Waterwitch

[Keeper]

Hartfield nodded without another word and with a degree of reluctance left the bridge.
“And you two,” Hart barked at Wade and Brewer as they remained, Wade shaking with suppressed anger himself.
“Actually no, Wade carry on, Brewer I have a job for you.”
Wade cast a seething eye over the oter two men on the bridge like he was sizing them up, and both Reynolds brothers had the feeling he was plotting revenge.
Mumbling under his breath he stepped back out of the bridge.

Brewer looked nervous as he stood red in the face looking at Holt.
“Brewer, I want you to go to White’s and collect Buxley,” Holt said in a tone that brooked no argument.
“But captain, I ....” he couldn’t help himself. Brewer knew that Wade wouldn’t appreciate it if he was responsible for bringing Buxley back.
Holt knew it too, and so had deliberately chosen the irksome pilot’s lackey to go and fetch his leader’s “thorn in his side”.
“Don’t you bloody well argue with me Brewer. You’ve been given your instructions so get to it.”
Brewer screwed up his weasel-like face but with a resigned sigh, he shuffled out of the bridge.

[Keeper]

“Do excuse me, Captain,” Roborough said heading for the door. “I’m starting to thaw out!”
“Right you are your lordship,” Holt said with an understanding nod.
“I think Mr Reynolds will suffice, captain,” Roborough said heading for the door.

Brewer was stood at the top of the ladder muttering to himself as Roborough stepped quietly through the doorway.
“Brewer!” Nestor Wade’s cockney accent called out from the deck below.
Brewer gave a start but then stood as though frozen to the spot.
“What did the captain want?” Wade inquired in a sickening tone.
Brewer’s shoulders sagged and he huffed like a schoolboy being forced to own up to something.
He started down the stairs to the nest deck and Roborough quickly made his way to the hatch, making sure he could hear what was being said without being seen himself.
“He only wants me to get Buxley!” Brewer sounded mortified.
“I bloody knew it!” Wade cursed.
“Right now listen ‘ere,” the cockney instructed. “You’ll have to go and get her. But don’t be nice, give her what for if you want. Hang on a minute, I got an idea.” He put his arm conspiratorially around Brewer.
“Pay attention, my old son, you need to do this right.” He began walking away, leading Brewer towards the hatch down to the main deck.
“Play this right and we might make some serious money, and pay that fuckin’ toff back too...”
The pair moved out of earshot and Roborough couldn’t get down below without getting seen.
“Bastard!” the Baron swore, swirling round for the ladder back up to the bridge.
“Jon, I’m going back out. You stay here,” he announced. “Captain, you need to be ready to go when I get back.”

[Keeper]

Lilly moved through the crowd of the after-show party. The club’s owner always liked to mix with the performers and the more influential music industry types that haunted a place like this.
It was full of people she didn’t know, and by the sounds of many of the conversations she overheard, she wasn’t sure if she could be bothered to get to know them.
She’d bumped into James fairly soon but he’d said his tab was wearing off so he’d have a toilet break and take another.
That was an hour ago and he’d not returned. Not only that but s far she felt no sign of her own tab wearing off and she was becoming anxious as it should have worn off long ago.

Lilly had heard rumours about people who sometimes got stuck in the scope, their minds and consciousness forever wandering the unchartered plane. Although she’d heard the rumours, she’d not ever come across anyone who even knew of anyone who’d become lost.
Even so. There was that little nagging doubt now and she worried that the first person she ever came across in that position would be herself!
She tried to ignore her overly long stay, reassuring herself that it could just be down to her being tired and therefore her own body less able to resist the pull of the tab.
Sitting at the bar amused her for a bit and then Jase and Larson, two other members of the band found her and talked to her for a long time, but eventually they were pulled away to go and meet someone.
Lilly wandered through the house where the after show party was being held. It was nice, decorated in a colonial style with heavy Hindu influences.
Suddenly a strong hand folded around her bicep, gripping tight. She turned to look at a face of pure shadow, in fact there were no features to the avatar at all, it was like a three-dimensional silhouette.
More of these silhouettes folded out of the dark shadows.
Lilly pulled away but the hand gripped tightly.
“Let go!” Lilly said firmly, but the grip just became painfully tight.
One of the other shadows was beside her and grabbed her other arm whilst putting a hand over her mouth to muffle the scream she was about to issue.
They dragged her struggling form towards a door.
It opened as they neared it and Lilly saw a man standing there, his hair slicked back to look almost plastic.
He wore a dark suit and a fine silken cravat with a pin in its centre. The pin’s head was that of a snarling bear.
“Hello, Buxley,” the German accented voice said in English.

[Keeper]

The horses whinnied as the men dismounted and lashed them to a rail outside a large wooden building with the word ‘tavern’ painted gaudily on a large sign on the roof.
The leading man stamped his feet on the veranda and brushed snow from his thick beard.
Pushing open the door he squinted at the brightly lit room within.
The muted sounds of conversation and laughter and music from a piano became clear now as he entered followed by the other men in his entourage.
All became hushed reducing to nothing as the men entered and the customers appraised the newcomers suspiciously.
New faces were nothing uncommon in this town these days, however the snow flecked men drew more attention than most in the form of speculation on what could have brought the men here in such grim weather.

As the group made their way to the bar without hostile action or even a hint of aggression the ‘locals’ started up their talk and music once more.

“Can I help you gents?” Malcolm White, the owner, asked with a flash of his brilliant white teeth.
“Whiskey, and for my men,” the bearded man said gruffly.
With a nod White set out seven glasses and lined them up, pouring amber liquid into each of them.
Beard looked around the bar. His quarry, Jonathan Reynolds, was not amongst the patrons.
“I’m looking for two Englishmen. They would have come into town about two hours ago, maybe less, but no more. You seen them barkeep?” the man’s voice sounded as though the words were coming from a deep pit and had to cross much gravel to get out. Its tone, far from friendly, implied that the man was in no mood for games.
“No one’s been in here, sir. No one I don’t know that is, and none of them’s English.”
The man said nothing, just handed the drinks along without his eyes off White.
White stared back. He had nothing to tell and nothing to hide from these men and he was damned if he’d let the bullish men intimidate him in his own tavern.

“Where would someone go if they were new in town?” the beard said at last.
“There’s the hotel down by the quay. Else there’s a dozen or so boarding houses in town. It’s quiet so most likely the hotel would be your best bet.” White’s reply was given curtly, mirroring the abrupt tones of beard.
The man said nothing more as he turned with his men to find tables, grabbing the half empty bottle as he went.

[Keeper]

Knowing the vessel well from his week long journey from England, Sebastian Reynolds made his way quickly to number two deck and headed aft towards the engine room.
The big water-tight door was open and Reynolds stepped through. The engine room filled the after section of the vessel, from keel up to underside of the upper deck.
It was full of machinery, pipes, pumps, and a very large boiler-like contraption on the centre, around, above and below which all the other equipment was positioned.
The boiler had an ether-port in its centre, where unstable ether would be vented into the ‘fire-well’ to super heat the water in the pipes, turning it to steam which would drive the turbines, powering the motors and other machinery and bring the vessel to life.

Reynolds dodged the crewmen who were now busy checking oil levels, opening valves, engaging breakers and doing whatever else it was they did to get the Witch ready.
“Chief?” Roborough called to the long-haired engineer.
Hartfield turned to see the Englishman with a foot on the ladder to the engine room upper hatch. With a frown at the aristocrat, the man approached.
“I’m going out this way,” Reynolds called over the clatter of activity.
“What?” Hartfield replied, not because he hadn’t heard but because he didn’t understand.
“Holt has sent Brewer to go and get Lilly, but I don’t trust Wade not to have planned something. So I’m going to make sure he does it right.”
Hartfield looked concerned too. “Then I’ll come with you!” he stated.
“No,” Reynolds said calmly, “I really need this old girl ready to go as soon as I get back.”
Hartfield didn’t respond. Instead he stared hard into the Englishman’s eyes.
He saw resolution in the other man’s posture, the firm set of his jaw, the way Reynolds returned the piercing stare.
“Make sure Lilly’s ok,” he said.
With a nod, Reynolds clambered up the ladder and opened the hatch, Hartfield following him and closing it tight again.

[Keeper]

“Hmph Hasphard!” Lilly screamed from behind the strong hand that held firmly ovr her mouth.
The door behind her slammed shut and the noise from the party was instantly gone.
“Indeed I am,” the German said with a grin. “In fact, my mother often called me so herself. She’s dead now!” There was a meaningful look in the man’s eyes. “I’m sure there’s a moral there somewhere.”
The man moved closer and at over six feet tall he towered above Lilly making her heart skip as it was flooded with adrenaline.
“it is very good to see you again,” he grinned even wider.
This close even his skin looked like plastic. It made her nervous even though her subconscious was telling her this was the scope and Eric Schimler could appear however he liked.

Suddenly the man produced a long needled syringe, brandishing it before Lilly’s scared eyes.
“The mind, my dear, is a very strong thing, whilst it is in control. But it can be broken. And once it is it’s so very hard to put back together.” Schimler jabbed the needle into her arm.
Lilly struggled but the shadows held her firm.

“That, dearest Lilly, is a little concoction of my own devising. It will prolong your stay here. It is a subconscious stimulus that tricks your mind into maintaining the link with the etherscope. You are stuck here for as long as I want you to be. For as long as it takes for me to break you, then I’ll send you back to Holt, with a little note telling him it was me and I can get to his crew any time I so wish.”

“Huck You!” Lilly snarled behind the hand, fighting to get free.
“I’m sorry? What was that?” the man asked mockingly, signalling for his shadows to let her speak.
“You heard – fuck you!” Lilly spat.
“Now, now, Miss Buxley, don’t go volunteering, that would take all the fun out of it!” He gave her an evil smile. “Good night, Lilly,” he added and with a flick of his fingers she slumped unconscious to the floor.

[Keeper]

Hartfield dropped down onto the engine room floor after closing the hatch and turned to look at the other men in the room.
“I’ll get your coat, Mac,” one of the men said.
Harfield grinned.
“Yeah, we’ll get her ready, just don’t let any of Wade’s goons see you.”

MacLarren Hartfield climbed out onto the snow covered upper deck a few minutes later and could see Reynolds’ tracks leading off the side of the Witch to an icicle encrusted ladder on the quayside.
Damn it was cold!
Pulling his collar up and keeping his head down he hurried towards White’s, following Reynolds’ trail.

[Keeper]

Jonah Brewer stumbled through the knee high snow, muttering to himself. He was not a happy man. He was fiercely loyal to Nestor Wade, and knew the man would be relying on him to do everything he could to stop Buxley getting aboard. But that would put him at odds with Captain Holt. Even though Brewer feared Wades wrath more there was a subconscious part of him tat told him that Holt was the true authority and he should obey.
What’s more, Wade had asked him to look out for a bunch of men who were after the Witch’s passengers and to lead them towards the Witch (for a price, of course!).
This, Wade had explained, would force Holt to take off early, leaving Buxley behind.

“What if I don’t find them?” Brewer asked aloud to no one. “What if I don’t? What do these men look like? Probably covered in snow if they’ve been out all bloody night following those damned toffs! Bloody Holt and bloody Reynoldses!” he yelled the last two insults.
So intent on his rhetoric was he, and with his head down against the wind, that Brewer didn’t notice the two heavily clad men standing before him until he walked into one of them.
“What the… ?” Brewer cursed as he stumbled backwards. He was about to get angry, then he saw the look in their eyes. Brewer knew that look. He was from the Southampton sewers and men like this all the time. These were tough men, meaner than a brown bear with a headache.

Unknown to Brewer the two men were downwind of the Englishman and heard his questions cast to the four winds.
“S… Sorry!” Brewer said meekly.
Neither man spoke. They looked from Brewer to one another and back again, neither quite believing their fortune.

“You looking for someone, little man?” one of them asked, his accent definitely from the southern American states.
There was something about the pair that made Brewer nervous and he backed away.
One of the men grabbed Brewer’s collar whilst the other pulled a rifle from his shoulder and pointed it at him.
“You know where Reynolds is?” the rifleman asked.
Brewer still couldn’t speak and could only manage a little whimper.
“Right, let’s see if the Ox can’t loosen that tongue,” the man said and Brewer was unceremoniously dragged up the hill towards the bar.

From the lee of a two storey house a shadow moved, becoming a figure that followed quickly along behind them.

[Keeper]

Sumpter Oxley, otherwise known as The Ox or just plain Ox, looked up from his whiskey glass, surprised to see the men he’d only just sent out, coming back in again so soon.

The man with the rifle spoke quietly to the bearded Ox for a moment, then, with a nod from Ox he shoved Brewer into the chair opposite.
“You looking for me?” the O’s gruff voice asked.
Brewer was even more intimidated now. “No,” he said in a high pitched voice.
With a squeak like a stuck pig he fidgeted in the following silence, feeling like he needed to fill it. “I’m just here for Buxley.”
“Buxley?” Ox barked. “Who in hell’s Buxley?”
Malcolm White tensed behind the bar and now, seeing the scrawny features of Brewer he gritted his teeth in anger.
“Buxley? Just some bitch, that’s all.”
The man with the rifle cuffed him across the back of the head. “Lying little shit. Tell Ox what you was saying when you bumped into Luke. You were looking for someone that’s been out all night. Then you said Reynolds’ name.”
Brewer paled.
Ox leaned forward in his chair, his bushy beard curling on the table top.
“Well, speak to me you little shit, or I’ll have the boys here break your damned legs, and that’ll be just for starters.”
“Mr Wade said too look out for you when I was here getting Buxley,” Brewer said so quickly they became almost one long word.
“Why would this Mr Wade say a thing like that?” Ox said in a friendlier tone, changing tact now that Brewer seemed to be talking.
“Because he’s got some information for you, if you’re the ones looking for the Reynoldses.”
Ox’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “And what information would that be?”

“Ah well, see,” Brewer said growing in confidence now the threat of violence had subsided. “Mr Wade’s a businessman…”
Ox snorted a laugh that made Brewer shift uncomfortably.
“All right, rat-boy, you don’t if I call you rat-boy, do you? How much is Mr Wade wanting for this information.
Brewer sat up straighter, pulling his coat into tidier array to give him a little while longer to think.
“Well he said that a couple of toffs like them gots to be worth fifty quid to someone who was interested in where they was hiding.”
Ox’s eyes narrowed further as he visually pierced Brewer’s soul. “Fifty quid? That’s a hunnerd dollars? You think what your Mr Wade knows is worth a hunnerd dollars?”
Brewer shrugged and nodded.
“Why should I not just send my boys out looking and save me the money?”
“Cos no one in town knows where they’ve gone, ‘cept Mr Wade.”
Ox ran his fingers through his beard contemplatively.
Brewer grew nervous in the silence and felt he needed to fill it. “Mr Wade said he could pretty much hand them to you for another hundred dollars.”
“Did he now? Why wold he want to do that?”
“He don’t like them. Got a score to settle, he says.”
“And he’ll tell me where to find them and hand them over for two hundred bucks?” Ox said quietly.
Brewer nodded.
Ox shot across the table grabbing Brewer by the scruff of his coat and pressing his nose into the scrawny man’s. “For that money he’d better had, else your Mr Wade’ll be getting to meet the boys here.” He shoved Brewer back in his chair, the smaller man flailing his arms and knocking the whiskey bottle off the table.
One of Ox’s men smacked Brewer across the head again. “You clumsy fuck!”

[Keeper]

Outside the rear of the tavern was partially buried under drift snow, but Baron Roborough Reynolds still managed to locate the hatch to the cellar.
The lock was simple to pick and Reynolds felt he could have done it blindfolded.
He cleared snow off the door and heaved it open.
Snow dropped in clumps from the frame as Reynolds stepped in and pulled the door closed.
It was dark on the steps inside the hatch but a warm glow illuminated the area below.
Slowly, Reynolds crept down the steps and looked about.
The cellar was fairly big, and he saw at once that there were two distinct halves to the room; the part where the barrels and crates of beer were stored and a part where tab-jammers could lay undisturbed.
Reynolds smiled at his luck as he approached the only person making use of the three small beds.

He was conscious that je didn’t want to scare the woman and bring attention on himself from the men in the bar above. He was also conscious that any moment Brewer may come down here to fetch the young woman.
Reynolds jumped as, just as he reached a hand out to touch the young woman there was a loud thump on the floor above.
Moments later, as the Englishman stood poised to withdraw his weapon and start shooting, something splashed onto his hat.
He backed away as a steady stream dripped from the ceiling.
Catching a drop he sniffed it – whiskey. Well at least it wasn’t blood!

He gave Lilly a gentle shake but got no response so the lifted her eyelid to check her pupils but her eyes were rolled back .
It happened to some when they were jamming, and Reynolds took it as a sign that she was still under.
Looking around quickly he found Lilly’s coat and hat on the chair beside the bed.

If he carried her out like this she’d freeze so he had to get her coat on at least.
Grabbing her shoulder he heaved her into a sitting position and struggling with getting her into the fur-lined coat.
Sweating in the comparatively warm atmosphere, Reynolds let Lilly slump back onto the bed and did up the buttons on the coat.
Then he looked t her bare feet and her exposed legs. Surely, thought he, she must have worn something else, but he could find nothing.
The door at the top of the stairs rattled but was found to be locked.
Reynolds remained still, ears straining.
“Keys, now!” he heard a muffled voice order from upstairs.
Quickly, and not caring for Lilly’s modesty the baron lifted the girl’s legs and shoved the boots on her.
He heard the key in the lock as he heaved Lilly up onto his shoulder, thankful to the giant von Stauffenberg for all those exercises he insisted upon.
Even so, the small, girly but dead-weight frame of Lillian May Buxley was more than enough to cause Reynolds an issue. He hoped she came out of the scope really soon.
On slightly wobbly legs, Sebastian Reynolds mounted the steps towards the outside hatch.