Waterwitch

[Keeper]

Ruud Booekers was a Dutchman with thick brown hair, which he kept long and wore tied back in a ponytail.
Although no heavily set, a life of physical work had honed his body so that it was lean and muscular.
He was a man with bright blue eyes and a cheeky grin and never had problems wooing the ladies, even after his comrades revealed his childish nickname: Boo.

Boo had been one of James Hartfield’s close friends aboard the Witch and having mourned the loss, with help from a bottle of rum, he was now looking for payback and Nsetor Wade’s mutiny had given him all the excuse he needed.

He shifted position now, as he crouched behind the heavy steel drum his gang had brought up from the engine room. He wished he’d remembered to bring some old rags to kneel on as the cold steel deck wasn’t doing him any good.

“You alright there boo?” a whispered voice from the darkness inquired.
This end of the passageway was much darker that the far end, the crew having disabled the lighting.
It gave Boo and his men the advantage over any of Wade’s crew that came this way.
“Ya, I’ll be okay,” Boo replied.
There was a cling from the other end of the passageway and both men turned towards the noise, staring down the barrels of their Lee-Enfield rifles.
“Here they come,” Boo announced, unaware of how pleased he sounded. The other four men readied themselves in the doorway.

The heavy hatchway swung open and a man in a shirt and waistcoat stepped through, followed by several others.
It didn’t take long to notice how dark the end of the passageway was and bring those behind him to a halt.
As his eyes adjusted to the gloom he became aware of the shapes at the far end.

“Don’t you move a muscle, Aubrey Crabtree,” Boo warned, then added, “we got guns too, man!”
Crabtree recognised the voice.
“Boo? What are you doing?”
“Giving you the chance to change your mind about this, man Stop being so bloody stupid.2
“No mate! You’re the one being stupid. Put your guns down, Wade said no silliness. If you don’t want to stay you can leave with Holt.”
Boo shook his head in disbelief. “You’re crazy, man. Wade’s a fuckin’ lunatic and so are you if you think this shit is right.”
“I’m a lunatic?” Crabtree spat in disgust. “Fuck you, you South African prick, and your mother.”
“How many times do I have to tell you – I’m not South African – I’m Dutch!”
That’s when the shooting started.

[Keeper]

Paige Holt had sat with the pages of her book angled towards the ether lamp.
Earlier she’d heard people moving around outside the compartment and had been worried that if she had the lights up full, then whoever was out there might see the light under the door.
She had turned down the valve, dimming the lights but it had made reading all the more difficult.

Then came something that had chilled her to the bone: Wade’s broadcast about taking over the boat. Now she was scared, trapped here and not knowing what was going on.

Paige had gone to the door, then thought better of it, then paced around the compartment wringing her hands in worry and gone to the door again but had once more dissuaded herself from that course of action.
How she had wished for Baron Reynolds to awaken at the moment, but he hadn’t.
Should she pull the plug out of his head? God no! What if that killed him?

So she sat fretting in the gloom, wondering what was going on and, as she had no answers, making up dreadful scenarios in her head.

After a while the lights had gone out and Paige’s heart had leapt into her throat with fright.
Then there came echoing through the vessel which sounded like people hammering on metal, but which she quickly realised was gunfire and tears welled in her eyes.
“Oh for pity’s sake, Sebastian, wake up!” she hissed into the blackness.
She yelped when a voice said, “Alright girl, give me time!”

[Keeper]

“Shhh…” Reynolds hissed from somewhere behind her. “Paige, what’s happening? Was that a gunshot?”
“Yes it was, Baron Reynolds!” her voice was laced with hysteria.
Somehow, in the complete blackness Reynolds found her and put his hands on her shoulders.
“Paige,” he said calmly, “tell me what has happened.”
“Wade has mutinied,” she blurted. “He’s taken over the ship and I don’t know if my father is alive or dead, if Wade’s killed him I don’t know what I’ll do… and you were asleep and the lights went out and I couldn’t leave you and…”
Her voice was cut off as Reynolds pressed his lips firmly to hers in a passionate kiss, his tongue exploring her mouth.
When he broke away from her, her knees felt weak and all she could say was “Oh my!” in a giddy little voice.
“I think I get the picture…” Reynolds said as though nothing had happened. “… Wade has taken over and we don’t know what is happening, right?”
Paige didn’t reply.
Her mind, which had been beset with worry had just been bombarded with something akin to emotional overload.
No one had ever kissed her like that before and she felt tingly.
“Paige!” Reynolds said sternly.
“What? Er… yes, yes you’re right,” Paige replied glumly as reality came crashing back in.
“Where’s my coat?” Reynolds queried and rummaged around in the darkness.
After a few moments the room was suddenly awash with a greenish glow as Reynolds turned on his ether-comm and the hologram-like globe appeared above the device.
“We can’t stay here honey, don’t you agree?” Reynolds asked as he adjusted thee holster at his side.
Honey? She blinked at him. He called me honey?
“Paige?” Reynolds asked slowly, hiding the beginnings of a smile when he saw Paige’s almost mesmerised face.
“Yes, Lord Reynolds?” Paige responded almost automatically.
“Come on,” he said calmly as he came up to her. “I need you with me, Paige. Are you with me?”
She nodded.
“Good. Can you use this?” He knew it was a big ask for the seventeen year old.
He had placed something heavy in her hand. It was cold and hard.
Looking down she saw a pistol, a large revolver with a long tubular extension to the barrel.
Christ! “Ye…yes!” was all she could muster in reply.
“All right then! Quietly, follow me, let me do the work. Only use that if you absolutely have to.”
Paige nodded and adjusted her grip on the weapon which had suddenly brought home just how serious and deadly their situation had become.
Reynolds withdrew a large knife from a sheath at his back and quietly unlocked the door.
He pulled it open a crack and looked out – nothing.
He opened it further so that he could get his head out and look in the opposite direction – still nothing.
“All clear,” he announced in a whisper. “Ready?”
She nodded.
“Let’s go,” he said, slipping through the doorway.
Wade did not know that death was now hunting him.

[Keeper]

Paige holt examined the body of the crewman like a patron might look at an oddity on display at the circus, with a mixture of curiosity and revulsion.
The lifeless form was lying in a pool of dark liquid which, thankfully, the lighting was too poor to show in all its crimson glory.
She couldn’t believe how efficiently with which Lord Reynolds had dispatched the man.

Four men had come down the passageway towards where Paige and Reynolds had been lurking.
The lead man – Bomber Griffin – had told one of their number to stay put and guard the stairwell and report back to Wade if any runners came this way.
When the other three had gone Reynolds had moved down the corridor at incredible speed, given that he did so in utter silence, and had cut the man’s throat before the poor fool even knew anything about it.
Paige had known that there was more to the son of Earl Reynolds than met the eye but had not, until now, witnessed him in action before.
Even though she knew he had fought his way through an armed band of American thugs to rescue Lilly, she hadn’t expected the cold ease with which he carried out the murder of another human being.
Oddly, it didn’t seem to have any affect, positive or negative, on her opinion of him.
“I think I might be sick,” she whispered.
Reynolds grinned, “I get like that sometimes,” he said, which didn’t make her feel any better.

[Keeper]

King ushered the five men behind him out through a small square hatchway into a dimly lit passageway that was lined with cables and pipes on both bulkheads.
He said nothing himself and reminded each man to remain silent as they came out, puffing and sweaty after their long crawl through the dark awkward tunnel that smelled of oil and tallow.
When they had gathered themselves he led them cautiously towards number three hold.

As they came to a heavy door, built to be air and watertight, King had them stay back whilst he went about the slow business of unclamping the door as quietly as he could. All six men winced whenever the rusty clamps gave a banshee wail in protest. They all had visions of Wade’s men, alerted by the noise, getting themselves into position on the other side, ready to riddle whoever came through the door with bullets.

At last the final ‘dog’ was released and King tugged at the door.
No movement.
It took him a moment to realise his error, then with a huff of annoyance he shoved hard at the door.
It flew open with a squeal from its hinges pulling King off balance so that he fell over the lower part of the coaming into the compartment.
Frozen where he fell like an oddly placed ebony statue, King awaited the shot that would kill him, as did the other men behind him.
No shot came though as the compartment was empty.
There was one more entrance to the large open space, except for the huge hatch in the roof of the chamber and King figured that if anyone opened that then Wade’s followers would be the least of their worries!
He directed two of his men to climb the ladder and secure the doorway there.
“So far, so good,” King mused to himself as he looked around. Number Three Hold was the smallest on the ship and could only be accessed by the service passage down which they had just come and the upper door which led directly into Number Two Hold, on the opposite side of the forward bulkhead.
This was Engineering’s store, a small workshop resided in one corner but wasn’t used due to it being so isolated.

With a nod and a grin to his fellows that showed them his startlingly white teeth, King led the men back out into the dim passageway which would take them past the Ether Chambers and into the small control room.

That is where he expected to find resistance.

He wasn’t disappointed.

[Keeper]

Jonah Brewer paced about the Reynolds' family cabin, a cold sweat drenching his brow, his bottom lip pinched between his crooked yellow teeth. he was drumming his fingers on the Butt of his rifle as he walked in nervous agitation.
He was here, away from the action and as he considered it; out of the loop. He wanted to know what was happening and yet he didn't, which made him both nervous and angry.
Supremely confident in Wade's plan he had convinced himself that it was going to succeed, but ever present was this little doubt that just wouldn't go away.
Sighing he turned to face back into the room and the little nagging feeling increased again. Brewer was looking at Jonathan Reynolds and he suddenly realised why this nagging wouldn’t leave, and what the source of the feeling was; Sebastian bloody Reynolds!
While the toff remained at large Brewer couldn’t get that horrid sinking feeling to abate.
In frustration his fist slammed into the bulkhead as he neared it, the echoing thud soliciting frightened whimpers from the children.
Their sound annoyed him and he turned to glare at them. The boy wasn't looking at him, he was holding his sister's hand and had his other hand on his mother's back, consoling her while she cradled the unconscious Jonathan's head.
But the daughter was watching him, tears streaking her cheeks, her eyes wide as saucers.
Brewer straightened, combing his fingers through his lank, greasy hair and flashing a smile that looked to the girl as foul as the man's breath smelt.
Little Millicent Reynolds looked away burying her face in her brothers shoulder.

[Keeper]

Anger welled up inside Brewer, a bitterness aimed at every girl that had ever spurned him and it contorted his narrow weasel face into an unpleasant combination of sneer and grimace.
Well, he'd show this little brat not to spurn him. his eyes darted towards the bedroom door, then flicked back towards Millie and his sneer-grimace turned into an insidious smile, something that made him look even more sinister.

Davie Brown, who was calmly leaning against the bulkhead between two pictures of mountains, the Alps he assumed, watched Brewer's pacing with bored indifference. but now the man had stopped and was giving the little girl the kind of look that he wasn't overly comfortable with.
Knowing how treacherous the greasy man could be and that he was also Wade's favourite lap-dog, he thought twice about warning brewer off, but then his conscience go the better of him.
"Brewer," Brown said slowly.
"What?" Brewer snapped in annoyance, spinning on his heel to face Brown. "What?" Brewer said again, challenging.
Brown didn't respond immediately and Brewer grunted in victory, however, Brown cocked his head to one side. "Someone's coming," he announced, glad of the excuse to change the subject.
Brewer's face brightened like a child spotting a treat in his mother's hand, but the excited look dropped when he saw Brown unsling his weapon and ready himself.
The greasy man followed Brown's example and nodded for Brown to open the door.

A man stumbled as he went to knock on a door that was no longer there and Brewer tittered a high pitched, girly laugh.
The man, Gerald Lipton, was of a burly, mid-height build with short cropped brown hair and a close trimmed beard.
He frowned at Brewer, his dark eyes threatening. "You arse, Brewer! Stop cocking around," he growled bringing the scrawny man's giggles to a halt with the severity of his tone.

Jonas Brewer didn't like Lipton very much, he was far too confident for his liking, and built like a built privy too!
Trying to assert his authority, Brewer said, "Never mind all that, what's happening? Does Mr Wade need me to do anything?" He was trying to sound confident but to Brown he just sounded nervous.
Lipton frowned at Brewer and pushed his way into the cabin so that he could see there was no one else in there, his hairy faced bulk filling the doorway.
"Nestor," Lipton said deliberately using Wade's forename to annoy Brewer, a man whom Lipton despised greatly, "sent me to check that all was well here, He said for me to tell you to wait until he says before opening your present? Don't confess to knowing what he means but I'm sure it means something to you?"
Brewer screwed his face up in confusion. "Present?"
A whimpering sob emitted from the little girl at that moment and Brewer's eyes lit up. "Ah, yes," he drooled.
Brown shuddered as he followed the lank-haired man's gaze.
"Jesus!" Lipton cursed as he too realised what was meant and he shook his head in disgusted revulsion.

[Keeper]

“Don’t you stand there judging me, Gerald, the wife beater,” Jonas Brewer spat the words out, emphasising the man’s name as though it were some sort of curse.
Lipton tensed, annoyance turning to outrage at Brewers sudden and uncharacteristically strong outburst. “Mind your tongue, Brewer!” he hissed through clenched teeth.

Suddenly Lipton jerked, standing straighter, his eyes wide in surprise. The movement made Brewer flinch and step back, wondering if Lipton was about to attack him.

Again Lipton jerked, letting out a grunt and his face turned angrier still. He span around, his bulk now facing into the back into the passageway.
“You bastard!” the big man growled before jerking yet again.

Brewer and Brown both stared in confusion, unable to see into the darkness beyond Lipton’s massive frame.
Then the back of Lipton’s dirty, once white shirt darkened. A patch spread from the centre of his back and flowed down towards his waistline.
Despite the dim emergency lighting sucking the colour from the room, both men knew that the patch of growing darkness should be a bright crimson red.

Lipton stepped backwards, one foot unsteadily behind the other, forcing the second foot to scrape back across the carpet in order to maintain his balance.
He had his hand clasped to his own throat.

[Keeper]

Edgar King motioned for quiet as he crept towards the corner of the darkened passageway.
He had two men with him, having left the rest to secure the passageways around Cargo Hold C.

Taking a round-about route to get behind what he was terming ‘enemy lines’ they were approaching the small brig.
Peering around a corner in the passageway he saw that the main door was open and a dim light was coming from within.
Grinning, King flexed his shoulders, looked back at his companions and nodded. Then guessing that they might not notice the movement in the darkness he whispered, “We’re on.”
He received a pat on his shoulder – OK!
King had acquired himself a long machete which was normally used for cutting open packaging or hacking through mooring ropes in an emergency but now was to be used for a far more sinister purpose. He readied the weapons as he crept forward.

Seth Gecko paced angrily around the confined cell, his fists clenching and unclenching in pent-up frustration.
Every now and then he would cast a glance at the doorway especially when the muted bass of gunfire would echo through the vessel or there was some spurious clang or creak.

Whitby watched the pacing lion, his own eyes never straying from the tough, scary executive officer.
Lindsey Holt noticed the worry on Whitby’s face.
“For the love of God, Seth, stop your pacing will you?”
Gecko stopped to fix Holt with one of his stern looks. “Aye,” he muttered, before setting off again, a caged lion looking for the first opportunity to escape and pounce on its captor.

[Keeper]

There were four of Nestor Wade’s men guarding the brig.
King knew them all. He didn’t particularly get on with any of them.

Jack Laurence was a man of average everything, build, height, weight, non-descript brown hair and plain clothes. He had a dull personality that even those on Wade’s ‘payroll’ tended to mock.

Paul Burrows was a tall thin man in his early fifties with hair that had already turned a shocking white. His lithe, almost skeletally thin body bellied an uncanny strength. King and Burrows had come to blows before, and it hadn't gone well for the big black man.

Nicholas Clough was a Yorkshire man, King had been able to tell that when they'd first met, before the man spoke in his rich Barnsley accent. There was something about him that reminded King of an old friend who also came from the north of England. Clough was another average guy.

Last there was Schmidt, Shmitty to everyone that knew him and called themselves his friend.
Shmitty was tall, broad, square-jawed, blue-eyed, blond-haired and had muscles that rippled and bulged even when he was asleep. No one here knew it of course, but there was a man on certain worldlines, a little ways in the future, who would have drooled over the sight of such Aryan perfection.
If that wasn't bad enough, Shmitty was also a mean vicious animal who would happily punch and kick a man to death just for the entertainment of it. King hated the big German with a passion.

Gripping the handle of the machete tightly he moved forward with caution. He didn't want them to realise he was there until he was amongst them.
Behind him his men followed.