Darkfall: Shadows of the Deep, page 3
Jack’s body ached and cried out for rest. The last couple of days had been hard, starting with the ordeal at Low Moorsley and the banshee. Since then, his time had been a mix of travelling and fighting, with only a few hours of seating and sleeping thrown in between. On top of that, the trip back from Dalby had taken place overnight, meaning the last time he’d slept was around two days ago.
Now, he was en route to Whitby with Max for yet another mission, so he had no idea when he’d be able to rest his head again. At least he’d had a meal, and Max had promised him some new clothing. Smoke clung to Jack, overpowering the natural smells of the countryside around him. Up ahead, Jack saw Whitby, and the town’s many chimneys puffed up streams of cloudy grey smoke into the air. Should be only another ten minutes or so until we’re there.
During the journey, Jack couldn’t help but think of Assandra. He truly felt for her. Nothing about what was happening to the woman was fair. Once again, he questioned the rash decision he’d made when swearing his life to the Deathborn in the first place.
He then thought of the mysterious organisation he was now part of, on the lowest rung of the ladder. Who knew how many rungs were above him? He knew of the Knights of Olin and the Shadowhand, and had heard mention of a group called the Thales, but he got the impression there were even more heads to the hydra. After Samuel’s death, the draw of joining the Deathborn had been the simplicity of it. It was a clear way to direct his anger and grief, and his first battle with one of those monsters had managed to sate his rage for a little while. Killing the creature and giving himself over to the anger had been a much-needed relief.
However, things had quickly become more complicated. While Jack still felt Cora had needed to be put down, the situation was a lot less black and white than he’d first thought, and the attitude Theodore had taken towards Assandra didn’t sit well on his moral compass.
What a fucking mess.
Finally, Jack thought about his late wife and son. Their loss still didn’t feel real, especially Samuel’s. Rose’s illness had taken Jack by surprise, but he’d at least known to expect the worst. Samuel’s death had been so sudden and violent it had shattered Jack’s world in every way imaginable.
He felt like he’d failed them, both in life and now in death, shaming their memory with what he had now committed his own life to.
The problem was, Jack couldn’t see a way out of it—other than death, of course.
Max spoke, breaking Jack’s concentration: ‘When we get to town, the first thing we do is get you your new clothes. Then we head straight to the vantage point I picked out. You look exhausted, so I’ll let you get a little shut-eye while we wait for Assandra to arrive.’
Jack was a little taken aback by the generosity. ‘You sure?’ he asked. ‘I’m fine to keep watch as well. I’ve been without sleep before.’
Max waved a dismissive hand. ‘If I need you, I’ll wake you. I’d prefer you to get some rest to keep your strength up.’
‘Thank you,’ Jack said. ‘Where is the vantage point, anyway?’
‘Fairly close to the drop-off location. It was the best location I could find. Maybe not perfect, but it will certainly do.’
‘Go on,’ Jack said.
‘Well, we’ll be staying at a common house,’ Max told him.
‘A doss house?’ Jack asked in surprise. ‘Won’t that be a little… crowded?’
‘The one I’ve found has unused space in the attic,’ he explained. ‘There’s a hole in the roof, which means the owner has a whole storey she can’t get any coin for. So, I negotiated a price to use it for a few days. It’s cold and damp up there, but suits our needs well.’
‘Bit of luck, stumbling across that,’ Jack said.
But Max shook his head. ‘Not really—I was thorough. I checked all options. Spent a little time watching the package from each location before I settled on that one.’
‘See anything interesting?’
‘Nothing definitive. I did spot a few people hanging around close to the package. One even got up to leave, and he was quickly replaced by someone else shortly after. Seemed like a change over in who was watching the package.’
‘So why didn’t you just follow them?’
‘Because I couldn’t be certain,’ Max said. ‘It could have just been people going about their day. That’s when I came up with the plan to enlist Assandra’s help, then made the short trip back to her home, hoping you all would return soon. Turns out, luck was on my side.’
‘How long had you been waiting for us when we arrived?’ Jack asked.
‘Not too long. I’d guess only a little over an hour.’
‘You’re lucky we came back when we did, then.’
‘I was prepared to wait a while longer. I knew that whatever was going to happen out at Dalby, it was likely it wouldn’t take too long to resolve—one way or the other. If you were going to return at all, I guessed it would be today.’
‘Makes sense, I suppose,’ Jack said. He paused for a moment, then continued to ask something he’d been thinking about: ‘Can I ask you something? What’s it like being a Shadowhand? Seems like you are a law unto yourself. A far cry from being a Deathborn.’
‘It is a far cry,’ Max said. ‘I’m certainly not a law unto myself, but I do have free rein to do as I please, as long as I continually prove my worth and show results. Mostly, I devise my own missions.’
‘Mostly?’ Jack asked.
‘Yes. As I say, we aren’t a law unto ourselves. Sometimes we get called on.’
‘And how do the Knights of Olin fit into everything? Do they just act as they please as well?’
Max shook his head. ‘The knights serve a different purpose. Think of them more as generals and strategists, as well as warriors. They’ll lead important missions that require numbers. My kind are information gatherers, and we work from the shadows. Hence the name.’
‘So you’re spies,’ Jack said.
‘And sometimes assassins,’ Max added. ‘If the situation calls for it, that is.’
‘I’ve heard you mention a group called the Thales as well. That another sect?’
‘It is,’ Max said. ‘Scholars, scientists, and researchers.’
‘Are there other groups on top of that?’
‘There are,’ Max replied after a moment of hesitation.
Jack shook his head. ‘So, explain it all to me,’ Jack said. ‘All these different sects or groups, do you fellas just work together for the greater good? Or are you all part of the same overriding organisation?’
‘Why the sudden interest?’ Max asked.
Jack gave a shrug. ‘Gus always said I should ask more questions. I’m thinking he may have had a point.’
‘Theodore told me what happened to Gus,’ Max said. ‘The organic structure he touched is something new. It’s a disturbing revelation.’
‘It is,’ Jack agreed.
‘How do you feel about what happened? I got the impression you and he were friends.’
Jack considered that. ‘Not friends, but I liked him well enough, yes. It is what it is, though—part of being a Deathborn, I’m told. We lose people all the time.’
‘Technically, Gus isn’t yet lost.’
‘No,’ Jack admitted. ‘Though I’m not so certain he’ll ever wake up. And if he does, I don’t expect his mind will be what it was.’
‘What makes you think that?’
Jack thought back to the incident where Gus had interacted with that living monolith, remembering the expression on Gus’ face as the large man began to scream. He’d seen something, Jack was sure of that, and it had been enough to turn the man catatonic.
‘Just a feeling I have,’ Jack responded.
The path they were on took them into town across the western cliffs. The sea out beyond the cliffs was unsettled with choppy waves and grey skies. Scores of fishing boats of all sizes bobbed on the water, and Jack heard the crooning of seagulls overhead.
Up ahead, they could see the route into Whitby, with the road dropping down from the high cliffs; Jack also spotted dual piers stretching out into the water from the edge of the settlement, like a pair of pincers, each with a lighthouse positioned at the end.
As the two men descended on the road, they passed by rows of terraced houses that sat on their right. After that, the road cut inland a little. A large building, which looked brand new, rose up from the sharp drop to their left. It had orange brick walls and a slate roof. Looking down, Jack saw there were a lot of people gathered around it.
‘It’s the pavilion,’ Max explained. ‘Somewhere for the folks here to watch plays. No bad thing, bringing a little culture to the town.’
‘Can’t say I’ve ever seen a play,’ Jack said.
‘And I highly doubt you’ll have the time to today, so don’t get your hopes up.’
Jack laughed. ‘I’ll try to contain my disappointment.’
To the right of them was a large open area, shaped like a crescent. The curve of that crescent was lined with tall, terraced townhouses that had steps in their rooflines. The walls were a mix of brick, stone, and white render. Jack had a feeling the owners of those homes were wealthy, as the dwellings stood at least four stories high—five if you counted the roof space, as many had roof windows in their slopes. Most door and window openings had intricate stonework around them, which was also present behind the eaves guttering, lending the houses a regal quality.
Eventually, after continuing down through the increasingly busy street, the pair reached the piers they had spotted while up on the cliffs. They then turned south and followed the road into town, ambling down along the harbour, where the River Esk cut through Whitby, dividing it into east and west. There was a build up of boats in the river that came in from between the outcropping piers—a throng of vessels, some coming into the harbour, others going out, and many more moored to wharfs or to the stone walls of either side of the water, rising above the water level by a few feet.
Workers were busy unloading the haul from some of the docked boats, dropping piles upon piles of fish out from nets and into crates, or letting them spill onto open sheets that lay on the harbour promenade. Many working men were packed into that stretch of walkway, and it appeared intensely busy for such a narrow route. The smell of fish and sea life filled the air. It was a smell Jack didn’t mind—in fact, it made him feel hungry.
The buildings along the harbour were a mismatch of styles. There were homes and boarding houses, which were mostly thin buildings wedged into the long, terraced blocks, broken every so often by the odd, narrow alleyways. But there were also shops or places of business, which were lower, causing the rooflines of the terraces to drop at certain points.
Farther up ahead, and following the line of the river, Jack saw a bridge that connected the two sides of the town. Only smaller boats could pass beneath it and therefore follow the river farther into town. The larger fishing boats, however, had to remain and manoeuvre into the more densely packed top end, where there was a hive of activity and noise as fishermen yelled, people chatted, and seagulls squawked. Jack even saw one of the birds swoop down and snatch away part of a fried fish from a lady. The woman raised a fist to the sky and unleashed a torrent of cursing that might have made any of the many sailors present blush, had they all not been engrossed in their labour.
Jack noticed that many of the people on the promenade cast annoyed looks at Max and him as their horses clopped past. They were the only people on horses, and Jack found himself thinking it was too crowded a space to be traveling while mounted, though Max didn’t seem to pay it any attention.
The pair eventually made their way to the bridge, where the space around them opened up, with roads and alleyways erupting off in different directions, one of which continued along the river. The bridge itself gave access to the east side of the town and the opposite harbour, which looked a touch less crowded than the west side. However, Max didn’t take either of these roads, and instead bore right as they moved deeper into town. Here, the streets themselves widened, and more horses and horse-drawn carriages filtered past. Max led Jack to a large stable with an open front. As they approached, an elderly gentleman, who was short and squat with straw-like grey hair, stepped forward.
‘Back again?’ the man asked Max as he drew his horse to a stop and dismounted.
‘I am,’ Max replied. ‘Do you have room to house two steeds for a while?’
‘As long as your coin is still good. Two horses will be sixpence a day.’
‘You’re expensive, you know that?’ Max said.
The man shrugged. ‘You’re free to go elsewhere.’
Max withdrew a leather coin purse, which looked full almost to the point of bursting, and dug inside before picking out some coins. He deposited them into the palm of the waiting man, who raised his bushy eyebrows in response.
‘That’s enough for a few days. You happy payin’ that much up front? Can just pay a day at a time, you know.’
‘Well, I’m sure if I leave early, you’ll pay me back what I’m owed, won’t you?’
The man just smiled and pocketed the money. ‘Bring your horses in and hitch them up. We’ll take care of em’ for you.’
‘I’m sure you will,’ Max said. He then turned to Jack, who was still up on his horse. ‘Come on, we don’t have all day.’
Jack climbed down and both men led their steeds into the timber-framed stable, which was thick with the smell of manure. They secured their horses close to the three others that were inside the open-fronted structure.
Jack and Max then walked back to the harbour area. ‘There’s a shop here where we can get you some new clothes,’ Max said. ‘Just pick out something basic.’
The establishment Max led Jack to was small, the narrow building squished in between two larger businesses: a fishmonger and a blacksmith. The frontage of the clothes shop consisted of a pale green door and a wide window with the word ‘Thompson’s’ transferred onto it in gold lettering. Upon entering, Jack was met with a strong smell of tobacco and a thick, grey cloud of smoke. Through the smog, a man approached, tall and thin. He had a long, dour face and a sickly pallor, along with thinning dark hair that was swept across his scalp in a comb-over. He wore an ill-fitting suit.
‘Can I help you gentlemen?’ he asked as he lifted a lit pipe he was smoking and took a puff.
The majority of the clothes around them were piled onto tables around the space, with little rhyme or reason to their grouping as far as Jack could see. Some, however, were displayed on free-standing metal racks. Jack also noticed some waist-high display cases pressed against a wall, which contained pocket watches, small knives, old-looking watches, and other items of men's jewellery.
‘My friend here is looking for some clothes,’ Max said.
Jack found himself worrying the clothes on display would smell worse than the ones he was currently wearing. As if to make the situation worse, the tall man took yet another draw from his pipe, letting smoke blow free from the side of his mouth and waft straight towards a collection of hanging jackets. Jack felt the man’s pale blue eyes scanning him up and down.
‘Should be plenty here to fit you. Have a look and see if anything takes your fancy.’
The attendant then turned and walked away. He sat down at a desk tucked away in the far corner of the shop, before he leaned back in his chair and continued dragging on his pipe, clearly uninterested in any further conversation.
Jack wrinkled his nose, then leaned into Max and whispered, ‘I might be better off just keeping the clothes I’m in.’
Max shook his head. ‘Are you aware you’ve got a bloodstain on your back the size of my head?’
Jack’s eyes widened. He instinctively twisted his head to look, though it was obviously futile.
‘Hurry up and pick something out,’ Max said. ‘All you need to worry about is blending in as much as possible, so anything here will suffice.’
Jack began to look through the clothing. Though his options were limited, he didn’t want to take too long about it, so he picked out a simple dark grey cotton shirt, trousers, some new boots, and a short jacket that, in truth, was looking a little threadbare at the elbows. Jack highly doubted the clothes were new, but after holding the shirt and jacket against himself, he was confident they would fit well enough.
On the way back to the counter, Max stopped and looked over at one of the display cases.
‘Do you have any weapons on you?’
‘No,’ Jack said. ‘I left them all in the cart back at Assandra’s house. The machete I used is on the wagon with Edwin.’
‘Best to always have at least something,’ Max said. ‘Although you couldn’t have hidden a machete. We’ll get you one of the knives. Something small enough to fit in your pocket.’
They approached the owner to pay for the goods, and then Max asked to see the knives available. The gentleman took them back over to the case, unlocked the glass lid, and raised it up.
‘Go ahead and get a feel for them,’ he said. ‘I want you to be happy with your purchase.’
Jack reached inside and lifted up the closest one to him—when he inspected it, he saw it was too big for his pockets. After looking through the rest, Jack decided on a fold-out blade with a carved bone handle. It looked old, but the folding mechanism was strong and smooth, and the blade itself was sharper than the rest. They returned to the counter and Max paid the bill.
‘Thank you for your patronage,’ the owner said as he took the coins as payment.
‘Got a bag for the clothes?’ Jack asked.
The man smiled. ‘Afraid not. Have a good day.’
With the new clothing bundled into his arms and the knife in his pocket, Jack followed Max outside.
‘The doss house is a little way past the bridge,’ Max said. ‘You can get changed after we’re settled in.’
Jack followed the Shadowhand back to the river; once there, they moved to the bridge and down along the harbour. There was much less traffic in the waters of the river there, with the boats being smaller and sporting no masts to speak of. While the row of terrace buildings continued along with the River Esk, the concrete thoroughfare widened out, and a small stone church sat overlooking the water. In addition, some small wooden structures sat at the edge of the harbour wall with open fronts, their backs facing the water. At those points, smaller fishing boats hoisted up their catch in nets, depositing the dead fish onto the floor of the harbour. Most of those huts had names emblazoned over their entranceways, such as Witman & Sons, or Skivington, Chambers & Co.
