by Ben Hammott
After wiping his bloody hands on an already blood-soiled rag, Smollett reached for the man’s mouth and removed the piece of teeth-dented wood his patient had bitten down on against the pain. “All done.”
Grimacing from the fiery agony emanating from his wound, Jennet sat up on the makeshift wooden operating table that also served as a dining table for some of the men. He gratefully took the jug of medicinal rum the surgeon offered to bolster the pain-dulling rum he had supped before the doctor had patched him up.
Distracted by a soft clicking, the surgeon stepped outside the cordoned-off temporary operating room and gazed along the corridor. When he stared past the rows of hammocks strung across the forward sleeping quarters and along the gloomy corridor at the room’s end, the clicks stopped. Spying nothing amiss and blaming his frayed nerves, he returned to the task of reorganizing his operating utensils for his next patient.
Cloaked in shadow, the patriarch halted when the human appeared and looked in its direction. Poised to attack if he approached, it relaxed when the human turned away. It bounded along the passage in swift, long leaps that carried it to the surgeon before Smollett had entirely shifted to investigate the sounds of its approach.
Smollett dropped the bone-saw he was about to re-sharpen and screamed from shock and fear at the creature leaping at him.
The creature crashed into Smollett, slamming him into the small instrument table, spilling bloodstained metal instruments to the floor. Its teeth savaged the man’s chest, biting through skin and bone and tearing away a large chunk of flesh and broken ribs. As the corpse slid to the floor, the creature turned its head to the other human in the room.
Smollett’s last thought before he died was that the descriptions his patients had told of the creature were indeed founded in fact and hadn’t done it justice.
With the rum paused at his lips, Jennet stared at the monster chewing flesh and crunching bone, Smollett’s blood dripping from its jaws. Since it seemed content to finish its gruesome morsel before attacking, Jennet threw the jug at it and dived for the canvas wall which divided the operating room from the rest of the sleeping quarters. He stumbled, ripping the canvas sheet from its moorings when he tripped to the floor. With it still wrapped partly around him, he crawled for the exit.
While still ingesting its recent meal, the creature padded over to the crawling human and pinned the canvas sheet to the floor with a claw.
Tugging on the entwined canvas impeding his progress, Jennet rolled onto his back to free himself of the obstruction. He trembled at seeing the monster up so close and whimpered when it moved closer and stopped astride him. When the creature lowered its head to his face and ran its tongue along his cheek, Jennet passed out with shock. The creature nudged the human’s head with his snout, but when his eyes failed to open, he dragged an eyelid up with a claw and stared into the man’s rolled-back eye. A snore swept the creature’s gaze to another human asleep in a hammock strung from the ceiling. Its savage gaze around the room picked out four men, oblivious to what was going around them in their rum-sedated unconsciousness.
It picked up Jennet and tossed him onto its back. Its tentacles held him in place as it crossed to Smollett’s corpse, gripped his head in its jaws and dragging him beneath its body, headed back along the corridor. After dumping the meals in the keel hold to prevent the weeds their kind had allied with from taking them, the creature returned to the crew’s sleeping quarters for more to add to its pantry.
ACCOMPANIED BY THE creaking of the gently rolling vessel, Fokke led the four frightened men along the corridor, searching each dark nook, chamber and possible hiding place large enough to conceal the monster. They discovered the first sign of the monster’s trail in the galley.
Eneass Orich stared at the puddle of blood leaking from the cook’s corpse behind the counter. His anxious gaze followed the blood trail left by the creature’s paws that led deeper into the ship.
Fokke glanced around at the frightened men and tried to offer them some encouragement, whether he believed it or not. “Down here it can only come at us from one direction. Stay alert, together, and we’ll see an end to this.”
He led them forward.
Shocked awake by the freezing water, Jennet opened his eyes. Choking on the foul water pouring into his mouth, he thrashed to the surface. Unable to believe he was still alive and, based on the lack of any new pain, uninjured by the monster, he looked around his dark surroundings. Slivers of light shone through gaps in the floorboards above him and the open hatch at the far end. Smollett’s corpse bobbed in the water a short distance away. Though he had no idea how he had come to be here, he waded over to the open hatch.
Jennet was about to haul himself through the opening when approaching clacks of claws froze him. Assuming it must be the large creature he had encountered earlier, he lowered himself down gently and glanced around the keel hold for a hiding place. There was none. He waded over to Smollett’s floating corpse, dragged it to the far end of the chamber, and turned it sideways. Holding it to prevent it from drifting away, Jennet tilted back, so his face was above water but hidden by the corpse. Trying his utmost not to panic, he listened to the monster’s heavy footsteps crossing to the hatch. He almost whimpered when something splashed into the water. The resulting ripples swayed the corpse and washed water over his face. A second splash followed. The footfalls moved away.
Almost sobbing in relief, Jennet stood up. When the creature’s footsteps had faded into silence, he crossed to the hatch. Nudging aside the two fresh corpses, he climbed out.
With silent haste, he crossed the hold and checked the gundeck was safe before entering. Aware the creature was probably above him somewhere, he headed for one of the cannons and opened the gun port. It would be a tight squeeze, but it was a discomfort he’d gladly bear to avoid running into the creature again. Headfirst, he squirmed through the opening, scraping the skin from his shoulders when he forced them through. Casting an anxious gaze at the kelp below that hadn’t sensed his presence yet, he halted on hearing the telltale clacks of the creature’s claws approaching. Increasing his speed, he squeezed through the tight passage and hanging from the side of the ship; he quietly closed the gun port.
The patriarch entered the gundeck dragging a body and passed through without glancing at the gun port where Jennet perched outside.
When he was sure the creature had gone, Jennet climbed the hull. He poked his head above the rail and screamed when agonizing flames were thrust at his face, blistering his skin, scalding his eyes and setting his hair on fire. He toppled back and fell into the welcoming embrace of the kelp stalks that quickly whisked him away.
All heads on deck turned to the scream and focused on Klaas van Twillert standing by the rail, his expression mortified.
“It was Jennet,” Klaas explained, his voice shaky. “I thought it was one of those things and panicked.”
Aware that it was too late to help Jennet now that the weed had him, the men returned to their duties and focused on their survival.
An agonized scream rang out from below. Three shots followed in quick succession. Another piercing cry. An angry curse from the captain. A shriek from the creature. Silence.
Drasbart rushed to the forecastle entrance and gazed worriedly down the steps; his ear cocked for sounds of life his low expectations held no hope of hearing. After a few moments of indecisive apprehension, he descended to the lower deck and peered along the corridor. Soft growls and grunts drifted up from the ship’s bowels and grew steadily louder, closer. In the far reaches of the gloom, something dark and menacing appeared and directed its evil gaze upon him. When it bounded towards him with a bone-chilling shriek, Drasbart fled up the stairs, slammed the door shut and secured it with the storm lock. He hoped the creature wasn’t intelligent enough to figure out how to unlock it from the other side. He stepped back when the beast thudded against it. Praying it would hold, he stared at the door shuddering from a second blow.
When the creatur
e’s claw-clicks moved away, he turned his gaze along the deck and on the men focused on the rails. “Oric! Batten the aft door, now!”
Sensing the urgency in the first mate’s order, Oric shoved the pistol in his waistband and rushed to the stern. He released the door catch holding it open as thumps from below grew closer far too swiftly. As he swung the door closed, he glimpsed the creature appearing at the bottom of the steps. He slammed the door against the frame. His hand gripped the storm lock. The door crashed open with a splintering of cracked timber, which sent Oric was sprawling. The creature landed beside him and swept its malicious gaze around the deck before staring at its fallen victim. Oric reached for the pistol stuck in his waistband. A claw on his arm halted the move. He sobbed when the creature’s head filled his vision. He screamed when its teeth ripped his flesh.
When the creature appeared on deck, Drasbart saw the tired and bedraggled group of six men—the last surviving members of the crew that had set out on this fateful journey—cautiously approach the creature. Drasbart lit his torch from the nearest lantern and holding the blunderbuss ready to fire, joined the men converging on the beast.
Releasing its jaws from Oric’s body, which trembled for a few moments before he died, the creature glanced at the approaching humans. Aware the weapons they wielded would cause it pain, it raised its head and let out a long shriek before leaping up to the poop deck.
Drasbart and the crew directed frightened glances at the rails when a cacophony of shrieks, squeals, and claws climbing the hull came from both sides of the ship. A dark slick, formed of the smaller monstrosities, poured onto the deck. The men backed away and formed a defensive circle. Their torches and firearms swept over the approaching hoard promising death and pain that they all knew couldn’t be held at bay for long.
A blunderbuss aimed at the hoard’s front edge blasted powerful, deadly shot at the creatures, although they all knew that the few it killed would fail to make any significant impact on their numbers.
Recognizing the uselessness of the situation, one man put his pistol barrel in his mouth, pulled the trigger, and flopped on the deck. More shots killed and maimed a few of the beasts. The men threw their discharged weapons at the creatures which clattered as they hit the wooden boards. Torches jabbed and swung at the demon creatures, but there were too many to hold back. They overwhelmed the men, and their agony and screams soon faded into silence.
Having observed the slaughter of the last humans aboard from the poop deck, the patriarch placed its front limbs on the rail, raised its head and let out a triumphant wailing screech.
CHAPTER 10
Pirates
Concealed in the small landing boat used to convey officers to other ships at sea, crew to shore to restock provisions, or to rescue a man overboard if sea and weather conditions were favorable, Tom had paused his bailing out of the rainwater and watched in horror the slaughter of the last of his crewmates. He ducked lower behind the gunwale when the giant monster padded down the quarterdeck steps. Its smaller brethren dodged its aggressive tentacles when they snapped at any too close. It halted by Dragbert’s corpse which the smaller creatures had been feasting on, picked it up in its jaws, and dragged it below deck.
Trembling with fear that the creatures would discover and devour him, Tom pulled a canvas sheet over him and prayed they would soon leave. His only chance of survival was to wait until they had gone, launch the boat and flee the hell ship. As the day wore on, fatigued from recent events and lack of rest, Tom was unable to keep his eyes open and drifted off to sleep.
Awoken by a jolt and bleary-eyed from a fitful sleep filled with nightmare creatures, Tom listened to the pattering of rain on the canvas covering him. Worried another storm was about to hit, he pulled the sheet back and froze at the sight of the Jolly Rodger flag fluttering in the stiff breeze at the top of a mast from the ship pulled alongside the Fortuyn. Pirates.
Keeping low, he cautiously peered over the side of the small boat. Pirates armed with various firearms, cutlasses and other sharp-bladed weapons, furtively moved across the deck. Their murderous faces turned this way and that, searching for the crew of the vessel they planned to plunder.
One of the pirates halted at the fired weapons and burnt-out torches scattered around the area where the last of the crew had staged their final battle. He picked up a pistol and studied it for a moment before slipping it in his belt. Noticing the blood, some strangely dark, mingling with rain lashing the deck, he turned his head and whistled low and shrill.
Pirate Captain Thomas Trent, referred to by King William III as a “wicked and ill-disposed person,” glanced at the man who had attracted his attention and walked over. “What is it, Skank?”
Skank pointed his pistol at the deck. “Blood, Captain.”
Trent swept his cruel gaze over the rain-diluted blood splashes dotted around the deck. From the amount spilled blood, burnt-out torches—an oddity aboard a wooden vessel—and discarded weapons, it was apparent that there had been a brutal battle fought here. Pondering the whereabouts of the victors and why they hadn’t claimed the weapons, his eyes shifted to gaze the length of the ship.
“Maybe other pirates have beaten us to the prize,” suggested Skank.
Trent shook his head. “We’re the only ones foolish enough to be out in this weather.”
They had been returning from yet another unsuccessful attack on a ship they suspected was loaded with valuable spices and cargo. It had proved too heavily gunned for them to take. They had been lucky to escape with as little damage to their ship as they had received. It had been their second failure in as many weeks, and the murmurs amongst the crew didn’t bode well for Trent’s prolonged captaincy.
Their bad luck had continued when they ran into a violent storm that saw two men tossed overboard into the merciless sea. Keen to boost his disgruntled crew’s morale and his reputation, he had given the order to attack when they spotted the lightly armed Dutch ship. Though they had the cannons at the ready, and the topside crew was prepared for a fight, not a shot had been fired. They had come alongside, grappled her, and still, there was no appearance of the crew.
Trent glanced up at the angry dark clouds as the increasing strength of the waves crashed the two ships together. Maybe it hadn’t been such a good idea to come here to plunder ships freshly stocked with valuable cargo. He had hoped to get them before they reached the seas infested with his fellow pirates all eager to claim the richest prizes. The non-appearance of anyone aboard, whether original crew or the interlopers responsible for the bloodshed worried Trent. It could be a trap set to be sprung when they ventured below. If that were the case, they wouldn’t catch him.
Trent turned to Skank. “Send half the men below to see what cargo she carries and inform them to be wary of anyone who might wait in ambush. But be quick about it. If the storm gets any rougher, we’ll have to cut the Fortuyn free or risk damaging my ship.”
“Aye, Captain.” Skank rushed off to carry out his orders.
From his place of concealment, Tom observed the group of pirates split off from the others and move to bow and stern.
With weapons ready to slaughter anyone they came across, they headed below deck. The remaining pirates guarded the topside with their captain; their gazes focused on the two entrances ready to dispatch anyone not of their crew if they appeared.
Worried about the threat from the pirates and the creatures that might still be nearby, Tom decided to remain hidden. He could see no sign of the monstrous fiends, so if they had gone, maybe the pirates would plunder the ship’s cargo and leave too so he could carry out his original plan of escaping in the small boat. If the pirates commandeered the Fortuyn, he would have no choice but to reveal himself and pray for their mercy.
Pistol shots followed screams from below and caused those on deck to aim their weapons and anxious gazes at the two aft and bow below deck entrances.
Trent strode to the bow door and aimed one of his pistols below at the sound of footstep
s rushing for the exit. One of his men appeared and screamed as he fell to the floor, smashing his face on the boards with a hard thud that broke cartilage. Before he could stand, he was yanked back out of sight. The screams of his men that had ventured below fell to silence.
Believing the Fortuyn’s crew had sprung their trap, the captain whistled the signal for his remaining men to attack. Yelling battle cries, the pirates headed below.
Oblivious to the threat boarding their ship, the Amity, the few pirates that had remained onboard stared across at the Fortuyn. Confident their comrades would soon dispatch those who had attacked; they waited for it to be over. Then they would discover what valuable cargo the ship carried. All would receive a fair share of the prize money when they sold the booty.
The creatures that had swum around the pirate ship climbed up the port hull and over the rail. Splitting off into groups, each selected a victim and attacked.
The captain turned his gaze away from the second series of screams coming from below and stared across at the commotion coming from the Amity. He stared in disbelief at the variety of different sized creatures attacking his men. They swarmed over them, stabbing claws and ripping teeth into flesh. The crew didn’t stand a chance. One man fled up the rigging. A few creatures set off in pursuit and caught him before he reached the first yardarm. Screaming and pulling at the animals on his body, he fell to the deck. His neck broke with a ghastly crack when his head took the full brunt of his plummet.
Trent turned back to the doorway when clacks on the boards announced something wicked approached. He backed away when more of the evil creatures appeared and raced up the steps. With his escape route now blocked, Trent fired his two pistols, which he then discarded as there was no time to reload, drew his cutlass and raced for the side of the ship. He leaped across to the Amity, slicing at any creatures in his path. When his anxious gaze around the deck revealed most of his crew on board were either dead, dying, or still fighting the beasts, he fled to his cabin. The creatures that spotted him followed.
