by Ben Hammott
“We did it, Tom.”
Tom stared at the barrel, wobbling with the trapped creature’s frantic attempt to escape its prison. “Will it be able to breathe in there?”
“Good point.” Fokke turned the cask and unscrewed the dispensing tap. The small hole should let enough air in and provide a means to feed it. “Now go fetch the carpenter and bring him back here with a hammer and some small nails to secure the cask lid so it can’t escape. Once he’s finished, put it in that chest,” he pointed to a large sea chest against one wall, “and then come and find me to let me know you’ve completed the task.”
“Aye, Captain.” Tom headed for the door.
“And, Tom, you did good,” praised Fokke.
Tom smiled and left to fetch the carpenter.
Wondering what part of Hell the sea had dragged this strange creature from, Fokke stared at the small claw it poked through the hole and prodded around the edge as if testing the strength of its prison. Surely such a unique species would be worth something to someone. A zoo, museum, or one of those traveling shows that display the unusual—and at times, horrific—oddities of human and animal deformities. Using a rag to mop up the foul substances from the egg from off of the table, he bundled the mess up and threw it out the window. Grabbing his coat, he headed topside to find out the full extent of the weed problem.
DRASBART AND JOZEF had walked a complete circumference of the ship to determine the scope of the kelp problem, and it wasn’t good news.
“If there was any doubt before, there isn’t now,” stated Jozef. “The weed is slowing us down, but what’s more of a concern is that it’s fouled the rudder. If the storm carries us towards the Cape and the rocks, we might not be able to turn away.
STEPPING INTO THE BRUNT of the storm, Fokke heaved the aftcastle door shut. With windborne spray and rain pricking his face, he gripped one of the safety lines to keep his balance and searched for his first mate. Spying him at the port rail with the boatswain, he fought the wind and roll of the ship as he crossed the deck.
“How bad is it?”
Drasbart turned to see the captain beside him, peering over the rail at the kelp highlighted in the boatswain’s lantern light. “Stretches from mid-ship to stern and seems to be creeping nearer the bow.”
“We’ll have to cut it free, or we’ll never make any headway,” stated the captain.
“Will be difficult in this weather,” replied Drasbart.
“Nevertheless,” said Fokke. “See that’s it done and quickly.”
The first mate nodded. “Aye, Captain,” and watched Fokke head for the quarterdeck.
“We might be able to free it with the boathooks,” suggested Jozef.
Drasbart nodded. “Do it. Collect as many as you can and share them amongst the men. Divide them into pairs so one can steady the man with the boat hook to stop him falling overboard.”
Jozef moved off to carry out his task while the first mate returned to the quarterdeck and explained the plan to the captain.
“If all goes well, that will see the end to the problem, and we can start making some headway against the storm.”
“Hopefully that’ll be the case,” said Drasbart. “It does explain our inability to keep up with the Maira.”
“We’ll still beat her back home to Amsterdam,” stated Fokke confidently with a knowing smirk.
CHAPTER 4
Retaliation
Guillermo steadied himself against the weight of Pepijn, who was attached to the rope tied around his waist. Ducking to avoid the end of the boathook that narrowly missed striking his head when Pepijn swung it over the side, Guillermo rolled his eyes at the boatswain beside him.
“The man’s a menace with that thing.”
Jozef smiled as he leaned over the rail to observe Pepijn, his hands gripping the side against the rolling ship.
In the light shed by the lantern hanging from the rail, Pepijn picked out his first target; the nearest plant suckered to the hull, and he stretched out the boathook. He slipped the curved piece of metal under the stalk and pulled, but it stubbornly refused to release its grip. Not to be outwitted, Pepijn yanked the hook hard. It became detached and flopped about wildly as if surprised by its abrupt freedom.
Pepijn’s success was short-lived when the sucker reattached itself to the ship. Cursing the seaweed, he tried again. The freed stalk again flopped about for a moment before it lunged at the hull and secured itself again. Straightening up, Pepijn turned to the boatswain.
“It’s not working. Every time I pull it free, the damn thing reattaches itself.”
Jozef nodded. “I saw.”
Guillermo considered the problem for a few moments and pulled out his knife. “If we tie the knife to the end of the pole, we could try cutting it free.”
Pepijn grinned. “Slice through the bugger. I like it.”
Jozef thought it was a good idea. “If the sucker’s not attached, it won’t be able to grip on again. Do it.”
After a few minutes toil, they had the knife attached to the handle end of the boathook. Pepijn leaned over and slashed at the obstinate vine. The blade sliced through the stalk without resistance. The severed stem sprayed dark ooze as it swayed wildly as if silently screaming.
Pepijn turned to Guillermo and the boatswain. “It worked.”
“Carry on cutting free as many as you can reach, and I’ll inform the others of the new technique.”
As Jozef walked away, Pepijn selected another stalk and sliced through it. He then moved to the next within the pole’s reach.
Once the other seven two-man teams positioned around the front half of the ship had attached knives, they also began slicing through the kelp stalks.
The ripple that ran through the seaweed alerted the green mass to the human attack. It swiftly retaliated.
When he noticed the purple flower on one of the leaves below him unfurl its pointed dark petals, Pepijn paused his stalk cutting and watched the blossom within emerging. It was as strange as the rest of the kelp, long and thin, about three-fingers wide, with a dark red back and cream front. Protruding down its length were yellow filaments, curved, similar to the legs of a centipede, each tipped with a tiny translucent sphere. He switched his gaze to the cream-colored top of the flower when the tip split into four tendrils that displayed similar translucent globes to those on its body filaments. Both fascinated and wary of the weird blossom, Pepijn watched the wavering tendrils when the plant turned towards him. Though he could see no eyes adorning what he thought of as its head, he sensed it could see him and might be sizing him up as a suitable meal. A cold chill crept down his backbone when an orifice ringed with teeth opened in the tip.
Pepijn slashed the knife at the evil bloom when it shot forward, its body slithering out from the petals and stalk that had concealed it. The flower dodged around the weapon and lunged at one of the hands holding it. Pepijn screamed when teeth pierced his flesh. A flash of movement directed his pain-filled gaze to the side. Two stalks wavered like venomous serpents less than a foot away, and more were coming. He panicked when the nearest two lunged at him. He struggled to stand straight, but the carnivorous flower attached to his hand prevented him. When one stalk latched onto his cheek and the other his wrist, two more spurts of excruciating pain flooded through his system.
He frantically tried tugging his arm free from the flower’s grasp, but like the stalks, it was stuck fast and wasn’t about to let go. Useless to prevent what was happening, Pepijn watched the four head tendrils reach for the back of his hand. Once each touched skin, the globes on their tips melted. His skin bubbled and peeled. Small dark things flowed through the tendrils and into his hand, fresh sources of agony to add to his pain-wracked body.
When he felt the rope around his waist cut into his skin, he felt some hope of rescue. Guillermo had finally realized something was amiss and hauled on it. He strained to help, but it was useless. More tendrils had attached themselves or wrapped around his arms, and all heaved him towards
the waves. Almost caressingly, a stem slithered around his neck. When the strangling tightness he expected didn’t come, Pepijn knew they had a different, less swift demise planned for him. There was only one direction he would be heading now, down into the cold sea and the hellish weed waiting to feed upon him like they had the dolphins. Picturing a long, painful death, he gazed at the waves. Though something he thought he would never wish for, drowning now seemed an altogether more pleasant way to die.
When the carnivorous plant released its hold, Pepijn shifted his terrified gaze to the intense burning sensation emanating from the four patches of blistered skin on his hand and the bloody red welt in the center. His screams increased when small versions of the plant that had sown its seeds inside him sprouted from his hand and halfway up his arm.
Barely hearing Pepijn’s screams above the plethora of sounds around him, Guillermo pulled on the rope when the attached man began to struggle. Confused as to why he couldn’t haul him up, he kept a tight grip as he moved to the rail. Guillermo gasped at the sight of the stalks attached and wrapped around his friend. He saw the strange flower looking up at him with blood around its gaping mouth staining its ring of sharp, barbed teeth. Guillermo released the rope as something pulled it through his grip with such force and speed; it burned his skin. Screaming, Pepijn splashed onto the blanket of kelp. Guillermo unhooked the lantern from the rail and aimed it at his friend being passed across the vicious kelp by the stalks. Shocked by what he witnessed, Guillermo turned away when his friend disappeared into the darkness, and his screams were carried away by the wind. His gaze around the ship picked out other teams experiencing the kelp’s retaliation. He headed for the nearest to see if he could help.
Standing on the quarterdeck, Fokke had observed the teams’ failed attempts to rid the ship of the kelp by pulling free the stalks. His disposition improved when knives were brought into play to sever their hold on his ship. Cutting them loose was the solution. Then the carnage began. He stared in disbelief at the kelp attacking the men leaning over the side. Just when he thought it couldn’t get any worse, stalks shot over and latched onto two unfortunate men near the rail and yanked them overboard before anyone could react. As quickly as it had started, the attack was over.
Though he knew he should do something, the incident was so far outside his realm of normality; he was at a loss at what that should be. Instead, he observed the crew that had survived the unexpected onslaught draw knives and retreat from the rails, their eyes dancing nervously to every creak and movement around them. The boatswain rushing onto the quarterdeck shook him from his trance. He turned to the ashen-faced man, and for the first time in the twelve years that he had known the boatswain, he saw fear in his eyes.
“How many did we lose?” asked Fokke.
“Nine,” answered Jozef. “The kelp’s thicker aft and has climbed higher. It grabbed two of the crew by the rail and dragged them over.”
“I saw that,” replied Fokke, the scene replaying in his head. “Dead, I suppose.”
Jozef nodded. “Even if they’re alive, they won’t be for long, and we can’t launch a boat in this storm and with...that down there. If they can reach us up here, they’ll have no trouble attacking a boat.”
“What do we do now?” asked Drasbart, joining them. He was as unnerved as everyone else onboard who had witnessed the carnage. “If we can’t cut it off, how do we free ourselves from its grasp?”
He received no reply.
“What I find strange is that they all attacked at the same time,” said Jozef, “as if coordinated.”
With creased brow, the captain looked at Jozef. “Are you implying the seaweed is intelligent?”
Jozef shrugged. “Maybe? It isn’t normal; I know that. Seaweed doesn’t eat meat or attack men and ships.”
“That’s as may be, but as we’ve just borne witness this stuff does.” Fokke stroked his beard, a sure sign he was apprehensive. “That might not be our only problem. Those things on the leaves we thought were seed pods don’t contain seeds but small, sleek creatures—vicious buggers. I caught one and have it sealed in a rum cask in my quarters.”
Jozef groaned. “Could this voyage get any worse?”
Glimpsing movement from the corner of his eye, Drasbart turned and gasped at the stalks slithering over the rail. “I think it just has.”
CHAPTER 5
Attacked and Repelled
After staring at the stalks for a few nervous moments, Fokke turned to the boatswain. “Grab men and axes, knives, anything we can fight them off with and bring them here.” When the frightened boatswain failed to drag his eyes away from the boarding menace, he pushed the man into action. “Snap out of it, Jozef. The only way any of us are going to live through this is to repel them.”
Brought back to his senses, Jozef ran a hand through his soaked hair to push it from his face and nodded. “Aye, Captain.”
“We could use fire,” offered Drasbart. “Make some torches with timber and pitch and drive them back with the flames.”
Fokke quickly considered the proposal. Usually, they guarded against fire, the enemy of a wooden ship, but desperate times call for desperate measures, and their situation was dire. The deck was soaked with spray and rain so if they were careful; the torches might save them. “Jozef, also have the carpenter fashion torches while the rest of us fight them off as best we can.”
Jozef leaped down the stairs and started shouting orders to the drenched and anxious crew.
Fokke refocused on the menacing vines now lining the rear third of the quarterdeck. Uncannily snakelike, they undulated in the air with their sucker tips looking at them. Though the wind had waned slightly and along with it the powerful swells that had rocked the ship precariously, the storm still had them in its grasp. Rain thrummed on the decks and streamed down the slim vines.
“I wonder why they’ve stopped,” pondered Fokke aloud.
Maybe they’ve reached their growth limit,” suggested Drasbart.
“Or they’re waiting for something?” uttered Fokke ominously.
Hurried footsteps on the stairs turned their heads to the men rushing up them. All brandished a weapon of some type suitable for repelling the carnivorous weed. These included axes; swords; knives, some long and pointed; a meat cleaver borrowed from the galley kitchen; and lumps of wood as makeshift cudgels.
On spying the stalks that turned their sucker heads in their direction, the men advanced cautiously.
Eager to have revenge for what they did to his friend, Guillermo was the first to attack. The axe he swung sliced through a stalk and chipped a large fragment from the top rail. While the severed tip flopped to the deck and convulsed before going still, the other part flapped about wildly, slinging dark ooze from the cut. Witnessing Guillermo killing one of the intimidating vines so easily boosted their confidence, and bravado led the rest of the men to attack. Their punishment upon the stalks was swift and brutal. They sliced, stabbed and bashed them into submission, covering the deck with their dark blood-sap. As the severed end of the stalks retreated over the rail, more appeared to replace them. Goaded by their success, the men made swift work of them also.
“It’s working,” exclaimed Drasbart triumphantly.
Fokke, less reassured, nodded weakly and turned to survey the rest of his ship. He was pleased to see Jozef had set up sentries around the rails to warn of an attack from other directions where, oddly, none was forthcoming. It worried him that the weed only attacked in one place. It was as if it were testing their defenses. Surely it couldn’t be that intelligent?
The boatswain crossed to the carpenter who had appeared on deck carrying an armful of staves tipped with pitch-soaked rope and cloth. After a few had been handed out to the mid-deck sentries, who were prepared to light them from lanterns placed nearby if danger threatened, Jozef brought the rest of them up to the quarterdeck while the carpenter went to fashion more.
Fokke returned his attention to the men fighting the weed behind him when
one screamed. The man responsible for the cry had been accidentally barged by another who had lurched forward with a sword to decapitate the sucker end of a stalk. Slipping on the deck slick with sap-blood, he crashed into the rail, his face staring down at the monstrous kelp creeping up the hull. Seizing their chance of easy prey; three of the stalks attacked. The first shot at the man’s face and attached its sucker to his eye, digging in its teeth, and wrenching it from its socket, snapping the optic nerve. Screaming in agony, its victim swung the sword at the vine responsible. The second stalk wrapped around the man’s weapon hand and constricted as powerfully as any python. The sword clattered to the deck as the third vine wrapped around the man’s neck.
Noticing the man in trouble, Guillermo chopped at another stalk and rushed to his aid, but the man was dragged over the rail before he reached him. Guillermo risked a peek over the side. In the gloom that surrounded the ship, he glimpsed the stricken man being passed along the kelp just as Pepijn had been. He spun to attack when something nudged him.
“Steady on, shipmate,” exclaimed Pieter, dodging away from the raised axe aimed at his head. “Grab yerself one of these.”
Guillermo glanced at the torch Pieter held. Flames and black smoke drifted from it fanned by the wind and hissed when the rain struck. When Pieter turned away and began thrusting the fiery weapon at the stalks, Guillermo swung the axe, embedding it in the rail for quick retrieval if required, and went to get a torch of his own.
While Drasbart held open the door of a lantern, Jozef lit the torches and handed them out to the men. With the wooden staves being almost as tall as a man, they could keep a safe distance as they thrust them at the stalks. After a few of the vines had suffered scorching, the others swiftly slithered back over the rail in retreat.
