Anathema, page 6
Prudence smiled but said nothing more. We exited the office and walked down the corridor, into a space dominated by stacked black pots and several large copper vats. “Try-pots,” Prudence explained. “The blubber is boiled above, on the stoves.”
We passed smaller cabins that Prudence informed me were reserved for the ship’s officers. She opened each door and checked for the injured, but found nothing but unmade bunks and scattered belongings.
Silence, combined with the dim light, created the impression that we had wandered into a mausoleum. I imagined the ship under full sail, filled with a den of brawling, drunken thugs similar to those who accosted me in the Rusty Scupper.
At the bow end of the corridor, we entered a large room. “This is where the crew sleeps,” Prudence explained. I noted the crude, cramped platform beds lining the walls. The floor area was strewn with clothes and various toilet articles. However, there was no sign of life and no bodies.
She nodded toward a harpoon projecting from the wall, next to the doorway. “How very curious. Harpoons are not tossed about in close quarters.”
“Prudence, is not discretion the better part of valor in this circumstance? I suggest we abandon our search and report our finding in the morning.”
“If this was my father’s ship, I would certainly hope that it would be searched for an injured sailor,” she flared and walked away.
Although a cautious man by nature, my future was as a physician. I had no idea if an unconscious or injured sailor did exist in the lower reaches of the ship, but decided it was my duty to make that determination, regardless of the unusual circumstances of the moment.
We reached another stairwell. I stared into the abject darkness below. “Wait,” I said and returned to the sleeping quarters. It took several strong yanks to dislodge the harpoon; caution compelled me to wield a weapon if we were to stumble about in the dark.
Prudence studied me with a bemused look but made no comment when she noted the harpoon in my hand. Instead, she stepped into the stairwell without trepidation. I had the distinct impression she viewed our foray as a grand adventure. We started down the stairs. Except for the pale light of the lantern I held, pitch-black darkness enveloped us. The only sound was that of the wood creaking beneath our steps.
On the next level, we shouted out as we passed through a workshop filled with stacked staves and a workbench. We then entered a galley filled with cooking paraphernalia. I noted a fry pan filled with congealed lard. Next, we passed through a room stocked with harpoons and numerous iron implements. At the end of the corridor, we entered a space filled with a multitude of casks.
She pushed one of the casks. “It is filled with oil. This confirms something untoward happened here, for they abandoned ship without concern for their oil.” She brushed past me. “We must search the hold.”
At this moment, I became aware of a bitter smell emanating from somewhere in the ship. Prudence noticed it too, for she stopped and walked back toward me, holding her hand over her mouth and nose. We retreated to the workshop.
I recognized the scent. “Would the ship normally carry ammonia?”
“Father never mentioned it when I worked with him on his supply manifest.”
Whatever the source, the odor dissipated as quickly as it arrived. We returned to the stairwell and had only taken three steps downward when a roiling mass of fur, glistening black eyes and a symphony of squeaks burst from the gloom and flooded up the stairwell. My first thought was that the rats were attacking, but it was soon abundantly clear they were making their escape, racing past with a flurry of footfalls. I recoiled as their soft bodies brushed insistently against my boots and trousers.
Prudence screamed and I half-turned to assist her. In doing so, I stepped upon a rat’s body and felt it compress beneath my boot with a gelatinous squish. The slippery mess caused me to lose my balance.
I tumbled downward, but had sufficient presence of mind to extend my arms and avoid hitting the floor with my head. I landed heavily on my shoulder nonetheless. The harpoon clattered across the floor. I rolled over onto my back and stared up the steps. The rats were gone. Prudence stood frozen, lantern in hand.
“Prudence!” I shouted. Thus roused from her paralyzed state, she hurried down the stairs to my side.
“Are you injured?” she said, setting the lantern aside and helping me rise.
I stood and she steadied me with a hand to my chest. My shoulder throbbed but otherwise I had luckily escaped serious injury. “I shall survive.” Events had come at us pell-mell fashion and so we took a long moment to gather ourselves.
My actions to that point were lacking in rudimentary logic. I was engaged in an investigation concerning an unknown tropical disease that, according to Dr. Stewart might be transmitted by rats aboard a ship, yet my decision had placed me in the midst of a multitude of the vermin. This, combined with exploring a dark ship that had been inexplicably abandoned by the crew hardly seemed the actions of a rational man.
Whether the belief that there was an injured body to be found or Prudence’s mettle that caused me to throw my usual caution to the proverbial winds, I had reached the end of my patience with this particular excursion. I retrieved the harpoon and faced Prudence.
“We are leaving,” I said with an air of forced authority. “There are no bodies to be found.” I started up the stairwell.
“Wait!” Prudence exclaimed.
I stopped and stared down at her. “What is it?”
She motioned with her hand that I was to rejoin her. I did so, certain that nothing I saw would delay our exit. No corridors bisected the cavernous space before us. Our lantern revealed sacks of flour and grain, their contents spilled from the rats’ feeding frenzy. Gnawed apples, lemons and pears, encased in mold, were scattered across the floor. More oil casks were stacked against one wall.
“There,” she said breathily and pointed into darkness ahead, where, incomprehensibly, a gold object shimmered. Motionless, it appeared to float above the floor. There was no way to appraise its exact nature from our position. Frankly, its presence was so startling that I could not help but take the lantern from Prudence and approach the unknown object.
Prudence stepped behind me and pinched a piece of my shirt between her fingers, as though not to lose me in the darkness. With her other hand on my shoulder, we crept forward. After twenty paces, I stopped. Prudence gasped.
Suspended from the ceiling by a fibrous cord was a six-foot long pod, narrower at the top and bottom than in the middle. The object was split on its vertical axis, creating a maw from which an amber liquid resembling honey seeped.
I noted the pod’s exterior walls were fleshy and translucent. The combination of the fleshy nature of the object and the maw immediately brought to mind an amnion, or birth sac. The amber liquid was akin to amniotic fluid, with the inescapable inference that some unknown organism had matured within and had now emerged.
Prudence’s grip on my shirt tightened. “What is it?”
“As best I can tell, a birth sac.”
Clearly, the acrid scent was related to the birth, if that were the proper word, of whatever had been inside, since the dripping fluid suggested a very recent event.
“The rats,” Prudence murmured. “Is this the reason they fled?”
As I contemplated my answer to this question, a venomous hiss echoed through the hold, reached a crescendo and then tailed into silence, lasting perhaps ten seconds in all. Thick with menace, it was so unexpected that an icy hand of terror seized me.
We whirled in the direction of that heinous sound. The light from our lantern was too faint to illuminate the Stygian gloom at the far end of the hold. My arms quaked from the weight of the harpoon as I extended it toward the inky depths before us.
“It warns us not to approach,” Prudence said, her voice quivering.
What “it” was remained a mystery, for my eye could discern no form within the darkness.
Another sound quickly reached our ears: the distinct scratching of claw against wood that moved leisurely upward and away from us, as though climbing the inner bulkhead at the bow end of the ship. Heads inclined, we followed the sound, which grew distant and then was gone.
We stood, frozen in place, two terrified figures ensconced in a halo of light, our ears peeled for any evidence that we were not alone. I have no idea how long we stood motionless, but eventually it became clear the unknown organism had departed. The size of the amnion alone suggested an unknown natural phenomenon. I felt compelled to gather samples, for such evidence might help understand the nature of the mysterious organism that had emerged.
I swung the lantern back toward the amnion, only to discover it no longer gave off the golden glow. I touched the surface and was surprised to discover it felt like a dried leaf beneath my fingers. The color of the amnion was now dark brown. These changes suggested a rapid decay was underway.
I stared up at the silken cord, similar to what a spider might weave. “I will release it. Prepare to catch,” I instructed.
The harpoon blade sliced easily through the cord. The object dropped and Prudence cried out. I turned to see a pile of ash on the floor.
“It crumbled at my touch!”
“We must gather it.” I pulled out my handkerchief and spread it over the debris, pushed down and balled the cloth, certain I had sufficient debris for a preliminary analysis when I returned to Cambridge. The pool of fluid had evaporated, as alcohol might, and left only a moist splotch on the floor.
“I want to leave this place.”
I nodded my agreement.
As we turned, out of the corner of my eye I caught another glimmer of gold. A collection of coins, pocket watches and other metallic trinkets were arranged several feet from the amnion.
“It appears they have been placed there consciously,” Prudence observed, for they did appear to be neatly arrayed.
“For what purpose?” I wondered aloud.
We left the curios there, for they were but common possessions of a sailor, not particularly valuable in themselves. Certainly, to take the belongings of sailors without good reason seemed repugnant, and I could not think of a logical reason to connect them with the amnion.
In spite of my certainty that the organism had departed, my mind imagined an unspeakable horror lurching at us from the darkness. I extended the harpoon blade until we reached the stairway. We bolted up the steps with the same urgency as the rats.
We did not look back until we were standing again on the rock outcropping beneath the ship. Prudence immediately found a small pool of seawater in the rock and washed her hands. She stood and wiped her hands on her skirt. “We must check the sand near the bow. Whatever emerged must have left its mark.”
However, we found no evidence that anything had traversed the sand save the recognizable imprints left by the rats as they fled the ship.
“Where did it go?” Prudence wondered.
“Perhaps into the sea,” I answered, that being the only extant explanation.
My hands began to shake as though I had contracted palsy. Cotton-mouthed, I was literally scared spitless. A metallic scent oozed from my pores. The smell of fear, I told myself. My shirt was soggy with sweat. I felt fouled by our experience in the hold. I glanced at Prudence, who stood a few feet away, hugging herself. I held out my hand. She took it and curled into my arms.
“Hold me for a moment longer, until my heart calms.”
We stood on the beach as the surf washed onto the shore and back out again. Prudence abruptly pulled away and marched toward the bluff. “We must return to the farm and record our impressions!”
At the crest of the bluff, Prudence put her fingers in her mouth and whistled sharply. The horses did not respond to her call. We silently trudged along the sandy trail.
For my part, the evening, which began with a whimsical midnight ride, had turned grotesque; the moonlight that felt so magical was now a spectral cloak; the evidence of God’s great plan, as espoused by Prudence, now seemed flimsy. I lugged the harpoon, certain that it was somehow related to the disappearance of the crew.
The breeze so prevalent during our ride was gone, as though recent events had sucked the very energy from the island. After ten minutes, we found the horses, standing calmly, tails swishing.
We rode back in silence, my mind awash with all manner of thoughts. There was no doubt something had emerged from the birth sac. A six-foot creature was potentially dangerous. However, the fact that it hissed but did not attack was analogous to the warning given off by a rattlesnake. It might well have felt threatened without being innately hostile to a human.
What was the origin of the golden object? Had the crew discovered it on a voyage and decided to bring it back? The fact that the crew had long abandoned the ship before the organism emerged was a conundrum. Alternatively, had the crew been long gone when this thing nested in the abandoned ship? But if that was the case, why was the harpoon thrown?
When we reached the farm, I helped Prudence unsaddle the horses and provide them with fresh water drawn from the pump. She handed me a brush and following her lead with Valiant, I groomed Betsy’s coat. We did not converse.
When this chore was complete, we walked back to the main house and sat at the dining room table. “We must make note of all we have seen, so that in the morning we shall have a full record of our impressions. I will brew coffee.”
“Trust me. I do not need coffee,” I replied. I checked my pocket watch. It was three-thirty. Events had jangled my nerves more than coffee could. “Let me first retrieve my satchel.”
I walked to my cottage, set the harpoon in the corner, and stared at my still open journal. The day began with rumination about an unknown tropical disease, and I was about to record our observations of a monstrous mutation of the natural world.
When I returned to the kitchen, I removed my kerchief and carefully shook the amnion detritus into a specimen jar. My journal open, we began to list all we had seen and heard.
The first matter was the spooking of the horses in proximity to the Ceres. “You indicated they had never previously behaved in such a fashion.”
“They were obviously aware of the presence of the—” she replied, and furrowed her brow, words failing her.
“There is no doubt the golden object was a protective enclosure within which an organism matures, but I am not prepared to draw any further conclusions as to its proper classification.”
Prudence brightened. “You have made a momentous discovery!”
“That remains to be seen,” I replied.
We had only a few particles of the desiccated amnion, a harpoon, and our eyewitness account, hardly the basis for any staking of a legitimate scientific claim.
“I wish that Dr. Redfern, my mentor, were here, for he would be of help in interpreting our experience.”
“What is his area of expertise?”
“He is a renowned pathologist.”
Prudence stiffened. “Did you not say that this was an abomination of the natural order?”
“Yes.”
“Then why would we consult a medical expert? We need a naturalist, and there is none greater than Fausta Darkbloom.”
I chose not to argue this point, for Fausta was close at hand and Dr. Redfern was not. Moreover, this woman, who had so captivated Prudence, intrigued me.
“We agree there was a noticeable odor?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“A rat stampede?”
“Yes.”
I next sketched the amnion, showing the rending, the dripping fluid, and noting its dimensions. Prudence nodded her agreement.
“The hissing. Might it be a feral cat that has feasted upon an army of rats?”
“We should simply note our observations, and leave the interpretation of such for the morning. The scuttling?” I added.
“Yes.”
Prudence stood and walked to the window, then spun suddenly. “Does this not explain the harpoon in the wall? Did a sailor try to kill . . . whatever emerged?”
“Whatever emerged did so while we were on the ship. I fail to see how the throwing of the harpoon and the emergence are related. Nonetheless, I will add it to the list.”
“Also, add the fact that it appears the ship was abandoned by the crew,” Prudence stated, then fought a yawn. “My mind no longer functions. We both need a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow we shall visit Fausta and discuss our findings. Good night.”
I sat for a long moment and then dragged myself back to the cottage.
Prudence Mott’s Diary
17 July 1856—I barely have the strength to lift my pen!
What shall be done if our experiences conflict with that which we have been taught to believe? If we are told an apple is sour, yet is sweet when tasted, should we not trust our senses?
Thus, if we are taught that the world is God’s creation and expresses God’s love and goodness, what shall we to do when confronted by an event which contradicts this belief? The discovery of the derelict ship, taken alone, would not be a cause for concern. It is not the first time that a ship has experienced misfortune or run aground.
However, the subsequent events of the evening weigh heavy on my mind. I am compelled to consign my emotions of those events to my trusted diary, before time and other occurrences dull my recollection.
I urged my companion to join me in a search of the entire vessel. Ichabod was hesitant but complied. I was heartened by his decision, for it demonstrated an ability to act rather than contemplate. Oh, the incredible excitement I felt as we entered the black hold of the vessel, like Balzetti, as he entered the tomb of Pharaoh Seti!
That horrid hold! The golden object that hung before us was loathsome. Disgust rose in my gullet! When the venomous hiss echoed, I was overtaken with the deepest dread imaginable. What waited in the darkness at the other end of the hold?
There is that which we know through logic, and there is the truth that resides in our heart. As much as I respect Ichabod’s intellect, I do not need science to confirm that tonight we encountered an abomination of God’s order that is Evil incarnate. And tonight that Evil was unleashed upon my island!
