by Amy Cross
"Seriously."
Efferson stared at the strange mold, finding it hard to believe that such a huge mass of matter could have built up in barely a month's time. There were pieces of wire mesh fused into the surface, along with sections of wood and metal, as if other parts of the ship had been used to bulk up the mix. "It's almost like a nest," Efferson said after a moment.
"I was gonna mention it earlier," Claremont replied, "but I've been too busy trying to make sure the goddamn boat doesn't sink. Anyway, it doesn't really matter, does it? A bit of mold's not gonna hurt anyone, and it's not gonna add too much to the weight. It's not even in the way. It's basically the same stuff that mushrooms are made of, right?"
Efferson turned to him.
"Isn't it?" Claremont asked innocently.
"Just don't serve it up for dinner," Efferson said with a sigh. "And see if you can get rid of it. I don't want to spend hours at Durres arguing with some antsy Albanian customs official who thinks we're bringing the Black Death to their country. We have enough trouble with them when we're just transporting spare parts. God forbid that any of those officious bastards catch sight of this stuff. They'll all have heart-attacks, and then they'll stick us in quarantine for a month."
"Yeah, but -"
"Just get rid of it," Efferson said firmly. "Damn thing gives me the creeps."
"And when would you like me to remove this huge piece of mold?" Claremont asks. "Before or after I've fixed the engine and dealt with half a dozen other problems that are bound to crop up before sunrise?" He waited for an answer. "Can you seriously believe they sent us out with just a four-man crew?"
"Just get it done," Efferson said, turning and heading over to the door. "I've got to get back up to the bridge, but I want the engine sorted before anything else breaks. The storm's set for another couple of hours at least, so no-one's getting any time off until we reach port. Got it? We're under-manned as it is, and the last thing I need is to deal with crewmen taking impromptu naps."
Efferson waited for a reply, but all he got from Claremont was a grunt of acknowledgment.
"I'm gonna take that as a sign that you understand," Efferson said bluntly.
Heading out onto the deck, Efferson shielded his eyes from the pouring rain and looked up at the main lookout tower. Sure enough, Saffron was still up there, braving the worst of the weather and keeping an eye on the boat. Smiling as he reflected upon the fact that there was at least someone else who had a worse job than him, Efferson hurried over to the door that led into the main drive-room, from where he planned to make his way up to the bridge. As he did so, however, the boat lurched to one side, almost knocking him off his feet, and when he pulled himself back up, he noted that the drive-room door was already hanging open. He was certain that he'd pushed the door shut a few minutes ago, but he knew there was no way any of the other crew would be out here in the storm. Figuring he must have made a mistake, he headed inside, and this time he made doubly certain that the door was shut behind him.
Chapter Three
"That's right," Saffron muttered bitterly as he watched Efferson pulling the door shut. "Get back inside, where it's nice and warm."
With a heavy, hulking groan, the Demeter V crashed into another wave, which sent water crashing across the bow. Reaching out and grabbing the chains that secured him to the mast, Saffron double-checked that he was held in place. If anything, the storm seemed to be getting worse, and he knew he'd never survive a fall from such a great height. Glancing up at the sky, he realized he was probably closer to the clouds than to the deck of the boat.
"Come on," he muttered as the boat creaked yet again. "You can do it. Not much further now."
Chapter Four
"Got anything on the radar?" Efferson asked as he walked into the bridge, only to find that the entire compartment was empty.
Walking across the room, he looked around, expecting to find Carlton tinkering with some out-of-the-way piece of equipment. Glancing over at the main control panel, he saw that the boat was under the control of an autopilot.
"Carlton?" he called out, as the storm lashed the windows. Given the strength of the gale outside, Efferson knew that shouting for someone was a forlorn hope. Grabbing his radio, he opened a channel and listened to the static for a moment.
"Bridge to Carlton," he said eventually. "Repeat, this is the bridge calling Carlton. Where the hell are you?"
He waited for a reply, but all he heard was more static.
"Bridge to Carlton," he said again, failing to hide the hint of annoyance in his voice. "Answer your fucking radio or I swear to God, I'll leave you behind at the next port."
Again, there was no reply.
"Bridge to all crew," Efferson said with a sigh, "if anyone's seen Carlton, kindly tell him he's out of a job unless he gets his ass back up here in the next ten seconds." Wandering over to the main computer bank, he checked a couple of readings and saw that somehow, miraculously, the Demeter V was still just about on the right course. "Bridge to all crew," he said again, "can someone -"
"Saffron to bridge," came a sudden reply, breaking through the static. "I haven't seen Carlton, but I thought I saw someone down by some of the containers near the engine room. I'm pretty sure it wasn't Carlton, though. It was too tall. It didn't look like any of you."
"No-one's been near the containers," Efferson snapped back at him. "What are you -"
"Just telling you what I saw," Saffron replied. "I know it's a dark night, but I'm not imagining things. There was someone down there. I figured it could maybe have been you or Claremont at a push, but there's no way it was Carlton." There was a pause. "If anyone had come out of the bridge after you, I'd have seen them. That door stayed shut the whole time."
"Great," Efferson said, "so what you're saying is that in the middle of a storm, some asshole has climbed up the side and decide to stow away? Get real, Saffron. You're no use to me up there if you're not reliable."
"Charming," Saffron replied.
"I'm not trying to be charming," Efferson muttered. "I'm trying to run a fucking boat." Before he could continue with his ruminations, however, there was a loud banging sound, followed by a tremor that shook the entire vessel. "What the hell was that?" Efferson shouted into the radio as he hurried over to the window. Staring out into the darkness, he could barely see a damn thing. Seconds later, a flash of lightning lit up the horizon.
"I didn't see anything," Saffron replied, sounding noticeably less calm than before. "Apart from the lightning. Should I come down?"
"Not yet," Efferson said. "Hold position. Claremont, are you okay down there?"
He waited for a reply, but all he heard was static.
"Claremont!" Efferson shouted. "Are you -"
"What do you want me to do?" Claremont asked suddenly, his voice coming across loud and clear. "Do you want me to fix the engine, or do you want me to clean up the mold, or do you want me to stand around chatting shit all the fucking time on the radio? Seriously, tell me what you want me to do and I'll do it. I'll follow any fucking order you give me, but just stop trying to get me to do a hundred things at once!"
"Keep working on the engine," Efferson said, trying to stay calm. "If either of you see Carlton, tell him to get his ass up to the bridge. I don't care what the hell's dragged him away. He's supposed to be here at all times." Walking through to the rear section of the bridge, he glanced around one final time, just to make sure that there was no sign of anyone else. "I'm not kidding," he added. "Carlton, if you're listening in on this frequency, get your -"
And that's when he saw it.
Over on the other side of the bridge, next to one of the aft windows, there was a patch of blood. Not a lot, but enough to instantly send a shiver down Efferson's spine as he slowly walked over to take a closer look. Smeared across the floor and partially up the wall, there was enough blood to make Efferson immediately realize that something serious had happened.
Setting the radio on a nearby ledge, he knelt next to the pat
ch of blood and then glanced along the corridor. Sure enough, a little further along, there was some more blood, as if something had been dragged away from the bridge. Efferson paused for a moment as the boat tilted slightly, and for a moment it was as if the entire vessel was creaking and groaning. Rain was still driving down and hitting the windows, and lightning was flashing on the horizon. Keeping his eyes fixed on the bloodstain at the far end of the corridor, Efferson tried to work out what, exactly, he should do next. On the one hand, it was clear that Carlton must have hurt himself. On the other hand, it wasn't clear how he could have cut himself so badly.
Either way, Efferson realized he had no option but to go and take a look. After all, Claremont was busy in the engine room and Saffron was up on the top deck. The Demeter V ran with a tight crew of just four men, which was considered by head office to be the optimal number to maintain operational standards while maximizing efficiency. In reality, they were hopelessly undermanned, and Efferson couldn't afford to have one of his men out of action. The computer would handle any necessary course corrections for a few minutes, and given the amount of blood smeared across the wall and floor, it was clear that Carlton might be seriously hurt.
"Hey!" Efferson called out, walking cautiously along the corridor. "You down here, man? You okay?"
When he got to the next blood stain, he stopped and glanced back toward the bridge. For a moment, he considered the possibility that pirates might have managed to get on-board, but he quickly put such a crazy idea to the back of his mind. Pirates didn't operate in these waters, and even if they did, they wouldn't sneak onto the boat like this, especially not in such bad weather. The Demeter V was an old heap of junk, and any self-respecting pirate would turn his nose up at such a dismal haul.
"Hey, Carlton!" Efferson called out. "Come on, man. You down here or what?"
The boat lurched to the starboard side for a moment, forcing Efferson to reach out and hold onto a bulkhead.
"Come on, we don't have time for this!" he shouted. "If you're hurt, we can patch you up. What did you do, anyway? You hit your head or something?"
Silence. The only sound was a deep groan from somewhere far below, as the boat was pitched against yet another wave.
"Fuck this," Efferson muttered, losing patience as he hurried along to the door that led through to the mess. Convinced that he'd find Carlton on one of the benches, either nursing a wound or simply passed out, he was surprised to see nothing more than another patch of blood, this time in the recognizable form of a hand-print. Stepping into the room, Efferson took a look around, wondering what the hell Carlton had been doing. Despite having worked in the merchant navy for more than a decade, Efferson had never experienced anything quite so unusual as a bleeding man who seemed to have completely disappeared.
"Carlton!" he shouted, determined to track the missing man down. "Where -" Before he could finish, however, the boat lurched to the port side, sending Efferson tumbling to the floor and then sliding over to the far wall. As the vessel settled a little, he paused for a moment and waited until he'd got his balance back, and then he stood up and turned to go back out into the corridor.
Stopping dead in his tracks, he saw that there was someone standing in the doorway, watching him. A man, except he seemed somehow bigger and darker than a man; with pale skin, almost paper-white, this strange figure had dark shadows under two dark eyes that stared at Efferson with menacing intent. As the boat continued to pitch and yaw, the figure seemed to have little trouble staying upright, even as Efferson found himself grabbing hold of the bulkhead in order to keep from falling over.
"Who are you?" Efferson shouted at the intruder. "Where the hell did you come from?"
There was no reply. The figure seemed interested only in staring at Efferson with the determined, steely expression of a hunter that had finally cornered its prey.
"How did you get onto this boat?" Efferson asked, starting to panic a little. Having left his radio through in the main part of the bridge, he knew he had no way of contacting the rest of the crew. After a moment, as he saw that the stranger had a patch of blood smeared across his chin, Efferson found himself looking around the mess, hoping against hope that he might find something he could use as a weapon. Spotting an old water-pan on one of the counters, he considered making a move, although he was certain that the figure would try to stop him.
The boat shifted again as a heavy wave smashed into the side, causing the lights to flicker.
"Were you drifting?" Efferson asked. It was a long-shot, but it was the only explanation that many any sense. There was no other way this figure could have come on-board. He certainly hadn't been on the boat when they'd left Southampton; not only had Efferson and his crew completed a full inspection, but customs officials had checked the boat over before giving it permission to set sail. "Did you climb aboard from the storm?" he continued. "If you're hurt, we can give you food and water. Did you see a man somewhere around here? His name's Carlton. He's a member of my crew."
The figure continued to stare darkly at him.
"I can't help you if you won't tell me who you are," Efferson explained, trying to remain calm. "I'm not a mind-reader."
"How much longer?" the figure asked suddenly, his voice sounding dark but also a little fragile.
"Until what?"
"We're going to Albania," the figure said.
"That's right," Efferson replied. "We were supposed to be there first thing in the morning, but the storm has slowed us. We'll probably need another twenty-four to thirty-six hours." He waited for the figure to ask another question. "Is that where you're going?" he asked eventually. "Albania?"
"Tarnovo," the figure said.
"Tarnovo? I'm not sure -"
"On the Yantra."
Efferson stared at him for a moment. "The Yantra? That's a river, isn't it? In Bulgaria? Is that where you want to go?"
"She's there."
"She?"
"The empire has fallen."
"I don't -"
"It's gone," the figure said. "The Ottomans too. It's all gone."
"I don't know what you mean," Efferson said after a moment. "This ship is the Demeter V. We're a merchant vessel sailing from Southampton to Albania." He waited for some hint of recognition in the figure's eyes. "Southampton? In England?" Again, he waited. "My name is Stefan Efferson. I'm the captain of the vessel. Can you tell me your name?"
The figure stared at him.
"If you -"
"Edgar," the figure said suddenly. "I'm the first and only son of the LeCompte family. My father was a baron, and we owned more than ten thousand peasants. Men like you. Worthless, replaceable runts."
Efferson paused. "Okay..."
"You're still on your feet," Edgar said. "Why have you not bowed before me?"
"Well, I'm not sure..." Efferson said, trying to work out whether he should be amused or terrified. The stranger was clearly out of his mind, but that didn't necessarily mean he was dangerous. Then again, there was still the matter of Carlton's disappearance to resolve.
"My sister is still alive," Edgar continued. "She's at our home. I'm going there, to find her. The last time I saw her, she had me sealed in a grave. I feel it's time I returned the favor."
"So you're going to Bulgaria?" Efferson asked, trying to buy some time while he came up with a plan.
"I'll need transport from the port. The journey's long, and I'd prefer not to walk. There are vessels that travel fast. I've seen them. You must arrange passage for me. As a peasant, you have a duty to ensure that my journey is completed quickly and without discomfort. This is how the world works." He waited for a reply. "Do you not recognize your duty, peasant?"
"Peasant?" Efferson glanced over at the water-pan again, figuring that this Edgar LeCompte individual seemed to be a little strange. In fact, he was clearly out of his mind. "Listen, I'm looking for someone. Maybe you've seen him. His name's Carlton. He's a member of my crew and I'm worried about him. There's blood. Is it his?" He waited f
or an answer. "Is it yours?" He waited again, aware that he needed to tread carefully in case this intruder turned out to be dangerous. "Why don't you tell me what happened?" he asked eventually. "From the start."
"You must arrange passage for me," Edgar said. "Nothing else is important."
"I'll see what I can do," Efferson replied, edging across the room. When he reached the door, however, he found that Edgar was showing no willingness to move out of the way. "First," Efferson continued, "I need to find my missing crewman. He might be injured. Do you understand? He's hurt. He was on the bridge when I left, but now I can't find him. He's not supposed to be away from his post, but there's blood on the floor."
"He's dead," Edgar replied.
"What?"
"He's dead."
Efferson paused. "What do you -"
"He's dead," Edgar said again. "His remains are in the next room. There's no need for you to see. He's beyond help."
"What happened?" Efferson asked, frantically trying to think of a way to get back through to the bridge. At least if he could reach the emergency cabinet, he could retrieve a flare-gun, which might prove to be some kind of weapon. It was becoming increasingly clear that this Edgar guy was a threat.
"He died because I took his blood," Edgar replied, staring blankly at Efferson. "You should have chosen your crew more carefully. He was a weak and easy target, and he showed no bravery whatsoever. He tried to hide, and he screamed as he died. It was a pathetic sight. I told him to honor and respect me, but he refused to do so."
"You killed him?" Efferson asked, feeling a sense of panic start to rise through his body.
"Yes."
"Why?"
"He was the first one I found."
"Okay," Efferson replied, forcing himself to stay calm, despite the fact that his heart was pounding. "We need to go through to the bridge. Do you want to wait here or do you want to come with me?"
"Tell me about Madeleine," Edgar said.
"I don't know who -"
"My sister. Madeleine LeCompte. Tell me about her. Tell me everything you've heard. How far has her legend spread? Is she feared and loved around the world?"