Even though it had been three days since the incident, he still couldn’t get that scream out of his head. The guttural noise always seemed to be lurking there, right at the back of his head, waiting to pounce out in a moment of calm.
The weather hadn’t been getting any better either. Three sun dogs had appeared in the sky and icy winds had been blowing across the pack ever since that night.
But the command had been given to keep sailing forward through the ice. Despite the decreasing visibility.
However, a respite from his worries could be found in work. The distraction of those who want to feel like they are doing something while avoiding an issue.
Though another respite could also be found with Mr Smith, who didn’t ask questions when he volunteered to help him with some cargo transfer work. Rather than just standing around, issuing some orders. Or stand around on the bridge, looking for a problem to arise. Things that would let his mind linger far too much.
So hence that was why he was wandering around in a storeroom in the underbelly of the ship, with a wooden tray in his arms. Collecting tins with Mr Smith.
"It has to be a rich person thing, right? Eating tongues, I mean? None of the lads I knew had ever had it but it seems mighty odd. Though surely they’d prefer to eat beef and that. You know, the nice meat."
Mathew sighed, looking over at the gaunt-faced, spectacle-wearing man. “I know my father liked them, but I can’t tell you about the appeal of them either.”
“Oh yeah, wasn’t ye dad proper posh right?”
“A third son of a duke, yes. And no, I have not met that man. I don’t think he’d have the time for his third son’s third son if he isn’t already dead.”
“Ah…” Smith mumbled, “Far nicer childhood that mine. I grew up near a pit, but me dad was one of the local shop owners, so I wasn’t digging the coal. Did get to hang around it though, and some of the workers let me look at some of the explosives they used. The shop went to me brother though but while I was growing up, we got beef once and it was proper nice. Wasn’t a broxy cut either. But I bet you could get beef all the time, right?”
“Quite a lot, yes. Now, have you seen any of the cans of capers?”
“Ah, alright boss. I get off it. But uhh, what are you planning on when we get off then?”
Mathew sighed again, “I’ll take it you haven’t found them. Well, my wife is going to meet me on the west coast when we get there. She booked a trip over on the Rising Star liner Wandering Star since they were going cheap. Then she’s going over rail the rest of the way.”
“Not going all the way back to Teyrnas’s rainy shores?” Smith chuckled.
“No, Mr Smith, I think… I think I might need to reconsider this job to be honest.”
Smith fell silent for a moment, thinking.
“Boss, I think I read up on this line right. It’s across the Infinita Ocean and a load of ships have gone missing when they crossed over it recently!”
Mathew raised an eyebrow, “And where exactly did you read that?”
“The Mail boss. Before we set off.”
“Of course, you did. You shouldn’t trust anything from that, or a load of those other “newspapers”. The only proper ones out there are the Financial, Angel and the Times.”
He sniffed, “It’s been good enough for me boss. Though you should have heard the real crazy ones at the dock right when it came out. They were all saying it was one of those seals to the evil worlds that The Defender sealed up, but the seal was coming loose!”
“And what sort of quackery is that!? We all know that the Jælbath says they’re unbreakable as he gave himself to bloody make them. If you believe what it says in that bit. I’m sure a lot of Bishops would say it’s heretical to say they could break! Not sure how I’ve not heard of them having a fuss over those comments actually then.”
“Yeah, exactly! But I couldn’t help but overhear it right, and what other way could ships be disappearing in the middle of the ocean?”
“Storms probably. Makes the most sense, not some sort of supernatural what have you.”
“Yeah, yeah. Ah! The capers! Got em boss!”
Mathew chuckled, taking the can from Smith. “Alright, let's bring them to the guys up top.”
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The marines on deck were on the right side of the ship to avoid the winds, but it still wasn’t particularly warm as they wrapped their arms around themselves.
One of them looked up as they came out, his eyes flicking to their hands. “You got everything? Sorry for it, the officers can’t have the stuff we have left on board apparently.”
“Of course. You can get going soon, don’t worry.” Mathew responded.
But as he started to hand over the crate he paused.
“W-What is it?” They asked. “Come on, what’s the hold up for?”
Mathew pulled out a small bundle of cigarettes, quickly flashing them to the marine. “Do you know anything of what’s going on over there? We haven’t heard anything from the admiral, or your ship, other than you coming over for some stuff for the officer’s dinner and to keep moving forward. For three days, when the three days before that had at least two messages sent a day. So, what’s gone on.”
Mr Smith seemed a little taken aback, patting his pockets for a moment before understanding. The marine looked between the two, then over his shoulder to where the rope ladder to the boat was. They’d managed to find a small pocket in the pack ice and were staying stationary for a moment, with the little rowboat sent over therefore able to simply float by the ice breaker’s side.
If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.
But after a few moments, the marine swallowed, and spoke. Taking the cigarettes.
“To be honest sir, it’s been a little… Unsettling. The Admiral has locked himself up with that weird staff. A-And that man once the doctor sewed him up. He’s only come out for dinner, and he doesn’t walk about the ship anymore like he used to, so I haven’t really seen him. The captain seems to be a little unsettled about it as well, but I’m not sure what to make of it. Look, don’t tell anyone I talked about this, okay? I-I don’t wanna get into trouble like the other lads, alright?”
“You got my word, now don’t tell anyone where you got those ciggies either now.”
“Don’t worry sir, I won’t tell a soul.”
“Good lad, now get on, I don’t think you wanna be out here for much longer. It seems to be getting colder now.”
They nodded quickly, rushing over to the ladder as Mathew and Smith turned around, quickly moving back inside.
“You could tell me boss when you borrow some of my ciggies again.”
“Don’t worry Mr Smith, I’ll try to.”
“Still, I’m impressed that you got em, how did you do it?”
“Took them before you put your jacket on.”
A silent “Oooh” came from his lips.
“I’ll give you some of my loose, alright? So, let’s go to the smoking room.”
----------------------------------------
The wind had really started to pick up, to the point that it seemed like it was drafting into the smoking room. But along with that wind had also come snow, blowing up and around the ship.
Occasions like this made Mathew glad he wasn’t one of the few outside and was instead one of the one relaxing with his pipe.
Though as Mathew looked out through the frosty portholes, he couldn’t help but notice something.
Out on the deck there seemed to be an argument going on in the blizzard.
Two men were yelling at one of their comrades who was stumbling about on deck, yelling at them for some reason as they approached a set of rigging. Despite the protests of their friends, the pale man started to climb up with shaky hands. One of his friends had to restrain the other from climbing up after them.
Soon after a coat was thrown to the ground from the rigging.
“Mr Smith?”
He lazily turned his head, his face flashing with concern once his eyes saw Mathew’s face, “What is it boss?”
“Tell Mr Goodman to be ready for an emergency. Now.”
It didn’t take long for Smith to understand, quickly pulling himself up and throwing the ashes from his pipe into the tray. “Got it boss!”
There wasn’t much outside for a moment, only the fearful faces of the two men.
Then a scream audible from inside the ship came, as the man fell, tumbling down to the deck, one shirt arm torn up and blood spilling all over their arm.
It didn’t take a second for him to spring into action.
----------------------------------------
“MR GOODMAN HIS ARM’S BEEN SHREDDED AND HE’S GOT FROSTBITE ALREADY!”
The table had already been set up inside of the ship’s medical room, with a bed and surgical instruments all clean and ready.
It didn’t take long for the three of them to heave the man up and rush him over.
However, the good news was that he was still semi-conscious.
The bad news was that he was clearly in massive amounts of pain and his injuries made it self-evident what would be needed.
Mr Goodman was well trained and always gave off a doctorly atmosphere with a warm demeanour, black hair, mutton chops and spectacles. Though his face now was contorted in fear and apprehension as the man was hauled onto the bed.
It didn’t take long for him to give his diagnosis “Mr Smith… Get the Priest. Ah hells… What’s your name!?”
He tried to hold the injured man’s good hand, only for him to finch away, his breath ragged and eyes wide as he stared around. His mind starting to slowly gain focus…
“G-get… Back…”
“Leroy!?” Asked one of his friends, moving closer to the bed.
“Get… Back! Get Back! Get Back! Get Back! Get Back! Get Back! GET BACK!”
His entire body started to shake; his eyes filled with fear.
Mathew had never seen anything like this before with injured men. His eyes darted over to the doctor. “Mr Goodman what’s wrong!?”
“I-I don’t know! He seems to be in some sort of state of-“
“GET AWAY! H-Help me! M-Mum! T-T-The daemons… T-The pastor was right mum, t-they exist! H-Help!”
“Pin him! He’s in a state of delirium! Get a hold of them quickly now!”
Mathew leapt into action with Goodman, grasping onto the man’s forearm, but the other two were slower to react.
“H-How- Leroy-“
“GET HIS LEGS NOW! IF YOU WANT TO SAVE HIM YOU NEED TO KEEP HIM STILL!”
“GET OFF OF ME! GET OFF YOU MONSTERS! MUMMY HELP PLEASE! THEY’VE GOT ME! THEY’VE GOT ME!” Tears were now streaming down the man’s face as he thrashed with every inch of his body. Trying to recoil and get away as he filled with fear, his clear eyes not actually seeing reality.
The priest almost dropped his Jælbath as he walked in, his body instinctively taking a step back at the sight.
“Pastor, this man might not be surviving this. Smith, come over! And for The Defender’s sake somebody give me a bloody belt! He’s going to bite his tongue off without one!”
One of Leroy’s comrades shot a look at Smith, who quickly replaced him as he moved his hands to his waist, removing his belt with shaky hands.
“L-Leroy. I- I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but you’re gonna get through this, alright? Jus-“
“NO NO NO! MUM MUM MUM! D-D-DAD HAS GOT I-I-IT AGAIN! SAVE ME! SAVE ME! MUMMY, PLEASE SAVE ME! DON’T LET HIM HURT ME PLEASE!”
He continued to thrash, resisting every attempt to let the belt get anywhere near him, his screams increasing and volume to a pitch that Mathew could swear that if he lived, his vocal cords would be forever wreaked. For his screams were now nearly deafening as the belt was presented to him. He couldn't even get it around his injured arm as a tourniquet. Or at least, he couldn't muster the will to keep the man in more agony by keeping the belt close to him.
“ALRIGHT STOP, HOLD HIM FOR ME AND GIVE ME IT! He isn’t going to have it, you’re just going to have to pray he’s strong enough to resist the pain.”
“But can’t you give him some Whiskey!? O-Or anything!?”
“I don’t have any Analgesics here or any sort of anaesthetic. Whiskey will also just thin his blood and kill him. I’m sorry. Pastor, I’ve got to do it soon!”
They nodded slowly, opening their book as they started to recite the passage with all of the calm and dignity he could muster in the moment.
“In this hour, where you may pass, I give to thee, their final rites needed,”
“Please. Please. Please. Please. No! No! No! No!”
“To join The Defender in Heaven by his side,”
“Save me! Save me!”
“To join with them in their rebirth to fight against the darkness,”
“M-Mummy! C-Can you help me!? H-Hold my hand?”
“Where you may lie in the holiest of places within thine ultimate lord’s soul. To live on forever.”
“PLEASE PLEASE! I’M SCARED! I CAN ONLY SEE THE DAEMONS!”
“Remember all of thy holy traits in thine soul. So, you may pass to that place. Admit to your sins, and through it, promise to uphold your holy duty to them! The highest and pious of all! The Defender!”
“STOP STOP STOP! YOU HAVE TO BE WITH ME!”
The priest and Mr Goodman exchanged looks, Leroy staring at the knife held above his mangled arm. An arm blotched in emerging frostbite and covered with rips and tears where a slip against the gold rope had slid against it.
And he sliced into it.
The scream was almost immediate, the shriek echoing around the ship as Goodman sliced as fast as he could into the man’s flesh, soaking the already blood-covered bed in oceans more of it.
The scream changed pitch as blood started to bubble from the man’s mouth, his teeth having cut through his own tongue in the pain.
But still the surgeon continued on, tossing away his fillet knife for a bone saw and quickly applying it to the man’s arm.
A horrible noise came from it as bone and marrow was sawed through, fast, but seemingly not fast enough. All the while the man continued to thrash and echo guttural screams through the blood filling his mouth.
But by the time it had all been cut through Leroy’s body had started to lose its vitality. His movements stopped, his eyes glossing over, his screams disappearing… Leaving nothing left, but a dead, mutilated, corpse.