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- Story Listed as: Fiction For Adults
- Theme: Fairy Tales & Fantasy
- Subject: Other / Not Listed
- Published: 08/24/2022
Returning Home
Born 1970, M, from Georgia, United StatesStanson waded out into the lagoon. It was low tide, which meant that the water where he set the fish trap was only chest deep. Still, it took nearly all his energy to reach it. It had been three days since he had any fish or crab to eat and he didn’t have the strength to climb to get a coconut, much less open one.
When he reached the marker for the fish trap, he carefully pulled it up. He was weary of a repeat of one of the first times he pulled up a trap. The ray resting on top of the trap got startled and slapped Stanson on the hand with its tail. Luckily, the tip of the tail hit Stanson and not the barb, but still Stanson learned to be more careful.
He pulled up the trap and found it contained a single fish. It was not as large as he hoped, but at least he would have something more than roots and seaweed today. A joyous “Yes” erupted from him at his good fortune. With his trap in hand, he turned and made it back to the beach and home.
His home for many years was this small island, some fifty acres total. Stanson had become stranded on this little patch of land when the ship he had been on got caught in a storm and capsized. He and two other members of the crew were lucky and climbed into a dingy and weathered out the rest of the storm. The next day, they found themselves alone on the ocean, amidst a sea of wreckage.
For ten days, they drifted before the tiny boat washed up on the island. By that time, his two companions had died of thirst. Stanson would have joined them, if it had not been for another storm bringing rain.
The ship Stanson had been on, the RNS Sea Pixie, was a trading ship. During his time on board, he had traveled to various islands to pick up cargo for the Sea Pixie to carry to Pembroke. From there, they loaded her cargo onto larger ships to be shipped to other territories of the empire.
It was on these islands that Stanson had learned how the local natives survived without modern conveniences that had allowed him to survive.
Once back on shore, he carried the fish trap into the shade of the palm trees. There, he took his knife to clean the fish and skewered it on a bone needle and line so he could carry it back to his hut.
During Stanson’s short walk back to his hut, he kept looking up at the trees for any signs of fruit or bird nests. These were rare treats for him when they were available, but saw no indications today.
When he got back to his hut, he hung the fish on a tree while he started a fire. “At least I won’t die of starvation today,” he said to himself. Stanson tried several times to get a fire started and was about to give up when he met with success. After cooking and eating the fish, he laid down in the shade of his hut to rest through the most of the heat of the day.
While he rested, he thought he heard someone call out in the distance. It wasn’t intelligible and nearly drowned out by the waves lapping on the shore. Shaking his head, Stanson sat up. He first noticed that the fire he had built was a pile of embers and emitting smoke. Then he spotted what could be the source of the sound that had aroused him.
Not far from his island, Stanson spied a small ship. It was hard to make out its true size, but it was a single-masted vessel similar to the Sea Pixie, though smaller.
Stanson immediately stood and started jumping up and down, waving his arms. He tried to call out, but his voice was hoarse. He did this until he nearly dropped from exhaustion, but saw no sign anyone on the ship had spotted him as its single sail remained raised.
Fearing that they would leave him on the island to spend the rest of his days, Stanson frantically searched for something to signal the ship with. He immediately began tearing the thatching off of his hut and throwing it on the remains of the fire. It only took a moment for it to begin to smolder, producing a mass of smoke.
He took one of the fronds of the thatching that was smoldering and tried to run up wind with it, waving it about. They could dismiss one smoke signal as chance, but two could not.
Almost as proof of this, the vessel turned towards Stanson. He fell to his knees, crying. After all those years alone and consigning himself, he would never see another person again, he was being rescued.
As the ship approached, Stanson could see a person on deck, steering the ship. When it was just outside the breakers, the crew lowered the sail. At this distance, Stanson could make out a smaller craft suspended on the stern. It was this smaller craft that the individual lowered into the water and began rowing to shore in.
The craft was a canoe of some sort, as it was long and thin with an outrigger to one side that made it more stable in the breakers.
On Stanson’s savior beached the canoe, he came over Stanson saying, “Good grief man, are you all right?”
Stanson threw himself at the stranger, wrapping his arms around him, nearly causing both of them to fall over. “Steady man, get a hold of yourself. Who are you? How did you come here?” The stranger grabbed Stanson by the arms and held him at arm’s length.
“Stanson, Earnest Stanson. I was bosun on the Sea Pixie before she was destroyed in a storm,” Stanson said in a weak, hoarse voice.
The stranger shook his head. “Never heard of the Sea Pixie. How long have you been here? It looks as if it has been an age.”
“Since Gninn, 1218.”
The man’s eyes grew large at this. “Good heavens. That was nearly twenty years ago. It is 17 Judi, 1237. Is there anyone else with you?”
Stanson lowered his head as he sobbed dryly. The stranger pulled Stanson to him and held him as if he was a child. “You poor soul. All is good now, as you are no longer alone. Let me get you back to the Eless. I’m sure the Captain will do all he can to get you home. And where is your home?”
“Pembroke.”
The stranger released Stanson and started leading him to the canoe. “Then this is truly your day. The Captain and I are bound for Port Pembroke. Or at least that is what your Pembroke is now called. We should have you home in a few days. I am Omar, by the way. First mate on the FS Eless and at your service.”
“Bless you and your Captain.”
Omar got Stanson settled in the front of the canoe before pushing it back out into the water and paddling back to the Eless. Once there, Omar hooked the canoe to a pair of tackle blocks before pulling in the outrigger.
“You stay here and I’ll hoist the canoe up so you don’t have to try to climb aboard.”
Since Omar and the Eless had found him, Stanson felt a weariness he had never known before come over him. He simply laid in the canoe and nodded to Omar. Once Omar had the canoe hoisted up and fully secured, he helped Stanson on to the deck of the Eless.
“Welcome aboard the Eless.”
Stanson looked around the deck, but didn’t see anyone else. “Where is the crew?”
Chuckling, Omar said, “It is just the Captain and me. The Eless was built for a crew of five, but really only needs one to sail. Come, I’ll show you to the crew’s quarters so you can rest, but I’ll bring you some food first.”
Omar helped Stanson to the foredeck and down the steps to the crew’s quarters. Inside, he found a small table with a pair of benches and a low hanging lamp. Set along the hull on either side of the room were a pair of bunks. Setting Stanson on the lower port side bunk, Omar said, “Give me a minute, and I’ll bring you some food.”
This left Stanson alone in the cabin, but Omar soon returned with a bowl of salt pork stew, some hardtack, and cheese. Even this was standard fare on a ship, but after twenty years of what Stanson had to eat on the island, this was a banquet of a feast. He ate voraciously, oblivious to his surroundings. He did not notice that Omar had left and returned bearing a pair of bottles, one of wine and the other water.
When he was eating, he asked Omar, “Can I speak with your Captain? I want to thank him for saving me and for the food.”
Omar shook his head. “I’m afraid not right now. Captain Mosi took ill a few days ago and has been bedridden. He is recovering though, and I expect to see him on deck in a day or two. You can thank him then.”
“Rest now. I need to get us on the way again.”
Stanson laid down and slept.
He awoke to Omar lighting the lamp that overhung the table in the cabin. His muscles were stiff and he was slow to move. “How long was I asleep?”
“Only through the night. I hope I didn’t wake you with the lamp,” Omar said.
“No. I feel like I need to get up and move around some.”
“Well, I washed a set of my clothes for you yesterday after we got underway. There on the table.”
Stanson nearly fell over when he went to stand up. “Looks like my sea legs are not what they once were. Thanks for the clothes.”
Omar chuckled a bit. “I’ll bring you some food and drink while you change. After you eat, come join me on deck when you feel you can stand.”
“I’ll do that.”
Stanson could tell when Omar opened the door that it was early morning or late evening. The sky was a dark reddish color. Although the ship was sailing on calm waters, its gentle rocking made standing for Stanson difficult. Eventually, he stood upright by holding on to the sideboard of the upper bunk. He practiced walking around the small cabin until he felt confident that he could set foot on deck.
When he opened the door, he could now tell it was morning as the sky was lighting up. Slowly, he made his way out the cabin door and up the three steps to the main deck proper. From there, he could see Omar on the aftcastle leaning over something next to the ship’s wheel. When Stanson looked out over the railings of the ship, he saw the same sight he had seen for nearly twenty years.
An endless expanse of blue ocean. Yet, today, it somehow looked different to him.
Using the rail to steady himself some, he went to where Omar was. When he reached him, he saw Omar was writing in the ship’s log, which was on top of a map. “The Captain lets you write in his log?”
Omar twitch at Stanson voice. “It is the ship’s log, and it is common practice that the officer on duty makes entries in it. Not just the Captain. So what do you think of the Eless?”
“She seems like a fine ship. Hard to imagine that you can sail her by yourself.”
“Only because of her size. She has a few changes from what you are used to that make it easier to handle, but not as quick. For example, the sail is raised by a lever system. Come, I’ll show you.” He closed the logbook and slid the table it had been resting on underneath a second table before showing Stanson the control for the sail. It was an ingenious design where one man could do the work of four, but took twice as long to do so.
Omar continued to show Stanson other such innovations that reduced the number of men necessary to perform a particular task to just one. When they were done, Stanson said, “She truly is a fine ship.”
“She is, but you should see the innovations in Port Pembroke. You may not recognize it. Go back to our quarters and I’ll get us some lunch after I check on the Captain.”
“Very well then.”
Stanson made his way back to the cabin and, once inside, went straight to his bunk. He had not realized how tired he was from the simple excursion onto the deck. He had not realized he had fallen asleep until he awoke to find Omar standing over him.
“Captain Mosi has asked us to have lunch with him.”
“Ah, I finally get to thank him for rescuing me.”
The two men made their way to the Captain’s quarters. When they reached the door, Omar knocked before announcing themselves. A faint “Enter” could be heard through the door.
When they entered, Stanson looked all about the room. Less than half the size of the Captain’s quarters of the Sea Pixie, its walls were a pristine white. The bed, desk, table and chairs that adorned the room were all of a simple, practical nature. This simplicity gave the room a much grander feeling.
“Mr. Stanson,” came a voice from an open doorway to the side of the Captain’s quarters. “Please excuse me, I’m trying to finish preparing lunch. I hope roast lamb suits you. Please have a seat and I will join you in a moment.”
The table was set with a plate, cup, knife, and fork in preparation for lunch. Stanson took a seat near the head of the table, with his back to the open doorway. “I thank you for your hospitality, Captain Mosi. After twenty years on that island, even salt pork seems like a grand meal.”
“I’m glad we could save you. Mr. Omar says you served on the Sea Pixie. I am unfamiliar with that ship. Based on your tale, it would have been lost twenty years ago. I know of a presumed cursed ship out of Port Pembroke, the Sea Sprite. Reportedly, she had a sister ship that was lost, but no one will speak its name. Are you familiar with the Sea Sprite?”
Stanson’s mouth twitched at the Captain’s statement. It took him a moment to regain his composure. “Aye, I am. The Sea Pixie was her sister ship. You say the Sea Sprite is cursed?”
“Was cursed. She had a run of unfortunate accidents. Some superstitious fools attributed it to her sister being lost. In reality, her keel was too weak and her mast had a void in its base. She was a doomed ship from the start.”
Stanson’s back was to the Captain as he entered the room. His first sign that Captain Mosi was in the room was when he sat a tray of lamb on the table. “Welcome aboard the Eless, Mr. Stanson.”
To be proper, Stanson stood to face Captain Mosi to salute him. When he laid eyes on the Captain, he froze.
The Captain was a slight man who appeared to be ten to fifteen years younger than Stanson. What gave Stanson pause when seeing the Captain was the Captain’s face. Unlike Stanson and Omar, whose faces were a reddish tan from being out in the sun, the Captain’s face was white like the snow-capped mountains Stanson had seen inland from Pembroke. The irises of the Captain’s eyes were bright red.
The mere sight of the Captain sent Stanson stumbling back into the table. He fell over, knocking his place setting on the ground. He continued to push himself away from the Captain. “Stay away from me, you demon!” he screamed at the Captain as his hand came down around his knife.
Omar jumped up and said, “Man, have you gone mad? Calm yourself.” He came around to the side of the table where Stanson and the Captain were at.
By the time Omar had gotten around the table, Stanson was standing back up, brandishing the knife.
“Mr. Stanson, I can explain my condition,” the Captain said, taking a step towards Stanson.
Stanson swiped at the Captain saying, “Back!”
Omar lunged at Stanson, grabbing for the knife and knocking both down. The two men rolled on the deck, struggling for the knife. The Captain bellowed at them to stop. Finally, they stopped with Omar on top of Stanson. Blood pooling on the floor underneath them.
Slowly, Omar rolled off of Stanson. Stanson was still clutching the knife, which was now stained red. Across Omar’s stomach was a deep, long gash.
“Oh god. Oh god what have I done?” Stanson said as he pushed himself away.
The Captain immediately dropped to his knees beside Omar and put his hands over Omar’s wound. “Mr. Omar, hold on. Damn, hold on.” He lowered his head over his First Mate.
Stanson stood up and looked at the scene. Omar lay on the ground, gasping for breath as the Captain leaned over him.
Still wide eyed over all that transpired, Stanson stood motionless. Slowly, he looked down at his hands and saw he still held the knife. At that moment, he heard Omar take his last gasp.
“Return to the hell that spawned you!” Sanson said as he plunged the knife with both hands into the back of the Captain’s neck.
Stanson released the knife, still buried in the Captain’s neck, and stepped back until he reached the bulkhead. The Captain collapsed onto Omar’s body, his jaw moving like he was trying to say something, but no sound would come. Then he was still.
Once the Captain was dead, Stanson slid down the bulkhead until he was sitting on the deck. A shudder ran through his body when he locked eyes with Omar. The first person he had seen in twenty years, his savior, now lay dead. Stanson pulled his legs up to his chest and lowered his head as he started crying.
There he sat for an indeterminate amount of time. When he looked up, things were the same as when he put his head down. Captain Mosi still laid on top of Omar’s body on the deck of the Captain’s quarters.
“I am sorry, my friend. I couldn’t save you from this monster,” he said as he stood up. He walked over to where the bodies lay and pulled the Captain off of Omar. He dragged the Captain’s lifeless body out on the open deck and unceremoniously pushed it over the side into the ocean, the knife still buried in the Captain’s neck.
“Back to whatever hell spawned you.”
Stanson went back to the Captain’s quarters and rummaged around in the Captain’s possessions until he found what he was looking for. A pair of coins to put over Omar’s eyes. Once he had done that, he stripped the Captain’s bed of its linens and used them to carefully wrap Omar’s body.
Before tying off Omar’s shroud, Stanson searched the Eless for something to weigh it down. From underneath the hold, he removed a few of the ballast stones. These he tied together with spare netting and set it upon the deck while he retrieved Omar’s body.
After staging Omar for his final rest, Stanson ensured the coins were still over Omar’s eyes. He then set about securing the shroud and affixing the weight to Omar’s feet. When all was ready, Stanson said a silent prayer before pushing the weight into the sea. A second after the weight hit the water, it pulled Omar’s body overboard.
“Farewell, my savior. May the heavens accept you,” Stanson said. He stood there for several minutes in silence as the Eless continued on.
When Stanson finally stepped away, he immediately made a quick survey of the Eless and her provisions.
The galley was next to the Captain’s quarters and a pair of doors gave access not only to the main deck, but the Captain’s quarters as well. There he found the normal complement of utensils expected in such a galley besides a stove and a washbasin.
He then went back down into the cramped hold. The roof was a chaotic mess of ropes, pulleys and other mechanics that allowed one man to operate the Eless. Because of these workings, Stanson had to stoop to move around.
He found several casks, small crates and a side of cured pork hanging from a deck beam. Upon further inspection, he found some casks held fresh water while one held wine.
In the crates, he found food stores of dried bread and cheese. However, one crate held small bags filled with a reddish brown bark. He took a small piece of bark and put it to his tongue. After tasting it, he quickly spit it out.
“Cinamon.”
The last crate also contained small sacks. These sacks contained small, dried berries and when Stanson tasted one, it had a mix of flavors. Other than the two crates of spices, there didn’t seem to be much of value in the hold.
Going back on deck, he went to the aftcastle and the ship’s wheel. He pulled out the table where he had seen the map and log book. After a few minutes of study, he could make a fair guess where he was.
“Only two and a half days out from Pembroke, if I’m reading this right. Or at least that is how long the Sea Pixie would have taken. Hopefully, the sky will be clear tonight so I can get a better idea of my position,” Stanson said. Excitement growing in his voice.
Patting the wheel, he said, “Don’t worry, Eless. I’ll take care of you should no one have a claim on you. You might not be as big as some other traders, but I doubt many can match you for speed.”
With that, he secured the helm and went back down to the Captain’s quarters. He paused at the threshold for a moment before entering. As he stepped into the room, he shivered as he looked at the stain on the deck where Omar and the Captain had died.
“I need to clean that up, but first, something to eat.” He went over to the table and filled his plate with lamb, bread and dried fruits and vegetables. Then he filled one cup with wine from the cask that was sitting on the Captain’s desk. When he went to take a sip, he shivered again. “Wouldn’t be proper to eat here until I clean,” so he went back on deck and ate.
After he finished eating, he went back to the Captain’s quarters via the galley. Again, he shivered as he entered. He went through the Captain’s personal effect to find clothes to clean up the blood, which had started to dry. He pulled a shirt and pair of pants from the wardrobe, paying no heed to their workmanship as he threw them on the pool of blood.
He went back to the galley to get a bucket before going back on deck to fill the bucket. Once he had gotten the sea water, he then set about cleaning. It took him several hours and several refreshes of the water to get most of the stain removed from the whitewashed deck. Standing up, he said, “A fresh coat of whitewash will get the rest.”
That evening there was a clear sky, and he got a better fix on his position. His earlier calculations proved to be very close to where he actually was. So when he secured everything and went back to his bunk to sleep, it was with the joy of knowing he would be home in two days.
The next morning, he was up early to get one last fix on his position. The Eless had drifted some off his desired heading, but not so much that he would lose much time getting to Pembroke. A slight course change and all was well again. Other than periodically checking his course, the rest of Stanson’s day was uneventful.
Near dusk, Stanson thought he spied a black whiff of smoke against the red sky. Try as he might, he could not tell if it was real or just his eyes playing tricks. It seemed to him to come from the direction that Pembroke lay. He continued to stare at it until the sun went down and then he went to bed.
When the morning came and he went on deck, he was met with something he had never seen before.
Off the port side of the Eless was a ship like nothing he had ever seen. She appeared to be a large cargo ship with a large black mast that spewed a black smoke and on her side was a wheel-like device. Though this strange ship was moving faster than the Eless, it had no sails.
Stanson ran to the Eless’s wheel as watched the other ship. When he took charge of the wheel and looked out over the Eless’s bow, he found that the whiff of black smoke was still there, but had grown and thickened. It now appeared to be a column of black smoke rising to the heavens.
For the next several hours, Stanson maintained a course towards the column of black smoke. The other ship seemed to be heading for it as well. “Maybe all that smoke is coming from Pembroke,” he whispered to himself.
An hour later, Stanson sighted land. As he approached it, he recognized where he was at; Pembroke. Another hour more of sailing, he would be home.
As he drew closer to Pembroke, he noticed it had changed. The once merchant port now was a large metropolitan area. Throughout the harbor was a collection of lattice structures with a boom on them. Along the piers, several ships were docked. These ships were more akin to the one Stanson had seen earlier than the Eless.
Beyond the harbor area, a new, larger settlement had sprung up. There was an array of buildings that dwarfed anything he had seen before and in a kaleidoscope of colors. Everywhere he looked all over Pembroke, he saw chimneys billowing out black smoke. As came closer, he could see carriages and wagons moving along the streets and causeways with no horses.
Stanson had no sooner reached the entrance to the harbor, when a ship that looked like it could have been a twin for the Eless, if she did not have those wheels on her sides and that black pipe in place of a proper mast, approached. As this other ship approached, someone on deck called out to Stanson, “Ahoy! Lower your sail and drop anchor. The Governor wishes to come aboard.”
“One moment,” Stanson said as he pulled the lever to lower the sail. Once lowered, the Eless began slowing to a crawl. He then released the anchor, and she came to a stop with a slight groan of protest.
Stanson then ran down to the main deck to catch and secure the mooring lines from the other ship. Once Stanson had tied them off, the crew of the other ship lowered the gangplank. A stately dressed man came across, accompanied by two guards. He had over his eyes, two pieces of glass of a dark green color, suspended by metal frames that hooked over his ears. The glass was so dark that the Stanson could not make out what he was looking at or the color of his eyes.
“I am Governor Mardon. Who are you? Where do you come from and where is the crew of the Eless?”
Stanson licked his lips before saying, “I am Earnest Stanson, your Excellency. I was bosun on the Sea Pixie. She sank during a storm after leaving here twenty years ago and I spent all those years alone on an island. The crew of the Eless spotted me and rescued me.”
“Then it is good you are home and safe. But tell me, where is the crew?”
Licking his lips again, Stanson closed his eyes. After a deep breath, he said, “There was a demon posing as the Captain. It killed Mr. Omar before I could kill it. A horrible-looking thing. Its skin was a white like I’ve never seen and it had these sickening red eyes.”
The Governor’s mouth opened slightly as he pulled the metal frames off his face, revealing his bright green eyes, which were forming tears.
“Constables, arrest Mr. Stanson. That demon you spoke of was my brother, and he was an albino.”
Returning Home(Patrick S. Smith)
Stanson waded out into the lagoon. It was low tide, which meant that the water where he set the fish trap was only chest deep. Still, it took nearly all his energy to reach it. It had been three days since he had any fish or crab to eat and he didn’t have the strength to climb to get a coconut, much less open one.
When he reached the marker for the fish trap, he carefully pulled it up. He was weary of a repeat of one of the first times he pulled up a trap. The ray resting on top of the trap got startled and slapped Stanson on the hand with its tail. Luckily, the tip of the tail hit Stanson and not the barb, but still Stanson learned to be more careful.
He pulled up the trap and found it contained a single fish. It was not as large as he hoped, but at least he would have something more than roots and seaweed today. A joyous “Yes” erupted from him at his good fortune. With his trap in hand, he turned and made it back to the beach and home.
His home for many years was this small island, some fifty acres total. Stanson had become stranded on this little patch of land when the ship he had been on got caught in a storm and capsized. He and two other members of the crew were lucky and climbed into a dingy and weathered out the rest of the storm. The next day, they found themselves alone on the ocean, amidst a sea of wreckage.
For ten days, they drifted before the tiny boat washed up on the island. By that time, his two companions had died of thirst. Stanson would have joined them, if it had not been for another storm bringing rain.
The ship Stanson had been on, the RNS Sea Pixie, was a trading ship. During his time on board, he had traveled to various islands to pick up cargo for the Sea Pixie to carry to Pembroke. From there, they loaded her cargo onto larger ships to be shipped to other territories of the empire.
It was on these islands that Stanson had learned how the local natives survived without modern conveniences that had allowed him to survive.
Once back on shore, he carried the fish trap into the shade of the palm trees. There, he took his knife to clean the fish and skewered it on a bone needle and line so he could carry it back to his hut.
During Stanson’s short walk back to his hut, he kept looking up at the trees for any signs of fruit or bird nests. These were rare treats for him when they were available, but saw no indications today.
When he got back to his hut, he hung the fish on a tree while he started a fire. “At least I won’t die of starvation today,” he said to himself. Stanson tried several times to get a fire started and was about to give up when he met with success. After cooking and eating the fish, he laid down in the shade of his hut to rest through the most of the heat of the day.
While he rested, he thought he heard someone call out in the distance. It wasn’t intelligible and nearly drowned out by the waves lapping on the shore. Shaking his head, Stanson sat up. He first noticed that the fire he had built was a pile of embers and emitting smoke. Then he spotted what could be the source of the sound that had aroused him.
Not far from his island, Stanson spied a small ship. It was hard to make out its true size, but it was a single-masted vessel similar to the Sea Pixie, though smaller.
Stanson immediately stood and started jumping up and down, waving his arms. He tried to call out, but his voice was hoarse. He did this until he nearly dropped from exhaustion, but saw no sign anyone on the ship had spotted him as its single sail remained raised.
Fearing that they would leave him on the island to spend the rest of his days, Stanson frantically searched for something to signal the ship with. He immediately began tearing the thatching off of his hut and throwing it on the remains of the fire. It only took a moment for it to begin to smolder, producing a mass of smoke.
He took one of the fronds of the thatching that was smoldering and tried to run up wind with it, waving it about. They could dismiss one smoke signal as chance, but two could not.
Almost as proof of this, the vessel turned towards Stanson. He fell to his knees, crying. After all those years alone and consigning himself, he would never see another person again, he was being rescued.
As the ship approached, Stanson could see a person on deck, steering the ship. When it was just outside the breakers, the crew lowered the sail. At this distance, Stanson could make out a smaller craft suspended on the stern. It was this smaller craft that the individual lowered into the water and began rowing to shore in.
The craft was a canoe of some sort, as it was long and thin with an outrigger to one side that made it more stable in the breakers.
On Stanson’s savior beached the canoe, he came over Stanson saying, “Good grief man, are you all right?”
Stanson threw himself at the stranger, wrapping his arms around him, nearly causing both of them to fall over. “Steady man, get a hold of yourself. Who are you? How did you come here?” The stranger grabbed Stanson by the arms and held him at arm’s length.
“Stanson, Earnest Stanson. I was bosun on the Sea Pixie before she was destroyed in a storm,” Stanson said in a weak, hoarse voice.
The stranger shook his head. “Never heard of the Sea Pixie. How long have you been here? It looks as if it has been an age.”
“Since Gninn, 1218.”
The man’s eyes grew large at this. “Good heavens. That was nearly twenty years ago. It is 17 Judi, 1237. Is there anyone else with you?”
Stanson lowered his head as he sobbed dryly. The stranger pulled Stanson to him and held him as if he was a child. “You poor soul. All is good now, as you are no longer alone. Let me get you back to the Eless. I’m sure the Captain will do all he can to get you home. And where is your home?”
“Pembroke.”
The stranger released Stanson and started leading him to the canoe. “Then this is truly your day. The Captain and I are bound for Port Pembroke. Or at least that is what your Pembroke is now called. We should have you home in a few days. I am Omar, by the way. First mate on the FS Eless and at your service.”
“Bless you and your Captain.”
Omar got Stanson settled in the front of the canoe before pushing it back out into the water and paddling back to the Eless. Once there, Omar hooked the canoe to a pair of tackle blocks before pulling in the outrigger.
“You stay here and I’ll hoist the canoe up so you don’t have to try to climb aboard.”
Since Omar and the Eless had found him, Stanson felt a weariness he had never known before come over him. He simply laid in the canoe and nodded to Omar. Once Omar had the canoe hoisted up and fully secured, he helped Stanson on to the deck of the Eless.
“Welcome aboard the Eless.”
Stanson looked around the deck, but didn’t see anyone else. “Where is the crew?”
Chuckling, Omar said, “It is just the Captain and me. The Eless was built for a crew of five, but really only needs one to sail. Come, I’ll show you to the crew’s quarters so you can rest, but I’ll bring you some food first.”
Omar helped Stanson to the foredeck and down the steps to the crew’s quarters. Inside, he found a small table with a pair of benches and a low hanging lamp. Set along the hull on either side of the room were a pair of bunks. Setting Stanson on the lower port side bunk, Omar said, “Give me a minute, and I’ll bring you some food.”
This left Stanson alone in the cabin, but Omar soon returned with a bowl of salt pork stew, some hardtack, and cheese. Even this was standard fare on a ship, but after twenty years of what Stanson had to eat on the island, this was a banquet of a feast. He ate voraciously, oblivious to his surroundings. He did not notice that Omar had left and returned bearing a pair of bottles, one of wine and the other water.
When he was eating, he asked Omar, “Can I speak with your Captain? I want to thank him for saving me and for the food.”
Omar shook his head. “I’m afraid not right now. Captain Mosi took ill a few days ago and has been bedridden. He is recovering though, and I expect to see him on deck in a day or two. You can thank him then.”
“Rest now. I need to get us on the way again.”
Stanson laid down and slept.
He awoke to Omar lighting the lamp that overhung the table in the cabin. His muscles were stiff and he was slow to move. “How long was I asleep?”
“Only through the night. I hope I didn’t wake you with the lamp,” Omar said.
“No. I feel like I need to get up and move around some.”
“Well, I washed a set of my clothes for you yesterday after we got underway. There on the table.”
Stanson nearly fell over when he went to stand up. “Looks like my sea legs are not what they once were. Thanks for the clothes.”
Omar chuckled a bit. “I’ll bring you some food and drink while you change. After you eat, come join me on deck when you feel you can stand.”
“I’ll do that.”
Stanson could tell when Omar opened the door that it was early morning or late evening. The sky was a dark reddish color. Although the ship was sailing on calm waters, its gentle rocking made standing for Stanson difficult. Eventually, he stood upright by holding on to the sideboard of the upper bunk. He practiced walking around the small cabin until he felt confident that he could set foot on deck.
When he opened the door, he could now tell it was morning as the sky was lighting up. Slowly, he made his way out the cabin door and up the three steps to the main deck proper. From there, he could see Omar on the aftcastle leaning over something next to the ship’s wheel. When Stanson looked out over the railings of the ship, he saw the same sight he had seen for nearly twenty years.
An endless expanse of blue ocean. Yet, today, it somehow looked different to him.
Using the rail to steady himself some, he went to where Omar was. When he reached him, he saw Omar was writing in the ship’s log, which was on top of a map. “The Captain lets you write in his log?”
Omar twitch at Stanson voice. “It is the ship’s log, and it is common practice that the officer on duty makes entries in it. Not just the Captain. So what do you think of the Eless?”
“She seems like a fine ship. Hard to imagine that you can sail her by yourself.”
“Only because of her size. She has a few changes from what you are used to that make it easier to handle, but not as quick. For example, the sail is raised by a lever system. Come, I’ll show you.” He closed the logbook and slid the table it had been resting on underneath a second table before showing Stanson the control for the sail. It was an ingenious design where one man could do the work of four, but took twice as long to do so.
Omar continued to show Stanson other such innovations that reduced the number of men necessary to perform a particular task to just one. When they were done, Stanson said, “She truly is a fine ship.”
“She is, but you should see the innovations in Port Pembroke. You may not recognize it. Go back to our quarters and I’ll get us some lunch after I check on the Captain.”
“Very well then.”
Stanson made his way back to the cabin and, once inside, went straight to his bunk. He had not realized how tired he was from the simple excursion onto the deck. He had not realized he had fallen asleep until he awoke to find Omar standing over him.
“Captain Mosi has asked us to have lunch with him.”
“Ah, I finally get to thank him for rescuing me.”
The two men made their way to the Captain’s quarters. When they reached the door, Omar knocked before announcing themselves. A faint “Enter” could be heard through the door.
When they entered, Stanson looked all about the room. Less than half the size of the Captain’s quarters of the Sea Pixie, its walls were a pristine white. The bed, desk, table and chairs that adorned the room were all of a simple, practical nature. This simplicity gave the room a much grander feeling.
“Mr. Stanson,” came a voice from an open doorway to the side of the Captain’s quarters. “Please excuse me, I’m trying to finish preparing lunch. I hope roast lamb suits you. Please have a seat and I will join you in a moment.”
The table was set with a plate, cup, knife, and fork in preparation for lunch. Stanson took a seat near the head of the table, with his back to the open doorway. “I thank you for your hospitality, Captain Mosi. After twenty years on that island, even salt pork seems like a grand meal.”
“I’m glad we could save you. Mr. Omar says you served on the Sea Pixie. I am unfamiliar with that ship. Based on your tale, it would have been lost twenty years ago. I know of a presumed cursed ship out of Port Pembroke, the Sea Sprite. Reportedly, she had a sister ship that was lost, but no one will speak its name. Are you familiar with the Sea Sprite?”
Stanson’s mouth twitched at the Captain’s statement. It took him a moment to regain his composure. “Aye, I am. The Sea Pixie was her sister ship. You say the Sea Sprite is cursed?”
“Was cursed. She had a run of unfortunate accidents. Some superstitious fools attributed it to her sister being lost. In reality, her keel was too weak and her mast had a void in its base. She was a doomed ship from the start.”
Stanson’s back was to the Captain as he entered the room. His first sign that Captain Mosi was in the room was when he sat a tray of lamb on the table. “Welcome aboard the Eless, Mr. Stanson.”
To be proper, Stanson stood to face Captain Mosi to salute him. When he laid eyes on the Captain, he froze.
The Captain was a slight man who appeared to be ten to fifteen years younger than Stanson. What gave Stanson pause when seeing the Captain was the Captain’s face. Unlike Stanson and Omar, whose faces were a reddish tan from being out in the sun, the Captain’s face was white like the snow-capped mountains Stanson had seen inland from Pembroke. The irises of the Captain’s eyes were bright red.
The mere sight of the Captain sent Stanson stumbling back into the table. He fell over, knocking his place setting on the ground. He continued to push himself away from the Captain. “Stay away from me, you demon!” he screamed at the Captain as his hand came down around his knife.
Omar jumped up and said, “Man, have you gone mad? Calm yourself.” He came around to the side of the table where Stanson and the Captain were at.
By the time Omar had gotten around the table, Stanson was standing back up, brandishing the knife.
“Mr. Stanson, I can explain my condition,” the Captain said, taking a step towards Stanson.
Stanson swiped at the Captain saying, “Back!”
Omar lunged at Stanson, grabbing for the knife and knocking both down. The two men rolled on the deck, struggling for the knife. The Captain bellowed at them to stop. Finally, they stopped with Omar on top of Stanson. Blood pooling on the floor underneath them.
Slowly, Omar rolled off of Stanson. Stanson was still clutching the knife, which was now stained red. Across Omar’s stomach was a deep, long gash.
“Oh god. Oh god what have I done?” Stanson said as he pushed himself away.
The Captain immediately dropped to his knees beside Omar and put his hands over Omar’s wound. “Mr. Omar, hold on. Damn, hold on.” He lowered his head over his First Mate.
Stanson stood up and looked at the scene. Omar lay on the ground, gasping for breath as the Captain leaned over him.
Still wide eyed over all that transpired, Stanson stood motionless. Slowly, he looked down at his hands and saw he still held the knife. At that moment, he heard Omar take his last gasp.
“Return to the hell that spawned you!” Sanson said as he plunged the knife with both hands into the back of the Captain’s neck.
Stanson released the knife, still buried in the Captain’s neck, and stepped back until he reached the bulkhead. The Captain collapsed onto Omar’s body, his jaw moving like he was trying to say something, but no sound would come. Then he was still.
Once the Captain was dead, Stanson slid down the bulkhead until he was sitting on the deck. A shudder ran through his body when he locked eyes with Omar. The first person he had seen in twenty years, his savior, now lay dead. Stanson pulled his legs up to his chest and lowered his head as he started crying.
There he sat for an indeterminate amount of time. When he looked up, things were the same as when he put his head down. Captain Mosi still laid on top of Omar’s body on the deck of the Captain’s quarters.
“I am sorry, my friend. I couldn’t save you from this monster,” he said as he stood up. He walked over to where the bodies lay and pulled the Captain off of Omar. He dragged the Captain’s lifeless body out on the open deck and unceremoniously pushed it over the side into the ocean, the knife still buried in the Captain’s neck.
“Back to whatever hell spawned you.”
Stanson went back to the Captain’s quarters and rummaged around in the Captain’s possessions until he found what he was looking for. A pair of coins to put over Omar’s eyes. Once he had done that, he stripped the Captain’s bed of its linens and used them to carefully wrap Omar’s body.
Before tying off Omar’s shroud, Stanson searched the Eless for something to weigh it down. From underneath the hold, he removed a few of the ballast stones. These he tied together with spare netting and set it upon the deck while he retrieved Omar’s body.
After staging Omar for his final rest, Stanson ensured the coins were still over Omar’s eyes. He then set about securing the shroud and affixing the weight to Omar’s feet. When all was ready, Stanson said a silent prayer before pushing the weight into the sea. A second after the weight hit the water, it pulled Omar’s body overboard.
“Farewell, my savior. May the heavens accept you,” Stanson said. He stood there for several minutes in silence as the Eless continued on.
When Stanson finally stepped away, he immediately made a quick survey of the Eless and her provisions.
The galley was next to the Captain’s quarters and a pair of doors gave access not only to the main deck, but the Captain’s quarters as well. There he found the normal complement of utensils expected in such a galley besides a stove and a washbasin.
He then went back down into the cramped hold. The roof was a chaotic mess of ropes, pulleys and other mechanics that allowed one man to operate the Eless. Because of these workings, Stanson had to stoop to move around.
He found several casks, small crates and a side of cured pork hanging from a deck beam. Upon further inspection, he found some casks held fresh water while one held wine.
In the crates, he found food stores of dried bread and cheese. However, one crate held small bags filled with a reddish brown bark. He took a small piece of bark and put it to his tongue. After tasting it, he quickly spit it out.
“Cinamon.”
The last crate also contained small sacks. These sacks contained small, dried berries and when Stanson tasted one, it had a mix of flavors. Other than the two crates of spices, there didn’t seem to be much of value in the hold.
Going back on deck, he went to the aftcastle and the ship’s wheel. He pulled out the table where he had seen the map and log book. After a few minutes of study, he could make a fair guess where he was.
“Only two and a half days out from Pembroke, if I’m reading this right. Or at least that is how long the Sea Pixie would have taken. Hopefully, the sky will be clear tonight so I can get a better idea of my position,” Stanson said. Excitement growing in his voice.
Patting the wheel, he said, “Don’t worry, Eless. I’ll take care of you should no one have a claim on you. You might not be as big as some other traders, but I doubt many can match you for speed.”
With that, he secured the helm and went back down to the Captain’s quarters. He paused at the threshold for a moment before entering. As he stepped into the room, he shivered as he looked at the stain on the deck where Omar and the Captain had died.
“I need to clean that up, but first, something to eat.” He went over to the table and filled his plate with lamb, bread and dried fruits and vegetables. Then he filled one cup with wine from the cask that was sitting on the Captain’s desk. When he went to take a sip, he shivered again. “Wouldn’t be proper to eat here until I clean,” so he went back on deck and ate.
After he finished eating, he went back to the Captain’s quarters via the galley. Again, he shivered as he entered. He went through the Captain’s personal effect to find clothes to clean up the blood, which had started to dry. He pulled a shirt and pair of pants from the wardrobe, paying no heed to their workmanship as he threw them on the pool of blood.
He went back to the galley to get a bucket before going back on deck to fill the bucket. Once he had gotten the sea water, he then set about cleaning. It took him several hours and several refreshes of the water to get most of the stain removed from the whitewashed deck. Standing up, he said, “A fresh coat of whitewash will get the rest.”
That evening there was a clear sky, and he got a better fix on his position. His earlier calculations proved to be very close to where he actually was. So when he secured everything and went back to his bunk to sleep, it was with the joy of knowing he would be home in two days.
The next morning, he was up early to get one last fix on his position. The Eless had drifted some off his desired heading, but not so much that he would lose much time getting to Pembroke. A slight course change and all was well again. Other than periodically checking his course, the rest of Stanson’s day was uneventful.
Near dusk, Stanson thought he spied a black whiff of smoke against the red sky. Try as he might, he could not tell if it was real or just his eyes playing tricks. It seemed to him to come from the direction that Pembroke lay. He continued to stare at it until the sun went down and then he went to bed.
When the morning came and he went on deck, he was met with something he had never seen before.
Off the port side of the Eless was a ship like nothing he had ever seen. She appeared to be a large cargo ship with a large black mast that spewed a black smoke and on her side was a wheel-like device. Though this strange ship was moving faster than the Eless, it had no sails.
Stanson ran to the Eless’s wheel as watched the other ship. When he took charge of the wheel and looked out over the Eless’s bow, he found that the whiff of black smoke was still there, but had grown and thickened. It now appeared to be a column of black smoke rising to the heavens.
For the next several hours, Stanson maintained a course towards the column of black smoke. The other ship seemed to be heading for it as well. “Maybe all that smoke is coming from Pembroke,” he whispered to himself.
An hour later, Stanson sighted land. As he approached it, he recognized where he was at; Pembroke. Another hour more of sailing, he would be home.
As he drew closer to Pembroke, he noticed it had changed. The once merchant port now was a large metropolitan area. Throughout the harbor was a collection of lattice structures with a boom on them. Along the piers, several ships were docked. These ships were more akin to the one Stanson had seen earlier than the Eless.
Beyond the harbor area, a new, larger settlement had sprung up. There was an array of buildings that dwarfed anything he had seen before and in a kaleidoscope of colors. Everywhere he looked all over Pembroke, he saw chimneys billowing out black smoke. As came closer, he could see carriages and wagons moving along the streets and causeways with no horses.
Stanson had no sooner reached the entrance to the harbor, when a ship that looked like it could have been a twin for the Eless, if she did not have those wheels on her sides and that black pipe in place of a proper mast, approached. As this other ship approached, someone on deck called out to Stanson, “Ahoy! Lower your sail and drop anchor. The Governor wishes to come aboard.”
“One moment,” Stanson said as he pulled the lever to lower the sail. Once lowered, the Eless began slowing to a crawl. He then released the anchor, and she came to a stop with a slight groan of protest.
Stanson then ran down to the main deck to catch and secure the mooring lines from the other ship. Once Stanson had tied them off, the crew of the other ship lowered the gangplank. A stately dressed man came across, accompanied by two guards. He had over his eyes, two pieces of glass of a dark green color, suspended by metal frames that hooked over his ears. The glass was so dark that the Stanson could not make out what he was looking at or the color of his eyes.
“I am Governor Mardon. Who are you? Where do you come from and where is the crew of the Eless?”
Stanson licked his lips before saying, “I am Earnest Stanson, your Excellency. I was bosun on the Sea Pixie. She sank during a storm after leaving here twenty years ago and I spent all those years alone on an island. The crew of the Eless spotted me and rescued me.”
“Then it is good you are home and safe. But tell me, where is the crew?”
Licking his lips again, Stanson closed his eyes. After a deep breath, he said, “There was a demon posing as the Captain. It killed Mr. Omar before I could kill it. A horrible-looking thing. Its skin was a white like I’ve never seen and it had these sickening red eyes.”
The Governor’s mouth opened slightly as he pulled the metal frames off his face, revealing his bright green eyes, which were forming tears.
“Constables, arrest Mr. Stanson. That demon you spoke of was my brother, and he was an albino.”
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