Business in the MarshesMature

Point of View: Brakken

Brakken adjusted the scarf to better cover his face as the wind bit into his pale skin. Before continuing to write, he tilted his hat and tapped a finger on the parchment, grumbling slightly.

"What are you so petulant about?" Amelia Bones tried to peer over his shoulder, her brow furrowed as she tried to read his scrawl.

"Madame, I would not disturb master Brakken as he works, you know how disagreeable he gets-"

"Aye, and a lot more of recent. Ever since the business with the Eventides, you've been very... withdrawn. A peevish with it too. By golly!"

Brakken cracked his neck as he tried to drown out the incessant noise. He scribbled a few more words before a quick, burst of wind ruffled the papers, almost blowing them away.

"Damn it all!" he rolled them up and stormed off to the bow. He leant over the side and into the murky water. Not too far now lay the glowing port of New Orleans.

He bowed his head and sighed. What had she done to him? A bit of wind whilst he was trying to write and suddenly he was in a rage. That was not him. No, this was something else. Casting his memory back, it had started in the Inn, when he had first met the Lady Eventide. Something in the way she treated him, nay, merely her being their stirred him. At first he thought this was a passionate hatred almost driving him to lunacy... yet that night, in the Eventide mansion.

He closed his eyes tightly, pain seeping across his face at the memory.

He felt something touch his shoulder. He turned, meeting the deep coal black eyes of Ursa, her brown hair framing her dark face.

"We are nearly there now, you must prepare yourself," he nodded briefly and continued looking ahead. In the corner of his eyes he noticed a shadow flicker and instantly looked away, "what is it Master Brakken?"

"Stop calling me master," he snapped, then leant casually against the side, "somebody has been following us since we departed from Liverpool."

Ursa looked in the general direction, "the wind is coming our way," she sniffed once or twice and frowned slightly, "I recognise the scent," she flinched with pain suddenly. Brakken could hear the bones in her neck crack slightly, the darkness in her eyes grow, even her lips blackened.

"Ursa..." he waited for her to snap out of it. Her self control had improved somewhat, "what is it?"

"His sin, so many murders," her hand clenched around the wood, he heard her nails scrap and the wood buckled, "this whole city, reeks of evil!" she doubled over. Suppressing the drive to change was causing her pain, that much he could tell.

"Then move to the back of the boat, I need to think about things some more anyway."

Angry at being defeated, she stumbled off.

Suddenly, a flash lit the sky ahead. An object plummeted and crashed into the earth. How curious, he thought, I must investigate this occurrence when I have the time.

"Ursa!" he called, "pay the ferryman now, there is something I must attend to and cannot be trifling with these small matters!" she nodded and fumbled with her purse.

First he must reserve a room in any local inn he could find. Once this was done, he would speak to the informant and search for that mysterious object. Then soon retire to his room and finish that cursed letter. Once that was done, they could search for the Witch. Goodness knows why she would leave Africa for the Americas, but madness knows no reason, that he knew only too well.

He inhaled softly, the old bubbling determination returning to his stomach, the coldness returning to his face. He was ready, no more dwelling. There was work to be done.



The End

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