In chains, I shrugged as best as I could. "Didn't see any blowing Eddinray, sorry."
Harmony wore a wide grin, and as Eddinray opened his mouth to further protest the result, the blood froze through our veins at a horrific scream coming from decks above — it was the very last sound a man could possibly make.
Silence followed, and in the gloomy light of a lantern, we surveyed the stern expressions of each other. There was stillness upstairs too — no scuffing heels on wood, no outraged cries or frantic scramble for aid. There was absolutely nothing.
32. The Captain's Table
Harmony and Eddinray discussed the scream and came to wild conclusions — an octopus attack, another mutiny, or perhaps a gigantic wave washing men overboard. I had an inkling too, but kept it to myself for the time being.
We where fast asleep when a wash of freezing water woke us. Bludgeon roused me several times this way, and although unlikely, I somehow expected to find him here now. It wasn't Bludgeon in the hold of Bounty, but a seedy old man showing the unsightly effects of scurvy. "Name's McCoy,” he said, his Glaswegian accent similar to my father's. "Captain requests the company of two at his table. Only two so decide amongst yerselves!"
"We heard a scream?" I said.
"And ye'll hear mare if ye don't get a move on! Hasty now, the meat's gettin' cold!"
"Meat?" said Eddinray, perking up. "Real food?"
All of my friends could do with a meal inside them, but I felt my presence at this gathering was essential. They agreed. "Kat,” I added. "I'd like you to come with me."
"Oh no!" growled McCoy, jabbing a finger into my chest. "The killer stays where he is! Captain's orders!"
"I'll go Daniel,” offered Harmony. "If that's alright with Godwin?"
Eddinray slunk. "You're going to leave me alone? With Kat?"
"Angel goes!" snapped McCoy, unlocking our chains then kicking us upright with his scrawny legs.
"Bring me some chicken!" begged Eddinray. "Rabbit! Orangutan! Anything!"
We had no time to respond, for McCoy ushered us up the steps at the end of a dirty cutlass, locking the door behind to leave an awkward air between Kat and Eddinray.
"My belly aches so!" the knight complained. "I could eat a skunk, an honest to goodness skunk! And not the clean end! Are you not hungry samurai?"
"Not even a tad famished? A teeny part peckish?"
"Quite right Kat! I agree with you on that score! Why daydream of steaming steaks and lovely foaming beers? The subject is simply too torturous to bear! At least we have some quality time together, there is your silver lining; indeed, this is a capital opportunity to iron out the creases in our differences!"
"No talking,” Kat said, with a wiry mouth and wrinkly eyes. "Ever."
Eddinray huffed, dismissing Kat's objections. "Believe it or not samurai, but I'm actually delighted not to be attending the captain's party. Danny has to plea for your pardon whilst Harmony, despite jesting about my arms, has the weakest I've yet seen on a woman thus badly needs the sustenance. They will learn much for us; yes; but alas, the banquet will be the lesser for my absence…"
Kat frowned, feeling the return of a migraine added with the constant buzzing of Eddinray in his ear, whose eyebrow curved as an idea came to him. "I've been keen to ask a question of you samurai; just the one then I'll hush."
"What?" roared Kat. "What? What?"
Shocked, Eddinray's head seemed to recoil like a turtle into his armor. "Now, there's no need for hostility! I certainly wouldn't ask if it weren't important!"
Resignation melted over Kat's features — he could not ignore or kill this insect, so he would have to indulge it. "What," he sighed, "is your question?"
"The question is this: Did you see that cheating angel whiff into my eyes? Any blowing at all?"
With nothing good to say, the sore Kat appeared to wilt in his chains.
***
The deteriorated Scotsman guided us both through a cramped and bleakly lit corridor, the smell of potent piss coming from this sailor's motheaten garments.
Holding onto walls to counter the seas motion, we passed ladders to the upper deck and a ghostly room full of empty hammocks. A rat scuttled past our heels, and McCoy cursed his luck for failing to snatch it. Finally, we reached a plain door at the end of the corridor, and followed the unpleasant Scot in.
The blaring light of candles hit me first, about a dozen positioned in the centre of a dinner table; the wax of these candles was dark in color, comprised of compacted animal fat, which gave the room a pungent fragrance and sickly pink vapour. The table displayed two silver platters of what looked like old chicken, dimpled with sweat and surrounded by goblets of grog. Seated around the dinner table were the remaining sailors of Bounty, including John Hallet. However, most of the chairs here lay vacant.
Hallet acknowledged my presence directly and I his. I then observed McCoy take his place between the two seamen who'd assaulted Kat above deck; overall there were five sailors in this boxed room, the most prominent of them took his place at the far end of the dinner table. A moping presence away from candle light, I could make out his broad shoulders and the outline of a three quarter hat on his head. This was Bounty's Commander and God: Captain Fletcher Christian. "Ship's company!" that man hoarsely announced. "On feet!"
All duly rose then waited for us guests to take our seats. Harmony and I sat opposite each other with Midshipman Hallet next to me. Seated beside the piss stinking McCoy, the angel's body language screamed anxiety from across the table. All made themselves comfortable in their chairs, but Captain Christian remained standing at the far end, aiming his index finger at Harmony as she prepared to give thanks. "There'll be no grace before or after this meal,” he said, his voice like scraping nails down a blackboard. "We men are grateful to no English King or Heavenly God, but only to the mouths that feed us — ourselves!"
He now sat, and hungry men speared their knives and forks into platters. Clearly insulted, Harmony said nothing but could not disguise her offence to the food — this yellow meat lined with fat and swimming in its own juices.
"It's nice to meet you Captain Christian,” I said, over the sound of tingling cutlery.
"And you lad!" he replied, heartily. "And you. Eat then. Eat."
"It is a pleasure to be dining with a captain,” added Harmony, refusing to touch the delicacy under her nose. "What…an honor it is."
She watched a fork full of meat disappear into Christian's unseen mouth. Slowly he chewed, and politely he spoke. "Names? Tell me your names?"
"My name is Daniel Fox."
"Harmony," she gulped, nauseous. "Valour."
"Sure enough Mr. Hallet!" Christian chortled. "Sure enough! Never have I seen an odder cast of characters."
"And what," I asked him, manoeuvring my plate aside; "are your plans for this cast?"
"Only the samurai's fate has been decided lad,” he said. “I have one less hand aboard my ship; a strong worker was Williams, despite his nature, and your man is responsible for his passing. He's accountable and will be hung first light — what light there be."
"He was defending himself!" argued Harmony. "Harshly perhaps but that is his way. We need him!"
"You need him?" pried the shadowy Christian, "As I needed Williams? We may be pirates here lass, but we still maintain law and order. There's a murderer in my hold, and it's life for a life aboard this ship."
Stuffed cheeked sailors concurred with their captain, who concluded — "His neck stretches tomorrow. I will hear no more on the matter."
Hallet apologetically glanced at me. "Captain?" he said, diplomatically; "a man with the samurai's talent for…destruction, could come in handy, most especially in our current predicament. And besides, haven't we seen enough bloodshed on this voyage, sir?"
"I'll hear no more Hallet,” replied the captain, thinly;" not another word."
The contemptuous rest glared at the young man for daring to defend us.
"Ah, pardon me?" said Harmon
y, politely raising her hand. "How many men does it take to sail a vessel like this? I'd imagine a lot, yet see no more than a handful here."
All the sailors promptly stopped eating or drinking to hear their God's reply. "The handful here can do the work of a hundred, lass. Take your fill men! Eat up now! Get it down ye!"
His disciples returned to meals, but from their plates, they listened to every word said. "When seas are calm and winds favourable," continued Christian, "Bounty steers herself. A haphazard method I grant you, but we have no other choice. The upper deck is no longer sound."
"It attracts…" uttered Hallet, rattling his fork and unable to finish the sentence.
"What?" asked Harmony. "What haunts you John Hallet?"
The boy lowered his head with nothing more to say, so I answered for all of them; quoting from a book I read a very long time ago. "Part dark, part sea — the inescapable nightmare. The Dreadknot."
My suspicions were proved right as grown men turned to scared children in their seats.
"You say that so casually,” Christian said, "as if it a knob of butter or yard of rope — some mild benign thing. Is there no fear in you lad?"
"I have fear, sir. Of course I do. I fear the unknown like any other — but your creature is known to me."
The captain stretched back in his chair and the ravenous sailors eating dulled to mere nibbling.
"What do you know of it?" whispered Hallet, his appetite gone completely.
"The scream earlier?" I asked him.
"The Dreadknot's work,” he confirmed. "Burkett — worse luck befell him. We only hear the screams, the dire screams before we've lost another shipmate."
"It has butchered thirteen of my men!" exclaimed Christian, his painful voice feeling every loss. "Seated here are all that's left of HMS Bounty. However those brave, unfortunate thirteen do provide the meal on your plates."
"What do you mean?" I said, face screwing up.
"The Dreadknot leaves us its scraps,” said McCoy, gorging. "We burn the fats for light, we eat the meats for energy — we feed!"
Seamen continued to cut with knives and stab with forks. I had yet to eat a morsel of their yellow meat, and it would stay that way. I shared vacant expressions with Harmony from across the table. Words unnecessary.
"More hands are imperative," said Christian, untroubled. "After the samurai is disciplined the rest of you stowaways will join our crew. Part of the family now."
"We can't stay here!" cried Harmony. "We have a higher purpose! We do not belong to you!"
"Hear that lads?" Christian declared, amused. "The frog and her chums are too good for our ship and her company. What do ye say to that mates?"
"Toss em overboard!" heckled one. "Better yet — carve 'em up!"
"AYE!"
Christian restrained his boisterous men with a wave, and then directed his meat-skewered fork at Harmony. "There are no higher purposes,” he growled. "We are all dregs in Hell, lass. And you'd do well to learn your place in it. As I see things, without Bounty your only chance is with the sea, and those wings will soon see ye at the bottom of it." He then scarfed down his flapping piece of food from the fork.
"What do you expect from us?" she asked him, glassy eyed. "We are not sailors! We are not cannibals either!"
"Learn,” returned the captain, over further giggles. "Toil is what I expect lad! Pump out the leaks, tend to canvas and put your backs into every order! You can be on your merry way when we reach port — till then you're crew on my vessel, regarded no higher or lower. Follow orders, do your duty, and sea legs will sure find ye."
"But there is no land!" I bawled, standing. "No port! You're all doomed to sail this sea forever! That is your fate Captain Christian — not ours!"
"What do they mean no land?" sneered McCoy, fear forcing him to his feet.
"They'll say anything to save themselves.,” added Christian, coolly. "Anything at all! As your captain I promise ye lads, with all my heart, no sea will keep us from kissing soil. Now since you are standing McCoy…please escort our new shipmates back to the hold. Seems the food doesn't quite agree with them tonight."
"Aye aye captain!" said McCoy, agreeably.
"How long do you intend to imprison us?" asked Harmony, before the Scotsman could lay a hand on her.
"Till yer minds are free from mischief,” he returned. “Now off with ye! Psst!"
I held Harmony's hand and McCoy's sword showed us to the door.
"Better get going,” advised Hallet, looking helpless from his seat.
Harmony moved but I remained, overlooking the glimmering table and the flesh eaters at it. "Stay where you are Harmony. We're not going anywhere."
The angel appeared in two minds while I glared at the cryptic captain. McCoy suddenly snatched my wrist but I slapped him away with one hand and near struck him with the other. "Release my two friends captain," I said, controlling my temper, "and return our weapons immediately. Right now."
Suddenly, all the sailors burst into fits of laughter, causing some to choke on food and even the sympathising John Hallet to snicker bubbles back into his goblet. I felt Harmony worry her eyes into the side of my face as I waited for the eventual end of this toothless cackle, arriving the very moment Christian screeched back his chair, and lurched himself upright. He took weighty steps toward me now, and the burning candlelight revealing his face first to Harmony, who screamed the room down before fainting to the floor.
"Leave her be!" thundered Christian. "Let her alone there!"
The clear view of Christian's face wrung the guts in my stomach. His three quarter hat was black and proud, and his uniform perfectly preserved with spit polished gold buttons and a gleaming cutlass at his left side — he was very much the dignified Naval officer. His face however was far from admirable: wrapped entirely in bloodied bandage, he was mummy like, with only a horizontal slit at the eyes and the mouth free from cloth. "I give the orders lad,” he said, his frame ballooning before me. "Who are ye?" he yelled, then repeated with spittle flying and his fist pulverising a plate. "Who are ye? I have sailed this ship round the seven seas, and here betwixt death and darkness I lead by example! With two working cannon and steadily decreasing crew, I have engaged and destroyed twelve Spanish and French man o’ war, beaten tempest after tempest and taken a scour to this ocean like no man before! All with no compass, no clock, no stars or charts to guide me! I am the only soul to survive an attack by the creature that pesters us at every turn — have the nightmares and face to prove it! So I say again lad — I ask again lad — who are ye, and what makes ye think to give Captain Fletcher Christian orders on his own ship? "
Any clear patches of bandaged white over Christian's face soaked red from the ravages underneath. My feet remained firm however, and my expression held its composed veneer; for I had something this crew desperately needed — I had hope, and leverage. "Captain Christian," I began, "I am the only man who can save your damned fucking ship and the miserable sons a bitches in it. So you'll do two things for me and I'll do one for you. For me, tonight, you will spare the samurai's life and return our weapons — and for you, tomorrow, I will kill the Dreadknot!"
***
In the stagnant hold, Eddinray and Kat stared intently into the other. They were locked in deadly combat, a most serious battle of wills. Kat did not show any hint of weakness during their contest — there would be no blinking from him, no sign of life whatsoever. Eddinray however was not so focused, his eyes twitched once, then twice — teetering on the brink of failure. Bravely he held his stare another ten seconds before conceding the match, and Kat raised a very self-satisfied brow.
"All this haze!" protested Eddinray, blowing. "Bloody immature game if you ask me!"
Interrupted, both looked at the opening door and John Hallet's appearance there. Without comment, the Midshipman hurried down the steps to free their hands and heels.
***
The captain's cabin was bursting with plunder. Portraits of glossy aristocrats deco
rated the walls; an oversized rug covered the floor, and another three where stacked against the corner. Golden goblets trickled around the bed and a hundred pieces of eight spread like Cleopatra over the sheets. Leaning against a grandiose oak cabinet, the tired captain had long lost his love for it. He poured himself a drink from the decanter, and assuming this red water was not wine, Harmony and I turned down his offer of a drink, even if it was from the finest crystal I'd ever seen. Not offended, Christian placed his goblet between the bandages at his mouth, and then drank.
"Are you in pain?" asked Harmony, soft and sincere.
"Constant,” he replied, after a satisfied swallow.
This sorrowful seaman intrigued me, an honourable man driven to mutiny, now sailing his mutilated self from something terrible.
"Have you ever seen the second death?" he grimaced, stretching his back with a creak. "I have. I have seen souls leave their bodies and turn to maggots in oatmeal, shells at the bottom of the sea. That is what it means to die here, and I do not want that for my men…nor me. For all my endeavours this fate chases us still, it gains hard upon our heels and takes us one by one from the night. More and more I wonder, I sit in my cabin and ask myself — can God deliver us from this evil?"
"I could hear your confession?" offered Harmony. "God will hear your prayers."
The weary captain bent to peer out of his cabin window, the line between black sky and sea unclear. "Confessions are for the guilty,” he said, breathing heavily. "Every action I have taken, every choice made and order given has been for the unconditional welfare of my crew. For that angel, I am far removed from guilt."
"But your methods have been questionable," she stressed, "and the path is now confused. You sail from evil captain, but you must recognise God before he can deliver you from it."
Christian groaned and I could see, even through the layers of soiled bandages, that Harmony was testing the man's patience. "Tell us more of the Dreadknot?" I asked him. "When did it start its attack on your ship?"
Christian opened the window a crack and sucked in a salty breeze, as if needing courage before discussing the thing. "It came from the waters," he started; "no more than six months ago. I was first to be seized by its talons. The lads came quick to my aid but could see nothing but strips of flesh being peeled from my face. It could have torn my head off if it wanted, could have put me out of my misery. Instead it took its taste then left me to heal — a meal to be savoured for another time." His eye slits wandered over our stimulated features.
The 9th Fortress Page 31