Drowning Barge

"I say," said the mouse. "Isn't that chap supposed to be dead?"

Luck almost smiled. "You talk now?"

"Don't be ridiculous." The mouse had a city accent, not at all squeaky, like a tailor or an underground businessman. "I don't have any of the right mouth parts to talk. It's complete nonsense."

"I'm glad you're here, little mouse. Did you like the dove?"

"Parlour tricks," said the mouse. "I've seen better. Coming back from the dead, though? That's another story."

"You refer to the man in the cage, down on the water?"

"Who else."

"How do you know he was supposed to be dead?"

Mouse frowned. "I suppose I must know everything you know. Maybe I'm not even really here at all. Maybe you're cracked." Mouse looked down at its paws. "Certainly convincing, though. You got me fooled."

Far away, down in the harbour, the drowning barge was drifting silently across the water. It was a small rectangular craft, big enough for ten, although there are only seven in it today. A weighted wooden cage was slung over a rectangle of water, visible through a hole cut in the deck. Two pilots stood at the prow, heaving on a rope that lay submerged. As the rope sucked free of the brine, small jewelled crabs tumbled and plopped back into the shining water.

"Why's that guy in the cage then?"

"He is a pirate."

"A pirate? And you want to intervene?"

"He is... He was my father."

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Sunshine fell across the Macineurney's face, hard-cut into slots by the bars of the cage. As the boat rocked in the light swell, the sun at once dazzled him, and then was hidden. Bright and shade. Bright and shade. Water slapped against the sides of many ships. Sailors called to each other. It was a lazy day. A day for cards and mead. Maybe a sweet dalliance at the docks.

It was the day he was going to die.

An old soak leaned against the bars, chatting conspiratorially with the condemned man between swigs of brandy.

"You know what's 'appenin now don't you, me old beauty?" The man's breath was pungent with alcohol and tooth decay. "We're gonna take yer right out into the middle of the 'arbor. Then I'm gonna turn this little 'andle, and then very slowly, you're gonna go down. Down to the slimy bottom you go, me beauty. 'Ow long can you 'old your breath for? Not long enough, I'll promise you that. Captain's in no rush today."

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The old soak leaned back, arranging his legs, making himself comfortable. He brushed his stubble - a scratchy sound - and took another swig.

“A little bird tells me you are famous," he said. "The fabled Macineurney, caught in a little wooden bird cage. Wreathed in smoke and rather pale, I note. How come you’re not dead? You want to spill the beans?

"My children," the prisoner whispered through cracked lips.

"Aye, your children. You know what the Grayling does to lost children, don't you?"

The old soak paused, watching the father's expression, searching, then nodded as though satisfied.

"Aye, you know. Shoulda stayed home, eh? Still, can’t say I don’t have some sympathy. We're all pirates in our own way."

The bay was crowded with ships. Sailors and privateers of every nation and creed crawled over the rigging of a hundred ships. Eyes turned to follow the drowning barge passing silently in the water. Sailors at ease paused their card games. A few saluted, but only for a moment.

"That's a nasty-looking cut you've got there," said the old soak. "You want to put some ointment on that."

The father put his hand to his chest. He could feel rib bones moving in the cavity. Squishy pieces of lung clung to his fingertips. Black smoke coiled.

"It was an arrow."

"Bodkin'll rip you up like that. Still not dead though? Care to explain that?"

"I... can't."

"Blessed by the Mother, are you? Make a pact at the shadow gate?"

"I made no pact. I sought no blessing. This isn't a blessing."

"No, you're right. It ain't no blessing. We'll have to keep you down there double time to make sure. No rush today. They all drown in the end, black smoke or no."

In the stern of the ship, three more men, including the captain, sat indolently playing cards. They paid little attention to the father in the cage. The two pilots at the prow occupied themselves with the rope. The harbour went about its business.

The old soak leaned in again and whispered conspiratorially. "See that post there, where the rope is tied? There's where we're going." His eyes glittered like knives. "Water's deep enough out there. Once we reach the knot, there's nowhere left for you to go but down."

"I'll tell you a story," whispered the father, urgent. "A story no one has heard."

"Oh, here we go. Confession, is it? There's always a confession."

The father nodded slowly. "A confession. I have done evil things."

The old soak leaned in closer to the bars, his voice soft. "We've all done evil things, me old matey. T'aint a thing that can be helped."

A tear ran down the father's cheek. "I have done worse things than you could ever know."

"Killed someone? I've killed hundreds. Put them in the cage. Down they go."

The father laughed, but there was no humour in it. "I have killed thousands. I have betrayed the woman I pretended to love, and everything I did made it worse. Now I'm here, and she's..."

"She ain't here?"

The old soak upended a crate and dragged it close to the cage.

"Go on then, me old matey. Tell the first bit. If you entertain, maybe I'll let you tell the next bit. We've got all day."

The man in the cage pushed his lenses up the nose. "She was brighter than the moon. She shone brighter than all the stars. I was a fool for her, but what choice did I have? What choice?"

"a pretty girl? It's a good start to a tale. You..." the old soak whistled through his teeth, two quick notes, making his meaning clear.

"She was a princess, and I was a shepherd. A snake told me pretty lies. I broke her, and I never told her what I had done. I gave her children, and I never told her. I carried her into exile, and I never told her. She thought it was her father, but it was me all along. I was the monster."

"Steady on, matey, tell the tale. No spoilers."

The Macineurney took a deep breath. Steady. "Her name was Llaneth. She was the youngest daughter of the high king, Illnevar of Erin, and I loved her from the moment I first saw her..."