Dead Men's Tales (Tales of the Brass Griffin Book 5)

by C. B. Ash

  Lieutenant Johnson scrutinized the drawing. After a moment, he nodded slowly, “Quite indeed it could.”

  “How much could it effect?” Hunter asked, leaning forward. “How large an area?”

  “I couldn’t accurately say,” Dr. Llwellyn replied, startled at the implication of the question. “Hundreds … easily.”

  “Heaven above,” Captain Clark said, sitting back on his chair in shock.

  Anthony rubbed his eyes irritably, “I can’t believe I let this fall out of my mind. John mentioned a possible weapon being made. Given the number of people taken from the Fair Winds, the Fomorians would have on their hands a sizeable number for forced labor … and test subjects for the gas.”

  Chapter 32

  A deathly silence fell around the tiny cabin as Captain Hunter’s last comment sunk in. The four men looked uncomfortable, struggling with their own thoughts. Lieutenant Johnson shook his head and broke the silence.

  “It’s preposterous, in my opinion,” the senior lieutenant declared sternly, “if that many people were being used as some sort of forced labor for building weapons and vehicles, it would be noticed."

  “I agree, but the basic premise has some insane sense draped about it,” Captain Clark replied. “North of Inverness along the coast is rather desolate. One might not see another person, or habitation, for miles.” He frowned thoughtfully, “with some careful planning, it might be possible to create some hidden labor camp there even if the odds stand against it. Lef’tenant, do we have a chart here of that area?”

  “No, Captain, didn’t need to bring one,” Johnson replied. “We’ve not had any sightings in that area.”

  “Of course, that’s true,” Clark said with a thoughtful nod. “Have a man track one down, this has piqued my curiosity.”

  The senior lieutenant hesitated a moment, then pushed back from the table. He stood with a quick salute. "Aye, Captain. I'll find it myself, and have it back here straight away."

  "Good man," Clark replied, returning the salute.

  “We thought much the same thing, that the kidnapped passengers would be here on the station,” Thorias interjected into Captain Clark's thoughts as Lieutenant Johnson briskly left, “but now, I don’t believe anything of the kind. If they were here, the Fomorians would have to feed them, and someone would have noticed the amount of supplies needed for that many people."

  Thomas Clark nodded thoughtfully, "unless they had no intention of feeding them."

  "Forgive my morbidity," the doctor commented, "but in such a case, they would have to dispose of the bodies. Again, it would likely be noticed by someone."

  Captain Clark sighed slightly, raising his eyebrows, staring off across the room as if in hopes the answer would materialize out of the air. "Well put. Though two things perplex me: one is how they would - or did - transport those people off station?"

  “The black crates,” Hunter explained, "it must be. Crude, yet very effective."

  The young captain of the Intrepid glanced at both Thorias and Anthony in confusion. "Wait, what? Black crates, you say? What crates?"

  “Mr. Tanner mentioned black crates aboard the Revenge, and that he heard faint voices around them. Crating the passengers would let them be moved about with no one the wiser," Hunter explain with a shrug. "As I understand it, those crates were kept apart on their own."

  “It would explain how they were kept out sight, eh?” Thorias commented. "If Tanner heard them, another might have."

  Hunter shook his head, leaning back in his chair, "not so. Mr. Tanner only heard them when he was on watch one night, and even then it was faint. However, if one pads a crate with some sort of insulation ... cotton wadding, cloth, straw ... it would likely muffle sounds."

  "Ingenious deduction, and quite plausible," Captain Clark replied, soaking in the idea.

  "Captain, you mentioned something else perplexed you?" Dr. Llwellyn asked curiously, sitting forward until the wound in his ribs shot a dull ache into him that made him wince.

  The captain of the Intrepid glance at the doctor in surprise, "Ah yes, a slightly different tack, yet related, I assure you. Doctor, how can you be so certain this hellish formula you've concocted is what these pirates want? I'll quite readily admit, the potential lethality of the weapon cannot be denied, but if they were after the formula ... why so casually sell it in a antiquities shop?"

  "The Roman scroll tubes and journals?" Dr. Llwellyn asked. "The Fomorians had not found it, or recognized it for what it was among the Roman's belongings. When one compares the potency of the formula they use with the one I based off the Roman formula, it's obvious they had not found it," he continued with a shrug, "otherwise, they would have used it. I'll admit, I was skeptical at first that the notes were real. The translations were ...troublesome due to age ... however, I had the dictation Angela's father left on the clockwork monkey as my guide."

  At the mention of the clockwork monkey, Captain Clark's expression turned sour. "That thing. Here I was convinced it was just the girl's toy. Damnable thing has stolen my tea twice now. That menace ought to be caged."

  The doctor chuckled, "while the monkey may be an irritant, it is a key to this entire mess. Young Miss Von Patterson’s father – Dr. James Von Patterson – dictated his discovery, as well as translated some of the ancient Roman writings into the monkey servitor. Making this quite valuable to the Fomorians. They’ve been obsessively searching for it.”

  “I see, which means they could easily overlook the originals if they believe a translated copy is within their reach, correct?” Thomas Clark asked.

  “Quite,” Thorias replied with a nod. "Based on my observations of those in your brig, they crave it, much as those poor souls that frequent an opium house crave their drug of choice. It erodes their mind, until replenishing their supply of elixir dominates their thoughts. I'm convinced they would do anything for it, and take the simplest route to acquire more."

  Hunter frowned, "captain, I've been hesitant to mention this - as I've had issue with believing it myself - but with regards to obsessions, have you heard of the threat on your life?"

  Captain Clark nodded, "I'm quite aware already, thank you for your concern. The bloody bastards have tried twice now over the past few weeks, the second being much too close for my comfort."

  Hunter sat forward in alarm, exchanging a glance with Dr. Llwellyn. It was Hunter who spoke first, "When was this?”

  “The first was over a week ago,” Captain Clark explained with a mild shrug, “right after we nearly caught a Fomorian smuggler off Aberdeen. Second time was just before we received the distress signal from the Fair Winds when she was scuttled."

  "How did they get aboard?" Thorias asked curiously.

  Captain Clark's features turned dark like a thundercloud, "they were two of my own crew. Midshipmen, actually. They've been aboard for at least a year. Deplorable. They had promising careers until the moment they tried to murder me."

  “Your father was kept somewhat obedient under the threat of harm coming to you, or anyone else John holds dear,” Anthony explained. “He was quite convinced your ship was, and is still well infiltrated.”

  "Why kill Captain Clark though?" Thorias asked. "They would lose their hold over his father."

  "Only if he knew," Anthony replied. "Likewise, if they killed this Clark, yet ensure the elder doesn't know, it's one less task to have to manage while dealing with over one hundred kidnapped passengers whom I doubt are cooperative. Also, John isn't the only one they are using this tactic on. Brian Tanner was suffering under this same arrangement. I wonder how many of their crew is in such a situation?"

  Captain Clark glanced at Anthony, then looked away. Understanding dawned in the eyes of the young captain of the Intrepid, framed with a touch of sadness. "I see. When I spoke with my father ... that hadn't come up." Noticing the look from both Dr. Llwellyn and Hunter, Thomas faced them both squarely, his face expressing nothing. "My father and I have never been on the best of speaking terms. While I
appreciate his concern, it's a moot point. I doubt the Fomorians will be daft enough to try for my life again after two spectacular failures."

  Hunter sighed heavily. Thorias shook his head. "Captain, I mean no disrespect, I've stood my ground against these beasts more than once now. I implore you," the doctor said emphasizing each word, "do not take them lightly."

  Captain Clark frowned at the Welshman, "Doctor, I'm well aware of how dangerous these bloody buggers can be, however ..."

  Suddenly, a chorus of shouts, followed by the screech of the ship's general alarm cut short anything else the captain tried to say. The trio jumped back from the table, immediately getting to their feet as a midshipman threw open the hatch, rushing inside.

  "What in the Queen's name is all this?" Captain Clark demanded.

  The midshipman quickly saluted. "Sorry, for interruption', Cap'n! Mr. Kellum sent me down ta fetch ya. It's that werewolf girl, she's gone balmy!"

  "Phooey!" Dr. Llwellyn snapped back. "I left her with a mild sleeping drought. Despite her being a werewolf, she should be dozing quietly in the infirmary."

  "Beggin' yer pardon, but not from what I was seein'," the sailor replied, "she's all fur and claws, throwin' lads about like laundry! It's like she's gone an' got a little bigger, too."

  "That damn elixir!" Hunter swore vehemently.

  "Confound it! She was free of that!" Throias exclaimed, pushing past the midshipman and into the hallway.

  Captain Clark fixed a hard look at the startled midshipman. "Collect five good men. Arm yourselves and make best time to the infirmary. I want those patients kept safe from that werewolf!"

  The midshipman looked uncomfortable. "Cap'n, that's what I'm tryin' to say," the sailor replied, "we can't get in there. She's tossin' us about, guardin' the infirmary and all in there from us!"

  Chapter 33

  The scream of the Intrepid's general alarm echoed off the walls like the wail of a starving banshee. All over the ship, sailors - either sleeping in their hammocks or loitering below decks - reacted instantly to the call for Action Stations, racing to stow their hammocks and rush to their assigned duty station.

  Dr. Llwellyn raced along below decks, running as fast as his legs could carry him through the crowded corridors. His face was stern, hard, but his mind raced with worry: concern for the injured in the infirmary, anxiety over the sailors and what they would do, and fear - specifically fear for Angela's immediate future. The doctor had used every ounce of skill and innovation to flush that vile toxin from the girl's body ... and apparently he had failed. His breath burned in his lungs, and the wound in his side ached as he pushed himself harder.

  From the midshipman's rushed description, Thorias surmised that Angela had succumbed to that hellish Fomorian elixir. Tension gripped the doctor's chest like a vice. He had lost patients before, made the wrong assumption that resulted in a deadly diagnosis. Physicians were mortal creatures, he knew that, and all made mistakes in their careers, however that was no salve to the mental wound. It hurt every time as if he was cut to the bone. The pain was doubly worse when the victim was a child. He shoved the thought aside, and abruptly pushed past a trio of sailors in the corridor.

  "Step aside!" Dr. Llwellyn said firmly, "medical emergency!"

  Thorias raced down a short set of wooden stairs, knowing the infirmary was not far ahead. Already he could hear cries of pain, angry shouts, and the howl of what could only be young Angela caught in the grip of the Fomorian elixir.

  The Fomorians. Just the memory of them left a bitter taste in his mouth. Despite all he had recently learned, deep in his mind, the part of him that was a young boy growing up in Cardiff recoiled from the thought.

  The stories were rich, involved, and often came with a moral lesson. Above all, they had taught that young elven boy one overriding truth: if there were monsters in the dark, unspeakable horrors coming for you in the night, they were the Fomorians. Once an adult, he had thought they were just fables, nothing more. A part of him desperately wished they had remained so.

  The doctor burst through the last hatch leading to the corridor in front of the infirmary. Ahead of him a quartet of sailors were gathering into a firing line, loading their rifles frantically while beyond Angela – grown twice her original size with fangs and claws bared devilishly - snarled a challenge. Just past her, a sailor lay moaning on the ground, clutching his bloody arm. Another, whom Thorias recognized by the color of his rank as the Intrepid’s doctor, was trying to slowly ease forward to reach the wounded man.

  Despite Angela’s stance, the doctor saw something else in her still human eyes. He saw the emotion of a scared young lady, desperately trying to be brave, even if she knew what was about to happen. He came to a quick stop.

  “Stand fast!” the doctor ordered, his voice cutting through the chaos. Despite his command, the sailors continued to load their weapons. Furious, Dr. Llwellyn stormed forward, “Bloody hell, I said … stand … fast!” he repeated firmly.

  The closest sailor, a tall midshipman with a long, thin face, scowled at the irate Welsh elven doctor in the gray waistcoat and trousers. “Under whose orders, eh?” the young man demanded.

  “Mine,” Captain Thomas Clark said sternly from the hatchway, just slightly out of breath from running. “Do as he says, midshipman,” the captain continued in a sharp, commanding tone, "stand fast.”

  “Aye, Cap’n,” the sailor replied, lowering his rifle. Quickly, the others next to him followed suit as Captains Clark and Hunter entered the corridor.

  Dr. Llwellyn stepped through the group of sailors, who watched him suspiciously. Thorias ignored them. They were the least of his concerns at the moment. He walked several paces in front of the skirmish line towards Angela.

  "Angela, take slow, deep breaths," the doctor began, smiling gently and keeping his voice soft, "we need to be calm and rational about this. Now, child, can you still speak? Did your symptoms return? Do you have a fever?”

  The young girl frantically shook her lupine head. She was entirely covered in fur, and sporting a bushy wolf-like tail, much as she always did when she changed. This time, however, the fur was thicker, and a darker shade of brown. Her height and form was larger, too. Before when she would transform, she often retained her own mass, remaining roughly her own height. Her weight would slightly increase, but that was due to the increase of muscle density.

  This time, the change was more marked. Her height had grown to at least a foot more than normal, and her muscle strength and mass was double that of any average, healthy adult. The doctor noted the fear, anxiety, and no small measure of relief in her eyes as she rushed toward him. Despite the concrete knowledge that she would never hurt him, a small part of the doctor involuntarily tensed as the fur-covered, iron-muscled werewolf rushed over to him.

  "No, doctor," she rumbled as best as her strained vocal chords would allow, "not sym ...symptoms." Angela clenched her fists in frustration, emitting a low grow as she struggled with her unnaturally misshapen form.

  Immediately, one of the sailors brought his Martini-Henry rifle to his shoulder, taking aim at the girl. Angela snarled, glaring at the sailor, ready to leap.

  "Seaman!" Captain Clark snapped, as he stormed forward.

  The sailor blinked, realizing his mistake, then spun to face the captain. "Cap'n ... I ... I didn't mean to ... I was just ..."

  Clark firmly took the rifle from the stammering man. "Precisely, you didn't mean to put that young lady in mortal peril. Since you need time to reflect, you're relieved of duty. The bos'n will be along to have a discussion with you, later. For now, stand aside.”

  The sailor turned pale "Aye, Cap'n!"

  As the sailor stepped away, Captain Clark gave Dr. Llwellyn a small nod, who returned it in kind. Thorias then put a hand on Angela's arm, giving her a gentle squeeze. She stopped growling at the sailors and looked over at the doctor.

  "Now, what do you mean, no symptoms?" Dr. Llwellyn asked, reaching down to check the girl's pulse via her wrist.
“The only thing I knew of was the poison lacing the knife wound in your leg.”

  "No, sym'toms," she rumbled. "Not like that. You have to come and help," she grabbed the doctor by the arm and tugged, nearly pulling him off his feet. When he winced from the dull stab of pain in his ribs, she quickly let go. "a‘m sorry Doctor," she rasped, embarrassed.

  Captain Hunter pushed his way through the skirmish line with a concerned frown. "Angela, start from the beginning, what's going on here?”

  "Cap'n!" she exclaimed, grabbing Anthony in a hug that threatened to knock the wind out of him. Then, realizing her emotions had overcome her manners, she quickly jumped back a step. Captain Hunter was convinced she was blushing beneath all that fur.

  He raised an eyebrow at the girl, but then gave her a small smile. "Quite alright. Now, just what happened, young miss?”

  She grabbed the captain's hand and tugged. "Hard to say. Words are hard. Come see, please!" the werewolf girl begged.

  Hunter managed to keep his footing despite the werewolf's instant tugging. "Pray show us, then," Hunter replied following the doctor and the werewolf to the open infirmary door. "At least can you tell us how you got this way? If it wasn't the poison, did someone do this to you?”

  At the door, Angela hesitated, then shook her head. "No. I did it. I drank it," she replied, slowly enunciating each word carefully. "I drank … one of … Doctor’s samples,” she explained, stepping out of the doorway, “I had to … men came and took Mr. Wilkerson … dressed like sailors but … they smelled wrong … just wrong! They took some others. They beat Captain Clark.”

  Thorias was horrified, gently holding the furry girl by her shoulders, “Angela, that elixir … it is a poison of the most deadliest lineage, no matter what else it can do. But the ‘whys’ around this are not important, what is important is getting you better.”

  “I’ll inspect the infirmary for more wounded, and see who else has been taken,” Hunter told the doctor. Thorias glanced briefly in the captain’s direction before turning his attention back to the girl.