Sticky Witch XI
Save ship. Dodge waves. Don't die.
Rosen is part of the Mundane Magecraft team engaged in house restoration, protection, and charm work across Southwest England. She’s still recovering from Avebury’s magical surge that culminated in a mob attack and a hospital visit. Now she’s at Avon Docks, after an all-hands alert from the team. What could go wrong with multi-million pound ships and magic? Catch up with the last episode or read the entire story (for free) from the beginning.
The traffic gods were on our side, and we blazed through the M5 roadworks in an hour. The problem was navigating the commercial docks – a commercial hellscape of concrete, shipping containers and inexplicably cheerful Japanese tourists mixed with stressed officials. Thanks to the crowd, every other side road was blocked off with parked cars or port security. We pushed through slowly, Aidan swearing under his breath.
“Drop us off here,” Em said at last. “We can manage the last hundred meters, and the boys are waiting. Go back and park in town.”
Aidan looked at her doubtfully. “You sure?”
“Yep.” Outside, a plume of white spray shot up, splashing the red overhead crane. The crowd gasped like it was a firework display. It was followed by a hollow boom and a splat.
“What was that?” I ask, nose pressed up against the window.
“Come with me and find out,” Em said, opening the car’s door. Grudgingly, I did the same, hastily zipping my jacket. The breeze cut like a knife-shot in a B-movie flick, the chill reminding me I was still in recovery. Aiden ran to the car’s boot, lugging out Em’s wheelchair. I took the opportunity to swipe a green beanie from his pocket.
“Oi!” he said.
I shoved it over my head and blew him a kiss. “Staying warm, little brother. Unless you want to take it off me?”
He scoffed, well aware of my magic. “Don’t lose it. I’ve only worn that once.”
“Hey, I’m waiting,” Em shouted irritably. Aidan unfolded the chair, and I whisked the support cushion into place. “Coming yer ladyship,” I sang in my best stage voice.
Em shifted over, smacking me on the arm as she did so. “Behave. We’re on an All-Hands Alert. If we wanted the spectacle, Mike would’ve posted a video.”
‘And I would be home, eating pancakes and watching a murder mystery with Mum’, I thought to myself, but knew better than to say.
A small nimble man with a russet-brown skin, a shaved head and a hi-vis vest darted over. “Director Croft?” he asked, glancing between me and Em.
“Present,” Em acknowledged, stretching out her hand to shake. “With my colleague, Rosen Pearce. What’s the problem?”
“I’m Noah Akomfrah, the Port Manager. We’ve got, erm, a magical disturbance in the harbour. I reached out to our regular contact, who suggested Mundane Magecraft. He said you’ve dealt with something like this before.”
“You keep a witch on the books?” I asked, amused. Noah did not even blink.
“We keep a consultant on our phone list for anything strange, Miss Pearce. You’d be amazed at the amount of cursed artefacts that get smuggled through the ports.”
Em gave a throaty chuckle. “Like that zombie outbreak at Dover a few years ago?”
Noah shuddered. “I was glad not to be part of that clean-up. You don’t realise how many people die in the sea until they march up on land.”
With that parting shot, he took control of Em’s handlebars and started to push. Maybe it was the power of the hi-vis jacket or his presence, which reminded me of a tightly coiled spring, but the crowd parted for him. I trotted to keep up.
Mike, John and Latika were lined up at the edge of the quay, peering into the water. All three were liberally splashed, with dripping waterproof jackets. Alongside them was a whippet-thin man dressed in runner’s gear, complete with a sweatband around his forehead and a pink flush across his cheeks. He looked like we’d interrupted his mid-morning marathon, if it weren’t for the water orb glittering in his hands.
“There!” Latika shouted, pointing at a wandering wave that moved back and forth across the harbour, with a small permanent crest. The runner tossed the orb into the foam, where it sank, then exploded. I hastily covered my head with my arms whilst Em shrieked. Mike looked around, his stressed scowl evaporating, when he saw us.
“The gang’s all here,” Em said flippantly. “Hi Lars.” The runner raised a hand in acknowledgement before intoning a rune to create a new water orb.
“Any progress?” Noah asked Mike anxiously. “Until it’s gone, I can’t clear the cruise visitors to go back on their ship.” I glanced over at the tourists and then at the looming white boat hotel, further down the quay. Mike shook his head.
“It’s a water spirit, possibly something more,” he said, looking at Em. “Much bigger than anything you’ve tackled in the past, and it’s trapped, confused and angry. Lars is keeping it distracted at the moment.”
I looked across at the entrance of the harbour. It was a manmade channel, several feet higher than the dun-coloured water below it.
“Can we raise the water level?” I asked, realising as soon as I said it how stupid the question was. Noah shook his head. “We can let water in through the canal locks, but we’re up against some of the world’s largest tidal surges. That’s why we have a floating harbour here, to protect the ships. Nothing’s getting out until high tide, which is six hours away.”
Em chewed her lip. “Is it sentient? Has John or Latika tried contacting it?”
Mike sighed. “That led to the gantry crane getting mangled.” We followed his line of sight to one of the dockside cranes, now listing at an angle. It looked like something had taken a bite from its support struts.
“Do you need me to fix that?” I asked, my heart sinking. I’d done more dangerous things, but messing with several tons of metal over deep water made my stomach clench.
Mike shook his head. “The spirit’s damaged a carrier ship further down the harbour. We need you to reinforce the hull, so it doesn’t turn into an oil spill. I want you to go with Noah and John to sort that out whilst I work with Em on the water spirit. Have you got enough energy to manage that?”
I straightened my spine and willed myself to stop shivering. “A patch job? Piece of cake, boss.”
Mike waved a finger at me. He was unshaven, with deep shadows under his eyes, making me realise how much pressure he’d been under recently. “No heroics, Roz. Don’t do anything without John’s say-so.”
With that, he turned back to the waterside, one hand encompassing Em’s shoulder. Lars held up his completed orb, and I took a hasty step backwards.
*
Noah bustled us down the quay, a man on a mission to save the day, or at least the port’s insurance costs. Our destination was Morning Pride, a high-sided blue-and-white ship designed to carry cars around the world. Even from a distance, I could see the dented hull where panels pressed inwards like a giant thumbprint. It reminded me of my poor, beaten car, and I whispered a prayer to my guardian angel that everything would hold until we had finished.
“The captain and two of the sailors are on board, monitoring the damage,” Noah told us quietly. “I’ll let them know what we are doing and escort you to the hull sections.”
The crew turned out to be taciturn South Africans who swept us down the metal stairs into the underbelly. The inside of the ship reminded me of a massive car park, with barely a metre wasted. There was a passageway clearance between the ship's sides, eaten up by the dented panels. The cars were intact, but I would not be able to squeeze between them and the ship to fix the metal.
“There’s no way to shift them around?” I asked, already knowing the answer. Noah shook his head. “Not easily. We usually have a team of drivers to move the cargo around. We’ll be able to get them on board in an hour or so.”
I ran a hand over the nearest portion of the hull. My magic pinned off it, echoing the ship’s distress. John did the same, his fingertips delicately tapping the material. “It’s on the edge, Rosen. One more knock and we’re looking at a breach.”
“Yep,” I agreed. “I’ll need to fix it from the central stress point outwards, which means going outside.” I took a deep breath and tried not to think about angry water spirits taking a bite out of me. Lars, Em and Mike would take care of it. “How do I reach the outside section?”
The answer, oddly enough, was abseiling. Noah had already gone over the side with a specialist, and I endured the safety briefing whilst being kitted out with ropes, harness, hard hat, gloves and a large life jacket. John gave me a wink as he looped a walkie-talkie around my neck and tucked it into the V of the jacket. “Stay in touch. I don’t have your gift, but I can help from inside here,” he said. “Assess and reinforce – no heroics. The ship’s getting repaired after this anyway; we’re just trying to head off a leak.”
“I should go with you, as a spotter,” the hull climber said.
“Not whilst I’m working,” I snapped, then regretted it. “Sorry – I’ve got nothing against you” – I fumbled for his name – “…Charles, but I might end up sticking you to the hull in the process.”
To my relief, John backed me up. “She’s the magical equivalent of a welding gun, mate. We’re best off on the deck, checking her ropes.”
“I’ll give you a running commentary,” I said, which was meant to be reassuring, but came out menacing.
After another 10 minutes of fuss, I was lowered over the side with double ropes and a weighted third to act as a grab rail as I moved around.
I sucked in a breath when I saw the impact site. It was as tall as I am, with half the paint scraped off the concave metal. I pulled myself close and rubbed my palms in gentle circles around the centre. “It’s stretched thin here, John,” I said, after a brief fight with the talkie’s on-button. “I’m layering it as best I can.” My teeth started to itch, and my tongue took on a metallic taste as I continued. Magic didn’t like iron. I could ignore nails and struts when I stitched a house, but the ship’s hull was steel, which screamed iron to my senses. John’s voice came back with a crackle and a hiss. “Focus on the stress points, Rosen. I’m gaffer-taping runes on the bits I can reach, to help spread the energy.”
I moved to another section and continued to rub. My skin, from my fingertips to the wrists, was itching fiercely, like someone had rubbed me with poison ivy. The panel groaned as the energy took hold, with smaller sections popping back into place.
“It’s working!” John called, in between the snapping sounds of the gaffer tape. “Rosen, how is your energy holding up? Between 1 and 10? Be honest.”
I grimaced. “Six – maybe a little less. Is the iron getting to you as well?”
John took a long pause, then crackled again. “Rosen, stop for a moment. That creature’s coming towards us.”
I froze, one hand on the ropes, one hand on the hull. I peered downwards as best I could, spotting my own feet, but no wave.
Just beyond me, I heard another giant booming splash.
“Lars turned it back,” John said, relieved. “Wait a little bit longer. Em’s got a plan to bubble it out of the harbour.”
“Bubble?” I asked suspiciously. “What the hell is she doing now?”
There was another static hiss, then John was back. “She’s creating an artificial whirlpool to trap the spirit, then use the built-up power to waterjet it over the harbour wall.”
I paused for a moment to picture Em’s proposal in the large, expensive commercial port. “She’s insane,” I said, almost in awe.
“She’s done it before in the River Thames,” John said. “This should be easier because there’s no current. I just hope we’ve got a water spirit and not a siren.”
“Can I start patching again?” I asked. With John’s assent, I went back to rubbing the metal, which clanged and groaned like my spine under a vicious masseuse. When the itching ran past my elbows, I stopped again.
“Halfway there,” I said conversationally. “And I would be happier if we had a singing mermaid instead of an angry ball of water. Yeah, she might eat people, but we’d have less damage to fix.”
John’s response was muffled, then he made a blurping noise which meant he was removing gaffer tape from his tongue. “You don’t mean that, Roz.”
“Hey, I don’t want humans on the menu, but at least Noah would call in the police instead of us.”
“I’m talking about an elemental siren, Roz. A being that combines air and water; not something out of a sailor’s fantasy. If Em’s right, it won’t have an answer to her air glyphs. If I’m right, it will feed off them.”
I frowned at the walkie-talkie. “So, how do we know?”
John sighed. “We don’t. They’re too similar. Em will try it; Lars will back her up, and Mike’s got ground barriers to protect everyone on the quay.”
I reached out to touch the metal. “When will she do it?”
“As soon as you’re back on the deck. Can you keep going? And speed it up?”
“Aye aye,” I said resigned to the iron allergy. I was going to slather on a gallon of camomile lotion as soon as I made it back to land.
Ten minutes more, and I became aware of a different noise, overlaying the metallic groans. It was a high-pitched keening that kept going, even when I stopped. I pressed the talkie button again. “John, do you hear that?”
“Hear what?”
I used the ropes to spin myself around, facing away from the ship. The wind had picked up, making the water spirit’s waves bigger. As I watched, it curled into a circle, then picked up speed. The whirlpool was forming.
“John!” I shrieked. “John! Did Em start early?”
“What is it, Rosen?”
I started tugging at the ropes to lift myself back up. The whirlpool had picked up velocity, with the first waves crashing against the ship. “The whirlpool’s formed already! Get me up!”
There was a moment of appalled silence, then John said, “No; she didn’t. Stand by.” It sounded like he was running.
My harness jerked, and I started moving upwards.
Across the harbour, the crowds were yelling. I could see the bobbing hi-vis vests ushering them back from the edge. The waves were growing larger and I felt the wind suck at my body as it increased.
Then the ship lurched. It might have been a gentle bob for people on the deck, but when you’re dangling off the side like a spider on a thread, you felt it.
I screamed.
Whoever was hauling me up redoubled their efforts. I didn’t look upwards – my eyes were fixed on the spectacle to my right. The whirlpool was moving upwards, the centre elongating into a water chimney.
“It’s a damn sea spout,” I muttered in disbelief. “Air and water. John was right.”
It hung, irresolute for a moment, then started to move. On the plus side, the spout-spirit was heading out to sea, away from the quay. Unfortunately, I was in its path.
😱🥶🫣