27 27 27 27 27 27 27 27 27 27 27 27 27 27 27 27 27 27 27 27 27 27 27 27 27 27 27
After leaving the dread labyrinth, Anton had made his way across Navassa Island until he came to a small copse of trees overlooking the ocean that somehow looked out of place. The sound of their rustling leaves was drowned out by the crashing of the waves. He spent a few minutes pressing his left foot into various patches of the ground. He would have looked ridiculous if anyone was watching, which they were, although he didn’t know it. After all, how else could I recount these events if I wasn’t watching? He did look ridiculous, but he was doing it for a very good reason.
After a minute or so, he found the right patch of ground, and suddenly there was a deep rumbling of rusty machinery coming to life, a great clanking and screeching of rust coming from under the earth. Before him, the copse of trees slid away, revealing themselves to be a mere cover, and the ground opened up. He licked his lips. There it lay, his pride and joy. His very own mini-airship, which he had named Liberty, previously hidden in a secret room under the ground. It was about twice his height, a few metres from end to end. Underneath the main body of the airship was a small compartment, which contained the cockpit and another area for passengers behind it. He clambered down, and took a few moments to admire it, like he always did. For this, his beloved Liberty, was no ordinary airship.
For one, it didn’t need fuel. The outer shell was made of super-reinforced Mithrillium, the strongest lighter-than-air substance known to man, and this flew not using helium, but through the creation and manipulations of vacuums within its shell. It was the only such airship in existence, and of course it did not technically belong to Anton, but that didn’t bother him too much. Its real owner had been quite rude and annoyingly rich, and Anton’s acquisition of Liberty was a subtle message that he hereby resigned from his employment. It was his pride and joy, a thing thought impossible by most scientists and engineers. Quite appropriate really, he mused, as he climbed aboard the cockpit and flicked some switches, releasing air in the necessary places within Liberty’s shell in order to get airborne.
As the Liberty slowly rose, Anton stared at the glittering sea that lay before him, and frowned when he saw a dot on the horizon. The HMS Impossible was making better speed than he had anticipated, and in his slow airship, Anton resigned himself to the fact that this could be a long, difficult hunt.
“I’m sorry, Marissa,” she said, hair blowing in the breeze, “I know you wanna go home. But you know, so do I. I ain’t ever gonna get back to the old country though, so this is the next best thing. It’s the only chance I have.”
“I suppose.” The HMS Impossible, as Miss Charlotte had told them, would take them wherever their hearts desired. A slight problem thus arose when they discovered that these were two very different places. Marissa just wanted to get back to Port-au-Prince, to see Pierre and try and find out if there was any news of Roerich’s whereabouts. Her friend, on the other hand, did not.
“I’ve been alive a long time,” she had said. “An; I’m tired, you know, too tired for all this stuff. I remember back in the old days, with Jack and Mary...you know, those were fun times. We did some stuff I ain’t too proud of, as ya might have guessed, but those were the glory days. I drank, I swore, I danced and it was all good.”
Marissa shook her head. “I still can’t believe you’re her...”
“I ain’t been that person for a long time. I had a husband once, you know, an eight kiddies. He died, as did they in time. But you gotta move on, right? So I got myself over first to Tortuga, and then to Port-au-Prince. I had a good time there, you know, met some real nice people, but I don’t wanna go back. My time there’s over. My super-duper ironic facade has lost its appeal. Smacked over the head and left to die by some lowlife scum in an alleyway, though they weren’t to know I wouldn’t of course.” She sighed wistfully, and looked out to sea “I don’t wanna be ol’ blue-eyes Anney Burleigh anymore. Ain’t fun. It’s time for something to change. I wanna go back to where my family are buried in Charleston and put that ghost to rest, and then I want you to come with me to find some hidden treasure.”
Marissa shrugged. “I can see why you want to go back to the States, but I don’t understand though, what hidden treasure?”
Not-Anney-anymore grinned, and clicked her fingers as a breaker smashed against the side of the ship. “You'll see.”
“...Yes, I agree, one cannot dismiss the possibility of God from the equation. Even if the world is entirely deterministic, the possibility of choice must exist in the mind of God, which would allow such differing realities to exist. Though,” said Professor Jean Toussaint, with a grin, “I’ve always considered God to be a personification of the infinite.”
“How so?” said Pierre.
“Infinity is something which we finite mortals can never truly hope to comprehend. We’d need infinite minds for that, which we, alas, do not have. But the idea of infinity holds immense appeal; it inspires us, scares us, and sometimes even drives us mad. We want to hold infinity, quantify it, find some way of making sense of it. And we do, through God. God is both presented as a man with a beard who lives in the sky, but also a powerful, infinite, universal force. Essentially, I believe that God is infinity, in a sense. A kind of pantheism, I suppose. Makes sense to me.”
“But what about the Saints? Where do they fit into all this?”
Toussaint shrugged dismissively. “The Saints? Who really believes in them anymore?”
“Well...”
Molly was vaguely listening to the conversation, hunched in front of one of the Simulation terminals. She had spent some time watching the world unfold, wars being fought and peaces being made, and had been puzzled by some really weird looking borders which resulted from this.
She was troubled. Immediately, she had seen why Toussaint was at the fringes. It wasn’t something she had any understanding of, but it almost seemed taboo. Wrong, somehow. Creepy and unpleasant. Pierre hadn’t noticed, of course, almost as if something inside was blinding him to it, distracting his attention. She sensed innately that Toussaint was in real danger. She didn’t know why, but she just knew.
The reason; on the screen, above the map of the countries, flashed the date “January 1st 1836”.
A chill crept down her spine, and she went to the window. A black car with shaded windows pulled up, and she was astonished to see Maurice Molyneux coming out of the passenger seat. Her heart almost stopped when she saw the driver.
M. Minuit, identical to Pierre yet somehow different, in a dark suit, looked up to the window straight at Molly. Their eyes met for a split-second, but it was long enough. She desperately looked over at Pierre and Toussaint—
She was at home, in Port-au-Prince, sitting on the chair in front of her computer. She looked wild eyed around the room, and everything seemed normal. It was dark outside.
“What...the hell.”
She sat, too astonished to move. After a few moments she sensed the presence of someone else in the room, someone behind her, watching her, who hadn't been there before.
“Hello Molly,” said a familiar voice eventually said. “I’ve wanted to speak with you for so long.”
She turned, and gulped. The girl sitting on her bed she knew well, better than anyone else in the entire world. She stared, her mouth dry, as if she had seen a ghost. “It can’t be...” she stammered, shaking her head. “Bessie...??”
Her sister smiled, and blinked her hollow eyes. “I came back.”
27
The sun’s daughter sits smiling, wind blowing in the air, on the steps of the ruined temple. She gazes into her mirror, and sees a ghost ship in stormy seas, the lady pirate and her good companion, mistresses of all they survey. The image suddenly changes, to a glowering, skeletal face, who speaks His name with a certain degree of relish, a terrible name that makes even the sun’s daughter shudder. Then an old man, in a rustic cottage somewhere in the hills, his troubled pondering interrupted by the jangle of the jewellery of a good friend, and then...
Her!
She is coming, the voices whisper. She is coming to take us away! Oh joy, oh joy, she is coming!
“Shut up!” the sun’s daughter hisses, throwing down the mirror.
Oh, she is special, she is unique! There’s no one like her in the world, in the universe! The world is sick. Let us have her medicine! Antillia in the flesh, sword in hand, bringer of justice! The cosmic bride! She is coming!
“No,” the lady says calmly. “I will stop her.”
The day of the dead approaches...
Her!
She is coming, the voices whisper. She is coming to take us away! Oh joy, oh joy, she is coming!
“Shut up!” the sun’s daughter hisses, throwing down the mirror.
Oh, she is special, she is unique! There’s no one like her in the world, in the universe! The world is sick. Let us have her medicine! Antillia in the flesh, sword in hand, bringer of justice! The cosmic bride! She is coming!
“No,” the lady says calmly. “I will stop her.”
The day of the dead approaches...
***
After leaving the dread labyrinth, Anton had made his way across Navassa Island until he came to a small copse of trees overlooking the ocean that somehow looked out of place. The sound of their rustling leaves was drowned out by the crashing of the waves. He spent a few minutes pressing his left foot into various patches of the ground. He would have looked ridiculous if anyone was watching, which they were, although he didn’t know it. After all, how else could I recount these events if I wasn’t watching? He did look ridiculous, but he was doing it for a very good reason.
After a minute or so, he found the right patch of ground, and suddenly there was a deep rumbling of rusty machinery coming to life, a great clanking and screeching of rust coming from under the earth. Before him, the copse of trees slid away, revealing themselves to be a mere cover, and the ground opened up. He licked his lips. There it lay, his pride and joy. His very own mini-airship, which he had named Liberty, previously hidden in a secret room under the ground. It was about twice his height, a few metres from end to end. Underneath the main body of the airship was a small compartment, which contained the cockpit and another area for passengers behind it. He clambered down, and took a few moments to admire it, like he always did. For this, his beloved Liberty, was no ordinary airship.
For one, it didn’t need fuel. The outer shell was made of super-reinforced Mithrillium, the strongest lighter-than-air substance known to man, and this flew not using helium, but through the creation and manipulations of vacuums within its shell. It was the only such airship in existence, and of course it did not technically belong to Anton, but that didn’t bother him too much. Its real owner had been quite rude and annoyingly rich, and Anton’s acquisition of Liberty was a subtle message that he hereby resigned from his employment. It was his pride and joy, a thing thought impossible by most scientists and engineers. Quite appropriate really, he mused, as he climbed aboard the cockpit and flicked some switches, releasing air in the necessary places within Liberty’s shell in order to get airborne.
As the Liberty slowly rose, Anton stared at the glittering sea that lay before him, and frowned when he saw a dot on the horizon. The HMS Impossible was making better speed than he had anticipated, and in his slow airship, Anton resigned himself to the fact that this could be a long, difficult hunt.
***
The seas were calm, and the HMS Impossible still seemed to be afloat, lurching forth into the great blue yonder. Marissa spent a lot of time watching the sea as it passed, trying to catch sight of land or other ships. So far though, nothing. The sea seemed to be a big empty void. Her companion appeared beside her. Marissa remained silent.“I’m sorry, Marissa,” she said, hair blowing in the breeze, “I know you wanna go home. But you know, so do I. I ain’t ever gonna get back to the old country though, so this is the next best thing. It’s the only chance I have.”
“I suppose.” The HMS Impossible, as Miss Charlotte had told them, would take them wherever their hearts desired. A slight problem thus arose when they discovered that these were two very different places. Marissa just wanted to get back to Port-au-Prince, to see Pierre and try and find out if there was any news of Roerich’s whereabouts. Her friend, on the other hand, did not.
“I’ve been alive a long time,” she had said. “An; I’m tired, you know, too tired for all this stuff. I remember back in the old days, with Jack and Mary...you know, those were fun times. We did some stuff I ain’t too proud of, as ya might have guessed, but those were the glory days. I drank, I swore, I danced and it was all good.”
Marissa shook her head. “I still can’t believe you’re her...”
“I ain’t been that person for a long time. I had a husband once, you know, an eight kiddies. He died, as did they in time. But you gotta move on, right? So I got myself over first to Tortuga, and then to Port-au-Prince. I had a good time there, you know, met some real nice people, but I don’t wanna go back. My time there’s over. My super-duper ironic facade has lost its appeal. Smacked over the head and left to die by some lowlife scum in an alleyway, though they weren’t to know I wouldn’t of course.” She sighed wistfully, and looked out to sea “I don’t wanna be ol’ blue-eyes Anney Burleigh anymore. Ain’t fun. It’s time for something to change. I wanna go back to where my family are buried in Charleston and put that ghost to rest, and then I want you to come with me to find some hidden treasure.”
Marissa shrugged. “I can see why you want to go back to the States, but I don’t understand though, what hidden treasure?”
Not-Anney-anymore grinned, and clicked her fingers as a breaker smashed against the side of the ship. “You'll see.”
***
“...Yes, I agree, one cannot dismiss the possibility of God from the equation. Even if the world is entirely deterministic, the possibility of choice must exist in the mind of God, which would allow such differing realities to exist. Though,” said Professor Jean Toussaint, with a grin, “I’ve always considered God to be a personification of the infinite.”
“How so?” said Pierre.
“Infinity is something which we finite mortals can never truly hope to comprehend. We’d need infinite minds for that, which we, alas, do not have. But the idea of infinity holds immense appeal; it inspires us, scares us, and sometimes even drives us mad. We want to hold infinity, quantify it, find some way of making sense of it. And we do, through God. God is both presented as a man with a beard who lives in the sky, but also a powerful, infinite, universal force. Essentially, I believe that God is infinity, in a sense. A kind of pantheism, I suppose. Makes sense to me.”
“But what about the Saints? Where do they fit into all this?”
Toussaint shrugged dismissively. “The Saints? Who really believes in them anymore?”
“Well...”
Molly was vaguely listening to the conversation, hunched in front of one of the Simulation terminals. She had spent some time watching the world unfold, wars being fought and peaces being made, and had been puzzled by some really weird looking borders which resulted from this.
She was troubled. Immediately, she had seen why Toussaint was at the fringes. It wasn’t something she had any understanding of, but it almost seemed taboo. Wrong, somehow. Creepy and unpleasant. Pierre hadn’t noticed, of course, almost as if something inside was blinding him to it, distracting his attention. She sensed innately that Toussaint was in real danger. She didn’t know why, but she just knew.
The reason; on the screen, above the map of the countries, flashed the date “January 1st 1836”.
A chill crept down her spine, and she went to the window. A black car with shaded windows pulled up, and she was astonished to see Maurice Molyneux coming out of the passenger seat. Her heart almost stopped when she saw the driver.
M. Minuit, identical to Pierre yet somehow different, in a dark suit, looked up to the window straight at Molly. Their eyes met for a split-second, but it was long enough. She desperately looked over at Pierre and Toussaint—
Molly? Molly? Can you hear us? Molly? It's time to wake up.
“Mmff...what? What happened? Wh-where am I?”
You’re safe.
“Safe?” She blinked, and found herself lying prone, in pitch blackness. She waved her hands in front of her, but there was no light at all. “Wh-who’s there? And what about Pierre? And Professor Toussaint?”
Certain things have occurred. Do not be alarmed. Toussaint has been taken away. We had to make sure you were safe. Do not be alarmed.
“I don’t understand,” Molly said, “Taken away? What does that mean?” Silence. “Who are you? Please, answer me!”
Silence. Then, a light, a terrible blinding light. And then...
“Mmff...what? What happened? Wh-where am I?”
You’re safe.
“Safe?” She blinked, and found herself lying prone, in pitch blackness. She waved her hands in front of her, but there was no light at all. “Wh-who’s there? And what about Pierre? And Professor Toussaint?”
Certain things have occurred. Do not be alarmed. Toussaint has been taken away. We had to make sure you were safe. Do not be alarmed.
“I don’t understand,” Molly said, “Taken away? What does that mean?” Silence. “Who are you? Please, answer me!”
Silence. Then, a light, a terrible blinding light. And then...
She was at home, in Port-au-Prince, sitting on the chair in front of her computer. She looked wild eyed around the room, and everything seemed normal. It was dark outside.
“What...the hell.”
She sat, too astonished to move. After a few moments she sensed the presence of someone else in the room, someone behind her, watching her, who hadn't been there before.
“Hello Molly,” said a familiar voice eventually said. “I’ve wanted to speak with you for so long.”
She turned, and gulped. The girl sitting on her bed she knew well, better than anyone else in the entire world. She stared, her mouth dry, as if she had seen a ghost. “It can’t be...” she stammered, shaking her head. “Bessie...??”
Her sister smiled, and blinked her hollow eyes. “I came back.”
End of Section 1/3
Last edited:
Still, it was an entertaining read.
