Chapter 9
Her cloth and leather shoes were wet and clung to her frozen feet.
Harper walked along in a procession of sorts, a weight on her back making the steps laborious and slow.
She could hear singing ahead of her, tuneless, more chant than song, the sound echoed back to Harper’s ears.
On either side of her, young women walked with their heads down, carrying bulky packs over their shoulders.
They wore the same nondescript, modest woolen cloaks and dresses that Harper did, cloth wraps on their heads.
There was a mood of anticipation, but also fear.
Harper kept marching even as her legs and feet resisted the movement.
Ahead of her the voices changed from tuneless chant to a keening wail.
“Aye, that’ll be Sister Perne. Not sure if she’s scarin’ off the Devil or summin’ ’im.” A barely perceptible voice whispered the words behind Harper, and the girls on either side of her shook with careful and silent giggles.
“Girls! Quiet that!” A male voice filled with authority wrapped around the group, silencing all.
Harper tried to turn her head and found herself immobile except for her feet that moved on their own.
She knew this was a dream, and the novelty of hearing voices in this particular dream was not lost on her.
She tried to log as many details as she could.
The ground was still thick with faded summer flowers, but an autumn wind chilled the air.
The air smelled of salt and fish. Without looking up she knew that ahead of them a ship waited for them to board.
The wailing from the front of the procession floated on the air and whipped in and around Harper.
She shook violently from the impact and opened her own mouth to join in.
Harper jolted awake, staring at the dark ceiling of her strange bedroom.
An unfamiliar weight sat on her gut and she fought panic as she lifted her head slightly to see Polly positioned on her stomach in an enormous ball of fluff and fur.
She stared at Harper with her moon eyes, impassive and all-knowing.
“Jesus, Polly. Did you hear that?” Harper reached down to stroke Polly’s neck, which the cat leaned into with appreciation.
The sun was starting to come up, the slightest hint of dawn was evident behind the thin curtains.
Polly sat up and with a dramatic yawn and stretch, she jumped down and sauntered out the door that Harper had closed before she had gone to sleep.
It appeared that the Norwegian Forest Cats of Bell Island paid no mind to closed doors.
Harper lay in bed, the dream already becoming foggy.
She had heard sounds in her dreams before but never such clear words.
It was as though someone was whispering in her ear.
The speech was accented, but Harper couldn’t place it; it sounded old, and familiar.
It was stress, lack of sleep, too much caffeine, the wind, the cat, all of those things combined, Harper told herself. The dreams were just dreams.
It was early, but she was awake. Harper rolled out of bed and pulled on her running pants and a hoodie.
It was barely 6:00 a.m. They had set 9:00 a.m. as start time for the lab; it would be another land day as Harper could already see the winds whipping the branches of the trees in a frenzy outside.
They were ready with the sonar coordinates, but the vessel had struggled to even make it around to East Dock the day prior, so going out to the site would be impossible, again.
No matter, Harper could use a day to get the Okeanos lab reports loaded onto the team laptops.
The Wi-Fi was frustratingly slow and the downloads were taking hours, and she was starting to see why Boston had sent file boxes of paper files.
At least the lab looked like a lab. One week in and the boxes were all unpacked, the workspaces neatly organized.
All they needed to do now was wait for the weather to cooperate.
She pulled the door shut behind her, starting off at an easy pace for the trail that led to the West Dock.
If there were other running paths on the island, Harper hadn’t found them.
The locals were not exactly forthcoming but they hadn’t been hostile, and so far no one seemed to want to push her off a dock.
Einar the Ferryman’s parents had been easy to spot, an ancient couple cast in deeply wrinkled forms who sat together behind the counter at the grocer.
They had a couple of teenage boys who handled any and all physical work.
The couple sat behind the two registers and rang up the customers.
Hedy had looked Harper over carefully on her first trip.
“Kristín’s girl, the one Einar went on about.
Hmph.” That was all either of them had said.
It hadn’t been rude or even judgmental; it was just a statement of fact.
Their gruff welcome made Harper feel a nostalgia for a childhood that seemed a world away.
The West Dock was empty but for the ferry, which would leave within the hour for its morning run.
The fishermen had left before the sun was up.
They’d be far out by now, the wind didn’t stop their work.
Harper leaned against the dock rail, stretching her calves.
One week in and she’d learned that the town lived and breathed on fish.
The catches from the daily haul went to the local businesses, the few restaurants, and the fishmonger shop.
The rest of the catch was processed for the mainland.
It appeared to be the lifeblood of the island, but still Harper wondered how the place survived.
They had no tourism, and the fish market couldn’t bring in nearly enough to support what appeared to be an entirely insular economy.
No one commuted to the mainland for work from what Harper had seen.
Everyone stayed put and worked at the business of everyday life on Bell.
It was fascinating and easy to see how the island had developed an aura of mystery.
The whir of a golf cart pulled up behind her. Harper turned, ready to head back the way she’d come, and let out a yelp of surprise at the figure standing behind her. Wrapped in a thick puffer jacket, all Harper could see was a pair of dark eyes and a solemn expression.
“Ms. Harper Hafdóttir?” a low, masculine voice asked, pronouncing her last name with clinical accuracy.
“Yes … who are you?” Harper asked guardedly, edging away from the rail in case this was when she got pushed off the dock.
“My name is Nigel, I’m butler for Lady Loreana Bell,” the figure said simply.
“A butler? Like a …” Harper struggled for the word.
“A bit like a house manager if you will. My family has always worked for Lady Loreana Bell. We handle her day to day. I’ve come to extend an invitation.” Nigel pulled a cream-colored envelope from his pocket and extended his hand.
“Thank you, I think,” Harper said, still a bit shook. She reached forward and took the envelope. “What is this about?”
“Just a meet and greet, nothing to worry oneself over. Lady Bell likes to know who is visiting her island.” Nigel paused. “The instructions are on the invitation. We will see you tonight.” He turned to go.
Harper took a step forward. “Wait, I mean, just me or the team? What is this?” She was intrigued, having accepted the idea that she would never see the infamous Bell Manor.
Nigel stopped and turned. “Just you tonight. You will find Bell Manor to be one of the wonders of the world. You are a very lucky young woman. Lady Bell does not often entertain guests.” With that, Nigel climbed into a golf cart with outback trail wheels and was off down the path.
Harper stood on the dock staring at the envelope.
“Whatcha got there?” A voice made Harper jump again, and she nearly dropped the envelope.
Murphy stood on the deck of a small cabin on the harbor. Harper had learned that Murphy lived there in exchange for management of the small harbor. That was the only information she had revealed regarding herself, and Harper was beginning to think she was as mysterious as the Thalassa itself.
“I can’t take another scare.” Harper breathed out her tension with tight breath. “It seems I’ve been invited to the manor tonight.”
“Well, well. An aristocrat.” Murphy gave Harper a crooked grin.
“Only other invite I’ve seen in my time here was to a group of gentlemen who came over on the ferry from the mainland a couple months back.
Brits mostly, very cloak and dagger. Maybe she’s trying to recruit you into a crime ring.
” Murphy laughed at her own joke and Harper let herself smile back.
“Not interested, I have an invisible octopus to find. Regarding that, looks like a no go for the water today. Haven’t checked the NOAA, but I can see whitecaps clear as anything.
Yesterday’s report said end of week should calm down.
” Harper looked out at the rough waves. The fishermen would be getting kicked around out there today.
“I figured. I’ll leave the research vessel out on East Dock, it’s all fueled and ready to go. Ferry’s only making the one run today, it’s a good day not to need anything.” Murphy waved and turned to go inside.
Harper waved back. She started a slow jog back down the trail to town when a buzz from her pocket interrupted her. She pulled her phone out to see a text from Carli:
Gads I hope this goes through
One of us has no coverage and I’m pretty sure it’s not me
You will never guess who just moved in—
Micah Brentley—she’s Forensic Criminology
So far all she does is watch Ted Bundy documentaries
Should I worry?
Harper snorted a laugh. And quickly texted back:
May the odds be ever in your favor ?
The world back in Boston felt a thousand miles away. She resumed her jog, the cream envelope in her pocket. It emanated a warmth, it felt like opportunity, but for what Harper couldn’t imagine.