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Previously: Echoes of Blood and Spell | A covenant among the unliving Part 2
For Romain, the last few days on the ship felt like an endless breath that could not be fully exhaled. The sky hung heavy and low above them, a leaden gray vault that barely let in any light. Rain beat constantly against the planks, as if trying to gain entry, and the creaking of the wood became a second language, something you had to get used to, but which eventually became a habit. They spent most of their time below deck. The air was humid and heavy, every step had to be considered when the ship reared up again under the force of the waves. Sometimes it tilted so much that Romain had the feeling the world itself was out of balance. And yet, in the midst of this chaos, something unexpected had emerged.
Romain had insisted on preserving small rituals. When the roar above them became particularly loud, he would put on water, prepare teas, sometimes mind-expanding, sometimes calming, and both men would partake of them, enjoying the spiritual effect and the open words. The sea forced them into close proximity, there was no escape from the conversations, no polite evasion. They talked about what awaited them in London, about doubts they had only hinted at so far, about decisions that could no longer be reversed, about people Alexander had lost and about memories that haunted him to this day. And sometimes they simply kept silent while the ship shook beneath them, their shoulders almost touching. Romain felt something strange on these nights, the need to form a friendship, to rekindle loyalty, which he usually avoided because he was used to living alone... because he no longer wanted to trust people and because closeness meant danger to him. While he invited Alexander to experience the terrifying power of nature on deck for once and to face this force with his own body, thus loosening a few of his shackles, the chains he usually kept and cherished as if they were his anchor were also loosened.
When the wind finally died down, the sea was still restless, but it had lost its fury. Romain stood at the narrow hatch one morning and saw a faint streak of light fighting its way through the clouds. The storms had sapped their strength, certainly. Sleep had been rare, their limbs ached, and the thought of solid ground was almost painfully tempting. When they entered the Thames estuary, it was no triumphant arrival, no celebratory glide into a new world. The crew looked focused, but there was also sadness in their actions. They had lost a few men in the fierce storms, strong men who had given their lives to their profession and were swallowed by the sea. Unfortunately, this was a fairly normal occurrence, it happened often and for some of the shipmen it was even considered an honor when they became one with the element that had always carried them.
Ships of all sizes lay at anchor or moved ponderously upstream, wide merchant ships with dark, tar-soaked hulls, smaller coastal sailing vessels, fishing boats, launches that scurried between them like nervous insects. The closer they got, the clearer the smell became, salt and mud, rotten wood, tar, coal, untanned hides, spices from overseas being loaded somewhere, in between the pungent smell of waste the river had not carried away. The quays were crowded, men in coarse shirts and rolled-up sleeves carried sacks, rolled barrels, shouted instructions to each other. Carts rumbled over the pavement, pulled by horses whose flanks steamed in the damp morning air. Merchants discussed loudly with captains, overseers noted goods down in heavy ledgers.
Romain stood at the railing as their ship slowed down, boats passed close by and orders had to be shouted several times to avoid collisions. The two men had already packed their belongings, wrapping themselves in clothes that suited London so as not to attract attention. The witcher felt a strange tug in his heart, as if memories that did not belong to him were catching up with him. London did not seem foreign to him, but more like a home one returned to because one had no other choice.
“I'll let you take the lead.”
He mumbled quietly to Alexander when the ship finally docked and the journey was officially over. Romain was still resisting taking in too many impressions. The city stank, the people bustled about, he knew all that from New Orleans. Even his curiosity was limited, for him the arrival felt like stepping into a job without yet knowing what fruit it would bear. He was the first to leave the ship, giving Alexander time to say goodbye to the captain and the crew; the Scotsman was definitely responsible for courtesies, which was not something Romain was particularly good at. He could feel people staring at him, some of the dock workers could literally sense that he didn't belong here, but he was used to that...