That Which Should Not Be (22 page)

“And I have never heard of anything like this at our present latitude,” he said, finishing my thoughts. 

I looked down at the chart again and nodded. 

“But if these positions are wrong, it wouldn’t just mean you charted them incorrectly.  It would also mean I sailed us three thousand miles south when I meant to take us north and east.  While I am prepared to admit possible mistakes, I doubt even a man on his first voyage could make such an error.”

Now, both of us were silent.  I looked down at the chart again, tracing that northeasterly path I had traveled dozens, no, a hundred times. 

“Tonight, take a new reading.  Then we will know one way or another.”

For a moment, Drake said nothing.  I looked up at him and saw true fear in his eyes.  Without speaking, I asked the question.  He answered. 

“There’s more, sir.”

“More?”

“More.”

“Worse?”

“Worse.”

We looked at each other, and he continued. 

“I took another reading.  Last night.  After you and the rest of the men turned in.  I wanted to know how far the storm had blown us off course.”

Of course he had.  It was why he had been the one man I wouldn’t have set sail without. 

“We aren’t in the doldrums, are we?”

“No sir, we are not.”

“Drake,” I said as evenly as I could, “where are we?”

“I have no idea.  Sir.”

*   *   *

As the sun dipped in the western sky, or what I assumed was still the western sky, Drake and I stood on the deck, watching the complete absence of motion.  I had released the men earlier to their own devices.  Ordinarily a ship is constant energy, constant movement.  Yelled commands and controlled confusion.  Not that day.  Nothing changed, and thus there was nothing to change. 

But I had another reason, a darker reason, for wanting the men occupied in pursuits other than those involving the ship.  If what Drake said was true, and I had no reason to doubt it was, what we were about to see would have driven them to madness and mutiny.

The sun was gone now, and the gloaming was upon us.  Darkness comes quickly on the sea, and so it came that evening.  It was a warm night, but as the stars began to peek out from the blackness, I felt a cold chill ripple up my spine, and a shiver answered it.  Men speak of the void that is night, of its darkness, of its impenetrable blackness.  At sea, alone and far from any artificial glow, it is all the worse.  But there is peace in the familiar, and no matter how dark or frightening it may be, it is nothing compared to the unknown. 

I have sailed to every port of call in every half-civilized nation on this Earth, but never before and never since have I seen anything like that.  The sun was long gone on to its next appointment, but the sky remained a dark crimson mixed with an inky purple.  But it wasn’t empty.  It seemed to move, to quiver and roll, to pulsate and change.  The colors would shift, sometimes to an almost pinkish hue, then a dark violet or even a gentle lavender, then back to a glowing crimson.  Yes, that was it.  The sky glowed, as if it was a thing rather than the absence thereof, a glowing, moving, colored thing.  There were still stars.  But they were unlike any I had ever seen before.  Gone were the familiar, the comforting, shimmering diamonds I had come to know and love.  Can you imagine it?  To a man of the sea, the stars are worth more than their beauty.  Far more.  They are guideposts, our ball of twine in an endless, undulating labyrinth of water.  But Polaris was gone.  Betelgeuse, vanished.  No more Big Dipper.  Orion had fled.  The Great Bear was slain.  

But there were stars.  Oh yes, there were stars.  Just not the pin-points of light I had come to expect.  No, these were great orbs of fire.  Some shone clear and bright as the sun, and yet their light gave no illumination.  Others seemed to pulsate, beating like the heart of some great beast.  Still others seemed to dance together, twirling in great pinwheels as we watched.  More would fade in and out, like the beam of a light house turning out of view, only to return a few seconds later.  As I watched them, I had the feeling I was staring up through the sea to the sky, rather than sitting upon its surface.  But one thing could not be denied — there was nowhere on Earth with that sky.  Nowhere. 

“Drake,” I whispered, never taking my eyes off that ungodly vision.  “Drake, are we dead?”

“I don’t know, sir,” he answered solemnly.  “But if we are, this is most assuredly Hell.”

Chapter

31

I did not sleep that night, not really.  How could you with that looming monstrosity above, when the very sky over your head was an enemy?  The sun had only begun to stream through the windows of my cabin when there was a banging on my door.  It was Drake.  He didn’t have to say anything.  The ship sitting on the horizon said it all. 

“How long has she been there?” I asked, stepping out onto the foredeck. 

“I don’t know, sir, but she was there when the sun rose.  She hasn’t moved since, unsurprisingly.”

It was yet another day of perfect stillness.  I spied the ship through my glass.  It was a two-masted brig.  It was at full sail.  Or at least it was rigged that way.  With no wind, the sails made for an almost comic scene, hanging as impotently as ours. 

“There’s been not a breeze, Captain.  I don’t know where she came from or how she got here.”

There was something familiar with the ship, something that seemed to beckon to me.  I scanned the decks.  Nothing stirred. 

“Should we hail her, sir?”

I closed my glass and said, “Try, Drake.  But given I don’t see anyone on deck, I don’t know how much luck you will have.”

Drake nodded sharply and then turned, barking orders to the men who stood gawking.  Within moments, one of the mates was signaling with semaphore flags.  I watched for some response, but there was nothing. 

The men were worried, I knew.  The ship was an ill omen to some and a mystery to others.  They knew well not a whisper of wind had blown for a full day and night.  The ship had no stack, and it was clear it wasn’t steam powered.  It had appeared out of nowhere, somehow drawing within sight-range without any obvious source of power.  

“Drake, come into my cabin for a second.”

Once the door was closed behind him and we were well out of the hearing of my men, I asked him what he thought. 

“Well, sir, I don’t like it, but I can’t say it surprises me any more than anything else we’ve seen to this point.”

“No,” I said, crossing my arms across my chest, “but I don’t think we can just leave that ship out there.”

“What do you mean to do, sir?” Drake asked, though I could see in his eyes he understood precisely what I intended. 

“We can’t know how long we will be here,” I said.  “I fear the men will notice the night sky eventually, no matter how we try to keep it from them.  We can’t have that ship sitting at the edge of the horizon, unknown and unresponsive.  Besides, they need something to occupy them.”

“You mean to explore it then?”

“I do.”

“I don’t like it, Captain.  Everything is wrong here, and I do not think we should leave the ship.”

“I don’t either.  Which is why you are staying here.”  I raised my hand as Drake began his inevitable protest.  “There’s no point.  I can’t send you in my place, and I can’t bring you with me.  I’ll take Phillips, Jackson, and Stone.”

Drake nodded.  He knew debate was pointless.  For my part, I felt rejuvenated.  After twenty-four hours of sitting on our hands, now it was time for action.  I could see in the men’s eyes the same fire.  The weapon’s locker was opened, the yawl was prepared.  Before I stepped into the boat, I turned to Drake. 

“I would tell you not to leave without us, but it appears that is not going to be a problem.”

“I would tell you,” Drake said with a smile, “if the wind picks up, we’ll be gone before you feel the breeze.”  Then, his smile faded.  “Be careful, Jonathan.  Whatever happened on that ship is unholy.”

I nodded once and stepped into the boat.  I immediately felt strange.  The water was just as silent and unmoving as before.  The boat didn’t rock, except in response to our own movements.  The waves did not lap against its side.  Stone pulled the oars back, and his mighty stroke moved us away from the ship, but not as far as it should have.  I looked down into that Stygian water.  It was thick somehow.  Viscous.  Like oil, but not.  It seemed to cling to Stone’s oars.  I looked at the other men in the boat.  These were my bravest, my strongest.  But now I could see the fear in their eyes.  All except Stone.  His temperament matched his name. 

We pushed through the sludge, the thick, mucus tide.  Slowly, the ship on the horizon grew larger, while the haven of our own fell farther and farther behind.  Closer we drew, and with every stroke of the oars, I felt my heart sink.  Soon, it could not be denied.  I turned back and looked at Stone.  His eyes remained hard, but there was a quiver there, a tremble.  He knew the same thing as I, and it had shaken even him. 

*   *   *

It was a brig, alright.  Two-masted.  A cargo ship.  Blue hull with a gold railing.  We pulled the yawl up to its side.  For once, and only once, I was glad for the flat, unmoving water.  A rope ladder lay hung over the edge of the ship.  Stone handed me a pistol.  I put one hand on the ladder and yanked it three times.  It held fast, so I pulled myself up and over the railing onto the deck.  The other three followed. 

You are expecting, no doubt, that I will tell you the horrors I saw on deck, that I will speak of carnage and bloodshed, of death and destruction.  If I had such to tell, you would know it now.  But what I saw that day was all the more horrible. 

The deck was pristine.  It looked as if it had been cleaned that very day.  The sails were perfectly set, the rigging expertly tied.  But nothing moved.  We stood still, listening to the silence. 

“Jackson, Phillips, the crew’s mess.  Stone, check the cargo.  Meet back here with what you find.”

The men disappeared, Jackson and Phillips through a door on the far end, Stone into the depths of the ship.  Meanwhile, I waited.  A graveyard isn’t that quiet.  There the breeze rustles the trees, the birds sing, a dog barks.  Not on that ship.  I felt the heaviness of silence, the weight of absence.  My mind began to wander, and as it did, the images it created grew progressively worse, more morbid. 

I wondered if I would hear a scream from below, see Stone emerge half eaten, face ripped off, chased by some heretofore unknown and unseen monstrosity.  But there was nothing.  I turned, looking back at the Captain’s cabin.  It was then I saw the name of the ship, exactly as I had expected, printed in gold lettering:
  Lydia Lenore. 

All three men returned exactly as they had left, except Phillips carried what appeared to be a cup of tea.  His hand was shaking. 

“The mess was empty, sir, empty of the crew that is.  A meal had been set.  Dinner by the look of it.  It was half eaten.  It was still warm, sir,” he said, his voice cracking. 

“That’s not possible,” I replied without thinking.  That’s when Phillips held up the cup.  I took it.  Hot to the touch.  I felt myself sway where I was standing, but the sound of the cup smashing against the deck snapped me back to my senses.

“Are you alright, Captain?” Stone asked.

I looked at him dumbly.  “What of the cargo?”  

“Intact, sir.  No damage I can see, and nothing missing.  Whatever happened here, it wasn’t about the cargo.”  I nodded.  I would only learn later Stone was wrong. 

“What’s more,” he continued, “the ship’s yawl is still on board.  A ship this size wouldn’t have more than one.”

“So, they didn’t leave?” I said.

“Not on their own, they didn’t.”

“There’s nothing for us here,” I said.  “We’ll check the Captain’s cabin and head back.”

We walked quickly to the cabin.  None of us wanted to stay any longer than necessary.  I grabbed the handle.  The door didn’t move.  I gave it a shove.  Nothing. 

“Let me, Captain,” Stone said.  He heaved the small axe he carried down at the door’s latch.  The wood splintered, and the latch broke.  Then, with a push of his hand, the door was open.  Light streamed inside. 

“Sweet Jesus!”

Stone stumbled backwards.  Were it not for the sheer shock, I probably would have fallen to the floor.  There was nothing particularly strange about the room.  Like the rest of the ship, nothing was out of order, nothing was where it shouldn’t be.  It was so normal, in fact, that across a great wooden desk sat the captain. 

I could tell, even though he was sitting, he was tall, six feet by the look of him.  He wore a sailor’s great coat — blue with large brass buttons.  He was clean-shaven but for a large tuft of hair on his chin.  His eyes were open, and in them I saw a mixture of defiance, determination, and hate.  But there was also fear there.  Great, unanswered fear.  For what must have seemed an eternity to my men I stared across that short distance at him.  Stared until I realized, although he looked as if he might speak to us at any moment, he was dead.  Undeniably dead.  Irretrievably dead. 

I took a step inside.  One step, a cautious step.  Then another.  Moving more slowly than I ever had across such a space, I stepped sideways around the desk.  Almost to my surprise, the captain’s eyes didn’t follow me.  I looked down at him.  His skin was still pink, and I had a feeling that if I touched him, he would still be warm too.  And then something overcame me, and I couldn’t help but reach my hand out to his.  His hand was warm, but it was something else, as well.  Slimy, oily.  Coated in something. 

I almost ran at that point.  But my eyes were drawn to the object in front of him.  It was his log, sitting open.  The pen was still in his hand.  Beneath his other hand was a leather tome, the same dark crimson book you see before you today.  And then, for the first time in a long time, I heard something. 

It started out as a whisper.  Not one, but many.  A chorus.  A song.  It was a tongue I didn’t know, but I understood it, nonetheless.

“Take the Book.  Seize it and make it your own.” 

So I did.  I don’t know why I listened.  In truth, I couldn’t resist.  I pulled out the leather bag I had carried from our ship.  I removed the Book carefully from the captain’s grasp.  His hand seemed to cling to it, even in death.  I also took the captain’s log.  I walked gingerly from the room, but I never turned my back on the captain.  His eyes seemed to follow me, and it was with great relief that I stepped back into the sunlight. 

“Let’s go,” I said. 

*   *   *

As we walked to the side of the ship, I had the sinking feeling the yawl would be gone, but it was there just as we left it.  We climbed in one at a time, with Stone taking his position at the oars.  With every stroke, we were moving by small steps closer and closer to safety.  Stone was a strong man, and he always put all of his effort into whatever job he had been given, but I could see he was giving it something extra now.   

I sat there, trying my best to keep my eyes on the
Kadath
in the distance.  As a light breeze blew through my hair, I found my eyes drawn back to the ghost ship behind.  In fact, it must have taken at least three stokes of the oars before I noticed that breeze, the breeze that had been absent for the past two days, the breeze that now began to blow with more purpose.  I looked up at Stone.  He had stopped rowing, a dazed look on his face.  But only for a moment. 

Now he pulled ferociously, as the breeze turned into a wind and the wind into a gale.  The clouds came from nowhere, filling the sky with black mountains.  The waves crashed over the side of the little yawl, but we never were in danger of swamping.  A strange thing, as the waves were as violent as I had seen in any storm.  Drake, bless his soul, had lowered anchor and furled the sail while we were away, apparently due to some preternatural sense that the wind was coming.  Blessed was that moment when my feet were once again on the relatively solid foundation of the ship.  Drake was waiting. 

“Looks like you made it back just in time,” he said.  “Find anything worth finding?” 

“Nothing.  A dead captain and untouched cargo,” I yelled over the now howling wind. 

“What of the crew?”

“Gone.  I brought back a couple books.  One of them is the captain’s log.  Perhaps we can learn something from that.”

At that instant, Drake went as white as a winter squall.

“Mary, Mother of God,” he said, crossing himself.  “She’s coming around.”

I spun on my feet and stared back across the now rolling sea.  Sure enough, the ship was turning. 

“The wind must have caught her just right,” I stuttered.  But I didn’t really believe it.  For a moment we both stood there, staring, the men doing the same.  Then something snapped, and I was back. 

“Raise the anchor,” I commanded.  “Stone, unfurl the sail!  To the wheel, Drake!  Bring us round to port side!”

The men forgot what they saw.  There was the organized chaos and controlled confusion that better becomes a ship, with men running here and there, yelling and cursing at each other.  The wind was ferocious, and it was dangerous to go to full sail at that moment, but the ship bearing down upon us had to be avoided.  I ran and took the wheel from Drake. 

“She’s turning to match us, sir!” he yelled above the wind and now the rain.  I looked at that ship, growing larger every second.  Sure enough, she had turned into us and was, once again, on a collision course.  I spun the wheel hard in my hand until it stuck, the rudder full to starboard.  The ship jumped to the side, turning hard against the waves and the wind.  Once again, the ship matched us.  It was now close enough I could see it fully.  Nothing had changed on the deck, nothing except the wheel which now was attended.