the job | the voyage | new york city |cannondale & deville | ambush | the return voyage | the missing cook |stoaways|the scuttling| the end
The Scuttling
by bill evans
"The very deep did rot: O Christ!
That ever this should be!
Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs
Upon the slimy sea."
---Samuel Taylor Coleridge,
"The Rime of the Ancient Mariner"
Prologue/Afterward
Time, the most persistent force in the universe, ended yesterday. The void collapsed under the strain as time ground to a halt. The unheard sound of destruction reverberated throughout time and space, leaving an electromagnetic scar on the very fabric of existence. Somewhen, the loud, noiseless end would be called the Big Bang by the inhabitants of a small, blue world known as K1034… Earth.
Earth was the end. In the planet’s prehistory, a spacecraft landed in what would become North America. The spaceship carried an alien race known as the Designers. Their intent was to introduce life and then, by way of a time gate, monitor genetic experiments they conducted on that life. They monitored the timeline closely to ensure there would be no skew in the history of the planet. What they did not count on was the universe ending. The energy of the Bang caused catastrophic resonance in their time devices, linking them with the end of the universe. Their life energies ceased to be. Their ship remained. The Athulho computer systems remained and, in the absence of their programmers, carried out repairs and moved forward with the original experiments. Life developed as planned, data was collected. Anomalies abounded.
Without the Athulhoian's constant monitoring and control, Earth’s timeline branched from the point in time when the Designers arrived. Each experiment skewed the timeline again. Each skew had its own fragments each fragment had its own skew and so on into infinity… such as it were. Among these fragments, individuals existed who, during their evolution, acquired the properties of the quantum singularities that drove the Athulho's time devices. The effect of this was a temporal inertia of sorts. This meant that these individuals existed in all timelines simultaneously, scattered through different time periods. Their identities remained the same as did their age and personality. Four of these individuals would become the most important men in the history of time. These men are the Scholar, the Protector, the Will and the Jumper. This is a story of two of them.
Law Office of Nigel Stander
2934 Surrey Road
London, England
November 23, 1890
Mr. Mully,
My name is Nigel Stander, a somewhat renowned collector of art and antiquities. Recently, I have discovered a most impressive artifact of an occult nature… a field I believe you are very experienced in, provided my sources are correct.
The item in question is a sword. German in origin, circa 1350. It first belonged to the alchemist and sorcerer Paracelsus. It is 108cm long, with a crystal pommel engraved with the word "AZOTH". Paracelsus supposedly summoned up a demon and imprisoned it within the hilt. I believe it to be simply a highly collectable sword from the Middle Ages, as very few swords from that period survived.
I wish to hire you and your expertise to travel to New York City and meet with Johan DeVille. Authenticate the sword and, if it meets with your satisfaction, pay Mr. DeVille and return to London with the sword. For this service, I am willing to pay 1000 pounds.
Enclosed is a bank draft for the purchase, a small advance of 200 pounds to purchase sundry items and a train ticket to Liverpool. Once in Liverpool, a brig called the Katie Bell awaits you in the harbor. Barring incident, the voyage should take approximately one month, each way. You will be in the capable hands of Captain Jonas Kell for this journey. Mind you; be punctual, as Jonas has been known to leave without his charges before.
Best of Luck,
Nigel Stander
Stephen Randolph Mully folded the letter neatly, placed it in his coat pocket and gave it a comforting pat. He lifted a chipped teacup from the immaculate dinosaur of a desk in front of him. Mully drained the contents of the cup and held it a moment savoring the light, bitter flavor. He placed his favorite cup, his wife’s cup, back on its coaster and turned it by the handle until it was positioned just right. Jennifer, when she was alive, didn’t really hold many "things" dear but she loved this stained little porcelain teacup. She used it everyday of their thirty-year marriage. Early every morning she drank tea and watched the sun come up. Mully’s logical mind could never fully appreciate the simple pleasure she took in the activity, until it was too late. When she died, the cup was the only thing of hers that he kept. Now he took his tea in the morning and, in a way, still felt close to Jennifer.
"Mully," Mully looked toward the voice, "I think we’re ready, if you’re finished with your tea, that is." Robert Thomas Braveheart stood in and took up most of the doorway to Mully’s office. Braveheart was an American Indian of the Cherokee tribe. He was a largish man, with uncharacteristically close-cropped hair. Twenty-two years ago, before double pneumonia took Jennifer and before they moved to England, she and Mully adopted Braveheart when Union troops killed his parents.
"We don’t have to be at the train station for two more hours yet," Mully said, checking his watch.
"You’re getting soft, old man." Braveheart laughed for a moment until Mully fixed him with a steely-eyed glare. One of Mully's most commanding features was his eyes. Crystal blue and wise, he could quite a room with them. 'You’ll go far with eyes like that,’ a colleague once told him.
“I wouldn’t say ‘soft’ as much as laid back. I like to think I’ve learned to slow down some."
"Yeah, well you usually like to be ahead of schedule," Braveheart took a seat across from Mully. "And from what I hear about Captain Kell, he isn’t liable to wait."
"I’d imagine the good Captain will not be disappointed, as we will arrive on time. The ship won’t leave till morning. We’ll stay the night in Liverpool."
"Disgusting word." Braveheart said with distaste.
"Which?"
"Liverpool. Doesn’t sound very clean."
Braveheart stepped off the train at Liverpool Station and stretched fully with a loud yawn. The train ride took the better part of the day, with many stops between London and Liverpool.
Passerby tried hard to stare at him without actually looking in his direction. He had grown accustomed to the strange stares. A Cherokee Indian was something of an oddity in Victorian England. Braveheart, however, was a very educated man. Mully made sure of that. Many people left his presence feeling foolish for treating him like a savage.
"Marvelous devices, trains." Mully said brightly stepping off the train just behind Braveheart. Mully, unlike the big Indian, loved train rides. New technology always filled him with wonder at how clever mankind could be. Sometimes a little too clever for its own good, but he was in no mood to be cynical today.
"See, Thomas, Liverpool isn’t so bad after all."
"Smells like dead fish." He said a little louder than necessary.
"Well, it is a port city."
Mully hired a horse drawn taxi. After their belongings were loaded by the weasly little cabby, who looked as if he would break under the weight of the bags, they headed for the Liverpool docks. Workers moved back and forth loading their respective vessels. Several new steamers sat impressively among the brigs. Mully stopped a nearby dock worker, who eyed them suspiciously.
"Good day, sir." Said Mully.
"G’day, guv’ner." Said the salty dockworker. "Wha can I do fer ye gents?"
"We’re looking for a ship called ‘Katie Bell’; know where she’d be docked?"
"Aye. I’d hardly call her a ship tho, friend," he chuckled shaking his head. Mully noticed that Braveheart was a little unnerved by this observation.
"I’m sure it’s not THAT bad." Mully said.
"Well, she’s at the end o’ th dock, see for yer self."
"Thank you."
Indeed, it was THAT bad, as it turned out. The Katie Bell was a brig in every sense of the word. The actual sight of the vessel seemed to unsettle Braveheart even more, as his imagination became more tangible at the sight of her. It was obvious she had seen a lot of use. Despite her age, however, she stood proudly in her moor.
"Looks a bit like a leper among the healthy, doesn’t it," said Mully, giving a little smile at Braveheart's obvious unease.
"Ho there! You must be Mr. Mully," a salty voice boomed from the Katie Bell, "Your early, I’m pleased to see." Captain Jonas Kell didn’t sound, from his manner of speaking, to be in a foul mood. To look at the man, though, you’d swear he believed that you just beat his dog to death with a fire-poker and he wanted revenge. He was a small, solid man with an air that commanded respect. "Hawkins," said Kell, "Load their personal items."
By demeanor and stature, Hawkins would be totally nondescript but the dried, pink puddles of previously melted flesh that used to be the left side of his face drew the eye directly to him. The large, black patch covering his ruined eye didn’t help much either.
Hawkins limped down the gangplank and took up Mully and Braveheart’s luggage. His left hand and a portion of the right wore the same tell tale scar of severe burning.
"Hawkins there is First Mate; he will lead you to the guest quarters." Said Kell, giving a little smirk at his guests hushed reactions to Hawkins. "Since all are accounted for, I believe we’ll cast off a bit early."
The Katie Bell’s crew was a blur of activity. The men moved efficiently to and fro stashing crates and casks below decks. They sang as they worked, smoothly carrying out their tasks.
The ship creaked and strained against the mooring lines with the rise and fall of the sea. Braveheart stood fast against the wheelhouse behind the cabin house. He looked out at the blue ocean and wondered how something so tranquil could make his stomach feel like a cocktail shaker. Braveheart had only ridden a ship once before and, although he was very young; he clearly remembered not liking the experience.
"We haven’t even started yet," Mully said.
"Well, I’m just getting some practice in."
Braveheart's practice seemed to pay off. He was exceptional at being sick, as it turned out. It took several days after they set sail before he got his sea legs. The crew would normally show no mercy when it came to a 'lubber's' inability to adapt to the rhythm of the sea. However, Braveheart was an imposing figure and even when he was feeding his lunch to the fish, the strongest among them demonstrated caution when they felt the need to insult.
"Nice to see you've grown to love sea travel," Mully said, clapping him on the shoulder.
"Love is a strong word. Probably, we can attribute my lack of vomiting to stomach muscle failure."
The two stood at the forecastle, leaning on the rail and looking into the sea.
"Dolphins!" Michael "Mickey" O'Reilly cried from his perch in the crow’s nest. The men stopped their work and rushed to the railing nearest to them.
"Friendly dolphins are a good omen." Jon Carr, second mate, said as he threw himself against the rail near Braveheart and Mully. He aimed a broad, broken toothed smile at them, before turning on his heel and returning happily to his post.
The work required to sail a ship was enormous and the constant grind frequently made the men short-tempered and intolerant. The dolphin's presence lightened the men's spirits considerably.
On the second day out of Liverpool, Mully saw Carr and Olefield standing at the rail pointing to something off the port bow. Its long, cylindrical body was nearly thirty feet long and tentacles trailed behind it for easily another thirty.
"Wot d' ya s'pose, dat fing is?" Carr asked to no one in particular, winking to Olefield.
"Some kind 'o monster, looks like t' me. Wot d' you make of it, guv'ner? Ever see anythin' like that in all yer travels?" Said Olefield, catching on. The crew took note and watched the 'landlubbers' for a reaction. Captain Kell stepped out of the cabin house, also looking on.
"Garden variety giant squid I'd say." Said Mully.
"Yep." Said Braveheart.
The men laughed at both Carr and Olefield's failed attempt to scare the lubbers.
"Quit gawkin at that squid and get back to work," Captain Kell called down to the crew.
"Ship to port!!" Mickey called down from the lookout. Mully and Braveheart, along with the crew looked and saw a ship several miles away off the port bow. The ship was larger than the Katie Bell and appeared to be one of the steamers from Liverpool harbor. Hawkins entered the deckhouse and emerged a few moments later with several small flags.
"What's he doing with those flags?" Braveheart asked Mickey, who stood nearby.
"It's cust'mry ta trade wea'ver an news wit passing ships." Mickey explained, "Hawkins' knows how ta talk wit dem flags."
The steamer quickly covered the distance between the two ships, far faster than would be possible under sail. As the steamer passed, her crew did not communicate weather and news but instead laughed and jeered at the Katie Bell. In moments, the vessel was disappearing in the distance. Captain Kell was visibly mad at the standoffishness of the other ship. The crew seemed to mirror his mood.
"I 'ope ta run in ta dem boys in New York." Said Hawkins in disgust. A collective 'yeah' made its way around the crew.
The New York City docks were a chaotic scene of hard labor. Ships lined the shore, with men swarming around loading crates and bales into their open holds. Here and there small groups of drunken sailors wandered about singing and carrying on. Horse drawn wagons pulled goods up and down the docks. Gulls glided overhead, screeching at the men below. Countless rats scurried about the docks and mooring lines to the ships. The water in the harbor was an oily, debris filled soup. The putrid stink bludgeoned the nose with traces of fish, oil, manure and the sea.
"I'd like to go back to Liverpool, now." Braveheart mumbled from behind his hand as he desperately tried to handicap his sense of smell between his thumb and forefinger.
"I must agree. This is pretty bad." Mully agreed. "Its been a good many years since I was here last, but I never imagined it would have gotten so bad."
"A good rat-catcher could do well here." Braveheart observed.
"We leave port in the morn' two days hence, at seven-thirty sharp." Captain Kell informed the crew as they quickly unloaded the vessel in preparation for shore leave. "Anyone too drunk to make it back gets to stay in this cesspool."
Mully and Braveheart stepped off the gangplank and onto the dock. Mully flagged down a taxi.
"Could suggest a decent hotel, my good man?" Mully asked the cab driver.
"Sure, I don't know if they'd let you keep yer Injun in the room." Mully quickly put a restraining hand on Braveheart's shoulder. Physically, Mully could not possibly have stopped him if he wanted to go. Braveheart stopped out of respect.
"My 'Injun' as you call him is my son, adopted yes, but my son just the same and I'd thank you to remember that. However, I don't feel we should conduct business any further." Mully's fierce stare betrayed his anger. The poor man suddenly felt very small. He looked back and forth between Mully and Braveheart.
"I didn't mean no..."
"Any," corrected Mully.
"I didn't mean any offense. I was just saying the hotel management might not take kindly to him."
"I see. Well perhaps you would be so kind as to suggest one that might be a little more tolerant to two extremely wealthy people." The words seemed to take a moment to make their rounds in the cabby's little mind. His eyes lit up as he interpreted the word 'wealthy'.
"Um, yes, sir. I apologize... I know just the place." The cabby smiled a crooked little grin that let Braveheart know that, as far as the cabby was concerned, he was now an honorary white man.
"First, take us to a bank." Mully ordered. "We'll need to exchange our currency."
Braveheart could hardly suppress a smile as the cabby hurried around to do the bidding of Noble Lord Mully.
"I know you’re not senile, but you do remember that we're not THAT rich, right?" Braveheart whispered as the cabby quickly loaded their baggage.
"Ah, Robert, half of being rich is acting rich." Mully smiled.
Mully and Braveheart rose early the next morning. A small cafe in Powell Arms Hotel served a fantastic breakfast with a marginally terrible coffee. The diversity of culture in the cafe was striking. People, important people, from all over the world gathered here for whatever reasons... business or otherwise. The most important effect of this diversity was that no one stared at Braveheart, at least not because he was Cherokee. He still got looks because his size made the average adult male look like a twelve-year-old boy.
"I'm glad you took my advice and wore your suit." Mully said, wincing at a sip of the bad coffee.
"Hmm." Braveheart said, chewing a mouthful of eggs.
"Yes, well, we should get going soon." Mully said, smiling. As intelligent as Robert Thomas Braveheart was, his social graces needed a good deal of work.
"So," Braveheart said from around a bite of toast, "Where are we supposed to buy this sword?"
"Cannondale and DeVille Antique Importers." Mully said, carefully positioning his coffee so it wouldn't catch toast crumbs.
"Umm."
"I'll let you finish up and go get directions from the desk clerk."
Braveheart made an "O.K." gesture with a momentarily free hand and Mully headed for the front desk.
Downtown New York was a good sight cleaner than the docks but the putrid aroma was still present, if not as strong. The hotel was only a few blocks from the Importers, so the two set out on foot. The young desk clerk gave him very good directions. Several alleyways shaved off a good bit of walking.
Cannondale and DeVille Antique Importers were housed in an impressive marble building. Gargoyles perched on the high walls kept a watchful eye on patrons as they came and went. Intricate carvings of some ancient culture covered the massive stone doors at the entrance. The perfectly balanced swung easily on their hinges, doors despite their size. The musty smell of the building was a welcome change from the fishy, urine smell of the outdoors, reminding Mully of home.
Every available space not used for standing or walking was filled with antiques. Every culture and period seemed to be represented in this room. Despite themselves, Mully and Braveheart felt compelled to wander about looking at the little snippets of history.
"May I help you?" a mousy little man said in his mousy little voice. He was balding and gray-haired, with thick bushy, black eyebrows.
"I am Randolph Mully and this is Robert Braveheart. We're here representing Nigel Stander in the purchase of a certain Medieval sword he negotiated with your company several months back." Mully said.
"Of course. My name is Johan DeVille," he stepped from behind the counter and extended his hand to Mully and then Braveheart. "Where is Mr. Stander?"
"Mr. Stander was detained with his law firm. I am something of an expert on occult antiquities, so I was hired to authenticate the item, before purchase." Mully explained.
"I see..."
"I can assure you that it is QUITE authentic, Mr. Mully," a new voice came from behind the counter. He was portly and balding with a well-chewed cigar smoking in his mouth. Though he was by definition fat, he moved with the grace of a lighter man. He approached with an air of confidence and importance. Braveheart disliked him immediately. "I hope Mr. Stander sent you with an open bank draft, because a gentleman offered nine hundred dollars for it just this morning."
"You agreed on seven hundred dollars with Mr. Stander..."
"Never the less, I will require at least nine hundred and fifty dollars for the item."
"According to these documents you sent him during your correspondence," Mully produced a leather folder filled with yellow papers from his satchel, "You are legally bound to your original price. Unless, of course, I find it is a less than satisfactory piece, then you can sell it to your new buyer."
Cannondale did not attempt to conceal his anger. His pale face reddened and turned to leave the room.
"DeVille!" he said, with his back facing them, "Take Mr. Mully to see the item." His voice seethed with as much contempt as he could muster.
"A pleasure doing business with you Mr. Cannondale." Mully said.
"Nice fella." Said Braveheart.
Johan DeVille led them through a door behind the counter and into a crate filled room. Packing straw covered the floor and thick dust hung in a beam of sunlight coming through a high window. DeVille led them to a tall, thin crate with a pry bar on top of it. DeVille took the pry bar and prized the front of the crate open. Inside, a leather covered case about five feet long, stood upright in a mass of packing straw. DeVille picked up the case and carried it across the storage room to a long wooden bench.
"Gentlemen," said DeVille, "I present you the sword of Paracelsus." Brilliant and beautiful did not describe the ancient sword. It had a flat finish and worn blade. The weapon had seen much use. The pommel was blue crystal with the word 'AZOTH' engraved in calligraphy. Mully took a magnifying glass from an inner pocket and set to the task of inspecting the sword. From his satchel, he produced several yellowed documents with sketches of the weapon on them. He compared the sketches and the descriptions with areas of the real sword. He did this for nearly an hour. Braveheart had found a nice pile of packing straw and was reclining lazily on it. Cannondale stepped through the door obviously surprised that they were still here.
"Well, Mr. Mully?" He asked. Mully remained silent for a full five minutes when he finally stood up from his work and peered over his wire-rimmed glasses at Cannondale.
"It does indeed. I have no doubt of its authenticity. I will make the draft out for the agreed upon price plus an extra twenty-five dollars for the case."
"Handle it, DeVille." Cannondale wore a sour expression as he turned to leave the room.
Mully closed the case and took it up from the table.
"Shall we, Mr. DeVille?" Mully asked.
DeVille hadn't stopped smiling since Mully stood up to Cannondale. He happily accepted the bank draft.
"Thank you." DeVille said as his expression grew serious, he looked around a moment and whispered, "Be careful. Cannondale isn't accustomed to not getting his way. He can be... vengeful"
"Thank you, DeVille and we will."
Mully tucked the sword under his arm and they left the shop.
"I don't think your friend will want to conduct business with Mr. Stander again." Braveheart said.
"I don't think we've heard the last of Mr. Cannondale." Mully looked thoughtfully at the leather sword case and said, "Maybe you should carry this. Your a little better suited to defend it... should the need arise."
Braveheart nervously took the case Mully offered him.
"Just don't use it on anybody."
"Huh?"
"Wouldn't want to accidentally free the demon imprisoned in the hilt, now would you?"
"Oh, come on!"
"Ok then. Lunch?"
Braveheart tossed in an uneasy sleep that night. He didn't consider himself a superstitious man and he knew Mully was kidding, of course, but the sword seemed to have an eerie air about it. He turned over in half asleep and caught a glimpse of something on the edge of dreaming… a blur of motion at the window. He roused fully but remained motionless on the bed. The "something" appeared again with a soot-covered face and black beanie cap. The something pulled a slim piece of metal from an inner fold of clothing and proceeded to jimmy the window unlocked with a barely audible 'click'. Braveheart wondered if Mully had an uninvited guest right now. Probably, this man was a professional and had observed Braveheart enter his suite with the case. Braveheart planned to put his professionalism to the test.
The thief soundlessly crossed the room and began going through Braveheart's belongings. He located a wallet and quickly pocketed it. Turning his attention to the space underneath the bed, he crouched low and carefully reached past the dust ruffle and felt around. Finding nothing, he pulled his hand back, slowly started to rise and found himself staring into the hard, wide-awake eyes of Braveheart. The thief froze in a sudden shock of surprise. Braveheart, lying on his right side, swung a hard left fist at the smaller man's head. In a desperate attempt to not be pummeled silly, the thief twitched slightly just before a fist half the size of his head smashed him to unconsciousness. The force of the blow carried the man's head into the nightstand with a loud crash before his limp form slumped to the floor.
"Robert?" Mully asked, rushing in from the adjoining room, pistol drawn. Braveheart was standing now looking down at the twitching man on the floor.
"I may have retarded him." Said Braveheart.
"I think perhaps we should move back to the Katie Bell for the remainder of our stay," said Mully, holstering his weapon, "It would appear we have made enemies with Mr. Cannondale."
"And we barely even tried... we're good."
The local police arrived, seemingly eager to arrest Braveheart for assaulting the man who only mumbled and drooled in lieu of meaningful conversation.
"Mr. Braveheart and Mr. Mully are important guests here. If the local law enforcement could see to their duty instead of hanging about in the red light district, this incident may not have occurred in the first place." Mr. Tincnure, the hotel manager explained. Satisfied with the hotel vouching for him, the police left, carrying the broken little thief.
Mully and Braveheart packed their belongings and moved back to the Katie Bell. Mr. Tincnure, the hotel manager, seemed a little saddened at their leaving.
"It's not your establishment," Braveheart said, "We have a very expensive item in our possession... an item likely to draw attention from local vagabonds. It would be better for your business if we left but, hopefully, we can return under better circumstances to visit your fine hotel again."
Mr. Tincnure extended his hand to Braveheart; "It would be an honor to serve you and your companion again. I shall arrange a cab for you." Mr. Tincnure turned and headed for the stairs and soon was out of sight.
"Nicely done, Robert." Mully said, clapping him on the shoulder.
Mully and Braveheart stepped from their taxi at the gangplank of the Katie Bell. Her crewmen quickly loaded the cargo for the return voyage. They all wore the tell-tale markings of a bar-room brawl.
"You 'ought ta 'ave seen th other blokes." Mickey said, as Mully and Braveheart approached smiling. "We 'ad th good fortune to 'appen upon dem fellas from th steamer."
"Fancy ship, makes fer a soft crew." Said Hawkins, whose smile on his ruined face made him seem in great pain.
At precisely seven-thirty, the Katie Bell's crew cast off her moorings and she set sail for her English home. Mully leaned against the cabinhouse and puffed on his dragon-shaped, carved ivory pipe. Little wisps of smoke drifted upwards from the dragon’s mouth between puffs. The thick, sweet smell drifted on the salty breeze. Mully watched the ocean as the crew sang and carried out their tasks. Wind whipped across the deck bringing a light, chilly mist with it. Mully drew his wool trench coat tightly against the spray.
"Merry Christmas," Said Braveheart, handing Mully a small, hastily tied box. Mully adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses and accepted the box with his pipe-free hand.
"I had forgotten it was Christmas. When did you have time to shop?"
"Your welcome," Braveheart grinned. "Just open it." As a rule, Mully wasn't emotional or even overly appreciative but Braveheart knew when the man was touched. A son knows his father, after all.
Mully tugged the small, clumsy bow untied and removed the lid. Inside was a black knight, hand-carved from black marble. He held it and moved his thumb over the smooth, perfect surface. Carved in the bottom were the initials 'L.D.'
"I bought it from DeVille while you were going over the sword. I believe it completes that set you've been collecting. Maybe we can use it once in a while now."
"I've been collecting that set for nearly fifteen years now. I had nearly given up finding the last piece." Mully said, marveling at the piece and imagining it sitting among the set it had been separated from for nearly two centuries. "Thank you, Robert. I don't know what to say..."
"You said it already."
The morning of the third day out of New York, before sunrise, Mully awoke in a pool of sweat. The air was wet with humidity. Not only was it unseasonably hot, but geographically as well. Mully sat up in his bunk and looking around, saw beads of moisture on the walls. He got up, pulled on his robe and headed for the maindeck.
"Damn hot," Braveheart said, emerging from his cabin and rubbing his eyes with the back of his hands. "Shouldn't be this hot. Don't like it."
"Not at our articulate best this morning are we, Robert?"
On the main deck, a thick fog clung to everything. The shadowy figures of the crew moved around in the thick fog. Captain Kell and Hawkins were kneeling by a wooden bucket, examining its contents. Hawkins picked up a long glass thermometer and placed it in the bucket. After a few moments, he pulled it back out and read, "Ninety-two, Cap'n."
Braveheart looked over the railing into the ocean. Large muddy clumps floated in the water. Some of the clumps had bits of sea plants in them. He turned his attention ahead, in the direction the clumps came from. He squinted into the haze and his eyes widened with horror.
"Land Ho!!" He yelled so loud that everyone on deck jumped, startled. It was too late. The ship stopped suddenly and everyone on board was violently dashed to the deck.
"Mother of Christ!" Yelled Kell, "We've run aground!"
The crew made a mad dash around the forecastle to the bow railing. Katie Bell was stuck in a soft, sulfurous smelling mud bank that had no business existing in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean.
"Hawkins, Carr!" Yelled the Captain, "Get 'tween decks and the hold and check the cargo. Mickey, you and Olefield start checking the hull for damage. Henry, Elmer and Norbert get some timbers and try to pry us loose."
"Anything we can do to help, Captain?" Mully asked.
"Mickey, take Mr. Mully and Mr. Braveheart with you. Show them what to do." Kell said. He looked at Mully. "Thank you. Any help would be appreciated." Kell turned his head toward a sudden creaking, "You men get that damn sail down before the wind breaks the mast!" Henry and Norbert began working the pulleys that drew in the sail; Elmer straightened and packed it away as it came down.
"Oy, Mr. Mully," Said Mickey, "You an da chief dere..." Braveheart turned on the man, grabbed the front of his shirt and lifted him slightly off the deck.
"Do," Braveheart plucked Mickey in the nose with a free hand, "not," he plucked him again, "call me," he grabbed Mickey's upper lip and pulled his face close, "chief." All at once Braveheart released Mickey, who dropped the few inches and stumbled to the deck. Mickey stared up at the big Indian.
"Yea, Mickey, don't call em chief." Olefield said, helping Mickey to his feet.
"So'ry guv," Mickey said, checking his lip and nose for blood, "I di'nt mean no of'ense. Shall we, then?" Mickey started down the ladder with Olefield close behind, smiling.
"Little hard on the young man don't you think?" Mully asked.
"Well... maybe." He headed down the ladder, followed by Mully. "I'll say something to him, I guess."
Mully and Braveheart gathered around Mickey, awaiting instruction.
"Basically, guv," Mickey explained, "Look da hull o'er, if ya see light, it's damaged an needs fixin'."
"I see. Thank you, Mickey." Mully said. "Simple enough wouldn't you say, Robert."
"Fairly straight forward."
Cargo was scattered everywhere in the hold and the only light filtered in through dusty air around the ladder that led to the crewquarters and eventually to the main deck. Light scurrying of rats echoed in the darkness. It took several hours in the semi-quite dark to examine the hull.
"Over here," called Mully, "I found a spot." The breach was barely visible and most people would have missed it in normal light, much less by the light of a lantern.
"You've a good eye, guv." Said Mickey.
They spent another hour or so looking the hull over. They turned up three more small breaches and Mickey noted that the bilge was taking in an unusual amount of water. Braveheart eyed the bilge suspiciously.
"Not to wor'ry, guv. We'll jus man it in da mornings as well."
"I'll git da scaffold an make wit th repairs. Cap'll be pleased." Olefield said as he started up the ladder, headed for the main deck.
"Not tha pleased," Said Mickey, "You weer on watch when we ran aground."
"Oh yeah."
Braveheart stood at the rail on the bow and watched as Henry, Elmer and Norbert stood in the soft mud prying against the hull with two long timbers. The mud bank, in areas, bubbled. A low rumbling far beneath the water's surface vibrated through the ship. Mully stood near the forecastle talking with the captain.
"Captain," Mully said. "I believe we may be trapped on the residue of an undersea volcano, moreover, I believe it may still be erupting."
"I've never heard of such." Said the Captain. "How can you be certain?"
"Actually, I can't. I recognize the smell as that of hot springs and geysers. They are essentially volcanoes on a small scale."
"If this turns out to be a volcano, do you think we are in any danger?"
"It would be hard to say. We would have to assume that the source is quite deep, as the material we are encountering is very cool in comparison to typical volcanic matter. I'd venture to guess that this will most likely break up in a few hours."
"Hmm." Said Captain Kell. "We don't seem to have many alternatives. The mud is too soft to leverage the ship free. We will wait till first light, if the tide hasn't broken the bank up by then, we will try to tow the ship free with the longboat."
"Cap'n," Norbert yelled from the sticky mud bank, "Look what I found." He climbed the rope ladder and back into the ship. The object he held was about a foot in diameter and covered in the sticky, black mud from the bank. Norbert dropped it to the deck with a loud thump. Mickey tossed a bucket attached to a rope overboard and hauled up some seawater. Norbert washed the mud away revealing a white piece of stone. The stone appeared to be intricately carved with small images.
"Who ya su'pose carved this?" Norbert asked.
"It's not a carving, Norbert." Mully said. "It's a piece of fossil-bearing sediment. Crinoid plants mostly."
"Foz'il?" Norbert asked.
"Yes. The remains of long dead plants and animals that have turned to stone over thousands of years."
"Th hell ya say!" Norbert said. "Ya've seen sump'tin like dis before, 'ave ya."
"Yes. A few years back, a friend and colleague brought a similar piece back from Africa."
"Uh, Captain," Braveheart said, watching the mud bank closely, "I think you should have your men come aboard. The bank is breaking up."
Katie Bell shifted in the now loose mud. Large clumps of mud and seaweed drifted where the temporary island had been. The men clamored back up the rope ladders and back on board. The dense fog still hung wetly in the air.
"We'll wait here a few more hours for this fog to break." Said Captain Kell. A disgruntled mumble rose from the crew but was quickly quelled by a look from their Captain.
As the day wore on, the humidity rose steadily and tensions along with it. The idle conditions and high temperatures made the crew irritable and intolerant, mumbling about bad omens. Nine hours of waiting and the fog remained unbroken. Hawkins and Carr's tempers did not.
"Yer a bloody loon, Hawkins!" Carr sceamed, "I din say any'tin about yer face!"
"I heard you, you bloody bastard!" Hawkins waved and pointed a wooden club at Carr. Carr pulled a rusty knife from a sheath on his belt. Hawkins charged Carr, swinging the club in a vicious arc. Carr stumbled as he backed away, shocked by Hawkins' sudden furious attack. Carr swung low as he fell, cutting Hawkins in the thigh. Barely slowed by the wound, Hawkins smashed Carr on the chin with the club. Carr, starry-eyed, fell back and dropped his knife.
The air exploded with noise. Hawkins halted his advance on Carr. Carr stared blankly from unconsciousness.
"You men," Captain Kell said in a terrifyingly calm voice as he reloaded a massive shotgun. "Stop this instant. Hawkins have that wound looked at and confine yourself to quarters. Mickey, Olefield. You two drag Carr down to the crew quarters. Norbert, Elmer. You're on watch."
"Sir!" Hawkins protested.
"Hawkins! You will confine yourself to quarters... now. And I shoot the next man who starts anything."
The remainder of the morning was quiet. All crewmembers, aside from Norbert and Elmer, found themselves confined to quarters by Kell. Mully and Braveheart conversed at port rail.
"Captain Kell is certainly not a man to trifle with." Said Mully, tossing a piece of bread in the water.
"He is well suited for this kind of command." Braveheart said. He sniffed the wind. "Smell that?"
"What?"
"There's a storm coming."
The fog broke around noon with a cold wind blowing the humidity away. Rain began to mist lightly.
"All hands on deck!" Kell shouted. The crewmen rushed up the second deck ladder to the main deck and took their posts. Olefield began climbing the mast to the crow's nest.
"Olefield. Stand down from that mast. Mickey, you take watch."
"Aye, Captain."
"But Captain, I..." Olefield protested.
"Olefield, we don't need to run aground in the middle of the ocean again. Take Mickey's place." The crew barely suppressed laughter as Olefield moped to his new position.
"Oh, shut up!" He said to the crew, who burst into laughter and, in spite of himself, joined in. The mood onboard lightened considerably and the Katie Bell set sail again.
With the muddy little island far behind, the Katie Bell made good time. Mickey manned the helm and watched the sea.
"Hey, boys!" He called. "The dolp'ins is back." Mickey's wide smile at the good omen suddenly faded. The dolphin screamed and blood churned in the water around it. The men stopped work and ran to the terrible screaming.
"Never seen a shark take a dolp'in like dat, before." Hawkins said.
On the evening of the next day, Carr rummaged through the food stores, searching for the ingredients to make supper.
"Lemme see, now... Salt pork, beans, and potatoes. Tha ought to su'fice..." A scuttling noise interrupted his train of thought. He swung his lantern up, casting the dull yellow light wildly around the dark hold. Blurry shapes fled the light so fast he could barely make them out. He smiled.
"Bloody rats." Carr set his lantern down and started loading a burlap sack with the ingredients. Something hard slammed into his leg, causing him to drop the can of salt pork. Fiery pain stabbed its way up his leg. His body began to seize and twitch. He fell; face first, into a lumpy puddle of salt pork. He couldn't move and the pain gave way to a intense numbness. He heard a clicking and a wet tearing. Blood pooled around his body and mixed with the salty packing liquid from the pork can. In the shiny, brass surface of his lantern, he saw the distorted image of several somethings moving on his back and legs. He screamed. He screamed because the somethings were eating him.
The crew arrived in the galley to find no meal prepared.
"Where the hell is Carr?" Hawkins asked. "He's bin down da hold fer an hour now."
"You were late to mess, Hawkins," said Elmer. "Ya sure som ter'ble acc'dent din befall em?"
Hawkins started to stand but stopped as Captain Kell raised his hand.
"Mickey," Said Kell, "You and Olefield get after Carr. If he's sleeping again, so help me, I'll be keel-haul his worthless hide!"
"Ya shouldn't have shot th cook Cap'n." Said Hawkins. "Then we wouldn't 'ave ta rely on Carr's so'ry hide."
"I had my reasons." Said Kell. "He was stealing cargo and liked to set fires."
"Aye, Cap'n, but he was a fine cook."
Mickey and Olefield left the galley smiling. When they returned a few moments later, their smiles were nowhere to be seen.
"Cap'n! Come quick." Mickey said from just outside the galley. Everyone filed out of the mess onto the main deck. The men drew sharp breaths at the grisly sight. Carr's body laid face-down on the deck. His clothing was torn and large strips of flesh were torn from his back and legs. His face was frozen in a grimace of horror, his eyes wide open. The flesh of the face up cheek was missing, revealing jaw teeth and tongue.
"Jesus!" Norbert said.
"Where is Olefield, Mickey?" Asked Captain Kell.
"He's, uh, being sick, just 'dere." Mickey said pointing to the port rail.
"Wot you sup'ose 'appened ta em, Cap'n?" Elmer asked.
"Looks as if he fell. Clumsy bastard." Said Hawkins.
Mully knelt near the body. He produced a magnifying glass from a inner pocket of his clothing and looked closely at the wounds on Carr's body.
"Look here, Captain." Mully said. He held the glass over Carr's leg wounds. Two, small puncture marks in his calf oozed a clear liquid. Mully reached out and touched the puncture. His finger tips went immediately numb. "Looks to me like some kind of poison. And here, the wounds look like the flesh was chewed in places."
"The hold is full of rats, Mr. Mully." Kell said.
"He wasn't down there that long and what about the poison?" Mully asked. "His limbs are seized as if rigor mortis were set in already. Too soon for that."
"I don't think it was rats," Braveheart said. Everyone looked at the big Indian. Who pointed at the mast lines and rigging. Rats ran along the ropes and scurried on the deck. "They don't normally do that, do they?"
"No. They don't." Said Kell.
"Wot do ya thinks got em on the run like tha?" asked Mickey.
"Maybe what ever ate Carr is spooking them." Said Braveheart.
"Dat's not wot I was 'opin ta hear."
"We need to inspect the hold." Captain Kell stated. "Hawkins, take Olefield, Mickey and Elmer down to the hold. Take some clubs with you."
"Captain," Braveheart said, "Might I accompany them?"
"Yes, Mr. Braveheart. I appreciate your offer. Norbert, Henry! Get Carr ready and give him to his ocean."
"Be careful, Robert." Mully said. Braveheart nodded and headed down the ladder.
"Mr. Mully," Said Captain Kell, "A word, please sir?"
Braveheart stepped off the ladder and into the hold just behind the others. The light that would usually filter down through the hatch was blotted out the drizzling clouds overhead. The hold was quiet except for the eerie creaking of the hull against the pressures of the sea. Olefield struck a flint and steel frantically trying to light the lantern.
"Why din' ya light that bloody thing up dere?" Hawkins asked.
"I dunno." Olefield said.
Scuttling, scraping noises echoed in the dark.
"Olefield! Light that bloody lantern!!" Hawkins yelled and the scuttling stopped. Olefield got the lantern lit and held it up. He panned it around the room. The walls did something that walls are not normally prone to do. They moved. As the lantern moved the walls pulsated in waves trying to avoid the light. Hundreds of chitin encased things crawled about.
"Bloody hell!" Elmer said.
Mully and Captain Kell stood on the poop deck, talking. Kell had retrieved his scatter-gun from his quarters and it was now slung, breach open, under his arm.
"Mr. Mully," he said, "Do you have any idea what could have done that to Carr?"
"I couldn't say, Captain. I've not seen anything like it before... except..."
"Yes?" Kell asked, anxiously.
"I was asked to assist on a murder case with Scotland Yard. The victim had been disposed of in the harbor. When the body was pulled out, it had been mostly eaten by crabs. Carr's body looked much the same."
"So you’re saying my hold has crabs?" Kell asked.
"No, Captain, I merely meant that his wounds were very similar."
A sudden scream took their attention. They caught a brief hint of motion from the lookout's nest, where Henry was posted. He seemed to be fighting with something. His body suddenly stiffened and he fell over the edge of the crow's nest to the deck eighty feet below. Henry hit face first. His head snapped back with a sickening crunch.
Norbert locked the wheel and jumped down from the helm. He ran over to Henry's twisted, broken form.
Mully ran down the aftwardships stairs from the poop-deck to the main deck. He knelt near the body. Henry's body laid face-down, but his face stared to the sky. His clothing was torn around the legs and several deep punctures dotted his calves. Mully looked up at the Captain and Norbert. The Captain nodded knowingly.
"I think we're in for a long day."
The creatures on the wall made a sound like two stones rubbing together as they moved. All at once, the noise stopped. The scuttling racket of a thousand legs erupted through the dark hold. The wave of creatures moved from the walls and began to swarm toward Braveheart, Mickey and the others. Olefield's eyes widened in disbelief. He started backpedaling to the ladder. He stepped on something hard and fell. The lantern flew into the air and came down with a crash. Lantern fuel spilled on several nearby crates and ignited. The flames roared up and the creatures, who were less than six feet from the party, recoiled from the sudden light.
"You men get up that ladder!" Braveheart yelled. He reached around and grabbed a cask of flour. He slammed it against the burning crate. The powdered meal spread over flames, extinguishing them. Braveheart felt one of the beasts crawl over his foot and then a sting in his leg. He stomped and was rewarded with a satisfying crunch. The sting turned to a burning. He reached down and grabbed the dead creature and then climbed the ladder to the second deck. Braveheart closed and locked the hatch. He limped over to the ladder to the main deck.
"You all right, der chei... I mean, Mr. Braveheart?" Mickey asked.
"Yeah. One of them got me though. Not too bad, I don't think."
They all climbed up to the main deck. Braveheart tossed the creature to the deck, its thick jelly-like innards oozed from a crack in its hard exoskeleton. The creature appeared to be a conglomerate of a horseshoe crab, scorpion and a lobster. Its flattened and segmented body was covered in chitin. The head and thorax were fused in one piece. Two highly developed eyes hint to the fact that it had particularly good eyesight in the dark. There were six pair of appendages: one pair of mantis-like fore-legs laced with long dark colored spines, four walking legs and a pair of oar-like rear limbs. The abdomen consists of twelve overlapping plates tapering to a spike.
"Oh my." Said Mully.
"What is it?" Braveheart asked.
"It's a eurypterid." Mully pulled a pen from his pocket and prodded the creature.
"Need I ask what a eurypterid is?"
"It's a prehistoric crustacean. Their supposed to be extinct."
"They git on quite well, to be extinct." Mickey said.
"Indeed they do, Mickey. What's worse is that this one is in larval form... a baby, after a fashion." Mully said.
"We saw hundreds of them in the hold," Braveheart said. "You think there is a parent eurypterid somewhere on board?"
"I'm certain of it."
"Woll, at least we got em trapped in th hold." Said Hawkins.
"Actually, Mr. Hawkins, whatever opening they used to get in, they could simply get out again." Mully explained.
"Yeah," Olefield said, "You saw 'ow day stuck on th woll like dat. Imagine day could do th same on th outside o'the hull."
"I believe we have evidence enough of that, from Henry's death." Mully pointed to the covered figure of Henry. "He was in the lookout's nest when he was attacked."
The crew looked at Henry's covered body with hopeless expressions.
"Mully," Braveheart said making sure they were out of earshot from the others, "I need to show you something."
"What is it, Robert?"
"When I was down in the hold, the creature I killed stung me." Braveheart turned his leg so Mully could see.
"Are you alright? Why didn't you say something earlier?" Braveheart was accustomed to Mully's cool, calm manner but he was unprepared for this reaction. Mully tugged carefully at the torn, blood-covered area of Braveheart's pant leg.
"I don't see a wound." Mully said.
"I know. That's what I wanted to show you. I've always been a fast healer, but this..." Braveheart shook his head, "I felt the poison burning in my leg."
"You seem to be fine now."
"I am. I feel great."
"Maybe this is something we should keep from the crew. Sailors are usually a very superstitious sort." Mully said. Braveheart nodded in agreement.
"Speaking of superstition, maybe we should check on the sword."
The two headed for the cabin house. Mully pushed the door to his cabin open. A
more to come....