Blackwater Kraken (The Dystopian Sea Book 3)

by Sean Michael Argo

  Drucilla was the first to stand. She thrust her cutlass in the air. Few people could hear what she said, but a few must have because the Penny Dreadful snapped into action to chase the kraken back to her lair.

  20.

  Bard stood at the aft end of the Penny Dreadful, watching the fires of Atoll Sparta spread. Their ship was fast, especially with the rowers pulling and the whale oil burning them forward. Despite their speed and the kraken’s injuries, she disappeared from their sights soon after leaving port. Drucilla went mad for a moment. She scrambled up to the crow’s nest and then back down, screaming for the crew to spot the beast.

  The majority of the crew did not say a word. There comes a point in suffering when the mind and body become numb to the pain. That’s where Bard was as he watched a third of his home disappear into the sea while his Captain lost her composure for the first time since joining the Penny Dreadful. Abigail’s hand rested on his shoulder to comfort him. Her face was the same as all the others: shocked, stunned, yet sober. Bard pushed Sparta from his mind as he turned his back on the city, surrendering to the truth of the situation.

  The remaining crew members tried not to think about the death of Mr. Pit and the uncertain, though likely fate of Riddle. Part of them kept expecting Mr. Pit to bark an order or Riddle to strut past with her big gun to enforce those orders. Bard looked about and wondered how many people would stay aboard the ship without Pit and Riddle to keep them in check. The crew performed their jobs in a disconnected trance. This was a crew that had been to hell and back, and without the likes of Croatoa, Morgan, Mr. Pit, or Riddle to keep them sailing and fighting, the situation was dire indeed.

  Drucilla yelled at them to push faster, but they all knew there was nothing that could pull the Penny Dreadful along any faster than she was already going. Bard whispered a silent prayer that this did not break her. He looked out to the sea once more. Sparta was nothing but a column of smoke in the distance.

  All around the vessel debris floated from the attack. The water smelled putrid wafting up into the air. Dawn rose through a gray haze. The sun shone through a fiery, angry ball of red shrouded by the thick smoke and fog. The adage: Red sun at night, Sailors delight, Red sun in the morning, Sailors take warning, came to many sailors minds as they looked at the sun that morning. They could not help but wonder if there was a storm coming in from the West or if it was all the smoke in the air from the battle. Either way, it was seen as an omen and circulated the ship in hushed whispers.

  The captain held her head in her hands as she looked at the sun. No one could tell what she was thinking. She looked fried. Her eyes bulged out; her lips were cracked, a silver streak of grey sprouted from the roots of her unkempt dreads. Abigail was the only person to approach her. Everyone else kept their distance from the Captain, afraid of what may happen. Abigail guided her across the deck. The Captain did not protest. Bard looked around to see who would keep charge, wanting to return below decks with them. Vladimir was out of sight. He was the only officer above decks which meant it was his responsibility to take control of the voyage and men.

  Bard intercepted Abigail at the top of the stairs. Drucilla looked through her surroundings. Abigail spoke before Bard had the chance, “She needs rest. I’m going to stay with her awhile.”

  “Mind if I get Vlad up here and come with you too?”

  “I think you should get Vlad, but its better Dru and I were on our own. I have known her longer than anyone except Vladimir now.” Abigail’s face fell.

  There used to be happier days where the only fears were storms and natural beasts: when the only complaints were the long hours and the stench of whale fat boiling down. Bard looked Drucilla over. If she could hear them there was no sign of it.

  “Do you think any of us will survive this?”

  Abigail sighed. Her eyes were dull from the emotional and mental fatigue she’d endured over the last years. “Does it even matter at this point?”

  Bard pursed his lips and nodded, pulling his hand away from her arm to allow her to leave. The two of them disappeared below decks. With his closest companions absent, Bard felt loneliness sink into his bones. He wondered where Kalak and Artisema could be. The men were unusually quiet. In the past, there was more drinking, story swapping, tears at least, following the death of a comrade, nonetheless two officers. It was silent though. Bard sat down atop a stack of crates lashed to one of the masts and played a somber tune on his banjo.

  It was well past midday before any other officers appeared from their private quarters. Bard did not care to push the crew in their absence. He let them rest as long as the ship continued to move forward. Some of them sprawled out on the deck, napping on top of the layer of salt that had collected. There still was no storm, but Bard took note of the clouds darkening in the West and wondered if they would outrun it or have to battle through it. Kalak and Artisema were the first to appear. Kalak kicked one of the deckhands napping.

  “Get the fuck up and help me. If I’m working, you’re working, understand?”

  “Aye-aye,” the young man jumped up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes, “How can I help?”

  This question relieved Bard. He sincerely believed the men would rebel at this point. With their chain of command disrupted, most hopes lost, crew member after crew member dying tragically, and no promise of payment for the season, Bard knew there was only loyalty to keep them pushing together as a team. The blazing red sun lay behind them and the blackwater in front of them. The prospect of success seemed grim if not entirely impossible. Bard continued to strum his instrument as he listened to Kalak and the seaman’s exchange and let his thoughts slip away.

  “Report to Vladimir, he will tell you what to haul up. And you,” Kalak’s long arm stretched out, his hand cutting the air like a knife, pointing towards a sailor leaning on the railing, “Get this salt off the damn decks.”

  The sailor jumped and immediately set to cleaning the decks. Kalak stormed towards Bard, his face was red and angry, “Bard, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” It was the first time Kalak ever talked to him this way. He laid his banjo down beside him and let Kalak continue, “You are supposed to be in charge here. We’ve been down there working, and you’ve let the whole crew slack.” Bard looked around. Other than the two men, everyone was still moving about as usual.

  Bard did not know what to say. He never wanted a command position. It wasn’t his deal to boss other people around. He was a grunt at heart. Bard ran his hand through his hair. Kalak growled and kicked something in frustration.

  “What are you guys working on, and what do you want from me?” Bard tried to keep his tone even and not show his guilt and further fan the flames of Kalak’s outrage.

  “Look around you,” Kalak’s face flushed a deep burgundy. Bard witnessed a similar look in the past, but this was different. There was more than just his actions causing Kalak’s blood to boil. “The bloody ship needs repairs, there’s a storm on the horizon,” A vein throbbed in his neck and on his forehead as he gesticulated to the places the kraken damaged the Penny Dreadful and then up to the sun in the distance. Bard looked out over the horizon; it looked as if the storm warning signs cleared. “Get off your ass and take charge.”

  Kalak lifted Bard by the shirt collar. There was no resisting his strong arms. Bard looked down at Kalak’s hands in indignation as his toes lightly scraped the planks lining the ship. He let the balls of Bard’s feet gently roll back to solidity. His demeanor changed. Kalak stuttered a bit and then rubbed the fabric of Bard’s shirt flat in apology for losing his temper, “No more Mr. Pit.”

  “We'll make do, brother,” Bard pushed his hand away and took another deep breath to steady his hands from shaking. “I won't let it happen again.”

  Vladimir appeared above decks. He stood up straight. His chin lifted in the air. It was normal to see Vladimir focused, but few witnessed him so invested in the crew’s comings and goings. It was typical for Vlad to only give his attention to the inanim
ate tinkering that capitalized most of his time and energy. In the face of adversity and tragedy, he transformed into a military sergeant directing orders left and right.

  “You know how to veld?” His brows set in determination. The deckhand addressed looked meek in comparison to Vladimir’s full height.

  “Yes,” he stammered.

  “Repair this now,” Vladimir pointed to a portion of the banister broken and twisted.

  Kalak and Bard watched as Vladimir marched the decks with focused purpose. He paused at the rowing bank, “How long you row now?”

  “Four hours,” one of the women said.

  “Okay,” Vladimir stood in the middle of the deck. His voice raised so that it boomed to each man’s ears. His fingers curled into a fist. “I don’t care who, but rowing crew is svitched out now.” The men jumped. At first, no one volunteered until Vladimir continued, “Are you all deaf, svap rowing crew now!” In the next few moments, the rowing crew was swapped out with a fresh group.

  “You, woman,” he said to the sailor who reported her rowing time. “You tend to rowers. Fuel them. Vater them.” Every syllable was enunciated, adding to Vladimir’s unquestionable authority, “When you see them feel veak like you feel ven rowing, you svap them out. You understand me? This ship,” he swept his arm in a circle, “You make it go as fast as it can, or I vill have your ass. Understood?”

  “Yes, sir!”

  It was odd for anyone to refer to Vladimir as ‘sir.’

  “Good,” was all he said before turning his attention to the rest of the mess above decks.

  Bard turned to Kalak, “Where is Artisema?”

  Kalak grunted, “She fell asleep in Vlad’s office. He won’t let me wake her up. He had her making weapons for below the surface before that.”

  “VHAT, are you idiot? Did your mother drop you as baby?” Screeched Vlad from across the deck as he ripped the torch from the man working on the side of the ship, “Get out of my face immediately before I lose patience.” The deckhand scrambled up from where he sat on the edge of the deck. Vlad left the young crewmember stumbling and shaken, evacuating Vlad’s presence. Vladimir picked up the welding mask.

  Bard didn’t hesitate. That was something he could do. He approached Vladimir and took the welding mask from his hands without a word. He let Bard take up the job and left to command the next task. In his peripheral, Bard could see Vladimir hunting down the unfortunate crew member relieved of welding. He hoped Kalak would intercept before Vlad destroyed the young man, but it was impossible to hear anything over the blast of heat coming from the torch nor see anything once the sparks started to fly.

  21.

  Bard worked on the ship and contemplated his contributions aboard. Yeah, sure, he was one of the best harpooners, but recently, harpooning was not worth as much as some of the other skills. He replayed Kalak and his exchange over and over in his head. The way he saw it, every other officer was worth four of the average deck hands except for Bard. Bard chastised himself internally regarding Kalak needing to order him on top of everyone else.

  The sparks flew, and Bard gritted down and focused on the labor at hand. Over the next few hours thoughts of inadequacy, of duty, and self-criticism roiled through his brain. Whenever his mind clouded, he pushed himself harder to free himself. The faces of all the good men and women rushed through his mind. Each one of them had so much to offer to the Penny Dreadful, to the crew, and to their friends. Yet, they rested at sea now, or in the bellies of monsters.

  Captain Raj has been a stern and yet balanced leader, courageous enough to fight his own battles from the prow of the hunting boats when the time had come. Tanner was loyal, hard-working, and one of the three divers the Penny could rely on for underwater repairs. Croatoa could fix almost anything underwater. He was a master crabber and deadly with nearly any weapon. The men they lost during that time, especially Sailor Dave, had worked at sea their whole lives. They were loyal and cross-trained to accomplish any task onboard required of them. Morgan was fearless and brutal when it came to shark fighting. Bard thought she might have been a stronger sharker than Kalak if one took into account her speed and ability to navigate rough seas. Riddle was not just the hired gun; she was brilliant with her machine arm and tinkering. And Mr. Pit, one of the better men Bard ever met. He was loyal to his ship, to his captain, to the crew. His war hammer was a sight to see as it crashed through beast and men alike. He was gentle when it was needed and unmovable when it came to his authority.

  The guilt Bard felt for forcing Kalak to micromanage caused him to work harder and faster than he would normally. The storm the ship waited for never seemed to come, it must have been smoke rising from Sparta which caused the sun to turn red in the morning. Bard did not stop working on ship repairs until nightfall. When he lifted the mask, he squeezed his eyes shut as they adjusted to the light change. His legs were cramped from the long hours crouched in the same position. A wave of dizziness washed over him as he stood up. The railing and armored plating were fixed on this portion of the ship though, and that was all that mattered.

  Bard found Kalak helping someone reinforce the sails. Next, to him, three men worked diligently checking every line aboard for weak or fraying ropes. No one looked up as Bard approached. Everyone coped with the current situation by losing themselves in their work. Bard was about to dive into helping Kalak strengthen each patch when Abigail appeared above decks. Kalak dropped what he was doing immediately. The other deckhands followed his lead and paused their work.

  “Did I tell you to stop?” Kalak’s voice boomed, and they turned their heads and refocused on the tasks at hand.

  Abigail approached Kalak and Bard. “All officers in the Captain's quarters. We are going to go over our strategy. Drucilla does not want to involve any more of the crew than us. She’s already considered sending them all home the first chance she gets to pass them off to another ship. Not that any would dare sail these waters now.”

  Some of the men stopped what they were doing to eavesdrop. Bard recognized disdain creep into one man’s face as he heard Drucilla’s intentions. He looked Abigail in the eyes.

  “I don’t think that’s what anyone wants.” Bard knew he wanted to help. He wanted to make all the death worthwhile and prove he wasn’t a lost investment. He could see the same drive in his shipmate’s eyes, so he spoke where all could hear. “Everyone needs to know their sacrifices are going to be made good.”

  Silence fell. The waves still crashed. The oars continued to push through the waters. Boots stepped across boards, but between the small pod collecting around the masts and sails, heaviness rested on our shoulders. The crew members looked at them. Abigail saw Bard was right by the way they glanced up before doubling their efforts on the task at hand.

  “Either way,” Abigail rested one hand on her hip, and the other rubbed her brow, “Dru wants to meet with us.”

  Bard nodded, and Abby continued, “If you guys could get Vlad, I would appreciate it. I’m going to grab us some food and tea from the galley.”

  Bard grimaced, “My appetite is shot.” The words passed his lips without check. Abigail’s eyes flashed and Bard immediately regretted the slight complaint. Kalak looked between them, noting the cross expression on Abigail’s face.

  “You’re going to eat whatever I put in front of you. All of you are going to eat. Get Vladimir and meet me in the Captain's quarters.” When she turned on her heels, her hair flew behind her. Even with most of the curls lost to thick frizz from the sea mist and battle, she was still beautiful. It was a warrior’s halo. The thought of losing Abigail crept into Bard’s mind. He clutched his chest as he felt the anxiety rise within him.

  “I’ll get Vlad. If he attacks you,” Kalak looked me up and down and shrugged, “Well….” He did not finish his thought before disappearing below decks with Abby. Bard assumed Vladimir was still in the same manic, aggressive state as before.

  The crew was exhausted. Bard took a moment before heading below decks to glance ov
er the progress and current damage. Most of the repairs were complete which was impressive considering it only being a day’s work. Bard found the woman Vladimir put in charge of the rowers.

  “Margaret,” the burly woman turned her attention to the harpooner when he spoke. “Keep the men moving. They’ll fall asleep otherwise. We should be back up with new orders within an hour or so.” She nodded in understanding, and Bard disappeared below decks to meet with the other officers.

  The bags were absent from beneath Drucilla’s eyes, but her fatigue was still apparent via the curve in her shoulders and back as she leaned over the map on her table. Her map was a prized possession. Her father left it for her. It was a souvenir of the old world, still showing what were now continental shelves surrounded by ocean. Each of her predecessors added new landmarks to the map throughout their time at sea. A dense black circle marked out where the oil rig was located.

  Vladimir was last to enter the room. He did not sit down. Everyone else pulled in close to the table except for him and Captain Drucilla. Dru hovered over the map with both palms pressed flat to the table. Vladimir could not stand still. He paced the room, back and forth, back and forth, until finally, he erupted.

  “Get on vith it. There is vork to do.”

  Drucilla sighed, “The kraken’s lair is here.” She jabbed a finger and the thick, messy, black line encircling the oil rig, “That’s if the information we received is valid. It shouldn’t be too long until we reach there.” Drucilla looked up, “How bad is the damage up above?”

  It was easy to recognize Drucilla’s internal state as she looked at her officers. Bard felt the same way and longed to pat her on the back. Drucilla felt guilt for cowering below decks while her men slaved on repairs. New lines etched into her features from the stress of our situation.

  “We have everything nearly repaired,” Bard said.

  Her eyebrows shot up, “That is better news than I expected,” as if not believing him she turned to Kalak. Kalak nodded. Drucilla looked at Vlad, “What is the status of our arsenal.”