by Stuart Daly
I grin. ‘Don’t you look the part.’
‘What?’ he says, lifting the brim of his hat to look at me. ‘It’s not as if we need to travel incognito any more. Who’s going to spot us out here? Besides –’ Armand catches Francesca’s attention with a dramatic sweep of his cloak, which unsettles the boat and causes Diego to grab hold of the side, mumble something in Spanish under his breath and give the Frenchman a venomous look ‘– if I’m going to die, I’ll at least go out in style.’
Finally we arrive and climb out of the skiffs. Hans beckons us over to the Drebbel. It is moored alongside the pontoon, half-submerged in the black water like some bloated sea creature. The contraption resembles two large rowboats, one of which has been inverted and placed atop the other, creating a large, hollow oval with a turret, complete with an entry hatch, rising from its back. The exterior frame has been reinforced with iron bands and wrapped in a casing of waterproofed leather, which, like the shoreline and pontoon, is covered in salt deposits from the Dead Sea. Propulsion is achieved by means of six oars, which protrude through flexible, water-tight leather gaskets built into the sides of the vessel, and steering is achieved via a rear rudder. Once inside the vessel, visibility is restricted to the single, ten-inch-wide window of thick glass set in the nose.
Having checked that his assistants are ready by the winch, Hans directs us over to the Drebbel.
‘We should get started,’ he says. Moving over to the edge of the pontoon, he raises the Drebbel’s entry hatch. He steps back and gestures for us to climb into the vessel. ‘Who would like the honour of being first?’
Leading by example, but with an evident hesitancy in his normally confident stride, Captain Blodklutt steps forward and is the first to enter the vessel. He is followed shortly by von Konigsmarck, Francesca, Diego and Dietrich.
‘This is absolutely amazing,’ Dietrich’s voice carries from inside the vessel. ‘I feel like Jonah caught inside the belly of a whale.’
‘Thanks for that piece of information,’ Armand says sourly, hesitating at the entry hatch.
‘Is everything all right?’ Hans asks.
‘Everything is fine. Why wouldn’t it be?’ Armand says, taking his first step on the ladder that leads down the turret into the belly of the vessel. But then he hesitates and takes a few sharp breaths, almost as if he is hyperventilating. ‘Actually, everything is not fine. And I’ll tell you why – I feel as if I’m entering a coffin and I’m about to be buried alive!’
‘There’s no need to worry.’ Hans smiles dismissively. ‘This is not the Drebbel’s maiden voyage. She has made over a dozen trips and there’s never been a problem. Believe me, this is as safe as riding a horse.’
‘A horse – really?’ Armand scoffs, hardly convinced by Hans’s reassurance. ‘You have a very fertile imagination, my archaeological friend. And it will be just my luck that this will be the first time there will be a problem.’
‘What’s the delay up there?’ Blodklutt calls from below, his voice a deep echo rising up through the turret.
Armand looks back at me anxiously, torn between his duty as a member of this mission and his fear of entering the vessel.
‘What?’ he says, noticing the sympathetic look on my face. ‘I’m not allowed to be afraid of something?’
‘You’re afraid of confined spaces,’ I say matter-of-factly, as if Armand’s fear is nothing to worry about. ‘And that’s nothing to be embarrassed about.’
‘What’s holding you up?’ Diego calls out. ‘Don’t tell me the Frenchman is afraid of water? Perhaps he should wait back in the camp. I don’t want him slowing us down.’
‘No, I’m not afraid of confined spaces,’ Armand snaps back at me, bristling at Diego’s snide remark, his voice low so that others already inside the vessel cannot hear. ‘But the mere thought of sinking to the bottom of the sea in this contraption terrifies me. If God intended for mankind to breathe under water He would have provided us with gills. This is against God’s order, and no good will come of it.’
‘What’s going on up there?’ Blodklutt asks again, this time with a concerned edge to his voice.
‘There’s no delay. We’ll be down shortly,’ I call out to the Captain, then turn to consider Armand, knowing that he will need support if he is to gather the courage to enter the vessel. ‘You can do this,’ I say. ‘I know you can, because I know exactly how you feel, and I know that such fear can be overcome. My experience atop the keep in Schloss Kriegsberg left me terrified of heights. Yet, when I was frozen by fear as we attempted to climb the ladder to the monastery at Meteora, you gave me the strength to overcome it. You forced me to continue climbing; to search deep within myself to discover a resolve I never knew I had. And it was only because of your support and your belief in me that I managed to survive that day.
‘And now it’s my turn to remind you of the strength that lies deep within your own heart. You are one of the finest swordsmen in the Holy Roman Empire – victor of over thirty duels. You are also an extremely talented witch hunter. That is why Grand Hexenjäger Wrangel selected you to represent the Hexenjäger on this mission. He has such faith in your abilities that he chose you to be part of a special team entrusted with saving humanity. Who knows what dangers await us down there? Your talents will be needed more than ever the second we enter the mausoleum. Your skill with a blade might very well be the factor that saves us and allows us to successfully complete our mission. Humanity will endure for an eternity – but only if we prevail. And we need your sword if we are going to do this.’
Armand looks at me for some time, knowing that I have spoken the truth. Slowly, his eyes regain their spark, and he shakes his head. ‘For one so young, you never cease to amaze me, Jakob,’ he smiles. Then, gaining in confidence, he attempts to overcome his fear of the vessel by learning more about how it operates. ‘So, how does it sink?’ he asks Hans.
‘Through the simple application of Archimedes’ Principle,’ Hans says proudly and pats the back of the vessel, but only receives bewildered looks from Armand and me. ‘Archimedes was an ancient Greek scientist who, in addition to being a brilliant mathematician and the creator of revolutionary siege engines, discovered that objects float due to the buoyant force of displaced water,’ he explains. ‘Put simply, if we make the vessel heavier than the amount of water it displaces – which isn’t easy to achieve in a body of water with such a high salt content – then it will sink, and we achieve this through flooding the ballast tanks. The vessel sits atop a series of massive barrels, wrapped in waterproofed leather and securely fastened to the hull. In addition to already containing lead weights, these tanks are flooded with water by manually opening a series of valves located on the outward side of each barrel just below the waterline. Once flooded, the additional weight of the barrels will send the vessel sinking to the bottom of the sea.’
Armand purses his lips and nods, satisfied with Hans’s answer. ‘But what’s stopping us from suffocating in there?’
‘Not only did we acquire Cornelius Drebbel’s blueprints for the construction of our vessel, but we also researched the work of Michael Sendivogius, a famous Polish alchemist,’ Hans explains. ‘In a book published in 1605, he claimed to have discovered how to create fresh air through heating a substance known as nitre.’ He pauses as he raises a hand, preventing Armand from interrupting. ‘I know, it sounds unbelievable, but we use this method aboard the Drebbel and it works. Though we hardly need to worry about that tonight – not for such a short voyage.’ He pats Armand on the shoulder. ‘I know it can be unnerving. I was concerned the first time I sailed aboard the Drebbel. Though you must believe me – she is safe. As I said, she has completed over a dozen successful voyages. And this will be a short trip. We will reach the mausoleum in under ten minutes.’
Armand looks down the turret of the vessel, contemplating all that Hans has told him. ‘Under ten minutes?’
‘You have my word on that.’
‘Then what are we waiting for? Let’s get this over and done with,’ Armand says. He takes a deep breath and climbs into the vessel.
Once Armand and I have entered the Drebbel, Hans slides off the pontoon into the water and does a lap around the vessel, opening the ballast tank valves. He then joins us inside the contraption, dripping wet, and seals shut the entry hatch.
‘Normally I would ask you to man the oars,’ he says, clambering past us to take position at the very front of the Drebbel. ‘But there’s no need for that tonight. Once the ballast tanks flood and we have submerged, we will be pulled by the winch and taken directly to the mausoleum. So sit back and enjoy the ride.’
And so we wait in silent expectation – our faces turned a haunting colour in the flickering wan light cast by the lanterns – listening to the rush of water in the ballast tanks and the creaking of the vessel’s hull as we sink inexorably deeper into the sea. After a few minutes, Hans announces that we have fully submerged, and we feel the tug of the winch as we are pulled deeper into the mysterious depths of the Dead Sea.
I’m acutely aware of Armand’s tense form sitting beside me. I smile at him reassuringly and try to distract him by asking questions about swordplay. He answers, but he does not give me his full attention, his eyes darting nervously about the cabin, and his body flinching with each successive creak made by the vessel as it adjusts to the outside pressure. Indeed, he looks as if he’s about to jump out of his skin, when, after some ten minutes of travel, he exhales heavily in welcome relief of Hans’s announcement that we have arrived at our destination.
Craning my head forward, I try to peer past my companions in an attempt to see through the vessel’s solitary window, hoping to spot the ancient ruins of Sodom. But it is jet black outside the Drebbel. The Dead Sea has hidden Sodom for several millennia, guarding it from the prying eyes of man, and it is reluctant to reveal its secrets.
We feel the vessel rise gently, and Hans informs us that we have just passed through the massive opening granting access to the mausoleum’s air-filled entry chamber. He moves back to the turret in preparation to open the hatch, when there’s a tremendous pull on the rope attached to the Drebbel, propelling us forward at an impossibly fast speed, and sending us careening into the rear of the vessel. The next instant, there’s a screeching sound as the bottom of the ballast tanks scrape across rock, followed by a tremendous CRASH! as the Drebbel hits something large and solid and comes to a jarring halt – and the sea comes pouring in through its shattered nose!
We scramble to our feet in a rush, desperate to make our way out of the flooding vessel, which has effectively become a death-trap.
‘There’s no need for panic!’ Hans calls out over our cries and the gushing water. ‘Everyone try to remain calm. I’m sure that we made it to the mausoleum’s entry chamber. I just need to open the hatch and check where we are, but I can hardly do that with all of you pushing me out of the way.’
‘You heard him,’ Captain Blodklutt’s authoritative voice calls out, restoring some semblance of order to the frantic situation. ‘Stand back and give Hans some room. Otherwise we will all end up drowning in here.’
With the water already lapping around our ankles, we shuffle back, granting Hans the requested space. All the while, Francesca, standing at the rear of the vessel with her hands folded across her chest, doesn’t even break a sweat. If I’m not mistaken, there’s a wry smile on her lips, as if she finds the entire situation somewhat of an entertaining distraction.
There’s a tense moment as Hans reaches up and pushes against the hatch.
‘Isn’t that dangerous?’ Dietrich asks, moving me protectively away from the turret. ‘If we are still under water, won’t the sea come flooding in through the hatch?’
Hans nods grimly, his forehead creased in concentration as he tests the amount of pressure pushing down on the hatch. It’s some time before he looks back at us and breathes a sigh of relief. ‘I think we are in the clear.’
‘The Devil take this vessel!’ Armand curses from somewhere in the rear of the cabin. ‘I told you that this contraption is an abomination in the eyes of our Lord. This is His divine retribution. Now let me out.’
‘Well, it managed to get us here in one piece,’ Hans says in the Drebbel’s defence and pushes open the hatch, allowing fresh air to flow into the vessel. ‘There, I told you we would be all right. We made it to the entry chamber.’
‘But will it be able to get us back to the surface?’ von Konigsmarck asks sceptically, looking at the water gushing into the Drebbel. ‘I fear this may have been a one-way trip. What happened back there? It seems as if something startled your assistants manning the winch and they pulled too quickly, making us speed through the water until we hit something solid at the base of the mausoleum.’
‘Either that,’ Blodklutt says, staring suspiciously at Hans, ‘or something else grabbed hold of the rope.’
‘What do you mean?’ I ask. ‘Are you suggesting that there is something down here?’
‘I very much doubt the assistants manning the winch could pull us through the water that fast,’ Blodklutt says. ‘Which makes me wonder if we have been told the full story of what awaits us down here.’ Noticing a furtive expression on Hans’s face, his eyes narrow, and he stares hard at the archaeologist. ‘There’s something you’ve failed to tell us. What are you hiding?’
Diego takes a menacing step towards Hans, his lips curled back in a savage snarl, his rapier half-drawn. ‘If there is, you had better speak right now, or I’ll gut you!’
‘I’ll put a leash on you if you do that again.’ Blodklutt’s eyes flash fiercely as he points a finger in warning at the Spaniard. He turns his attention back to Hans and demands, ‘Tell us what you know.’
There’s an awkward moment as Hans stares back at the Captain. Then Hans clears his throat and lowers his eyes. ‘During one of the first trips down to the mausoleum, it was reported that something large had collided into the side of the Drebbel. I hadn’t been onboard at the time, and having checked the exterior of the vessel and found no evidence of a collision, we assumed that the crew had imagined the entire incident. But one week later, we left two men down in the mausoleum to set up a base-camp. They were found the next morning, horribly mutilated.’ Hans pauses, pained by the memory. ‘Their wounds had not been delivered by any blade or pistol ball. They had been shredded and eaten, as if they had been mauled by some giant animal.’
Von Konigsmarck gives a heavy sigh, realising that we have yet another obstacle to deal with. ‘Why are we only hearing of this now? You should have told us about this earlier – even before this mission started.’
‘Believe me, I wanted to,’ Hans says imploringly. ‘But Professor Taaffe warned me that I was not to say a word about this until we reached the mausoleum. He is keen to have the creature, or whatever it is, killed so he can continue exploring the sunken city. But archaeologists, he had argued, would be no match for the creature. It would only be a small inconvenience, however, to a unit of professional witch hunters and fighters.’
‘Is that what he thought?’ Diego snarls. ‘Well, I wish he were here this very instant, for I’d give him a personal demonstration of what I do to dogs like him.’
Blodklutt shoots Diego a stern stare, warning him to keep silent. ‘Like it or not, we are here now,’ he says, addressing the whole group. ‘And we would have been sent here regardless of the creature.’ He turns his attention back to Hans. ‘Now tell me – and no more secrets – what do you know of this creature?’
‘No one has actually seen it,’ Hans says, ‘and as it has only ever attacked our team once before, over three months ago, I’m actually very surprised that it has returned. But judging from the wounds inflicted on its victims, the creature is enormous – one of the slain men bore a bite-mark over three hand-span
s wide. As the creature collided with the Drebbel whilst in deep sea, and killed the assistants in the entry chamber, we also know that the creature can survive both on land and in water. And if it did indeed just grab hold of the rope and drag us, it is a beast of prodigious strength.’ He pauses and shakes his head in confusion. ‘But such a creature should not exist – not here, at least. The Dead Sea cannot support life – hence its name. Not even fish can survive in these waters.’
‘So how does this creature survive down here?’ I ask.
‘That is not our concern,’ Blodklutt says and, moving over to stand beside Hans near the turret, he draws his rapier and pistol. ‘All that we need worry about is slaying it.’
‘It sounds like a deadly adversary,’ Dietrich warns, sloshing through the now knee-deep water to join the Captain. ‘We had best be extra vigilant.’
There’s a hiss of steel as Armand draws both of his sabres. ‘There’s been too much talk,’ he says, walking towards the other Hexenjäger. ‘Let’s find this creature and slay it!’
‘I’m all for that,’ von Konigsmarck says, readying his weapons.
But as we gather in the centre of the vessel, preparing to venture out into the entry chamber, there’s another huge crash as something rams into the side of the Drebbel, knocking us off our feet and sending us sprawling on the flooded bottom of the vessel.
With water bursting through the gaping hole torn in the side of the Drebbel, we scramble to our feet. But we barely have time to even register what is happening, when the head of an enormous beast crashes through the hole, opens its maw, latches onto Hans’s leg, and drags him, kicking and screaming, back through the hole. The next instant, there’s a terrible crunch, as if the jaws of the beast have just slammed shut with incredible force. The screaming stops instantly, and a torrent of blood-red water floods into the vessel.