Thursday, March 27, 2008
Monday, March 17, 2008
Hellstrom Voyage Chapter 7, The Battle
Before Broughton could say another word, the Captain was gone, circling around the edge of the camp like some terrible ghost, motioning for Broughton to go the other way with a curt wave of his hand.
Instantly Broughton saw their goal: Sergeant Castillo and the small contingent of marines he had sent to escort the lubbers. Unlike the Doctor and the Cartographer, these men weren’t in the center of the camp but were tied in a clump near the edge. Probably too tough to make a good meal right away, Broughton mused.
They moved quickly, the din of the orgiastic feasting drums and the darkness all the cover they could need. As they got closer, Broughton saw the men’s guns were strewn on the ground near them. The brutes had no idea what they were or the danger they possessed.
If they could get his marines free, they might stand a chance after all. Thankfully the Captain’s reason never fully left him, even in the grip of his worst madness. That, plus a little luck and they might be able make their escape.
The marines stiffened as they felt their crude ropes being cut from behind but made no sound. They knew their lives depended on not drawing the savages’ attention for a few seconds more. At a silent gesture from the major, they picked up their rifles and slipped back into the night, melting unseen from view.
The Captain’s orders were frighteningly specific, “You men will remain outside the light of the campfire while the Major and I free our guests. Guerilla sniping is the order of the day, gentlemen. You are to fire, then change position and reload. That should draw their attention. If I am killed, you are to make your way back to the beachhead and then to the ship.”
And with that he was gone, circling back around toward the edge of the camp closest to Doctor Argonis and the Royal Cartographer. The two stood in perfect silence, their muscles tense, like runners about to begin the race of their lives.
At the crack of the guns they moved, racing to the grisly preparation tables to cut their shipmates free. At first all was confusion, with the Near-Men not even realizing what was causing their companions to fall. At the sight of blood however, everything changed and the chaos turned to carnage.
Some ran right in the direction of the gunners, only to be cut down by a withering hail of fire. Others, however, went right for the Captain and the Major, almost instantly grasping from dozens of raids by rival tribes on their food what was happening.
The Cartographer said nothing as he ran from the camp at a gesture from Major Broughton, sending him into the protection of Sergeant Castillo and the marines. The Doctor though, a dedicated man of sterner stuff, headed straight for a small hut at the center of the camp.
The Captain grabbed his arm, shouting, “Are you mad, man?!? We have to leave! Now!”
Even as he spoke, he punched a charging brute in the face with the basket-hilt of his saber, then cut the creature from collarbone to waist as he tried to rise from the ground.
The Doctor shook free shouting, “My supplies! We found what we needed right before they captured us!”
The Major joined the Captain in the center of the camp, fixing a Near-Man on his bayonet and firing right into his chest at point blank range, kicking the brute free before he began to reload, his hands a blur as they went through motions practiced thousands of times to reload the muzzle-loader.
The Doctor quickly emerged from the shaman’s hut and the three were off, leaving a nightmare of blood and death behind them. What followed was something out of nightmare, a mad chase through the dense jungle, the Major leading the way, everyone trusting in his sense of direction.
Finally, they came into the clearing, the relief at seeing that their companions hadn’t abandoned them almost palpable. The line parted for them as they dashed through, the Major turning toward the jungle, knowing with the fear of a hunted animal that the Near-Men were seconds behind.
“On my mark!”
He watched with satisfaction as the marines moved like well-oiled cogs in a wheel. The ones he had left behind were loaded for bear and raised their rifles immediately, while Sergeant Castillo’s men knelt behind the line, furiously reloading their rifles.
The Captain moved with the Doctor, watching him quickly crush whatever herbs he had found with a mortar and pestle. The old hedge surgeon looked up at him as he applied the foul-smelling concoction to one of Miss Medeirra’s open wounds, “It will take effect quicker in the blood, but probably not quick enough.”
“Fire!”
The mass of creatures emerging from the tree line fell as the rifles cracked. Sergeant Castillo’s men handed their rifles to the marines on the firing line, taking the weapons they had just fired to begin reloading them as the creatures came on, driven mad with bloodlust, heedless of their fallen companions.
The Captain watched his first officer as one accustomed to searching for the slightest hint of hope, like a man staring at a black spot on the horizon, praying for land. Her breathing had become more relaxed, slowly but surely, the pain and fear and rage slipping away as the Doctor’s concoction took effect.
At that moment, the creatures reached the line, charging right onto the marines’ bayonets. The line faltered, threatening to break under sheer weight of numbers as Castillo’s men in the rear swung around to the side, cutting another group down with gunfire before engaging with their bayonets.
Suddenly there was a wrenching sound of bending, perhaps even breaking wood. Even the Near-Men stopped for moment to watch in amazement as the Constant surged forward deep into the harbor, much too deep for a ship of her size, before swinging around.
Time seemed to stand still as the ship disappeared in a cloud of beautiful white smoke. Captain Hellstrom reacted first, shouting, “Incoming!” He then dove into the sand of the beach. His men instinctively followed suit, leaving the savages to stare dumfounded at the sight of the tall ship so close in the harbor, a technological wonder nothing in their lives had prepared them for.
Then they were screaming, and dying, as the cannon shot ripped through them with terrible effect. The rifles, though unknown to them, inflicted injuries they could fathom from a lifetime of hunting savagery. This new weapon though, was something they were not prepared for, as it ripped Near-Men apart, spraying his blood and entrails over his companions.
It was then that Broughton’s brigade rose from the sand, like men clawing their way from a grave. At a yell from the Major they charged the Near-Men, despite the fact that they were massively outnumbered. This, combined with the terrible cannon shot that rang still in their ears, was too much for the dumb brutes.
Almost at once, as if a silent order had been given, they broke and ran. The marines chased as far as the tree line then turned back, raising their rifles in the air, letting out lusty screams of triumph in the direction of Constant, their home and today, not for the last time, their salvation.
Except for the major, who stared in silent relief, thanking the Mother as he saw the Doctor covering the body of his beloved Miranda, human once again. He ran to the Captain, looking down at her, “Does she-”
The Doctor snarled, waving him back, “She does, for now. But don’t celebrate yet, and get out of my light!”
The Captain smiled at his friend, startled only for a moment as the enormous man dropped his rifle and hugged him.
The marines were still cheering as the boats arrived from Constant, their shouts of, “All hail the conquering Lieutenant!” and “Castor drinks my ration for the next week!” echoing through the harbor as they made their way back to the ship.
Eventually, only the Captain and the Major were left on the beach, watching the sun sink behind their beloved ship. The Major clapped him on the back and laughed, “You know, she’s beached now and I can’t wait to see how we’re getting that ship out of this lagoon.”
The Captain laughed for only a moment, then frowned as he joined his laughing friend in the last boat off the hell forsaken island, thinking to himself, “How were they going to get the ship out of the harbor?”
Instantly Broughton saw their goal: Sergeant Castillo and the small contingent of marines he had sent to escort the lubbers. Unlike the Doctor and the Cartographer, these men weren’t in the center of the camp but were tied in a clump near the edge. Probably too tough to make a good meal right away, Broughton mused.
They moved quickly, the din of the orgiastic feasting drums and the darkness all the cover they could need. As they got closer, Broughton saw the men’s guns were strewn on the ground near them. The brutes had no idea what they were or the danger they possessed.
If they could get his marines free, they might stand a chance after all. Thankfully the Captain’s reason never fully left him, even in the grip of his worst madness. That, plus a little luck and they might be able make their escape.
The marines stiffened as they felt their crude ropes being cut from behind but made no sound. They knew their lives depended on not drawing the savages’ attention for a few seconds more. At a silent gesture from the major, they picked up their rifles and slipped back into the night, melting unseen from view.
The Captain’s orders were frighteningly specific, “You men will remain outside the light of the campfire while the Major and I free our guests. Guerilla sniping is the order of the day, gentlemen. You are to fire, then change position and reload. That should draw their attention. If I am killed, you are to make your way back to the beachhead and then to the ship.”
And with that he was gone, circling back around toward the edge of the camp closest to Doctor Argonis and the Royal Cartographer. The two stood in perfect silence, their muscles tense, like runners about to begin the race of their lives.
At the crack of the guns they moved, racing to the grisly preparation tables to cut their shipmates free. At first all was confusion, with the Near-Men not even realizing what was causing their companions to fall. At the sight of blood however, everything changed and the chaos turned to carnage.
Some ran right in the direction of the gunners, only to be cut down by a withering hail of fire. Others, however, went right for the Captain and the Major, almost instantly grasping from dozens of raids by rival tribes on their food what was happening.
The Cartographer said nothing as he ran from the camp at a gesture from Major Broughton, sending him into the protection of Sergeant Castillo and the marines. The Doctor though, a dedicated man of sterner stuff, headed straight for a small hut at the center of the camp.
The Captain grabbed his arm, shouting, “Are you mad, man?!? We have to leave! Now!”
Even as he spoke, he punched a charging brute in the face with the basket-hilt of his saber, then cut the creature from collarbone to waist as he tried to rise from the ground.
The Doctor shook free shouting, “My supplies! We found what we needed right before they captured us!”
The Major joined the Captain in the center of the camp, fixing a Near-Man on his bayonet and firing right into his chest at point blank range, kicking the brute free before he began to reload, his hands a blur as they went through motions practiced thousands of times to reload the muzzle-loader.
The Doctor quickly emerged from the shaman’s hut and the three were off, leaving a nightmare of blood and death behind them. What followed was something out of nightmare, a mad chase through the dense jungle, the Major leading the way, everyone trusting in his sense of direction.
Finally, they came into the clearing, the relief at seeing that their companions hadn’t abandoned them almost palpable. The line parted for them as they dashed through, the Major turning toward the jungle, knowing with the fear of a hunted animal that the Near-Men were seconds behind.
“On my mark!”
He watched with satisfaction as the marines moved like well-oiled cogs in a wheel. The ones he had left behind were loaded for bear and raised their rifles immediately, while Sergeant Castillo’s men knelt behind the line, furiously reloading their rifles.
The Captain moved with the Doctor, watching him quickly crush whatever herbs he had found with a mortar and pestle. The old hedge surgeon looked up at him as he applied the foul-smelling concoction to one of Miss Medeirra’s open wounds, “It will take effect quicker in the blood, but probably not quick enough.”
“Fire!”
The mass of creatures emerging from the tree line fell as the rifles cracked. Sergeant Castillo’s men handed their rifles to the marines on the firing line, taking the weapons they had just fired to begin reloading them as the creatures came on, driven mad with bloodlust, heedless of their fallen companions.
The Captain watched his first officer as one accustomed to searching for the slightest hint of hope, like a man staring at a black spot on the horizon, praying for land. Her breathing had become more relaxed, slowly but surely, the pain and fear and rage slipping away as the Doctor’s concoction took effect.
At that moment, the creatures reached the line, charging right onto the marines’ bayonets. The line faltered, threatening to break under sheer weight of numbers as Castillo’s men in the rear swung around to the side, cutting another group down with gunfire before engaging with their bayonets.
Suddenly there was a wrenching sound of bending, perhaps even breaking wood. Even the Near-Men stopped for moment to watch in amazement as the Constant surged forward deep into the harbor, much too deep for a ship of her size, before swinging around.
Time seemed to stand still as the ship disappeared in a cloud of beautiful white smoke. Captain Hellstrom reacted first, shouting, “Incoming!” He then dove into the sand of the beach. His men instinctively followed suit, leaving the savages to stare dumfounded at the sight of the tall ship so close in the harbor, a technological wonder nothing in their lives had prepared them for.
Then they were screaming, and dying, as the cannon shot ripped through them with terrible effect. The rifles, though unknown to them, inflicted injuries they could fathom from a lifetime of hunting savagery. This new weapon though, was something they were not prepared for, as it ripped Near-Men apart, spraying his blood and entrails over his companions.
It was then that Broughton’s brigade rose from the sand, like men clawing their way from a grave. At a yell from the Major they charged the Near-Men, despite the fact that they were massively outnumbered. This, combined with the terrible cannon shot that rang still in their ears, was too much for the dumb brutes.
Almost at once, as if a silent order had been given, they broke and ran. The marines chased as far as the tree line then turned back, raising their rifles in the air, letting out lusty screams of triumph in the direction of Constant, their home and today, not for the last time, their salvation.
Except for the major, who stared in silent relief, thanking the Mother as he saw the Doctor covering the body of his beloved Miranda, human once again. He ran to the Captain, looking down at her, “Does she-”
The Doctor snarled, waving him back, “She does, for now. But don’t celebrate yet, and get out of my light!”
The Captain smiled at his friend, startled only for a moment as the enormous man dropped his rifle and hugged him.
The marines were still cheering as the boats arrived from Constant, their shouts of, “All hail the conquering Lieutenant!” and “Castor drinks my ration for the next week!” echoing through the harbor as they made their way back to the ship.
Eventually, only the Captain and the Major were left on the beach, watching the sun sink behind their beloved ship. The Major clapped him on the back and laughed, “You know, she’s beached now and I can’t wait to see how we’re getting that ship out of this lagoon.”
The Captain laughed for only a moment, then frowned as he joined his laughing friend in the last boat off the hell forsaken island, thinking to himself, “How were they going to get the ship out of the harbor?”
Sunday, March 9, 2008
Hellstrom Voyage Chapter 6: Isle of the Near-Men
Hellstrom followed Broughton at a run, the two men pausing only occasionally to ensure that they hadn’t lost the trail.
Broughton skidded to a stop, chest heaving as he leaned against a tree to catch his breath, “Must have been the easiest hunt these things ever had. They’re leaving a trail my grandmother could follow.”
Hellstrom nodded, then suddenly pushed the Major to the ground as a small dart buried itself in the tree above his head. In one motion he knelt and threw the dagger from his boot, killing the savage creature and pinning it upright against a tree, “We must be closer than we thought.”
Both men approached the creature, its features just human enough to increase the revulsion they felt at their first sight of the dreaded proto-human. It would have been tall if it could stand up all the way but was clearly more suited to a four-legged gait like a gorilla, walking on heavy knuckles. It was almost naked, wearing nothing but a loin cloth, and a small strap to carry the blowgun and darts it used to hunt prey of any kind. Its brow was heavy and its bones and muscles were massive.
“By the Mother, I think if my dagger had been a little more to the center it would have bounced off this thing’s breast bone,” Hellstrom remarked in quiet wonder.
Broughton moved closer until his face was only inches away from the creatures, “My grandfather told me stories about them but I never imagined. It’s horrible.”
Then he carefully took a dart from the creature’s pouch and smelled it, recoiling as if he’d gotten too close to a fire, “Poison, probably paralytic. They like fresh game.”
Hellstrom nodded as he heard the drums in the distance. He had always imagined the Near-men as animals in his mind but the reality was far worse. This was different than a lion hunting a man. These things might not be human, but they weren’t animals either. They had weapons, clothes, music and no compunction about hunting other men.
“Come on, it’s not far, we have to hurry,” and with that the two men began to move again. This time much slower and with greater stealth.
***
Ariel took a small step back, eyes narrowing as the group of conscripted sailors suddenly turned on her in a mob.
“You said this place was inhabited by Near-men? Well you can stay and be something’s dinner but we’re leaving.”
She had known it was a mistake the moment she’d said it, if nothing else based on the looks Corporal Windmere and Mr. Sawyer had given her. Once the things had shown up, the men would be too concerned with the fight to think about running but now, with time to consider their options, the Constant, floating gracefully in the lagoon so close at hand seemed like a heaven to them.
A different man from the first found his voice as they continued to slowly advance on the small girl, “I’m a carpenter. Bad enough I get roped into some sea voyage by being knocked on the head, but now you’re telling me I’m supposed to stand here and wait for those things to find us? The Captain’s already dead. We should go back to the ship. Maybe have a vote about what we do from there.”
Ariel took another tiny step back and felt the incoming tide splash against her ankle, she was running out of beach.
***
The sound of the drums had gotten louder and louder as the men slowly made their way to within sight of the Near-men’s camp. It was now felt more than heard, building to a crescendo, to a conclusion both men instinctively knew would mean the horrible deaths of their shipmates.
Suddenly they could see it. The sun had gone down and the camp was alive with activity. Women (if indeed that was the appropriate term) hunched over a table topless, working to prepare a grisly feast. Nearby, some of the younger Near-men were stretching the skin of what had once been a man on a rack, so that when the sun rose tomorrow it could be tanned and turned into clothing.
One of the women turned toward the large pot in the center of the camp, where the hunters danced in orgiastic glee, parting for her to put the leg of a men, severed at the hip, into a fire. Other women continued their work at the table, cutting the skinned man apart.
The two men watched stunned for a moment before finally registering what was happening. They were witnessing the death of the naturalist, Doctor Greeland. He had been staked out, naked and spread-eagle on a table. He had been skinned and now he was being carved up like a Christmas ham.
Suddenly their reverie was broken by a scream. It was the Royal Cartographer, releasing all the pent-up horror of what he had witnessed into the night.
The Major lightly touched the Captain’s shoulder, whispering, “I think the good Doctor will keep them tonight. We should wait until they settle down with a full belly and slip in.”
But he recognized the look on the Captain’s face, he had been taken by one of his rages and Broughton knew nothing could reach his heart when it turned to stone, “I’ll be damned if I’ll sit here and watch them feast, taking the chance that no one else will die. Damn them. Damn us all. We are going to attack.”
***
After moments of indecision that felt like hours, it was instinct that ultimately decided the tense standoff on the beach.
One of the men, the filthy carpenter, had reached out and touched Ariel as he made his comment about a “vote” deciding what would happen on the ship next. She wasn’t a fool. She knew what would happen to her, one of only two women on board (and likely the only one to survive the mutiny) if order was broken and cowardly scum like these men took control.
Suddenly, a lightning bolt struck the ground out of the overcast sky, turning the beach beside the men to glass. They recoiled for a moment, then surged forward. Someone yelled, “Get her!”
Before they heard the second thunderclap, the carpenter was on the ground, convulsing terribly before dying, covered in terrible burns, most of his hair gone and what remained standing at weird angles.
Suddenly a terrible wind swept in from the sea, knocking several of the mutinous conscripts off their feet. They hadn’t been afraid of her before. A tiny slip of a young girl. Now they looked on her as a terrible goddess, the men she’d knocked down with her wind not even trying to rise to their feet.
Her voice cracked with anger, “Mr. Sawyer, burn those boats. No one leaves until Captain Hellstrom returns and rescinds his last order. Corporal Windmere, put these wags in the line but put a row of your men behind each block of them. They can either fight the Near-men if they come and die like men, or run back onto your bayonets and die like cowards. It makes no difference to me.”
For a moment the two men stood stunned but only a moment. They were actually relieved. For experienced seamen, there was nothing more terrifying than being under a weak command, one that let the mob have their way. Now that she had proved her strength, they were like an old bay, comforted by their harness as they pulled a carriage.
As the Corporal put the stunned sailors into position, Ariel looked down at the small pouch of trinkets and snarled, picking it up and hurling it into the sea. She had thought it helped her, the chalk, the magic circles, the thaumaturgy she’d learned at university. Now she knew that her power was as primal, in its own way, as Miss Medeirra’s that her anger, her rage, gave her more power than she ever dreamed possible.
Turning her back on the mass of men, on the island, she stared into the flickering light as Mr. Sawyer fired the boats, clenching her fists to stop her hands from shaking, inwardly terrified at the force within her she had tapped.
In the distance, a thunderclap pealed in answer to the rage and fear inside her.
Broughton skidded to a stop, chest heaving as he leaned against a tree to catch his breath, “Must have been the easiest hunt these things ever had. They’re leaving a trail my grandmother could follow.”
Hellstrom nodded, then suddenly pushed the Major to the ground as a small dart buried itself in the tree above his head. In one motion he knelt and threw the dagger from his boot, killing the savage creature and pinning it upright against a tree, “We must be closer than we thought.”
Both men approached the creature, its features just human enough to increase the revulsion they felt at their first sight of the dreaded proto-human. It would have been tall if it could stand up all the way but was clearly more suited to a four-legged gait like a gorilla, walking on heavy knuckles. It was almost naked, wearing nothing but a loin cloth, and a small strap to carry the blowgun and darts it used to hunt prey of any kind. Its brow was heavy and its bones and muscles were massive.
“By the Mother, I think if my dagger had been a little more to the center it would have bounced off this thing’s breast bone,” Hellstrom remarked in quiet wonder.
Broughton moved closer until his face was only inches away from the creatures, “My grandfather told me stories about them but I never imagined. It’s horrible.”
Then he carefully took a dart from the creature’s pouch and smelled it, recoiling as if he’d gotten too close to a fire, “Poison, probably paralytic. They like fresh game.”
Hellstrom nodded as he heard the drums in the distance. He had always imagined the Near-men as animals in his mind but the reality was far worse. This was different than a lion hunting a man. These things might not be human, but they weren’t animals either. They had weapons, clothes, music and no compunction about hunting other men.
“Come on, it’s not far, we have to hurry,” and with that the two men began to move again. This time much slower and with greater stealth.
***
Ariel took a small step back, eyes narrowing as the group of conscripted sailors suddenly turned on her in a mob.
“You said this place was inhabited by Near-men? Well you can stay and be something’s dinner but we’re leaving.”
She had known it was a mistake the moment she’d said it, if nothing else based on the looks Corporal Windmere and Mr. Sawyer had given her. Once the things had shown up, the men would be too concerned with the fight to think about running but now, with time to consider their options, the Constant, floating gracefully in the lagoon so close at hand seemed like a heaven to them.
A different man from the first found his voice as they continued to slowly advance on the small girl, “I’m a carpenter. Bad enough I get roped into some sea voyage by being knocked on the head, but now you’re telling me I’m supposed to stand here and wait for those things to find us? The Captain’s already dead. We should go back to the ship. Maybe have a vote about what we do from there.”
Ariel took another tiny step back and felt the incoming tide splash against her ankle, she was running out of beach.
***
The sound of the drums had gotten louder and louder as the men slowly made their way to within sight of the Near-men’s camp. It was now felt more than heard, building to a crescendo, to a conclusion both men instinctively knew would mean the horrible deaths of their shipmates.
Suddenly they could see it. The sun had gone down and the camp was alive with activity. Women (if indeed that was the appropriate term) hunched over a table topless, working to prepare a grisly feast. Nearby, some of the younger Near-men were stretching the skin of what had once been a man on a rack, so that when the sun rose tomorrow it could be tanned and turned into clothing.
One of the women turned toward the large pot in the center of the camp, where the hunters danced in orgiastic glee, parting for her to put the leg of a men, severed at the hip, into a fire. Other women continued their work at the table, cutting the skinned man apart.
The two men watched stunned for a moment before finally registering what was happening. They were witnessing the death of the naturalist, Doctor Greeland. He had been staked out, naked and spread-eagle on a table. He had been skinned and now he was being carved up like a Christmas ham.
Suddenly their reverie was broken by a scream. It was the Royal Cartographer, releasing all the pent-up horror of what he had witnessed into the night.
The Major lightly touched the Captain’s shoulder, whispering, “I think the good Doctor will keep them tonight. We should wait until they settle down with a full belly and slip in.”
But he recognized the look on the Captain’s face, he had been taken by one of his rages and Broughton knew nothing could reach his heart when it turned to stone, “I’ll be damned if I’ll sit here and watch them feast, taking the chance that no one else will die. Damn them. Damn us all. We are going to attack.”
***
After moments of indecision that felt like hours, it was instinct that ultimately decided the tense standoff on the beach.
One of the men, the filthy carpenter, had reached out and touched Ariel as he made his comment about a “vote” deciding what would happen on the ship next. She wasn’t a fool. She knew what would happen to her, one of only two women on board (and likely the only one to survive the mutiny) if order was broken and cowardly scum like these men took control.
Suddenly, a lightning bolt struck the ground out of the overcast sky, turning the beach beside the men to glass. They recoiled for a moment, then surged forward. Someone yelled, “Get her!”
Before they heard the second thunderclap, the carpenter was on the ground, convulsing terribly before dying, covered in terrible burns, most of his hair gone and what remained standing at weird angles.
Suddenly a terrible wind swept in from the sea, knocking several of the mutinous conscripts off their feet. They hadn’t been afraid of her before. A tiny slip of a young girl. Now they looked on her as a terrible goddess, the men she’d knocked down with her wind not even trying to rise to their feet.
Her voice cracked with anger, “Mr. Sawyer, burn those boats. No one leaves until Captain Hellstrom returns and rescinds his last order. Corporal Windmere, put these wags in the line but put a row of your men behind each block of them. They can either fight the Near-men if they come and die like men, or run back onto your bayonets and die like cowards. It makes no difference to me.”
For a moment the two men stood stunned but only a moment. They were actually relieved. For experienced seamen, there was nothing more terrifying than being under a weak command, one that let the mob have their way. Now that she had proved her strength, they were like an old bay, comforted by their harness as they pulled a carriage.
As the Corporal put the stunned sailors into position, Ariel looked down at the small pouch of trinkets and snarled, picking it up and hurling it into the sea. She had thought it helped her, the chalk, the magic circles, the thaumaturgy she’d learned at university. Now she knew that her power was as primal, in its own way, as Miss Medeirra’s that her anger, her rage, gave her more power than she ever dreamed possible.
Turning her back on the mass of men, on the island, she stared into the flickering light as Mr. Sawyer fired the boats, clenching her fists to stop her hands from shaking, inwardly terrified at the force within her she had tapped.
In the distance, a thunderclap pealed in answer to the rage and fear inside her.
Sunday, March 2, 2008
Hellstrom Voyage Chapter 5
Hellstrom Voyage: Chapter 5, Beached
Several hours later, Captain Hellstrom was asleep in his bed, one of only two such luxuries allowed on the ship, the other being in the Royal Cartographer’s quarters, when a call from the deck sent him instantly awake.
He walked quickly to the door, taking his uniform jacket off the hook, noting how thoroughly Fournier had cleaned it. How he removed the blood was anyone’s guess and he probably wouldn’t share any of his “trade secrets” anyway.
Within moments the Captain was on deck, squinting into the distance. Lt. Castor had regained enough health to return to duty and limped over to him, “Good morning, Lieutenant, how’s the foot?”
The young man nodded formally, not wishing to show any pain or discomfort here on deck, “It’s healing nicely, Sir, whatever the Doctor did to me it seems to be working.”
The Captain nodded, again looking into the distance, “Report.”
“We’ve found her, Captain, she swam into that sheltered lagoon up ahead. She’s beached, Sir.”
The Captain frowned, turning to his Windmaster, Miss Theodorra, the closest thing he had to an expert on such matters, “I don’t understand, why is she still in her animal form. Unconsciousness usually reverts her to her natural state.”
The small girl looked up at him, eyes bright with tears, that’s all he needed was an emotional girl on board, “It’s the pain, Sir. Pain is primal. As long as she’s in pain, she will stay in the form and mentality of that creature. And washed ashore, her pain will only be increasing. She won’t last long.”
The Captain simply nodded, as if he’d received a report on the weather, “Lieutenant, bring the good Doctor up on deck, and that naturalist who got us all into this, I believe we have need of his talents now as well. Mr. Sawyer, I believe we can bring Constant into that lagoon. Mr. Star, check depth and call it out, just to be sure.”
Looking up almost directly into the sun, he called, “Mr. Ansel, keep watch on the horizon for sails. We still have a Mandelieu raider out there, unfortunately.”
The Royal Cartographer came up from behind him, eyes bright at the sight of an unknown shore, “Captain, if it please you, I would request permission to join the landing party as well, if nothing else in order to claim this land for Her Majesty.”
The Captain nodded, realizing Mr. Manfred was positively desperate to make a landing on an undiscovered land, perhaps a practice run in case their voyage, against all odds, was indeed a success.
In less than an hour, they were on the beach, dwarfed by the enormous leviathan they were there, somehow, to save. As the Cartographer claimed the island for Her Majesty, Hellstrom stepped ashore, not seeing anything to separate this island from a thousand others, except for the excellent depth and shelter afforded her lagoon.
Such a lagoon, on an unknown shore, would make an excellent place for a wounded privateer to run after encountering one of Her Majesty’s finest frigates, which is why the Captain had Mr. Ansel scrutinizing the horizon so intently.
Other than the strange, clump-like bushes that dotted the shore, this island could be any other he’d visited in his travels. Of course, it seemed much more interesting to the Doctor, Naturalist and Cartographer he’d brought along, all of whom were new to the sea.
He turned to his guests, watching as the second boat arrived, carrying Major Broughton and a dozen of his marines. It never hurt to be cautious.
“Doctor, this leviathan is your patient. You don’t have time to heal her, so we’ll need to put your knowledge of herbalism to use, hopefully you and the good Mr. Greeland, our esteemed naturalist can find some herbs on this island to deaden her pain and allow our First Officer to return to us.”
He noted the growing question on the Doctor’s face and cut him off, “Your stores on board Constant are not an option. We’re not going to exhaust our medical supplies this early in the voyage for a single shipmate. I’m afraid this island is our only hope. Miss Theodorra, give us some cloud cover and a light rain if you will please, that will give us more time.”
He looked over at the massive bulk beside him; already her breathing was becoming labored, as the leviathan was crushed under her own weight.
***
The Captain and Major Broughton stayed behind with their shipmate, her massive bulk rising and falling almost peacefully, even as the sound of her breathing took on a wheezing quality.
This close to Miss Medeirra, on this dreary island, made even more dreary by the dry sky and light rain summoned by Miss Theodorra, the first cracks in Major Broughton’s professionalism began to show through as he stared into the leviathan’s eyes.
The Captain, more as his oldest friend than his commander, put a hand on his shoulder, “She’ll be all right, Andrew. Somehow, I can just feel it. We’ll get her back.”
The Major looked at him, eyes cloudy, “You can’t know that. Her fate is in the hands of those lubbers, idiots the lot of them. Three very educated idiots. I even sent Sergeant Castillo with them to make sure they found their way back. Like to get lost and starve to death on this tiny island. And when she- if we lose her, she’ll die in this form won’t she. I won’t even have her back then. We won’t be able to end her suffering. A bullet to the brain wouldn’t even make a dent. And she’s so huge, we’d never be able to bury her. We’re just going to sail off on our Children’s Crusade, our last hope, while the sea gulls pick at my Castilian beauty.”
Suddenly his friend was gone, and his Captain addressed him, “Major, I have every sympathy. But do not speak as if hope is lost. The Mad Emperor might control the continent, but the fleet will protect the Island Kingdom. Their army will never set foot there.”
Broughton looked at him sharply, face taking on a sinister aspect as the water ran freely down the metallic side of his face, “Yes, the fleet will protect us. Like you protected-”
For a moment Captain Hellstrom thought they would come to blows, his friend was on the verge of saying something that could not be unsaid. Not only about his decisions in this most recent action but also the service to which he belonged.
Instead, a curious expression crossed the Major’s face and he pushed past him, walking over to one of the curious clumps of bushes the Captain had noted earlier. He suddenly reached up with both massive hands and pulled downward, revealing the stone underneath.
The Captain watched in growing horror as he pulled again and again, finally revealing a massive stone head, buried in the sand, snarling at the sea and whispered “By the Gods of the Righteous.”
The two men looked at one another. The sight of the statue shocking them out of their depressed state with the clarity of cannon shot from out of the fog across the bow. The young marines watching in stunned silence as both men stripped their heavy uniform shirts off, removing the buckles from their shoes, anything that might make noise or slow them down.
The Major approached Corporal Windmere, the third in seniority of his marines, “Corporal, form a firing line, two ranks deep. You will fix bayonets and hold this line in front of our First Officer no matter what happens. No matter what. Is that understood. You are to fight to the last man. No retreat, no withdrawal. Repeat my last order.”
The young man stuttered for a moment, distracted as the Captain pulled a small mirror out of his watch pocket and began signaling the ship but a quick shake from the Major brought him back to full attention, “I- I am to fix bayonets. Form a firing line. Hold to the last man.”
The Major nodded, as the Captain approached, turning the stunned young man to face him, “I’ve just signaled the ship. Mr. Sawyer is coming with two dozen hands to supplement your ranks.”
The Captain then turned to Miss Theodorra, shaking her physically to bring her out of the reverie she had slipped into, “Men from the ship are coming to help the marines defend this position. You are in command here on the beach. You are to fight to the last and hold this position. If we lose this position, I’ve ordered Lieutenant Castor to take command and bring the Constant home to the Island Kingdom. The Major and I are going inland to retrieve our charges. Hopefully it will not come to that.”
The young woman just stared him, as stunned as if he had just renounced Queen and country, “I, Sir, in command? But I’m not- I’ve never, Sir, what’s happening?”
The Captain checked his pistols, shifting his saber from its accustomed position on his hips to his back. He had tucked an extremely wicked-looking knife she had never noticed he carried before into his boot. He seemed a different man, more pirate than the staid authority figure of the ship. He had already headed off at a run to join Major Broughton, who stood impatiently at the edge of the thick, oppressive jungle.
“Near-men. And for God’s sake woman, stop that infernal rain. The men’s powder must stay dry.”
And with that they were gone, her attention fixed on the statue the Major had uncovered. Even the marines stopped momentarily in their controlled chaos to stare at it as the truth slowly dawned on them.
Near-men. Evolutionary throwbacks. Savage cannibals who had finally been driven out of the civilized lands over a century ago, in a war that had finally united all the true folk to put aside their petty political differences in a war of survival.
The true reality of the situation was still dawning on her as two more boats arrived from the ship, carrying Mr. Sawyer and the most level-headed of this conscript crew. The ebony giant walked up to the tiny girl and deferentially asked, “Your orders, Miss?”
She stared up at him for a moment, mouth working as though she were speaking but not a sound came from her lips. She noticed that the Corporal and his marines had turned to her as well.
Her orders?
Several hours later, Captain Hellstrom was asleep in his bed, one of only two such luxuries allowed on the ship, the other being in the Royal Cartographer’s quarters, when a call from the deck sent him instantly awake.
He walked quickly to the door, taking his uniform jacket off the hook, noting how thoroughly Fournier had cleaned it. How he removed the blood was anyone’s guess and he probably wouldn’t share any of his “trade secrets” anyway.
Within moments the Captain was on deck, squinting into the distance. Lt. Castor had regained enough health to return to duty and limped over to him, “Good morning, Lieutenant, how’s the foot?”
The young man nodded formally, not wishing to show any pain or discomfort here on deck, “It’s healing nicely, Sir, whatever the Doctor did to me it seems to be working.”
The Captain nodded, again looking into the distance, “Report.”
“We’ve found her, Captain, she swam into that sheltered lagoon up ahead. She’s beached, Sir.”
The Captain frowned, turning to his Windmaster, Miss Theodorra, the closest thing he had to an expert on such matters, “I don’t understand, why is she still in her animal form. Unconsciousness usually reverts her to her natural state.”
The small girl looked up at him, eyes bright with tears, that’s all he needed was an emotional girl on board, “It’s the pain, Sir. Pain is primal. As long as she’s in pain, she will stay in the form and mentality of that creature. And washed ashore, her pain will only be increasing. She won’t last long.”
The Captain simply nodded, as if he’d received a report on the weather, “Lieutenant, bring the good Doctor up on deck, and that naturalist who got us all into this, I believe we have need of his talents now as well. Mr. Sawyer, I believe we can bring Constant into that lagoon. Mr. Star, check depth and call it out, just to be sure.”
Looking up almost directly into the sun, he called, “Mr. Ansel, keep watch on the horizon for sails. We still have a Mandelieu raider out there, unfortunately.”
The Royal Cartographer came up from behind him, eyes bright at the sight of an unknown shore, “Captain, if it please you, I would request permission to join the landing party as well, if nothing else in order to claim this land for Her Majesty.”
The Captain nodded, realizing Mr. Manfred was positively desperate to make a landing on an undiscovered land, perhaps a practice run in case their voyage, against all odds, was indeed a success.
In less than an hour, they were on the beach, dwarfed by the enormous leviathan they were there, somehow, to save. As the Cartographer claimed the island for Her Majesty, Hellstrom stepped ashore, not seeing anything to separate this island from a thousand others, except for the excellent depth and shelter afforded her lagoon.
Such a lagoon, on an unknown shore, would make an excellent place for a wounded privateer to run after encountering one of Her Majesty’s finest frigates, which is why the Captain had Mr. Ansel scrutinizing the horizon so intently.
Other than the strange, clump-like bushes that dotted the shore, this island could be any other he’d visited in his travels. Of course, it seemed much more interesting to the Doctor, Naturalist and Cartographer he’d brought along, all of whom were new to the sea.
He turned to his guests, watching as the second boat arrived, carrying Major Broughton and a dozen of his marines. It never hurt to be cautious.
“Doctor, this leviathan is your patient. You don’t have time to heal her, so we’ll need to put your knowledge of herbalism to use, hopefully you and the good Mr. Greeland, our esteemed naturalist can find some herbs on this island to deaden her pain and allow our First Officer to return to us.”
He noted the growing question on the Doctor’s face and cut him off, “Your stores on board Constant are not an option. We’re not going to exhaust our medical supplies this early in the voyage for a single shipmate. I’m afraid this island is our only hope. Miss Theodorra, give us some cloud cover and a light rain if you will please, that will give us more time.”
He looked over at the massive bulk beside him; already her breathing was becoming labored, as the leviathan was crushed under her own weight.
***
The Captain and Major Broughton stayed behind with their shipmate, her massive bulk rising and falling almost peacefully, even as the sound of her breathing took on a wheezing quality.
This close to Miss Medeirra, on this dreary island, made even more dreary by the dry sky and light rain summoned by Miss Theodorra, the first cracks in Major Broughton’s professionalism began to show through as he stared into the leviathan’s eyes.
The Captain, more as his oldest friend than his commander, put a hand on his shoulder, “She’ll be all right, Andrew. Somehow, I can just feel it. We’ll get her back.”
The Major looked at him, eyes cloudy, “You can’t know that. Her fate is in the hands of those lubbers, idiots the lot of them. Three very educated idiots. I even sent Sergeant Castillo with them to make sure they found their way back. Like to get lost and starve to death on this tiny island. And when she- if we lose her, she’ll die in this form won’t she. I won’t even have her back then. We won’t be able to end her suffering. A bullet to the brain wouldn’t even make a dent. And she’s so huge, we’d never be able to bury her. We’re just going to sail off on our Children’s Crusade, our last hope, while the sea gulls pick at my Castilian beauty.”
Suddenly his friend was gone, and his Captain addressed him, “Major, I have every sympathy. But do not speak as if hope is lost. The Mad Emperor might control the continent, but the fleet will protect the Island Kingdom. Their army will never set foot there.”
Broughton looked at him sharply, face taking on a sinister aspect as the water ran freely down the metallic side of his face, “Yes, the fleet will protect us. Like you protected-”
For a moment Captain Hellstrom thought they would come to blows, his friend was on the verge of saying something that could not be unsaid. Not only about his decisions in this most recent action but also the service to which he belonged.
Instead, a curious expression crossed the Major’s face and he pushed past him, walking over to one of the curious clumps of bushes the Captain had noted earlier. He suddenly reached up with both massive hands and pulled downward, revealing the stone underneath.
The Captain watched in growing horror as he pulled again and again, finally revealing a massive stone head, buried in the sand, snarling at the sea and whispered “By the Gods of the Righteous.”
The two men looked at one another. The sight of the statue shocking them out of their depressed state with the clarity of cannon shot from out of the fog across the bow. The young marines watching in stunned silence as both men stripped their heavy uniform shirts off, removing the buckles from their shoes, anything that might make noise or slow them down.
The Major approached Corporal Windmere, the third in seniority of his marines, “Corporal, form a firing line, two ranks deep. You will fix bayonets and hold this line in front of our First Officer no matter what happens. No matter what. Is that understood. You are to fight to the last man. No retreat, no withdrawal. Repeat my last order.”
The young man stuttered for a moment, distracted as the Captain pulled a small mirror out of his watch pocket and began signaling the ship but a quick shake from the Major brought him back to full attention, “I- I am to fix bayonets. Form a firing line. Hold to the last man.”
The Major nodded, as the Captain approached, turning the stunned young man to face him, “I’ve just signaled the ship. Mr. Sawyer is coming with two dozen hands to supplement your ranks.”
The Captain then turned to Miss Theodorra, shaking her physically to bring her out of the reverie she had slipped into, “Men from the ship are coming to help the marines defend this position. You are in command here on the beach. You are to fight to the last and hold this position. If we lose this position, I’ve ordered Lieutenant Castor to take command and bring the Constant home to the Island Kingdom. The Major and I are going inland to retrieve our charges. Hopefully it will not come to that.”
The young woman just stared him, as stunned as if he had just renounced Queen and country, “I, Sir, in command? But I’m not- I’ve never, Sir, what’s happening?”
The Captain checked his pistols, shifting his saber from its accustomed position on his hips to his back. He had tucked an extremely wicked-looking knife she had never noticed he carried before into his boot. He seemed a different man, more pirate than the staid authority figure of the ship. He had already headed off at a run to join Major Broughton, who stood impatiently at the edge of the thick, oppressive jungle.
“Near-men. And for God’s sake woman, stop that infernal rain. The men’s powder must stay dry.”
And with that they were gone, her attention fixed on the statue the Major had uncovered. Even the marines stopped momentarily in their controlled chaos to stare at it as the truth slowly dawned on them.
Near-men. Evolutionary throwbacks. Savage cannibals who had finally been driven out of the civilized lands over a century ago, in a war that had finally united all the true folk to put aside their petty political differences in a war of survival.
The true reality of the situation was still dawning on her as two more boats arrived from the ship, carrying Mr. Sawyer and the most level-headed of this conscript crew. The ebony giant walked up to the tiny girl and deferentially asked, “Your orders, Miss?”
She stared up at him for a moment, mouth working as though she were speaking but not a sound came from her lips. She noticed that the Corporal and his marines had turned to her as well.
Her orders?
Sunday, February 24, 2008
Hellstrom Voyage Chapter 4: The Chase
Hellstrom Voyage: Chapter 4, The Chase
Captain Hellstrom arrived back on deck quickly. He had taken a chance by relaying the orders below deck himself. With the First Officer gone, there was no one on deck to give an order.
He inhaled deeply. Tasting the wind. Feeling the thrum of the deck beneath his feet. The sensation was exhilarating and he was totally unashamed in his enjoyment of it. He now knew all he needed to know about this captured Mandelieu vessel. She cut through the water straight and strong, despite the hole he knew had been punctured in her hull.
“Mr. Sawyer, turn on my mark. Miss Theodorra, after the helmsman has completed his turn, strengthen the wind. Drive those ships away from us,” looking up, he saw Major Broughton had moved even higher in the rigging, all the better to snipe anyone foolish enough to openly give an order on the enemy ship.
He signaled Mr. Sawyer with his hand, enjoying the feel of the wind in his face as the ship turned. Suddenly the wind grew stronger as the Windsman spoke her words. The ship rocked sharply as the cannons fired, shredding the sails of one ship. This caused her to pick up less speed from the wind, and the port ship, still reeling from an unexpected encounter with a leviathan, made no attempt to slow down to stay with her comrade vessel. The stronger wind thus began to separate the two ships, leaving this one to Constant’s tender mercies.
In a moment they would have her.
In the distance, he saw the leviathan, his First Officer, speed toward the enemy privateer again. The ship had finally recovered from the shock and fired her cannons full into the water. Several of the brass balls struck the creature, drawing a wince from Captain Hellstrom he hoped none of his crewmen noticed.
Her momentum still carried her full force into the vessel and this time the damage was terminal. The vessel split with a terrible noise and began sinking at a rate that would see most of her officers and crew dragged down to Davy Jones’ Locker. But the animal had now taken full hold of Miss Medeirra. With an almost human cry of pain, blood filling the water, she swam away from the vessel at a high rate of speed.
Captain Hellstrom watched for a moment, looking at the scene in front of him. He could either finish off the wounded privateer, perhaps even capture her. This would not only greatly increase their chances of completing their mission but also, if he was able to bring her home again, would actually provide a bounty for him and his crew to share from the proceeds of selling the vessel to the Her Majesty’s Fleet.
In fact this was his plan all along. It would be an almost incalculable benefit to the morale of his largely conscripted crew. And of course, the law of the sea said he should stay and help the men being dragged under by the weight of their ship, now sinking in at least two sections in the frothing ocean.
In the end, his decision was made for him.
He reached into his jacket and took out the finest spyglass anyone on board was ever likely to see. Enchanted, it had a tremendous clarity and range. He handed the glass to Mr. Ansell, the youngest of the three midshipmen under his command.
“Mr. Ansell, take this up to the crow’s nest. You will help us keep track of Miss Medeirra. She doesn’t need the wind and it may be some time before we find her,” he watched for moment as the young man tucked the glass into his jacket and made his way up before calling “And if you drop my glass, Mr. Ansell, just jump.”
He paused at the entranceway to the lower decks, “Miss Theodorra, will you accompany me to the Ship’s Surgeon please.”
“But I’m not- yes, yes Captain, of course,” she picked up her crystals and her chalk, tucking them into a small bag the Captain hoped was calfskin and hurried below decks after him.
Along the way they encountered Mr. Star, the second of the ship’s midshipmen in seniority, aged 13, only a year older than Mr. Ansell and at sea for his third year. He was struggling to carry his half of the weight of the unconscious Lt. Castor along with the last of the three midshipmen, Mr. Patton, who was 15 years old, at sea for 6 years and studying for his examinations to become a Lieutenant in his own right.
The Captain moved in and picked up Lt. Castor, looking at the two young midshipmen, their faces black from the powdersmoke of manning their cannons, “I’ll take him to the surgeon. You two get up on deck. Mr. Patton, you have command while I am with the surgeon. We are to follow Miss Medeirra, who is a leviathan at our best possible speed. Mr. Star, you are to find Mr. Crittendon and have him report to me at the ship’s surgeon.”
He watched with satisfaction as Mr. Patton ran up toward the deck as if he’d told him it was raining gold coins. Mr. Star took off in the other direction, deeper into the ship, looking for the ship’s carpenter. The ship had taken several hits from a cannon, at least one below the waterline. First principles. Make sure they weren’t sinking, make sure none of the crew were killed, then proceed with the mission.
He sank heavily into an open cot in the sick bay, looking around to see who was injured, grateful that most of the injuries seemed minor, he waved the Doctor away irritably as he started toward his face, which he was sure looked much worse than it really was, peppered with splinters and covered in blood from his nose.
“Tend to Lt. Castor first. He has a crushed foot and has lost quite a bit of blood.”
The Captain winced as the Doctor cut the boot off. The foot was a crumpled mess. Doctor Argonis seemed almost unconcerned, as he took the foot and placed it in a bucket, which began to hiss and sputter and smell of sulphur.
“What is that, Doctor,” the Captain remarked uncertainly. As he looked around he realized he had not been in Sick Bay since the doctor had moved in. The place looked like a witch doctor’s hut more than the Sick Bay of one Her Majesty’s finest vessels.
The Doctor gave him a look he recognized, the same one he’d given Miss Theodorra for questioning his orders on deck earlier, “Alchemy, sir. It will staunch the blood flow and draw the bones together in their proper alignment. If we’re lucky, I might even be able to save it. If you approve of my methods, that is.”
“No, no, as you will, Doctor, just make sure he has a soul when you’re done please,” this brought a gale of sarcastic laughter from the Doctor, who seemed to find superstition, even in jest, hilarious.
“That will take awhile to set it, now let me see this face of yours. Not that it could get much uglier, but I take it you’d like to breathe normally?” He was already picking at the splinters, carefully pulling them from the skin with tweezers.
“Yes, Doctor, that would be preferable,” he turned to the Winsdman, motioning for her to sit.
“You’re new to the service, so I’ll be brief. Don’t ever question my orders again when the ship is under fire. If I assign a crewman a task, it’s because it will serve the greater good for the entire ship,” he looked at her, wondering just how young she was suddenly.
“Even if it means their death?” She shot back, almost accusingly. He knew she was Medeirra’s friend but her reaction made him wonder if she was suited to a military life.
“Especially then. Miss Medeirra might die but whether she lives or dies, her actions saved many lives. Without her contribution to this most recent action, there’s a strong possibility none of us would be having this conversation right now.”
She opened her mouth as if to speak again, but a look from the Captain silenced her, “We have a long way yet to travel, in fact we’ve just barely begun. Soon enough in our journey to turn back and request another Windsman. No one will think less of you if you decide this isn’t the life for you.”
The young woman looked as stunned as if he’d slapped her in the face, but the comment had its desired effect, “No, no Sir, I understand. It won’t happen again. May I return to my station on deck? We’ll need to keep the wind.”
The Captain nodded, watching as she hurried out of the Sick Bay. He frowned as the Doctor washed the blood off his face, their faces almost touching as he inspected the ruined mass that was his nose.
“I’m going to need to pack this so it heals right,” he moved away, collecting God knew what from an old withered looking footlocker held against the wall from the movement of the ship by netting.
“I need the Lieutenant awake as soon as possible, Doctor,” he called after him, looking over at the young unconscious man. He deeply regretted what would have to come next. A questioning, possibly a hearing, a demotion, at the very least a flogging in front of the men.
The Doctor muttered something he couldn’t hear as Mr. Mandel, the ship’s navigator stepped into the Sick Bay, his hat in his hands, looking nervous. The Captain smiled comfortingly. Despite serving with him for decades, Mandel was always nervous in his presence, as if the old man felt the slightest mistake would get him cashiered from the service.
“Mr. Mandel, I expected you would be up on deck hovering, what with an infant being in command and all.”
“Begging your pardon, Sir, but this seemed the time to talk to you, before things got, well, before things progressed,” he shot a look at Lt. Castor before stepping in closer, almost whispering.
“Mr. Sawyer and I were on deck earlier, Captain. The lad was not derelict in his duty on my mother’s grave, Sir. They approached in the right fashion, flashing this month’s call sign and they had all the proper flags. There was no way to tell they weren’t one of ours, Sir. Which means-”
Captain Hellstrom threw his hand up, looking around sharply, “Understood, Mr. Mandel. I would ask you to go back up on deck and assist Mr. Patton. I would also ask you to discretely take Mr. Sawyer aside and give him an order from me not to speak of this again to anyone, even you. That applies to you as well. Understood, Mr. Mandel?”
The man nodded quickly, “Oh yes, Captain. Understood completely. I just wanted, well I’ve seen these things get ugly and I wanted you to know the lad did his duty.”
Captain Hellstrom leaned back in the bunk, ignoring the Doctor’s conversation as he packed his nose with some vile-smelling sulphurous compound, literally rebuilding his nose from the inside to its proper shape.
Despite a slight dizziness, though thankfully accompanied by a complete loss of pain, his mind raced at what the Navigator had just told him. The ships were in a perfect position to intercept Constant. They knew all the proper call signs, as well. It could mean only one thing: there was a Mandelieu spy on board his vessel.
Captain Hellstrom arrived back on deck quickly. He had taken a chance by relaying the orders below deck himself. With the First Officer gone, there was no one on deck to give an order.
He inhaled deeply. Tasting the wind. Feeling the thrum of the deck beneath his feet. The sensation was exhilarating and he was totally unashamed in his enjoyment of it. He now knew all he needed to know about this captured Mandelieu vessel. She cut through the water straight and strong, despite the hole he knew had been punctured in her hull.
“Mr. Sawyer, turn on my mark. Miss Theodorra, after the helmsman has completed his turn, strengthen the wind. Drive those ships away from us,” looking up, he saw Major Broughton had moved even higher in the rigging, all the better to snipe anyone foolish enough to openly give an order on the enemy ship.
He signaled Mr. Sawyer with his hand, enjoying the feel of the wind in his face as the ship turned. Suddenly the wind grew stronger as the Windsman spoke her words. The ship rocked sharply as the cannons fired, shredding the sails of one ship. This caused her to pick up less speed from the wind, and the port ship, still reeling from an unexpected encounter with a leviathan, made no attempt to slow down to stay with her comrade vessel. The stronger wind thus began to separate the two ships, leaving this one to Constant’s tender mercies.
In a moment they would have her.
In the distance, he saw the leviathan, his First Officer, speed toward the enemy privateer again. The ship had finally recovered from the shock and fired her cannons full into the water. Several of the brass balls struck the creature, drawing a wince from Captain Hellstrom he hoped none of his crewmen noticed.
Her momentum still carried her full force into the vessel and this time the damage was terminal. The vessel split with a terrible noise and began sinking at a rate that would see most of her officers and crew dragged down to Davy Jones’ Locker. But the animal had now taken full hold of Miss Medeirra. With an almost human cry of pain, blood filling the water, she swam away from the vessel at a high rate of speed.
Captain Hellstrom watched for a moment, looking at the scene in front of him. He could either finish off the wounded privateer, perhaps even capture her. This would not only greatly increase their chances of completing their mission but also, if he was able to bring her home again, would actually provide a bounty for him and his crew to share from the proceeds of selling the vessel to the Her Majesty’s Fleet.
In fact this was his plan all along. It would be an almost incalculable benefit to the morale of his largely conscripted crew. And of course, the law of the sea said he should stay and help the men being dragged under by the weight of their ship, now sinking in at least two sections in the frothing ocean.
In the end, his decision was made for him.
He reached into his jacket and took out the finest spyglass anyone on board was ever likely to see. Enchanted, it had a tremendous clarity and range. He handed the glass to Mr. Ansell, the youngest of the three midshipmen under his command.
“Mr. Ansell, take this up to the crow’s nest. You will help us keep track of Miss Medeirra. She doesn’t need the wind and it may be some time before we find her,” he watched for moment as the young man tucked the glass into his jacket and made his way up before calling “And if you drop my glass, Mr. Ansell, just jump.”
He paused at the entranceway to the lower decks, “Miss Theodorra, will you accompany me to the Ship’s Surgeon please.”
“But I’m not- yes, yes Captain, of course,” she picked up her crystals and her chalk, tucking them into a small bag the Captain hoped was calfskin and hurried below decks after him.
Along the way they encountered Mr. Star, the second of the ship’s midshipmen in seniority, aged 13, only a year older than Mr. Ansell and at sea for his third year. He was struggling to carry his half of the weight of the unconscious Lt. Castor along with the last of the three midshipmen, Mr. Patton, who was 15 years old, at sea for 6 years and studying for his examinations to become a Lieutenant in his own right.
The Captain moved in and picked up Lt. Castor, looking at the two young midshipmen, their faces black from the powdersmoke of manning their cannons, “I’ll take him to the surgeon. You two get up on deck. Mr. Patton, you have command while I am with the surgeon. We are to follow Miss Medeirra, who is a leviathan at our best possible speed. Mr. Star, you are to find Mr. Crittendon and have him report to me at the ship’s surgeon.”
He watched with satisfaction as Mr. Patton ran up toward the deck as if he’d told him it was raining gold coins. Mr. Star took off in the other direction, deeper into the ship, looking for the ship’s carpenter. The ship had taken several hits from a cannon, at least one below the waterline. First principles. Make sure they weren’t sinking, make sure none of the crew were killed, then proceed with the mission.
He sank heavily into an open cot in the sick bay, looking around to see who was injured, grateful that most of the injuries seemed minor, he waved the Doctor away irritably as he started toward his face, which he was sure looked much worse than it really was, peppered with splinters and covered in blood from his nose.
“Tend to Lt. Castor first. He has a crushed foot and has lost quite a bit of blood.”
The Captain winced as the Doctor cut the boot off. The foot was a crumpled mess. Doctor Argonis seemed almost unconcerned, as he took the foot and placed it in a bucket, which began to hiss and sputter and smell of sulphur.
“What is that, Doctor,” the Captain remarked uncertainly. As he looked around he realized he had not been in Sick Bay since the doctor had moved in. The place looked like a witch doctor’s hut more than the Sick Bay of one Her Majesty’s finest vessels.
The Doctor gave him a look he recognized, the same one he’d given Miss Theodorra for questioning his orders on deck earlier, “Alchemy, sir. It will staunch the blood flow and draw the bones together in their proper alignment. If we’re lucky, I might even be able to save it. If you approve of my methods, that is.”
“No, no, as you will, Doctor, just make sure he has a soul when you’re done please,” this brought a gale of sarcastic laughter from the Doctor, who seemed to find superstition, even in jest, hilarious.
“That will take awhile to set it, now let me see this face of yours. Not that it could get much uglier, but I take it you’d like to breathe normally?” He was already picking at the splinters, carefully pulling them from the skin with tweezers.
“Yes, Doctor, that would be preferable,” he turned to the Winsdman, motioning for her to sit.
“You’re new to the service, so I’ll be brief. Don’t ever question my orders again when the ship is under fire. If I assign a crewman a task, it’s because it will serve the greater good for the entire ship,” he looked at her, wondering just how young she was suddenly.
“Even if it means their death?” She shot back, almost accusingly. He knew she was Medeirra’s friend but her reaction made him wonder if she was suited to a military life.
“Especially then. Miss Medeirra might die but whether she lives or dies, her actions saved many lives. Without her contribution to this most recent action, there’s a strong possibility none of us would be having this conversation right now.”
She opened her mouth as if to speak again, but a look from the Captain silenced her, “We have a long way yet to travel, in fact we’ve just barely begun. Soon enough in our journey to turn back and request another Windsman. No one will think less of you if you decide this isn’t the life for you.”
The young woman looked as stunned as if he’d slapped her in the face, but the comment had its desired effect, “No, no Sir, I understand. It won’t happen again. May I return to my station on deck? We’ll need to keep the wind.”
The Captain nodded, watching as she hurried out of the Sick Bay. He frowned as the Doctor washed the blood off his face, their faces almost touching as he inspected the ruined mass that was his nose.
“I’m going to need to pack this so it heals right,” he moved away, collecting God knew what from an old withered looking footlocker held against the wall from the movement of the ship by netting.
“I need the Lieutenant awake as soon as possible, Doctor,” he called after him, looking over at the young unconscious man. He deeply regretted what would have to come next. A questioning, possibly a hearing, a demotion, at the very least a flogging in front of the men.
The Doctor muttered something he couldn’t hear as Mr. Mandel, the ship’s navigator stepped into the Sick Bay, his hat in his hands, looking nervous. The Captain smiled comfortingly. Despite serving with him for decades, Mandel was always nervous in his presence, as if the old man felt the slightest mistake would get him cashiered from the service.
“Mr. Mandel, I expected you would be up on deck hovering, what with an infant being in command and all.”
“Begging your pardon, Sir, but this seemed the time to talk to you, before things got, well, before things progressed,” he shot a look at Lt. Castor before stepping in closer, almost whispering.
“Mr. Sawyer and I were on deck earlier, Captain. The lad was not derelict in his duty on my mother’s grave, Sir. They approached in the right fashion, flashing this month’s call sign and they had all the proper flags. There was no way to tell they weren’t one of ours, Sir. Which means-”
Captain Hellstrom threw his hand up, looking around sharply, “Understood, Mr. Mandel. I would ask you to go back up on deck and assist Mr. Patton. I would also ask you to discretely take Mr. Sawyer aside and give him an order from me not to speak of this again to anyone, even you. That applies to you as well. Understood, Mr. Mandel?”
The man nodded quickly, “Oh yes, Captain. Understood completely. I just wanted, well I’ve seen these things get ugly and I wanted you to know the lad did his duty.”
Captain Hellstrom leaned back in the bunk, ignoring the Doctor’s conversation as he packed his nose with some vile-smelling sulphurous compound, literally rebuilding his nose from the inside to its proper shape.
Despite a slight dizziness, though thankfully accompanied by a complete loss of pain, his mind raced at what the Navigator had just told him. The ships were in a perfect position to intercept Constant. They knew all the proper call signs, as well. It could mean only one thing: there was a Mandelieu spy on board his vessel.
Saturday, February 23, 2008
Hellstrom Mondays
Just a note here about the schedule for the Hellstrom Voyage.
There's going to be a new chapter on Mondays from now on.
Chuck
There's going to be a new chapter on Mondays from now on.
Chuck
Thursday, February 21, 2008
Hellstrom Voyage Chapter 3
Hellstrom Voyage: Chapter 3, Privateers
Captain Hellstrom’s face turned red with anger as he saw not one, but two vessels bearing down on the Constant, almost at point blank range for their cannons. Though she outgunned them individually, they were in a perfect flanking position and in moments would be raking her with fire from both sides.
He shot a murderous glance at Lieutenant Castor, the officer on deck during the meal, the man whose inattention to his duty had most likely killed them all but said nothing other than, “Lieutenant! Your place is below deck commanding the port cannons!” If they lived, there would be time to deal with him later.
“Where is my Windsman!” he shouted again. A small cannonball from a bowchaser flew by his ear, felt more than heard. In truth, he hadn’t yet laid eyes on his new Windsman. Her official title was “Warrant Officer of the Winds” and her gift was to control the weather.
She was personally recommended to him by Miss Medeirra and if she was not everything she was advertised to be, they were certainly dead.
“Miss Theodora, dead calm now, please! Major Broughton, the starboard ship, clear her decks if you will,” As he watched the Major’s sharpshooters forming up into orderly ranks, their uniforms looking pressed, gleaming bright blue in the sun, he was at least glad for one officer he could absolutely count on in this situation.
Hellstrom glanced down with annoyance as Miss Theodora drew some sort of chalk circle on his deck. Not one of those. He hated scribers. She probably learned that nonsense at university.
“Mr. Sawyer, our wind is about to die entirely. When it does, you will turn immediately to starboard. There should be quite a bit of chaos on their decks by then, preventing them from turning with us.”
“Aye, Captain,” the enormous man rolled up his sleeves, his enormous ebony arms seemed to drink in the sunlight as he pulled on his gloves. There was a reason why the helmsman needed to be the biggest, strongest man on the ship. He was another crewmate of long standing. Captain Hellstrom had no doubt that if the ship didn’t turn as ordered, it would be because the rudder, or one of his arms, had broken in an attempt to carry out the maneuver.
The rifles of Major Broughton’s sharpshooters cracked with a satisfying finality. The men manning the bowchaser on the starboard ship as well as several crewman pitched and fell backward, with a single man falling headfirst into the water, ploughed under by his own ship.
The Major turned to his Sergeant and gave the command to fire at will, as the men maintained their two-deep ranks at the bow of the ship, reloading their weapons with accomplished speed. The Major then jumped up into the rigging, climbing up about half way, until the elevation gave him a perfect view of the enemy ship’s deck.
Hanging by one arm and one leg he’d hooked through the rigging, he loaded his rifle. Each swing of the ship put him not over the deck but over the clear ocean, a terrifying sensation of near-flight that caused more men to fall from the rigging than anything else.
Broughton waited calmly, until the movement of the ship brought him up to his highest elevation. He smiled as he saw identified the enemy captain despite the fact that no one was wearing uniforms.
“Take this you right bloody privateer,” he murmured under his breath, spitting out the packet he’d used to pour the gunpowder down the barrel of his rifle, the taste comforting as he brought his rifle up to his shoulder, firing quickly before his view swung from the ship to the ocean. He didn’t need to see the result. The enemy captain was lying dead on the deck with a terrible hole right between his eyes.
Lieutenant Medeirra arrived on deck, her eyes wide as she saw the two ships barreling toward them. They had the wind, they were in perfect position. Things couldn’t be much worse.
“How the hell did they get this close before-”
Captain Hellstrom cut her off, speaking quietly, “We’ll discuss that later. We have only one chance to make it through this. Constant will handle the starboard ship. I need you to handle the ship on the port side.”
Medeirra looked up at him, only a moment’s hesitation clouding her vision before she turned to the side of the ship, dropping her green cloak and belt to the deck. Her sword and pistol had barely clattered to a stop before she was over the side in a perfect swan dive.
Time seemed to stand still on all three ships as she hit the water with barely a splash and began swimming toward the port ship, filling her mind with hatred of the ship, a desire to drive it from the ocean, knowing that thought would be at the front of her mind long enough to take hold, before she was consumed by the primal.
Suddenly she went under and a shadow grew under the water. And grew. When it came back up, a jet of air and water shot high in the air as a leviathan sped toward the ship to port like a cannonball. Men began jumping from the deck of the ship in blind panic as the massive creature slammed into the side of the vessel, the sound of cracking wood deafening.
Suddenly time seemed to kick back into motion as the Windsman muttered, “He just sent her to die. I don’t believe it.”
“Miss Theodora, my wind please. Now!” Evidently the Lieutenant wasn’t the only one he was going to have to speak to after this was over. If they lived.
The girl composed herself quickly, throwing a small clear stone on the deck and muttering words of power in a language that would drive a man insane if he dared to speak it and the wind died, the sails of the privateers going suddenly slack, hanging loosely from the masts.
Without waiting for the order, the Mr. Sawyer threw his massive bulk against the wheel with a roar that would frighten a lion. Three crewmen flew off the side of the Constant as she turned, wood groaning dangerously.
For a terrifying moment it seemed they might hit the port privateer head on but Mr. Sawyer roared again, literally throwing himself against the wheel in a second effort, willing the ship to turn just enough so that they passed within inches of the port side of the vessel, putting her between the Constant and the second privateer so only one of the vessels could fire.
There was now a chance they would live. Suddenly the ship heaved as Constant fired 20 guns directly into the privateer at a range of less than 100 yards. Captain Hellstrom waited for what he knew had to come and he didn’t have to wait long.
Suddenly he was thrown face first onto the deck as she returned fire, the sound of cracking wood was sickening, splinters buried themselves in his cheek and his nose was shattered on the hardwood deck.
He leaped to his feet, ignoring the gush of blood that stained his blue uniform black. He threw himself below deck, arriving on the first gundeck at a run. With a practiced eye he stepped over the bodies of dead and dying crewmen, until he made eye contact with Lieutenant Castor.
“We will be turning hard to port as soon as we pass this ship. Hold your fire until then. Load chains in your cannons. I want to destroy her sails, her rudder if possible,” he noted the speed with which the cannons were being loaded. Castor always had been an excellent gunner, one reason he had been promoted to Second Lieutenant so quickly.
He winced and limped over to his crews, repeating Hellstrom’s order. The Captain noted that a cannon had come free and rolled over his foot. The boot was completely crushed, the leather soaked soft with blood.
“Do you need to see the surgeon now, Mr. Castor?” He asked, watching the crews, feeling the wind begin to pick up again. He had counted on that. Even the most powerful Windsman couldn’t affect a long term change in the wind.
“No sir, Captain, I will see him after the battle,” his face was pale from loss of blood, but it didn’t appear as though he would pass out anytime soon.
The Captain simply nodded and headed back up onto the deck.
Captain Hellstrom’s face turned red with anger as he saw not one, but two vessels bearing down on the Constant, almost at point blank range for their cannons. Though she outgunned them individually, they were in a perfect flanking position and in moments would be raking her with fire from both sides.
He shot a murderous glance at Lieutenant Castor, the officer on deck during the meal, the man whose inattention to his duty had most likely killed them all but said nothing other than, “Lieutenant! Your place is below deck commanding the port cannons!” If they lived, there would be time to deal with him later.
“Where is my Windsman!” he shouted again. A small cannonball from a bowchaser flew by his ear, felt more than heard. In truth, he hadn’t yet laid eyes on his new Windsman. Her official title was “Warrant Officer of the Winds” and her gift was to control the weather.
She was personally recommended to him by Miss Medeirra and if she was not everything she was advertised to be, they were certainly dead.
“Miss Theodora, dead calm now, please! Major Broughton, the starboard ship, clear her decks if you will,” As he watched the Major’s sharpshooters forming up into orderly ranks, their uniforms looking pressed, gleaming bright blue in the sun, he was at least glad for one officer he could absolutely count on in this situation.
Hellstrom glanced down with annoyance as Miss Theodora drew some sort of chalk circle on his deck. Not one of those. He hated scribers. She probably learned that nonsense at university.
“Mr. Sawyer, our wind is about to die entirely. When it does, you will turn immediately to starboard. There should be quite a bit of chaos on their decks by then, preventing them from turning with us.”
“Aye, Captain,” the enormous man rolled up his sleeves, his enormous ebony arms seemed to drink in the sunlight as he pulled on his gloves. There was a reason why the helmsman needed to be the biggest, strongest man on the ship. He was another crewmate of long standing. Captain Hellstrom had no doubt that if the ship didn’t turn as ordered, it would be because the rudder, or one of his arms, had broken in an attempt to carry out the maneuver.
The rifles of Major Broughton’s sharpshooters cracked with a satisfying finality. The men manning the bowchaser on the starboard ship as well as several crewman pitched and fell backward, with a single man falling headfirst into the water, ploughed under by his own ship.
The Major turned to his Sergeant and gave the command to fire at will, as the men maintained their two-deep ranks at the bow of the ship, reloading their weapons with accomplished speed. The Major then jumped up into the rigging, climbing up about half way, until the elevation gave him a perfect view of the enemy ship’s deck.
Hanging by one arm and one leg he’d hooked through the rigging, he loaded his rifle. Each swing of the ship put him not over the deck but over the clear ocean, a terrifying sensation of near-flight that caused more men to fall from the rigging than anything else.
Broughton waited calmly, until the movement of the ship brought him up to his highest elevation. He smiled as he saw identified the enemy captain despite the fact that no one was wearing uniforms.
“Take this you right bloody privateer,” he murmured under his breath, spitting out the packet he’d used to pour the gunpowder down the barrel of his rifle, the taste comforting as he brought his rifle up to his shoulder, firing quickly before his view swung from the ship to the ocean. He didn’t need to see the result. The enemy captain was lying dead on the deck with a terrible hole right between his eyes.
Lieutenant Medeirra arrived on deck, her eyes wide as she saw the two ships barreling toward them. They had the wind, they were in perfect position. Things couldn’t be much worse.
“How the hell did they get this close before-”
Captain Hellstrom cut her off, speaking quietly, “We’ll discuss that later. We have only one chance to make it through this. Constant will handle the starboard ship. I need you to handle the ship on the port side.”
Medeirra looked up at him, only a moment’s hesitation clouding her vision before she turned to the side of the ship, dropping her green cloak and belt to the deck. Her sword and pistol had barely clattered to a stop before she was over the side in a perfect swan dive.
Time seemed to stand still on all three ships as she hit the water with barely a splash and began swimming toward the port ship, filling her mind with hatred of the ship, a desire to drive it from the ocean, knowing that thought would be at the front of her mind long enough to take hold, before she was consumed by the primal.
Suddenly she went under and a shadow grew under the water. And grew. When it came back up, a jet of air and water shot high in the air as a leviathan sped toward the ship to port like a cannonball. Men began jumping from the deck of the ship in blind panic as the massive creature slammed into the side of the vessel, the sound of cracking wood deafening.
Suddenly time seemed to kick back into motion as the Windsman muttered, “He just sent her to die. I don’t believe it.”
“Miss Theodora, my wind please. Now!” Evidently the Lieutenant wasn’t the only one he was going to have to speak to after this was over. If they lived.
The girl composed herself quickly, throwing a small clear stone on the deck and muttering words of power in a language that would drive a man insane if he dared to speak it and the wind died, the sails of the privateers going suddenly slack, hanging loosely from the masts.
Without waiting for the order, the Mr. Sawyer threw his massive bulk against the wheel with a roar that would frighten a lion. Three crewmen flew off the side of the Constant as she turned, wood groaning dangerously.
For a terrifying moment it seemed they might hit the port privateer head on but Mr. Sawyer roared again, literally throwing himself against the wheel in a second effort, willing the ship to turn just enough so that they passed within inches of the port side of the vessel, putting her between the Constant and the second privateer so only one of the vessels could fire.
There was now a chance they would live. Suddenly the ship heaved as Constant fired 20 guns directly into the privateer at a range of less than 100 yards. Captain Hellstrom waited for what he knew had to come and he didn’t have to wait long.
Suddenly he was thrown face first onto the deck as she returned fire, the sound of cracking wood was sickening, splinters buried themselves in his cheek and his nose was shattered on the hardwood deck.
He leaped to his feet, ignoring the gush of blood that stained his blue uniform black. He threw himself below deck, arriving on the first gundeck at a run. With a practiced eye he stepped over the bodies of dead and dying crewmen, until he made eye contact with Lieutenant Castor.
“We will be turning hard to port as soon as we pass this ship. Hold your fire until then. Load chains in your cannons. I want to destroy her sails, her rudder if possible,” he noted the speed with which the cannons were being loaded. Castor always had been an excellent gunner, one reason he had been promoted to Second Lieutenant so quickly.
He winced and limped over to his crews, repeating Hellstrom’s order. The Captain noted that a cannon had come free and rolled over his foot. The boot was completely crushed, the leather soaked soft with blood.
“Do you need to see the surgeon now, Mr. Castor?” He asked, watching the crews, feeling the wind begin to pick up again. He had counted on that. Even the most powerful Windsman couldn’t affect a long term change in the wind.
“No sir, Captain, I will see him after the battle,” his face was pale from loss of blood, but it didn’t appear as though he would pass out anytime soon.
The Captain simply nodded and headed back up onto the deck.
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