The Fathom Flies Again

by James Walley

  Turning hard against the tide of the rainbow, the Fathom struck back towards the looming giant, and into earshot of the interlopers who were busying themselves about his person. “Lower…lower!” came the cry from the vast green tunic, where Whipstaff hung precariously from a rope at pocket watch height, which in turn was being fed out by Oaf. “He’s got a little pursey thing on his belt. I bet it’s full of gold.” Oaf gazed down at his pickpocketing shipmate and staggered as he realized down was a frighteningly long way off. “Little?” Oaf managed, closing his eyes. “It’s huge. You could fit me in there. And I don’t want him to fit me in there.”

  Timbers had apparently taken a wrong turn somewhere around the collar, and sprouted up amongst sprigs of clover which adorned the leprechauns jaunty hat. He ducked back into the lining just as a huge hand gripped the wide brim, pulling it from the thickly thatched red head. A remarkably gleaming bald patch shone out from under the hat, and Marty watched agog as the giant sprite shook his lavish headgear, attempting to wrest Timbers from his hiding place. “Get out of there, you swashbuckling flea. You’re unluckifying all me clovers.” The green leviathan patted at the hat, crumpling a couple of hundred yards of perfectly good velvet, and peered into it angrily.

  The little captain giggled from amongst the unkempt ginger fronds which tufted out of the monster’s ear. Dangling from an earlobe, he taunted its owner in a manner not at all befitting of someone in impending danger of being swatted. “Missed me, you potato chewing humpback.” He dropped back onto the mighty left shoulder beneath, and doffed his hat, as the now furious leprechaun hastily replaced his.

  Marty watched, still gripping the deck railing, as Timbers hopped deftly onto Oaf’s shoulders, miraculously dodging a vast Irish paw in the process. Marty wondered how he could hear his battling crewmates through the screeching wind and x-rated Gaelic protests, but pirate rage was easily provoked, and impossible to quash.

  “Get back to the ship so I can kick six of the seven seas out of you, you mutinous bilge snipe!” Timbers hollered at the now openly weeping Oaf. Another plunging Lepre-fist grasped for the tussling pirates as Oaf hauled Whipstaff back up to share in the chastising tirade. The tiny first mate leapt onto the vast lapel, chuckling in spite of the imminent keelhauling he would likely receive, and hefting up a large sack behind him. “I took his wallet, let’s be off.” Fixing him with as much glaring anger as it was possible to muster with one good, button eye, Timbers motioned for his erstwhile comrades to follow as he skipped up onto the leprechaun’s shoulder and made for the deck of the Fathom, still battling the current, and almost upon the recently pilfered pixie.

  “Me gold!” The leprechaun cried, clutching for the escaping pirates as they darted across his ten yard long epaulette and sprang onto the waiting deck of the Fathom.

  Marty had seen enough. His crew back on terra-Fathom, and with another giant probing hand angling towards them, he summoned up the best ship’s captain order he could think of. “Up!”

  With ample time and consideration, he could have possibly come up with something better, but it encapsulated everything he wanted to occur at that moment. Zephyr mercifully obliged, emitting a screech which seemed to tear the Fathom from its crashing technicolor wave. Angling upwards, everything turned vertical, as ship and giant robotic bird tore into the heavens, barely evading a final sweeping right hook from the still swearing giant leprechaun beneath them. As was usually the case with gravity, the overriding thought of human, pirate and koala became hold on, and hope for the best. In spite of the mast creaking, the shrieking of several random panickers, and the whooshing of the night passing around them, Marty almost smiled at the thought that this was what had been missing in his life, and that he really was becoming a grand master at completely and unashamedly winging it.

  Above all the behemoth leprechaun protests, clown carnage and all-round mayhem that gripped the town below, the Fathom billowed out through the clouds into the starry black canvas of the night sky. Zephyr fluttered, steadied, and banked into a graceful glide as everyone on board the ship untangled themselves from everyone else.

  Timbers, his mind clearly still set on punishment, was upon his mutinous crew in an instant. “Someone fetch my favorite plank, there’s two deck scrubbing gold hoarders off for a short walk and a long drop, by my reckoning.”

  Whilst Oaf attempted to hide behind something ill-fitting for his bulky form, Whipstaff seemed oblivious to his captain’s threats, shaking the sack he’d pinched from his mighty quarry moments earlier. A shining gold coin, the size of a sewer grate tumbled out, clanging heavily on the deck and came to rest, head side up. “Yeah, I know, bad form and all that, captain. But look at this. It’s huge! Must be worth a fortune.”

  Timbers prodded the massive doubloon with his boot, unable to suppress his admiration of its undoubted shininess, before snapping back into the role of finger wagging captain. “Very nice. What good it is to us, I have no idea. Unless Paul Bunyan needs to make a phone call, it’s about as much use as pigtails on Oaf.”

  Oaf cupped his hands to his ears. Already fearful of a plank walk, a trip to the hairdressers was just a step too far.

  “It’s gold,” Whipstaff continued, unperturbed.

  Timbers rubbed his face impatiently. “That’s as maybe, but we have more pressing concerns at the moment, like why we’re here. Why all that down there is here. What, basically, the hell is going on?”

  “I know.” The voice was small, apologetic, and almost indiscernible amid the frantic back and forth.

  “We could melt it down,” Whipstaff implored. “Bury it under one of those big X’s.”

  “I know,” came the whispered interjection again, and this time Marty heard it.

  “Maybe you could hang it around your neck,” Timbers barked, clearly still put out at his crew’s disobedience. “It’d go down a treat at the next toy pirate swash-your-buckle convention.”

  Whipstaff lined up another imploring reply, but was cut off by Kate, who had clearly heard the whisper too. “Both of you, pipe down.” She had turned towards Benji, who was peeping out of a barrel that he had apparently fallen into, mid-ascent. “Benji. What do you know?”

  The little koala shone with a faint, white glow, and cleared his throat sheepishly. “I know what’s happening here.”

  The eyes of everyone on board turned to the quivering marsupial, who cowered within his wooden hiding place. Even Timbers, who was still apparently not done with his admonishment, casting a this isn’t over glare at his first mate, before turning his attention to the tree rat in the barrel.

  Marty stepped to Kate’s side. “And what is going on?” he asked, in a voice he hoped wouldn’t drive the creature further into its hiding place.

  Benji peered out at the crew, blinking uncomfortably at the sudden onrush of attention, and turning a bright shade of crimson. “The big shiny holes. The painted gentlemen. The wicked slinky things under the bed,” he squeaked, seeming to grow smaller as the words flowed. It didn’t help that Marty, Kate and the crew were advancing on him inquiringly, but he persevered.

  “The biggest painted man with the…” Benji made large spherical motions around his already fairly bulging eyes. “He wanted to come through, and he found a way.” A tiny furry finger extended towards Marty. “You showed him how to do it.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Marty blinked, taking in the world which had suddenly ploughed to a silent crawl around him. Even the eyes upon him, some of which were attached to heads that shook in disbelief, registered only dimly as he took in what the little koala had just said.

  Whilst a torrent of theories, questions, and mystifying recipes for cheesecake tumbled through Marty’s brain, only one word managed to wrestle its way to his lips. “…What?”

  Timbers was quick to flesh out the premise of the hastily uttered statement. “Are we talking about the same guy here? Scary guy, weird clothes, about the size of a smoking boot last time we saw him?” They all knew that Benji was t
alking about Mr. Peepers, but it had been much more manageable to deal with a horde of cavorting clowns without contemplating that the grand high juggler of all things unpleasant had somehow survived his cannonball close up.

  Benji nodded solemly, his body now emitting a deep blueish tint. “I saw him, outside the drinking place, right before I met Miss Kate. I was wandering for quite a while looking for something climb or eat worthy. We both saw him, didn’t we?” He peered up at Kate, who removed her ward from his barrel, and cradled the little marsupial, as much for comfort now as for protection.

  “I saw clowns,” she imparted slowly. “One was bigger than the rest, sure, but they’re clowns.” She shook her head, as if trying to dislodge the supposition from her mind. “You’ve seen one, you’ve seen `em all.”

  Timbers winced. “Ooh, that’s a little clownist.” He was no lover of red-nosed devils, but there are some lines one just didn’t cross.

  Marty had snapped out of his single syllable hypnosis, and paced the deck. “I think we’re getting a little off track here. Whether Peepers is here or not, the town has clearly gone turnip shaped, and we need to do something about it.” He turned his attention to Benji, still glowing blue and clearly missing his barrel. “Do you know where they came from then, little koala fella?”

  Benji flinched, flashing briefly crimson, before realizing that a reply was expected. “It’s Benji, sir, and I couldn’t say for sure. There seems to be quite a few of them everywhere. I thought perhaps they all lived here, at least until I saw the big tent.”

  Marty straightened, clues didn’t often turn up with huge pointy arrows over them, but this one sounded very promising. “Big tent? Where is this big tent?”

  “Just outside of town.” Benji simpered, clearly not loving being the center of attention. “Looked like they were coming from there.” The little koala nodded, as though confirming the story to himself as it was imparted. “Big tent, with a big swirly light in it. They came out of there by the bucket-load, and headed off towards town.” Benji seemed to shrink within himself. “I followed them. I thought maybe one of them would know how I could get home, but when they started acting all murdery, I decided to stay put, munch on some leaves and see what happened.” He motioned towards Kate. “That’s when Miss Kate landed on…I mean found me.”

  Whipstaff grabbed Oaf by the arm and gave his crewmate an excited jostle. “They’ve got a shiny, too!” Oaf gaped down at his comrade in surprise. There were words happening, and he wanted to be involved, but he had been so beguiled by the brightly flashing teddy bear that he wasn’t exactly sure what was being talked about. Absently, he threw out an arm which catapulted Whipstaff back across the deck. As Oaf replies went, this was practically a rousing speech.

  “That’s where they’ve come from.” Marty snapped his fingers, glancing over at Timbers, who nodded silently in agreement. Benji nodded along with them, apparently trying his best not to be too scared by the sudden sound and movement all around him.

  “Out of the swirly thing, yes. That’s what I thought, since I saw something just as bright and swirly when I got here. It’s probably where your little doll friends came from, too.” He motioned towards the crew of the Fathom, who were in various states of revulsion at being labelled in such an unheroic and fully poseable way. “Look here, Ninny the Pooh,” Timbers raged. “None of my crew has got Made in China stamped anywhere about our persons. You can check!”

  Marty placed a steadying hand on the fuming captain’s shoulder, fighting to suppress a chuckle. Benji once again flushed bright crimson, shining awkwardly and holding out his hands in a plea of frantic diplomacy.

  Timbers waved a disgusted hand and strode back towards the quarterdeck, where Oaf furtively checked himself for a maker’s tag. “And none of our accessories are sold separately,” the little captain muttered angrily.

  “Look, stow the bravado for a second.” Kate was suddenly alive with intent, and Marty was given a glorious reminder of why he had so wanted to rescue this girl. Timbers halted mid-grumble, remembering just how hefty this wench’s cannonballs were. “A couple of hundred feet below us, the town is receiving one hell of a custard pie to the face, and we’re up here bickering like children.” She huffed, squeezing her little koala ward reassuringly, and glanced at Marty for support.

  “He started it,” Whipstaff murmured, casting a half-hearted finger at Benji, before Marty stepped in to steady the ship. It was already steady, cradled in the crisp black embrace of the night sky, but steps needed to be taken, and Kate was right. They were going to get nowhere up here, and he had no wish to share his town with the cavorting denizens of his own nightmares.

  “We need a plan,” he declared, almost cringing as the words fell from his lips. Even in the heady throes of ill-conceived heroism, Marty’s plans historically amounted to little more than half-baked logic, insanely good fortune, and basically charging face-first into mortal danger. He was not the millionaire vigilante with a basement full of impressive gadgets, or the ex-special ops mercenary with training in everything and a bullet proof ego. He was the other guy. He had always been the other guy, and nothing about this situation gave him anything more than a quivery bladder and a yearning to set sail for anywhere but here. Battling gibbering monsters from somewhere south of bed time was all well and good, but this was the real world, and here, he was just a guy who sometimes dressed as a dog from outer space and rode a bicycle to work. He stared blankly at the expectant eyes gazing back at him, and realized that finally something else was required of him. Wasn’t this what he had been wishing for since he had arrived back in terra norma? Steely resolve arrived just in time to drive away the demons of his own uncertainty, or at least usher them into a holding pen to worry about later. Marty sighed. For now, that would have to do.

  “We need to find Peepers, and get him back through this portal, or one like it. Then we need to figure out how this happened, and somehow sort out this mess.” It seemed like a definitive statement, despite the fact that none of what he had said had resembled a plan in any way, shape or form.

  Timbers grasped the railing of the quarterdeck, his one good eye gleaming intently. “Is that all?” he crowed. “Well let’s get to it then? For a moment there, I was worried you might propose something ridiculously half-cocked and foolhardy.”

  Marty fought back the urge to point out that what he’d suggested was exactly that, and nodded cautiously at his captain.

  “I mean, it’s not like we’ve never gone up against the most horrifically evil clown ever to draw breath before. It’s not like we’ve never swooped into a certain death situation with no apparent means of escape or victory.”

  Marty shifted uncomfortably. He wasn’t even sure that he’d delivered anything resembling a plan, and having the possible drawbacks spelled out to him was not doing wonders for his resolve.

  “It’s not like we’ve got a history of failing in these situations. We’ve got out of almost everything we’ve recklessly thrown ourselves into in the past,” Timbers added supportively. “I can’t see any way in which we might find ourselves completely outmatched, and making up stuff as we go along in the desperate hope that blind luck will carry us to victory.”

  Marty cleared his throat, as the little captain prepared to continue with his magnificently doubt inducing speech. “Timbers, please stop talking.”

  The little captain blustered, carrying himself off to the quarterdeck in a huff. Pirates weren’t particularly gifted in the supportive department, and he was already getting restless, since it had been a good four minutes since his last brush with mayhem. Let him have his stamping fit, Marty thought. There’d be plenty of gold plated, banjo playing bedlam in the offing if they were to attempt any of what he had just proposed.

  Much to his relief, Kate’s hand found his, and squeezed reassuringly. “Marty’s right. We could sit up here and watch the world go boom all night, but sooner or later, we’d have to go back down there and pay the fiddler. Let’s get organized.�
� Mixed metaphors aside, Marty felt energized by the like-minded ally at his side. It helped, of course, that this ally was all kinds of cute, and was giving him that unmistakable smile that spurred all foolishly heroic folk to embark upon something foolishly heroic. The sticking point, of course, was the latter part of her speech, which demanded further thought be put into his hastily cobbled together plan.

  Getting organized was going to be problematic, especially when his crack team consisted of a crew of pint sized buccaneers, and a dayglo marsupial. The pirates had proven their worth countless times, albeit with an unpredictable dose of gunpowder and madness. Benji had proven no such worth, although he was quite soothing to look at.

  “First order of business, as far as I see it, is to track down old balloon eyes.” Timbers hopped down from his self-imposed solitude on the quarterdeck, having gauged that just under a minute was ample time in which to parade his displeasure. “The little red-nosed honkers seem to be fairly well distributed around town, so it shouldn’t be too hard.” He fell in beside Marty, delivering him a curt but amiable nod. Angry words could be spoken, and disagreements argued, but it was impossible to remain at odds with the little toy loon for long, especially when the weight of glorious shenanigans propelled him to fill in the gaps that had been left in a creaky and paper thin plan.

  Kate interjected, using reality and good sense to swat at their lofty aspirations. “Great. Then what?”

  Whipstaff scuttled up to where his captain had planted himself defiantly, motioning for Oaf to follow suit. The lumbering deck hand had been staring absently at clouds for the past few minutes, clapping his hands contentedly whenever anything shifted into a shape which was vaguely anything shaped. Realizing he was not destined to remain in his own little world of clouds and not much else, Oaf lined up alongside his crewmates.