176 Fishman island: to start with a bang and end with a whisper. (2/2)

*****

Laurel frowned at the eerie and soulless confines of the harbour. Usually at this time sailors would be making merry, locals would be meeting each other and the street ruffians would be making a fool of themselves.

Yet, here there was not a whit of the usual hubub. As she edged closer to the new arrivals she began to smell the pungent scent of spilled alcohol mixed with what she assumed to be piss.

This was the outskirts of the water port, the only ones docked here were the newer vessels, those that did not particularly want to be under the close watch of the city guard.

As she drew further she sensed her contemporary tense up, with a small quirk of his head he shot her a look telling her that he would be going to check something.

With a soundless woosh he disappeared forward vanishing into the purplish haze of the underwater island.

Laurel was right behind him, walking forward briskly. Within a few moments she came across her first body, it was an older more pudgy looking fishman with a crutch beside him. It was evident that he had been crippled a while back, what with the weird chip on his legs.

She gazed slightly affronted, kneeling beside him to check for a breath. She breathed a small sigh of relief as she felt his chest moving.

A small gargle sounded from him as she tapped at him, with a small fit he began to awaken, coughing and huffing as he did.

”Demons... Child murders the lot of them...” he muttered silently as he began to reach for the crutch at the side.

he breathed deeply, his eyes coasting over her as fear clouded them.

With a worried glance, she looked further forward, her hopes immediately dashed by another body further also moving around slightly.

She rose to her feet marching forward gazing down worriedly at her downed compatriots. In the distance a solitary ship bobbed up and down morosely. Around it was the highest concentration of bodies.

She glared at it, marching forward, then she stopped as if beaten. For on the stern Fawkes stood gazing down at the figures imperiously. She had seen that look before, gazing down at everyone with disdain.

She could not believe it. This was the man that had helped her burry the old prankster, now he stood at what could only be the cause for her people's suffering.

She growled darkly, gazing at him. Then she turned around to storm out of the harbour.

A small pulse seemed to thrum out from the ship, forcing the waking folk back down, and that was the straw that broke the camels back.

She could only curse her own short-sightedness and naivety for trusting a man that she had just met.

With a small growl she pulled out her lyre once more and began to play.