The Mountain

by David L. Golemon

  Taylor watched as the giant was led away by two of his compatriots. Taylor looked at the sultan with as much distaste as he could muster. He nodded and then stepped away before he said something that would make the giant’s attack seem feeble by comparison.

  “I think that’s just about enough entertainment for this evening,” John Henry said.

  “You know that wasn’t the sultan’s little idea,” Jessy said as he removed a half-full glass of wine from an undamaged table and drank deeply.

  “No, but it was his way of letting us know that he is watching our little group.” John Henry looked up and smiled at the sultan, who seemed to have regained most of his color after the humiliation of his Immortal.

  “Surely you cannot still insist this mission go forward?” McDonald asked, as he had been shocked beyond measure at how easily the American had disposed of the Turk.

  “What has changed?” John Henry asked, watching the French contingent as they made their way toward the front of the hall. The French spy Renaud was with them, and every few seconds he would look behind him at the Americans with hatred etching his features.

  Thomas nodded at the retreating contingent of Europe’s finest. “They’re who we have to worry about for the time being. The sultan may eventually catch on, but by then hopefully we will have accomplished what it is we came here to do. It will take a while for our European friends to convince him to expose himself to embarrassment again. But yes, Mr. McDonald, they will eventually come to stop us.” John Henry turned to the false instructor of antiquity. “So I hope you are good at what you do, sir, because we have far less time than I had anticipated.”

  “Perhaps we can make our apologies and get the hell out of here. I doubt if the rest of those Immortals are too much pleased at having Colonel Taylor make their man look like an amateur,” Jackson said.

  “I made up that little bit right at the end there. Did you like it?” Taylor asked as a way of teasing both Claire and John Henry.

  “Just as much as those angry Immortals who can’t seem to look away from you,” Claire retorted as Taylor noticed for the first time the number of enemies he had just made.

  “I agree. Maybe now is a good time to catch that ferry to the eastern shores.”

  As the Americans started to move off to offer their thanks and good-byes, Thomas shook his head as he looked over at Jessy.

  “Why do you look so pleased?” Taylor asked.

  “Nothing in particular, Colonel. It was just nice to see a Reb humiliate someone not in a blue uniform for a change.”

  Taylor couldn’t help it. He smiled for the first time in days.

  14

  Lieutenant Parnell looked at the small pocketwatch once more. He saw the time was ten minutes after eleven before closing the cover and replacing it in his uniform jacket. He turned to face the Yorktown’s first officer.

  “What time was the last departure of the ferry from the capital?”

  “If they are not on the next boat, they won’t be here tonight,” the first officer said as he turned back to continue the off-loading of the expedition’s supplies.

  “Great,” the marine officer mumbled under his breath.

  “Any word yet?”

  Parnell turned and saw Professor Ollafson as he too was looking at a pocketwatch.

  “Professor, why don’t you go and wait inside the station? It may be a while until the supplies are off-loaded to the train.”

  “Sitting drives me insane,” the old man said as he again looked at his watch. He glanced up at the spit-polished Parnell and knew he would get no sympathy from a boy like him. “I wish I had the patience of that Indian boy. Look at him,” he said as he brought Parnell’s attention to the last railcar in line before the caboose. Perched on the roof of the car was none other than Gray Dog, who had been there since they had off-loaded from the Yorktown, which was quickly preparing to head back to open water where she would wait to transit the Bosphorus Strait into the Black Sea to join the Chesapeake.

  “Well, can’t say as I blame him much,” Parnell answered before yelling an order at a sailor for mishandling a box of concealed weapons disguised at surveying equipment. “After all, all the Rebel prisoners and not just a few of the naval and marine personnel think he’s responsible for the three murders. I think he feels comfortable by himself until the colonel returns.”

  “What do you think?” Ollafson asked as he continued to look up at Gray Dog, who sat silently and watched the night.

  Parnell looked down at the much-smaller professor. “Well, for me it’s simple power of deduction, the same deduction and conclusions that both Colonel Thomas and Captain Jackson came up with.”

  “And that deduction is?” the small man born in Scandia asked as he once more removed his eyes from the strange Comanche only to pull his pocketwatch out of his vest once more to check the time.

  “I find it a little difficult to believe that anyone, much less a savage, even one as resourceful as Mr. Dog up there, could enter a locked cell without the key and slaughter three men who outweighed him by two hundred and fifty pounds combined.”

  “Then it’s someone with a key to the ship’s brig, then?”

  “The obvious answer, yes.” Parnell smiled and then before returning to his duties of cargo master looked down to take in the bearded professor’s face in the lamplight of the train station. “However, the only man onboard the Yorktown with a key to the brig is Captain Jackson.”

  “I see the conundrum.”

  “That’s the problem, Professor. Anyone with a brain can see that particular conundrum and that’s what has everyone on edge.” Parnell walked away with his hands placed behind his back.

  With one last look at Gray Dog, Ollafson shook his head as he wondered if the Comanche had seen belowdecks what he himself had witnessed on the slopes of Ararat.

  * * *

  Twenty minutes later, a signalman approached Lieutenant Parnell.

  “Sir, Privates Cochran and Peavey report that a French warship from Constantinople has just tied up.”

  “No ferry?” Parnell asked.

  “No, sir, not yet.”

  “Very well. Thank you, Corporal. Is the off-loading complete?” he asked as his eyes started to watch a thick blanket of fog roll in from the Bosphorus Strait. Fog always made the marine officer uneasy, something he could never get used to not only because of its blinding effects but because sound was mixed up inside the veil of white, which he found very disorienting.

  He failed to see four men as they watched the Yorktown from their vantage point on the long, narrow dock.

  * * *

  “I suspect it would be inside the captain’s cabin. That’s all I can tell you. When you enter, be mindful of the marines onboard. Since the three murders let’s just say they will have a heightened sense of awareness and will not be too tolerant of more French invading their territory. So my advice is, don’t get caught. You may find the mood onboard quite unfriendly.”

  The three men looked at the master spy who had transited the strait ahead of the Constantinople ferry. Renaud disarmed each man in turn and they looked none too happy about it.

  “You send us in with nothing?”

  “You are Frenchmen and out of uniform. If you get caught on a United States ship of war you could legally be shot. It may go easier on you if you are unarmed. That may sway that bunch of pirates into not hanging you on the spot. Now, you may take your weapons if you wish, or you can just try not to get caught.”

  The men had to agree with the French spy. After all, he had suffered the humiliation of getting caught and they had not hung him. They just threw him overboard. One man nodded his head but knew if he drew the comparison Renaud would simply reach out and slice his throat before the man knew he had a blade. The rumor was Renaud was hated among even his own colleagues.

  “And one other thing: Watch out for that American colonel’s pet Indian. He can be a pest.”

  “Indians now?” one man said, glancing at
the others.

  “Yes, a savage one also.”

  The three men felt helpless as they started off into the fog.

  * * *

  It seemed too simple for the three men to board the Yorktown without being noticed. The marines and deck personnel were busy finishing the off-loading of supplies, most of them mumbling that it would have been better to sail with the Chesapeake and the marching band already sailing on the Black Sea. They would rather pretend to be laying track than hauling freight across the Ottoman Empire.

  The three French spies easily slipped in belowdecks. They immediately saw that most personnel were above deck and some had already transferred to the train. The leader placed one of the men at the companionway as he and his partner slowly slipped down the dark passage toward the captain’s cabin at the fantail of the ship.

  They all froze when the door suddenly opened and an old man stepped out into the dimly lit companionway. The man looked at his watch and then turned the lock with a key and went above deck. The two men waiting in the shadows took a deep breath after almost having their mission end in such a short time had the old man looked up. He hadn’t, and the men thought they stood a good chance of getting what they had come for. The first left the shadows along the hull and approached the door and then removed a small pick from his coat. He had the government-issued lock off in seconds and then he simply stepped over the threshold of the cabin. The second man joined him.

  The cabin was illuminated by a small candle. The oil lamps were doused, and thus the men had to feel with their hands to find what it was they sought. The first spied the small bundle of tightly wrapped cloth. It sat upon the large table alongside rolled-up maps.

  “This is it. He said it would be inside waterproofed sailcloth.” The thin Frenchman picked up the bundle and then he immediately dropped it with a loud thud. The sound frightened the other man, who looked at the first as if he had lost his mind.

  “What in the hell is in there, rocks?”

  “It felt, felt—”

  “Hot?” the second man asked when the first stammered as he took in the wrapped cloth on the table.

  “No, it was freezing cold,” the man said as he touched a finger to the package. He withdrew the touch quickly, but then he extended his finger once more and then placed his palm on its top near the string that tied the bundle together. It was cool, but not freezing. He must have imagined it. He snatched up the bundle, feeling embarrassed. “Take the maps also.”

  The second man reached out and snatched up four rolled maps and started for the door. It slammed shut for no apparent reason.

  “What in the hell are you doing?” the first asked as he stood in the center of the room with the heavy bundle in his hands as the second stared at the closed door to his front.

  “I didn’t do it,” the man said as he placed the maps underneath his arm and tried the door. It seemed to be either locked or had closed so hard that it had jammed in its frame, which cabin doors often did on sailing ships due to warping. “Damn, Philippe, open this door!” the man hissed through clenched teeth.

  “Damn,” the first said as he placed the bundle of artifacts on the table. He struck a match and lifted the chimney on an oil lamp. He placed the flame to the wick and it caught. He held the light up and looked around the cabin. They were alone and none of the portholes or large windows was open, so there could not have been an inadvertent breeze that closed the door. The man pulled out a small six-inch blade from his coat and continued to examine the interior.

  “Look,” the second man said as he backed into the same door he had being trying to open.

  The tall, fresh candle that had been left alight on the credenza started to lose its brightness. The flame was still there and glowing brightly, but the light cast by the beeswax candle dimmed. Then the lamp being held by the first man started to die. He brought the lamp up and watched as the flame remained the same but the light in the room was slowly drained of color first, and then brightness. The cabin went dark with the exception of two pinpoint dots of light that had been the candle and the lamp.

  “What is this?” the second man asked as the maps slid out from under his arm. They fell to the floor with a hollow thump, and then they both heard the decking creak as something moved around them.

  Before either man could react, the door suddenly opened and the third man stepped through and then quickly closed it.

  “What are you doing and how did you get that door opened?” the first man asked as he tried desperately to see the faces of his two men.

  “It’s too dark out there. Something ate the light, even from the open hatchways.”

  “We could not get that door opened,” the second man said as he reached around the frightened man and tried the latch. It moved but the door failed to open. He pulled, and then pulled again.

  The first man placed the dead lamp on the table and as he did he noticed that the wrapping covering the artifacts had mysteriously opened. He leaned in closer and saw that he could discern some form of lettering. The carved images looked as if they had an inner glow to the etching. He started to reach out and touch the symbols but remembered the intense cold when he had picked up the bundle. He quickly moved his hand back.

  “Listen,” the second man said as he abruptly ceased trying to open the cabin’s door. “Do you hear that?”

  The other two men cocked their heads. Yes, there was something coming from the darkness. It sounded like several people chanting in a language they had never heard before. The sounds came and went, intensified and then calmed. Deep and childlike. Booming and then almost-silent sobbing. The cabin became intensely cold. Condensation came from the three Frenchmen’s noses and mouths.

  “That’s enough. Get that door opened.”

  The two men nearest the cabin door started pounding and then slamming their shoulders against the wood. The door held firm and didn’t budge. It was as if the two men were battering a stone wall. The fog outside of the large windows on the stern started to vanish as if even the internal light of fog was being extinguished. Still the two men pounded and charged the door to no avail.

  “Damn it, get the attention of the Americans! We have to leave this place and I don’t care if they hang us or not, I don’t wish to die in here!”

  All three men started screaming and pounding on anything they could.

  Still, the cabin became even blacker than before as the shadows along the hull started to grow and then move in.

  Then it was there. The dark shape was silhouetted in front of the large stern windows of the captain’s cabin. It was large and the way it was highlighted against the swirling, white fog beyond the leaded glass made it that much more terrifying to the three French invaders.

  The leader of the three tried to move away from the center of the cabin with all thought of scooping up the canvas-covered parcel now gone from his mind. As he slowly tried to slip closer to the door and the two men fighting to get out, he saw the entity that had sprung from the darkest areas of the cabin move toward him. Suddenly some unseen force thrust him down to his knees. The man felt the pressure of a hand, but he knew in his heart there was no hand actually on his shoulder pushing him to the cabin’s floor.

  One of the two men fighting at the closed and unmovable door turned and saw their compatriot as his arms splayed out behind him while upon his knees. It was if the man was being tortured by an unseen taskmaster. That was when the man’s eyes took in what was doing it. The shape was that of a man that stood well over eight feet tall. The facial features were a swirl of dark colors ranging from green to dark purple. The features were a jumble of movement like the swirling fog beyond the windows. The face slowly turned toward the two men at the door as the shape held the first man in place. The man screamed as he watched the first man’s head twist in his direction. The two men could see the first pleading with them to help him. Then suddenly the head had turned too far and snapped. The men screamed as the head kept turning even as the spine was severed. The
entity allowed the first man to fall to the deck. His chest hit the floor first followed by his head. The face was still staring up at the dark ceiling in its twisted shape.

  “God help us,” one of the men said as he continued trying to twist the door latch open. The entity seemed to stand until the topmost portion vanished into the wooden beams that made up the ceiling of the cabin. Both men froze as a large black hand stretched out. The long fingers were like a trail of India ink released inside a water bucket. The fingers caressed the first man as his eyes bulged out. Then the ethereal digits tightened around the Frenchman’s face. The first man turned in time to see the fingers of the entity scrape downward. The second man started to relieve his stomach of its evening meal when he saw the skin first stretch, and then tear. It was like the sound of a piece of paper ripping in two. The face came off as the man screamed. As the skin was lifted free of the skull the head turned toward the frightened man at the door. The look was horrifying as the blood spurted from the man’s open blood vessels. The jaw worked and the tongue moved but no scream could come from the shocked man as he slid to the floor.

  The man at the door had lost his mind. It was if a string had been pulled too hard and the twine snapped with a twang. The mind of the third departed this world just as his body joined it. The apparition twisted the head of the crying man until the neck separated from the shoulders. The body didn’t fall to the floor, it slowly slid into a sitting position.

  The sudden absence of screaming allowed the faint echo of a chant to reverberate throughout the cabin’s interior. The sounds were foreign and the words ancient. The cloth wrapping the artifacts started to smolder and then as smoke started to rise from the burning wrapping, the chant finally ceased and the bundle of artifacts stopped sizzling in its cloth. The entity came forward and stood over the table for the longest time. The image of the intruder widened, expanded, and then started swirling like an inner tornado.

  The entity started to disperse as soon as the beating heart of the last man stopped thumping.

  The screams of pain and fear had reverberated off the thick wooden hull for more than ten full minutes and not one sound had been heard outside the cabin.