The engineer had used more than two hundred men to make changes to the ship. Large parts of the rigging, oars and weaponry were cannibalized in order to build a system by which the monstrous ship could be carried by an army of loyal men.
Today, the master engineer had ordered a party of three hundred men to remove the remaining water from the lake so that he could make the final adjustments to the base of the ship.
It reassured my master to watch the men work with such loyal efficiency as they removed the water by hand held bucket.
By the end of the day, the senior engineer approached my master.
“We are ready master.”
“Excellent. We leave at once.”
*
It had been three weeks since we had first started carrying the Godforsaken ship. The land was terribly dry and unforgiving. I was starting to question the wisdom of my master’s decision to naively cross an alien land in the hope that it was a narrow body of land with a northern ocean nearby.
But still we pressed on through both day and night with carrying teams rotating constantly. We numbered fifteen hundred men, and it required nearly a thousand at any one time to lift the ship. Teams of ten on each carrying oar would rotate further down every half an hour until they reached the end of the ship and were thus allowed a break.
In doing so, each man would obtain a four-hour break throughout a twenty four hour period.
By the end of the third day and the death of ten men who literally pushed their bodies to death, my master realized that carrying the ship through the night was going to be impossible.
The days continued on, and we traveled a little less each day.
By the end of the second week we no longer had enough healthy men to rotate the carrying shifts through the day. For a while the men succeeded in maintaining the ship’s movement with a twenty-minute break in the middle of the day. Then, their ability to carry it became less, and they were no longer able to carry the ship throughout the entire daylight hours.
By the third week, my master accepted that the ship could only realistically be moved for four hours each day. The rest of the time the men would be required to gather provisions and prepare the land in front of them, which often required the felling of many trees to allow the movement of the great ship.
As we reached the start of the fifth week, our numbers had dwindled to the point that the entire ship could only be moved every other day and even then for only a matter of hours.
With my master’s encouragement, the men were able to maintain this effort until the eighth week when they were no longer able to move the ship more than twenty or so feet in the day.
“We’ll rest here for a week if we have to,” my master said. “You have all honored me with your effort, but to go on further at this pace would be to ask for failure. We shall rebuild our health and then continue. Surely, the sea must be close. I can smell the salt in the air.”
I have an unusually sensitive nose, and I was certain my master was merely encouraging the men.
The men rested for an entire week and then commenced again.
But the rest time hadn’t improved their condition.
If anything, it had made things worse. Prior to the break, men had continued to work with injuries. Now, those injuries had been allowed to fester.
Over the course of the next week, more people died and many more became no longer capable of carrying heavy weights.
Again, my master ordered a meeting with his most trusted advisers and again, he requested my attendance – although for what purpose, I did not know. I certainly didn’t have any expertise in the area to offer.
This time, he did not ask for our opinion on how to solve the problem, but instead demanded each person to identify equipment and materials on board the ship that could be discarded.
It then took another week to decide on which provisions to discard and which equipment could be done without.
This time our efforts appeared to have been worthwhile, and the ship continued to move in a northern direction for a few hours each day. But within a few days we were back to removing more items from the ship’s complement.
It was on our ill-fated crew’s eighty-ninth day that, despite my master’s encouragement and his orders, the ship was no longer capable of being moved.
It sunk into the mud-soaked land.
Each day, she seemed to rest lower, her new master gaining an unmovable strangle hold.
This time, the Mahogany Ship had found her final resting place.
*
I was prepared to die so that my master may succeed, but had no intention of leaving my master to ruin.
Over the next three weeks it became overly apparent to everyone involved that the new land, rich in beauty as it was sparse and desolate, had no means of providing for the remaining men. Working parties had been sent out in all directions to fend for themselves.
As each leader returned, only one thing was certain.
The crew of the Mahogany Ship must abandon her and disperse if anyone was to survive. And survive we must, because we had discovered the most powerful weapon the world had ever known. If only we could reach our homeland.
“The master wants to speak with you,” said the chief navigator.
“Just me?” I asked.
“Just you.”
“Where is he?”
“In his master cabin – where else?” The navigator shook his head disloyally. “He spends hours each day inside there, just looking at it – you know? I think it’s driven him quite mad. Power does that, you know, and we’ve all witnessed just how much power that thing yields.”
Ordinarily I would have reprimanded even someone as senior as the chief navigator for attacking my master. But I could see what was happening and knew that now was not the time to overplay my master’s authority. I could feel that there would be mutiny before all persons succumbed to starvation.
“I’ll go to him immediately.”
I climbed the steps up and into the master cabin at the aft of the grand ship. It was larger than the average house back home and fit for a king. In this case, it housed my master, a would-be king, and wielder of the most powerful weapon mankind had ever built.
“Rat Catcher – have you come alone?” my master asked immediately.
“Yes, Master.”
“Good. Very good.” In the middle of the room stood the magnificent weapon, its sparkling gems glistening in the dim light of a candle. My master spoke, but at no time did his eyes look away from the evil weapon that had driven us to our current state. “Five weeks ago, I believe every single man aboard this ship would have happily given their lives if I asked them to. But as you know, a lot has changed in that time. Hungry men will do many things they never would have previously dreamed of if they are hungry enough.”
“Master…”
“Wait… I’m not finished. I cannot maintain command of the Mahogany Ship for much longer, and I cannot risk losing my master’s great weapon. So I will tell you what must be done.”
“You will always be my master!” I protested.
“Of course I will. You always were a fool, and a foolish man alone dies serving a master who cannot provide for him basic sustenance.” My maser’s hand almost touched the precious stone, but then withdrew it as though it were poison.
“What would you have me do, Master?”
“I need to disband my crew. Even fools must understand that this new land, sparsely inhabited, is incapable of providing for the men in such close proximity. I have broken my crew into eight groups, each under a different leader’s command. I will send them in all directions in search of food and help. I will remain here to guard the weapon – I cannot even imagine the consequence of its power falling into the hands of our master’s enemies.”
“And for me?”
“I have a different plan.”
Homeward Bound, September 1, 1442.
In the early hours of the next morning, well before the sun had risen, I le
ft with another seven of my master’s most trusted men. We were on our way back to the southern land where we had arrived so long ago.
We moved quickly, hindered only by meagre provisions and no personal belongings, with the exception of one scroll on which I was to continue this journal in the hope of one day retracing our steps.
At the end of the first day, I stopped and made some notes in this very book. It is the one that my master gave me so that I could record our journey and so one day return to retrieve the weapon for the homeland.
I had pleaded with my master to let me stay by his side, but in the end he ordered me. And so I now obey his wishes.
“Should we try and bring the weapon back with us?” I had asked.
“No, you won’t be able to protect it,” my master had responded. “The rowboat may sink, and if it does then the weapon will be lost forever. Worse still, you may be captured by any one of my master’s enemies. If that were to happen and the weapon lost, I would be the one responsible for the collapse of my master’s reign.”
“Then, should we carry it closer to the shore where we first landed?”
“No, then someone else may come across it. Leave the weapon here, and I will guard it so long as I’m alive.” My master had then handed me the scroll and said, “Take this. I have made the first entry in it – our position in relation to those mountains in the north, the river to the south, and the desert to the west.”
I had taken the book and held it as if it were the most valuable possession I’d ever had.
“Keep your entries clear, and make them often so that you alone may one day return with enough men to fetch the weapon. Don’t fail me in this, Rat Catcher.”
My master had tears in his eyes as he spoke. As do I, now that I make my own entries in this journal.
The days went by and we continued to move quickly. I made entries in my journal often, until we reached the shore where our wooden rowboat had been deserted.
During that time, the weather had changed considerably for the colder.
“The seasons are changing – we must find a way north before we freeze here,” I told my men, of whom I was now master.
“Of course, Master. The rowboat will be ready within the hour.”
“Good – we must complete our journey so that we can return in time to save our master.”
All eight of us then loaded the rowboat and started our long journey home.
The sea was rough and demanded all the strength and intellect we could muster not to capsize. After three days of continuous rowing we reached the southern tip of the land. A number of strange currents ran in both directions and it took us a further three days to finally round the point and head north.
On the first beach that appeared accessible I gave the order to land so that we were able to find fresh water and resupply.
Our party found that we were able to row in a northern direction almost continuously for months on end. Regularly beaching the rowboat for a day or two – just enough time to find fresh water and scavenge for food – sustained us.
We never stayed very long on any of the beaches, fear telling us that the dark colored locals may be violent. More often than not, the native people appeared more frightened than anything else and kept their distance. Even so, I had no intention of remaining long enough for a physical confrontation. The eight of us would make a poor army and would be vulnerable on land.
After three months, we reached the top of the massive landmass and were once again able to head west where surely our homeland must be.
We navigated by the stars as best we could, but none of us could recognize much of what we saw. I alone knew that we must travel further north, but had no way of knowing just how far that was. We rowed hard, driven by the fanatical desire not to betray our master’s trust.
Almost three years later, I and the other seven men aboard entered the grand harbor which we had once called home, now so long ago.
Longjiang, January 1446
I stepped off the rowboat at the busy port I once called home.
I felt no fear.
My boat was only one of over a hundred inside the harbor, and no one looking at us could have imagined where we had come from.
Except that the front of the boat was still ordained with the name of my master’s ship.
Barloc Wikea.
“You there – who is in charge?” It was one of the harbor guards.
“I am,” I replied.
“And who are you?”
“I do not know what my father named me, but my master has always called me Rat Catcher.”
“Then who is your master and where is he now?” The man was being intentionally rude.
“My master is Barloc…”
The man didn’t let me finish.
“And where has Barloc gone? He left with three of our greatest ships – there is an order to have him executed upon his return for treason.”
“Treason!” I complained. “He was the emperor’s most loyal servant.”
“Then where is he?”
“His ship was damaged in a far off land and he has remained to guard its most awesome treasure, which he has captured in the name of the emperor.”
The man started to laugh.
“And you expect me to believe this!”
I was about to run, but someone had already gripped my wrists and bound them with rope.
All eight of us were taken to a prison until our fate could be decided.
Three days later a man entered the prison and advised us that we were all to be executed the following morning for treason.
“But we are loyal servants of the emperor. Please, we come bearing news of Barloc’s great achievements and to guide a ship to retrieve the greatest of treasures,” I pleaded.
“You have been away a long time, haven’t you?”
Unable to decide what was expected, I remained silent.
“We were losing so many men to battles upon distant shores that we were no longer able to keep our enemies from attacking our cities. The emperor decreed that his navy may no longer leave the harbor.”
“No, but it must. Within the treasure that my master has claimed for the emperor, lies a weapon so powerful that it will yield unstoppable strength to its owner. I have seen it with my own eyes destroy an entire ship with seconds.”
“That is not my concern. I am here to inform you that tomorrow morning you will be executed.”
The man was obdurate.
That night I called for a guard. The man appeared young, maybe less than sixteen years old and of all the sentries I’d seen, this one appeared most ill at ease around the prisoners.
I relayed the story of our adventure to the young man. Where we had been, and what we had seen – and how my master had stayed with the stricken ship to protect the treasure so that the emperor could rule for eternity.
The boy tried his best to explain that he couldn’t help us escape, even if he had wanted to.
He has gone now, but when he returns in a few hours, I will shove these writings into his hand and make him promise to do what I could not, and return for my master.
I only hope that these words will one day lead you to find my master and return the weapon to the emperor.
Sincerely, Rat Catcher.
Chapter Nineteen
The large and cumbersome Chinook had been replaced by the much smaller and agile Bell UH-1Y Venom, AKA, Super Huey. With Tom at the controls, Sam sat comfortably as the craft flew over the Victorian town of Castlemaine and on towards Echuca, where Aliana and his father were waiting for them. They were going to follow Rat Catcher’s original map, from the Southern Ocean all the way back to where the Mahogany Ship had been finally destroyed.
Sam found them sitting by an old, beat up Holden Utility, parked on the edge of town.
“What took you so long?” his father asked.
Sam ignored the question and walked up to Aliana. “I’m sorry to leave you with my dad, but I couldn’t risk Rodriguez
finding out I’d escaped.”
For a moment, he thought she might slap him, and even braced himself for the pain.
And then she wrapped her long, slender arms around his neck, and kissed him. “If you ever do that to me again, don’t expect to see me here when you return.”
“I won’t, I promise.”
James loaded the equipment into the helicopter and the team of four carried on towards the Barmah National Park along the Victorian border.
From the air, Sam remembered the story Jie Qiang told of Barloc’s men having attempted to carry the massive ship all the way from the southern coast, in an attempt to cross the enormous land mass and gain latitude. He tried to picture the monstrous ship being dragged over the crest of the hills, and for a moment, pictured creeks and troughs in the mountains as though they were possibly caused by the movement of the ship.
“Let’s have a look at this map,” his father said. “You spent nearly six months in Longjiang, trying to find a lead about this map, and now, you’re telling me one of our enemies found it first?”
“Yes, I know. Jie Qiang told me that he’d heard you talking to someone from his town. It was only then that he realized just how valuable this map really was.”
“Right, well I hope you didn’t pay him too much for it. After all, it’s practically useless, without this map, too,” James said as he pulled out his great, great, Grandmother Rose’s map.
“Let’s hope they’re both right.”
Tom smiled as his eyes skimmed over the map. “I just can’t believe there isn’t a supermarket, or shopping mall, built over the top of it.”
They flew over a number of rivers, including the great Murray-Darling, which Sam imagined had moved its banks many times in the centuries that had passed since the Mahogany Ship was carried through this area.
Still he followed the map, until no more markers were left.
The Mahogany Ship (Sam Reilly Book 2) Page 18
