The Ship - Part I

Re-post (haha... my bad) of a story I'm working on for entry into a contest :D thoughts, opinions, praise and criticism welcome :P

“You want me to what?” I sputtered, startled by the boldness of the request. “I want you to join me on my expedition. It’s a small team and a trustworthy crew, and you're the only young fellah who has had experience with this sort of thing. We could really use your help.” Chesterfield remarked, his grey pallor and wrinkled brow professing his sincerity. Naturally, he had to refer to that ill-fated trip I took to the Americas a few years ago.

I shuddered at the memory and fixed him with a long stare. Chesterfield was, for all intents and purposes, built like a dandelion; he had a lean, wiry build and a veritable mane of silvery white, immaculately brushed hair upon his head. His expansive beard extended well below his chin and was complimented by a pair of bushy curling brows. Along with this, he carried within him an inexhaustible spark, a curious form of energy that gyrated and spun and spoke to one of adventure. His excitement was contagious, his propensity to dream, ceaseless. It was this vitality counter-posed with that frail form of his that made him appear almost comical. He had himself struggled for many years to gain acclaim within the scientific community based on his queer personality and even stranger looks, this in turn had led him to suppress that wonderful spark of life.

His bushy white brows, the ones that obscured his large forehead so, framed his deep sunken eyes. They sparked like sapphires buried in that ancient face. A branching network of criss-crossing crows-feet lined twinkling eyes that yet shimmered with that inexhaustible buzz of energy.

I smiled and attempted to give a weak excuse: “You understand of course I have business to attend to here? The university has just opened their library and they've asked that I -” “Yes, yes! I know!” interjected Chesterfield with a dismissive wave of his hands. I chuckled internally; this would eke the old cat out of hiding. “But we're talking about a whole new island chain! A veritable cornucopia of discoveries to be made! Think of all the uncatalogued fauna! The exotic flora! Why, you could fill several libraries of your own with all the things we shall discover!” his thin chest puffed out as he spoke and his hands gesticulated wildly.

Yes, this was Chesterfield at his finest, an impassioned old man with a taste for the new, the unsolved and the questionable.

His eloquence and enthusiasm could not be stayed, and there was little to do but concede. “Excellent!” he cried with child-like glee, rubbing his gnarled palms. “We leave in a fortnight! You have until then to arrange your business.”

 

As I walked through the still, winding avenues and smog choked lanes I was enamoured by thoughts of what I had just consented to. A four month long expedition into, as far as I knew, uncharted waters. The hovering prospect of actual death didn't occur to me until much later. No, what had quite captured the romantic in me was the promise of something unknown, something pleasantly different to the life I knew here.

 

And so it was, fourteen days later, I set about loading my trunks into a small cabin upon a sturdy bark, identifiable as the Osprey, sometime around midnight. The air was deathly quiet and there was no one about to aid me save two ship-hands who were taking the late shift. The silent deck seemed a desolate place as it creaked and rocked gently in its moorings.

Tomorrow we were to set out in a South-westward direction as conveyed in whispered tones by the two deck-hands, to a place called Canterbury, the staging point of our adventure.

The following morning I woke to a strange frenzy of excitement, I could taste the sea spray even in the depths of the old ship and heard the fevered rush of activity upon the deck above. The muted thuds and creak-creaking of sailors going about their craft urged me to dress and see what all the fuss was about.

As I went topside the brisk morning air pummelled me in the throat as the light did likewise to my eyes. The marvellous effect filled my body with a queer tingling sensation.

Chesterfield was standing aboard the deck in the crisp morning air, making small talk with two companions when I approached. “There you are young master Winterstraw!” he cried with a throaty chuckle, the steam curling from his lips in great warm puffs. “Come here, come here, you must meet these fine gentlemen!”

“This is Doctor Karel Van Eisenburg, an astronomer and mathematician. He's joining us as something of a navigator.” - The hand that was extended to me was a strong one, “It’s a pleasure to meet you Mr Winterstraw, and I hear your forays into the realms of literature have created quite a stir of late.” He spoke with the faintest suggestion of a German accent playing around his lips as he beamed at me from under a mop of blonde hair. He was a short man, whose seacoat masterfully concealed the well-developed musculature beneath. I later found he enjoyed boxing which would account for this almost contrary physique to his other, more intellectual interests. “And this” Chesterfield remarked, indicating to a tall young gentleman whose features vaguely recalled impressions of faces seen upon minted in coins. That is, void of expression and life. “Is my long-time friend and, in days gone by, assistant Thomas Winthrope.”

A buzz of recognition rippled through my mind - “It’s wonderful to finally meet you Mr Winthrope, Chesterfield has kept us well informed of your recent exploits in Northern Africa.”

“Ah, has he now? Well I'm sure there’s a fair few tales Mr Chesterfield hasn’t been privy to while I was away. I'd be glad to share them with you if you like.” His manner of expression suggested he was of a privileged birth, his well-groomed black hair and brand new wardrobe furthered this impression.

“Yes yes! Well I'm afraid that will have to wait!” Chesterfield cried, “It would seem our Captain has news for us.”

The Captain, whom I later found out to be one Nathaniel Klaus, had informed us that we were making better than expected headway through the gently rocking waves and should this present windy weather continue we should arrive a day or two at Port Canterbury ahead of schedule. This locale was to serve as our Southern-most way stop for the rest of the expedition and it was here that we would gather the rest of our supplies and prepare for the next leg of our journey.

The rest of the day was a pleasant one and I spent it in deep conversation with my new companions. Both gentlemen I found to be of pleasant character and a like-minded outlook as to the discoveries to be made.

All went well in those first few days save a peculiar occurrence that transpired that first evening a little after dinner. We had gathered within the captain’s cabin and were enjoying a hearty meal when Winthrope rose, his queer lilting voice cutting through the evenings banter: “Well friends, I think this expedition will finally place us all on the map within our own fields!” A murmur of approval rippled around the table, Winthrope continued: “To this end we can all thank our friend, financier and the great planner Mr Chesterfield!” “Hear hear!” came the reply. “However, I feel it's about time Chesterfield and I revealed to you a piece of information that I think will -” “Yes! That’s quite enough Winthrope!” Chesterfield exclaimed in a ferocious tone " Winthrope hastily resumed his seat under the sheer force of the outburst. “I think this is a revelation best left for another time! We don’t want these fine gentlemen getting caught up within the realms of fancy.” he said in a quieter voice. The startled Winthrope looked positively injured; wiping his pale mouth he rose from the table and returned to his cabin without uttering a word. Karel addressed Chesterfield reproachfully: “He was just trying to keep us informed old boy, I hardly think you had to shout at him like you did.” “The lads got thicker skin than you think, and besides, it was not his revelation to make. Timing is quite essential, you know.”

We resumed our meal more quietly now, Chesterfield staring deeply at the plate in front of him, Karl and I shared questioning looks, both curious now as to the nature of the mystery.

 

It was late when I woke the following morning. Dull grey clouds had slowly gathered on the horizon during the night and it looked as though we were well on our way to greet them. Searching aboard I found no trace of my comrades. Several crewmen bustled this way and that, far too busy to engage in anything more than idle chatter. It seemed my new friends had all chosen to remain in their cabins.

Out of boredom and more than a little curiosity I resolved to explore the ship.

The bark was an antiquated schooner, an old affair that was kept in a surprisingly good shape by our captain. Each member of our party had their own cabin towards the forecastle while the remainder of the crew slept in hammocks trussed up between the various beams that supported the deck above.

Initially I was surprised to find our hold so sparsely packed. I was later reminded however, by a rather ripe smelling deck-hand that we would receive the bulk of our supplies upon reaching Canterbury, another three weeks journey south.

 

I feared that the days which where to follow would be wretched; the initial excitement slowly burning away and the curious argument between Winthrope and Chesterfield souring the mood. I imagined we would spend the leaden hours in deep conversation, playing cards and contemplating the rumbling depths of the wine-dark sea.

Fortunately I was wrong, and, slowly through the efforts of our captain and Chesterfield, whose vibrant spark was beginning to shine brighter than ever, we were kept thoroughly entertained. Chesterfield was positively bubbling with nervous excitement and wasted not a single moment on this, his grand adventure. One day he would trawl a net of his own design far down into the swelling waters to draw forth strange denizens of deeper realms. He would then ask me to create elaborate notes and scientific sketches of the brine-smelling dissection that would follow. For this purpose he had installed upon the deck a small table, one lined with scalpels, magnifying glasses and a host of other queer devices.

On another day, he would be up in the crows-nest with Karel, making detailed meteorological observations through a looking glass he had fitted above the small platform. The amount of energy his lithe and wrinkled body displayed was a source of perpetual fascination, the excitement that drove the old man forward must have been quite unlike any I have heretofore felt.

Indeed, discovery was his passion, his life-blood, his very reason for living and not a day went by wherein the skinny old man was not running hither and tither like some great white furred squirrel.

 

Our captain kept us wonderfully entertained in a variety of other ways, his dour seriousness was complimented by his fondness for sarcastic jibes. During the evenings, after a liberal amount of sweet rum or wine had quite cheered his mood he would regale us with tales of swashbuckling adventure, more than half of which I'm almost certain were adapted sea-fairing legends. It was during these jovial times young Winthrope would also come to the fore and tell us of his grand African adventures, tales involving fiery scorpions and dark-haired maids who inhabited the shifting sands of the upper Nile.

It was through these efforts that the journey to Canterbury felt as though it were greatly reduced. We arrived at the small colonial town exactly two days before we were due to make land just as our captain had predicted.

It was a queer little place, Canterbury, a small relic from another time. The town was situated several hundred kilometres off the coast of Morocco and upon the largest of three forested islands.

The locals were friendly, if somewhat backward and they saw to it that we were well stocked for our sojourn into the unknown.

It was during the two days we spent ashore that Chesterfield and Winthrope guided something of a small expedition further inland; apparently the duo had been here in one of their prior exploits and it seemed that they had something they were quite eager to show us. Van Eisenburg and myself were keen to see if this would provide some clarity on the subject of the duos queer argument.

The jungle air was heavy and warm, positively weighing us down with perspiration. Fortunately the trail inclined at a steady angle and the lush overgrowth gave-way easily at our passing. Everywhere one looked there were trees, shrubs and bright foliage of the most exotic designs conceived by Mother Nature. The damp air was perfumed with strange earthy scents, the sweet nectar of flowers and the mouldy odour of decay. I was simply amazed by the sheer magnitude and variety of forms that life took on such a small piece of land: multi-legged creatures crawled and burrowed under foot as their airborne cousins swarmed in droves about us. A multitude of bright and colourful birds called out in harmonic rhythms that seemed to echo in the muggy air.

Finally, we came to rest by a shallow pool fed by a small rivulet. The tumultuous little stream kicked up a wonderfully soothing spray of damp moisture that cooled our sweating brows. “We're here!” Chesterfield announced proudly, his now red face gleaming. Winthrope chuckled. Of course he had to make the revelation just as we had taken a seat on a relatively smooth rock quite near the water’s edge. A general groan of exhaustion wafted between Van Eisenburg and myself. “May I do the honours of leading our guests?” Winthrope asked, Chesterfield nodded in a half-amused way. “Right this way gentlemen.” - To my surprise Winthrope guided us to a small bluff hidden quite precariously around the other side of the pool, staring out over the little edifice we saw the drop was short, no more than two meters. Winthrope proceeded to jump down and dust himself off, indicating that we should do likewise.

I landed with a guilty thud on patch of small ferns that had only recently begun to grow. Guiding us still, Winthrope then proceeded to feel around the sides of the bluff that hung heavy with green vines and creepers. Finding what he was looking for, he proceeded to hack away at the overgrowth with a small knife he carried. Upon clearing away the wrecked debris and tattered vegetable matter he revealed a small aperture in the side of the bluff. It was low, less than half a meter in height and looked for all the world like some form of large mammals burrow. “Deceptive eh?” said Winthrope “I'll go first, just to make sure none of our scaly friends have decided to turn our little cave into a home.” I stared at the man for a moment, turning; I stared at Van Eisenburg, who looked at me with a sheepish smile. Turning once more, I stared at Chesterfield, he was grinning at me like a red-faced fool. I turned back to Winthrope. He was not joking, he actually expected us to crawl through this tunnel.

And so, much to my dismay and not wishing to be left alone I crawled after Van Eisenburg as he made his way through the hole. Chesterfield huffed along behind me, urging me to hurry on with every inch. The loamy smell of earth filled my nostrils deeply now and I hissed at him to keep quite. This was not my idea of a fun adventure.

Keeping my eyes firmly affixed to Winthrope’s dull lamp as it shone in the gloom ahead and desperately trying to ignore the small chirping things which crawled in a pale multitude just above my head I crawled onwards for what felt like hours. Occasionally I'd have to pause a moment in that cramped passageway to swat and flail at the annoying things as they jumped upon my brow.

As we continued crawling further down into the passageway, I noted it sloped gently downwards and widened as we went, this made the journey progressively easier until eventually we were able to crawl upon our hands and knees. Winthrope signalled for us to halt, we had reached the end of the tunnel. At this point Chesterfield sought to overtake me, what followed was five very uncomfortable minutes of figuring out how to let him manoeuvre past. “Here it is boys, the discovery Winthrope and I made two years ago and one that, with any luck will lead us to further great finds.” Chesterfield’s voice was tinged with pride and coloured with excitement. The blazing lamp was pushed forward illuminating the flat rock before us. On it appeared criss-crossing lines and a multitude of queer dots arranged, as far as I could tell, rather haphazardly. Van Eisenburg leant forward with a keen interest. As for myself I regarded the ancient scratches with sceptical eyes, the jagged markings and random dots appeared faded and worn... To a less discerning eye they may have appeared as nothing more than the markings of some burrowing creature. I was about to say as much when Van Eisenburg turned excitedly, “I know what those are!” he cried “They're constellations! And here, this… This line” he traced the primitive marking with his fingers “This is the horizon line, see how they have depicted the decent of Cetus followed very shortly by Taurus? This… This is a map! Here! Look here I say, should we follow directly beneath these bodies we should wind up here.” He was pointing at a series of five irregularly shaped blotches. “Those have to be the islands!”

“Exactly my boy! The very same we intend to find!” Chesterfield’s voice boomed out into the confined dark followed by a short chuckle. From his breast pocket he pulled out a small leather journal, in which he showed us the self-same markings that appeared upon the walls. “I took these down after our first visit and have, after much study come to the same conclusion as our young friend Karel here. Why! Had you been with us the first time we wouldn't have wasted so many hours!”

The air had become sparse and stifling as we hurriedly scrabbled our way out of the dank little cave, myself firmly in the lead this time.

We exited the muck, my clothes now thoroughly caked with dirt and mud. Upon exiting the subterranean cleft, I hungrily gulped the thick jungle air.

I considered the implications of the map. If recognizable constellations could be seen, then there was almost no doubt it was fashioned by some primitive culture! Thoughts of greatness swam through my mind. A legacy is almost certainly bestowed upon the explorers of far off places; but nigh immortality is given to those who discover entire civilizations!

Drunk off the idea of fame, we began the long lurch back towards our inn. Chatting eagerly about what the map might entail. Suddenly I froze. Whether it was instinct, or my eyes had indeed caught the faintest shimmer of iridescent scales amongst the foliage, I could not say, but there, lounging lugubriously no more than a few centimeters away from my feet sat a fat coiled serpent half-hidden amongst the undergrowth. My comrades swiftly fell silent; each eyeing the large brute as it gracefully uncoiled and slithered heavily in the direction of the caves mouth... Like a frightful dream I watched the creatures dark speckled hide glide silently over my boot, the seconds passing with leaden stillness as its bulk disappeared into the dark undergrowth. “We were lucky.” Winthrope intoned; “A specimen like that would not have taken too kindly to strangers in its den.”

We hurried back, more cautiously now but still buzzing with the trill of wonder.

 

The following day was spent readying the ship and loading provisions, a remarkably uneventful day considering the exciting events of the one before. Our whole party paced restlessly about the inn... Up and down, up and down, wishing with every step to make way upon the slow dancing sea that instant. The unknown was calling with a hungry interest and we, but poor men of intellect, slaves to discovery, were eager to respond to the call.

 

The deep was roiling fervidly when we did finally make way early the next morning. High waves of cool water beat the stout bark as we journeyed forth to find the lost islands.

Our optimism did not wane as the days crept slowly past. We fared forth with a strong wind for little over nine days, when quite suddenly upon the tenth it was replaced by a cool breeze that buffeted our sails in a lazy, playful fashion.

On that same evening we were assembled in the captain’s cabin as was our custom, enjoying a rather exotic spiced rum when the first mate interrupted our anecdotes. It seemed that we were sailing into a fog bank and he wished to inform the captain that our progress would be slowed so as to avoid any trouble. The captain seemed pleased enough with this information and, upon dismissing the first mate we resumed our conversations.

It wasn’t until twelve bells did we decide the hour late enough to amble back to our cabins. Feeling more than mildly giddy from the potent rum, my half-drunk mind decided it would be best to step out upon the deck and enjoy the quite night air in dazed reflection.

I could barely see the forecastle in the murky fog that had quite subsumed our heavy boat. Coiling damp wreathed the rails as I stumbled forward in an uneasy path. Looking down into the smog I felt a sudden bout of queasiness welling up, fortunately I was already hanging over the side.

Sitting down upon the deck, I stared at the mist stream in delicate snake-like shards about the mast, the strange tufts twisting and writhing into grotesque forms and suggestive shapes.

I must have been very drunk indeed as there; far into the strange cloud I witnessed a wonderful flash. A rainbow of colours danced for a second in the silent night.

A short while later another followed, then another. I struggled to my feet to get a closer look at the strange light-show that now surrounded the ship. Again and again multi-coloured flashes rippled amongst the clouds. They seemed to be getting closer. Coruscating sparks danced silently between the fog and the sea. I jumped as a voice sounded over my shoulder “Now what could that be? I’ve never seen its like before.” Chesterfield whispered to himself. I turned to him, his features were obscured by the fog. “A form of lightning?” I queried “We should call Karel to come look with us.” Chesterfield seemed to be staring at something in the fog. The flashes illuminated his wrinkled face, he looked worried. Without warning he cried into the darkness “Winthrope! Winthrope come quickly!” The flashes whirled around us now, bright, frequent flashes that made the fog glow. A multitude of sickly bright colours danced in my vision. I closed my eyes, attempting to shield them from the burning brightness that still shone. Imprints of blazing colour swam in my vision, stinging, ripping, tearing at every nerve. The pain spread, flowing through my weakening muscle, filling my bones with a splintering sensation.

I sank to my knees crying out in pain, in fear, before the world suddenly slipped into blissful darkness.

 

How long I lay in peaceful stillness I could not say. Not a dream or vision greeted me in this empty darkness. The aching pain drained softly away, dulling with every slow passing second. I lifted myself from the still damp deck, slowly, every agonizing muscle straining under the effort.

The place was silent, the gentle creaking of the ship had stopped, the muted rush of air in the sails ceased.

I stood; half stooped and attempted to open my eyes. The effort was tremendous, as though the weight of the world where forcing them shut. Struggling, fighting I yelled out in frustration.

Again and again I fought against the weight and slowly, painfully slowly I opened my eyes… There was nothing to be seen. Staring out through throbbing eyes I saw nothing, a complete absence of all, no darkness, no light, simply nothing. For a time, the lack of any discernible sound or sight made me feel as though, for a second, I was suspended in a void of some sort. Hanging outside any known reality in a place of infinite stillness. An empty place inimical to all strange forms of life. A place beyond what I knew or could even dare to dream. The feeling of the solid deck beneath my feet soon banished these thoughts and they were suddenly replaced by a multitude of questions: had the strange lights robbed me of my vision? Was I now completely blind? What of the others? Where were they? Where were we?

I called out into the darkness, but just as the first notes of my voice rang out into the silence a veritable eruption of light exploded into view. Again I was forced to stoop and shield my eyes. The sound of rushing wind filled my ears and I looked up in dazed confusion. My vision had miraculously returned! I was still standing on the now illuminated deck, and I could see the sun high above. It had an odd greyish hue about it, as though I were viewing it through a faint and hazy cloud of smoke. I discerned also that it must have been around noon at least. The ship had indeed stopped its gentle rocking, as though we were no longer being butted by gentle waves. Perhaps we had run aground on some shallow bank? Churning these thoughts over in my addled mind I turned and found Chesterfield lying on the deck beside me, he looked deathly pale. I knelt down to aid him and upon feeling his neck I found a faint pulse.

Calling out for help I half-lifted half-dragged poor Chesterfield back into the captain’s cabin. Seating him upon a chair I proceeded to look for some help, almost tripping over the prone form of our captain. He had fallen upon the floor in a similar stupor. Kneeling down I attempted to shake the captain awake. A cold sweat dripped down his bloodless brow but he came to with a grumble. I fell to the floor with relief. The condition did not appear to be a dire one. “What happened lad? All I remember was you boys leaving, then these queer lights and then… Well, I don’t know.” the captains voice sounded dry and uneasy. I proceeded to tell him about the lights in the dark, the peculiar void I found myself in and Chesterfield.

Getting up the captain rushed to the old man with brotherly concern. “This is all dammed queer isn’t it lad?” He said, looking up from the pale old man. “Come, let’s see what’s happened to the rest of me crew and maybe figure out where on Gods green earth we are.”

The strange pairing that was the captain and I rushed onto the deck. The captain, sensing something to be amiss hurried over to the ships railing.  He uttered a small cry upon seeing what now surrounded us.

We were indeed firmly planted on some terrestrial outcropping, but one quite unlike I had ever seen before.

The landscape that stretched out before us was a desolate one. The ship appeared to be partially sunk into what looked like muddy earth. The ground, clearly slick with foetid moisture, reflected the dull sunlight with a peculiar purplish sheen. The odd shimmering wasteland extended as far as the eye could see with not even the faintest glimmer of the ocean to be found. The captain looked troubled, as for myself I’m sure, my face was the very picture of bewilderment.

We decided it would be best if we proceeded to explore the vessel ensuring the safety of the others before making any other decisions. As we worked our way through the entrapped bark we occasionally came across crew members in a similar state to the one I had found the others. We woke them as we went, having them aid us on our exploration of the ship.

A few weakly probed their captain with questions as to our situation; his fleeting unsteady answers appeared to give them little by way of rest. It seemed that all hands were accounted for, save my two comrades whom I assumed we would find in their cabins. I led the way to Van Eisenburgs chamber and upon entering we found him passed out upon his bed. The same clammy sweat dripping slowly off his brow. He woke with the same questioning start as the others. I gently explained to him what I knew and enquired if he would join us to check on young Winthrope.

To our surprise we found Winthropes door ajar, he must have neglected to close it properly before the light show had started. The sight that greeted us upon entering the chamber however was most startling.

The small room was empty, in its entirety.

The absence of Winthrope was made all the more peculiar by the fact that there was no bed, sea-trunk or bookshelf to be seen. There was nothing to suggest that the room had at any point ever been occupied. With this disturbing disappearance in mind we gathered the crew upon the deck and, after acquainting them with the ships strange predicament we resolved to make a thorough search of the bark. From the crows-nest to the bilges we searched for the absent Winthrope, yet not a trace of the poor soul remained.

 

After our hunt had concluded we gathered once more upon the deck wherein the captain briefed us as to our next course of action. It would seem that while we were busy below he and the ships barrelman had been up in the crows-nest and with the aid of Chesterfields modified looking glass were able to discern a faint smudge upon the horizon. This smudge in turn was determined to be a low, flat mountain range. It was decided that a small party, composed of ship hands and led by the first mate, armed with some provisions would set forth the following day to make the long hike to the range. Upon reaching and exploring the rocky edifice they were to send back word of what could be found.

The rest of us, being well stocked with supplies were to wait on-board until the small party returned with news, from there, our next move could be decided upon.

 

The sun sank painfully slowly that evening, as though it still sought to shed light on the strange events of the day. Karel and I spent the warm hours tending to the ailing Chesterfield. He was the last to recover from the strange affliction that had caused the others to pass out, and although colour was slowly returning to his wizened features the cold sweat still sat heavy on his brow and he had yet to open his eyes. Aided by the captain we gently moved him to his own cabin and checked on him in regular shifts.

That night I could not sleep as an anxious feeling of dread settled over my mind. The question of “Where were we?” playing over and over again. I thought about the mud flat, the almost crystal like purple reflections upon its surface, how it sparkled in the sunlight. That light… That dull, grey mockery of a sun. It was certainly no sun I knew. Little did I know that strange terrors were yet to come.

The following morning the crew assembled early, provisions were gathered during the night and the party was made ready for their expedition. We lined the railing as they disembarked. The first mate was the first to touch what could tentatively be called the “ground”; he sank into the softly sucking mud with a loud plopping noise. Probing ahead with a long stick he led the party outwards over the purple-brown plain. The white hazy sunshine beating down upon their backs. Their progress would be slow and difficult, but we ensured that they had enough by way of water and food that they should make it to the distant mountain range and back without too much trouble. Watching their cumbersome journey over the dense muck I became faintly aware of movement before them, It looked as though something were buried in the mud. A long snake-like form wiggled and thrashed obscurely ahead of them. Its movements were like those of a newly hooked fish, flopping and carousing upon a bank.

The first mate approached it carefully, extending his long walking stick he poked at the writhing thing. What happened next I could not recount with much certainty as it happened so quickly, but I shall do my best.

The very ground the party stood upon dissolved. It was as though a million sinuous bodies began to gyrate in the purple tinted ooze. Shifting bodies lay upon a dozen more as the whole muddy field began to squirm like a multitude of sticky worms. The first mate was the first to slip under the writhing bog, a look of terror and surprise on his face. The rest of the poor souls turned to run, but more than a few slipped upon the squelching chaos underfoot. It was then that the screaming started. One man, indeed one of the youngsters who helped me aboard the ship that night so long ago, had slipped, supporting himself on all fours he had sunk to his elbows in the clinging mud. He howled in anguish as he raised his arm, or, what was left of his arm, towards the ship. Naught remained save a bleeding stump! The squirming things beneath had teeth, and soon saw to it that none who had set out from the ship survived…

With an eerie fleetness the plane was still once more. Blood tinged mud mixed with the purple pearlescent sheen and the cries of the men still ringing hollowly in our ears was all that remained to prove the terrible scene to which we had just borne witness.

Deeply shocked I looked upon the startled faces of the men. The realization of the hopelessness of our situation hit me. “What… What were those things?” I asked Karel, he said nothing. Merely shaking his head he turned towards the ashen face of the captain for answers.

Barking hasty orders for the men to arm themselves the captain led the two of us into his quarters. When we were alone he said “Look boys, I don’t know what’s going on, where we are or even what happened to Winthrope. I don’t even know how we landed up in this foul place. What I do know is I’ve lost some fine sailors and good men. I think, until we know more we are to remain aboard the ship. It seems we don’t have much by way of choice though, what with those damn… damn things out there! Chesterfield seems to know something; you recall how he clashed with Winthrope the other day? I think he knows more about the scope of things then he’s letting on.” “Well then there’s nothing for it, we will just have to wait until he wakes up.” Karel said. The captain nodded and sank into his chair; he waved us out… His haggard features suggesting he needed some time with his thoughts. As I closed the door behind me I looked at Karel “I don’t know about you, but I think we need to figure out what we’re up against. I’ve got a plan but I’m going to need your help.” Karel assented grimly.

 

What I required was the long net Chesterfield had used while trawling for things from the deep. After his quaint investigation concluded he had dried the thing and carefully stowed it away somewhere within the depths of his cabin. Karel and I entered with some water, laying it at his bedside we first checked if Chesterfield had recovered any. His brow was no longer clammy but now startlingly dry.

We then proceeded to search amongst the various boxes and shelves that our comrade had loaded into his cabin. The place was positively brimming with both mundane and more exotic scientific apparatus. After a search lasting little over half an hour we found the net, folded neatly away next to a few specimens Chesterfield felt were worthy of preservation.

The net was attached to a rope of some length, one that would easily suit my purposes and was fashioned from tightly wound sinews that would hold even under the most incredible pressure. 

We then proceeded to the galley wherein we persuaded the cook into providing us with a good sized piece of salted pork.

 

Gathering a small handful of the remaining crew, I ordered some to stand ready with the old rapiers they now bore and some to aid me with the heaving of the rope. The hunk of meat was secured inside the base of the net and was hurled off the port railing.

Fortunately we did not have to wait long, as there; slowly creeping through the sludge I discerned the faint snake-like outline of one of those devils. It slithered, half creeping, half sliding slowly forward over the mud, its body still being largely obscured by the dirty ooze. Gently it eased its way into the net, with a sudden pounce it grabbed at the meat and attempted to burrow into the mire. “Quickly now! Heave!” I cried, the men responded en-masse. The struggle was fierce and tough. The slowly sucking mud seemed to make the brute heavier than it appeared until, with a loud plop we wrenched the beast free and it was left to dangle and writhe in the net over the rail. The beast did not growl, bark or hiss, but rather let off a strange huff-huffing noise, the sound one makes when forcing air through heavy lips. The thing swung to and fro still heavily caked in mud off the side of the Osprey. The armed men swarmed it, each trying to vengefully stab at the thing as it swung and shook. I feared it may chew its way free before we would have a chance to kill it. Each blow from the rapiers seemed to glance off its filth covered hide. Eventually, one strong deckhand ran the thing through, letting out a long and final “hfffff” the beast ceased its struggle.

Approaching the thing I prodded it with the tip of my sword. It appeared quite dead; I then determined it safe to drag the wriggling thing on board.

Karel and I untangled its slippery form as it lay quietly aboard the deck and carried it over to the table Chesterfield had set up for his dissections. With a splash of salty water from the bucket kept close at hand we washed the thing off.

 

It was an odd creature; quite unlike any I’ve ever seen. Dare I say even scholars from the universities expansive biology department would be quite taken aback. It was approximately the size of a small to medium dog. Its body could be best described as that of a large tadpole or rather a pollywog. It had, towards its tail, two rather stumpy legs; they were short and muscular and terminated in curious two toed feet. These toes had a thick membrane stretched between them, webbed as one would expect from an amphibious creature.

Its tail was long and thick, tapering off on both the dorsal and ventral sides like a rubbery double-edged blade; it had a smooth leathery feeling and was a light shade of brown, specked here and there with clusters of green-black dots.

The central body of the thing was wider, more ovoid in shape and of a darker shade than the tail.

It was covered in leathery plates that were arranged like those found upon an armadillo. These pliable yet tough coverings must have served to protect the terrible thing from the blades of our men.

The creature had no visible eyes of which to speak and thus, Karel and I determined that the beast had some form of sensory apparatus to feel movement in the mud it immersed itself in, or indeed some queer form of smell.

Lastly, upon the brutes underbelly sat a wide gaping maw, fringed with sharp, razor-like teeth. Gill like structures lined either side of this aperture along with a set of oddly positioned tubes. What purpose these may have furnished was anyone’s guess. Karel however, speculated that they were the source of the strained huff-huffing noise and in fact how the creature smelled out its prey.   

Indeed the entirety of the creatures form was well suited to its curious half-life, existing not entirely on dry land nor under the deep, dark waters but rather hovering between the two within the wet muddy earth.

 

Feeling better acquainted with what manner of beasts surrounded the ship filled me with a sense of ease. Irrationality, and in turn fear, swims in the depths of the unknown.

After our examination had concluded we brought the captain to the deck to show him our find. He glared at the thing lying upon the table “So, you reckon if we run them through at the tails that’ll kill the damn things?” “Well, the tails are certainly much softer than the plates that surround their cores.” I ventured to reply. “But from what we’ve seen there’s hundreds out there! Hidden by the mud. It’d be foolish to try and fight our way through… Wading through it is tough as it is!” “Aye lad, you’re right there. But should we need it, I’m glad you boys have found a way to kill them.”

The rest of the long day I spent watching, contemplating the mud flat and its alien denizens that now surrounded us. Nothing stirred, the hellish plane brooded silently. Not once did the creatures move in the warm, clinging mud. Not once did they betray their very existence to the world around them. The more I watched, waiting, I made two realizations. The first was that the days were longer here, the sun almost certainly tarried in its movement. Watch in hand, I confirmed that the sun was, for all intents and purposes, moving four hours slower than what it should be. This served only to further my impression that we were in an alien place.

Klaus later dismissed the idea suggesting that without knowledge of our geological co-ordinates we could not account for differences within the time-zones or even seasonal changes if we were in fact, now within the Southern hemisphere. He promised to make some detailed observations of the stars that evening to see if he could determine where we were.

My second observation led to more questioning than anything else. These beasts, the… tadpole-things, did not seem to stir unless disturbed. Furthermore, the plane - being very wide - appeared to host millions of these horrible brutes… The conjunction of these two thoughts led me to wonder, what, when not feasting on the poor and ignorant, do these things eat? Obviously they must possess a form of hyper-efficient metabolism, therefore allowing them the luxury of not needing to consume for long stretches of time. Paired with their inactivity while hidden from the throbbing sun ensures that no energy would be unnecessarily spent. But what do they eat? Were there possibly other creatures living deep within the sucking viscous mud? Were there areas where the mud was deeper, wherein the things could perhaps “swim” without upsetting the surface? They hardly seemed to stir during the day…

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[Jason Damstra]

Thanks to KG for help with the edits :P mind seriously needs to stop glazing over certain words.