Welcome to Deep Cove

Pacorro paced back and forth, the dusty floorboards creaking beneath his feet. Running his hands through his hair, his lips moved silently as he tried to work out the solution to his problem. Not far from him, Oved was seated in an antique captain’s chair, his boots thrown up on the desk in front of him. A global view unit was chained to the ceiling above him and the man’s eyes were glued to the flowing forms of several naked women as they danced across the display. “For God’s sake brother, why do you insist on watching that nonsense?” asked Pacorro with irritation.

“Would you prefer to watch men?” returned Oved, “because we get that channel too”.

“I would prefer it, if you shut that damn thing off. There is work to do, brother. This is not a time for leisure.”

“You’re wound too tight, Paco. You need to learn how to relax.”

“That attitude will get you killed.” Pacorro stared hard at his brother, trying to drive home his point, but Oved merely shrugged and reached for the G.V. controller.

“Fine, I’ll find something more suitable.”

Pacorro growled in frustration and bounded across the tight confines of the room. He made a lightening-quick grab for the remote, but Oved was already half standing, his hand pulling the controller out of Pacorro’s reach. Blocking his brother’s momentum with his forearm, Oved spun away shielding the remote. Leaping for safety, he made a break for it.

Pacorro hurdled onto the desk, papers scattering beneath his weight as he dove for his brother’s back. He hit Oved hard from behind, and both men fell to the cluttered floor. Pacorro rolled to his side and avoided the downward elbow Oved aimed at his neck. Spinning now, Pacorro twisted his entire body allowing his momentum to build in his leg. His kick missed however, when Oved leapt backwards into a roll of his own.

Both men found their feet and Pacorro flew at his brother. Lightening punches missed or were thrust aside as Oved back peddled. Pacorro made as if to grab for the remote, and Oved pulled his arm away in an attempt to shield the device. The attack was a ruse though, and Pacorro’s fist connected with Oved’s ribs. Oved grunted and spun from the blow, but his arm with the remote was exposed.

Stepping on Oved’s foot, Pacorro moved in close, both his hands finding purchase on Oved’s wrist. Grabbing his brother’s thumb, he applied pressure until the controller was released.

Oved was far from finished though and he brought his free hand down in a chopping motion to Pacorro’s neck. Pacorro was half stunned by the blow and dropped the remote. Oved Shoved Pacorro from him, freeing his pinned foot. He then used his boot to catch the falling controller and kick it up to his hand.

“You’re too old for childish games, Paco. Why don’t you go back to your strategising like an old man and leave the activity to me?”

Both men were breathing harder now and Pacorro turned to face his brother’s taunting grin. “Because I want the job done properly,” returned Pacorro. He was too smart to allow his brother to anger him. “Why don’t you give me that device before I take it from you?” Pacorro edged to his right, his eyes trained on his brother’s brown orbs.

“Those are daunting words coming from an old man like you. Are you sure your arms can back your mouth?” Oved circled to his left, well aware of his brother’s movement.

Suddenly, Pacorro half jumped at Oved, a throwing knife flying from his hand and aimed at Oved’s boot. Oved grinned and easily leapt into the air to avoid the knife. His smile disappeared and a resounding gong echoed within the confines of the room. The G.V. unit shuddered for several seconds and Oved crumpled to the floor, the remote falling from his grip.

“I don’t need my strength, when I have your stupidity,” said Pacorro, stepping over his brother and retrieving the remote. He smiled though and offered Oved his arm, signaling an end to their play. Oved rubbed at the back of his skull and grudgingly accepted his brother’s help. “Now, enough with the games – we have work to do.”

“I know.”

Pacorro flicked off the display. “You have studied the map?”

“Several times.”

“Is there anything you want to add to the plan?”

“Of course not,” said Oved, resuming his seat in the captain’s chair. “As usual, you have covered every detail.”

“Good.” Pacorro went to the window and gazed into the blackening sky. “It will be dark soon and we can make our way to the cemetery. We will wait there, for his return.”

“I don’t know why Kaxaun doesn’t just have us kill him. The message would be loud and clear.”

“We have already delivered that message.”

“I would eliminate Kline, myself. Nobody would dare to cross me if I were head of the dons.”

“And that is precisely why you will never be in Kaxaun’s position.’

“I wouldn’t want it anyway. You know how politics bore me, Paco.”

“I do,” agreed Pacorro. “Still you have to admit, Kaxaun is a smart man. He didn’t accumulate his wealth by killing off his opposition. Instead he mauls them and then drains them of their resources.”

“A bear trap left in the woods is one more place you don’t want to step,” returned Oved.

“I agree,” said Pacorro, “but as long as Kaxaun is financing this mission, we will do it his way.”

Oved grunted his ascent and went to retrieve his bag of supplies. Removing a glass jar and a black shirt, he pulled the clothing over his head before unstoppering the jar. He smelled its contents and wrinkled his nose before digging his fingers into the thick grease. Smearing the substance on his face, he tossed the jar to his brother. ’Can we dump that body? It almost smells as bad as this.” He nodded to a corner where an old man lay slumped against the wall. The victim’s white beard was matted with blood where his throat had been slit.

“We are going to a graveyard,” conceded Pacorro.

“I don’t think so!” snapped Oved. “Why can’t we dump it over the cliffs? I am not carrying that old man for two miles.”

“If somebody were to find him, then they would come looking for us wouldn’t they?” asked Pacorro patiently. “If you’re so worried about carrying a skinny old man like that, I will do it.”

“That’s more like it,” agreed Oved “He stinks.”

Pacorro shrugged. “It will be nothing more than a light work out. Since you’re so inflexible on this, you can carry our guest on the way back!”

* * * *

B.S. stood before Garrett and Merle’s place, his notepad shielded under his arm. A slight drizzle misted the streets around him, and the steady drumming of the drops from the rooftop made him shiver. The evening was cool, and it would be dark soon. Looking to the sky, he noted thick overhanging clouds and their promise of a full on downpour. From inside the house, the barking of a dog started up; B.S. snapped from his thoughts. He pulled his collar up and stepped down from the porch and onto the street. Behind him, the door opened and Garrett shouted at the unseen dog. Recognising B.S., he called out to the lad. “Sorry about that, B.S. I didn’t hear you knock.”

B.S. turned and cleared his throat. “It’s okay, Garrett, I was just passing by.”

“Come in out of the rain,” called the other man. “Merle’s got a fresh pot of coffee on.” He waved the boy over and B.S. hesitated before retracing his steps to the porch. Garrett held the door for him, but the boy froze when the large dog growled. “Away with you.” Garrett snapped his fingers and pointed to the interior rooms. The dog licked its lips once and then banged its way through the inner door.

“Did… I… hear… you… growling? Good… dog. Finally… showing… you… have… a… pair. I… like… to… see… our… training… is… paying… off,” echoed a metallic voice from the other room.

“Don’t mind them,” said Garrett to the boy. “Come in and get yourself dry.

“I don’t like dogs much,” admitted B.S.

“Neither do I,” said Garrett, smiling and motioning for B.S. to follow him into the apartments.

Honi was sitting in Garrett’s bed reading a book, a pair of glasses balanced on his nose. He stared at B.S. as he passed. Merle sat at the table reading the Daily Deep, a mug of steaming coffee in front of him. He looked up and nodded. B.S. noted the dog had crossed the room and lay beside the fire. It was no longer paying him any attention. Garrett’s golem was also at the back of the room, standing motionless beside the back counter.

“Would you like that cup of coffee?” asked Garrett, pulling a chair out for the boy. B.S. seated himself and nodded. He set his notebook on the table.

Merle smiled and moved his paper over. He nodded to where a large blanket took up three quarters of the table. “Garrett’s been feeling artsy,” he said. “He won’t tell me what he’s sewing, but if it’s a cape I think it’s a little large.” He cackled as Garrett went to pour another cup of coffee. B.S. stared at the cloth and could make out the words “Willigins Priv” stitched into the fabric.

“Master Yarl always said a man needs to know how to sew. There’s no sense wasting a hard earned gon on a pair of socks, when you can stitch the old ones.” Garrett had located the pot of coffee and was carefully filling a stoneware mug.

“You haven’t been darning socks for the last week,” pointed out Merle.

“And you never complained when I stitched your pillow a while back.”

“You know I can’t hold a needle and thread in my claws,” argued Merle.

Returning to the table, Garrett set the hot mug of coffee in front of their guest. “To what do we owe the pleasure B.S?”

B.S. shuffled in his seat and then sat up straighter as if making up his mind. “I came to see Mr. Honi,” he said quietly. Over at the bed, the detective lowered his book, dropping all pretences of reading.

“Ah,” said Garrett knowingly. “Mr. Honi is confined to his bed for the time being, but you can take you chair over to him. There’s a table there you can set your coffee on.” Garrett seated himself and took up his needle and thread.

B.S. felt Merle watching him from behind his paper, but the little dragon remained quiet. Hooking an arm around the chair, B.S. dragged it to the detective’s bedside. Setting his mug on the bedside table, he went to fetch his notebook.

The detective removed his glasses and pushed himself up in the bed. “Hello,” he said. “B.S., is it? What is it I can do for you, son?”

B.S. had thought long and hard about coming here, and no matter how he tried to dismiss the officer’s words from the other night, he could not do it. ’What if this man can tell me who I am?’ he had wondered. ’He has seen you around town, that’s all he meant,’ he had then argued to himself. ’But what if he truly knows who I am?’ Back and forth his thoughts had seesawed. For two days, he could think of nothing else. Then he had found himself perched on Garrett’s step, the conflict raging within his mind. It had been so long since his accident that he’d barely dared to hope he would ever regain his memories. The nothingness of his former life and the fear of not knowing drove him on now. He had to know who he was and as small as the glimmer of hope was that he would ever remember, Honi’s words had sparked that faith again.

B.S. stared at the man, unsure of how to begin. “It’s just that, the other night, it seemed like you knew me,” he began with uncertainty. “I wasn’t sure what you meant, but I had to ask.”

Honi coughed to clear his throat. “I don’t know why I said that to you,” he admitted. “Garrett has filled me in on your condition and it was wrong of me to blurt that out.”

B.S. felt drained. “I see,” he said simply. He pushed his chair back, ready to stand, but the detective reached out and grabbed his arm.

“No, you sit boy,” he said. “I opened this can of worms and I won’t feel right until we discuss it.” B.S. was surprised by Honi’s sympathetic tone and he found himself pulling his chair closer. “I want to share with you a story, B.S. I don’t want you to get your hopes up, and I need you to know that this might only be a coincidence. Do you understand?” he asked.

“Not really,” admitted the young man.

Honi nodded. “Of course not,” he said quietly.”I’m going to explain this as best I can. I want you to know that tonight this almost seems foolish to me, but since it is not foolish to you, I feel you have the right to know anything that might help you find your former self. Again, this is just something for you to consider. In my line of work, B.S., you have to make decisions using your intuition. This may be such a time for you. There is no evidence to support what I am going to tell you and I would have preferred to research your case before saying anything, but unfortunately, the other night I was not as attentive as usual.”

“I think I understand,” lied B.S. He felt warm in the pit of his stomach and searched the other man’s face for a clue of what he was babbling on about.

“I have been a police officer for twenty-five years, B.S. I moved to Cassadia eight years ago as a detective, but before that I worked many smaller outposts.” B.S. listened intently. “The last posting I filled was in a small hamlet on the coastline of the Ghondorian Glacier. The village was called Emerald Waters, because of the color of the rivers running off the ice flow.” It was as if a shock went through B.S’s body at Honi’s words. He couldn’t verbally express what he felt, but an image of a crystalline stream flooded his mind. Its luminescent emerald waters sparkled in the sunlight of his distant memories. “What is it?” asked Honi.

“Err, nothing,” stammered B.S. “Please go on.”

Honi nodded, before complying. “Emerald Waters was my home for seven years. I was the community’s Chief of Police. With about four hundred residents living in the village and the surrounding hills, life was simple and there wasn’t much crime. I got to know everyone in the settlement and I respected the hardworking folks that they were. An older man lived beyond the town, in the northern valley. His name was Ersk and he had a sable farm.” Honi watched him intently, but the name meant nothing to B.S.

The boy took a sip of his coffee, trying to recall anything about a village named Emerald Waters. The flash of familiarity had disappeared as quickly as it had arrived though. “What’s a sable?” he asked, more to alleviate the weight of Honi’s stare than from any real curiosity.

“Ah,” exclaimed Honi with a smile. “The sable is one of the most prized animals the Ghondorian has to offer. They are vicious little hunters of squirrels, mice, and birds, and about this long,” Honi held his hands two feet apart. “They weigh around four or five pounds. They have long tails almost a quarter of the length of their bodies, and they produce the most luxurious fur in all the lands. In fact, their pelts are so sought after that the Ghondorian Government has posed a ban on the hunting of the little critters, as they are now so rare. Men like Ersk have to apply for a special permit in order to farm them. The black furs are the most prized and are known as ’black diamond’.”

B.S. sat back in his chair and rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m sorry,” he admitted, “but what does this have to do with me?”

Honi nodded and adjusted the pillow under his broken leg. “I am getting to that,” he said. “Ersk had a grandson, a boy of about three or four when I first arrived at Emerald Waters. Three years into my tenure as Chief of Police, Ersk’s farm was raided and the sable taken by pirates. Ersk himself almost died in the attack. His daughter was raped and killed.” Honi’s look was grim and B.S. could tell the officer was still bothered by the event. Seeing B.S. staring at him again, Honi cleared his throat and continued. “Ersk’s grandson disappeared that day and was never seen again.”

B.S. was silent for several seconds. He looked into Honi’s face for signs of deceit, but he could see none. Working for Kline had sharpened his ability to determine when a man was telling the truth or when he was telling you what you wanted to hear. “You think I am this boy? Ersk’s grandson?”

“I visited the man often, B.S. I knew him… and his grandson very well. You are the spitting image of that boy –older, of course.”

B.S. shook his head. “That name Ersk means nothing to me,” he said angrily. He had wanted to believe this man might know something about him, but nothing Honi had said rekindled any memories. An image of the river splashed into his mind again, and B.S. shuddered. Was there something to it, or did he simply want to remember so badly that he might mistakenly associate with Honi’s story? He glanced at the table and noted Merle and Garrett pretending not to listen.

“I have another name that might mean something to you,” prompted Honi, “the boy’s name. Possibly your name, if you want to hear it.”

“Yes,” said B.S. without hesitation. “He had to know if the name would help him recall something more. If it did not register, he was no further behind than when he had walked through Garrett’s door tonight.

“Yuri,” said Honi. He studied B.S’s face when he said the name.

B.S. repeated it and shook his head. “It does not feel like my name.”

“Perhaps I am mistaken, B.S.” Honi ran a hand across his cheek, prodding at a bruise. “They say every man has a twin out there somewhere. I hope I haven’t upset you. I thought my story might help you remember”

“I appreciate that,” said B.S. “I just don’t know anymore. It seems like no matter how hard I try, I just can’t remember anything before my accident.”

“Can you tell me what happened?” asked Honi.

“I don’t remember myself. I can only tell you what I was told,” returned B.S. “One of Kline’s hired ships brought me to Deep Cove, twelve years ago. The crew found me floating in the water with a wound on my forehead. You can still see the scar, here.” He moved a few strands of hair aside to show the detective. “They thought I was dead when they hauled me up, but as you can see I was almost whole.”

“Where did they find you?”

“According to the first mate, I was deep in the trading corridor between the island of Gweyd and the southern coastline of Preton. The men said there were no towns or cities close by and they figured I must have been a member of a ship lost in a storm the night before. They carried on to Deep Cove and left me here when they set sail.”

“Why did Kline take you in?”

“I had it rough for several months,” said B.S. “I lived on the beach for a while and helped with the loading and unloading of ships for spare coppers. It supplied me with enough money to eat. Somehow, I became acquainted with Kline’s men. They were a tough lot, but they took to me. I guess I had a similar nature, having learned how to fight for myself with all the rough types down in the dock area. I guess Mr. Kline heard stories about me and asked to meet me. For some reason, he took a shine to me and gave me a job. I’ve been working for him ever since.”

“I see,” said Honi. “Garrett told me you like to write in your book. Can I have a look?” B.S’s eyes went to the notebook on his lap and instinctively, he covered it with his hand. After a moment’s deliberation he passed it to the policeman.

Honi accepted it and reached for his glasses that were lying on the blankets. For several minutes, the officer flipped through the pages, reading the passages and assessing the pictures and diagrams B.S. had sketched. Beside him, B.S. remained quiet as he sipped his coffee. At last, Honi turned back several pages and looked at B.S. “It says here that you don’t know how these contraptions come into your mind, yet you know how to construct them.”

“They come to me out of the fog,” admitted B.S.

“Like the snowshoes, and this,” Honi flipped the book around to show B.S. a sketch he had made.”

“Yes,” agreed B.S.

“What is it?” asked Merle excitedly, his newspaper forgotten. B.S. glanced over and saw Garrett scowl at the little dragon.

“I don’t know. A trap of some sort,” said B.S. “I just know how to build it, but I don’t know how I learned or why?” He felt awkward admitting his insecurities to the men. “I thought I should add pictures of these tools to my journal in case it helps me remember later on.”

Honi looked both disappointed and thoughtful at the same time. “These are the exact type of things a man like Ersk could teach you. This box trap could be used to catch sable.”

“There are all kinds of trappers around here that would use snowshoes and box traps,” said Merle unconvinced. This time Garrett said something to the dragon. Merle snorted and picked up his paper again.

Ignoring Merle, Honi continued. “It’s true that many people would use these tools, B.S., but I don’t think you should dismiss the possibility that Ersk might be your grandfather. I think it’s as good a lead as any for you right now.”

B.S. leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes. He rubbed at his temples and felt the weight of his uncertainty settle over him. “I don’t know, Mr. Honi. My memories may lie within your tale. They may not. Your story has not helped me to remember, so how can I possibly know for sure?”

Honi removed his glasses and passed the journal back to B.S. “I know it’s important for you to remember, B.S., so there is only one thing I can recommend. You must go to the Ghondorian and find out for yourself if you have any ties there.”

* * * *

B.S. tossed on his bed, sweat covering his upper body. He was dreaming again. This time, the feeling of being powerless was intensified, because he was penned in a small cage. It was the dead of winter and snow covered the ground. He was positioned high on a forested hilltop and could see down into a wooded valley below him. A sparkling emerald river cut along the base of the hill. Not far from the water’s edge, a distant cottage belched wood smoke into the air.

Somehow he had been locked in this cage that was much too small for him. He grasped the bars, trying to snap them. He thought he could feel one of the maple branches bending. In front of the cage, the familiar figure of the old man was tending a fire. The trapper was garbed in wolf furs, and he poked at the flames with a long stick. “Why have you locked me in here?” screamed B.S., but if the man could hear him, he made no sign of it. He cried out again, “Release meeeeeeeeee!”

As if in answer to his pain, the howl of a wolf echoed across the wooded hilltop. It was dark now, and the wind had grown cold. He felt a shudder race up his back and he could not explain where the daylight had fled. Several sets of eyes glistened from the blackness beyond the firelight. The dominant male of the pack entered the clearing, its teeth bared and the fur on its back raised threateningly. The old man did not see the danger.

Somehow, B.S. turned within the tight confines of the cage; his foot lashed out and snapped the poles of the enclosure. He spun again and attempted to squeeze through the opening, but his shirt caught on the splintered ends of the sticks. He could only watch as the old man fell beneath the snapping jaws of the giant wolf. Howls erupted from all around him and B.S. dragged himself forward on his hands.

The fire: he had to reach the fire. Desperately he reached into the firepit and dragged a burning log clear. The wolf had its back to B.S. and was shaking its head from side to side over the old trapper. The man’s upper torso oscillated under the creature’s grip and the snow was drenched in blood. B.S. hurled the blazing log at the beast and it connected with a flash of embers. The long hairs of the wolf’s back caught fire and it yowled in pain before bounding into the darkness of the forest. B.S. now realised he had been safe inside the wooden pen.

Golden eyes followed his movements from the timberline as he dragged his cage to the old man. The trapper’s lifeless eyes stared into the sky, and a gaping bloody mess was all that remained of his throat. “Who am I?” sobbed the boy. “What is my name?” He shook the lifeless man, but dared not look into the woods.

“Grandson,” came the dead sigh from the old man’s lips.

And then, the wolves attacked.

B.S. jolted upright in his bed. The heavy rains echoed on the tin of his roof and it took him a moment to realise he was safe in his shack. Swinging his legs from the bed, he forced the recent dream from his mind as his toes sought out his boots. He had lain down with only his pants on and now he was cold under the sheen of sweat. He pulled his shirt on, but didn’t bother to button it. He lit a lantern from the table and went to the door. Grabbing the shovel from where he kept it in the corner of the room, he strode into the darkness and the rain. Kicking the door closed behind him, he made for the graveyard at the back of the property.

He thought he heard movement behind him, but when he turned there was only the shadow of the old willow beside the shack. The conversation with officer Honi replayed in his mind as he walked. ’Ersk had a grandson, a boy of about three or four when I first arrived at Emerald Waters… Ersk’s farm was raided and the sable butchered and taken by pirates. Ersk himself almost died in the attack. His daughter was raped and killed. His grandson disappeared that day and was never seen again.’

B.S. nestled the shovel over his shoulder and blinked to clear the rain from his eyes. ’Could I be his grandson… Yuri?’ He made his way into the graveyard, the stones casting long shadows in the light of his lamp.

This cemetery was one of three in Deep Cove and was by far the oldest. The markers here were green with age, many of them buried in the long grass and forgotten by the residents of the town. Walking along the base of a hill, B.S. came to the stone he sought and crossed over to the outside, where he would not disturb the ground above the corpse. Setting his lantern to the side, he forced the shovel into the soft earth. His mind was again working over the conversation he had shared with the policeman. Several shovelfuls later, he struck the surface of something hard and set aside his tool. Getting down on his knees, he wrestled the object from the ground and brushed the muddy gunk from the top of the crate. Opening the container, he removed a second smaller box, this one made of iron.

‘There is only one thing I can recommend. You must go to the Ghondorian and find out for yourself if you have any ties there.’ B.S. removed the lid from the second coffer and manoeuvred his lantern over it. He was rewarded with the bright glint of gold. ‘This is everything I have. Thirteen years of savings.’ Gently, he replaced the top. ‘There is no price I would not pay to learn the truth.’

B.S. dropped the lantern and rolled to his side as he felt a presence rush up behind him. He lashed out with his foot, but missed the dark garbed figure as it sprang from his retaliatory strike. He rolled to his left and glimpsed a shovel descending before it took him in the forehead. He saw nothing after that.