The Silvergrey Sea
Part One: A Little Excitement
Late Night on Noir
* * *
The pull of the submoons brought the ghost lampreys to the surface of the Endless Sea. Pink, orange, and purple snakes of light cast my rippling shadow on the slate cliffs to my left.
The sky was utterly black. Dense clouds of green mist obscured the docks along the waterfront a quarter mile up the beach.
The bitter brine made my nose sting.
I never felt more in my element than I did on the waterfront of Noir.
It was always warm close to the water. I unbuttoned my trench coat and removed my fedora, letting the breeze cool my head.
I replaced the hat a moment later and lit a cigarette. The lighter clinked against the fifth of cheap rye whiskey in the deep pocket of my coat. As the first drag hit my lungs, I felt the light-headedness that reminded me of the bourbon sitting in my desk at the office. Time to get this over with; I began to trudge up the beach toward town.
The town was Santo Mortis. At almost two million people, it was the largest settlement on Noir, a town of mists and dim days lit only by the luminescent brown dwarf Geist. At night, when the saline fog wasn’t too thick, Noir’s submoons, pale red Faerie and grey-green Elf, defined the night without illuminating anything.
Rickety wooden steps led up the end of the wharf. Salt encrusted piles exposed by the receding tide passed on my right. The lower steps were rough with caked salt crystals that crunched under my first few steps.
The other end of the quay was half a mile away. This time of evening, the docks were quiet. Only one fishing boat was tied up, its catch sent to processing hours ago. The low honk of a foghorn sounded from the direction of a collection of fuzzy edged lights: another ship, this one likely loaded with heavier cargo, was heading out into the warm night.
Smells assaulted me: brine, fish, and…onion soup.
“How, are ya, Ronnie?” I didn’t need to turn around. No one had an odour like Ronald the Pestilent.
“The White Prince knows the Blue Queen’s not true!”
“Is that a fact?” I turned. Ronnie was shorter than my six foot three. He was maybe five eight, but his hunched posture made it difficult to tell.
“Evanescence is where it began; that’s where it’ll end.”
I tossed a question into the frothy mess that was Ronnie’s mind, “Any news of my client’s husband?”
“Dragons through the barrier. The nomad will come to rest, but not for long. He’ll be at the Marquis with his girl at nine thirty. Room Two Eighteen.”
“Thanks, Ronnie.” I handed the derelict the bottle of rye.
Ronald made it disappear in the noisome depths of his trench coat. It took a skilled eye to see it had been the same colour and cut as mine once.
“Take it easy, old son.”
“’ware the Blue Queen, Heinrich.” Ronnie grabbed my sleeve. Milky grey eyes focussed on mine. “She’ll burn the Aions for the sake of the Rebirth.”
“Sure, Ronnie. Sure.” I detached Ronald’s hand. It took some effort.
Wiping my fingers on my coat, I headed for my office in midtown. I expected a fairly long wait before the tête-à-tête and thought it best to get a little backup for the inevitable showdown.
— Gideon Jagged
Innsmouth, September 2026
© Gideon Jagged
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