The water swirled beneath her, and the boards creaked. She didn’t even know how far she’d gone, or how far she had left to go. If she got disorientated, she’d just have to stop and wait. But the little fleck of light beckoned her on, and she crawled closer.
Nothing. She patted around, and there was nothing. She lay down on her front and stretched out. Her hand waved uselessly, not connecting with anything. She reached down, and even that met with nothing. It was as if the universe ended and beyond it was empty.
‘Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.’
It made no sense. There was no reason for this structure to be here◦– it had to be man-made◦– if it just ended in the middle of, or even further across, the river. If it was a bridge, it could have been washed away. If it was a jetty, then what?
She felt for the corners. One was sharp, one had a post. She shuffled closer to it, and something brushed her hand. She held her breath, and felt it graze the back of her wrist again. Swinging. The next time it came past, she caught it. It was a rope, thin, a knot on the end. And as she explored it, there came a metallic clang from over her head.
She almost fell in. She gripped the edge of the platform so fiercely that it cut into her hand. It was a bell, that was all. The maps were still tied to her, the compass just to one side. Everything was fine. Nothing was lost.
If she rang the bell, who would she be calling? Yet she was stuck, and there was nothing she could do but ring it. It would be loud, it would attract attention, and not just from the person she was trying to raise.
She found the rope again, and steeled herself for the noise.
When the bell stopped sounding, and she could hear again, she noticed there were two lights ahead of her in the darkness: the original, and another that was bobbing on an irregular path towards her. The light shone on the ground, and on bushes and trees, and on a pair of feet. Then on another wooden jetty, and a flat barge which was little more than a raft. The light was then suspended on a pole, and the bargee, cast in deep shadow, fished a rope out of the water and began to pull on it, hand over hand.
As the light got closer, she could see around her, and how short a distance she’d actually crawled along the pier on her side. She could have taken four of her usual steps and arrived at the bell-post. She felt embarrassed, and determined that she wasn’t going to show it.
No one came out of the forest behind her while she waited for the raft to cross.
It bumped into the jetty, making it shiver. She looked down at an old man in a hat.
‘Come on, then.’
‘Is it safe?’ she asked.
‘It’s all there is.’ He held up his hand to her. ‘Sit on the edge and jump down. I haven’t lost anyone yet.’
She could see the reflection of the water sloshing between the raft’s lashed-together logs.
‘Seriously? I don’t mind getting wet, but I’ve… stuff here that does.’
‘Then hold it up. I can just leave you here, if that’s what you want.’
‘I don’t.’ She closed the compass up and squeezed it back through the opening of the bag, then swung her legs over the side of the jetty. His fingers were damp and strong, and he pulled her easily off the edge.
The raft swayed. A wave of water crossed it, up to her ankles, before disappearing back through the gaps. Her toes curled, trying to grip the wet wood. He steadied her as she splayed her legs and lifted the maps high.
‘Most people don’t come with baggage,’ he said. He let go of her, and she teetered as he ducked down for the now-submerged rope.
‘I’m not most people.’
He started to pull on the rope, and the end of the pier disappeared, drifting away in the night. This wasn’t how she’d imagined it, but it would do. The man’s hand-over-hand rhythm was purposeful and calm and reassuring. Even though she couldn’t see the far bank, she knew it was there.
‘Has anyone else crossed tonight?’
‘If they have, it’s their business and not yours.’ He coughed. ‘I don’t mean it to sound that way, but that’s how it is. I’m not telling anyone about you, either.’
‘That’s… thanks.’
‘All part of the service. First time?’
‘Yes.’ It was cold, out on the water, with the river rising and falling through the raft. ‘This is the way to the White City, right? Only I don’t even know if it actually exists.’
‘Not only is it on the way, you’ve arrived. There’s a little further to go, but you’re as here as anywhere. Brace yourself.’
The other jetty loomed, and he stopped pulling, allowing the raft to drift gently up to the black-stained piles. It touched, almost kissing, and he tied them on with a loop of rope. The deck of the jetty was at waist-height, but if she moved to the edge, the raft would tip.
‘How do I get off this thing?’
‘If you clamber up, I’ll stand across here and balance things out.’
The surface was inconstant, and she wasn’t certain, but she had to trust his word and his skill. She made little steps forward until she could get her hands on the solid platform, then launched herself up in one quick jump. She lay half-on, half-off, the map bag dangling below her from her waist, and she scrabbled to drag it to safety.
‘Not the best I’ve seen. Not the worst, either.’
While she gathered her wits and her skirts, the man lifted the lantern pole clear and simply climbed up. She looked at his dripping feet and water-darkened turn-ups.
‘It won’t sink. It might tip and turn, but it won’t sink.’ He tapped the staging with the pole. ‘Come with me, and I’ll set you up.’
She looked back across the river one last time. There was nothing to see◦– all that existed was the bubble around the lantern◦– but nothing to hear either. No tell-tale splashes, nor the tolling of the bell again. Wherever Crows was, he wasn’t right there.
She got to her feet, picked up the bag, and followed the man up a narrow dirt path towards the chip of yellow light she’d seen before. A badly fitting door on a ramshackle hut was open just enough to let the inside out. She’d spotted it, not because it was bright, but because everything else was so dark.
The man kicked his way through the door, blew out the lantern he was carrying and leaned it up against the wall. Mary hesitated on the threshold, staring in at the piles of clutter and heaps of rags and stacks of boxes.
‘No one cares. I certainly don’t. Close the door, and find somewhere to sit.’
She pushed the door shut behind her. She assumed the one chair in the room was his, so she drew up a box and perched on it. He grumbled and muttered, and eventually sat opposite her.
‘First things first. You don’t have to tell me your name, or anything about you. Where you’re from, what time you’re from, how you got here and what’s happened since. I know nothing, and I don’t need to know anything either.’
She nodded mutely.
‘Take this.’ He opened a chest on the floor by his side, and fetched out one of the little cloth bags inside. Each one was different: hers seemed to be made from an old handkerchief, complete with an embroidered monogram ES.
She opened the top and looked inside, then tipped some of the contents into her hand. Discs, thin and sharp, like coins but blank. ‘What are these?’
‘Those are your honour. Spend them wisely.’
‘My… honour?’
‘Your honour,’ he said firmly. ‘Don’t think of it like money. It’s not money. It can be used as money, but it’s so much more.’
‘So I can buy stuff with it. What else?’
‘You’ll find out,’ he said. He closed the chest and folded his hands into his lap.