Haggart's Dawn Page 17

  “It's forgotten. I feel a lot better now that you know the truth. It's been a heavy weight on my shoulders for a long time,” he said. “Can you understand my shame, Lorrie? Can you see now why I’ve felt this guilt for so long?”

  “Of course I can. I’ve been talking to the Captain as well. He says you never really got over it, never came to terms with what you'd had to do. But it's over now - we can put the whole thing behind us. There's too much ahead for us to do and we can't be divided over anything. None of it matters any more, only that we're together.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean I'm learning, Haggart. I'm starting to understand it all and it both scares and thrills me to know that we're a part of it now.”

  “You're making about as much sense of Dagna!” he said. “Cryptic bloody hints and visions of the past. Do you have anything real for me? Something I can get head around?”

  “Aaron, the King, is alive. Somewhere. He's the one behind this - or at least he's a major character in the story,” she said. Harry came over with a jug of ale and she poured herself a cup.

  “Dagna said the same.”

  “Well he knows what these machines do - he was trying to gather enough of them during the overthrow. We believe...”

  “We?”

  “The Captain, Dagna and myself. We have good reasons to believe that enough of these machines, spread around Ulfwen, combined with a skilled Summoner, could possibly... Well, I guess...”

  “Guess what?”

  “Raise the dead.”

  Haggart felt the impact of the idea sink into his already fragile mind and suddenly some more of the pieces slid into place. The vision - they will send their dead before them. “He raised Jurgenbraw first.”

  “We think he managed to hide a lone machine just as the war came to an end. Aaron fled, taking a powerful Summoner with him, then attempted to raise a being from the dead and thus Jurgenbraw returned.”

  “Who would then begin producing more of them.”

  He reached across the table and put his rough, calloused hand on top of her soft and delicate fingers, lifting them to his lips. He kissed them gently and smiled.

  “I'm very proud of you, Lorrie. I only wish you'd been my daughter.”

  A tear slid down her beautiful face. “I couldn't have asked for a better Father.”

  The world faded and Haggart slipped into the milky void of sleep.

  *

  Deep in the core of winter, Haggart finally awoke. The cold had formed spidery webs of frost on the windows and framed them with a white border. He smelled the fire raging in the hearth, the scent of meat roasting and the gentle perfume of a lady. His eyes were stinging as he looked around, trying to move his finger tips, yet he managed to croak something through his arid throat that caught the attention of the only other person in the room.

  “Haggart?” said the Captain. “Are you awake?”

  “You can't finish me that easily, Captain,” he managed.

  “We thought we'd lost you out there. What the hell were you thinking?”

  Haggart couldn't reply. The Captain helped him to sit up in his bed and held a cup of water to his lips but most of it went down his front.

  “What did I miss?” he said, chuckling.

  “I won't tell you all that until we can do it over a mug. Understand?”

  “Aye, I think I do.”

  “I'll go tell Herbert,” said the Captain, rising from the chair at his bedside. He heard a door swing shut to his right.

  “I know,” said an unfamiliar voice.

  “Haggart, this is Herbert. He works with...”

  “Robert Dagna. I know.”

  Herbert came into view. He was a withered looking man with patches of wispy hair on his liver spotted scalp - like lost clouds looking for the sky. He had a toothy smile and he placed a cold, wrinkled hand on Haggart's forehead as if reading some mysterious signals from his mind.

  “Welcome back to the living realm,” he said. “I assume Dagna has contacted you during your... sleep.”

  “Yes, he has. That is power I have never seen before,” said Haggart. Herbert's face paled a little, like a shadow had suddenly passed over him.

  “It comes with a price. Few are gifted enough to bear such a burden. Robert is one of them.” He smiled suddenly and asked, “Did you like the beef?”

  “Yes, thank you. At least, I think I did. It still feels like a dream.”

  “You'll recover quickly now that you're awake. By tomorrow I expect to see you on your feet, though you may find your muscles will need time to remember what they once were. If you need anything - ring the bell.”

  “Thank you, Herbert. And pass my thanks to your master also.”

  With a smile and a nod, Herbert shuffled out of the room and left him alone with the Captain.

  “He's an odd one,” said the Captain once he was sure he was out of earshot. “I like him and he's useful, but he's... strange.”

  “In what way?”

  “He mumbles to himself, or at least I thought it was to himself. Then I overheard him say Dagna's name so I assumed what he was telling me was true. Was he really inside your head while you slept?”

  Haggart confirmed what he'd heard and told him all that had happened. The Captain, not one to show his emotions, looked visibly stunned.

  “That is power I’ve never heard of before,” was all he could say.

  “Has he been here often?” Haggart asked.

  “Who?”

  “Dagna of course.”

  “We've never seen him. People talk about him a lot but no - you never see him. Ever. He lives at the top of the northern tower that overlooks the lake. No one is allowed up there and no one appears to come out either. Only Herbert. Once in a morning, once at night.”

  “That seems odd,” said Haggart, sitting up a little further. “I saw him often in my mind. Perhaps, as Herbert said, the cost of his power has took its toll on him.”

  “Perhaps.”

  The door opened once more and this time with a little more force. John came in first, rushing to his Father's side, followed by Lorrie and Talbert who carried in his hands a stack of leather letter cases.

  “Dad!” said John, throwing his arms around him. “We thought we'd lost you.”

  “Well I'm found now. How are you lot? I hear the Captain got himself arrested!”

  “They couldn't keep me there for long,” laughed the Captain.

  They did their best to fill him in on what had happened since he'd collapsed. Most of it he knew from Dagna, but there were gaps that needed filling and Talbert was happy to oblige, though his facts didn't always line up with everybody else's account. Talbert had a way of seeing the world differently from most.

  “So, Captain. What's next?” asked John once they'd finished.

  “I don't quite know yet,” he replied. “From what Haggart has told us, this Marcus DeTorro, Hector's brother, is our main threat.”

  “Dagna took me as far as Sturgenvad - the last information they received from their spy. It was clear they knew who he was before they tried to kill him so what ever information he stole was more than likely what they wanted him to take back to the Council. I don't believe they bodged their attempt to kill him - I think they meant for him to go back with the message. I don't believe in this 'wandering man' who found him,” said Haggart.

  “What's your theory then?” asked Talbert.

  “He wants the council to know about the machines - but that's all. Enough to get them edgy. The sheer number of them, what they do and where he will hide them, that's the real issue and we've at least got a head start on it. He wants to use them to raise the dead - something he's already managed with Jurgenbraw.”

  “I did wonder how a split skull could stitch itself back together,” said the Captain.

  Suddenly, Haggart remembered something Dagna had said.

  “Lorrie, Dagna told me you think you found out what your vision meant. Well?”

  “
Since we arrived, Dagna seemed to sense my... gift,” she began. “Once the Captain had been released and our story seemed to satisfy the Council, Dagna gave orders for the Library to be opened to me. Did you know it has been closed for the last 5 years? The Council were worried that some of the information DeTorro was receiving had been gleaned from these books. Anyway, I began my search almost immediately.”

  “Did you know what you were looking for?” asked Haggart.

  “At first, no, I didn't. I just thought I'd look around and see if something jumped out at me. I didn't know what else to do while you slept. One day I was going down one of the aisles with scores of books on local history either side of me when my hand started hurting - just like yours did in the tomb back home.”

  Home, he thought. So far away now. She held up her hand and he saw that the rune had gone.

  “On the shelf I thought I saw a glimmer coming from the spine of this one...” She hefted a large tome onto the bed and he looked at the cover. It was bound in a patchwork of tanned leather and scored into its surface was the title:

  ARGTHAN IST ARGHIN

  “The rune was on both the spine and the cover and yet they have gone now since I discovered them. They were definitely there though!” she said.

  “I believe you, but what language is this?” asked Haggart.

  “I asked Herbert but he said he didn't know. He showed me another book...” A second book, heavier than the first, appeared and she stacked this one on top of the other. His legs were starting to feel squashed. “This one is about ancient languages. After studying it, I believe that it was written in Ara'kish - the writing of a desert people far to the east. They've been dead for a long time, a thousand years or so, but another book...” A third title was placed on the pile and Haggart winced.

  “This one says that the Ara'k were a people who worshipped Summoners, specifically one - a woman called Ara'koth who, legend says, could Summon the dead. Using these two, I began translating the first.”

  “That's excellent work, Lorrie,” said the Captain.

  “Thanks. I’ve only just started and the first pages are mostly none sense. I'm writing it all down and Herbert says he will check it with me. Once I find anything useful I will let you know.”

  The Captain put his hand on the stack of leather letter cases and held them up to Haggert.

  “Now for the news I’ve been dreading sharing with you,” he said, passing them to him. Haggart felt the weight of them on his unused muscles and winced.

  “Shankworth?”

  “Yes. These were forwarded onto us once I was able to pass a message onto my family, telling them that we were here.”

  “There's a lot of them,” said Haggart.

  “It looks as though he wrote them right up until the Mermack sank. The last few are soaked in sea water but are legible.”

  “How did they reach here?”

  “Read them.”

  “Have you?” The Captain nodded.

  “We'll leave you to rest,” he said, standing. John and Lorrie joined him. Talbert made for the door, “We'll see you later for supper. For now...” He placed a lit candle on the table next to his bed, “Read them and take it in. Tomorrow we will make plans.”

  “Captain, you're filling me with dread. Are these letters so awful?”

  “In a word? Yes.”

  The three left him and his eyes fell on the stack with a terrible, palpable dread settling into his stomach. He'd known Shankworth on and off for years and without even looking at the letters he knew that he was dead. But it wasn't this that drove him to read them. It was the desire to know why and, more importantly, who.

  He undid the leather cord that bound them, unfolded the leather cases and began with the first crisp sheet that smelled faintly of the sea and tobacco smoke and sorrow.

  Captain,

  I hope this first letter finds you well. We set sail on the morning tide three days ago. The weather was fine, an easterly breeze filled the sails and sent us on our way. The Captain is a fair man but drives his crew mightily. We talk often of the days of the Abergwen and drink to her loss when time allows.

  As to the errand you sent me on, the package is safely kept in the Captain's cabin in a locker only he has access to. After a long night on the wine I stole some courage to ask him about it. He found the matter greatly amusing and said that he had no idea what it was, only that he had to deliver it to a courier who would be waiting for them at the Port of Cursk. It will be many months before we reach there. If chance allows I will take a closer look at the package. The Captain wears the key around his neck and often falls asleep at his table and after a few glasses he is dead to the world.

  Shanks.

  Haggart folded up the letter and put it to one side. There was a jug of water next to him and he poured himself a cup, his whole body feeling weak and useless. He never knew that Shanks could be so elegant with his words, but then he suspected that there was someone else behind the letter - someone with a delicate feminine script. He found the next letter and opened it.

  Captain,

  We have been at sea for a fortnight and the weather took a turn for the worse. A storm hit us last night, coming hard at us from the north. We lost three of the crew overboard before we could secure the sails and trust our fate to what ever powers control the days of man. I’ve not seen such a fierce gale since I first took to the sea on my Father's boat. However, it was not the turbulent waters that bothered me as much as the behaviour of the Captain during the whole time we were being thrown about. He had seemed in high spirits as the first clouds passed by overhead, no more morose than any sailor who's seen his share of storms. It was only when the waters boiled and bubbled beneath us that he began to look pale, like a man gripped by a terrible fear and he took to his cabin and locked the door.

  I tried to enter, difficult as it was given the situation on deck, but he refused. At one time I swore I could have heard him talking to someone - yet I knew the cabin to be empty.

  As the morning came and the seas calmed, the Captain finally left his quarters and his colour had returned. Perhaps you may think this is normal given the situation, but to a sailor it is a grave concern. His crew didn't fail to notice it either and there are many mutterings about why the sudden change in the once confident Captain. The bosun was well into his cups when I asked him if the Captain had ever behaved like this before. He made many excuses for him but seemed to hint that the cause may be the strange cargo on board. I thought at first he was referring to the package, but he shook his head and said no more.

  When the time is right I will investigate the hold. I admit to having not given our cargo a second thought until now. The crew are mourning the loss of those who were washed overboard and it would be wise to respect that. Two of them were brothers.

  Shankworth

  The next letter was more hastily written and the words that had been gently penned with a soft flowing hand were now jagged and scratched into the paper.

  Captain,

  I must make this letter brief. The Captain is furious. I stole a moment to go below decks and into the hold only to find myself manhandled by three guards who had boarded the ship in secrecy and have lived beneath us all this time, unbeknownst to myself and the rest of the crew. They live below decks in solitude, each taking a shift to make sure no one enters the hold. Only those who needs must are allowed in - the Captain, the Bosun and the Cook who serves them their meals.

  When I asked the Captain what the meaning of this could be, he flew into a terrible rage and was close to hurling me over the rails. It was only his fear of the others discovering his secret that eventually calmed him and I am thoroughly convinced that I owe my life to the old crewman, Jas, who happened to come below at that moment and thus stemmed any further violence by his presence.

  This will not, however, stop me from finding out what ill luck has befallen our Captain and this voyage. Yet, I must prepare for the worst. The Captain's outburst has filled me with suspicion
and should matters spin out of our control, I have instructed the cabin boy to take charge of these letters and ensure their safe arrival at your family's residence in the City. He is well motivated by your generous offer of a modest bag of coin, offered to him by myself on your behalf.

  Regards,

  Shankworth.

  Haggart laughed and wondered how much the service had cost the Captain, only to realise that the boy had done his duty and thus it meant that Shankworth's fears had been well founded. The coin meant nothing in light of that.

  Captain,

  It has been five days since my last letter and yet I find that much has happened in that time to confirm our worst fears - that the hold of this ship contains no less than four of those vile machines you encountered. How do I know this? I will explain as best I can yet I fear my time aboard this ship is limited.

  Chance occurred that the Cook and myself took to the bottle one evening after the meal had been served. He enjoys his wine and I was able to procure a bottle or three from the Captain's locker and sneak into the mess undetected. Here we enjoyed the spoils of my thievery and I was keen to avoid getting too merry myself, choosing to top up the Cook's glass more often than my own. I dare say that the deck boards in the mess have never tasted such good wine!

  When he was sufficiently greased I took to gentle questioning of what exactly was being guarded in the hold. He was only too happy to share what he knew with me and, as we were alone, he spilled forth the truth like a leaking bucket. Yet this bucket was filled with sewage to me as he spoke of the four living machines that lay beneath our feet and the skilled men who guarded them. “Take my advice,” he slurred to me at one point, “Forget them until we go ashore. Then get a whore and forget them some more - they're evil things, they are. I can feel 'em down there, they talk to me when I go to fetch a cask of the salted pork.”