THAT DARN SQUID GOD

by Nick Pollotta

  "Come on, lad!" Einstein shouted, feeling just a touch of true panic. "You can do it!"

  Bobbing and weaving steadily, Lord Carstairs needed the encouragement, as he was beginning to tire, while the pirate was moving as fast as ever. Plus, the ultra-slow rocking of the vessel was throwing off the lord's timing. The motion, the moaning, and the blank sky about them combined to give a surrealistic, almost dream-like quality, to the deadly serious fight.

  Shaking the sweat from his eyes, Lord Carstairs tried to conserve his strength by going on the defensive. Having met the lunge with parry and slash with block, he waited for a proper opening to end this duel. However, the attack of the undead pirate strangely also began to slow. But it was soon obvious that Red John was now merely picking his targets with greater care. Again and again, the silver snake of the pirate's cutlass lashed out, and Lord Carstairs found himself hard pressed to deflect the blade. This gave him an idea.

  Making a half-hearted lunge, the lord allowed himself to be driven away in earnest. Sneering in triumph, Red John forced Carstairs backwards, almost into the arms of the cheering crowd. Block, feint, thrust, parry, slash, block, thrust, parry. Lord Carstairs swung madly, seeming to parry the blows of his opponent more by reflex and luck. The lord was clearly near the end of his strength.

  Missing a thrust, Carstairs failed to recover in time and stood there, his chest exposed as a perfect target. With a shout of glee, Red John did a running lunge. But at the very last instant, Carstairs swiveled his body just enough so that the deadly cutlass slid past him and speared the chest of a Frenchman in the crowd. Lord Carstairs then pivoted on the balls of his feet and buried his own sword to the hilt in the head of Red John, the force of the thrust driving the corpse to the mast and pinning him there.

  The bloodthirsty crowd erupted in shouts liberally peppered with the profanity of the world. Even the Frenchman with the sword in his guts laughed uproariously. "Clever move, mon ami !" he chuckled in true Gallic humor. "A good trick, that I shall try to remember! Vrai, pas?"

  " Oui ," Carstairs replied, panting for breath.

  Without his sword and dangling a good foot off the deck, Red John merely grunted in annoyance. "Aye, a good move it were, true 'nuf."

  "Always said you'd hang someday!" another pirate called out in wry amusement.

  "Drink bilge water, dad," Red John muttered, trying to focus his eyes on the sword in his forehead.

  "Does that mean I win?" Lord Carstairs calmly inquired, staying safely out of the reach of the pirate.

  Running a hand through his greasy mane of hair, Red John sighed in resignation. The exhalation made an odd whistling sound. "Aye, me hearty. You've won and no man will say you haven't. You and your mate get to see the Captain."

  This pronouncement, though delivered in a normal voice, instantly silenced the entire crew on the deck, and those down below in the hold.

  "Do we have to, Red John?" a Viking hulk asked timidly.

  "Yes, by thunder, we do!" the pirate snarled, wrenching the sword out of his face and tossing it to the deck. "When Red John Bonater makes a promise, he keeps it through Hell and high water! Less'n one of you sea maggots thinks ye can beat me." No gaze met his. "Thought as not."

  Glad this nonsense was finally over, the professor stepped forward. "Thank you, sir. I am Professor Felix Einstein and this is Lord Benjamin Carstairs."

  "A British lord, is it?" Red John grinned, rubbing the hole in his chest. "I should've known ya come by your dirty fighting honestly. Welcome aboard the Flying Dutchman ."

  "So what is the problem with the Captain?" Einstein asked, holding a hand to his mouth for secrecy.

  In unison, the crew moaned and covered their faces.

  "Mad," Red John whispered, tugging on his beard. "Lord knows the devil himself would be taxed with this crew of whoresons, but Paul van der Decken did it right, he did. Thinks he's every captain who has ever lived, that's what."

  With a thumb, the pirate indicated the crew. "It scares the lads more'n anything else, 'cept goin' below." He gave a soulful shudder. "Well, we might as well get it over with."

  Following the dead pirate, Einstein and Carstairs headed across the vast deck towards a small cabin almost hidden behind the mizzenmast. Straightening his ragged clothing, Red John knocked softly on the weathered door. "Cap'n, sahr? There be some gentlemen to see ya."

  There was only a faint mumbling from within the cabin.

  Red John placed his good ear against the door. "Some days, you can almost understand what he's sayin'. But t'day be one of the bad ones, I think."

  Thumbing the latch, Red John gave a push and the door swung open with a long slow creak. The room within was dark. A single whale-oil lantern sputtering in a corner gave off a weak yellow light. The cabin was a mess, with broken pottery and rotting food thrown carelessly about. Furniture was smashed and the cupboard was ajar, the doors hanging from broken hinges. A lopsided desk was littered with crumpled papers; the chair was splintery and cracked. In fact, the only untouched object in the room was a vast wooden cabinet that completely covered the aft wall.

  The professor nudged Lord Carstairs. "There it is, lad."

  At this tiny sound, a mound of rags heaved off the bunk. "Is that ticking I hear?" a man's voice rasped. "That's how I know he's near, that damned ticking. Swallowed a clock, you know." The figure giggled and stepped into the light.

  Paul van der Decken had once been a giant of a man, but that was long ago. The suggestion of size was still there, but now he was drawn into himself, leaving only a frame of skin and bones. An unkempt mane of white hair fell past his shoulders. His boots had no bottoms, and therefore exposed his wiggling toes. A ragged Dutch uniform hung off him in dirty strips.

  Shuffling his boots, Red John noisily cleared his throat. "Cap'n van der Decken?"

  Listlessly, the Captain stared at the pirate. Suddenly, he clasped both hands tightly behind his back and stood at rigid attention. "Mr. Christian!" Captain van der Decken bellowed. "Tie these fellows to the mast and give them forty lashes!"

  "Yes, Captain!" Red Bones answered smartly.

  Shuddering all over, van der Decken then raced out the door shouting, "Damn the torpedoes! Full speed ahead!"

  Leaning close to the professor, Lord Carstairs whispered, "I don't think he will be of much help, sir."

  "I warned ya," Red John said, taking a chair from the ward table and sitting down.

  "We really do not need him, lad," the professor said, opening the lid of the gigantic wooden case at the aft of the cabin. The interior of the chart locker was made of thousands of tiny compartments, each jammed full of rolled parchments.

  "Ya don't need'm?" Red John exclaimed, sitting forward with a thump. "Then what the devil did you set him off for?"

  Through the doorway, Lord Carstairs could see that the crew was attempting to chase Captain van der Decken from the rigging where he was slashing through ropes with a cutlass. The lord could faintly hear the Captain shouting, "Arr! Ya scurvy dogs! Ya dinna know the fury of Blood!"

  Busy with both hands, the professor was sorting through several maps. Seeing his associate engaged, Carstairs explained, "We are attempting to locate the lost Dutarian Temple of the Squid God. Unfortunately, the only map we knew of was captured by a group of religious fanatics."

  Just then, the Captain hobbled past the doorway with a belaying pin shoved into a pant leg. "A Spanish gold doubloon for the man who first spots Moby Dick!" he bellowed, stomping along the deck. "Death to the white whale!"

  Pausing a moment for quiet to return, Lord Carstairs added, "So the professor had the notion of finding the Flying Dutchman . He postulated that since you sail the world forever, you would have a copy of every map ever created. Therefore, all we had to do was get aboard to find it."

  Slumping against the cabin wall, Red John had an unreadable expression on his scarred face.

  "Do you get a lot of ideas like this?" the dead pirate finally asked.

  "Well, we were prett
y much at the end of our rope," Lord Carstairs admitted.

  "I should damn well guess so!"

  Outside on the deck, the Captain was yelling, "And thus, I claim Vesputchiland in the name of Queen Isabelle!"

  "Carstairs! I found it!" Professor Einstein shouted excitedly from within the cart locker, raising a rolled map in victory.

  Striding closer, Red John rubbed his scar, "Ye be kidding. Dinna think anythin' could be found in that hog's pile."

  "But everything is alphabetically listed," Einstein replied in confusion.

  "Ah, magic than, well that explains it," Red John said, shrugging at the mysterious ways of officers and scholars.

  "Anyway," Professor Einstein sighed, displaying the find. "This map lists the location of every major temple in the world. The captain may be mad now, but before his descent into lunacy he compiled an excellent catalogue system."

  In a brisk stride, Lord Carstairs brought the oil lantern closer to the table. Unrolling the crackling parchment, Professor Einstein laid it out flat, placing bits of scrimshaw on the corners to keep the material steady.

  "Look at it, lad!" the professor gushed enthusiastically. "Once we deal with the Squid God, this will keep the archeologists of four continents busy for the next century!"

  "Bally good show, sir," Carstairs complimented heartily.

  Bursting into the cabin, Captain van der Decken snatched the map away. "Analysis, Mr. Spock!" he demanded, shaking the parchment at the pirate.

  Standing stiffly at attention, Red John arched a single eyebrow. "It is a map, captain," he replied emotionlessly

  "No, by thunder! It be Flint's treasure island, I tell ye! Here, me boyos, look at this chart!" Trailing drool, the captain stormed out again.

  "Get that map!" the professor ordered, giving chase.

  Nimbly as a mermaid on her first date, Captain van der Decken raced across the deck with Einstein and Carstairs in dogged pursuit. As the two explorers started to gain on him, the Captain stopped, twirled around, and grabbed a barrel lid, holding it aloft on his arm like a shield.

  "You can't beat America, Red Skull!" van der Decken bellowed, and with a flick of his wrist, sent the barrel lid flying towards them.

  Well-trained from years of dodging jungle spears, Einstein and Carstairs ducked low, and the makeshift projectile spun past them to bounce off a stanchion and hit a Greek fisherman smack in the mouth.

  From the deck, Professor Einstein yelled, "You men there, grab him!"

  But the sailors did nothing as the gibbering captain scampered on past.

  "Now ye be over-steppin' yourself, laddie buck," Red John muttered coldly, touching the knife in his belt. "Mad he may be, but Paul van der Decken is still the Captain of this hellship and will be treated as such!"

  "But we must have that map!" Lord Carstairs pleaded.

  "If you get it, 'twill be because he gives it to you," Red John stated firmly. "But take it by force and you'll answer to the crew. All of us." A low threatening growl sounded from everywhere at that dire pronouncement.

  "Ah, I see," Lord Carstairs said acquiescing, with a slight bow. "I believe this is your department, Professor?"

  With a pained expression, Einstein rubbed his temples. "Yes, well, then perhaps I had better go talk to him."

  Eventually tiring of running amok with nobody giving chase, the Captain settled onto the poop deck, resting against the housing that supported one of the great wheels.

  Creeping as close as possible, Professor Einstein called out in flawless Dutch to the tormented figure. "Captain van der Decken? I am here to release you from your curse!"

  In open hostility, the captain glared with disdain. "Who cares if there's an iceberg ahead of us? The Titanic is unsinkable!"

  Ignoring the babbling, Einstein gradually reached into his shoulder pouch and withdrew a small canvas purse. "This is dirt, sir. Dirt from Amsterdam."

  The word hit the captain like hard fists and he recoiled, clearly having trouble breathing.

  "The curse says that you sail the seas, never to touch your home port again. But this, sir," Professor Einstein said as he hefted the leather purse, " is Amsterdam."

  A long moment passed, with only the sounds of the souls and sea to mar the thick silence. When Captain van der Decken next spoke, his voice was different, old and hollow.

  "How…" he whispered softly.

  "We knew that once aboard your ship, it would be the only way to get off. I brought it with me from London for just such an emergency." The professor gave a gentle smile. "Actually, I purchased it at a Flea Market along with a rather remarkable copper bracelet."

  Slowly extending an arm, Einstein offered the bag, as the eyes of the entire crew observed the simple act. "Please, captain," he begged, "give me the map."

  In growing comprehension, Paul van der Decken gazed at the roll of parchment in his hand as if seeing it for the first time. A violent shudder passed through his body as the Captain extended his trembling hand. As soon as the professor had the map, Captain van der Decken's face took on a surprising gentleness. Standing, he did a little dance and jingled a set of keys on his belt. "And where is Mr. Greenjeans?" he asked, skipping away like a kangaroo.

  Despite his stout British upbringing, Professor Einstein felt his heart break at the sight. Whatever crimes Paul Phillip van der Decken had committed in life must surely have been paid for by now. God rest his tormented soul.

  Tucking the map inside his jacket, the professor undid the string around the mouth of the bag. Unceremoniously, he poured the dirt onto the deck of the ship.

  He really wasn't sure what to do next. But with a mighty groan, the entire vessel shook, knocking men from the rigging as great cracks splayed out from the tiny pile of dirt. Howls of astonishment sounded from below the deck as the hatches blew off, the sails unfurled, the masts collapsed, and the ship exploded with dazzling light.

  Half blind, Lord Carstairs rushed to the professor's side. The men became lost in a whirlwind of tiny glowing spheres: countless thousands upon thousands of ethereal bubbles. As one passed close by, Lord Carstairs saw a tiny grinning sailor inside and realized the truth. By Jove, these were the souls of the crew!

  The lambent geyser thickened around the explorers, soon creating a fountain of light that poured upward to punch through the dark clouds and radiate outward to illuminate the entire sky! Lifted by the glowing spheres, Einstein and Carstairs found themselves buoyantly floating within a thunderous chorus of free spirits sounding their joy at being released.

  A transparent Red John gave Lord Carstairs a friendly punch on the arm before melding into a sphere and rising with the rest of the undamned crew. Streaking into the heavens, the spirit globes went out of sight and the dazzling display of lights slowly dimmed, except for one small sphere that settled inside Professor Einstein much the same way a man will reclaim a comfortable old chair. Whole once more, the giddy professor barely had time to savor the feeling before he realized that they were falling. The Flying Dutchman was gone, returned to the void of nothingness from which it been forged by hellfire and blood.

  "Carstairs!" the professor cried.

  "Professor!" the lord answered.

  Plummeting downward, the two explorers splashed into the Tyrrhenian Sea, going deep underwater before they could arrest their descent and swim back toward the surface.

  Erupting from the waves, Lord Carstairs roared in pain as the salt water cleansed the sword cut on his throat. Splashing about with only one hand, Professor Einstein struggled frantically to stay afloat and keep something out of the water. Pushing rotten timbers out of his way, Carstairs swam over to his friend to assist.

  "Sir, can't you swim?" the lord asked, sounding amused.

  "Save the map!" Einstein sputtered in reply, kicking steadily. "The bloody sea water is dissolving the parchment!"

  Stroking closer, Lord Carstairs was horrified to see that it was true. Grabbing the older man around the waist, the lord shoved Einstein upward and started kicking i
n a steady rhythm. Safely out of the sea, Professor Einstein began desperately scanning the smeary surface.

  "Well?" Carstairs roared impatiently.

  "Eureka!" the professor cried in delight. Then his grin faded and he cried out, "Bloody hell!"

  "What is it now, sir?" Lord Carstairs asked from below, riding the rough sea.

  "I found the temple. It is on the Island of Dutar!"

  "So the island still exists? Excellent!"

  "No, it is not excellent."

  Treading water, Carstairs snorted to clear his nose. "Whatever do you mean? Is it at the South Pole? At the bottom of the ocean?"

  "Dutar Island is in the heart of the Bermuda Triangle!" Professor Einstein shouted in frustration.

  "Of course! Hidden in plain sight!" Lord Carstairs yelled, but then added, "But, sir, Bermuda is over two thousand miles away! How can we possibly get there in time before the moon has finished turning?"

  "We can't, lad," the professor stated grimly. "It's over. We've lost. There is no way to travel that far in only a few days."

  "Never say never, sir!" the lord yelled, starting to side-paddle. "Once we get back to shore, I know a fellow, who knows a fellow, who knows a fellow who owns a used zeppelin."

  "Fly there? Capital idea, lad! Well done!"

  "It's only twelve or so miles through shark-infested ocean," Carstairs muttered, keeping the professor and the precious map high above the water. Estimating east from the position of the sun, the lord headed that way while keeping a close watch on the surface for any fins. "By God, I'll get us there even if I have to take a shortcut through Hell!"

  Ominous thunder rumbled in the sky at those words. The swimming men looked up just in time to see the massed glowing spheres pause in their heavenly ascent, and then spin about and streak back down into the ocean like a rain of golden fire. The souls vanished into the depths of the sea, spreading the light of their lives until the ocean was infused with an ethereal opalescence.

  Then the suddenly warm water below Einstein and Carstairs started to rise. Quickly forming into a swell, the Tyrrhenian Sea elevated the men higher and higher as it built in size and power. Soon their cries of surprise were drowned out by the strident roar of the impossible tidal wave that began carrying them helplessly out to sea and far away from safety of the Italian shore.