“Can you imagine the responsibility put upon us here my friend?” His whole body grew rigid with excitement. “A minister waits his whole life to redeem the lowliest soul, while always remembering that in each heart, regardless of the size or station, including his own, resides a soul-flawed, yet cherished by our Father in Heaven. We are born forgiven, we need only ask. And to be chosen now for such a work, to redeem one such as this.” He could not restrain his mirth and chuckled. “How wonderful the works of heaven.” Able held his hands out smiling. “Look at me, I’m shaking.”
“Yes.” Cawood grappled with another bout of nausea. “Wonders.” She levered herself forward. “Are you sure about this, Able?”
“Ah, yes, you catch me at it even now.” He shrugged his lean shoulders. “And I have asked myself if my excitement is a form of pride.” His eyes welled up with tears. “But I assure you, if I shake, it is my fear that I will fail. I have faith in the strength of God. And if He chooses me, I cannot fail. Yet, it is the way of a wise man, to doubt his own abilities that he might be better prepared should he be called upon to use them.”
“Okay.” Cawood slid back in her chair. “Tomorrow morning, then.”
“Yes, I’ll stop in at nine…” Able’s eyes shone before a stern look settled his eyebrows. “Eat and get some rest.”
“Thanks, Able.” Cawood returned the handclasp. “I will.”
“I’m going to the chapel,” Stoneworthy said, and almost danced out of the room.
The nun watched him leave, the door shut slowly. Angels! She didn’t think that she could take it if Able lost his mind. Her thoughts felt crowded with sin and haze. She closed her eyes, and leaned back in her chair, letting the cool synthetic leather brush her cheek. The door opened. Purgatory.
“Sister Cawood.” It was Jane’s honest voice.
Cawood sat up, saw the secretary’s head and shoulder peeking in the door. “Yes Jane. Good morning.”
“Begging your pardon, Sister.” Jane inched in a little further. “But I’ve been negligent with some of my office duties, and have missed you on occasions past when I would have had you sign some papers and other such work. Would it bother you now, to sign some few of importance? I would appreciate the kindness.”
Pulling herself into a sitting position, Cawood nodded and gestured. “Yes. Jane, I’m sorry. And it’s my duty to keep on top of things, come in, come in, please.”
Jane smiled and entered. The nun’s heart sank. Her secretary held at least twenty pounds worth of signing. She covered her sigh with a smile.
22 – The Boat
Wurn cut the engine. The trawler glided up to the yacht. Its plastic bumpers thumped gently against the fiberglass hull. The Eyesore hissed at the sound, and pressed a sausage finger over his lips. He rolled his worried eyes then set to work. A hurried flick of the troll’s arms cast the bow rope and then the stern to an ugly pair of his brethren who looked down from the yacht’s high rail. They secured the ropes and lowered an aluminum ramp to the water. Wurn scrambled onto this before turning to steady his boat with splayed hands. Anxiety clutched the oversized features that hung inches over the darkness.
Felon was in no hurry. He studied the other Eyesores. Deformed like Wurn they went about their duties with strength and precision. He watched the interplay of hard muscle and bone and stored the information for future reference. They’d be dangerous in a fight. He glared at the aluminum platform. Its tight lattice of aluminum strips gave the impression of safety. Oily water churned inches below it. The assassin stepped out of the boat, foot touching the platform for a second, and then climbed the ladder. He slipped over the rail onto the deck. Wurn hurried after. The troll’s anxiety overwhelmed him at the last second and he fell on his face
The Eyesores laughed coarsely at Wurn’s antics and hauled the docking ramp free of the water. They grunted against the strain. Felon watched. For a second he thought he saw bone white fingers slide free of the aluminum lattice and sink back into the murk.
The other Eyesores were like Wurn in size, but had unique deformities. The creature with the bowline had a red beard growing from a baby’s face. Crooked teeth glistened through a constant lather of drool. Its body resembled a dwarf’s. The other creature had no lower jaw, which turned its mouth into a puckering hole from which a snake-like tongue wriggled. Its hands had two powerful fingers and thumbs on each, and its feet were pig’s hooves. Both of the Eyesores wore drab gray coveralls and were trussed with tool belts. They busied themselves securing Wurn’s boat while the troll struggled to regain what composure he possessed.
He looked up at Felon. “I will take you to Master Balg.” His eyes glinted in the light from the windows. Felon caught a shape reflected in the oversized pupils. He whipped around. 9 mm in hand. A tall thin man was standing there. The stranger froze-focused on the gun.
Felon glared. The man stood well over six feet. His body had a long, stretched quality that reeked of the supernatural. He was dressed in a loose white suit, and his hair tumbled between his black eyes in a spiraling white lock. Behind him the fiberglass upper deck loomed. There appeared to be no doors in the ship’s superstructure, and the light from the windows gave the entire ship a ghostly glow.
“Mind your station, Wurn!” the stranger snapped, and the troll hurried to aid his brethren. He offered the assassin a long thin hand. “I hope I did not startle you, Mr. Felon. It is always disconcerting to be surprised.” His voice was deep and throaty.
Felon slipped his gun away and stared at the welcoming hand until its long fingers dropped away quivering.
“Do forgive my rudeness, Mr. Felon. We do not get many visitors to the yacht from the mainland. As you are aware, we normally receive all guests at Master Balg’s offices in the City. My name is Passport, assistant to the Demon. Master Balg’s previous assistant Senji Shaiko met with a rather unfortunate demise when a dispute over petty cash caused our employer to lose his temper.”
Felon knew Shaiko. He was a medium-sized Asian man with pencil-thin mustache-a professional who wouldn’t waste time gloating.
The assassin looked past the thin man.
“A most unfortunate incident.” Passport’s eyes gleamed with growing embarrassment.
Felon studied Passport’s face. The Demon’s servant looked human enough, but something reptilian lurked behind the nacreous white skin.
Felon snarled and started searching for his cigarettes. He kept an eye on Passport.
The thin man’s head followed the arch of his eyebrow to his full height. “Master Balg has been taken away on business, but will return shortly. He has instructed me to see to your comfort until then. Would you follow me, please?” The gangly form spun effortlessly on his heel and led Felon along the deck toward the stern. “Master Balg has a number of yachts in his fleet, but counts this one his favorite. The Kennedy, he calls it, after a long dead family whose dealings with him led to their dooms. I believe he has always been an admirer of the cautionary tale.” Passport laughed.
Thirty feet from the docking ramp he stepped through an arch into a short hall that ran between two facing doors. “He enjoys the yacht’s comforts, which are numerous and you will find obvious, but most of all he desires the ship’s mobility. As you can imagine, with the number of competing family businesses at work within the Sunken City, one cannot be too careful. He retains his offices in the City of Light for business functions with the mortals, but has on this occasion allowed you access to The Kennedy to reward your proven loyalty.” Poised at the door to the right, Passport bowed to Felon.
“Master Balg has instructed me to inform you that he is most pleased with your work. Further, he apologizes for changing the mode of payment. The remainder of the ingots is here, with a bonus I might add. Master Balg has further employment opportunities that he would like to discuss with you in person.” He opened the door gesturing to the lighted hall beyond. “After you.”
Felon scowled and twitched his chin at the door.
Passport smiled, pointing at his own chest. “After me. As you wish.”
The assassin followed the angular form through the door and down a curving stairway. Music floated wraithlike from below. At the bottom of the stair Passport paused by a set of massive gilt doors. “My Master’s Games Room.” And he swung the doors wide. “Offered for your comfort.”
