The Undoing Of Sebastian Swan

The rain fell and the rain fell and it showed no sign of stopping. In the small English village of Eastwoods they were used to the rain, indeed they were suited to it. The pumpkin crop had never looked better but things were starting to get out of hand. It had been more than a week now with no sign of letting up and it seemed it would not be long before the river burst its banks. The elders of the village looked forward to having new tales to tell about the great October floods. Such was life in a village where nothing much of intrigue ever seemed to happen.

But the newcomer was not used to rain and the newcomer expected intrigue. Indeed, he was determined to find it. The life of a banker was a comfortable one but it grew boring after a while. Sebastian Swan was looking for a mystery as he sat shivering in one of the dark booths of the only pub in the village. The dry burn of a whiskey ran down his throat. To him, an unfamiliar village on the night of All Hallows Eve spoke of certain adventure. It wasn’t hard to tell that he wasn’t from around here: the material of his coat was soft and warm and the gold of a pocket watch glinted among its folds. The bartender had an eye for such things – how better to know who would be handing over the most shillings before last call?

Outside the wind howled about the hills that surrounded their valley. A stranger walked the narrow cobbled streets. No fire of whiskey warmed his belly. The rain had soaked him to the skin and twice friendly locals had offered the old man shelter from the growing storm and twice he had refused. He had a meeting to attend and though often late, he never missed an appointment. Besides, you wouldn’t want a man like him at your hearth.

Sebastian flicked open the lid of the pocket watch admiring the dark hands against its ivory surface. Almost ten. He sighed. It seemed the penny dreadful novels he was so fond of were wrong. The night of All Hallows Eve was proving to be a profound disappointment.

The bell above the door tinkled as one last customer walked in. The bartender, wiping his rag around the dirty glasses, eyed him nervously. “What’ll it be, Gov’na?” he asked. Something about the new arrival was off-putting – two strangers on one night was a sure sign of foul play in a village no one ever wanted to visit.

“I’ll have what he’s having,” the man said, pointing to Sebastian.

He sat up straighter in his seat. Was this the moment he had been waiting for?

The man sat on the faded green velvet seat opposite Sebastian Swan. “Mr Swan,” he said “I’ve heard a lot about you from your employers. They said I might be able to find you here tonight.”

“Can I help you?” the young banker replied.

“I’ve walked a long road to find you,” the main chuckled “I most certainly hope so.”

The two men fell silent, eyeing each other in apprehension, as the bartender placed two whiskeys on the table. Sebastian didn’t mind the assumption: his mouth felt horribly dry.

“Who are you?” he said when the bartender was gone, his voice low. All of a sudden, he needed the courage of the whiskey’s fire. Something about the serpent smooth voice of the stranger unnerved him.

“I doubt you’d know me. I’m afraid I’ve rather… fallen from grace shall we say. But you can call me Mr. Nicholas if you like. Old Nick some say.”

“Mr. Nicholas?” Sebastian inquired, beginning now to wonder if this was a joke “How can I help you?”

The man smiled, a wolfish smile “Curiosity killed the kitty cat don’t forget. My business is in making work for idle hands. I can give you all the adventure you could ever dream of. Oh, the tales you’d be able to tell after a few years running errands for me. What do you say?”

Sebastian hesitated. Maybe it was the alcohol but there was something awfully persuasive about that sibilant serpent’s tongue. He wanted to say yes though he didn’t know yet what he was promising himself too. An opportunity for adventure sounded too good to be true – and besides, hadn’t his employers sent this man in his direction? He had to be trustworthy.

Mr. Nicholas held out his hand. And Sebastian shook it. The next morning, in the throes of a mighty hangover, he would remember little else about their conversation. But he remembered what the man said as he got up to leave.

“Remember: better the monster you know than the one you don’t.”

The rain fell and the rain fell, the night that Sebastian Swan sold his soul to the devil.