by Alex Bledsoe
Besides, there was no doubt Marteen was still there. He seemed to be running through an unending repertoire of bawdy sea songs:
They were humping on the quarterdeck
And humping on the stairs
You couldn’t see the tiller
For the pile of pubic hairs…
I put the pillow over my head and tried to stuff it into my ears. How many verses did this song have?
Earlier, when we’d come on deck after Marteen’s first interrogation, I begged off from Clift’s questions, claiming I needed time to think. After the revelation about Dorsal Finn, that was certainly true. Clift said, low so no one else would hear, “I think if my ship is haunted, Mr. LaCrosse, I have a right to know.”
“Look, I can’t answer that. Really. Maybe I dreamed the whole thing, or I’ve gotten smacked in the head too many times. So if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go sit somewhere and try to think of something we missed.” When Jane started to follow me, I said sharply, “Alone. Okay?”
Neither was happy, and I couldn’t blame them, but I was too tired after the day’s battles to deal with it. I found a place by the tiller where I could see the Bloody Angel across the way, lit by lanterns. Shadows moved across the deck as occupying crewmen from the Cow passed in front of the light. There had to be something we’d missed.
We did have one actual, physical clue: that stack of medical crates taken from a variety of ships. Clift had planned to send them back to Blefuscola, but suddenly I wanted to check them before they left in the morning. I got Duncan to row me over, since my shoulder wasn’t up to it, and he lit the lamps in the captain’s cabin so I could see.
“What are you looking for?” he asked.
“The reason why these were all that they took. Think about it: They had undefended ships loaded with goods and money, and they took only the medicine chests. Why?”
“They were old and sick?”
“Old, yes. But did they fight like they were sick?”
“Well, no.” He scowled, thinking.
I opened several of the chests. All appeared completely intact. I began removing the contents of one, pausing to examine each item. There were knives and razors for surgery, irons for cauterizing wounds, pliers for pulling teeth (and, according to Jane, other things), scissors for bandages, needles and line for stitching wounds, and in carefully organized slots, various dried substances that could be combined and reconstituted into medicines.
I pulled one bottle from the box and held it to the light: poxbinder, an herb used to deaden injuries so they could be repaired. It took barely a pinch of it to be effective; slightly more than a pinch would ensure the injured party had no subsequent worries about anything. It was expensive, and could be found only along the tree line of the Galick Mountains. Its drying and preparation were a fiercely guarded secret, and only a licensed buyer could purchase it. That explained why the bottle was so small, and held so little actual poxbinder.
“I don’t suppose you know,” I mused aloud to Duncan, “how common it is to carry poxbinder in a medicine chest?”
“I’ve never been on a ship before,” he said. “And luckily, so far I’ve never needed to see the inside of a medicine chest.”
“Help me check. See how many of these have poxbinder in them.”
With Duncan’s help, it didn’t take long. They all did, some in tiny vials smaller than my pinkie. Many shared some of the other contents as well, but poxbinder was the only thing common to all of them. It might be a clue, or just as likely a coincidence. Because even if I was right, why would Marteen go to all this trouble just to collect poxbinder?
“Did you find what you wanted?” Duncan asked after I’d silently stared at the bottles for a long time.
“What? Oh, yeah. Let’s put things back like we found them.” As we returned the boxes to the stack, I asked casually, “Do you believe in ghosts, Duncan?”
“Ghosts? No. I mean, I’ve never seen one. Some people told me the ghost of my mother roamed the dunes looking for my father, just like in the play, but now I know that’s not true. Why?”
“Oh, I was just thinking about the play, too,” I lied as dismissively as I could. No sense making him think I was a lunatic.
“Do you think the captain of this ship knows anything about my father?”
“Definitely. The trick is getting him to talk. And the better trick is getting him to tell the truth.”
“Will you tell me what he says?”
“Of course. And if your father’s out there, we’ll keep looking for him.”
“And if he’s dead?”
I shrugged. “Then my job is done. I report back to my client.”
“My mother.” He said it flatly, with neither disdain nor affection.
“Yes.”
After that, he was silent. As we approached the Red Cow, I scanned the rail for any sign of Dorsal Finn. I wondered if I’d ever see him again.
I must’ve dozed, because when I tried to shift my position, every joint in my body protested, especially the cut on my shoulder. When I was Duncan’s age, I never woke up achy after a fight. Marteen was still singing in the background. Then from inside the room, a familiar voice said, “Your pardon, Cap’n.”
The pillow was still over my head. I slowly pulled it away. I knew what I’d see. I also knew the cabin door was locked and there was no other way into the room.
Dorsal stood against the wall, hands behind his back, one foot twisting on the floor. He looked like any other kid caught in a lie, except his lie crossed the veil between life and death.
I studied him closely as I sat up. He looked exactly like a little boy. The light from the flickering lantern fell on his skin, and when he moved his foot, I heard his callused toes scrape faintly on the floor.
I said at last, “You’re a ghost, aren’t you?”
Eyes downcast, he nodded.
The urge to try to touch him, to see if my hand would go through him, was overwhelming. I thought about all the times I’d seen him dodge around people or slip through doors just before they closed. I thought he was just being discreet or sneaky. Now I realized he was hiding his true nature. “You could’ve told me.”
He shrugged.
“Okay, so you’re dead. Why are you still here, then?” He looked up and met my eyes. There was nothing otherworldly in his gaze. “Cap’n Clift needs me. Especially with Cap’n Jane around. He feels like me dying was his fault. Like he should’ve paid more attention to how sick I was. But it wasn’t nobody’s fault, things just happened. I know that. When he realizes that, I won’t need to watch him anymore.”
I nodded. That made as much sense as anything. “But he can’t see you and I can. Why is that?”
“I didn’t show myself to you. You just saw me. You must’ve crossed the line once yourself. You died, and then came back. Otherwise, you’d never have seen me, either, unless I’d wanted you to.”
“Yeah,” I said, and felt a tingle in the scar over my heart.
“Besides, you’ve met this lot. If I showed myself to any of the crew who knew me, I’d scare them to death. They’d go screaming over the side like parlor maids with their hair on fire. You just thought I was the cabin boy. I missed that. Cap’n,” he added deferentially.
I nodded, then yawned. My catnap had been a tease. I rubbed my eyes, and when I opened them again, Dorsal wasn’t alone.
I jumped and hopped back on the bunk. Now a little girl, younger than him, stood beside him. She wore a simple sleep gown and had curly brown hair. In one hand, she carried the same doll Jane had fished from the bilge on the monster ship.
“This is Aggie,” Dorsal said. “Her father was Captain Verlander of the Vile Howl.”
My mouth was dry, but I managed, “Hello.”
“You look like my daddy,” the girl said. “He has a beard, too.”
Like Dorsal, there was absolutely nothing about her to give away her supernatural status. “I’m sure he’s very handsome,” I said.
; “I can’t find him,” she said sadly, and looked down.
“The monster on that ship killed him,” Dorsal said. “And her, too.”
A chill that came from somewhere other than a fear of ghosts ran through me.
“The mean captain found me hiding,” Aggie said. “He made me go down into the bad ship. He told me my mommy and daddy were there, but they weren’t, at least not anymore. The monster ate me.” She paused. “It hurted a lot.”
Her round little face was impassive as she said this. It made the horror of her words that much more vivid.
“She’s too angry and scared to move on,” Dorsal said.
“I can imagine,” I said. “I’d be angry, too.”
“She has a favor to ask.”
He nudged the girl. She asked, “Is that the mean captain I hear singing?”
“Yes.”
Without looking at me, she said, “Can you kill him for me?”
I was speechless for a moment. Then I said, “No, not in cold blood. I’m not that kind of guy. He is, but I’m not.”
She nodded, as if it was the answer she expected. “I’ll just wait for him to die, then.”
“Why?” I asked.
“When he dies, I can hurt him. I was innocent. He was evil. Over here-” Then she looked up and smiled, a sweet expression made terrifying by her words. “-I have more power than he does. I can hurt him back. Forever.”
I swallowed hard. I really didn’t need to know this much about how the universe worked. I’d already encountered a goddess masquerading as human and a face-changing sorceress. That was far too much cosmic insight for a simple guy like me.
Then I had an idea.
“Look… Aggie… I can’t kill him for you. It’s not that I don’t believe he deserves to die, because I do. But it’s not my place to do it. Can you understand that?”
She nodded.
“But… he knows something I need to know. He won’t tell me. I’m not sure we can make him; he’s pretty tough. But I think you can.”
Aggie wiped her nose as if it could still run. “How?”
“Just go see him and tell him what you told me. That you’re waiting for him, and what you plan to do to him when he does cross over. Can you do that?”
She looked at Dorsal. He nodded. She looked back at me and said, “Yes.”
“And afterwards… I think it’ll be okay if you go on to your father and mother. I know they’re waiting for you.” I didn’t, but under the circumstances, it seemed a little enough fib.
“Okay,” she said.
Dorsal looked at me. “Thank you, Cap’n.”
“You can go, too, you know.”
He shrugged. “Maybe.”
“Captain Clift would want you to. He’d be very sad if he thought he was the reason you stuck around.”
His little face creased with concentration as he thought about that. At last he said, “I’ll ponder on it.”
“Wait a minute first, though,” I said. “Marteen’s got a bag on his head. I want him to be able to see you.”
I stood, and they scooted away from the door just like any real, corporeal people would do. I went past the sleeping guard and into the captain’s dayroom. When he heard the door, Marteen stopped singing.
“Well, what brilliant trick do you plan to try now?” he said mockingly. If possible, he smelled even worse. “Or do you have a request for my next number?”
I yanked the hood off his head without a word and went back out.
“An attack of conscience?” he yelled after me. “You’ll never make it as a pirate, you know that? You’re soft as a cookie fresh from the goddamned oven, that’s what you are!”
I went back into Jane’s cabin. It was empty.
I sat on the edge of my bunk and waited.
It didn’t take long.
Chapter Twenty-six
Wendell Marteen screamed in true, pure terror. There was no secondary emotion, like anger or frustration. It was the kind of scream that gave nightmares to the people who heard it, as their imaginations tried to conjure the source. I knew the source, and it still sent chills through me.
I left my cabin just as the guard snapped awake and jumped to his feet. He looked around, blinking in confusion. “What was that?”
“Your prisoner,” I said.
“Oh, crap,” he said, and preceded me into the dayroom. Marteen’s demeanor was entirely, completely different. All the arrogance and defensiveness were gone, replaced by the kind of gallows terror you see only in men who know they are about to die. “Please, don’t kill me,” he whimpered when he saw us, his words rushing out all at once. “I’ll tell you anything, I’ll take you to Black Edward, just please, don’t kill me, I’ll do anything you want, please, I don’t want to die.”
Clift burst into the room, followed by Jane. Others gathered just outside, all summoned by the unearthly shriek. “What’s going on?” the captain demanded.
Marteen bent forward, bowing in as much supplication as his bonds allowed. “Please, Captain Clift, don’t let them take me, I’ll help you, I’ll gladly go to Remy’s prison, just don’t let me die!”
Clift looked at me; I shrugged.
“He was alone in here when he screamed, Cap’n,” the guard volunteered. “Mr. LaCrosse came in with me.”
“I’ll tell you where Edward Tew is,” Marteen said in a tiny voice. “I’ll tell you where his trea sure is, just don’t let me die. Please, promise me you won’t kill me.”
Clift quickly closed the door on the watchers. He glared down at Marteen and demanded, “What do you think will happen if I do?”
Marteen stopped talking, and for a moment, I was afraid he’d even stopped breathing. Then he sagged against his ropes and began to cry. It was oddly touching, and I was annoyed at the sympathy I suddenly felt for the guy.
Jane looked questioningly at me. I touched my lips and winked, a signal that I’d fill her in later. She nodded slightly in acknowledgment, then pushed in front of Clift and snarled at Marteen, “All right, prove you mean what you say. What heading should we take?”
“Southwest,” Marteen said through tears. “Straight due southwest. Bring me a map, and I’ll show you. We’re about eight days away. It’s an island with a pair of mountains, and a long sandy peninsula on one end.”
“And Black Edward is there?” she pressed.
“Yes, I swear. Now, please, promise you won’t kill me.”
Clift smacked him on the side of the head. “I will if you don’t stop blubbering.”
Marteen immediately fell silent. His lower lip trembled like a child’s, and tears cut through the dirt on his face.
Clift then turned his full authority on the guard. “Your name is Carrisimo, right?”
“Yes, sir,” he said, standing straight.
“You heard what this worm-riddled piss pot said about Black Edward Tew’s treasure, right?”
“Yes, sir.”
Clift stepped nose to nose with the younger man. “You breathe a word of that to anyone other than the people in this room, and I’ll have your balls for castanets, understand?”
Carrisimo gulped. “Yes, sir.”
“Good. Now cut him loose, but don’t take your eyes off him.” Clift went the short distance into his cabin.
As Carrisimo followed his orders, Jane sidled up to me and said, “What the hell did you do?”
“Nothing, I wasn’t even in here.”
“Bullshit, I know that smug look of yours.”
Before I could say anything else, Clift returned with a handful of maps. Marteen was rubbing his wrists where the ropes had bitten into them. Clift unrolled one map, held it in front of Marteen, and said, “Show me.”
Marteen unhesitatingly pointed to a tiny dot among a cluster of other dots. “Here. He’s here.”
“Now show me on this map,” Clift said, switching them quickly. Marteen immediately pointed out the same island. Clift made him do it twice more on two additional maps before he was satisfie
d that Marteen wasn’t making the whole thing up. “How long has he been there?”
Marteen laughed ironically. “Twenty years. For the last fifteen, you couldn’t get him on a ship again if you chained him up and had a whole brigade to drag him.”
“Why?” I asked.
Marteen looked at me, swallowed hard, and pointed at Jane. “Because Black Edward has that thing she said you and Captain Clift have. A conscience. He was so horrified by what he did to secure his treasure that he swore never to sail again.”
“What did he do?” I asked.
“He sank his own ship, with all his crew on board,” Jane said. “After he took the treasure off. Didn’t he?”
Marteen nodded.
At dawn, the Bloody Angel left for Blefuscola with a hold full of chained prisoners and about a third of the Red Cow ’s crew to mind them. It said something that our ship didn’t seem significantly less crowded. We then returned to the monster’s vessel, which waited in the sunrise as innocent as a child opening a birthday present.
“Bring Marteen up here,” Clift said. “I want the son of a bitch to see this.”
We smelled him before he appeared. He’d been manacled again, and Carrisimo escorted him with a knife to his back. He moved heavily, like the life had already gone out of him. He watched impassively as the ship’s largest ballista was positioned and the bowstring was winched back. The head of the bolt was lit, and when the fire was burning well, the gunner shot it over to the monster’s ship. It struck the middle of the empty deck and stuck there, the flames slowly catching. Two more bolts joined it, and a fourth was being prepared when Clift said, “That’ll do it.”
And it did. The ship was fully aflame now, and all at once, the monster’s tentacles burst from the water and tried to somehow fight the fire. Big bursts of water came from the creature’s siphons. It snuffed some of the blaze, but by then, the hull was compromised.
With one last desperate effort, the monster rolled the ship belly-up, trying to use its own pulpy weight to drive the burning vessel into the water. We saw how it was attached to the bottom: the huge round head was encased in a net, fastened to the hull so that the animal’s mouth was forced against the hatch. The ship sank, taking the monster with it, and leaving only a roiling sea of foam, black ink, and blue monster blood.
