(A/N: Some people are, doubtless, aware of who VOC are. For those who aren't in the know, this is explored in this chapter. I should also say that this exploration only scratches the surface and there are some very deliberate untruths and inconsistencies. This is justified to me because the observer was just passing through and was unable to properly do their own research on the subject. So what I'm saying is, for those who know more, please don't jump down my throat for historical inaccuracies?

Pretty please?

It is a fascinating subject though and I would heartily recommend looking it up if you want to know more.)

“What does it mean?” Ciri began. “What does it stand for? Those three letters. VOC?

“First of all, the important thing that you have to remember is that all of this took place in another world and in another time. Much of my information comes from other sources and camp fires not unlike this one. Where beer, wine and ale are passed around in glass bottles rather than the leather skins that we use today.

“So what did it stand for?”

She shrugged.

“It stood for “Vereenigde Oostindische Compagnie”. But if you can understand that then you know more than I do and you should be standing here and telling this story instead of me. I have no idea what those letters or words mean but I know that what it really was was a symbol of ownership. In the same way that farmers brand their cattle and livery stables brand their horses, the VOC would stencil their mark onto their ships. And not just their ships either. Everything that belonged to them would bear that legend. “VOC” Whether it was the letters that they sent to friends or loved ones, rivals or enemies. All of them would be written on paper that was labelled with that symbol. VOC.

“The crates that carried their cargo had those letters inked on the side. Bales of cloth were wrapped in canvas that had the symboland what it was, what it really was was a threat and a promise. It was a symbol that said that should anyone take anything, should anyone damage the goods that were contained in these crates and bags and bales, on this ship or on this wagon or on any of the other amazing ways that men would use to transport their goods around the world on which they lived. Then the wrath of the VOC would be certain, absolutely certain to come crashing down on the attackers house.

“You might be thinking that this meant that soldiers and warriors would arrive. Maybe a mages lightening bolt or fireball would appear and destroy everything that was there. But these people were nastier than that. Their vengeance was such that they believed that vengeance thus executed was only half done. They wanted you to be thrown out of your home. Your goods taken away from you. Your wife and children thrown into poorhouses where they would work in what amounted to slavery until old age, physical injury and disease would break them. It was only when they had taken everything away from you, that they would come after you personally. Only when everything else was gone, would men come for you in the middle of the night and give you a death that would be talked about and discussed where folk gathered for the rest of days.

“Because the VOC were not a nation. They were a trading company. Not unlike the Silesian league of merchants out of Vizima, or the Coulthard trading company or any of the others that sail upon your waters and up and down the coastline.

“But these people were bigger. Far bigger. Try and imagine a trading company that belongs to a nation the sizeof Kaedwen that is so powerful that only they have the right to trade with the entirety of Nilfgaard. And if any other trading company from Kaedwen tried to trade with Nilfgaard then the army of Kaedwen would be under obligation to destroy the errant trader in question.

“They were called “The Dutch East India Trading Company” or at least that's what the people that I was staying with at the time called them. This was not to be confused with the East India Trading company, which was apparently a different trading company belonging to a different nation, or the French, Danish, Austrian or Portugese East India Trading companies. All of which belonged to the French, Danish, Austrian and Portugese, wherever the hell they were.

“I also don't know where India was. Or what was so important about the eastern bit of it and why so many strong and powerful nations were so interested in trading with that area. But from what I was told, it was a beautiful place which brought in tea, spices, silks and all kinds of other luxuries that simply couldn't be brought into the areas in which I was travelled otherwise.

“I do know that each of these companies competed with each other in order to get the goods back from wherever East India was and bring them back to their home ports. And then to bring them into other ports where they would war with each other about getting the most custom and make the most money. It was not a war of sword blows or arrows fired. I understand that there were fists, and blades used occasionally but.... Oh I don't know. Maybe Lord Frederick can tell you more about how these things work, even though the power and size of the VOC would dwarf even his families trading company as well as many of the other trading companies that exist in the North combined.

“And the south for that matter.

“I can tell you that the distances travelled were vast though, through stormy seas infested with Pirates. But also storms, climate and diseases for which we have no name. Try and imagine a nation beyond Zerrikania. Then try and imagine a nation beyond that and then another nation beyond that. That is the kinds of distances that we are talking about needing to travel and for all I know they were travelling even further than that.

“The point is that competition was fierce. And these trading companies would do anything they could. Absolutely anything that they could in order to make the journey quicker. Remember that this wasn't a world where the sailors didn't know what was beyond their horizon. They knew what was there and that there were no dragons waiting for them. So it was all about getting the goods back to the main land, what they considered the cradle of civilisation, as fast as was possible.

“So they specially trained their captains on the best routes to take, where the best prevailing winds and prevailing currents were. They trained the crews as well, teaching them how the stars worked and trained them in order to be able to load and unload faster. Conditioning them so that the ships would be able to go further and go faster and so that if a man should die of thirst, disease or hunger. Or any of the other awful conditions aboard ship, then the ship could still be run by a vastly reduced ships company.

“That kind of attrition was built into the merchants bottom line. And there was always enough sailors willing to take on the journey. Because if they returned. If they were one of the lucky few that made it back alive. Then their wealth would be considerable and they could retire in comfort.

“But perhaps the most important way that they would compete was in ship design and building. As I say, there were many ways in which a ship could be varied according to the needs of the voyage and it was all a constant balancing act. One of the most important was the need to carry as few crew as possible. The more crew that you had to carry, the more food for the crew that you had to carry, the more drinking water and the like. Therefore, the more crew and food you had to carry, the less cargo that could be carried. The less cargo, the less profit and so on and so on.

“So technological advances in sailing meant that a much larger ship could be sailed by a much smaller crew. But they were also build to balance speed and size. Masts were build that carry six times the amount of sail that the Wave-Serpent can carry. Six times and these ships would often sail with two or three masts rather than the Wave-Serpent's one. When I was there, I even heard rumour that someone was working on a four masted ship but I didn't believe that. Neither did the man who I was speaking to.

“The lines of the ship were adjusted so that a ship could cut through the water easier while still being stable enough to survive the storms. The methods of building were shifted to improve sea-worthiness. Lots of changes. Lots of changes that I did not understand and can no longer remember.

“But what all of this meant was that if you saw a ship on the horizon. Even if it was so far away that you had to use some of their magical devices to see it, then you would still be able to see who it was. What this meant was that if you saw a ship, even before you saw the “VOC” painted on the side of the ship, you would know who these ships would belong to.

“The sailors of that world called them different things. Most names were derogatory and come back from stories that I never knew and pieces of logic that I didn't understand. I would hear about Frogs and Rosbifs, whatever they are, and even more terms that do not translate easily. What I do know, is that when a sailor caught sight of a ship that would later be proven to have the symbol of the VOC on the side....

“He would call that ship a “Dutchman”.”

There is a mythical quality to Ciri. She is...well.... difficult to describe in that way. A number of people have been indelicate enough to ask whether or not there has been any kind of romance between the two of us, or whether there might have even been a hint of such a thing.

No there isn't and no there wasn't and no there will never be.

For a start, I love Ariadne. I thought that I had made that plain by now.

Secondly, there is too much... It's almost as though there is too much there for anyone to Love. She is too much. She is clever, intelligent (two separate things) beautiful, charming, powerful, strong, friendly and utterly without compromise. There is steel in that woman. Steel and a great capacity for... well.... everything.

Which is why I say that she is almost too much.

The other thing is that she is never what you expect. Ever. When you see her your perceptions and your impressions shape your judgement. Whether she's dressed like the Empress or dressed like some kind of a warrior, you expect one thing and then you get the other. It's almost as though she is incapable of being who you think she is. When she gets it into her mind, then she swears at length and with venom. I've seen her do it in both the finest silks that the Empire can dress her Empress in. But I've also heard her curse while having to hold her hair out of the way as she puked her guts up after trying to keep up with Torvald's drinking.

She has seemed like the dirtiest, most foul mouthed and uncouth person in the finest silks while I've also seen her stand forward into the status and the carriage of an Empress, with all of the airs and graces that come with that when her shirt is covered in mud and there is cow shit and old vomit in her hair.

When she speaks, her voice is not what you expect. I found it a little higher in pitch than what I was expecting. The way she moves is part warrior, all on the balls of her feet, long stride and with perfect balance and a predator's grace. But it is also part high lady, with a carriage and an upright posture, as firm and unbending as a soldier's spear. But also part street urchin, the way she keeps darting her head from left to right, always has her back to the wall and keeps checking as to where the exits are.

She can keep a stony face, appearing unsurprised and calm when magic, monsters and enemies attack. Or at the height of a court appearance by Zerrikanians who are trying to wring trade concessions out of her. But she can giggle and splutter with surprised laughter when someone makes an accidental dirty comment.

I've literally heard her snigger in the middle of a conversation and cackle “heh heh. You said Butt.”

I suppose that my point is that I feel as though there is too much there for me. I'm not sure that I would like the mercurial mood shifts. Not just from happy to angry to intense to giggling in the sun. But also from the intense concentration and focus that can be turned into a point so sharp that you can almost feel it draw blood. All the way down to the relaxed woman that enjoys singing dirty drinking songs with the men who are sharing a camp-fire with her.

There is just too much there and although I like, and love, Ciri a lot. As I think I've said before, I find that I think of her as two separate people. There is Ciri, the woman who is worming her way into my family and my affections the same way that a sister would. But there is also the Empress, the ruler of Kings. The cold, hard and austere personage than can decide the fate of nations. I think that I could love one of those people, but not the other and she deserves to be loved and to have someone that can love all of her.

Some people might wonder what the difference is between her and Ariadne in that regard. Ariadne is also intimidatingly beautiful, terrifying in her presence, fierce in her intelligence, secure in her power. All things that Ciri also is.

I suppose that one possible suggestion is that I met Ariadne first although I think that that is unfair to both women. And me for that matter.

But I love all of Ariadne. I love her hunger to know things and I relate to that a lot better. I'm just thinking on paper here so don't quote me on any of this. But Ciri wants to fix everything and I sometimes wonder if that desire will kill her. Ariadne wants to know everything but has the patience to let all of that come to her naturally and over time.

I used to think of loving Ariadne, or allowing myself to love Ariadne as being like loving some kind of all devouring hole. A great big mouth that was sucking me in and that if I allowed myself to love her then I would not be able to hold on to my life, my sanity or my.... mind. Of course, since then, I still think this way, but I am more comfortable with the idea that Ariadne will catch me as I fall into that loving madness and that she will be falling with me so that we might fall together.

And sometimes, when you fall, you learn to fly.

But with loving Ciri, it would be like loving the sun.

All over the Empire, worshippers of the Sun will be applauding that metaphor. But it's true. In loving Ciri it would be like loving the sun. In that, it is big and powerful but if you get too close to it, you run the risk of being burned.

And also, how can you expect the sun to love you back?

One day, she will choose someone to love, if she hasn't already, and that person will be a very lucky person indeed.

But that night, as Ciri stood up in front of the fire after throwing off her fur lined cloak, casting aside her blanket and told us about the Dutchman and the VOC. She stood there, her silver hair burnished a reddy gold in the firelight. Untied from the style that she normally uses with the hair tied to the back of her head, instead she let it cascade down her back. She stood there, her sword still on her back, small crossbow at her side and dagger on her hip. She looked like a warrior Queen of a bygone age. No that's not right, instead she looked like a Goddess. The kind of thing that sculptors say, “I did not carve that likeness, instead I released it from the marble that held it.”

As she spoke, her spell entranced us all, describing to us some of her travels. I remembered to ask Professor Dandelion if he had ever given her any pointers about how to perform to an audience. Or maybe it was her father that had taught her that. How an Empress stands before a court and commands their eyes and ears so that it would seem impossible to them that the onlookers could ever watch, or listen to anyone else.

On and on she spoke and we listened, sometimes laughing, sometimes shaking with fear and all of us were intent upon her. If our enemies had came upon us that night, they could have just walked over us and there would have been nothing that we could have done to stop them.

That is if they themselves weren't entranced by the sound of her voice.

You have to understand from where all of this is born. The first time I travelled between worlds I did so with the aid of an already unstable portal in Nilfgaard. A place where anyone could have stepped through that hissing vortex and ended up somewhere... else. The next time I crossed between worlds I did so with the help of someone who you would not believe. The same can be said for the time after that and the time after that and the time after that.

Eventually though, that person and I were split apart and I had to make my own way. Jumping from one place to another, from one world to another and one time to another. If I could only tell you half of the things that I have seen you would reject the things I have said as being impossible. If I heard them read back to me, then I would agree with you. If I could tell you even some of the things that I have done. You would lock me away with the mad and the dispossessed and I would not say that you were wrong to do so.

But during that time of travelling I had a destination in mind. I had grown tired of waiting to be rescued while also coming to the realisation that the people that I was waiting to be rescued by were, themselves, in need of rescue.

I was desperate and afraid and alone. I had no idea how to use my abilities and so I jumped. I would realise that I was not in the place that I wanted, or needed to be and then I would jump again. Sometimes I would do so quickly, spending no more than a few moments in a time or a place, but other times I would be forced to spend more time there. Sometimes I would need to eat, or sleep and still other times I would need to just let myself rest. I had not yet learned that time was relative and that it did not matter how long I spent in those worlds and that I could easily return to the point that I needed to.

But I can see some eyes glazing over so I will not go too far into that.

Oh, if only I could show you some of the things that I have seen, or saw during that period. The truth be told that it was a lot, even for me and there were many times that I felt it all trying to overwhelm my reason and my heart. But I was desperate to return to that time and place where my family, those people that I love more than life itself, were being held so that I might save them.

I saw this world in the far future when the eternal frost had lain everything low. I saw this world in it's primal state before Human, Elf or even Dwarf had come to the shores of the continent and I hid, terrified from warrior patrols of the Vran. I knew kindness as well, I met a woman, whose language was strange to me, who gave me food, drink and a place to sleep while defending me from the gaze of lustful men. I think of her often and wonder if she ever thinks of me.

Eventually though, I was able to find a guide. A woman who stood on the edge of a lake and told me where and when I must go. And she told me to hurry.

I did as I was bid and the story of what happened that time is told by greater tale-spinners than I. There were some adventures and then, once again, in order to save those dear to me, I was forced to act. I knew that, in acting I would draw the attention of enemies to myself and so I needed to take steps. I am not ashamed to say that I fled. I was much younger then. Younger and less sure of myself. I needed training but most of all, I think, I needed practice.

I will not tell you everything that I did in that time. This time, instead of leaping randomly through space and time, I was fleeing in the general direction of “away”. But in jumping, I knew that the use of that power would draw my enemy to myself. So this time there was another difference. This time I would leap to a place and I would stay there for a while. I would attempt to carve out a life for myself for a bit. To rest up, to see if I could find friends and allies against those things and people that were coming for me. But in the end, it was always the same. My enemies would find me and I would be forced to flee. For the protection of my friends if for no other reason.

But I miss some of them still.

I do not know how long I travelled through the worlds. I know that I visited many strange places. Sometimes I was only there for the blink of an eye and other times I was there for weeks or even months at a time. Especially early on when I still believed that I would be able to throw off my pursuers.

I was the advisor to a King. A man who I genuinely believe to be a great and good man but also proof that even if the man wearing the crown is incorruptible and good, it is also vital that the man and the woman standing next to him must also be great and good or the whole thing falls apart. It broke my heart when he was betrayed and I was forced to flee.

I saw a place, I could not stay for long, but I saw a place where the very air that we were supposed to breathe had been burnt off the world in some vast cataclysm that I could not understand.

You understand that I could talk like this for several hours with anecdotes of the times and places that I saw but we would be here until the sun rises and until the ice overtakes us and although you may be willing to hear such stories, I need to sleep at some point so instead I will tell you of the world that taught me about the Dutchman.

I liked that world and I visited it often. Including when I had little or no control over my powers. I have since guessed that this might mean that that world is close to ours in some way although I struggle to believe that humanity came from there. They are so different from us.

For a start, there is no such thing as magic there. Or if there is then it is a force that we would not recognise. Instead they are a people of industry and science. Magic cannot create the wonders that are imagined in dreams and so they must build those wonders for themselves. In doing so, their world trembles at the scope of their ambition.

I visited that world many times. Sometimes I saw them in the far future where horseless carriages fly across the sky carrying hundreds of people this way and that across the world. Where they build metal into their bodies, can replace eyes, hands and skin with an ease that I found terrifying. Where weapons are these small, crossbow like weapons that spit small pellets of metal that can cause more damage than the most powerful siege weapon. That time was a time of wonder and terror but I could not stay there for long as my enemies came for me.

I saw them in their pre-history when they dwelt in caves, barely able to create fire safely and the meat that they ate was eaten little better than raw. I was able to spend a bit more time in that, well, time as it had not occurred to my enemies that I might want to stay in so simple a time and place. I don't know what I must have looked like to the people that lived there. Like some kind of magica,l god like creature I suppose who was stupid enough to properly roast a rabbit and add things like Garlic and thyme to the roasting pot.

I liked that world. I found that the lack of magic on that world made life so much simpler for everyone involved. Although their capacity for self-destruction was undimmed in response.

But again, these anecdotes are unimportant.

I soon found that one of the ways to hide from my pursuers was to hide in places of squalor and poverty. The people that were chasing me were of royal birth and descent. They were well aware of my history and my bloodlines, so it simply didn't occur to them that I would be perfectly happy to stay amongst the common folk and work amongst the dust and the dirt in the poorer end of town.

I will not deny that it was unpleasant sometimes. Nor will I deny that I could only last so long before I would need to have a small break to have a bath and enjoy some of the finer things in life, but at the same time, I found that if I spent time amongst the fish-wives and the night-soil carriers... Then it would take them much longer to find me. And I was ok with those delays.

So I watched, listened and as has been said by some wiser than me, if you want to stay unnoticed and generally be left alone, then the best way to do this is to find an unpleasant job that no-one really wants to do, and just sit down and do it. In this particular case, the job I found was to sit, gut and clean fish. If you ever want a reason why I would prefer to eat things other than fish, then that is it. I mean I can, and when I do actually eat it, I can enjoy it. It's more that if there's a choice, or an option of something else to eat. Then I will take that option. It was ages and worlds before I could get the stink off me.

But in doing so, I learnt a lot more about the life that they led and about the world that they live in. I learned about the great trading companies of the world and about how the island that I found myself on liked to claim that they ruled the waves.

It was there that I learned how much humanity has in common. About the way that we will happily swallow the larger lie, but the smaller lies stick in our throats like fish bones.

That comment was deliberate.

We have the same tendency to worship Gods and Goddesses that, if you read the original texts, tend to be fairly nice, gentle and kind religions but that the entire thing gets spoiled when ambitious men, rather than spiritual people, get hold of the entire problem.

We have the same tendency to just want to keep our heads down, to stay of the way. That myth that everyone believes that “if you keep your head down, work hard and do as you are told, then they'll leave you alone.”

That as well as sharing the delusion that any one of us can work our way up from the gutter to the rarefied heights of wealth, status and fealty. And when people are challenged on that subject, we always point to certain exceptions. Exceptions that only prove the rule as those self-same exceptions did so by being clever, taking advantage of the situations and, dare I say it in the presence of a man whose Grandfather was more than a little capable of doing these things, a certain willingness to step on the lives of those around us.

We believe that other people will fix our problems for us. And if you scratch most of us you will discover that the true religion of our people is the common coin.

(She smiled, a little ruefully)

And we also like to point out the flaws in other people without seeing those same flaws in ourselves.

But again, I am digressing from the main point.

As I say, I was hiding among sailing folk and I learned about these great trading companies. I learnt about the VOC and their efforts to trade with and colonise far away lands in order to bring more profit into the coffers of their home country and, obviously, themselves and each other. I learnt about the other competitors, some of the failed ones and some of those that were in direct competition. I heard about wars that were fought between these trading companies. Literal wars fought with sword and something called a canon.

Something that I understood to be some kind of ship mounted siege weaponry. Yes, ships were much bigger than anything that we have and yes, their siege equipment was much smaller and more compact than anything we could use.

Also more destructive.

The way the women that I worked with every day would tell it, there was blood on the seas that no-one ever knew about. That countries would nod and smile at each other while all of that blood poured into their own pockets in the form of Golden coins. They would take me down to the harbours of the place that I lived and showed me the ships. A forest of masts and acres upon acres of sail.

But the trade was what kept the world moving. And the virtues of the world were just beginning to shift. They had, rather thoroughly, mapped their world. It wasn't accurate at all but the ship's captains and pilots knew exactly how to navigate from one place to the next, so that was never in any doubt that they would turn up.

As I say, there were strange things out there at sea, but there were not the monsters that our sailors have to deal with. Their attackers were pirates, storms and the like.

It was also not a case that there would only be occasional traders that would make the journey. There were always traders going backwards and forwards. That was how these huge, national companies made their money and indeed, entire nation's economies depended on this trade. The more they could bring back, the more money they made after all.

There was not that much need for land and the majority of the land that they passed would not have produced a profit anyway. So the object of the exercise became speed. The faster the ship, the more her captain and surviving crew got paid.

You notice how specific I was about saying “surviving crew”. As I say, one of the easy ways to increase speed was to cut down on weight. One of the ways of cutting back on weight was by reducing the amount of food that was for the crew. They knew that some of the crew would starve to death, or that there would be a stabbing or something which would reduce head count. This was also acceptable because it meant that the pay for the crew would have less people to spread it over.

But anyway, I'm getting drawn out onto a tangent again. This really is much harder than it looks.

Now where was I....?

Speed. Yes.

So the idea was that the faster that the ship could make it, the more that they got paid.

Some companies specialised in bulk, they didn't care about how long it took because they would have more of the luxury item to to sell. Others paid more for speed but couldn't sell as much. It was a constant hustle to find your right place in order to make the most amount of money possible.

And that is the basis for the story of the Ghost Ship.

The first time I heard the story, it was one of those stories that you hear in the tavern. I was waiting tables at the time, just making ends meet, the Landlords and landladies liked me as I was able to take care of myself and help throw out a lot of the drunkards last thing at night. I was never worried when I went home and I occasionally had opportunity to show my skills with weapons so after a while, no-one dared get fresh with me and it also meant that the other girls that worked in that tavern were safe as well.

After all, if the white-haired girl with the scar can cut your dick off faster than a falcon swoops then what can those other girls do? The Landlords liked it because it meant that their daughters would be kept safe from wandering hands.

But I heard a story that interested me. I still had a Witcher's ears. I was listening for news of spectres and the like because they were my enemies and a tavern was a good place to hear of anything strange going on. So I kept my ear to the ground and I overheard this conversation about a “Spectral Ship”.

I was still being chased by the Wild Hunt and I wanted to know if this might be the Naglfar, searching the high seas for any sign of me. It was a quiet night so I made it my business to wander over and see if there was anything going on. I never found it a problem to get men to talk to me after all.

I was soon reassured of course, the thing that was described was far from anything that might be confused for the Naglfar. The Naglfar was a solid ship, with metal bones that reinforced the rib of the ship. This was... well let me tell you what they told me.

“He saw it he did. I'm telling you. He saw it before he set back out. It was a warning and he saw it and he didn't listen.”

It should be said that her impression of a querulous older man and older sailor was impeccable.

“Oh come on. Everyone knows someone who's seen it. And everyone knows someone who knows someone. You know that as well as I do.”

“But he SAW it I tell you. The Phantom ship.”

That was when my ears pricked up as I'm sure you can imagine.

“Phantom Ship?” I asked, doing my best to be all wide-eyed innocence while at the same time, trying to gauge how fast I could get to my room where my sword and riding boots while also trying to figure out how long it would take me to dive out a window and leave them behind. One of the secrets about being on the run is to never carry anything with you that you aren't prepared to leave behind in ten heart-beats flat when you hear your enemy coming over the hill.

“Yes,” The old man hissed. “My brother saw it. He told me, he did. He told me that he was coming over the equator, a good wind coming from So'sowest that was carrying his ship North at a rate of knots that his skipper were well pleased with.

“Then out of nowhere a storm blew up. A great dark cloud that towered like the fist of the devil his'self, standing dark against the sky and the wind started getting even worse but now it was changing direction, tossing my brother's ship this way and that, as though it was caught in a whirlpool. The skies darkened and the lightening flashed, standing dark against the waves and the dark sky. The men of the ship were fighting for their lives, trimming sail and doing everything to keep the boat alive, to keep her moving and to keep her breathing.

“But then she came. A huge ship coming out of the storm. A huge, spectral ship smouldering with the heat of hell, coming from what they guessed to be the North although they could no longer see the stars, or the sun or anything else that they could see in order to try and be able to tell which direction that they were heading. The sudden rain even made it difficult to be able to read the compass that they were carrying.

“On she came. The huge ship kept coming, glowing with a strange and ghostly light. Full and whole sails that billowed in a non-existent wind but, at the same time, carried the ship against the wind. It came within inches of my brother's ship. Inches I say but they felt no passage, no weight in the water and no passage of air. She sailed on and out of sight. Moments after it's passing, the seas settled, the wind calmed and the clouds lifted.”

If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

I remember nodding. As I say, there is no magic in that world. No monsters that I ever heard of although there were rumours of them. But then again, there are always rumours of monsters. But there were ghosts and spectres if you knew where to look. I was about to turn away when they told me the last part which piqued my interest. Not enough to make me afraid but enough to make me curious.

“Every sailor on that ship has died since.” The old man said. That was enough to turn me around. I have heard of death omens before but nothing on that scale.

“My brother didn't make it back from his next voyage.”

I remember it quite distinctly. I had been staying and living in this quiet world for some time and I suppose that I must have been desperately homesick. Not something that I could articulate or even, if we're being truthful with each other, something that I felt on any kind of real conscious level. But something in the story called to me. I suppose that it was the attraction of being a Witcher, even for a little bit. Just a small taste of home and a life that was familiar to me. To ask some questions about the haunting, to see what the haunting was centred on and to bend my will towards the solving of the riddle and the dismissal of the spirit.

I suppose it must have been like that first time of eating your mother's cooking when you return home. Or sleeping in your own bed after a long time elsewhere. It might not be the largest, most luxurious or comfortable bed in the world, but it is your bed and so it is comfortable.

It was the warmth of an old cloak and the embrace of an old friend.

I remember that I set down the steins of beer that I was carrying, sat down next to this old pair that had been talking and I started to ply the old man that had begun the story with questions. Everyone knows the questions. When was the spirit first seen? What did it look like? Did it glow? Was it a solid shape or translucent? What were the weather conditions surrounding the event? On and on my questions went.

Eventually I was called back to work but whenever there was a lull I returned to the old man to ply him with more questions. At first, he was pleased with the attention. There is a certain kind of old man who will do anything in order to keep the attentions of a younger woman, but he came to realise that I was not interested in him so much as I was interested in the knowledge that his mind contained about the spirit of this ship.

I was fascinated. At first my mind wanted to dismiss the idea. The ship showed none of the approved and common signs of being a spirit. It glowed with a red light as though aflame rather than a green one for a start but there were too many stories of the thing to be entirely and easily dismissed.

When the old man finally escaped, I devoted some time in an effort to try and find something else about this spectral ship. Their world was, as I say, relatively mundane. There was no magic, no monsters that I could ever hear about that didn't turn out to be a man dressed up, a man who was mad, a man who has altered himself in some way, or an animal that darkness, fear and pride has made into a larger beast than was actually present.

But the ghosts of the place. They do exist. They are rarer to be sure and they lack the power that our spirits and wraiths do but they are still dangerous. Therefore the spirits that can cause phenomenon as powerful as the death omen that had been described was interesting enough that there were many stories about this mysterious Dutchman.

Many of those stories were utterly false, as is so often the case in these kinds of situations.

But after a while, I began to find out those facts and stories that seemed to coalesce, those elements of the story that all other stories seemed to share.

What it seems is that these merchant ships would often travel in pairs. For mutual protection more than anything else and these two ships were sailing from a place far away from where I was living, working and hiding. Some place called “The orient” or wherever that was. Other people said that the ships were coming from “India” which I suppose would make sense given that the name of the company....

But I'm getting away from myself again.

These two ships were on their way back to Europe where they were based when an awful storm came upon them around a place called “The Cape of Good Hope”. I have no idea why it was called that as generally speaking it seemed to have a really sinister reputation.

As I say, there were two ships. One ship took the lead where the other had suffered some kind of calamity which had reduced her speed in the face of the storm. So they took shelter presuming that their sister ship would seek similar shelter. When the storm passed and proper repairs had been carried out upon the hull of the damaged ship they set off on course again and brought their ship home.

Much to their horror, they discovered that their sister ship, the one that had carried on into the storm, had not been seen or heard from again. Much was discussed on the matter, in the same way that people will criticise the actions of a general in battle despite never having left the comfort of an arm-chair, people criticised the missing ship's Captain for not seeking shelter. It was clear to everyone involved that the ship had been lost as part of the storm. Probably through accident or from the hubris of their Captain and his determination to get home as quickly as possible in order to earn his bonus and some of the obscene amounts of money that they collected in the shape of bonuses for a speedy return.

After unloading and the cargo being sold, that ship that had taken shelter took to the seas again for the return journey, this time travelling alone. I understand that the course was almost straight south from their home port until they came to roughly the same part of the passage where they had lost their sister ship. Once again, a great storm blew up. But if anything, this one seemed more violent than the last.

At the height of the storm, as the Captain searched frantically for a place to take shelter and fought his ship and the waves, the lookout gave a cry and pointed.

Soon though, that pointing and the cry of alarm was made redundant as all there could see the shape that came out of the darkness.

It seemed to glow with a red light and shimmered, like the way that the air shimmers above a candle flame. The ghostly ship came close and the ship's company recognised their lost companions, they shouted to each other and waved and screamed. The men on the spectral ship called out, pleading for help, begging their friends to carry messages to their loved ones back at port and to pray for them for their souls were damned.

The Captain of the Ghostly ship stood before the tiller, his legs braced and his arms folded and said nothing.

The spectral ship sailed on, out of the view of the struggling ship and as it did so the waves calmed, the clouds parted and the ship was able to sail on it's way.

But not the lookout. As it transpired, his brother had been on the other ship and the two had spoken. The lookout opened his own veins with a sharp knife before throwing himself overboard.

(Ciri paused here for a long time, staring at the flames and we shifted restlessly. It was clear that she had more to say and we were eager to hear her say it. She looked up suddenly and the firelight was reflected in her eyes strangely. The firelight reflected of her skin, teeth and of her eyes. It made her look fiendish, wicked and more than a little terrifying. It was the kind of face that you see in nightmares and I still wonder if she managed that effect on purpose.)

We don't have a concept of a devil here. We know that there are things like demons in their many forms. We know about the Hym and the master of Mirrors. We have heard of so many other things as well. The living darkness and the thing known only as “Jack”. But we do not have a concept of evil personified in one place or person. We know that the end of the world will come in ice and cold that freezes the marrows of our bones until we shatter. But on their world, evil and the end of all things is gathered into one place and in the form of one thing, of one man really. They call him The Devil. He is many things to them and they have many names for him. Many of which I will not utter here.

Why?

In case they were right and we were wrong.

He was the adversary. He was the root of all evil, while also a punisher of the wicked. He was the voice in your ear tempting you towards wickedness and evil. He was that part of you that wants you to strike your brother and rebel against your lord.

(Then she straightened and the small spell that she had woven was broken)

The truth is much more complicated than that and if you look at it hard enough, or think about it hard enough then many of the things that were said about him turned out to be things that had been made up by people in order to scare less educated people into doing what those in power wanted.

But to the common man, it was as though the Eternal Frost had been given form and personification. And the common folk drew back in fear at the mention of his name.

I suspect, as well, that some of the things that we call demons travelled to that world in order to have their fun. And that the stories of some of those creatures got caught up into one being. Or maybe they were in that world first before coming to ours.

But one of the characteristics of this “Devil” was that he would make bargains with people in exchange for their souls when they died.

You might wonder why I'm telling you all of this.

There were many stories told and reasons given as to why the ship had been cursed, why it had sunk or what happened to it. There were many explanations given as to why that ship had not made it through the storm.

At the time, one of the favourites of ship masters and ship owners was the rumour that they had been damned because the crew had risen in mutiny against their rightful masters in an effort to take the fabulous cargo for themselves. But this sounded like a self-serving prophecy to me. There were two stories that sounded like the kind of thing that could have cursed a ship and all of it's crew to this torment.

The first story was that the Captain of the lost ship was a man called Bernard Fokke. Although I could find little to no record of him when I went looking, I later heard that there is a statue of him in a place called Batavia although I could never find it. He was renowned for being the fastest Captain on that route and sailed a merchantman from Holland which was his home base in Europe, don't ask me why they called people from Holland “Dutchmen”. As I say it was a strange world. “But he could chart and travel that particular trade route in a time that no other sailor could match.

He even once took letters from the governors of all the settlements along the route in order to prove that he had not found another source for the cargo that he was sent to fetch and therefore swindling the VOC out of their investment. He was so fast, that some sailors told stories that he had sold his own soul, as well as the soul of every man who had sailed with him to the devil in order to be able to make the passage at such speed.

This speed was fascinating to the people and it earned Captain Fokke a nickname. A name that has since been taken as the name of this ghost ship. He was called “The Flying Dutchman”. That name is now taken as the name of the spectral ship that haunts the seas of that world and it is this titbit that suggests that he is indeed the Captain of that doomed vessel.

But that's what they call it. They call it “The Flying Dutchman”, even as far as the last time I visited that world. They still called it that and it's name still sends shivers down the spines of sailors all over the world. Even though it, and the legend surrounding it has been turned into a story to frighten children.

The other root story said that the Captain of the doomed vessel is a man called Hendrick Van Der Decken.

I don't believe that story. I think that because it seems to originate with some kind of poet, or what passes for a poet in that world. I also don't believe it because the name of the phantom ship, according to all the people that I could find and talk to was “The Flying Dutchman” a name that had been attached to Captain Fokke and that seemed.... just too persuasive and definitive a point to me.

Captain Van der Decken was rumoured to be a strict but fair Captain. He was the kind of man who kept a strict discipline on his ship and woe betide you if you did anything wrong. But if you kept your head down and worked hard then you would never have a cause to complain. He played no favourites and kept himself to a high standard that he insisted that his fellow officers abide by. Which meant that the men would tolerate the stricter punishments because they knew that if the officers stepped out of line then the Captain's justice would be just as swift and just as merciless as it would be towards the lowest seaman aboard the ship.

He was the kind of constant workman that military navies and merchant navies build their fleets on. He was never going to be flashy but if you gave him a job then you knew that it was going to get done.

I feel sure that I would have liked him.

If he did have a fault though it was that he would take any risk to get the job done. He was a man that was all about the end goal and nothing would keep him from that.

The story is very similar to the previous one and follows the facts quite closely. He and a sister ship were passing around the Cape of Good hope when the two ships hit a storm. The sister ship made for shelter in the harbour that is apparently near the place and urged Captain Van der Decken to take shelter. But Captain Van der Decken refused. He was dissatisfied with things on the grounds that the ships had already been delayed more than he was comfortable with and so he was determined to make it round the cape to where calmer seas were expected to be found.

So he threw his ship against the elements over and over again, flogging his men and his ship, determined to pass by the cape. Ship after ship came past him, seeing what was happening and urging him to seek shelter but over and over again he simply refused, pulling his ship round and trying again.

Eventually a smaller merchant ship came within shouting range of Van der Decken and pleaded with him, for the sake of his ship, his cargo and his men, that he should seek shelter from the storm. He responded, and I'm paraphrasing here as the language used was a little bit different to ours and our understanding.

“May my soul be forever damned if I take shelter. Even if I should end up sailing these seas until the end of the world.”

Well.... He never sought shelter. The storm increased in it's ferocity for some time until the ships that HAD taken shelter went out to look for him when the waves calmed. There was no sign of wreckage, no bodies and no floating cargo. So it would seem to the sailors of the world that he was indeed damned and that he will sail the seas until the end of the world. And so was born the Ghost ship that those sailors call “The Flying Dutchman”.

I don't know which of these stories is true. I could never find definitive proof one way or the other. All I can say for certain is that they both could be true. For all I know, both are true and that there are, in fact multiple ghost ships that have been lost around the Cape of Good Hope in that other world and that those ships haunt the seas so that ignorant men call them all the same thing. It certainly sounds as though it might be the case.

And so it would be, if I hadn't seen the Spectre with my own eyes.

After a certain amount of time spent satisfying my own instincts and playing at being a Witcher in a foreign world, I found all that I could find. But suddenly and out of nowhere my enemies found me again and I was forced to flee to strange worlds and foreign lands anew. Again, I saw many things and took part in many varied and strange adventures that put the story of the Flying Dutchman completely out of my mind. But as always, my sight and my mind were brought back to that same world.

In a sense, once again, I was trying to play mind games with my pursuers. Trying to guess what they were thinking and trying to guess what they thought I would be thinking. I had yet to find my allies in the fight against the wraiths of Morhogg and as a result I was still massively outnumbered and massively underpowered.

So I returned to that same world. I had a certain fondness for it anyway, I knew the language and many of the customs but at the same time, I wanted to keep moving, within the world in an effort to keep myself from view.

So I went to the same place that I stayed before. Some of their own traditions about women being allowed aboard ship had been relaxed in the meantime. They shared the superstition of our world that women were allowed aboard ship providing that they were kept separate from the majority of the ship's company or were otherwise occupied. They were certainly never allowed to serve aboard a ship or to help sail it, but it was increasingly apparent that there were some things about life on the sea for which a woman was eminently more suitable to their way of thinking.

I took a job as a laundry maid aboard a ship called the Bacchante, where I served the heir to the throne of that country that I had spent so much time in. He was a young man then. He was in his late teens which, to that place and time, was in his late adolescence. But having said that, it was beneath his own dignity to do his own laundry as well as being beneath the dignity of his younger brother, his tutor and any of the other normal household staff that accompanied him.

So I managed to get myself taken on as a laundry maid. It wasn't that hard in all truth, the Imperial Guard would have been shocked at the lack of attention being paid to so simple a breach in security but still... I thought it might throw my pursuers off a little bit. They were well aware of my status as heir to several thrones and as such it would seem ludicrous to them that I might accept a position in order to do laundry.

We sailed, off. It was a long voyage as the Heir was shown some of his holdings so that he could learn a little bit about the world in which he was to become prominent and a man of power and ruler-ship. I have to admit that I liked him. He was a young man that seemed to prefer the simpler things in life and he was one of the few men on the ship that I did not have to dodge around when those self-same men were feeling a little randy. Some of my fellows saw no problem in the potential for a bastard child that might get them set up in life but I saw it as being, obviously, a little problematic.

But one day, the ship was shaken with a problem to do with the rudder. I have no idea what the problem was as there was no way that “a mere woman would understand the problems involved,” and for all I know they were right. It was certainly a much more massive ship than I was used to and it certainly seemed that the bigger the ship was, the more things that there were to go wrong.

So the two princes were shipped over to a naval vessel that was nearby that was flying the flag of the home country. I don't know what the logic was. I suppose it could be argued that they were being protected against the possible attack by someone in case the damage to the first ship was as the result of some kind of sabotage. There was no panic on the ship though. It just felt as though it was one of those things where something had gone wrong and now life was being made difficult and more awkward for everyone involved.

I can say that I was lucky to not be left behind. It seemed that the two princes that we were travelling with couldn't possibly be expected to do their own laundry and the naval sailors would not know how to do the job properly so that the two young men would be able to present a proper and royal front to the world.

To their credit, I doubt that the two princes gave a crap about this kind of thing. Both of them were resenting the presence of their tutor who was trying to push both young men into higher intellectual pursuits for which neither showed the inclination. They were both too interested in fishing and playing cards during their journey. It wasn't that they struck me as lazy men. More that they just didn't care enough to be dealing with higher literature and philosophy when they could be learning about the lands that they were travelling through by interacting with the people directly.

That seemed to be a funny idea in that culture but there you go.

So myself and a couple of the other ladies were taken over to do duty on the new ship that was called the HMS Inconstant. Which I thought was a very odd name for a ship, especially a military one.

It was in the early hours of the morning when it happened. It was still dark and it was during what passes for winter in that particular part of the world. Maybe mid to late winter so the seasons were just about beginning to be on the turn. As I say, it was a military vessel with a military vessels drills and work to be done. We didn't have much room for privacy and I shared my cabin with the other women that had come over with the Crown Prince's party that had come to see to the linen and things. We were guarded day and night so that none of the military folk would “take advantage of us” but all three of us woke with a start when the bells started ringing.

We had been warned what that meant. That particular bell was never rang unless there was an emergency and that the military men were called to their combat positions. We had been told to remain where we were and I had every intention of following those orders if we're being honest with each other. I just lay there and found the handle of my dagger under my pillow and felt for the lump of my sword hidden under the mattress. I was perfectly content to wait where I was until we were instructed to do something else. But then something else happened.

It sometimes surprises people to learn that I actually carry a Witcher's pendant from the feline school. The story of how I came by that pendant is a long and boring one so I won't go over it again. I wore it round my neck under my night shirt and I used to hide it under my uniform. I had found that I could no longer sleep without being able to feel it close to my skin. I have to keep it as it was my only warning if the wild hunt was coming for me.

I felt that medallion jerk at it's chain. I was already awake but my reaction to such a tugging was ingrained and learned through toil and hardship. I have learned that behaviour with much pain and I was out of bed in a moment. Suddenly the sounding of the alarm bell came with much more context and I was sure that this meant that the Naglfar, the ship of the Wild Hunt had been sighted and the naval vessel that I was on was getting ready to deal with it.

I leapt from my bed, discarding my night dress as I went. I always travelled light and I pulled out what I think of as my travelling gear and put it on in the pitch-darkness. I strapped my sword to my back and my dagger to my side, admonished the whimpering women to remain quiet as I slipped out the hatchway. I was prepared to deal with the sentry that was normally guarding our door, an older man getting ready for retirement on the grounds that he would be less likely to succumb to our feminine charms, but he wasn't there. Presumably gone off towards his own duty station.

So it was not hard to make my way up to the deck and the open air.

Some people might be wondering why I didn't just teleport away when I first felt the potential presence of the Wild Hunt. There are any number of reasons as to why I didn't. Some of it is tactical, the medallion wasn't jerking particularly hard which meant that the Wild Hunt were still some distance away. Which, in turn meant that I could take a good look at what was happening and decide my best course of action. Maybe it was just one wraith and his hounds. So if I slew them, then maybe that would help throw off pursuers, even for a moment and when you're fleeing, every moment that they don't know what is happening can make the difference between life and death.

Also, I still didn't know how to use my powers too well, so I sometimes got irrationally superstitious about it and I wanted to teleport from outside.

Also also, I was curious.

There are any number of reasons as to why I chose to go and see what was going on.

As I say, it was not hard. Even though they were, in perspective, more advanced than we are, they were still human and all humans seem to have the same blind spots when it comes to people sneaking about. I made it to the top deck and hid behind one of their life boats.

They keep spare boats on deck to be used in the case of a need to abandon ship. Their ship was large enough to make such things practical.

(Looking around the camp fire, I wasn't the only one whose mind boggled at the use of such space. Many ships have single boats for fishing or carrying people ashore but enough boats to carry the entire crew ashore. That seemed a little wasteful. It's one of the reasons that my sister doesn't like travelling by sea. It's that, if the ship goes down, then you're done for)

So I hid and then started to look around. There were lots of people running this way and that, people were shouting and yelling and pointing. The kind of thing people do when they are under threat.

At first though, I thought that I had wildly misread the time. The eastern sky was bright and glowing red and for a moment, just a tiny moment, I thought that the sun was rising and it was dawn.

But then I saw differently. Just as quickly, my fear that my medallion was warning me of the attacks of the Wild Hunt was dismissed.

What stood on the horizon was like a glowing red flame. I wondered, as most will know, spectres glow with a green light but in this case that was not what was happening. The Glow was red and my medallion was jerking. I watched in awe, my first real defined sight of the supernatural in that world. I had seen many strange things but I had never actually seen a spectre, spirit or monster that could not be explained away by the denizens of the world or the application of some common sense.

Soon the shape began to resolve into being the outline of a ship began to form. At first it, seemed to me that the flame became brighter and that that brightness took on the form of the ship. Masts and rigging coming out of the flame. But then the ship seemed to emerge from the light. The brightness resolving as though the ship was just coming into focus so that we could all see it.

It was sailing towards us. Wailing cries started to be carried over to us. It seemed to me that it was the wailing of a monster. The sound that a griffin makes when it is hurt and starts to fear for it's life. The sound that a dog makes when it sees it's master walking out the door at an unexpected time.

Then, like the ship coming into focus out of the flame, the wailing seemed to focus into dozens of men's voices drifting across the water.

(Ciri stared into the flames for a long time.)

“Help us” they were calling. “Help us.” It was hard to tell at first because I didn't recognise the language. I thought it might have been similar to the more ancient forms of language that the Kaedweni use. There was a similar cadence to it but I couldn't really make it out. Then it was as though the men on that phantom ship realised that we weren't hearing them. Or that we couldn't comprehend.

So then they tried different languages. Later, someone suggested that it had been dark and so they couldn't see the flag of the nation that the ship belonged to, but when they got closer, they realised who we were.

Because there were men on that ship. As they got closer we could see them moving about on the ship. They dressed lightly, shirts and trousers with the odd neck scarf, the odd hat or cloth tied over the top of the skull. It was sailor's clothing from somewhere like two, or even three hundred years ago for that world.

They were yelling at us now. Pleading with us for help.

A young man, I didn't know who he was, apparently he was one of the lookouts that had first spotted the phantom vessel called out what the men wanted.

“Carry word of us,” one man called. “Carry our letters,” another yelled. The sailors that I was with looked to each other and many nodded or agreed and then small packages started to be thrown over, small bundles of paper tied together with bits of string, or all contained in a parcel of sail cloth. They made solid enough sounds as they hit the deck and skittered this way and that way.

I still didn't know what was happening. In a gesture that I remember my father using, I had tugged my medallion out from underneath the shirt where it rested and was peering at it as it jumped about. The movements seemed... odd. The metal of the medallion moved differently in some small way that I could not define. It felt... It was as though the metals vibrations were different... I can't explain it and it is futile to see.

Our ship's company was coming onto deck now, away from the guns and their other posts but I wasn't watching that. Instead I was watching the ship. Now that it was much closer it was as though the air between was was hazing with the heat. It seemed as though there was smoke rising from the ship itself as it moved and you could still see the flames behind it.

The people of that world would call it the flames of damnation but I am not giving to that kind of poetry.

I looked up and down the ship and I realised that I was looking at that old ghost ship that I had half forgotten about. Details of memory can be funny things and it was as though they floated to the top of my consciousness in the same way that bubbles of air float to the top of marsh mud.

The size and shape was consistent with the kinds of ships that the VOC would send into the ports in which I worked, sure enough, you could see the stencilled symbol of VOC on the prow and the ship sailed under the flag of that, now defunct, trading company. It sailed as though it was answering to a different sea to the one that we were actually on. A different current and a different wind, maybe even a different world as she was certainly sailing against the direction that we were going.

There was little doubt in my mind that I was looking at the Flying Dutchman.

I did feel a chill run down my spine as I looked at the Captain though. He stood there in dark overcaot next to the steering wheel. Legs apart, arms folded with a white ruff around his neck and the odd, almost conical wizard's hat with the top cut off, perched on his head. He had a sword at his side and one of their explosive crossbows on his belt. He alone among his crew seemed unafraid. He alone stood firm and unmoving although he did move with the churning and tossing of his deck. He was some distance away but I felt that he had a stern face, lined with frown marks and a grimace.

But then he turned to look at us, his eyes sweeping over our decks and although the other men on the spectral ship seemed to be normal, or relatively normal humans. The Captain seemed as though he had smouldering coals in the place of his eyes. I thought I could see them glowing with a dull red light and small tendrils of smoke drifted away from them. In the same way that there is a stream of smoke from an overlong wick in an oil lamp.

“The Flying Dutchman.” A sailor standing near me moaned. Another agreed.

But then he turned and reached for his steering wheel and it seemed to me that the ship faded away like mist in a sunbeam.

Now the eastern sky really was beginning to lighten and as though I was being shaken from a dream I looked over to the rest of the deck to see what was going on with the bundles that had landed on the deck.

Which was when I saw the prince stooping to reach for one.

There's a technique to screaming properly. Proper support from the midriff and an explosive expulsion of air while at the same time holding enough back that you can still act, or continue the scream as it is needed. I used every trick in my arsenal to be able to make my scream felt, as much as it was heard. There was a boat hook nearby and I threw it at the small bundle of letters next to the prince like a javelin. I threw it as hard as I could and followed up by running at him.

He staggered back. Men around him were shouting. Weapons were being drawn and pointed at me but I was beyond thinking properly by this point. I had reached that stage of being that Father once described as being “Witcher tunnel vision” where you are so obsessed with saving the person, even despite their own efforts and that was what was happening here. I was so sure, so certain as to what was happening. I couldn't tell you why but I was absolutely convinced that the bundles of letters carried the curse with them and that anyone that picked them up would be dead within the day. I do not know why I knew this. But it seemed, obvious to me.

So I acted. I am sure that my mother would be furious with me. Putting myself in harms way for a foreign Prince but, you do what you do when you find yourself doing what you do.

I reached the prince and tucked my shoulder, forcing him back from the letters. I heard the breath explode from his lungs and he staggered backwards and fell but I spun, drawing my sword.

“No-one touch the letters.” I bellowed. Still with all the power that I could muster. I stood with them between my feet, sword poised and ready. The soldiers were levelling their weapons at me and I was at bay.

If I attacked then I was dead, but the first one to attack me would also be dead. It was a dangerous moment.

I must have looked like some kind of alien creature to them then. Like Nilfgaard was, and still is in some places, their women are taught to be seen and not heard. So suddenly, a woman in trousers and shirt with a drawn longsword must have been like a creature from another world.

“What is the meaning of this?” The man that I knew as the Princes tutor stepped forward. “How dare you attack a Prince of Wales in such a fashion. Guards? Take her away...”

I readied myself but the Prince spoke. “Hold,” he was being helped back to his feet by his younger brother. A couple of the soldiers looked at each other in confusion. “I said, Hold.” The Prince said again when he had climbed to his feet. “I will not say it again.”

He was a young man, as I say. Maybe Sixteen or Seventeen. He was a thin young man and although handsome he had shown an utter lack of interest in those maids that might have gone for that kind of thing.

His Younger brother was cut from a similar stock, maybe fifteen years of age.

The Prince walked forwards, through the ring of weapons and stood before me, considering. He struck me as the kind of man that likes to take his time when thinking of things. Sometimes that is a strength, but just as often it can be a weakness. But he looked in my eyes for a long time.

“You are an unusual looking Lady.” He told me after a long while. His words quiet in the winter air. I noticed that, like me, he didn't seem to notice or mind the early morning cold.

“It has been said.” I answered calmly, keeping my blade up but not pointing it at him. More just keeping myself in a defensive posture.

“I feel sure I should know you.” He said after another long pause.

“I have spent a certain amount of time cleaning your linen.” I told him. I was scanning the line of soldiers to see if there was any sign of a threat.

“Ah.” He said quietly. He moved, attracting my eyes back to him. He was rubbing his forehead. “Yes.” He said. “I really must be more observant about what goes on around me. Why must we not touch the bundles?”

I took a deep breath. These were people that valued science. They had banished magic from their world, if it had ever existed at all and so this might have been difficult.

“The ship that we just saw was cursed.” I told him. “I believe that the things that came from it carry the same curse.”

“Poppycock.” The tutor said. I don't know what it means but context suggests that it meant that he thought I was talking nonsense. “Arrest her and....”

The Prince shook his head.

“So, if I picked up the letters?”

“I believe that you will die.”

The Prince nodded.

“Then for now, we will leave them where they fell while we decide what to do. However madam, I must ask you to surrender your weapons. You will be taken from this place to a place of confinement while the matter is decided. I find that I believe you.”

The tutor opened his mouth and the Prince almost smirked. “Or rather, I believe that you are telling the truth as you see it. But is it the subjective truth? I must discuss the matter. I stand guarantee for your safety and you will not be harmed. I give you my word.”

For men like this, their word was their bond in such matters. I unstrapped my scabbard and handed my sword and dagger to the younger of the two princes who stepped forward with a smile. His smile broadened when I handed him a boot knife as well. Of the two, I found that I liked the younger Prince the more. He was a little less intelligent I thought but still a good man. He had a sense of humour about him.

I was taken away and led to what passed for a passengers cabin. The tutor protested saying that I should be taken to the brig but the prince responded that I was a lady and as such, had no business being in the brig.

The tutor pointed out my mode of dress but I didn't hear anything else.

In all truth though, I have had less pleasant confinements. I was in no real danger, I could have transported myself away at a whim and there would have been nothing that they could have done to stop me. The loss of my sword and dagger was a blow as I had, and still have, a certain attachment to those weapons. A young sailor came and enquired as to my needs. I was brought breakfast as the eastern sky brightened and it was considerably more than I was used to.

Abruptly though, my confinement came to an end a few hours later, as I was summoned To the Captain's cabin.

There were two guards outside. Fully armed and they showed me in. Inside the two princes were sat to one side, the Captain and his second in command were there, the Captain behind his desk and his second stood behind him. The tutor was also there and he was pacing backwards and forwards. It seemed that the Captain was in charge.

“Thank you for coming.” He told me. “I apologise if I come across as being rude or abrupt but matters have progressed to an alarming degree and I must take action. Therefore I must beg you to tell us everything that you know.”

If there was one thing that I didn't like about them was that they never said a thing in three words when they could say the same thing in twenty.

“This is preposterous,” the Tutor began an I found that I was beginning to dislike him. I was being unfair though as it was clear that he was just doing what he had been trained to do. He was a man of science and was probably panicking as his rational world came crashing down around his ears.

I considered my response carefully.

“What has happened?” I asked. “it may be pertinent.”

The Captain looked at me for a long time before glancing at his second, who shrugged.

“The lookout who first spotted the ship has died.” The Captain told me. “A bundle of the letters was found on his person.”

I nodded.

“How did he die?”

“Fell from the rigging onto the deck, died all but instantly.”

I nodded again.

“The Ship is cursed.” I told them. “I don't know much about it but from the look of things...”

“Preposterous.” The tutor said again.

“From the look of things.” I repeated. “I would guess that it is the Captain that is cursed and that he has dragged his ship and crew down with him. Where I am from, we would call it a death omen. The first sight of such things is often fatal. Normally within a standard day, night cycle”

The Princes remained calm, although I noticed that the younger of the two paled a little. The Captain shifted in his seat.

“Are we in danger?”

“No. Generally, only the first person to see the omen is doomed. But this case is odd. If it was entirely spectral then the sailors should not have been able to communicate with us, or pass letters. They are either trying to spread the curse deliberately or, which is more likely, they simply aren't aware that this is how it works.”

The Captain nodded. “So how do you know all of this? You speak like any, reasonably educated young woman, certainly far more educated than your station would suggest. But this is not the kind of knowledge that is taught by the average governess.”

I felt myself smirk. “I come from... a long way away.” I told them. “You would not believe me anyway but suffice to say that in my lands, such knowledge is still rare but is more common and well known than it is here. To go with the fact that such phenomenon are more common there.”

“I see. So what do you suggest we do about this?”

The tutor had had enough. “You can't honestly be listening to this. You are an officer and a gentleman. An educated and intelligent man. You cannot be honestly listening to such...” He took a breath and tried again. “This woman is sick. She belongs in Bedlam and I cannot believe that...”

“Today I saw an impossible thing.” The Captain said firmly. “I saw a ship which is impossible. I would surrender my command to my second and go to bedlam myself except that he also saw the ship. As did a significant number of my officers and men. Not only that, but we have received signals from a number of other ships in our group that say that other ships have also seen the phantom.”

He sighed and I got the sense of a man who was holding on by his fingernails. The two Princes said nothing and stared at their shoes.

“My men are scared.” The Captain went on. They want us to turn for port now and be damned to the orders of the admiralty. My officers and I agree that we are inches from mutiny and that the only way that we can avoid that is if something is done.”

The tutor was shaking his head. “Discipline military sailors mutiny sir? Nonsense.”

The Captain snapped. “Don't be a damned fool sir.” He bellowed. “Discipline is only ever a rabble rouser's shout from anarchy sir.”

The Princes exchanged quick glances but continued to stare at their feet. The tutor was aghast at the violence contained in the Captain's words. He had clearly forgotten that he was dealing with a soldier.

“The supreme requirement of a ship is order.” The Captain snarled, scrabbling for his control. “The men are just as much a part of the ship as her engines or her sails are and in order for the ship to function then every part must work together in perfect harmony. Otherwise we are fighting ourselves as much as we are the enemy. But Sailors are superstitious. They think that they want the rum and an easy life but what they really want is the order of a well run ship. To do their jobs and to move on. Right now, they are afraid and convinced of their own mortality. They will hesitate, question and resist. They will see the sight of the Dutchman, because that is what we saw I am sure of it, as the promise of damnation and the ultimate condemnation of our actions. And if our actions are wrong then why should they follow us?”

He took a deep breath. “So we must show them that we can protect them.” He turned back to me. “So what do we do?”

“Throw the letters overboard.” I answered promptly. “Do not touch them though. Use sticks and hooks and shovels to scoop them. Then the area should be scoured with salt water.”

The Captain's second was nodding.

“Why Salt?” one of the Princes asked. I did not catch which one.

“Because salt is a purifier.” I told him. “It cleans away the corruption.

“Each sailor should carry a piece of raw iron about their person at all times.” I added. “and a salt water bath would not be a bad idea either but it is not essential. I would also suggest that you have your ship blessed by a priest of it's home port as soon as possible.”

“Stupid superstition.” The tutor commented.

“Sometimes superstitions have a grain of truth in them.” I told him. “Superstitions have saved lives before and they will do again.”

“Can you prove any of this?” The Tutor asked. “How do we know that you are not just some mad woman and what was seen was a trick of some kind. Or a mass hallucination.”

“An awfully detailed hallucination.” One of the princes commented.

“And one that many shared.” The other added.

“I can prove it.” I told him. “But you will not see me again afterwards.”

“Hah, I knew it.” The tutor crowed. “She's a fraud.”

“Pass me my weapons please?”

“An interesting sword,” The prince told me as he handed them over at the Captain's nod. “I have not seen it's like before.”

“Nor will you again.” I told him with a smile. As I say, I liked the young prince. I turned to the tutor. “Are you ready for your proof?”

“Certainly.” He hissed.

And I vanished from their world. Reappearing in ours a few hundred years ago.

I never saw those princes again. I heard that the elder of the two died of an illness before being able to ascend to his throne and it was the younger of the two that became King. A few jumps after that I found my guide an tutor who helped me harness my skills and I started to fight back against my enemies. But I often wonder what happened to those two princes. And whether or not the Flying Dutchman ever found it's peace.

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