Once Upon a Time in Hell (12 page)

"We need to get off this thing!" I said. "While there's still a thing to get off."

"There are a couple of lifeboats on the upper deck, strange man," said the dancer. "Follow me."

She ran along the gangway towards the stairs, myself and the old man following.

We had the advantage of a head start. Most of the patrons were beginning to see that their voyage was taking a turn for the worse but we made it to a lifeboat before the penny had truly dropped.

"What in tarnation's going on down there?" asked a reptilian looking fellow, popping his scaly head out of his cabin as we ran past. "I'm trying to shed in here."

We ignored him, desperate to get to the lifeboat before we had competitors for what was likely to be limited space.

"Get in," said the old man as we reached it; a small rowing boat with room for all of ten people. "I'll winch it over the side."

I didn't argue, dragging the dancer alongside me and toppling onto the floor of the boat as the old man began to operate the winch that would swing it free of the Clearsight.

"One of us needs to operate the pulley," she said. "I was hoping it might be you."

"That's already in hand," I replied as the boat swung out into the open air and rocked violently from side to side.

"Hey!" called a voice from the deck. "What do you think you're doing there!"

I peered over the side to see one of the crew. I'd never seen a fish with a beard before. If I had I'm sure I would never have seen one this angry. It waved a pair of spindly arms at us; bizarre, flappy things that looked to have been sewn on as an afterthought. "Passengers are not allowed to interfere with the lifeboats!" it shouted just as we dropped, the boat falling through the air as the gunslinger let gravity take its course.

We hit the surface of The Bristle's lake with a terrifying slapping sound, great curtains of ichor flying up at either side. I didn't see the old gunslinger slide down the rope to join us be cause I was face down in the far corner of the boat, quite convinced I'd cracked my head open.

"Get up, kid," he said, "we need to start rowing."

"Fine, fine..." I shifted myself upright and reached for one of the oars. It promptly reformed into a hand and slapped me in the face.

"The lifeboat is part of the Clearsight," said the dancer, "and it seems to still be angry with you."

"Well you row then!" I shouted, wrestling to keep the oar from hitting me again.

The old man snatched it from my hands. "Just try and keep yourself to yourself, hopefully the boat won't capsize itself if it thinks it's going to kill her," he nodded towards the dancer. "After all, she hasn't broken any house rules."

"Hey!" came another shout from the deck of the Clearsight. I looked up to see another figure come hurling over the side, jumping through the air towards us. He landed in the middle of the boat, a jump of ten feet or so, squatting perfectly a couple of feet from me. "Room for one more?" he asked. It was the dog-faced card player I'd managed to insult earlier. He recognised me just as I did him and bared his teeth in a snarl. "Well, if it ain't the rude little bastard that got the jump on me. I don't know who it was who gave you a helping hand, no-tail, but unless it was this pretty little thing..."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," the dancer said. The dog-faced man nodded. "Then I guess we have an even fight this time, let's see how good you are with nobody to help you by sneaking up on me from behind."

Which is when the old man hit him over the head with his oar before putting the blade back over the side and beginning to row.

"Strange man," said the dancer, rowing as well, "you talk to thin air and people get shot or beaten with no sign of you doing anything. Do you, by any chance, have an invisible friend who is currently helping with the rowing?"

"Something like that," I admitted.

"Good," she replied, "he seems very useful." 

B
ILLY AND
E
LISABETH
made slow time as they descended the mountain. The light was failing fast and, carrying the body of the woman between them, it was an unsteady journey. Thankfully, concerned for their safety, another party from the camp had set out to look for them. Sat down for a moment to catch their breath, Billy and Elisabeth were relieved to see the bobbing light of lanterns making their way up to them.

"You up here?" called a voice neither of them recognised. "Hello?"

"Hello!" Billy shouted back. "We're not too far above you and thankful of help."

Slowly, the two groups met in the middle, Billy and Elisabeth placing the body of the dead woman before them rather self-consciously.

"I'm afraid we were too late to help her," said Billy. "We saw whoever it was, leaping up the way there like a mountain goat but I couldn't get a shot at him."

"Jesus wept," said the man that had been leading the party, holding up his lantern so he could see the extent of the woman's wounds. "He sure made a meal of her didn't he?"

"I don't know if it was him," said Billy, "I was thinking a wild animal of some sort might have got hold of her." "Were you now?" said the man, looking up at him. "It must have made damn quick work of it."

Billy nodded. "I guess. Just, you know, given the state of her..."

"Ayuh, she ain't pretty." The man looked down at her once more then held out his hand to shake Billy's. "Dan Simon, tracker back when I was young enough to be any good at it."

"Billy Herbert."

"Elisabeth Forset, thank you for coming to our aid. It's not been easy carrying her between us. Do you think you might have something we could wrap her up in?"

"Aye," said Simon, "I'm sure we can find something."

"It would be better, I think," continued Elisabeth, "were she covered. I wouldn't want her child seeing her like this."

"I'd say not, she's besides herself enough as it is. Telling the whole camp as how the Devil's among us."

"I dare say that's caused a panic?"

"Yes ma'am, it certainly has."

"Great," said Billy, "just what we need. Tempers were frayed enough as it is. She got any other family?"

"Father died on the way here. We've got one of the Clamshell family looking after her."

"Then maybe we should consider burying her here rather than taking the body back to the camp?" Billy suggested. "I don't think people seeing her like this is likely to help."

Simon thought about this for a moment. "You're not wrong, son," he said, "but I can't speak for the rest of the party behind me if you know what I mean? There's some who'll be talking the minute they're back amongst their friends, that cat's already well and truly escaped from this particular bag."

I
N FACT, THE
camp was already whipping itself into a frenzy. The heightened nerves and anticipation following the appearance of Wormwood (and, perhaps even more damaging, the feeling of disappointment that had occurred from the majority being barred from entering) had broken the euphoric mood of earlier. Before the town had appeared, the camp had been a place of harmony. People gathered together in one holy cause. Now there was fear, resentment and confusion. The journey to Wormwood had been hard, many groups had lost members of their party en route. That had seemed tolerable when they thought that paradise was close at hand. Nothing truly worth having came without hardship. If anything, the difficulties all had endured to find their place on that plain had sweetened the arrival of Wormwood. It had assured them that it had all been worthwhile, that they were about to receive their reward. Now, a few short hours later, they still had nothing more to show for their losses than a door they could look at but not open.

As is always the way in such situations, the negative mood of the camp took hold of the first genuine piece of horror and fixated on it. They said the Devil had come to the camp and was stealing the women. A terrifying figure it was, with a red face. It could leap through the mountains that encircled them with supernatural agility. How long would it be before it struck again?

When the news reached the ears of Father Martin—head of the Order of Ruth, that most ancient, unconventional and small of monasterial orders—it hit him particularly hard.

"Tell me again, Brother William," he said to the youngest of the order, "what do they say he looks like?" "I dare say it has been blown out of all proportion," the novice said, only too aware of the effect his words were having on his elder and dearly wishing he'd never uttered them.

"Perhaps so," Father Martin agreed, "nonetheless, describe him to me."

"They say he was like a man but with a bright, red face."

"A red face," Father Martin nodded, "yes."

"Is there a problem, Father?"

"Oh I think there are several don't you? Where is one to begin? Where can one even start to consider the sins stacked against us?"

And with that, Father Martin wandered away, leaving Brother William very much concerned for the old man.

T
HE RESCUE PARTY
descended, the body—as per Billy's suggestion—having been buried beneath a pile of rocks a good distance from the camp. The crowd that was there to greet them had already begun to invent what had occurred above them and it was an effort to try and get across the facts.

"I don't know what's wrong with them," said Lord Forset, embracing his daughter, "in the space of an hour people have begun losing their minds."

"They’re scared, father," she said, "and resentful. They want something to focus their bad feelings on and our 'devil' in the rocks is the perfect candidate."

"Did you see him?"

"Merely a glimpse, no more than a silhouette as he ran for higher ground. The things he did to the woman though... Oh father, it was brutal." He hugged her once more. "I'm sorry you had to witness it my dear. You should have stayed down here with me."

She bit down on what would have been her normal response to such a statement. He was her father and he didn't mean any insult.

"If you had wanted to spare me the grisly sights you should have left me at home," she said.

"Would you have remained there had I insisted?"

"Of course I wouldn't."

"Then I suppose we must accept the horrific with the miraculous." He nodded towards the town. "There is still no sign of life from Wormwood. Most people were hoping that a second group would have been admitted by now. It's been nearly five hours since the others vanished and people are mindful of the fact that, within a day, the town will have vanished again. The mood of the camp is not good."

"And the mood of my father?"

"Sore also, I must admit. If I had ever imagined we could have come all this way only to observe from afar..."

"There's time yet, don't give up hope."

"Indeed not. I confess, at the moment I'm a little more concerned as to what our fellow disciples may do should the situation not change. There have already been a number of fights.

Those who know people who have been taken within Wormwood are viewed with hostility by some, as if they have somehow cheated."

"Perhaps we would do well to retire to the Land Carriage?"

"I think so. See if you can help me gather everyone together." 

F
ATHER
M
ARTIN LOOKED
up at the mountains, now little more than jagged black absences of stars and wondered on what might be up there.

Ever since leaving Omaha, he had been plagued with visions of a red-faced man. He had seen him on the street outside their hotel and watched him dance in the dust outside the window of his cabin aboard the Land Carriage. He had considered the man an omen, a warning of some terrible event to come. When poor Brother Samuel had been attacked en route, his body engulfed in hot steam, Father Martin had looked upon the man's pink and blistered face and wondered if that had been the future the vision had predicted. Still, the red-faced man had appeared to him and now he supposed he had his answer. If this creature was the Devil then what was Father Martin to do about it? The Order of Ruth was an unusual brotherhood, where philosophical thought and biblical interpretation was openly encouraged. Not for them, the blind following of well-trodden scripture and universally-held opinion. It was that unconventional attitude that had brought them here, to see the miracle of Wormwood for themselves and explore what it might mean for greater ecclesiastical thinking. If pressed for an opinion before he had begun this voyage, he would have suggested the Devil was a metaphor for the darkness in all men. The part of human nature one had to suppress in order to achieve the divine. That opinion could hardly stand if He looked down on them even now. What should a holy man do? Could Father Martin even claim such a distinction any more? He had seen things, been complicit in actions, on their journey here that made him question his right to the term 'holy'.

As always, the only question one could really consider was this: what would God want me to do?

Father Martin began to climb.

W
E BEGAN TO
pull away from the Clearsight. The boat was losing more and more of its shape as we watched, passengers screaming and panicking all over its surface. I could see the distended form of Branches of Regret, now grown to almost half the size of the boat, his stern profile staring down upon the deck as its countless arms pounded and split. The Clearsight parted at the middle deck, opening up like a snarling mouth, hoping to bite down on its attacker, but Branches of Regret grabbed hold of the upper section and pushed, splitting it even further.

Passengers were doing everything they could to escape, those who could were taking to the sky (I tried to spot the bat-like form of Axionus but in all the panic there was no sign of him), others were toppling overboard and into the crimson sea.

"Why do you think he did it?" I asked the old man. "Branches of Regret, I mean..."

"Are you talking to me or your invisible friend?" the dancer asked.