A Cursed Town Ch. 16

A Secrets of Marfath Story

The street outside was quiet. Josef felt strangely watched from the dark cracks of boarded windows and gaping maws of broken doorways. Marton had completely discomfitted him and now sympathy warred with unease in his belly. The priest peered at Claudia from the corner of his eye. She shared none of his unease. A faint smile dimpled her cheek, and shone in her eyes even as she set the lock on the door.

"Was that - is he always like that," Josef asked in a low voice. He wasn't sure if he was afraid of being overheard by Marton or something else, only that he felt observed. 

Ms. Ainshart shrugged, her voice normal. "He has good days and bad. This was generally a good one, I think."

"But did you hear what he said to me? Father Tomas' words, right off the page of his letter." The priest's voice wavered as he said it and the hairs on the back of his neck prickled. 

Again a slight raise of her shoulders. "Perhaps you were thinking of it. Marton sometimes hears thoughts, when they are near and loud enough. Or it was something he picked up on one of Tomas' visits. Father Tomas, I mean. Why does it bother you so?" She stopped and looked at him. 

Josef blushed under her scrutiny and hoped the night covered it. His embarrassment was surmounted by curiosity though."He hears thoughts?"

"Sometimes," she said agreeably. "I don't think he does it on purpose." She could not miss the look of incredulity on the priest's face. "You would doubt that? Here, in Marfath?" Claudia arched an eyebrow.

"Not precisely, no," he said quickly. "I've seen some strange things in my short time here. And there are studies, you know. Thoughts are energy and - and," he stopped. Women, especially those less educated were bored by technical explanation. Josef did not want to bore her.

"And?" Miss Ainshart stared at him intensely.

"And that energy can be detected, measured, recorded . . . are you - that is, do you have an interest in natural sciences, Miss Ainshart?"

She laughed and despite the oppressive feeling of unseen watchers, Josef felt his mouth curl into an answering smile. "I read the journals when I can get them. And my library is extensive. I may not have gone to college, Father, but I am no mudfoot village girl with porridge for brains." 

"I didn't mean to suggest-" he began.

"But you did," she interrupted.

Despite her light tone, Josef felt thoroughly chastised and offered a quick apology. "Please forgive me, Miss Ainshart. I am unused to anyone being interested in my studies, beyond a very small circle of colleagues. It was wrong of me to assume anything about your education." 

"Forgiven for now, but do see that it doesn't happen again."

"Of course," the priest agreed, still feeling guilty. "Did you want to hear more then? There are some fascinating discoveries in the field of mental science. Things we might have called magic in the past, but that nature's perfect design applies to." 

Claudia elbowed him gently. "I believe that's the most enthusiasm I've seen from you yet, Father. I would like to know more, but perhaps, not tonight. I feel it's a discussion in need of tea and comfortable seats." 

He nodded agreeably, continuing in silence for several steps.

"Did Marton disturb you overmuch, then?" Miss Ainshart ventured after a time. "You still seem on edge."

Josef hadn't realized his nerves were so apparent. He ran a hand through his loose hair, feeling foolish in front of her yet again. "It was . . ." he searched for the right words. "Dismaying?" The word came out high on the end and questioning. 

Claudia smiled but it was kind. "I imagine many things about Marfath are, Father. you musn't think badly of Marton though. He is a good boy, most of the time."

"What happened to him?" The question was impolite, prying even, but the priest couldn't help himself. 

"He wasn't born that way, if that is your meaning." Miss Ainshart adjusted her cap, tugging the veil closer to her face. "It isn't really my place to say, but I suppose no one else would tell you a thing and you may need to know." She took a breath and held his arm a little tighter. "Treat this as confession, if you would. Words between myself, yourself, and God."

"Of course," Josef agreed. 

Claudia nodded and began. "Marton was a coddled boy, raised at the end of a very short apron string. His mother refused to let him go out to sea with his father, even when he was of an age with other boys that were going. I start with this because some say his condition is a punishment for her selfishness." She waved a hand in the air dismissively. "Nonsense, but nevertheless. As a result of his mother's determination to keep Marton close, he was one of the few children still running about town, bored and destructive as most twelve year old boys are." She sniffed. "Not you at that age, I'm sure, but most."

"Thank you for that," the priest murmured, finding a wry smile on his lips. He'd in fact been exactly that sort of boy, but there was no reason to dissuade Miss Ainshart of her good opinion.

"It was late August when the days are long and hot, and nerves are short. I'm sure you know the season." She fanned her face as if reliving that summer. "So, taking pity on the afflicted shop keeps and young ladies, his mother insisted the boy go with her and his infant sister to pick dewberries. They left out with baskets and sunhats, mudding shoes." She fell silent a moment, thinking. "I suppose they took some bread and water for lunch. I don't remember, really. Only that my mother and I waved good day to them."

"You knew Marton?"

She smiled. "This is Marfath, Father Garten. Everyone knows everyone. And he was only a little younger than I at the time."

"I see," Josef nodded, feeling silly for asking. 

She patted his arm gently. "That was the last time we saw the three together. None of them returned that evening. No one noticed that night, nor the next day. Marton's father was out at sea and everyone thought the family was simply at home and blessedly quiet. It was my mother that went to check on them the day after that. We both went and knocked at the door. When no one came, mother went inside. I would have followed, but she hurried out." Claudia frowned. "It was one of the few times I remember her looking surprised. My mother rarely let anything take her unawares, but that day she sped out of that empty house with her jaws open and her eyebrows climbing."

The priest considered this. "So Marton, his mother, and a baby were out in the damps for two days by that time?"

"Yes, and two nights. Of course, my mother sounded the alarm, and the town sent out a search party. We went along - she knew all the best berry patches, places they might be. No one had much hope though. The damps take people, Father. You should understand that. We knew going out that the best we might find were bodies, but it had to be done." Claudia was silent for a few breaths and Josef thought she'd say no more, but she continued once she'd had a moment to recollect.

"We found Marton about two miles from town. Right next to a beautiful patch of berry bushes, all thick with dark, sweet fruit. The smell was intoxicating. So sweet. But they were across a patch of slurry. You know what that is, Father?"

Josef nodded. "Mud, yes?"

Miss Ainshart squeezed his arm. "Yes, yes, but  here we have a bit more than just mud. It's tar - perfect for repairing ships but nasty to fall into. This one was barely visible through the leaves and sticks floating atop the thick, black and grey surface. It looked almost like ground. And there Marton lay at the edge of it, with one arm lost to the depths. He was making the most peculiar sounds. Like a hurt animal. A dog, perhaps, when it's been kicked too many times. Not like a boy at all." 

"And his mother and sister?" The holy man felt he had to ask, though the answer seemed apparent.

"Lost. Marton said the ground swallowed them up. When they tried to pull him back, he screamed that he couldn't let go of his momma." Claudia shook her head, "He will tell you, when he can remember it, that he held his mother's hand until the men from town pulled him away."

The priest's lips pursed. "Do you believe him? It seems a bit fantastic to believe a boy of twelve would or even could cling to someone's hand for so long."

"No one seems to have a better story than that, and the woman was never found nor her baby. As for Marton, you've seen his arm. His mind went too, driven out by whatever he saw those two days and two nights."

"I am so sorry, Miss Ainshart. That is a terrible story to tell. I shouldn't have asked."

Claudia patted her visible eye as if to wipe away a tear, though she didn't sound as if she was crying. "I have had some time to get used to terrible things, Father. At least Marton lived, though he has never been the same. Some days he is lucid. Some days, as you saw him tonight. And sometimes he is more than simply aware, as I think you saw."

Josef raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps I did. But what do you mean by more than?" He couldn't help the question though he damned his inquisitiveness. 

"It's him and not him," she explained. "He knows things he should not. There are days too where he becomes wild, not violent but unpredictable. He runs out into the damps and returns days later, filthy and naked. So we keep his door locked. Just in case." 

"What do you think he-"

Claudia stopped him, pointing ahead. "And there's the rectory. Here is where I bid you good night a second time." Her smile was sly and playful. "Until tomorrow hm? We have a bit of cleaning to do then, yes?"

"I was truly hoping you would-"

Again she interrupted. "Bring breakfast tomorrow?"

Josef nodded, stifling his frustration. Clearly, his questions would need to wait. "Good evening then, Miss Ainshart."

He watched her walk away until the light from the small lantern disappeared. He hadn't even asked where she was headed next. He didn't think she lived that way but it wasn't his business. With a shrug of resignation, he went inside, lit a candle, and ate from the basket of goodies. 

Josef put together a ragged sandwhich and then ate it as he perused a book at random. He picked up one of Father Tomas' books from the stack on the table. It turned out to be a natural history on the diversity of plant an animal life in the northern bogs. It was titled Thryving Upon Water: A Treatise Upon the Lyfe and Dyversity of the Fens - no author listed. The careful drawings were credited though, and looked to be done in hand. He tried to make out the signature, but it was faded and obscure. A letter 'A' perhaps or 'O', could even be a 'Q'. Nothing he recognized. 

Tomas had left notes in the margins of some pages, his neat, tiny script sending a pang of loss through the priest. Beside one entry about hanging moss - "Not limited to plants. Must study removal." The word removal was harshly under scored, imprinting the page and ending in a splat of untidy ink. Why such ferocity? Josef wished his mentor were there to ask. He'd left so few clues, only vague warnings. He read the moss entry. It was a dull, factual depiction of a parasitic tree growth. He flipped past several pages, stopping to look at the depictions of some truly horrid insect. It did nothing to settle his mind.

Irritated, he set the book back on the pile and grabbed another from one of the undisturbed stacks near the bed. This one was held shut with a small, copper latch. He fumbled with the simple lock for a moment before figuring out which way to twist it and how far before it opened. Loose pages fell to the floor when he managed, the binding of the book rotten. 

Josef gathered the pages back together, recognizing his mentor's writing here too, filling them from top to bottom. He sat down and surveyed the first sheet. Father Tomas had written:

Another day out in the damps, alone this time. I am getting nowhere and it begins to wear on me. Today, I heard a whining sound. Like flies. I thought I spent only a moment or two listening to it and then batting it away, but noon passed into sunset at a blink. I think it - or they? are trying to keep me here past dark. To what purpose I can only guess. I made it home before the light faded, if just. 

If I listen carefully though, I can still hear that sound even at home. It pierces the space behind my eyelids and invades my sleep. It is maddening. And my leg has gotten worse. No pain now, at least, but the bruise has grown. Hosana recommended leeching. I can't abide the things, but it might work better than A's creams. I no longer trust her, but she is useful. I cannot deny it. I feel that I am missing something she sees so clearly. A. knows more than she says, and I will have it out. It is just finding the right questions. The right time to ask. Full moon or new, the silver nights or golden days? I can't think about it now. I feel so tired. Tomorrow. And I must write to Josef!

A? Did Tomas mean Ainshart? Josef stared at the page, scanning it and the next few sheets for answers. The fall had set them all out of order though. The following page was about a wedding, and then there was something about repairing a bench. After rifling through for several minutes he realized the journal would not yield its secrets so easily. Josef sighed, and set himself to work.