by Mark Anthony
Artek scrambled down the slick slope to the bank of the river, and the others followed quickly behind. Upon close examination he saw that the rocks had indeed punched a hole in the hull, near the prow of the ship. However, the gap was small and, at present, above the surface of the river. If its makers had known their craft, the ship would still be dry inside. True, once it was righted, the hole would be below the surface. Yet the ship likely could sail some distance before it took on enough water to founder, maybe even far enough to reach the sea. Dim but still visible, the ship’s name was painted across the prow: The Black Dart.
Artek smacked a fist against his palm. “This is it. This is our way out, I’m sure of it. All we have to do is find a way to free the ship.”
Beckla crossed her arms, surveying the vessel. “Easier said than done. I imagine her crew tried their best to free her from the rocks, and they couldn’t manage it. A ship like this would have a score or two of sailors aboard. I don’t know how the four of us could succeed where forty failed before.”
“You mean the five of us!” Muragh corrected indignantly.
Artek squatted down, studying the ship. The wizard was right, of course. No doubt The Black Dart’s crew had indeed tried to free her. An image drifted to mind of the pirate schooner laden with booty, its crew rough and merry, as it evaded the tall ships of Waterdeep’s Harbor Watch. It sailed into a cave, meaning to hide in the underground waterways until the coast was clear. When the captain finally ordered them to sail back down the Sargauth, they found they were caught on the dark rocks, which their lookout had missed in the gloom. Despite their struggles, the ship remained caught between river and rock, like a piece of metal between hammer and anvil.
Artek wondered what had become of the crew. Had they jumped ship, hoping the chill waters of the Sargauth would carry them back to lighted lands? Or had they remained here in the dark, dying slowly of starvation and madness? He shivered, forcing the latter thought from his mind. No crew of sailors would choose to remain here, he told himself. Not unless they were ordered to by their captain. And even then they would probably mutiny. But it hardly mattered—Artek saw no point in exploring the ship. They probably would never be able to free it.
He stood up with a sigh. “Maybe there’s no use in wasting our time here,” he said glumly.
“Actually, I might be able to arrange something,” Guss said. The others stared at the gargoyle in surprise. “I have a way with stone,” the monster explained with a toothy grin. “I was conjured from it, after all.” He pointed to the boulders that trapped the ship. “I’ll go have a talk with those rocks over there. The rest of you get ready, just in case it works.” The others exchanged curious looks as Guss wandered over toward the rocks.
The aft section of The Black Dart lay only a few feet from the shore, and its deck was tilted in their direction. With a running leap, Artek launched himself into the air and managed to grab the edge of the deck. With a grunt, he flexed his arms, heaving himself up and onto the deck. He searched until he found a bit of rope that seemed only slightly rotted. Looping it around the aft mast, he threw the end over the side to haul Beckla and Corin up. Moments later, the two stood beside him on the slanted deck, Muragh clutched tight in Corin’s white-knuckled hands. Neither nobleman nor skull had appreciated being hauled up like so much cargo.
“Hold on, Guss!” Artek called out above the roar of the river. “We should look around first before we try anything!”
The gargoyle, squatting on the jagged spur of rock that trapped The Black Dart, waved up at the others on the deck. Figuring that Guss had heard and understood, they turned to look for an entrance into the ship’s hold.
But the din of the river had drowned out Artek’s words, and Guss mistook his call as a signal to proceed. He knelt atop the slick heap of boulders, and stroked the rocks with a hand, almost an affectionate gesture. He seemed to whisper to the stones.
All at once, the massive boulders shifted. Leathery wings flapping, Guss rose into the air, hovering above the outcrop. There was a low groan, and a shudder vibrated through the schooner. Guss gestured toward the bank, and the rocks shifted again, rolling toward the edge of the river. As they did, the ship gave a violent jerk.
Artek, Beckla, and Corin stumbled wildly, grabbing at railing, mast, or post to keep from being flung overboard. Timbers creaking, the ship began to right itself. The deck rose beneath their feet, became level, and continued to roll, tilting alarmingly to the port side. They screamed as they were tossed again. Artek feared the schooner was going to capsize, throwing them into the icy waters of the river. However, a moment later the ship rebounded, rolling back in the other direction. When it became level again, the schooner wobbled, then finally stabilized on its keel.
With a grating sound, the ship slid past the rocks that had blocked its way. Dark water swirled around its hull as the schooner drifted out into the swift center current of the river. A damp breeze tugged at the tattered sails. Artek let out a cry of surprise—they were moving.
“Guss!” he called, as the gargoyle settled onto the deck, stubby wings flapping. “I told you to wait!”
The gargoyle slumped. “Oh, dear! I must have misunderstood. I’m sorry.”
Beckla smiled. “Oh, it’s all right—we’re moving now, and that’s what counts. How did you get those stones to shift, anyway?”
Guss shrugged his massive shoulders. “I just asked them if they would mind moving a few feet to the side, that’s all. Rocks are really very cooperative, as long as you’re polite.”
Beckla stared with mouth agape, clearly unsure how to respond. For his part, Artek didn’t really care how Guss had managed to move the rocks, or even that the gargoyle hadn’t listened. Beckla was right—the ship was free, and that was all that mattered.
Beckla tossed her glowing magelight into the air. The blue wisp rose to the top of the foremast, hovering there to cast its light over the ship. Rough walls of stone slipped rapidly by as the schooner sailed down the Sargauth.
“Do you think the crew drowned?” Beckla asked. The deck was empty except for a few weathered crates and barrels, with no sign of the pirates who had once manned the schooner.
“They must have abandoned the ship once it got stuck,” Artek said. “I certainly would have. Maybe their bodies are strewn about the maze. Or maybe they’re at the bottom of the Sargauth.”
“Now this is an adventure!” Corin exclaimed merrily.
Without warning, the schooner lurched roughly to one side. Artek grabbed for a worm-eaten railing, barely managing to keep his feet. He turned around, then swore hotly. Corin stood at the prow of the schooner, hands on the ship’s wheel. As Artek watched, the nobleman whistled cheerfully and spun the wheel around. The ship lurched in the other direction, drifting dangerously near the cavern wall.
Artek stumbled forward. “Give me that!” he said, pushing the surprised lord away. Artek carefully turned the wheel, bringing the rudder back to center. The ship steadied, sailing down the middle of the river once more.
“Were you actively trying to dash this ship against the walls of the cavern?” Artek growled angrily.
“I was only trying to steer,” Corin replied in a small voice.
“Leave the wheel alone. Go over to those old crates and sit down. And don’t touch anything else!”
The nobleman nodded silently, then hung his head. He trudged toward the crates and sat with a sigh, staring at the deck. For a moment, Artek wondered if he had been too harsh with Corin. The lord was young, after all, and had only meant to help. Finally, Artek shook his head. He had other things to worry about.
Moving to the rear of the ship, he examined the aft mast. The sails were rotted and rent with holes, but they might manage to hold some air. A stiff wind blew down the cavern in the same direction as the river’s current. If they could position the sails right, they might add a little of the wind’s speed to the river’s, making their progress swifter.
“Beckla, come help me for a
moment,” Artek said. As she approached, he pointed to a horizontal boom. “If we move this cross-mast, we might be able to catch some wind in the sails.”
Beckla nodded and gripped the boom.
Artek turned around to untie a frayed rope. “Now push when I say—” His words turned into a cry as the boom struck the back of his head with a resounding crack.
“Oops,” said Beckla.
Artek spun around to glare at the wizard, rubbing the back of his head. A painful lump was already starting to rise. “You know, I’m really starting to get tired of hearing you say that.”
Before she could reply, the ship suddenly tilted to the side again, nearly sending them sprawling to the deck. Artek looked up to see a figure standing before the ship’s wheel.
“Corin!” he shouted angrily, marching forward. “Didn’t I tell you to keep your hands off that wheel? Now get away from the—”
His words faltered as he saw the lord look up in pale-faced surprise from his seat on the old crates. If Corin wasn’t steering the ship, who stood at the wheel?
As if to answer the question, the figure turned around and grinned. Artek’s blood froze. The thing was clad in grubby breeches and a loose, tattered shirt that once might have been white. A grimy red scarf covered its head, and a curved cutlass hung from its cracked leather belt. It was a pirate, clearly long dead. Its bloated flesh was wet and rotted, and one eyeball dangled loosely from the socket. The sickly reek of decay drifted thickly through the air. Even as Artek watched, a chunk of putrid flesh dropped from the pirate’s arm, falling to the deck with a nauseating plop.
“Artek, I think you’d better turn around,” Guss said grimly.
Reluctantly, Artek tore his eyes from the undead pirate. He turned to see a trapdoor opening in the deck of the ship. More pirates climbed out, shambling as they spread across the deck. Artek counted ten of them, then twenty, then thirty, and still they kept coming. All wore rusted cutlasses at their hips. And all of them were quite dead.
The crew of The Black Dart had not abandoned the ship after all.
River of Death
Dropping stray gobbets of rotten flesh, the zombie pirates shuffled toward them.
Artek heard a wet, squelching sound and glanced over his shoulder. Panic clutched at his heart. More half-decomposed zombies clambered out of a trapdoor near the prow of the schooner. The scent of decay wafted in the air, thick and choking. Clutching Muragh, Corin stumbled hastily toward Artek, Beckla and Guss close on his heels. Back to back, they all huddled together in a tight knot, staring in horror at the approaching zombies.
“There must be at least forty of them,” Artek said.
“Sometimes I hate being right,” the wizard sighed.
“Well, this time your guess was dead on.”
“Must you use that word, Ar’talen?” Corin asked in a squeaking voice.
“What word?” Artek demanded.
The nobleman swallowed hard. “Dead.”
There was no time to reply. The zombies closed in, trapping them in a foul circle. Beckla raised her hands, ready to cast a spell. Guss extended sharp onyx claws. Corin tossed down Muragh and drew his slim rapier in trembling hands. Artek’s fingers brushed the hilt of the saber at his hip. He hated to draw the cursed weapon, knowing that once he did he would not be able to stop fighting until all the zombies were destroyed—or he joined them in death.
The pirates shuffled to a halt not a half-dozen paces away, exuding a noisome reek, and then one of their number shambled forward. By its tattered red kneecoat and the gold earring dangling from its moldy ear, Artek guessed that this zombie had been in life the captain of The Black Dart. A decomposed parrot missing most of its feathers still perched on the captain’s shoulder, clinging with skeletal claws to the tarnished epaulets of the captain’s coat.
“Aaawk!” the bird gurgled. “Stooowaways, captaaaain!”
“Aaaye, sooo theeey beee,” the captain replied in a slurred voice. Writhing worms dropped from the zombie’s festering lips. “Aaand yooou knooow whaaat weee dooo wiiith suuuch laaandlubbers.”
“Aaawk!” the parrot cried again. “Waaalk the plaaank! Waaalk the plaaank! Waaalk the pl—” The bird’s bubbling cries ended abruptly as its rotted beak fell off.
The captain pointed a bloated arm toward a group of about ten pirates. “Yooou. Taaake theeese stooow-aways tooo theee plaaank. Theee reeest ooof yooou looouts, maaan yooour staaations!”
Artek and the others watched in grisly fascination as the zombie pirates shuffled off to reenact the tasks they had performed in life. A dozen pirates climbed clumsily into the ship’s rigging. Several promptly fell back down to the deck, landing with wet, nauseating thuds, then lurched to their feet to try again. Other zombies began swabbing the deck with ragged mops. They made little progress, for every time they cleaned an area to their satisfaction, a gobbet of their own putrid flesh dropped to the deck and had to be wiped up. Still other undead pirates manned the schooner’s booms and lines.
“Look out!” Corin cried in terror.
They ducked just in time to avoid a whistling boom as it swung overhead. One of the nearby zombies was not so quick. The cross-mast struck it in the forehead, and its cranium burst apart like an overripe melon.
“That’s got to hurt,” Muragh winced.
The zombie captain shambled toward the ship’s wheel. “Ooout ooof myyy waaay,” it groaned to the pirate who had been piloting the ship. The sailor tried to let go of the wheel but was too slow. The captain pushed it roughly aside. With a rending sound, the sailor’s arms tore off at the shoulder and dangled from the wheel by their still-gripping hands. The armless zombie tottered away, its shoulders dripping yellow ichor. Disregarding the severed limbs, the captain grabbed the wheel and began steering. The schooner lurched wildly to the left, then gave a violent jerk, hull groaning, as the keel scraped against an underwater boulder.
Beckla and Corin both grabbed hold of Artek to keep from being thrown to the deck.
“Is that thing deliberately trying to run this ship onto the rocks?” Beckla cried.
“Probably,” Artek answered grimly. “But I don’t think it’s just the captain. Can’t you hear it? The roar of the river is getting louder. I think we’re approaching rapids of some sort.”
“Oh, wonderful,” Beckla groaned. “This creaky old ship will be dashed to bits.”
“I think we have an even more immediate concern,” Corin gulped.
The ten zombies that had remained surrounded them, grabbing them with cold, damp hands.
“Tooo theee plaaank,” one of them moaned, its breath a fetid exhalation of rot.
“Get your clammy paws off of me!” Beckla snapped. “I’ll walk on my own!” She jerked her arm away from the zombie that held her, then gagged. The zombie’s hand had broken off and continued to clutch her arm. With a cry of disgust, she shook off the putrid hand. It fell to the deck and scuttled away like a drunken spider.
The zombies shoved them forward, leading them toward the port side of the ship. They stopped before a rickety wooden plank that protruded from the deck over the rushing waters of the Sargauth. Artek saw that the river was indeed giving way to rapids. The swift waters broke and frothed upon sharp spurs of stone. Once again the schooner jerked and shuddered, its timbers groaning alarmingly.
They stood in a tight knot before the plank. Behind them the zombie pirates drew corroded cutlasses, barring any avenue of escape.
“Maybe we’ll be better off in the river than aboard the ship,” Corin murmured hopefully.
Beckla eyed the violent waters below, then shook her head, “We’d never survive the river. If we didn’t freeze to death first, we’d be dashed against the rocks.”
“Excuse me,” Guss whispered, “I have a plan. I know it’s terribly rude of me, but would you mind if I went first to the plank? These fellows don’t seem very bright, what with their rotten brains and all. I don’t think they’ve noticed my wings.”
Artek stared
at Guss in astonishment. Even in an emergency, the gargoyle was exceedingly polite. However, he had time for nothing more than a nod. One of the zombies brandished its cutlass menacingly.
“Aaall riiight,” the pirate droned in its mushy voice. “Whooo’s fiiirst?”
Guss raised a clawed hand. “That’ll be me,” he said cheerfully. “Be ready,” he whispered to the others, then stepped onto the plank. The undead pirate followed after him, poking him with the cutlass, urging the gargoyle on. Finally, Guss ran out of plank. With a cry, he dropped down and disappeared into the gloom below. The pirate slowly turned around, grinning. Several yellowed teeth dropped from its rotting gums. “Neeext?” the pirate asked.
Before the others could react, a dark form rose suddenly from below and struck the underside of the plank. With a look of dull surprise, the zombie pirate bounced into the air, then plunged downward to be swallowed by the roaring waters of the Sargauth. Wings beating frantically, Guss rose higher into the air.
“Now!” the gargoyle cried to the others, green eyes glowing ferally.
Artek did not need to be told twice. While the remaining zombies gaped in dim-witted astonishment, he drew his saber and leapt forward, swinging. The sharp blade bit deeply into rotten meat, cleaving a pirate in twain. The two halves of the zombie fell wetly to the deck, twitched, then ceased moving. Directly behind him, Beckla shouted a harsh word of magic. Blue energy sprang from her fingertips and engulfed one of the zombies. It let out a shrill scream as its putrid flesh sizzled and bubbled, then it exploded in a spray of foul gobbets.
“I think you overcooked that one, Beckla,” Artek said in disgust, wiping bits of rotten meat from his face.
“Sorry,” the wizard replied, shaking shreds of zombie from her clothes.
Though slow of thought, the seven remaining pirates had finally realized they were under attack. Raising their rusty cutlasses, they lurched forward. Artek raised the cursed saber, suddenly finding himself facing three of the creatures. Their blows were slow and clumsy, but they outnumbered him, and he was barely able to counter their swings. Two zombies trudged toward Beckla. She managed to roast one with another spell, then the other closed in. There was no more time for magic. She drew a small knife from her belt and dodged the swing of the pirate’s notched blade. With a roar, Guss swooped down, plucked up one of the zombies assailing Artek, and tore it to shreds in midair. Artek momentarily froze, startled by the gargoyle’s sudden ferocity.
