Flies in Amber

The Silvergrey Sea

Part Five: The Best Laid Plans

Flies in Amber

* * *

The Mercurius sat in the one-person craft as it plowed through the deeps of the Silvergrey Sea, not really seeing, not really aware. The utter wreck of the work of the Meraculus Mercurius had left her stunned. Several hours later, she still couldn’t process the disaster.

The damage to the Order of Hermes, for the love of which she had discarded sacred law, was incalculable. Never had the Outer Head of the Order been forced to flee their duties. That she was guilty of one of the worst betrayals in the Order’s history was a side issue. For her own fate, she cared not at all.

Containment must be the plan. The evidence of their work must be destroyed and someone unsuspected must go dark and wait until the vital work of the Pure Mercury could begin again.

There was no way out for her. She shuddered.

She’d had no need to issue a summons. News of the disaster had spread by many channels; some had gotten word before she had.

Somehow, the Meraculus Mercurius had been attacked and irreparably damaged. Someone in the Order of Hermes must have infiltrated and subverted their work. The monsters in cells at the Mother Lodge were proof of that. There was no evidence the spirits on the Silvergrey Sea had any will of their own or were even aware until they were placed in bodies.

The Mercurius considered and dismissed the ‘history’ that indicated something other than the Order had had a hand in the M. M.’s original suppression and near-destruction. The official history was quite clear, and the persistent rumour of the time had no corroboration. It was as worthless as the purported reason behind the prohibition in defiance of which the M. M. worked its work. The Templars had had nothing to do with the Silvergrey Sea; that much was obvious to one who had worked covertly with it all her adult life.

Still, it unsettled.

The craft surfaced.

Almost to her destination. She took the wheel.

As the liquid cleared from the glass, the sight before her drew a gasp.

In the gaps between the natural purple-black spires of the archipelago, a clear, crystal mountain could be seen. It must have sprung up in the weeks since her last visit, very likely in the days since the last report of the Meraculus Mercurius on site.

From its top spewed liquid, which she divined, must be the stuff of the Sea. The Mercurius didn’t need to get closer to know the site of the M. M.’s most recent work was now inaccessible. A momentary hopelessness overwhelmed her.

Then she saw the others.

It couldn’t have been all of them, but a sizable crowd was gathering on the broad shore of an island to her right. She headed that way. Someone spotted her vessel as it pulled up to the rough edge of the land. A small crowd gathered as she pulled up. Hands helped pull the sleek steel ship to a docking.

There was almost complete silence as the Mercurius debarked. Almost, because of the susurration from the fountain atop the crystal mountain. Faces of fear, resignation, and blank despair greeted her. Every eye was turned to her, looking for some reason to hope.

She wished she had some to give. The truth would have to do. “My Fellows, the worst has happened. We have been exposed. The Elects are no doubt on their way here, with enough force to secure us.”

No cries of denial or despair; no sounds of weeping. She told them nothing they had not already deduced.

“The Pure Mercury is not dead. It will never die. We must assure its continuance, for the future of our Order of Hermes will depend on its success.” This had been the firm belief of the M. M. since its beginning, based on a prophecy she had never doubted. That prediction had never been shared with those not committed to its cause. “I need someone to flee and to keep the flame of the Meraculus Mercurius alive. Who will volunteer for this exile?”

Three hands went up. She chose one she knew had the strength to endure the hardships eviction from the Order of Hermes would entail. “Go, my sister. Take my vessel. Tell no one where you go, and good fortune be with you.”

After the exile had gone, the Mercurius turned to the group. “We will wait for the Order. None of you will put up resistance. Our sacrifice will buy time for Nija Hermit’s escape.”

“We cannot go with the Elects,” someone in the crowd said, in a voice that sounded shaken.

“Why not?”

“Look,” he pointed behind the Mercurius. She turned.

Her ship had not submerged. It was two hundred yards out and perfectly stationary.

So was the Sea.

She turned back to the group. “What’s happened?”

“We cannot leave.”

“I know that, but why?”

No answer.

She was on the point of asking again and suddenly the effort seemed too much work. She began to wonder why it seemed hard to speak and couldn’t think of a reason. She didn’t really care, either. The Mercurius of the Order of Hermes stared off into space, not really seeing anything, trying to put her thoughts in order. Something was very wrong, but she couldn’t muster the will to care.

After a time, she joined the others and turned to face the Sea.

She didn’t think about why.

—Gideon Jagged
Innsmouth, September 2026

© Gideon Jagged
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