subject, “Allow me to present my brother, Jonathan.”
Jonathan came forward and shook the captain’s hand.
“A pleasure to have you aboard Mr Ambrose,” Holt said with enthusiasm.
“It’s Mr Reynolds,” Jonathan corrected and Sebastian silently kicked himself for not mentioning the alias to him.
Astutely Holt said, “Begging your pardon, sir, I thought Mr Ambrose said you were brothers?”

Sebastian moved closer to the two men, his voice quieter now. “I’m sorry captain but it was a necessary ruse when we left England and I saw no point in complicating matters. My brother however has the knack of making even the simplest things complex!” His voice had lost it’s west-country accent now.
He removed his thick glove so that he too could shake the captain’s hand. “A renewed greeting then. I am Sebastian Reynolds, Baron Roborough.
Holt’s eyebrows shot up his forehead. “Lord Roborough? I ...em!”
“I think we’re way past the need for formalities Holt, don’t you? Besides, time is pressing. I need to get my brother down to Toronto where we can meet up with his family, and then get back to England. We need him removed from this territory now as there have been people following whom I consider are prepared to keep him here by force. I’m not sure of our lead on them so it would suit me better for us to be off sooner rather than later.”
Holt nodded silently then started in surprise as he looked beyond the two fur coat clad gentlemen to see Wade standing silently in the doorway.
“Ah, you’re back!” Holt stated with renewed enthusiasm. “Where’ve you been?”
“Shore leave!” Wade replied derisively.
“Hmm, well now you are here get the witch ready for cast off will you.”

“Out of the way Brewer,” came another voice from outside the bridge, this one definitely a local accent.
Jonah Brewer stepped onto the bridge with a sneer fixed upon his oval face.
Baron Roborough noticed the look and thought it was a very poor imitation of the one Wade adopted when in the company of those he was trying to cow.
Brewer’s effort unfortunately just had the effect of making his already ugly face even worse.

Behind him came another man, tall, with long mousey brown hair tied back in a loose ponytail, and dressed in an emerald green waistcoat and white shirt both bearing smears of grease and small burn holes.
This man was well built, someone who worked very hard for a living and had the muscle structure to prove it. All except for his right arm which had been replaced by a large cybernaughtic limb.
The arm gave a whispered hiss of hydraulics as the man reached out to hold onto the door frame casually.
“You wanted me captain?” Mac Hartfield asked.
“Indeed I do. So that’s two of my missing crew members back at least!” Holt mocked indignantly.
“So how many more are missing?” Roborough asked in his quiet upper class tones which caused the newcomer to cast a quizzical look his direction.
“Just the navigator,” Holt announced, his voice betraying his annoyance. “Right pilot I want my boat ready to go. MR Hartfield, make preparations with the engine room for immediate departure. I don’t suppose Buxley was with you, wherever you happened to be?”
“No,” Mac said frowning. “Not exactly.”
“How do you mean?”
Hartfield scowled at Wade and seemed to be debating wheter to say anything or not. “We were at a concert together, in the scope.”
Wade grinned slyly. “Concert!” he mocked.
“I know where she is in the Prime though. I’ll go and get her.”
“No!” Holt barked. “I need the Witch ready to go. Where is she?”
“White’s.” Hartfield announced with narrowed eyes fixed on Wade.
“I’ll send someone to fetch her,” Holt said. “Now get this old girl ready.” This last was said with undisguised finality.

[Keeper]

“Let’s not bother about Buxley, skipper,” Wade suggested, casting a look in Hertfield’s direction and struggling to hide a grin.
“Don’t even think about it,” responded the big man, clenching his hydraulic fist with a quiet hiss.
“I’m just saying,” Wade intoned with an indignant air of innocence. “I mean, if his Lordship here is so keen to get going, perhaps we should go. We managed before without her.”
Both Reynolds brothers cast a furtive glance at one another, knowing from his comment that he had obviously overheard their conversation.
Hartfied growled. “Shut up, Wade!” he said, his voice low and full of loathing.
“Mr Wade’s right, captain,” Brewer put in, fiddling with his cap nervously. “He don’t need Buxley.”
Wade glared at Brewer as though outraged that he had spoken, but said nothing.
“Captain!” Hartfield implored, “You’re not going to leave her?”
“Ah—ha!” Wade put in before Holt could reply. “You’re just worried as that little tart’s been lifting her skirts for you and now you won’t be gettin’ none of her sweet juicy peach!”
That was enough for the big Canadian who launched himself at Wade, his iron fist pulled back ready to strike.
Wade was incredibly fast, leaping backwards clear of Hartfield’s attack. A long wicked blade in his hand, held threateningly.
“Enough!” bellowed Holt, slamming his fist down on the chart table to emphasise his point.
Neither man looked at him but neither made any further move against the other.
Brewer gave a feeble whimper.
“Put that blade away, Wade,” Holt said sternly. “NOW!” he barked when Wade failed to react.
Reluctantly the cockney pilot did as asked.
Unimpressed by this behaviour, Sebastian wanted it over and his request for an expedient departure dealt with.
“I may not be an expert on these matters,” he said, “but I understand that a navigator is normally quite important.”
“I don’t need some skirt telling me how to drive my own goddamned boat!” Wade snapped.
Lord Roborough’s face hardened as he looked into Wade’s glaring eyes. “I don’t believe that’s the navigator’s role is it? I didn’t think she told you how, just where?”
“She could tell him how too if it came to it.!” Hartfield sneered.
“Mac!” Holt warned, though he knew his chief engineer was right, Lillian May Buxley was a good pilot.
“Who gives a damn what you think?” Wade spat, glaring first at Hartfield and then at Reynolds.
“Hold your tongue, Wade!” Holt gave another warning.
“It’s quite all right, captain.”Roborough said. “If Mr Wade has something to say, let him get it off his chest.” He turned to face Wade.

Wade just snorted and shook his head. “There you go again, giving your orders and your opinion where you’ve no right to. Oh yes you might be something special back in Blighty, but here, on my boat you’re just an interfering toff, and you certainly aint the friggin captain!”
Holt had had enough. “NO HE ISN’T!” he bellowed. “I AM.”
Then in a quieter yet no less angry voice he said, “I’ve given you my orders and if you want to see any of your pay, you’ll all do as you’re damn well told. That includes you Nestor Wade.”
Sebastian could see that Holt’s fury was at breaking point.

Jonathan had remained silent and out of the way throughout the argument. His shared glance with his brother conveyed his own displeasure at the aggressive Wade.