wytchcroft

The sea at least is honest; it's the land that lies.

Gazing out from the soft slope at the edge of a red sandy cliff, Daniel could barely see the listing ship and could not make out the granite teeth that had abused her so cruelly.

The sun was beginning to rise, reaching out to touch the shadows of the cliff-base, between them they slicked the Sea with red.

"Really, t'aint but a mercy we'll be doin'..."

The wind of the night had dropped, and though a breeze still sang through the spines and spikes of grass about his feet, Daniel could hear the low voice clearly, from close and behind. The man speaking was as broad as his accent, Samson he was called and never a name more fitting.

Daniel gave a half nod, shifting his hands in the wide pockets of his oilskin. "If it were such a mercy Sam then we should be about our business already by now." He turned slowly to face his grizzled companion.

"Patience is a virtue," the man said.
He was staring at Daniel with hungry but level eyes, like a mastiff waiting for the chain to be struck off.

"'Tis almost dawn and who will tell tales then eh? No one to be blamed for anything, our little lights can't be held responsible now, can they?"

Daniel was glad he had no eyeglass to see the flailings onboard - though he'd be more than close enough before long. He ran a hand up to the wild gorse of his hair. "Mercy is it?"

Truly, Samson was not in the mood to humour the milk-blooded likes of young Daniel, but he was content to do so since in a few minutes all this mealy moping would be forgotten and the two would be tramping through the surf like men, men with a purpose, men with a duty - to their people, their wives, and their homes.

"Do you not see Dan," the man rattled off his words in a well practiced manner, "it's always about mercy - take the Sea... she's merciful to us, we have a need and she delivers. Or if you like, you could say God's will is merciful - as Father Adrian does. We are grateful after all, aren't we - aren't you?"

"Aye..."

"And it's the law -who's to question the mercy of the law eh? What comes in comes in. It's right for us - and right for them big city folk, those that run the line."

"And those poor men?"

"We ease their suffering lad - better their time ends quick and painless." Samson had pulled a heavy club from a linen bag slung over his shoulder. An odd fluting sound cut through the air, cut across their conversation. "There be the whistle lad, time to move them jelly legs of yours." Samson turned away to trudge down the descending path to where it met the dunes. The boys would have a boat on the other side and ready.

"Mercy..." Daniel said again, and to himself.

But Samson had good hearing, for he turned about suddenly and pointed his club accusingly at Daniel's lanky frame.

"And let no man call us Wreckers," he yelled.