by L G Rollins
Placing the tea bag in the mug he reached for the pot of hot water, always kept at the ready near the stove. Only that morning, Melissa had been regaling him with stories of merfolk and Pegasus, then she’d very suddenly pointed out that mercury can break the bonds of other metals and something about chemist using it to extract gold from ore.
It was undeniably random. More than that, as they spoke further it became quite apparent she was not regurgitating what she’d heard others say, but she was understanding what she’d been taught. It seemed Elise was not only positively influencing his daughter to respect others, but also teaching her a bit about chemistry along the way.
He poured the hot liquid and steam rose up from his cup and warmed his face, just as thoughts of that morning warmed the rest of him. He had been teaching Melissa to slide down the ladders as his crew did, when they’d come across Elise, bent over the table she’s requisitioned for a laboratory in the cargo hold, asleep.
Nathaniel’s first inclination had been to allow Elise to sleep, but Melissa had pointed out she’d only wake with a sore back and neck. When he conceded, his young girl had dashed over to the doctor and shook her shoulder.
Seeing Melissa, a smile lit Elise’s face. As beautiful as she had been sleeping, she was ever so much more so while smiling. Her unfettered happiness had shone like the bright morning rays over the ocean waves. After watching Melissa proudly display her new talent of sliding down ladders, Elise had insisted he teach her as well.
Nathaniel lifted the tea cup to his mouth and blew, tendrils of steam flew away from his face. Why did Elise insist on always coming across so unemotional? She was always lovely, but in that moment, smiling and open and expressive, she had been nothing short of breathtaking. Perhaps the trick was to accost her first thing in the morning before she had time to secure her professional demeanor in place.
“Captain!”
A deep bellow came from the dining hall. Who in the devil could that be? Nathaniel placed his cup down and turned. He knew the voice of every member of his crew. Was this a test subject come to make trouble? As far as he knew he hadn’t crossed anyone during their journey.
Nathaniel exited the kitchen and found himself facing a being who was most certainly neither crew nor test subject. The man was dressed like a pirate captain from centuries past. More unsettling than that, the man glowed blue and was slightly transparent.
“Captain,” the ghost barked as though giving orders. “You will turn this vessel around and high-tail it back to where you came from. These are my waters, and you be trespassing.”
Nathaniel’s brow ticked upward. He hated taking orders; it was one of the main reasons he’d left Her Majesty’s Navy. Ghost or no, he wasn’t going to take them now. “These oceans belong to no man. We will sail where we please.”
“You will leave, punitive bespawler.”
Bespawler? Well, that was a new one. Nathaniel had never been called that before. He wasn’t even completely sure he knew the definition. Something similar to an idiot who can’t help but drool as he spoke—at least, that’s what Nathaniel thought it meant.
The ghost flicked a hand, his fingers stretching out and up. Nathaniel had seen such movements before in only a few situations. All had involved Dark Magicians. Nathaniel lunged to the side. Ghosts did not employ Dark Magic, per say. It was more the other way around. Those who used Dark Magic were trying to mimic ghosts.
Sharp pain ripped across his upper arm and something whizzed by. It was a knife, flying from the kitchen behind him toward the ghost. Nathaniel grabbed his arm and felt warm blood against his fingertips. The knife continued to fly and the ghost deftly caught it. He didn’t hold the weapon as a man would, but the knife hung suspended in his closed fist.
“Let me be clear,” the ghost said. “I own these waters. For over two hundred years I have steered ships away from this area. A man has to protect his own after all. I’ll not let your fangled doohickey of a boat invade my property now.”
Nathaniel knew next to nothing about ghosts. Could one hit or injure a ghost? Nathaniel glanced inside the kitchen and found an empty kettle on a shelf near the doorway. Nathaniel grabbed hold and threw it at the ghost.
The kettle sailed clean through. However, in the brief moments the kettle passed through him, the knife in the ghost’s hand also began to fall. But the instant the kettle was behind the ghost, the knife snapped back up into his hand. The kettle hit the wall with a loud clatter. Apparently, throwing things would do Nathaniel no good. How did you defend yourself against a being who could hurt but not be hurt in return?
Clanks and bangs came from the kitchen. The ghost lifted his other hand, the one not carrying the knife. Nathaniel didn’t wait to see what would come sailing at him from behind this time. He jumped over the long table to his right and dropped to the floor, crouching behind a chair bolted to the floor.
“Cowering are ye? Cumberground!”
Low to the ground, Nathaniel could see the ghost from the waist down only. The ghost moved his legs as though walking, but his feet didn’t touch the ground. Instead of truly striding over the floor, the ghost floated toward the kitchen. “Hide if ye must. I’ll just find a few things to play with in here.”
Nathaniel kept his gaze trained on the ghost until he slipped into the kitchen and out of sight. Great. There were countless knives and whatnot in the kitchen. Nathaniel wasn’t about to give up and say they’d sail back to England. However, he wasn’t sure how he was going to convince a two-hundred year old ghost that they had every right to sail these waters as he had to haunt them.
“Captain?”
Now that was a voice he knew quite well. He’d only met Elise less than a month prior, but already hers was a voice he could pick out in a crowd, no matter how softly she spoke.
A loud bang echoed from the kitchen and Elise strode into the room, stopping just on the other side of the table from him. “Captain?”
Nathaniel stood. “Hello.”
A heavy frying pan sailed out the open kitchen door. Nathaniel wrapped an arm around Elise’s waist and pulled her over the table, dropping them both to the same spot on the floor he’d been occupying moments before. The pan hit the table above them and tumbled to the side.
Elise stared back at him, surprise widening her eyes, but otherwise her face was quite expressionless.
“I heard you’ve acquired something of a ghost problem,” she said, tone even.
He couldn’t help but smile at her calm matter. Being with one who was an expert at always appearing well composed did come in handy at times. “I somehow can’t image you declaring next that you may faint.”
“I’ve spent years working with the paranormal. I’m no expert on ghosts, but I can promise you I feel no inclination toward fainting.”
She may not know much, but she undoubtedly knew more than he did. “Do you feel any inclinations toward telling me what we had best do now?”
Elise held up a small ball, the outside of which was made of a stretched, sheer fabric.
“Is that your stocking?” he asked.
She gave the ball a gentle squeeze. It gave under the pressure, compressing under her fingers and bulging in other places. The fabric grew sheer enough in places he could make out a finely ground, pewter-colored powder inside.
“Consider it a quickly made Cold Apparition Incendiary,” she replied.
“A what?”
“You know. Similar to a Hot Apparition Incendiary, only this one doesn’t require heat. Which is providential, since I don’t have a detonator.” A large pot flew over their heads and crashed against the wall. They crouched closer together.
“Unfortunately, that description doesn’t help.”
Elise craned her neck, trying to see around the bolted chairs they hid behind without actually sticking her head out. “Ghosts only visit the living for two reason, generally.”
The crashing of cookware against the floor echoed from the kitchen. Why hadn’t Rowley or anyone else come
to investigate? Certainly this much noise was bound to wake the entire submarine. “Those reasons are?”
“To deliver a message.”
Nathaniel could hear the ghost swearing up a storm. “He certainly has done that.”
“Or to annoy.”
Something heavy banged against the kitchen floor. “I’d say he’s been effective in that area as well. How, then, do we get rid of him?”
Elise pulled back and faced Nathaniel. “If receiving his message isn’t enough, the best method is to annoy him back. Irritate him so much, he chooses to leave.”
The blue light which hung around the ghost grew stronger from the doorway. The ghost was returning with who-knew-what-kind of arsenal. “Isn’t there something a bit more guaranteed? Who’s to say this ghost doesn’t have a very high tolerance for irritation?”
“He can’t carry things through walls with him. He can either hold onto something, or phase closer to the ethereal and pass through things.”
Nathaniel nodded, he’d seen evidence of that when the kettle passed through the ghost. For a short time, he’d lost the ability to hold the knife and it had started to fall.
“Therefore,” Elise continued. “We need a room where there’s no metal for him to throw. If we run inside and shut the door tight, he can’t bring in anything with him.”
The ghost appeared once more, pots hovering beside his torso, several long knives suspended within his hands and forearms. He looked like some demonic torturer from a mythic legend.
“He can only throw metal?” Nathaniel asked, eying the many weapons the ghost carried. He’d thrown heavy objects with incredible force thus far; just image what he could do with all the objects he had now.
“Only things that would respond to a magnetic pull.” Elise’s voice was low and he could feel her leaning in closer. “Once he’s in the room with us, I break this open and throw it at him.” She held up the fist-sized ball.
Then what would happen? Nathaniel wasn’t sure, but the ghost was stalking up closer to them and there wasn’t time to plan further. “On my mark, run for the kitchen.”
“The kitchen?” Elise’s voice rose. “But there are dozens of things—”
He wrapped a hand around hers. “Trust me.”
Elise nodded her head in silent agreement. Nathaniel slowly reached behind himself, picking up the large pot discarded on the floor. He’d need a shield; regrettably, this was the best he had. The ghost moved toward Nathaniel’s right, each step deliberate. He meant to cut them off from the door leading into the hall and the rest of the submarine.
“Ready,” Nathaniel whispered. Crouched close to him, Nathaniel could feel Elise tense, ready to spring.
If the ghost thought he could best Nathaniel aboard his own submarine, he was sadly mistaken. The ghost, no doubt, believed he was cornering them by blocking their exit. But if all they needed was a room with no metal, there was only one place aboard the iron Gearhound that fit that description, and the old ghost just opened their path.
“Now!”
They both sprang up. The ghost howled and metal banged against metal. He was readying his arsenal to fly. Nathaniel kept himself between the ghost and Elise, lifting the large pot up as a shield. Something smacked into it, then flew to the side. A fork sliced by his pant leg, but didn’t cut deep.
Elise crossed through the kitchen doorway and ducked behind the large counter.
“Go right,” Nathaniel ordered.
She obeyed and a knife flew by him, striking the counter where her head had been.
Off to the right were several barrels and bags and behind them a small door in the floor. Nathaniel tugged it open, helped Elise down, then jumped in himself. Slamming the square door shut above them, Nathaniel kept hold of the ring on the underside. With no lights in the space, they were plunged into complete darkness.
“Get me something long and thick.” The door opened up; if he put something long enough through the ring, perhaps it would be enough to stop the ghost from simply opening the door and throwing knives down at them.
There was no light in the small cellar, but he could hear Elise scrambling around. “What’s down here that would work?” she asked.
What was there that could hold the door closed? It would have to be something not made of metal. The door to the cellar itself was wood, but the rings were metal and could probably be lifted by the ghost.
Except . . . Nathaniel knew this submarine inside and out. Every detail. Every alloy used. “What about tin? Can he move tin?”
Elise stilled. “So long as there isn’t any iron or nickel mixed in, no. Tin doesn’t respond to a magnetic field.”
Nathaniel let go of the ring. “The cellar door rings are pure, unadulterated, cheap tin.” He reached out for her, took hold of her elbow, and pulled her closer to him. “I think that’s the first stroke of good luck we’ve had so far.”
“Well, let’s not depend on our luck holding. We need to be far enough away from the door that it draws him deep in here.”
Nathaniel guided her gently back. “There are barrels on either side and shelves along the back wall,” he explained, lessening the chance she would accidentally bump into any of them. It wasn’t as though she would be familiar with the space as he was.
Together they slowly inched away from the cellar door above their heads, but neither of them turned their backs on it. Reaching a hand behind himself, Nathaniel felt for the shelves. Hard, rough wood against his hand told him they’d reached it.
More bangs echoed above them in the kitchen. The cellar door rattled, but didn’t lift.
“Help me with a couple barrels and we can duck behind them.” Nathaniel whispered. In the complete darkness, it felt wrong to speak loud.
“We shouldn’t need to.” Elise also spoke low. “There isn’t anything for him to throw in here.”
They stood, shoulder to shoulder, watching the cellar door that neither could see.
“That ball of power will do the trick?” he asked.
“Everything I’ve read says it probably will.”
Probably? “But you aren’t certain?”
“I study werewolves, Captain. Not ghosts.”
Blue light filled the space surrounding the cellar door. The ghost slowly sunk in, feet appearing first. It looked as though the ghost was walking down the stairs, taking each step at a time. Though, like before, his feet remained several inches above the wooden flooring.
“You should call me Nathaniel.” He pulled Elise slightly behind himself. “If we’re going to defy the fury of the after-world together, we should probably use our Christian names while doing so.”
“Call me Elise, then. But I don’t think it’s going to help get rid of our guest.”
The ghost floated the rest of the way down into the cellar, illuminating it with his blue glow. The ghost reached out his hands, light pulsing, but nothing flew toward him. Nathaniel allowed himself a small smug grin; potatoes didn’t give a hoot for magnetism.
“We’ve heard your message,” he spoke firm, his voice echoing off the narrow confines of the cellar. “As Captain of this ship, I order you to disembark.” The ghost was dressed as a captain as well, perhaps he would respond to orders and rank.
“Only if you agree to me terms, and tantwivy it back to land.”
Elise went up on tip-toe and whispered soft in his ear. “I need him closer.”
He gave her a subtle nod to let her know he’d heard. They only had one . . . whatever she’d called it. An easy shot from closer range was much less risky.
Nathaniel crossed his arms over his chest, and lifted his chin. “Tell me to my face to turn tail and run.”
The ghost’s expression darkened, as did the light he emanated, and stalked toward them. “Young pup, you know nothing abo’—”
Elise threw the ball underhand. It sailed up, a thin stream of powder cascaded out the now open top, like the tail of a shooting star.
The ball smacked against the floor, and dark
powder plumed upward at the ghost’s feet.
“What the devil?” The ghost spun around. The powder swirled around him, and crawled up his legs. Swearing like the sailor he once was, the ghost batted at the dark powder, only to have it stick to his hands and elbows. He scratched at it, but the powder only continued to inch across his frame, slowly encompassing him.
“Blasted scalawags.” He looked up at Nathaniel and Elise. “Heed my warning, or it’ll be watery graves for all of ye.” Much quicker than he’d snuck into the cellar, the ghost dropped through the floor.
Once again all was black.
lise ran a finger over the cracked edge of her supper plate. It had been nearly a week since the ghost pinned her and Nathaniel down in the kitchen and threatened their lives.
Since then, not a day had passed where the ghost hadn’t left at least one of them a small reminder of his displeasure: both their rooms had been ransacked more than once, several of Nathaniel’s maps and documents for navigation had been slashed, Elise’s scientific workbook had been carried into the furnace and several pages burned.
How the ghost had managed that last one, Elise still was unsure, seeing that the workbook had no metal in it, neither in the spine nor in the binding.
Not only was the ghost angry, but he was clearly as creative as he was determined. Elise picked up her fork and tried to force another bite of dry biscuit and mutton down. If only they had some kumquats. They were her favorite fruit, and were only available a few weeks a year.
The biscuit and mutton did nothing to calm her nerves. She let out a noiseless sigh and rested her fork back on the table. As of yet, the ghost had yet to do anything truly devastating. They could always tidy up their rooms again. Nathaniel had pieced together his papers and Elise could still remember what she’d documented regarding their travel so far and was able to re-write it.
But, how long until that changed? Suppose the ghost escalated? Or tried another attack?
Elise glanced at Melissa, sitting across from her at the long table. The young girl had scarcely taken breath the entire meal, she was too busy talking. The ghost clearly had an understanding of what aboard belonged to Nathaniel and what belonged to Elise. As of yet, he’d touched nothing that wasn’t directly linked to one of them. It had made them both wonder, would the ghost go after Melissa?
