“Tada!” Mathis said, spreading his arms wide like a magician who’d just performed his best trick. “Feast your eyes on the secret headquarters of The Marine Society.”
If Lester weren’t absolutely certain they’d started their journey in the lobby of a hotel, he would have believed that they were now standing in the main cabin of an ancient seafaring vessel.
Brown wood walls curved up to join a braced ceiling, through which the massive trunk of a sailing mast came down from above and disappeared into the floor below. Light from several glowing hurricane lanterns glinted off the dials of brass instruments, hanging between portraits of old sea captains who stared down at the intruders with cold contempt. While at the far end of the cabin, a long bookcase held ancient-looking tomes and detailed models of ships constructed inside glass bottles.
The effect was so convincing that Lester could almost feel the ocean’s sway beneath his feet. “How — how is this here?” he asked.
Mathis didn’t answer. Instead, he walked across the room and took hold of one of the brass dials mounted on the wall. He turned it slowly counterclockwise until there was a sharp click, and a secret door swung inward.
A cool breeze swirled Lester’s hair as he joined his brother and looked out across the sprawling lights of Salem from high atop the Hawthorne Hotel. The sound of laughter drifted up from far below, and glancing down, Lester immediately clutched the doorframe. The only thing separating them from an eleven-story drop, and the resulting sudden stop, was a narrow concrete ledge.
“As I mentioned,” Mathis said, “this harbor was the wealthiest trading port in the east during its heyday.” He nodded towards the bobbing running lights of boats in the distance. “Every type of good you can imagine came through these docks. Back then, if you were a merchant sailor, you knew these cobbled streets as well as the ones from whatever hometown you’d left behind when you took to the sea to make your fortune.”
Mathis stepped back inside and closed the door.
“This room,” he continued, “is an exact replica of the ship’s cabin on the Taria Topan. It was one of the last trading ships to sail from here to the East Indies. Salem was its home port, and in between voyages, its captain used to stay at a tavern he owned called The Franklin. One day a couple of wealthy investors approached him about buying the land. They wanted to tear down the tavern and build a fancy new hotel in its place. To everyone’s surprise, the captain agreed. But hidden in the contract was the requirement that the architect add this room at the very top of the hotel and leave its design off the blueprints filed with the city. Additionally, the cabin was to be gifted in perpetuity to an organization called The Marine Society.”
“And who were they?” Lester asked.
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“Well, like most secret organizations, they preferred to keep that information to themselves. We do know The Marine Society existed long before the captain of the Taria Topan joined their ranks. It’s rumored they were the ones that built the original Franklin Tavern during the founding of the first settlement. After that, the business was passed down from one member to the next. Though, there couldn’t have been very many of them at the time. To even be considered for the group, applicants had to have completed at least one full deepwater passage. Not an easy feat when you were just as likely to be lost at sea as arrive in the new land. Once the tavern was sold and made into the Hawthorn Hotel, The Marine Society disappeared. From then on, the only mention of them in any official record is a brief reference to a now-defunct seafarer’s charity. Luckily, we don’t have to rely on official records.”
Mathis walked to the bookcase and pulled down a giant black ledger. As he placed it on a table, Lester noticed it was emblazoned with the same ship’s anchor he’d seen on Dolores’s keycard. Carefully flipping through the pages, Mathis scanned the tight rows of handwritten names and dates.
“Here it is,” he said, pointing.
“William North,” Lester read, “1685.”
“That’s the signature of the first member of our family to sail from Europe to America. Soon after which, according to this, he joined The Marine Society.”
Lester traced his finger gently over the ink, marveling at the centuries that had passed since it had been scratched onto the page.
“During the next seven years,” Mathis continued, “his name appears on only two other town documents, the deed to a farm and a note of his marriage in a parish journal. Then, right around the time the witch hysteria begins, all traces of him vanish.”
“He wasn’t one of the ones they — you know?” Lester held a hand to his throat.
“No,” said Mathis, “but he wasn’t the only person to go missing either. Nearly four dozen residents of the town suddenly disappeared, seemingly overnight.”
“How is that possible?”
Mathis sat down at the table and gestured for Lester to do the same.
“Listen,” he said. “The story of the Witch Trials, the one they package and sell to tourists, is a cloak. They say that history is written by the winners, right? From what I can tell, this particular bit of history is nothing more than a ghoulish sleight of hand. A tale used to distract from what really happened here.”
“Which is?” asked Lester.
“A bloody battle in an ancient conflict. One that began long before a small fledgling settlement on the coast grew into the town of Salem.”
Lester looked at his brother. With his coat collar turned up, his messy hair, and the earnestness in his eyes, he suddenly appeared — unsettled.
“I know how it sounds,” Mathis said, again seeming to be able to read Lester’s thoughts. “It took me years of digging through these archives and more than a little luck to uncover the truth. Even then, it was hard for me to believe.”
“And what truth is that?” Lester asked, not entirely sure he wanted to hear the answer.
“The story you found in our great, great grandfather’s journal is no parable. There is a war going on, one with roots that stretch back long before what happened here. And those waging it believe it’s a struggle of good against evil. As such, they’ll use any means to win. Every member of The Council, including our parents, are soldiers in this fight. Unfortunately for us, it doesn’t look like they’re the good guys.”