of pipes.
Jim left his room and made to head toward the brig when he heard commotion coming from outside. Putting on his waterproof coat and hood, he headed out.
Surrounding the bow and standing in a group on a number of smaller boats lashed to the Bravo’s railings, Faust’s congregation were calling for her release. At least half of the flotilla had come out of their boats and storage containers to watch the proceedings.
Jim approached the group. They grew quiet. A single person stepped forward. A pale-skinned, sick-looking woman in her late sixties. “You have to release Susan Faust right this minute, Jim. You’re holding her unjustly. We can’t allow that to happen.”
The politeness was a front; he’d seen this woman, Meredith, act as crazy as Faust once before, in one of their many rituals.
“I can’t do that, Meredith,” Jim said, squinting against the rain as it splashed into his face. The wind whipped it almost at right angles. “She tried to steal the flotilla’s stocks. You and her know the rules for that.”
“The divine will not allow it! He has spoken to her. She does his work.”
“Look, divine entity or not, the rules are clear on this flotilla. You know it, she knows it, and everyone else knows it. I’m doing the will of the people. That supersedes any voices Susan may have heard in her head.”
That was the wrong thing to say. It seemed to infuriate the woman. Her face twisted into a mask of hate. The rest of her group shouted and yelled, every word incomprehensible. As one, they moved from the smaller boats until they reached the ladders and steps that led up to the deck.
Jim stood his ground. “I’m telling you people to stand back. I’ve done nothing wrong here.”
That only appeared to encourage them as they started to climb onto the deck, forcing Jim to retreat. They gathered pace and number; at least thirty of them had climbed over the bow and were heading for him like an angry mob ready to lynch him. He had no doubt they would do it either.
Driven by their mad priestess, these people could be stirred up to do almost anything in His name.
They continued to stalk Jim, making him retreat to the bridge section. He couldn’t let them get in. They’d overrun the ship. But he was just one man. He stopped a few yards from the door.
When it seemed like they would rush him, Duncan and three of his crew stepped out and stood by Jim’s side. Duncan held a gaff hook. “You lot, back up,” he said. “You’re out of order.”
They stopped for a brief moment before seemingly swelling with fury.
As a group they acted as one, following Meredith’s lead. Two younger men rushed forward and tried to disarm Duncan, but he was too quick and swung the blunt end of the pike, catching one of them on the side of the head, sending him slipping to the deck.
“Stop,” Jim shouted over the wind and rain. “This is madness.”
The words fell on deaf ears.
“Kill him!” Meredith screamed, pointing her finger at Duncan.
A smaller group of five men and women broke off from the pack and dashed toward Duncan. Jim and the crew members stood by him, braced for the impact. As they tangled in a melee, people throwing fists and kicks, Jim saw more people approach from one of the old fishing vessels to the side.
Marcus Graves and three of his goons clambered over the railings and systematically dispersed the crowd, mostly by throwing them over the side of the railings onto the boats beneath. Once they had cleared nearly half the group, Meredith and her mad allies backed off, screaming obscenities.
Eventually they retreated fully.
Graves and Jim pushed them all the way to the edge of the bow and stood guard as they lowered themselves down onto the next level. “You lot, fuck off,” Graves said. “And don’t come back. Otherwise there’ll be a world of trouble even your god won’t protect you from, you hear me?”
Meredith looked up from the bottom of the ladder and spat at the ground.
Jim left his room and made to head toward the brig when he heard commotion coming from outside. Putting on his waterproof coat and hood, he headed out.
Surrounding the bow and standing in a group on a number of smaller boats lashed to the Bravo’s railings, Faust’s congregation were calling for her release. At least half of the flotilla had come out of their boats and storage containers to watch the proceedings.
Jim approached the group. They grew quiet. A single person stepped forward. A pale-skinned, sick-looking woman in her late sixties. “You have to release Susan Faust right this minute, Jim. You’re holding her unjustly. We can’t allow that to happen.”
The politeness was a front; he’d seen this woman, Meredith, act as crazy as Faust once before, in one of their many rituals.
“I can’t do that, Meredith,” Jim said, squinting against the rain as it splashed into his face. The wind whipped it almost at right angles. “She tried to steal the flotilla’s stocks. You and her know the rules for that.”
“The divine will not allow it! He has spoken to her. She does his work.”
“Look, divine entity or not, the rules are clear on this flotilla. You know it, she knows it, and everyone else knows it. I’m doing the will of the people. That supersedes any voices Susan may have heard in her head.”
That was the wrong thing to say. It seemed to infuriate the woman. Her face twisted into a mask of hate. The rest of her group shouted and yelled, every word incomprehensible. As one, they moved from the smaller boats until they reached the ladders and steps that led up to the deck.
Jim stood his ground. “I’m telling you people to stand back. I’ve done nothing wrong here.”
That only appeared to encourage them as they started to climb onto the deck, forcing Jim to retreat. They gathered pace and number; at least thirty of them had climbed over the bow and were heading for him like an angry mob ready to lynch him. He had no doubt they would do it either.
Driven by their mad priestess, these people could be stirred up to do almost anything in His name.
They continued to stalk Jim, making him retreat to the bridge section. He couldn’t let them get in. They’d overrun the ship. But he was just one man. He stopped a few yards from the door.
When it seemed like they would rush him, Duncan and three of his crew stepped out and stood by Jim’s side. Duncan held a gaff hook. “You lot, back up,” he said. “You’re out of order.”
They stopped for a brief moment before seemingly swelling with fury.
As a group they acted as one, following Meredith’s lead. Two younger men rushed forward and tried to disarm Duncan, but he was too quick and swung the blunt end of the pike, catching one of them on the side of the head, sending him slipping to the deck.
“Stop,” Jim shouted over the wind and rain. “This is madness.”
The words fell on deaf ears.
“Kill him!” Meredith screamed, pointing her finger at Duncan.
A smaller group of five men and women broke off from the pack and dashed toward Duncan. Jim and the crew members stood by him, braced for the impact. As they tangled in a melee, people throwing fists and kicks, Jim saw more people approach from one of the old fishing vessels to the side.
Marcus Graves and three of his goons clambered over the railings and systematically dispersed the crowd, mostly by throwing them over the side of the railings onto the boats beneath. Once they had cleared nearly half the group, Meredith and her mad allies backed off, screaming obscenities.
Eventually they retreated fully.
Graves and Jim pushed them all the way to the edge of the bow and stood guard as they lowered themselves down onto the next level. “You lot, fuck off,” Graves said. “And don’t come back. Otherwise there’ll be a world of trouble even your god won’t protect you from, you hear me?”
Meredith looked up from the bottom of the ladder and spat at the ground.
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