A State Of Sin Amsterdam Occult Series Book Two by Mark Hobson (golden son ebook .TXT) 📕

his father’s gruff voice growled. “You’ll capsize the thing if you move about. Just sit down on the seat.”

Tobias did as he was told, slowly lowering himself onto the wooden bench across the middle of the tiny fishing boat.

He was ten years old, and his father was taking him out over the water again, even though he hated it. Tobias couldn’t swim, his parents deciding he was too young to learn, even though they lived by the sea, which even to his young mind seemed silly and dangerous. More likely they couldn’t afford to pay for the lessons.

But his father insisted he come with him. He needed help to land the lobster pots that he’d placed two nights earlier. It was a two-man job: while he steadied the boat young Tobias would use the long fishing hook to snag the orange buoys marking their locations, and haul the pots up and over to the boat.

So his father had dragged him out of bed very early, when it was still dark outside, and after a quick breakfast of lukewarm porridge, had told him to put on his waterproof coat and gloves, and off they had set, walking down the narrow pebble beach to where the boat was waiting.

By the time his father clambered aboard and yanked the pull-cord to start the engine it was just growing light, and he aimed the prow of the motor-launch towards the purple clouds that shimmered above the eastern horizon.

A cold and harsh wind was blowing across the Ijsselmeer but Tobias turned to face into the stiff breeze, preferring the numbing cold to looking at his father’s red and pock-marked features, the bloodshot eyes, the smell of whisky on his breath.

Vaguely he listened to the sound of the spluttering engine and his father whistling some old sea shanty: Blow The Man Down, Tobias thought it was. Drunken Sailor would have been better, he thought to himself, which brought a tiny smile to his face.

“What you laughing at, you little kipper?” his father called out, the wind whipping away his words, and when Tobias turned towards him, his old man winked, which only made his face look even more grotesque. Nevertheless, Tobias felt himself relax a little. Perhaps, he hoped, his father would be in one of his rare good moods today.

“We make a good team, you and I son. What do you say? The two of us together, up and out nice and early while the rest of the world sleeps - doing men’s work!”

Tobias nodded.

“It’ll put muscles on you, like Popeye. I’m strong to the finish, ‘cause I eats me spinach! I’m Popeye The Sailor Man!” He laughed heartily.

Fifteen minutes later, after they had travelled perhaps a couple of miles from the small harbour where they lived, they arrived at the first line of buoys bobbing in the water. In the distance, Tobias could make out the flat landscape of the far shoreline and the white finger of Urk Lighthouse caught in the morning sunshine. Overhead a few seagulls hovered in the wind.

While his father slowly manoeuvred the motor-launch from buoy to buoy, Tobias used the long pole to grab the nylon ropes. Then with his gloved hands pulling hard, he dragged each pot up from the seabed, and after lots of struggling and lifting, managed to bring them over the gunwale and onto the wooden bottom of the boat.

There were four pots in this batch and two of them contained a lobster each. Not a bad start, Tobias thought.

At his father’s instructions he dropped the empty ones back over the side and on they went.

The next line of pots contained just one lobster, which his old man grumbled about, but there was nothing to be done but check the final bunch, the set which were furthest from shore.

A short time later and they arrived at the spot, and Tobias again set to work.

By now his arms and his back were aching, but he daren’t complain otherwise he might get an earful of abuse, and so he pulled and lifted, using the hook and his hands.

As he was unfastening the rope on the final pot, which contained a pair of huge lobsters he saw, his gloved fingers slipped and the line unravelled and snaked out of his hands, and with a loud splash, the pot fell back into the water and floated away.

Tobias froze.

He hunkered down, knowing what was coming. But when his father’s angry shout came it still scared the life out of him.

“What the hell have you done, you fucking retard?”

“I’m s-sorry d-d-dad,” he stammered. “It was an a-accident.”

Without warning, his father lunged out of his seat and hit him hard around the side of his head with his clenched hand.

Tobias yelped from shock and pain, which infuriated his father even more, who snarled and struck him again.

“Please dad, I didn’t m-mean to do it.”

“Little prick!” His father breathed heavily, fighting to regain his composure. “There were two in that one, and a fine size too. You useless idiot.”

Tobias started to cry quietly.

“Stop snivelling. Wipe your nose and go and get it.”

“But-“

“I – said – go – and –get –it,” he repeated, saying each word slowly.

Tobias looked over the water to where the lobster pot was floating, just ten or twelve feet away.

“I can reach it with the hook. If we went a bit closer.”

“Don’t you answer back you whelp! Get yourself over the side into the water, and bring it back. Quickly, before it floats too far away. That way it will teach you a lesson not to be so clumsy next time.”

“I can’t swim dad, please.”

His father glared back and then looked around the boat. Bending forward he reached for the mooring line coiled at his feet and threw it at Tobias.

“Tie this around your waist then. That way you won’t sink down too deeply.” He fastened the other end to a brass eyelet on the gunwale.

Tobias looped the rope around his middle and tied a knot, his whole body shaking,