Anathema, page 11
“Joshua, let the man finish his tale,” Coffin said softly. He nodded at me. “I understand what you are saying. Go on.”
“We discovered the chrysalis, but it had been rent and no longer contained whatever it was that lived inside. It emerged shortly after we boarded the vessel.”
Coffin changed his position and sat with his arms resting on the desk. “We?”
“Prudence Mott and I.”
“What time did this discovery occur?”
“Sometime after midnight. I am not sure of the precise hour.”
A wry smile creased Coffin’s stony face. “Why were you and Miss Mott out after midnight?”
“It is of no matter, but if you must know, she invited me. It was meant as a harmless diversion.”
“So, you and Miss Mott are gallivanting at night, come upon this vessel on the beach, climb inside, and find this chrysalis. I may not have gone to college, Mr. Andrews, but as I recall, a butterfly emerges from a chrysalis.”
“Sheriff, the size of the chrysalis we found was significantly larger than one that might normally be found in nature.”
Coffin stroked his chin. “How large?”
I cleared my throat and looked away. “At least six feet, from top to bottom.”
“Six feet!” Coffin exclaimed. He shook his head, as though chasing the thought. He glanced around the room. “Where is this chrysalis?”
I stared down at the floor. “It disintegrated, sir.”
“It did? Fancy that.”
“With all due respect, I witnessed this phenomenon.”
“You contend that what came out of this chrysalis killed Mr. Wycoff last night by sucking his blood?”
“Yes.”
“Have you seen this bloodsucking monster?”
“I have not.”
“Well, does it fly? Swim? Walk? Does it have scales, or feathers?”
“There is tangible, scientific evidence, sir,” I snapped. “I am more than willing to go discuss in detail the evidence and the results of our analysis.”
“Meaning you and Miss Mott.”
“And Fausta Darkbloom.”
Kane snorted derisively. Coffin leaned forward. “Let me get this straight. You, along with an eighteen-year-old Quaker farm maid and a Bohemian atheist, have decided that a monster you cannot describe emerged from a chrysalis you cannot produce, and is sucking blood from the locals?”
“Yes.”
Coffin sat back in his chair. “Mr. Andrews, have you ever heard the saying, ‘To a man with a hammer, everything looks like a nail?’”
“No, sir, I have not. However, you infer that because I have an active imagination, I will draw conclusions that comport to my preconceived notions. In my case, you believe I have some obsession with mysteries or monsters and that affects my interpretation of evidence.”
Coffin stared at me for a long moment, and then pointed at me with his finger, though not in an accusatory manner. “At our first meeting, you concoct a mystery from events that have a quite simple explanation. Now, you stand before me spouting twaddle concerning a monster that drains the blood from a human body. Six feet tall, no less! Sure seems to me you’re a man with a hammer.”
He stood and hitched his pants. “Mr. Andrews, I’m a God-fearing man, so naturally I’m not one who takes easily to the idea of the Devil incarnate walking around my island. It does not surprise me that Fausta Darkbloom would lead you down that road.”
The sheriff had made a leap in logic that I had not suggested. “Sir, I speak of an organism that is neither good nor evil, no more than a wolf stands on one side or the other of that equation. It feeds upon humans. That is its nature. I am telling you of these matters so that you, as the duly appointed law enforcement officer, may take such measures as are necessary.”
Coffin leaned forward. “What measures do you suggest?”
“You must destroy the organism.”
He slapped his hands against his thighs. “Joshua and I will get right to it.” He rose to a half-stoop. “Where exactly is this bloodsucker to be found again?”
“I don’t know where it is.”
He sat down, a smile creasing his face. “If you don’t, who does?”
“No one.” I cleared my throat. “You must search the island.”
“Would that search be conducted house by house? Or should I acquire an air balloon and conduct an aerial survey?”
Joshua cackled as I made my way out of the office.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
My spirits deflated, I stopped at the Tinder Box and bought a cheroot. Outside, I lit the cigar and began my trudge up the incline that led out of town.
To a man with a hammer, everything looks like a nail.
At that moment, I again wished that Dr. Redfern were close at hand to join my deliberations. Was there some logical explanation I was unable to see, somehow clouded by this place and my new companions?
Prudence’s belief that her father had set fire to his vessel to destroy the organism now pushed aside other considerations. I had not read his journal and could not validate her claim. However, it made sense that when the Ceres stopped to retrieve the sea chest from the ocean, the creature, having survived the conflagration, somehow boarded.
I hoped that Captain Mott’s sea log would answer the many questions that remained regarding the nature of what emerged from the chrysalis.
Thor padded out to see me when I approached Fausta’s house. He sniffed at my offered hand and wandered away.
Deidra answered my knock. “Fausta awaits you in the dining room.”
I found Darkbloom perusing papers when I entered. She did not look up as I entered. “You left with Dr. Stewart. I surmise a body has been found.”
“On Eel Point,” I replied. “The organism has begun to feed.”
Fausta set the papers aside and nodded. “Indeed. What was the charlatan’s analysis of the body?”
“He resists our conclusion.”
She motioned me to a chair. “Did you mention my name in regard to this matter?”
“Yes.”
Before I could delve further into the animosity between Fausta and the doctor, Deidra, her hands encased in mittens, carried a clay vessel into the room and set it on the table.
Fausta lifted the vessel’s cone-shaped lid. “Prudence is on her way,” she said, waving her hand through the rising steam. The front door creaked and Prudence arrived, clutching her father’s sea log. She exchanged a long embrace with Fausta and then Deidra. She sat and set the sea log next to her plate.
“The creature has struck,” Fausta said. “Mr. Andrews has confirmed.”
Prudence spread a napkin on her lap and looked at me. “I saw you leave. I am gratified you did not simply wish to avoid my violin concerto.” Although it was a humorous aside, she said it with a flat, emotionless voice. The color had drained from her face, and she seemed overwhelmed and fragile.
“We have much to discuss,” Fausta said. “First, we nourish our soul—lamb with honey, dates, and almonds.” She filled our dishes using a wooden scoop. The lamb fairly melted in my mouth. The gravy was thick, the dates soft and sweet. Mrs. Castle’s banal fare could not compare.
“This is truly exceptional,” I said. “What is that cooking vessel?”
“A Berber tagine,” Deidra replied.
“You are quite the traveler, Fausta,” I noted.
“It is in my blood. My heritage is Scottish. My family’s peerage extends back to 1322. My father was a member of the Forty-second Royal Highland Regiment of Foot and eventually rose through the ranks of the Royal Marines. My mother, sister, and I posted with him on his assignments. Through these travels, I was exposed to the larger world. My mother preferred that I show appropriate disdain for anything not British, but I was a headstrong lass and found much to appreciate in different cultures. Even though I benefit from an inheritance, I have chosen not to live a life of privileged insouciance. I maintain dual citizenship, but have long considered myself American in spirit.”
I turned my attention to Deidra. “What of you?”
She patted her lips with her napkin. “I am British, born in London. I found myself very early to be talented in drawing and painting. My parents sent me to study in Paris, where I met Fausta. I am now an American citizen.”
My paltry travels could not compare to the breadth of my companions’ various sojourns. A genial conversation whiled away time during the meal. I studied Prudence, who stared down at her meal and did not engage in our discussion.
“The organism we seek caused the death of my beloved father,” she said suddenly during a pause in the proceedings.
Fausta reached out and touched Prudence’s hand. “Child, how can you be sure?”
“I have read his journal.” She pushed her plate out of the way and slid the log into its place. “I have marked numerous passages I believe are germane to understanding what has come to our island.”
“When you are ready, then,” Fausta said.
Prudence glanced at me and I gave an encouraging nod. “The voyage began on June 14, 1851, with a crew of twenty-three. The first mate was Abraham Adams. Second Mate was Mace Tomlinson.” She opened the log and stared at her father’s handwriting for a long moment before she began to read.
‘“1 July, 1851. We meet with a squall of mythic proportions. The ‘Baleen’ is knocked over on beams ends but falls to leeward just in time. Wilson, the cook, sustains head injury.’
“On July nineteenth, they reached the South Atlantic.” She found the proper passage. ‘“We are in the doldrums. Cloudless sky. Oppressive heat. It is at these moments when I most miss my wife and daughter.’”
Prudence paused, bit her lip, and then continued. “‘We pray for wind. The crew has grown quite irritable. This noon there was a terrible argument over a piece of salt junk from the kid. We scrub the decks, repair the iron, sharpen the harpoons but there are too many hours in the day to fill with such labor.’
“On September 22, they take their first whale west of Stanley, the Falklands and round Cape Horn.”
Prudence cleared her throat and took a sip of tea before returning to the log. ‘“We land on the Lobos Island. Catch a sea turtle that Wilson turns into wonderful soup. Gather fresh water and much fruit. No spouters visible. We shall head toward the open water of the South Sea. I have set our course to the Galapagos. We need to find whales, for idle minds doth make for idle thoughts.’”
Another page turned. ‘“18 October. A marvelous week. Three whales secured, including one of the largest I have ever seen. The crew works almost without rest, rendering thousands of pounds of blubber into oil. Fires burn all night and the men, their faces black with soot, tired and haggard, yet pleased with our yield.”’
She flipped past a large number of pages to another marked page. “We are now in the second year of the voyage,” she explained. “Up until this point, it was a good voyage, with twelve whales slain. From the bearings log Father meticulously kept, they were at this point approaching the Galapagos.”
Prudence moved the book from the table, cradled it in her lap. ‘“28 November. We woke this morning surrounded by fog as thick as pea soup. Visibility no more than fifteen feet. We stood on board, sipping coffee, somewhat cowed by the mist itself. Halloran, positioned in the crow’s nest, shouted ship ahoy port. We leaned against the gunwales and a dark smudge within the gray vapor was visible. The ship was stationary, although there was good wind. Only smart rudder work by Mr. Adams avoided a collision, for we passed within ten yards of the craft. I surveyed it with my looking glass and found no sign of life, a curious development. Due to the fog and our bearing, I decided it was best not to board.’”
She closed the book, holding her place with her index finger. “It was quickly after the sighting of this ship that the voyage takes a terrible turn.”
Prudence returned to the book. ‘“29 November. Tragedy struck in an unthinkable manner. Black Joe, who had the last four-hour watch, was missing at morning light. He is a young man of nineteen years, of great physical strength and ability. This event has shaken the crew. They grouse considerably about the ship in the mist, saying it was a ghost ship and has cursed us.’”
Prudence stopped reading and addressed us. “Over time, Father grows suspicious of the crew. ‘4 December. Carson has gone missing. This is the second of my crew who has seemingly disappeared into thin air. December 10, I do not know what has overtaken the crew. They are sullen, averting their gaze when I speak to them. They spend much time whispering among one another, casting a glance my way. It is as though there is a secret everyone knows but me. I asked Adams what he thinks may be the problem and he shall make inquiries.’”
Prudence turned the page. ‘“12 December. Adams has gone missing. Crew remains below decks and has barricaded stairwells. I cannot fathom this behavior. It is clear they do not want me to enter the lower hold. The reason for this is beyond my comprehension. I sense I am no longer in control of the ship.’”
Prudence brushed a hair from her forehead. “Father fears a mutiny. He spies a whale spout no more than forty yards from the ship, but the men refuse the call to take to the boats. Father cannot properly manage the sails by himself, so he is at the mercy of the wind. Once again, the ship is becalmed.”
We all leaned in Prudence’s direction, as though listening to a Poe story on a late winter’s eve.
She sipped more tea and found yet another passage. ‘“13 December. Late last night I woke from a deep sleep to witness an amber glow seeping in through my cabin door. So lustrous and wonderful was this hue that it drew me close. I was overtaken with a sense of calm and felt an urge to open the door. As I reached to remove the stave I had used to barricade my door, I glanced at my desk, where images of my wonderful Abigail and Prudence sat. Brought back to reality by the visages of my beloved women, I pulled my hand away from the stake as though it were a flame. The golden light ebbed outside my door. I heard a hiss, like that of a massive snake, so toxic it cut into my very soul. I know now that what has seized my ship is Evil incarnate.’”
Prudence turned several pages and continued the narrative. ‘“22 December. The ship has fallen silent; I have not heard the sound of a human voice for days. I inhabit this great ship with whatever dwells in the darkness of the hold and visits every night to stand outside my cabin door. I do believe I am going mad, for I have come to wait on the nightly visit from this damned entity. When it visits, I feel as though I am drunk on some forbidden substance released from the amber glow. I must fight the desire to open the door and surrender to this abomination.’”
Prudence held her place with a finger. “Father could move about during the day, for there was no sign of the organism. As the light faded he was forced to retreat to his cabin.” She exhaled, the tale weighing heavily upon her heart.
“‘I must also note that every night I hear a sound familiar to me, that of a body falling into the ocean. What manner of madness has been visited upon me? Have I sinned so greatly in my life that I am consigned to live through the slow death of my entire crew? I fear I shall not see Christmas. I survive on hardtack and wine and have grown weak.”’
“The men jumped to their death?” I asked. “Does this not explain the fate of the Ceres crew?”
Fausta studied her fingernails. “There is much suggested within this narrative. Prudence, pray read on.”
Prudence shook her head. “I cannot read the last passages.”
I reached over and took the tome from her. She pointed to the proper passage.
‘“24 December. This is the final entry in the sea log of Captain Caleb Mott of Nantucket, Captain of the good ship Baleen, loving husband of wife Abigail and father of daughter Prudence. It shall be placed in my sea chest where I pray to the Lord it shall be found if I do not survive. By this writing, I consign all my worldly possessions and goods to my wife and upon her passing, my daughter.
“‘I have seen the creature that has destroyed my crew. I do not know what compelled me to open the door around midnight, perhaps a desire to end my ordeal. I stepped out into the darkness and crept toward the bow, staying low and moving from obstacle to obstacle in hopes of disguising my presence.
“‘ I spied the abomination amidships, atop the forward house, bent over the body of a sailor. Although its back was to me and I was crouched low, the monster sensed my presence. It raced toward me with frightening velocity, appearing as a dark blur that appeared to levitate in some manner. I managed to dodge about the main yard and then the mizzenmast to the safety of my cabin. This irregular pattern seemed to confuse or disorient the entity, for in spite of its great speed it did not catch me. I barricaded my door with the stave. The creature does not have inordinate strength, in spite of its size, for it did not attempt to test the door, preferring to hiss its frustration.
“‘Let me note what I witnessed in those terrifying moments. These are briefly caught images and should be viewed in that light.
“‘The atrocity of which I write is black and is the size of a large man. It possesses protective armor or plating about its body, and therefore brings to mind a primitive warrior. With its fluidity of movement, however, it suggests a reptile.”
I paused. For the first time, an image of this organism began to take form. I returned to the log.
“‘I have decided to set fire to the ship and attempt to escape using a whale boat. May the good Lord insure that a passing whaler finds me. I am convinced that I have met the spawn of Hell, loosed upon this Earth, for as Revelations states—“‘And he laid hold on the dragon, that old serpent, which is the Devil.’”
Let all who read this know this visitor from the Netherworld shall be forever named: ANATHEMA.’”
I turned the book and showed it to Fausta. She studied the strange word for several moments. “From the Greek ‘something cursed.’”
I glanced at Prudence, surprised to find she displayed no emotion. She reached over, closed the book, and then set it on her lap.
Fausta stood. “It has been a long and tragic twenty-four hours for you, my child. I suggest a two-hour break.”
