Murdock

The police of the Murdock Isles were crocodilian by nature. Like the prehistoric predators, they were unchanged in all the years of their existence. Their organisation was formed in conjunction with Britain’s law enforcement, yet the similarities ended there. The police system here remained with the same tenants and guiding principles that it had in the late eighteen-hundreds, and like the rest of the island’s characters, they were steeped in imperialism.  

Their obsession with the old empire was almost laughable. They even occupied Fort Meridian, the one-time bastion of Admiral Murdock himself, and from my darkest days, I remembered that man was like an idol in its halls. Yet, one would be a fool to laugh at the police, as they upheld their fantasy above all else, and they would not hesitate to take it to their grave – or yours. They were corrupt. They were incredibly corrupt. New constables were not recruited based on merit nor education, but rather on their appreciation of imperial values and traditions. 

This, of course, left the local Tawa people vulnerable, and their large presence on the third of the islands was under constant surveillance. ‘Twenty-four-seven,’ the colourful posters always said. However, it must also be known that both the concerns and the crimes of the stereotypical colonist were mostly ignored, unless a major offence had been committed, or worse – something that put the force’s own interests in jeopardy. When such a rare time came that the police were called into real action, much like the loss of my parents, then they would stop at nothing to twist the facts and evidence to match their own will and volition. 

The old fort towered above us in between the early morning light; the sun cast it as a severe silhouette, and that was also how my mind remembered it. “It’s been a while,” I said. 

Nana looked up to me with weary eyes. “Yes – yes it has.” I could tell that she was hardly eager about this whole arrangement. If it were up to her, she would have sunk the Harlock the day it was brought back to port. Yet, it was never brought back to port; instead, it was transferred directly to the constabulary’s own obscured harbour and locked away until I became old enough to reclaim it. I was certain that, within that time, the police had had their way with her.  

When we entered Fort Meridian, the first thing that I noticed were the holding cells. There were two of them built into the sides of a long corridor. On the left-hand side sat three aged and miserable-looking men. There was a fourth, a younger man, and he stood at the bars, trying to catch a glimpse of the officers at their desks. He shouted to them occasionally, and at first his voice sounded exotic; it eluded me, until I realised that he was an American. 

Opposing these men, stared the Tawa – and my heart was suddenly sickened. They were many, and their numbers well exceeded the limit of their cell. Yet the police did not think to put some in the cell opposite, or rather they could not bear the thought. I always knew that the Tawa people were the victims of the Meridian Constabulary’s operations, but seeing it like this, seeing all of these helpless pairs of eyes staring at me… It was beyond belief. 

Nana stared at each of them with a great disgust. She was disgusted for them. Yet then something caught my eyes, and I looked down to her feet; a loose lace was trailing behind her one shoes. I patted her on the shoulder and warned her, and she bucked her head in surprise, thanking me. She knelt at the end of the Tawas’ cell to tie her laces. However, I saw a weight worm itself down her sleeve, and as she finished, a clingfilm package quietly hit the floor. It concealed small, hooked tools… 

“Lock picks,” I reeled under my breath. “Nana?” 

She smiled back to me, and an arm reached through the bars and snatched the small parcel away, as if it had never been there at all. Nana rose with the same disgusted look as before, and we made ready to enter this pit of vipers. 

The centre of operations was at the very heart of Fort Meridian. Walls, thick enough to withstand a small explosion, protected this island’s finest, and bulkhead doors would halt any revolt from the ready-made Tawa army in the corridor. As soon as I stepped foot inside this room, I felt a clinical chill creep down my spine; I also smelt a storm of second-hand smoke, tainted further with the stench of old liquor.  

Many officers made themselves at home here, and each had a desk planted somewhere amongst the wire-strewn floor. It was unsuitably busy for the amount of good work that the constabulary actually did for the island, and I dared not to think of what they were really doing behind the scenes.  

Something familiar then drew my attention to an ordinary desk in the middle of the room. There was an officer talking to two men; he seemed to have a permanent scowl upon his face, and he occasionally noted down details on a crumpled report sheet. There was a bust of Admiral Murdock beside his computer; it was positioned so that it could eternally gaze into his computer screen. I could not help but smile. Yet then something came from the collective murmur of nonsense, “Thank you, Mr Carson.” I snapped my head to the two men; it was my principal and his son, Jeremiah.  

The principal shook the officer’s hand and started walking towards us. Jeremiah copied his father and outstretched his hand weakly, but the officer simply stared at him and then turned his eyes back to his computer. As soon as the two off-islanders left, the man’s face remarkably changed into one of contentment.  

Jeremiah tailed his father as they walked towards us. I suddenly became flustered and tried to turn around, but I felt Nana’s firm grip guide me onwards. The younger Carson saw me with a single eye; the other was wrapped in a bandage and cotton wool ball. His face was an ego-primed canvas, and it was soon painted with hatred. He started to make a scene. I wanted to cower from the sea of uniforms around me, yet Nana did little but smile – because she already knew how this would end. 

Jeremiah turned to the officer and began to call for him. The man at the desk remained staring at his computer; he took out a cigarette and lit it, sighing in relief, as a puff of smoke plumed above him, almost as if this was his first living breath in the past hour. His hand wandered mindlessly to the report paper, scrunching it up into a ball and then rolling it slowly into the bin beside him. Jeremiah fell silent and was dragged out of the room by his father, who stared at Nana and myself with squint and vengeful eyes. 

We were summoned by a tired-looking member of the staff. We followed him up a formidable stairwell and then to the entrance of an opulent office. He knocked twice on the air-brushed glass of the sturdy oak framed door.  

“Come in!” came a severe shriek. The man opened the door and left us. Nana went in first; I followed.    

The office was in the shape of an octagon and was utterly excessive. Voluminous red curtains graced the pair of ten-pane window arches, whilst the floor was a rich, dark, and inky blue, speckled with blood-red and golden flecks. Grand bookcases made up the three walls, opposing the door, and each housed lost and forgotten tomes of the islands. The ceiling domed upwards and was decorated with the most intricate of murals. The centrepiece seemed to resemble a battle of some kind from the early days of the Isles. 

Two great ships loomed upon the coast, and a Tawa woman watched their cannon fire from the amber mists of a mangrove swamp. There, stood atop the smaller ship, was a man with a tricorn hat. His face held great expression, and I saw a fierce determination – a will beyond the likes of man. Yet there was too a quiet touch of madness and rage. His first mate, it seemed, held him by the shoulder – steadfast.  

I brought my eyes back down to the room and saw a rather terrifying lady staring at me from a vast desk. She ruled from a throne-like seat and had noticed my wandering gaze.  

“The Battle of Murdock Dawn,” she said proudly. “The final crushing blow against those perturbed Spaniards and their inferior empire. It the dawn of the Murdock Isles, a truly glorious and historic day.” She then rose from her desk to shake my hand and then Nana’s. “You were too young to appreciate that mural the last time we met, but I see that your grandmother has raised you to admire such things. If only your parents could see you now. How you’ve grown into such a fine young man… And as of today, I believe?” 

I looked to Nana, who usually did the talking, but she waited on me this time. So, I spoke, “Uh – yes, ma’am! That’s why I’m here.” 

“I know, Mr Landley. Please do take a seat – both of you.” 

The lady looked to my grandmother from the other side of the desk. “Neat?” she said in a somewhat interrogative tone. 

“I’ll take it with ice,” Nana replied, much to my own confusion. 

From a drawer came a large case of whisky, half full. It was followed by two tumblers. The lady paused. “Cal?” she asked.  

I felt my face take on a slight heat. Alcohol! I tried to stay away from that stuff; I caused enough trouble without it. “No, ma’am. I – uh – I have a boat to drive…” My face was now glowing in a cold sweat. 

The lady smiled, closed her drawer, and let the whisky flow. “I understand, Mr Landley. Wobbly legs certainly don’t make for good sea legs. Not to begin with, at least.”  

She then put the ice in Nana’s glass and left her own as it was. 

A white set of papers were laid out before me; they blinded me with their reflection of the sun. The lady gestured for me to sign, but I really had no idea as to where. Nor did I have a pen. My predicament was soon noted, and Nana pulled a pen out of her pocket, and the lady rapped her finger along a dotted line… But I simply saw yet another expectation of adulthood. Was I to be forever damned to carrying a ballpoint wherever I went? Part of my attire? The thought was boring enough to make me stop wondering if the Carson family would take the law into their own hands. 

There was only silence as I signed the papers. The stern lady watched me like a hawk, whilst Nana watched me like a grandmother; yet both continued to sip slowly at their whisky. 

As I signed my last, I felt the papers swiftly return to the woman’s hands. She read them over, until Nana had finished her drink, and then from behind the thin, white barrier came a short, “Congratulations!” She then lowered the papers to just below her eyes. “I hope you enjoy her, Mr Landley. We cleaned her up well…”   

“Never trust that god-forbidden, deceitful, wretch of a woman!” Nana cried out as we entered the fort’s harbour. “Chief Inspector Ridley! I’ve never met such a terrible impersonation of a human being. All she concerns herself with is power. That is her entire life’s devotion. I’ll tell you, boy. Whilst we were in that room, she had already worked out three different ways to kill us both.” I looked at her with a startled frown, but she was being serious. “Remember what I told you, Cal, all those years ago – about the Meridian Constabulary.” 

“Crocodilian by nature,” I replied. 

The harbormaster sat inside a small booth, and upon our arrival, he seemed to have just awoken from a deep slumber. Yet he spoke as if he had been watching us all along. “I’ll have her in a moment. Just wait here,” he said… 

The Wild Harlock growled towards us. She was a proud old motorboat with a full walk-around and a pilothouse. My breath retreated into my lungs as she came. I was excited that she would be mine, yet deep down I was very apprehensive; I did not know how my mind would react upon our reunion.  

The harbormaster pulled me up onto the deck, and for the moments following, I lost all sense of his voice. He showed me around the boat, yet I followed my own memories. The first decade of my life had enjoyed this vessel; I knew every nook and cranny, before she was taken away from me. So, now I hunted her for imperfections. Police additions… I knew what they had done. I knew that my parents’ deaths were a mutable event to them. I crouched by where the blood had once pooled. My hand followed its ethereal stream towards the drain. I looked up to the man and asked, “Is there anything you would like to tell me about? Anything at all?”  

I rose to look over the stern, as he replied, “No, Sir! Nothing comes to mind other than what I’ve said already. Operating manual and insurance details are by the helm, and some fuel below deck.”  

My eyes returned as vexed things, having glimpsed a foreign object below the water – a bright orange propeller, replaced no doubt after they destroyed the last. I went back to the man and loomed above him; I stared at him, and I laughed; he laughed too. “You’re good to go…” he said strangely. 

“That I am, my friend… That I am!” my voice burnt back with a dark energy, and I could sense that this man had felt it too. He gave me the keys, before he scurried back onto the jetty and then into his small but secure booth.  

Nana looked up to me with concern; it was the same worry that I had seen on her the day before, and yet never before that. “You don’t have to go alone, Cal. Not, if you don’t want to,” she spoke.  

“I’ll be fine, Nana,” I sighed back to her. “I’ve had to help Jake’s father more times than I can count on his boat.” 

“That’s not what I meant.” Her eyes spoke to me more than her words did; I felt them search me; I felt them delve into my mind. So, I closed my eyes and looked away.  

“I’ll see you at the cove.” 

“I love you, Cal…”  

“I love you too.” 

The very waters feared her very bow; the Wild Harlock cut through the choppy sea and her warm pilot house saved me from the jealous winds that would have otherwise sought to oust me. Everything was as it once was. The boat was bare, of course, and it was missing many things that there once were. Yet, I did not care about that. It was the feeling of it. It was the energy of the entire vessel pulsating through the wheel, connecting her to me. My muscles flinched, and she flinched too. It was the ultimate freedom. Freedom of the sea! 

As I came closer to the cove, I began to feel the emotions dance around me. The anger taunted; the peace sought to soothe, and now, excitement came. My hands, pleasantly numb from the boat’s vibrations, began to tingle ever so slightly as I imagined my friends. I anticipated the crazed look that would be on Jake’s face, and I saw Maya’s cautious smile, as they would see the Wild Harlock sitting in our cove. I could not wait to see their reactions to our new hideout. 

I cut the engines and glided into our gateway to paradise, where amid foreboding cliffs and rocky outcrops, the crescent moon of lunar sands was host to three figures. I saw Nana and Maya relaxing on deck chairs; they had sunglasses on and were enjoying the sun. And then there was Jake, digging a hole with his bare hands. 

Maya lowered her shades to me and smiled slightly. She was suppressing herself; I knew that look.  

Nana’s reaction was docile, to say the least. 

Jake had not even seen me yet, having disappeared completely down his hole. I saw Maya call him, and then Nana whistled. Jake’s neck and head protruded from the ground, looking to them, before he suddenly twisted to me. Even from here, I heard his overjoyed scream, and I watched as he fell back down into his hole, before clambering up wildly. He raced across the beach, and before long he was coursing through the water. My grandmother and Maya, both humoured themselves at this spectacle, and as I pulled Jake onto the deck, I was overwhelmed with joy.  

My joy was in this family that I had, and the Wild Harlock was part of it now.