“Yes, sir. It’s Seaman Dorian Lynch, at your service.”
The Paymaster marked an ‘x’ by the name in his book. His tight blue frock coat stretched tight over his shoulders as he gestured to the man sitting beside him.
He was a much younger man with only the beginnings of a beard on his face. He was dressed similarly but with only one white stripe on his uniform. He still wore the cocked officer’s hat and had on a set of thin metal spectacles that went over his ears.
The clerk unrolled a contract towards Dorian with a cautious smile and offered him a wooden dip pen with a metal nib. “Welcome aboard. I am Sub-Lieutenant Purcell.”
The contract seemed of the standard sort, with the seal of the Royal Navy affixed at the bottom. The Paymaster cleared his throat and spoke as if reciting a speech too-often rehearsed. “If you are unable to read, the Articles of Agreement simply state that you agree to serve under the command of the Lord Captain Elgin for the period of one year. You agree to be subject to all laws, regulations, and punishments governing the crew. You will perform all duties as ordered. You will defend the honor of the Victory, the Captain, the Royal Navy, and Her Majesty the Queen. If called upon to fight, you will do so including offering your life in service to the Queen. Your assignment will be to the rigging and you will stand the third watch. Your pay will be twenty pounds fifty, which I as Paymaster will hold for you until the end of your service. Sign here if you agree to these terms.”
What had he gotten himself into? Dorian thought it best to remain silent and simply sign his agreement to the terms with an ‘x’.
“Welcome aboard Seaman Lynch. You will address me as Lieutenant Paymaster Blundell. He will issue you one seaman’s kit and a standard issue mattress. You will also receive a signing advance of four pounds twenty. I strongly advise you to refrain from betting with the crew. If you need anything, speak to Purcell here and he will record your request in his ledger.”
“Thank you, sir.” Dorian made a clumsy salute by touching a clenched fist to his brow as he had seen other seamen do when addressing an officer. That, at least earned a look of satisfaction from the Paymaster before the man turned his attention to some wax stuck in his ear. Dorian took the coins that Sub-Lieutenant Purcell counted out and continued along the pier towards the brow to board the vessel.
Lady Helena looked on from the window of a lavishly appointed, four-horse carriage. She had refused Lucious’ pleas to stay inside this morning. Instead, she had followed Dorian to the docks, ignoring her lingering cough. She shivered from the cold, despite the long Paisley shawl she wore over her fur-lined coat. Lucious had begrudgingly obeyed her orders to follow Dorian from a distance. She needed to make certain with her own eyes that Dorian boarded the ship and left port.
On her lap sat the morning issue of The Telegraph. Lady Helena had just finished reading about the recent murders that had taken place in the city. One in particular had caught her attention: the recounting of a strange death. The mutilated body of a naked woman found in the cottage she had given to Dorian. The constable had discovered the back door ripped off its hinges.
She pursed her lips. There was no way to connect her as the owner of the home, unless someone were to sort through the several layers of intermediaries and businesses that bought and managed her properties for her. But that didn’t matter now. Lady Helena’s thoughts went back to the night of the full moon when she had seen the painting change and she wondered if it hadn’t been her wine-soaked imagination after all.
Lady Helena had drafted a letter to Lord Crawley on the night of the full moon. It had contained a detailed list of questions and instructions. She held his hastily penned response in her hand.
My Dear Lady Helena,
I understand your instructions and the information you require. I will watch him very closely and report to you all that I observe. I will do my best to keep the man from harm until we know the truth.
If your suspicions prove true, I will wait for an opportune moment to arrange for an unfortunate accident.
Your humble servant,
Lord Herschel Crawley
Lady Helena looked up from the letter as the ship’s bell sounded. With a tear in her eye, Lady Helena watched as Dorian sailed out of her life forever. She wondered if the terrible killings would end now. She half-hoped she had been mistaken.
Lucious cleared his throat impatiently. “Dae we return hame noo, Mistress?”
Sometimes she wished she hadn’t saved the man from the executioner’s noose. The Scotsman had no decorum. However, the convicted killer had proved his value many times and was as loyal as a dog.
“No, we have much work to do. I intend to uncover the truth in these rumors we have heard about Mr. Gray. We have several inquiries to make at the British Museum Library and I have an appointment with the historian Thomas Carlyle at the London Library.”
“Whit guid kin some dusty auld books dae ‘nyhow?”
“There is no greater source of knowledge of mythology and the occult than in books. Did you know the Romani people believe in a creature called the Vârcolac? The creature supposedly returned from the grave and took the form of a giant wolf. The saliva of the undead creature spread its curse, condemning any surviving victims to eternal life as a beast.”
“Ah dinnae ken, sounds like yer aff yer heid.”
“Perhaps, but that is a mystery that only Mr. Carlyle can unlock. I intend to track down the Romani relatives of the late Sage Holdsworth and find out for myself. Oh, and Lucious…”
“Aye, Mistress?”
“See if there is still time to inform the monster hunter that his services are no longer required.”
CHAPTER 10.
T
HE DEMETER
For the crew of the merchant’s vessel Demeter and their strange Romanian passenger, it had been a long voyage from the port of Thessaloniki. The Demeter was a two-masted schooner with a length of thirty-nine meters and a beam of over ten meters wide. The ship could reach a speed of thirteen knots and was home to a crew of sixteen souls plus the occasional passenger—most of which were currently miserable.
Captain Price had done his best to keep his crew occupied and their minds off the misfortune they had suffered on the journey towards England. Unfortunately, the infestation of dark rats aboard the ship had now become nearly unbearable. The destructive vermin had made their way into the food stores and were slowly chewing the boat away to nothing as they built their filthy nests. The running theory amongst the crew was that Black Tom, the ship’s cat, had caught the scent of something evil aboard the ship and had abandoned it at the last port.
The Captain had set the men to repairing the rigging, oiling the masts, and mending the sails. He had instructed his mate Waddell to play his violin as often as possible to soothe the spirits onboard. The grumbling of the crew had died down somewhat—until the cook fell ill with a case of dysentery. Old Macks was beloved by the men for his ability to stretch the scant provisions with his famous vegetable and spiced-beef stew. For dessert, he would serve a savory pudding that was fit for Her Majesty the Queen. No other man on board could cook worth his salt. It was really no one’s fault when the remaining beef spoiled. The Captain had doubled the crew’s ration of grog after that.
Even then, the Captain was still hopeful. The extra money from their one strange passenger with his several mysterious crates of cargo would still make the voyage a success. It was a small matter that the extra space needed for the cargo had come at the expense of room normally used for storing salted pork or rolls of cheese. The Russian gold he had received in advance would soon serve to outfit a second ship and double his business.
The sails lost the wind for several days and the Captain had no choice but to cut the food rations in half. The crew turned their grumbling towards their grim and silent passenger. His arrival had coincided with the departure of Black Tom and the start of all their problems. Despite the heavy gold coins in his purse, the Captain was beginning to regret ever letting this
man aboard. He turned to consider his passenger.
The man was lean and tall at nearly two meters in height. He spoke as an educated man might, but obscured with a heavy Romanian accent. His coloring was dark, with brooding eyes and an eternal frown on his face. His thin mustache and a beard were trimmed short. His dress was black trousers, a charcoal waistcoat, and long ebony-slate cape. Even the man’s wide-brimmed hard-felt hat was dark. The only color to be found belonged to a single feather stuck into the man’s hat and on a brightly colored wool sash that he wore diagonally from his right shoulder around to his left hip.
The most striking feature, however, was the black patch that he wore over his right eye. He had introduced himself only as Doctor Nicolai Van Helsing. There had been no negotiating over costs, the stranger simply placing a heavy purse of Russian gold in the Captain’s hand. He told the Captain to take care with the heavy crates and chests. He retreated to his cabin and had not spoken another word for the duration of the voyage. Now was one of the few times when the mysterious doctor had ventured above deck, silent as always, merely staring out at the water.
A voice sounded from the mast above. “Sail to the stern!”
The Captain pivoted on his heel. Finally, their luck had turned. Hopefully, another merchant vessel that they could barter with for water and food. He moved closer to the side rail and pulled out his brass, three-draw spyglass. Encased in treated leather, it was a prized possession, which the Captain oiled and cleaned daily. He extended the instrument to it its full and put his eye to the glass.
The white sails of a single-mast sloop snapped into focus over the blue-green water. A square topsail ran taut and full with the wind. The Captain glanced in annoyance at his own ship’s sails hanging loosely above his head. They flapped slowly in a headwind that gusted and died moments later. It was as if the Demeter was sailing in a different world.
He looked again through the spyglass at the sloop. It was rapidly gaining on them. The deck of the smaller ship was swarming with activity. With a start, he realized the men were moving cannons into firing position. His eye caught sight of a tattered black flag rising slowly from the deck.
His voice boomed across the deck in a commanding baritone. “Pirates! Trim the sails and turn to starboard. Make ready the guns!”
The crew leapt into action. Most had served aboard the ship for ten years or more and they worked well together. The mate began spinning the wheel as the ship started its turn. Half of them began working the rigging to tighten the lines while the others set to unlashing the ten four-pound guns before rolling them into place. The experienced gunners loaded them with powder and inspected the gun locks. A few seamen rammed the balls in several cannons, pre-loaded with wadding and shot in preparation to fire.
The lookout yelled out another warning. “Two more sails to starboard!”
The Captain cursed his bad luck. “Damnation! Two more ships and we’ve turned right into them.” The two additional pirate sloops must have been waiting to spring this trap—and they had played right into their hands. They might have been able to handle one ship but with three bearing down on them, they were outnumbered and outgunned.
Their passenger suddenly strode forward. He spoke with a grim determination and confidence. “Captain, grant me two seamen. I will retrieve a weapon from below. It will prove more accurate and deadly to those ships than your cannons.”
The Captain stared into the face of the man. His one eye was dark and focused in a way that made him consider the idea. “My duty is to protect this ship and its cargo—and that includes you. Now get below deck.”
The man refused to move. “What about this voyage makes you think that your men will be able to successfully repel three ships?”
“Now listen here, Doctor…”
“Call me Van Helsing.”
“Listen here, Van Helsing, I am Captain aboard this ship and you will obey my orders. My men can handle these brigands.”
The sloop to the stern fired two of their guns and the aft part of the ship exploded in a shower of splintering wood as the shot raked the deck. Two of the gunners fell down screaming from their injuries. The Captain and Van Helsing had each ducked instinctively. Quickly they were back on their feet.
“Bollocks of the Beast! Finnerty, Murphy! Help Van Helsing here retrieve his weapon from below deck. Thompson and Teague, tend to the wounded. The rest of you lazy dogs quit mucking about and return fire.”
The two seamen in question glanced at each other.
“Go, damn you!”
A stream of expletives fell from the lips of the Captain’s mouth as the ships guns roared to life. The two seamen ran after Van Helsing who was already moving below deck.
The three reached the hold of the ship. Van Helsing pointed to a large crate marked with a ‘C’ as he unstrapped a crowbar attached to its side. They ripped open the side of the crate. Gobs of hay packing fell to the ground revealing some sort of metal device.
Finnerty had never seen anything of its kind. He reached out a hand to touch the bent-metal contraption. “Wot is that?”
Van Helsing reached down and began unpacking boxes with strange-looking bolts inside. Twisted like corkscrews, they shimmered like glass in the light. “It is called a Cheirobăllistră. This one is an explosive ballista of my own design. It can launch these metal bolts over one thousand meters with deadly accuracy.”
Murphy looked doubtful. “What’s wrong with yer bolt heads?”
“Also my own design. They contain a mixture of petroleum, sulfur, nitroglycerin, and a few other elements contained in a breakable glass broadhead. I call it Demon Fire. I suggest you don’t drop any—unless you want to find out why.”
Both men nodded their agreement and helped Van Helsing unpack the ballista and boxes of bolts. The metal was lightweight and the three were able to carry both the weapon and its ammunition above deck.
The deck was chaotic and the air hazy with smoke. The two other ships had also fired upon the Demeter. Three more seamen were lying prone on the deck. One man was missing a part of his leg below the calf, the other two were unconscious or dead. Splintered and cracked, the mizzenmast had suffered major damage, its sails shredded and hanging limply. The crew had managed to return fire twice, once to the ship to the stern, and once upon one of the ships to starboard. Their efforts had disabled one of the enemy cannons and started a small fire on the closest ship. The Demeter had turned back to port and was attempting to run for deeper water.
Van Helsing latched the ballista to the side rail and began working a series of hand cranks to draw back the powerful firing mechanism. It could be fired with a series of charges tied to a single flint gun lock that could propel the bolt much faster and farther than the typical ballista. He carefully loaded one of the Demon Fire bolts and aimed at the closest ship to starboard. Finnerty and Murphy rushed to the aid of their fellows and reloaded the guns. They forgot all about Van Helsing and his bizarre weapon as the crew fired again and took fire once more as they reloaded.
"Lă năibă!” Van Helsing cursed in Romanian as a cannonball ripped into the forecastle. The flying shards of wood disturbed his carefully calculated aim. He looked through the metal aiming mechanism and re-adjusted the dials to his satisfaction as the three ships closed on their prey.
The Captain was bloodied and limping as he called out in a strained voice. “Damn it, Van Helsing. If you are going to do something, do it now!”
All the other men onboard were to his back. They didn’t see as Van Helsing lifted the patch to his right eye and aimed once more at the closing pirate ship—not with an empty socket, but with an enlarged red eye that was too diseased and hateful to be human.
He fired the weapon with a mighty ‘thrum’ and a series of small explosions. The long bolt shot out, almost too fast to see, towards the mast of the closest pirate ship. The glass broadhead struck the wooden beam and shattered, releasing the Demon Fire contained within. The effect was immediate. Liquid-red flame shot around th
e mast and detonated violently with the air itself. The pirates on deck tried in vain to flee the fire that showered down on them from above. Tongues of flame blazed bright reddish-white, burning with a hellish heat and ferocity. The sails charred, instantly consumed along with clothing and the tender flesh of the pirates.
The cannon fire ceased. Only the sounds of dying men shrieking and Van Helsing cranking his ballista filled the air. He swiveled the base of the weapon to take aim at the second-closest pirate ship. The few survivors from the first ship jumped into the water, some still alight and screaming.
The Captain of the second pirate ship stared through his spyglass in disbelief at the fate of the other crew. His eyes grew round as saucers as he spotted the metal ballista now pointing directly at him. “Change course ye cow-poxed powder monkeys! There be a demon on yon ship. Hard to port an’ stand down.”
The third pirate ship broke off her run and a relieved cheer went up from the Demeter’s crew. As the threat limped away and they nursed their own wounds and cleared debris from the deck, they were thankful that their luck had finally changed. Despite their miraculous victory, the crew was relieved when they finally arrived at the East India docks in the London port. Every man aboard watched in silence as Van Helsing disembarked, wondering if the pirate captain had been right about seeing a demon aboard the ship.
CHAPTER 11.
V
AN HELSING
Nicolai Van Helsing was born near an isolated village just north of the Carpathian Mountains in Moldavia. His home was a modest, wood and clay-brick house that his father had built. It had a low, slanted wooden roof covered in hay that kept the cold out. There were only two rooms inside, affording his parents some small measure of privacy. Nicolai slept in the corner of the main room on a small cot made comfortable by multiple sheepskins. Behind the house was a small barn of similar construction. The sheep pens laid claim to any remaining land cleared of trees. The nearby forest was a constant presence in their lives, a source of meat for the family and a playground for Nicolai. At a young age, he began to help his father with the sheep and general care of their family ferma.
Box Set: The Wolf of Dorian Gray Series: Books 1-3 Page 19
