There are commotions and disturbances in the hallways. My sense of something being wrong grows more palpable.
Stewards now stand by with torches alight in the Dining Hall. They remind me of the citizens of Graz, in their keen and alert manner.
“Why all the torches, Captain?”
Captain Stewart appears flustered for a moment.
“Bup, bup, bup, it’s an old tradition we recently started. Buppity, bup, bup, er, yes. Harumph.”
I smell a peculiar odour.
“What is that peculiar smell, Captain Stewart?”
“Harumph! Ooh, what smell? Er, yes, hmmf. Steward!”
Two stewards run up and dispel the vapours with large rattan fans.
Mr. Temperance brightly enjoins Captain Stewart.
“I recently crossed the Atlantic on your sister ship, the ‘Triumph,’ Captain.“
“Hmm? Er, what, yes, that's a terrible shame about the old girl.”
“Ach, do you mean her recent quarantine?“
“No. Her demise.”
“What!” cries the entire table at once.
“Oh! Er. Oops. Buppity! Er. Yes, blast it, that information is supposed to be confidential, eh what.. Harumph.”
“What quarantine?”
“Weeeeelll, it seems there were a few reports of ‘Ghost’ stories on board.”
“Ach, please to allow me to catch everyone up on the ‘Triumph’, since our Captain Stewart is reluctant, ja? Apparently, there were actually a great many ‘Ghost’ attacks aboard the ‘Triumph’. These escalated to the point that at the end of the last cruise, the crew mutinied. Or, that is, they refused to go back aboard once they had reached England. A few did stay aboard. The only ones of these who survived the night were the ones who jumped overboard.
There is excitement in the hallway. Several torch-bearing stewards run by.
I am briefly washed with a disturbing pulsation.
“Of what demise do you speak, mon Capitain?” asks Mademoiselle Gauzot.
“Weeeell, this is supposed to be very discreet, you understand. It would seem that saboteurs have wrecked the ship. Something about ‘unseen forces,’ smashing the ‘Triumph’ like a blown up paper bag. The same sort of ridiculous reports we received about the Plumtartt shipyards a couple of weeks ago. Really! Harumph.”
A high pitched chittering accompanies excited sounds of commotion from the hall.
Other Dining Hall patrons attempt to shush their table companions that they may listen more carefully. A burning frizzle is followed by an animal scream, but not a sound made by any creature of Earth’s bounty.
A steward with a smoke-soot-smeared face pops his head in and gives the captain a big smile and a thumbs up.
Something definitely stinks.
I sense the presence of unclean beasts on the ship. They form, and are quickly dispatched. I can sense it. I can smell it.
I have to raise my voice over mounting sounds of chaos throughout the ship. These sounds perturb the captain to no end. He very pointedly ignores them.
“Let me get this straight, Captain. The Plumtartt factory and shipyards are destroyed by mysterious, unseen forces, following weeks of murderous attacks with gruesome remains left in evidence, yes?”
“Harumph.”
“The Sol Furnaces! That must be it! They must attract these atrocities. Perhaps they open a portal of sorts, a rift, allowing something to slip into our universe. My father, Professor Plumtartt’s, combination of science and the occult helped him attain his goal, the Great Sol Furnace, but at a high price. Unforeseen consequences fall upon an unsuspecting world.”
“Good Heavens, the attack at Graz! The creatures were after the Sol Furnace there.”
“Harumph. Nothing bad happened at Graz. Harumph. That furnace was built on unstable ground, that’s all. It must've been underground caverns, that sort of thing. There is bound to be a reasonable explanation for the Graz Furnace being sucked into the Earth. Er. Yes. Right, oh, drat that information was classified as well. Harumph.”
The large room has become silent and my many Dining Hall companions listen, enthralled, as my dark reckoning continues.
“The ‘Ghost’ attacks have followed the ‘Sol Furnace’ driven ships around their global courses.”
“We are ambassadors of goodwill, Miss Plumtartt. Harumph.”
“The Victoria has touched every major port of the Pacific, the Triumph every port of the Atlantic. They have become plague ships in this supernatural pandemic. It caught up with the Triumph faster than this ship due to her shorter basin of operations.”
From the hall we hear the commotion of animalistic clacking, a fiery frizzle, and an unearthly animal’s death shriek. These sounds are followed by a terrible stench.
“Nonsense! Balderdash! Er. Harumph.” insists the Captain.
I pop up out of my chair as I see a mosquito, but grown to the size of a rook and with the body of a monstrous prawn, fly into the room. None can see it but I. Mr. Temperance puts on his goggles, spinning up the small electric generator on the headband. My shipmates are now my audience, watching me watch ‘it.’ They, too, develop a sense for the thing and so follow the creature’s flight by sound and occasional flicker of sight.
A group of monster-chasing stewards burst into the dining hall. I can see the grotesque creature as it flies about the room. It is in a confused state, not knowing which victim it prefers.
I tightly grip my parasol in a defensive manner. Locking my eyes on this thing unseen by others fly around the room, I continue my summation:
“Your ship is contaminated with monsters, Captain!”
“Ridiculous!” roars the Lord of the ship.
“Shush!” pleads one of the torch-bearing stewards.
We all become perfectly silent. Everyone present holds their breath.
We are then able to detect the sound of the insect’s buzz. It mirrors the track that I follow with my eyes. I point with my parasol and Mr. Temperance with his finger. One steward accepts our directions. Stepping forward, he thrusts his torch where we indicate.
An albatross-sized flying nightmare is made visible as it burns to death. With a horrible cry of pain in its clicking version of a language, and a nerve-shattering shriek, it quickly succumbs to flame with an overpowering stench. The creature is, apparently, quite flammable.
“Well, Er, Yes, Harumph.”
“Golly Captain Stewart, is the ship in danger, Sir?”
“This ship in danger?” roars the incredulous captain. “Poppycock!”
The Captain stands.
He draws himself up into a frightfully noble pose, like the portrait of some great British Naval Lord, adorning the walls of Buckingham Palace.
“This ship shall sail for a thousand years.”
{Within an hour, the ship will lie at the bottom of the Ocean, keel broken, all passengers and crew, lost.}
- - -
“Note from the bridge, sir.”
“Harumph. Yes. Thank you. What’s this then? ’strange glow seen to rear of ship’? Harumph. Nonsense.”
Mr. Temperance looks at me with eyes the size of tea saucers.
“Get to the back of the boat,” I command sternly. He bows to my request.
There is definitely a green glow from behind the ship. What’s more, I am not the only one able to see it. Everyone can see it.
A horrible sensation runs through me.
I stagger and nearly fall, my loyal companion catching me in support.
Such a concentration of malignant horror I have never felt. An overwhelming wave of fear clutches my heart, my soul, my nerves. I lose control of my composure. I tremble violently and almost start to cry.
I feel like a small child, helpless and afraid.
“Mr. Temperance.” My voice shakes with uncontrollable fear. “Something big is coming for me.”
The decks are alive with excited crew and passengers.
The glow now surrounds the ship. Something is rising from the dep
ths.
“There!” call many people around us, pointing astern.
A great cry goes up from the throngs of passengers that now crowd the decks.
Something has risen from the deepest depths of the Ocean.
Intuitively, I sense this is something ancient, something that should no longer exist in our world.
It is something my own father summoned back into this universe.
Several hundred yards behind the ship, an island has risen. It is smooth, and featureless, until it pulls back its great lids. Unstoppable, a scream rips from my own lungs as the ghastly thing opens its great eyes!
The titan looks upon us!
Every person those horrid lights fall upon screams in terror.
Tentacles of titanic proportions emerge from the water, hover hundreds of feet in the air, and then slam down with devastating force upon the unlucky ship.
Hundreds of tiny little humans scream in helpless fright, as squid and octopus arms, on a scale that dwarf even this enormous ocean-going ship, grip our doomed vessel.
What was moments ago one of the greatest achievements of Man, is now a playtoy next to this leviathan.
More tentacles descend upon the ship. They begin to constrict.
The Nipponese on board excitedly say a name: “Gojiro.”
Many of the crew who were struck dumb, now come to a realization.
“The Kra-Ken!”
The name is taken up throughout the ship.
“Kra-ken!”
More tentacles encircle the ship.
Lifeboats are lowered and rope ladders are deployed.
Passengers blindly panic as they desperately search for a way to flee this cursed boat.
Great, monstrously tentacled arms squeeze the life out of this poor ship.
The body of the monster is steadily drawn closer by its many appendages. More of the creature’s form is pulled above the surface of the water until its mouth is revealed. Tentacles actually extend from its gaping maw. It seems the monster means to devour the ship. The bow starts to rise, as the stern is supporting the gross weight of the foul beast.
{{{KER-SNAP!!!}}}
A great tremor runs through the ship! I know immediately that Victoria’s massive steel keel has been broken. There is no saving her. The Victoria’s fate is sealed. This ship is doomed.
As quickly as I am able to reach that conclusion, Mr. Temperance has already swept me up in his arms, and pitched me over the rail into a lifeboat on its way down.
“Hold that woman!”
I see his features harden with grim resolve. A resolute visage locks into place and I know that he is about to act in a reckless manner.
Then he stops. The hard face of determination relaxes into the kind features of my little friend.
His face regains its playful sweetness as he casually tosses me his derby hat.
Time slows as he and I are taken in a temporal aberration, a little bubble of serenity and quiet outside of the tumult around us.
Mr. Temperance and I are in our own world, outside the panicked maelstrom around us.
A heartstopping foreboding comes over me.
Blushing, in his shy manner, he smiles.
“I love you, Miss Plumtartt.”
Then he’s off!
The time bubble pops and the moment is broken, returning me to the uproar of Victoria’s tragedy. Hundreds of panicked humanity press for escape, yet all I see is that foolhardy man. Mr. Temperance struggles past passengers fighting one another trying to go in the opposite direction.
Now he is free of the maddened crowd and the clear decks allow him to pick up speed. Instincts bordering on premonition, give him the ability to dodge tentacles the size of subway cars. The deck of the Victoria tilts towards the stern. The downhill slope increases his mad velocity.
Dodging tentacled obstacles, he runs straight to the monster. Never slowing his stride, he jumps to the stern railing, and leaps, propelling himself out and high into open space.
Once again, time slows as my precious Ichabod has launched himself in a trajectory directly above the monster.
He arcs high, hangs in suspension for a moment, then he drops, disappearing from view forever.
- - -
Our lifeboat is rowed away from the disaster. Despite many kind attempts to console me, I remain wretchedly distraught.
Heavy sobs wrack my body.
I am completely helpless to assist in the rescue efforts.
The poor Victoria explodes, bit by bit, under the irresistible constrictions of the monster.
The behemoth drags the broken remains of the Victoria beneath the ocean’s surface.
The unbelievable temperatures of the Sol Furnace and her accompanying boilers and engines roar in angry unhappiness at their submergence. Boiling waters and billows of steam mark her descent.
The ship is a composite of building material, a great steel keel and ribs. She carries tons of steel decking and supports for the Furnace and drive engines, but for the most part, the Victoria is, rather, was, a wooden ship. Fortunately, most of the wood has surfaced, having been squeezed into splinters by the tremendous sea monster, and is providing buoyancy for our, that is, for my, unlucky shipmates.
I look on helplessly as stranded people are made safe.
The broken wreckage of Victoria is lashed into rafts. Captain Stewart is instrumental in directing the efforts. Whereas before he had struck me as ineffectual, he now shows great prowess at securing the safety of his passengers and crew.
A cabin is swiftly constructed aboard one of the lashed-together rafts as concern is raised over Mademoiselle Gauzot’s sunlight allergy.
In short order, an elaborate system of rafts and lifeboats is arrayed. We have stores of potable water in floating barrels, and tinned food sufficient to keep us in reasonable comfort for a time. It is really quite a remarkable achievement that almost everyone has been saved.
While the efforts of my shipmates are to be lauded, mine are not, for I am unable to do anything. I sit in a spot where I am not in their way, and hold Mr. Temperance’s hat thinking of him.
My friends try to make me feel better, but I am inconsolable.
Once more I am gripped by great, painful, sobs, as I mourn my brave friend.
He said he loved me.
And I...
…I had no chance to reply.
- - -
It has been a week now since the disaster, yet still we float.
Many of the rafters have followed Mademoiselle Gauzot’s example, and have constructed shelters to escape the Sun. For similar reasons many of the rescued passengers assay to sleep during the day, and convert to a nocturnal schedule.
Then, not many days later, an island is spotted.
Our ungainly craft makes little headway, but to our great relief, we do drift toward the small island.
Within a fortnight, we are rescued.
A ship from the United States Navy, the U.S.S. Enterprise, has been sent to search for us, and finds us on our little island. We are returned to Hawaii. From there, the friends that I, or we, made aboard the ship go their separate ways. They encourage me to put all this behind me, to get on with my life. I appreciate their good intentions, but I am unable to shake my sorrow. One by one, on ships bound to the east and west, they all depart.
This bright, colorful, tropical island is a sharp contrast to my bleak despair.
I have never experienced such profound sorrow.
Mr. Temperance!
Ichabod.
Ichabod!
- - -
I rest my hand on his silly hat, this funny Derby of which he was so proud.
This hat is all I have left to remind me of him. This silly hat, and the parasol he constructed for me.
I think of his bravery and his continued resolve.
If only I could have an ounce of his selflessness, perhaps I could muster the courage to continue.
He had the best of intentions for me, and devoted himself to something
larger than the two of us, the very safety of our planet.
He gave his life to save me; to save us all.
Oh, how I wish I could be as he! Although he must have felt disheartened and afraid many times during our travails, he never let it affect him, he never let it show. He kept ever onward, doing what he had to do, no matter how he felt.
For too long, I have been like my namesake, the daughter of Demeter, living in a sort of Underworld, leaving destruction in my wake. I have allowed Mr. Temperance to fight my battles for me, letting fears for my own safety remain uppermost, when the safety of the entire world is at stake. Enough!
The time for being a genteel, ‘helpless’ lady is over; I must find the strength, resourcefulness, and courage to stand on my own. I must forge a new Persephone Plumtartt. I must transform my sense of guilt and responsibility for these attacks into something useful. Now it is time to follow in Mr. Temperance’s footsteps, and to take the battle to...“Unh!”
As I sit by a campfire at night on this Hawaiian beach, I feel an unmistakable creeping sensation. Something is here!
When I look around, I see it, headed towards me. A grotesque insect, glowing green, flies down the beach in my direction. It’s flight path is awkward and clumsy, yet I know the aberration means to destroy me.
It circles me several times. The little devil sizes me up in a horrible appraisal. I get an impression that it is actually laughing at me!
After all I have been through.
After all Mr. Temperance sacrificed!
After all the pain and suffering endured by so many good people, to have our beautiful world defeated by this giggling grub is more than I can bear.
I get angry.
I get very angry.
“You filth! You would ridicule the efforts of the most noble man I have ever known!?”
I duck the mosquitite swoop, to snatch up a stick protruding from the campfire. I whirl upon my despicable foe with a heretofore unfelt hatred in my heart and plunge my torch of tribulation into the gnat of nevermore. The fiery thrust ignites the insect, bringing me as close to happiness as I have been since the Victoria tragedy. I allow myself a smug measure of satisfaction against my enemy.
Breathing heavily as I stand above the smoking remains of my would-be assassin, defiance blooms in my soul to cast off my despair. A ringing clarity floods through my emboldened spirit.
A Matter of Temperance (The Adventures of Ichabod Temperance Book 1) Page 19
