Edward Kane, Advocate in The Supernal Sisters. Chapter 18: ‘Like a Lost Soul’

Kane and Hawkes walked over towards Humbie, their feet scrunching in the sand as they approached. The young man, hearing their arrival, turned around and peered through the gloom. When he recognised them, he offered (what Kane thought of as) a genuinely warm smile. ‘Ah – gentlemen – you are just in time.’ Edward Kane had already guessed what was to happen, but merely smiled and said nothing. Hawkes, on the other hand, was several steps behind (both literally and metaphorically). Humbie pointed out into the water: ‘We kept the boat from my days at Brasenose. I think that my father treasured it because it was the only time in his life that he ever saw me win anything. In the boat race, I mean. Humbie laughed: ‘But he could not resist reminding me that I was merely the coxswain.’ He nodded towards the boat: ‘Still – he bought that old cutter and had it brought to Scotland.’

Edward Kane, Advocate in The Supernal Sisters. Chapter 18: ‘Like a Lost Soul’ (Illustration: Lesley-Anne Barnes Macfarlane)

It was Hawkes – still not realising what was happening – who spoke: ‘Mr Humbie, sir, there seems to be a misunderstanding. The grave at |St Mark’s Church, they are filling it in. The men seem to think…’

Humbie put his finger to his lips: ‘Hush, Mr Hawkes. All is well. The poor unwanted devil who is in Humbie family plot – albeit in error – let him rest in peace. I will be happy to lie beside him when my time comes. You can tell the old sheriff with the monocle that I was listening. Death – that great leveller of men – will not distinguish between the rich and the poor. When my time comes, the rich man and Lazarus will lie together.’ He looked up at the sky: ‘I see the that the dawn is breaking soon. It’s time, I think, gentlemen...’ He walked down toward the lapping water and called to the four mariners surrounding the boat. ‘You fellows there – it’s time…’

With that, Kane and Hawkes watched the sailors hoist themselves up and reach into the long, narrow boat. Each man retrieved something – hard to make out precisely in the gloom what it was – a matchbox perhaps? The identity of the object was confirmed when they saw each mariner open each box, then strike a long match on the side of the boat. Kane could see the face of each mariner briefly illuminated by the striking of the match. Then, with the nod of the heads in a one-two-three synchronisation, the sailors tossed their lit matches to the interior of the boat – and it went up in flames. Kane could not hear with any great clarity from that distance, but it was clear that the boat had been been doused with some sort of white spirit or paraffin – and it burst into flames in a kind of violent, fiery ‘whoomph’.

Edward Kane. Illustration: Lesley-Anne Barnes Macfarlane

But what of that fifth man who was sitting inside the cutter? Through the flames, Kane could determine – but only just – that it was, in fact, a body that had been propped up inside the now burning boat. The body of old Alexander Humbie. Yes. A Viking funeral, just as he had always wished. And even at this distance, Kane could have sworn that old Humbie appeared to be turning gently and contentedly inside the fire, like a cat in the sunshine, as if enjoying the warmth of the fire. Kane suddenly thought of his own late father and those sermons on Luke, Chapter 16 where the rich man was consigned to the fires of Hades. What would Kane’s father have made of this? Here was a rich man who appeared to be luxuriating in the flames.

The four mariners swam behind the ignited vessel and were now pushing it further out into the North Sea before leaving it to drift horizon-wards of its own momentum. They began to swim back to the shore.

And what was that sound? Singing? Kane and Hawkes looked over and there was young Harry Humbie leading his servants in an odd little song. It sounded to Kane like some old bagpipe tune, but one that he had never heard before. It was an Old Norse hymn:

“Mother you have told me

Some day that I would harness

Ships with mighty oars

To sail the foreign shores…”

And the eight-oared cutter sailed on the water, drifting further and further away. Lighting up the darkness in the distance. Drifting away. Kane thought of what the young Harry Humbie had told old Sheriff Meikel: ‘Drifting away. Like a lost soul looking for a resting place.’

But the thought struck Edward Kane that the lost soul was not the one out there in that burning boat. The lost soul was here. On the beach. The young man – surrounded by servants, but entirely alone – standing by himself in the darkness.

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