Bitter as a captain, p.7
Bitter as a Captain, page 7
“Ah, yes,” Morris muses. “The Curieux is the ship the Captain once sailed on. It remains where it was run ashore long ago and will likely remain forever more.”
“Why did he wreck it?” The ship is beautiful. With the morning light, I’d been able to look out my balcony and truly study it. I’ve never seen a ship quite like it, a mixture between what I know to be a pirate ship and a modern gothic warship. It’s almost sad to see it lying in the sand despite it having no obvious signs of wear.
“I suspect he did so for a great many reasons,” Morris answers, turning to look at me with a smile. “Unfortunately, I’m not privy to those reasons, Bell. Even if I were, it wouldn’t be my story to tell.”
“Is he always so. . .” I try to find a word that won’t be insulting but everything is exactly that. There’s really no nice way to put it.
“Beastly?” Morris supplies helpfully with a laugh. “He never used to be. The Captain was as charming as he is handsome. It’s only in later decades that he’s become less so. Now enough about the Captain,” he says. “Tell me about your world. What is it called? What’s it like?”
I grimace. “Um. . .we live on a planet called Earth.”
“Earth! Such a foreign name. Go on!”
“There’s no magic there as far as I know. Our animals aren’t all trying to eat you, though some of them will.” I glance down at Logan. “Technically, Logan here would probably eat my face off if I suddenly died.”
Morris looked down at the wolverine with wide eyes. “Marvelous.”
“There’s only humans and the wildlife really. We don’t have monsters like stilted slugs. Our monsters are other people.”
At my words, Morris meets my eyes, something flashing in them. “I understand those sorts of monsters far too well, Bell. Far too well.” Whatever knowledge he holds in his mind, he shuts it down completely to ask me more questions.
How big is Earth? How many people live there? Are there evil queens? What’s the average life span of a human?
My brows furrow. “Are lifespans not the same here?”
Morris laughs. “Depends on the creature, and their title, and the magic they carry in their veins. Grimm, the Captain alone is at least eight centuries—”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“Eight centuries is hardly long at all. Grimm has actual time passing. Some worlds, I hear, are timeless, and no one ever ages at all. Time just doesn’t move there.”
I blink. “Like Neverland?”
Morris frowns. “I’m sorry. Neverland?”
I wave away his question. “A story from home. Where I’m from, we have fairytales and folktales that speak of things like here. We have a whole book on Grimm Fairytales.” I frown. “I never read the story of Captain Bluebeard but there’s definitely a story about him. Another reason I think I may have just fallen into a coma in my world, and this is all made up.”
Morris snorts. “I’d pay gold to read a story about the Captain. The things it would say! I bet it’s full of fisherman’s tales and bravery.”
Though I’ve never read the story, I’m pretty sure that’s not what the story is about. None of the Grimm Fairytales are very. . .nice. Still, we spend the three hours to get to Rough Haven talking constantly about stories of each other’s worlds. We take turns. Sometimes, Morris tells me stories about Grimm. Sometimes, I tell Morris stories about Yellowstone and home.
“So, you’re telling me, the Earth is so big, there are different seasons on opposite sides?”
Laughing, I lean down to rub Logan’s head as we walk. The wolverine keeps close, as if afraid another stilted slug is going to leap out at any moment.
“You’d be surprised by how much we have in my world. Perhaps our magic is in the Earth itself and how it holds so many.”
“It certainly sounds like magic to me,” Morris concludes. “Oh, we’re almost there! Rough Haven should have someone that can help, or at least that can point you in the right direction.”
On our three-hour trek, not one monster had come out to attack. At first, I thought us lucky, but the more I watch Morris, the more I think it’s him. He looks human enough but there’s something about him that just feels. . .off. Perhaps, he’s more of a threat than I think he is. That or just being friends with Bluebeard makes a difference. I have to imagine things would be different if I’d made the trip alone.
“Just right around this. . .”
Morris is ahead of me and Logan only slightly so, his excitement pushing him ahead. I know we just have to make the curve but as Morris rounds the path and pauses, his voice trailing off, unease filters through me and I stop.
“What is it?” I ask.
But Morris’ mouth is agape, and he doesn’t answer. Instead, he kind of stumbles around the bend, leaving us behind. The scent of smoke and sulfur hang heavy in the air until I find myself wrinkling my nose against it. Logan does the same and he moves closer to me when I take a step forward.
“Morris,” I call. No answer. “Morris!”
I stumble around the bend and stop, my eyes wide.
From Morris’ descriptions of Rough Haven, it’s supposed to be a bustling town full of people. There are shops and tradesmen and anything you can hope to find there within its boundaries. One of the larger towns near Bluebeard’s castle, I was to expect all sorts of creatures and tall structures and the scent of food on the wind from the numerous taverns. Rough Haven is supposed to be a glittering jewel.
That’s not what appears before me.
There were once buildings here, but they’re now burnt shells of what once were. Some of the walls are completely gone, nothing but charred pieces in piles, nothing but ash. Some have bits and pieces standing, barely anything remaining but enough to tell me it was once a building. Smoke still trickles up from some of the remains, as if whatever happened here was recent. The ground is torn up, the cobblestone blasted away in some spots, trees downed across the streets and on top of houses.
The bodies. . .
There’s supposed to be a whole bustling town here full of people. Now, their blood runs along the cobblestones, splatters the stone, fills the air with the metallic scent of pennies.
“What happened?” I whisper, my stomach rolling at the sight. There are no mercies between women, children, men, animals. All creatures are dead. I don’t have much hope for anyone remaining alive, not at the brutality left behind on the bodies. They’re not just dead. They’re shredded, torn apart, as if a wild animal tore through them all. Most are unrecognizable. The only reason I know some are children is because of their size.
Morris is standing in front of me, in the middle of what was once a town square. There’s a fountain in the center that now runs red with blood, the fountain still circulating the water in a gruesome display that stains the stone. I follow his gaze up to the image burned into the only building to remain untouched by fire. The image is bold, clear, as if someone left it as the message it is.
“We must tell the Captain,” Morris whispers, horrified. “We must tell him right away.”
Without another word, he turns and grabs my arm, dragging me back the way we came. No one can help me here. There’s no more reason to be here and whatever did this could come back, could still be here. I let Morris pull me for a moment until I break out of the shock and find my own feet.
I glance back once at the image burned there, at the warning and declaration. I don’t understand it, but the image is easy enough to see.
An apple.
A single apple painted bright red with the blood of the townspeople. . .
CHAPTER 17
We make it back to the castle far faster than the time it took us to reach Rough Haven. Where before we’d been leisurely strolling, content with each other’s company, now it’s almost like there’s a phantom following us.
Except the phantom is what had been done to those people.
I can’t help but feel as if someone is watching us, that someone is following us as we rush back, but that could all be the otherworldly aura that permeated the air around the town. Somehow, it almost seems to follow us, the smells of the massacre, the vision of it. I know I won’t be able to get the images of what had been done to the people out of my mind any time soon and I’ve seen some terrible shit while working at Yellowstone. I’ve seen bodies that have been ripped apart by bears. I’ve seen the remains after a mountain lion had drug the body into the trees. And still it was nothing compared to what became of Rough Haven.
“I don’t understand what happened,” I rasp as I keep up with Morris. For an older man, he’s in perfect shape. Where I’m panting from the brisk walk back, he seems unfazed. “What happened to the town?”
Morris glances at me as we power up the stairs toward Bluebeard’s castle. “First, we must inform the Captain. Explanation will come with that.”
There’s fear in Morris’ eyes and that worries me more than anything. This is the first instance of seeing true emotion reflected there. In the face of Bluebeard covered in blood, he didn’t flinch. But after seeing the town and clearly knowing what the symbol means, the terror there is palpable. It makes my own anxiety rise higher. What exactly have I fallen into?
As we get to the top, the words carved into the door are almost larger, more meaningful now. A threat. A warning.
Grimm will fall. The Lords must rise. . .
Morris shoves open the door, no sense of the manners or decorum that he’d held prior. “Captain!” he shouts, searching everywhere. “Mathieu!”
I jerk at the name, at the informality of it. No one has mentioned Bluebeard’s first name and hearing it now feels strange. I don’t know how I feel about it. I know I won’t use it. Clearly the name is something the Captain doesn’t like to think about.
Bluebeard appears a moment later, his eyes hard as he rounds the corner and stares first at Morris and then at me and my continued presence. Logan leans against my leg, exhausted after running back so fast. He’s allowed himself to get out of shape lately it seems, but then again, I’m panting slightly, too.
“What is it? Why are you shouting?” he asks, and then Bluebeard must see the same fear in Morris’ eyes that I do. “What has happened?”
Morris pushes his hair back, forces himself back into some semblance of calm, and looks Bluebeard in the eyes. “Rough Haven has been destroyed.”
Bluebeard blinks. “What?”
“The townspeople have been massacred, ripped to shreds. Many of the buildings were burnt down or torn apart. There were no survivors that we saw.”
I flinch with each word, remembering the bodies littering the ground, strung up from the buildings, stabbed onto sharp points. So many were missing limbs, missing heads, those pieces thrown back together in some strange macabre artworks. My mind can’t even make sense of some of it, of the image it all created. I don’t want to image of it in my brain, but I have a feeling, it’s all going to come back once I fall asleep next. The worst memories always choose to make themselves known at night.
“Rough Haven is one of the larger townships—” Bluebeard begins, as if preparing to say someone must have survived.
“There was an apple painted large on one of the remaining buildings. It was painted red with the blood of their bodies,” Morris cuts him off, his own expression hardening. “Mathieu, it’s her. She’s getting bolder.”
“Who?” I ask, leaning in with a frown. Morris hadn’t told me, telling me to wait, and now here I am, about to hear it, and they’re talking in hints rather than facts.
Bluebeard looks at me with a scowl, as if I have no right at all to speak, but Morris glances at me. “Snow White and her seven demons.”
The words penetrate but they don’t exactly sink in, not for a few seconds. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Snow White,” he repeats, before looking back at Bluebeard. “She’s carving her way closer and she’s calling your bluff. She took the nearest town, Mathieu. How long before she comes to your door?”
“Let her come,” Bluebeard grunts. “She won’t get inside.”
Morris straightens. “And what about the rest of the townspeople?”
“Not my problem.”
I go to open my mouth, but Morris’ sharp words cut off whatever I’d been about to say.
“You are a Lord, Mathieu. It is your duty—”
“In case you haven’t noticed, Grimm has been turned on its head, Morris. I can guarantee duties hardly matter anymore.”
“You’re the Lord of Heathens!”
“I’m the Lord of myself,” he growls, squaring up against Morris.
I stare at the scene, confused at the animosity there between them. Morris has never spoken ill of Bluebeard, has never risen his voice in my company, and now here they are, toe to toe, glaring at each other. I don’t dare interject. Clearly, this is a personal argument, but I don’t leave either. If this is to be the only way I get the information I need, then so be it.
“Mathieu, she’s a monster—”
Bluebeard wrinkles his nose in a snarl. “Then she falls under the Frog King’s domain, doesn’t she? Take your worries to him!”
They both grow silent, facing each other as if they’re prepared to battle. But in the end, Morris leans back and adjusts his clothing. He’d been disheveled before, but the moment he straightens, he’s as put together as always.
Bluebeard is panting with rage, his chest heaving with it, a key hanging around his neck—the key! —drawing my attention. I stare at it two seconds too long, understanding what it might open, but Bluebeard isn’t focused on me. He’s focused on Morris. The door upstairs seems to pulse with longing, and I somehow know with certainty, the key currently around Bluebeard’s neck will open it.
“You know,” Morris murmurs, looking at Bluebeard with cold eyes. “All these years I’ve served you and I’ve never thought you a coward. Not even when you gave me the key,” he says sadly. “But today, I’ve never seen you more a fool.”
And then Morris turns and disappears inside, deeper into the castle, dismissing the argument. His words echo around us, as if they’re being repeated. When they finally fade away, I stare at Bluebeard, at the fury in his eyes.
“What was done to those people, Bluebeard, it wasn’t pleasant,” I whisper, the images returning to me, haunting me.
He glances at me, as if finally reminded I’m here. “I don’t care.”
“They were hanging from the buildings, women, children—”
“Shut up!” he snarls, taking a step toward me. “You know nothing!”
“I know that you’re hiding in this castle,” I spit. “I know that for whatever reason, you ventured out and happened to save me, but you can’t be bothered to save your people.”
“I should have let you die,” he snarls, taking another step, putting us in each other’s faces. “I should have left you to be eaten by every creature in the forest.”
“Then why didn’t you?” I accuse, narrowing my eyes. “Why didn’t you just leave me there if you hate my presence so badly?”
He goes quiet, our eyes meeting, and the tension in the air suddenly skyrockets. I’d clamp my thighs together if that wouldn’t make it so obvious, but the way his warm breath is fanning against my face, he’ll see any movement. His hair is falling over his forehead, tempting me to stroke it. The urge to reach up, to circle his neck is strong, despite the expression on his face that he might kill me. When his eyes drop to my lips, I know I’m not the only one that feels the tension. Everything inside of me is telling me to lean forward.
“What are you so afraid of?” I ask, and it breaks the spell we’re in. I meant it as a question toward me, at the hesitation between us, but when it comes out, I realize it’s about more than that. Not only is Bluebeard afraid of me, but he’s afraid of whoever this Snow White is.
The anger returns on his face, and he slams his fist against the wall beside my head. Small chips of stone come away, leaving behind a small dent. I don’t flinch, not even when a few chips hit the side of my face. If he keeps hitting his walls, there aren’t going to be much left of them.
He turns to leave, turning his back on me, his anger still flashing in his eyes. I’m standing there wet and confused, trying to figure out what just happened.
“You can’t stay here!” he growls, tossing the words over his shoulder as he begins to walk away.
“Where should I go?” I spit back, my back tightening in tension.
“Away,” he snarls. “Away, as far as you can get from me.” He begins to walk with purpose. “I cannot bear your presence any longer.”
Insulted, I take my own step back, prepared to leave, but something has me looking after him and saying, “I don’t understand.”
He pauses and looks over his shoulder, those eyes meeting mine and holding. There’s so much reflected there in that lingering look, the sexual tension I’ve felt since the beginning skyrocketing with that one gaze, but he doesn’t act on it.
“And you never will,” he grunts, before storming off deeper into the castle.
I stand there for a few minutes more before I look down at Logan and sigh. “What have we gotten ourselves into, boy? I swear, trouble just keeps finding us.”
CHAPTER 18
When no one comes to kick me out or tell me anything at all, I assume I can at least stay another night. I follow the circles back to the room Morris had given me and lock myself inside for a better part of a few hours. I don’t really know what else to do.
Rough Haven had been meant to be a way for me to find some help. Morris had been certain someone would be able to point me in the right direction, that they could lead me to someone else who might have been able to help. But the scene there? No one was going to help.
And this Snow White? She’s certainly not the one from our storybooks at home. I don’t remember much but I’m fairly sure she didn’t run around murdering whole towns. And seven demons? They’re supposed to be dwarves. What in the actual backwards fuck is this place?
