The World House, page 23
"Nay, Captain," came the reply, "but I dare say there'll be something horrible along any minute. Who's that? The bloke we fished out of the water?"
"It is!" Alan shouted back. "Good to meet you."
"You won't be saying that for long," Barnabas replied. "I give you a day before you're begging us to throw you back in."
"See what I mean?" Hawkins said quietly, "absolute bloody misery. I'll throw him overboard one of these days." He cut across the deck towards the cockpit where a the ship's wheel was being manhandled by a woman almost as broad as she was tall. Her hair was so curly and proud from her head that she looked as if she was permanently facing into a storm.
"And, finally," said Hawkins, "this is Maggie, the Queen of the Wheel, my Commander and, for that matter, wife."
"In which relationship I think you'll find I outrank him," she said, giving Arthur a wink.
"I am led to believe this is usually the case," Alan replied. "Alan Arthur. Good to meet you."
"And you. I hope Hawkins is looking after you?"
"He is." He looked at the captain. "Even your wife calls you by your last name?"
"You haven't heard my first name."
His wife laughed. "Do you want to tell him or shall I?"
Hawkins shrugged. "You'll likely get more pleasure out of it, dear."
Maggie leaned over to Arthur. "His full name is Admiral Benbow Hawkins. That's not the rank, you understand, he never made it past captain. That's 'Admiral Benbow' as in–"
"The pub from Treasure Island."
Maggie howled with laughter. "You've got it!"
"My father was a fan of the novel," Hawkins explained.
"Could have been worse," Alan said with a grin. "Could have been 'Moby Dick'."
"That's just what I calls him when we're being romantic," joked Maggie with a lascivious wink.
Hawkins sighed. "As you might imagine, the long evenings fly by. Might I suggest – as long as my beloved has everything under control – we head below deck? I have no doubt you'll have a lot of questions and I'm only too happy to answer them if I can."
"Please do," Maggie said to Alan, "he only gets under my feet when he's up here."
"Mutinous creature," said Hawkins, giving her a peck on the cheek.
• • •
Below deck, Hawkins led Alan into the captain's quarters. They were larger than the bare cabin he had woken up in but not as lavish as he might have imagined.
"I know," Hawkins said, offering Alan a chair at the central table. "Not exactly plush, is it? We make do."
"I'm still at a loss as to how the ship's even here."
"It came with us. Look, the story is long, let me pour us a drink and tell it from the beginning. I have some brandy – I put a couple of bottles to one side when we first arrived here, intending to crack them open if a suitable occasion came along. This is as close as I've got so let's throw caution to the wind."
"I was about to say it's a little early," Alan said, "but if your clock's right then I overslept more than I realised."
Hawkins glanced at the clock, which gave the time as just past six. "We have less time before nightfall than I might have liked but I shall tell my story briefly. You were asleep for four days, so don't be surprised if you're somewhat disorientated."
"Four days?"
"The water's effects cling to a man, Alan. You really were remarkably lucky we chanced along when we did."
"Chanced along… no, OK, too many questions. I'll take that drink and let's hear your story."
Hawkins nodded and pulled a bottle and two glasses from the sideboard. He placed the glasses on the table and poured them both a measure. "Right," he said, raising his glass towards Alan, "your health." He took a sip and leaned back in his chair, organising his thoughts.
"As you will have guessed from my name, my parents always hoped I would have a future on the ocean. I joined the Navy when I was a lad and did moderately well, sailed the world, rose through the ranks as far as captain and then found myself under Jellicoe at the Battle of Jutland."
"The First World War?"
"I know of no other. I won't bore you with interminable war stories, have no fear. I have no urge to discuss the battle; it put me off service for good. The blast of the heavy guns, the dead bobbing in the water like driftwood, great fleets of them… When the Queen Mary went up, the fire and smoke… I simply lost my taste for it." Hawkins gave Alan a nervous glance. "A coward's response, I know."
"Hardly. Nobody should have a taste for war."
"I served out the conflict but when the Kaiser fled so did I, taking decommission and a civilian life. This boat was my retirement. I couldn't altogether abandon the ocean. I hired a crew and sailed as a private charter, ferrying those who could afford my services, asking few questions – the hallmark of the trade – and maintaining a peaceful existence. Then, in 1921, I accepted a commission from a man claiming to be an archaeologist. He was an elderly countryman of yours who wished to transport certain 'archaeological items' from India to the States. He was a shady character. Nonetheless, I needed the fee he was offering and so accepted the job.
"We took the cargo on board – a single packing crate, no more than six foot square – and set sail. Our employer chose to spend his time between the hold and his cabin, examining the various artifacts. I can't say we cared for his company so he wasn't missed. As we skirted past Malaysia towards the South Pacific we encountered bad weather: a string of storms that threatened to sink us, each more vicious than the last. The gentleman was altogether disparaging about my abilities – as if it were within my power to control the weather – and one night grew so abusive that I must confess we almost came to blows. Were it not for his extreme age – he was eighty if he was a day and built as thin as if his bones were matches – I suspect I might have lost control and given him a beating. I am not by nature a violent man but Mr Ashe – that was his name, or at least the one he gave when signing my services, Gregory Ashe – challenged my limits. In the end I returned half of his money and declared my intention to put him aground at Indonesia. He could make further arrangements from there. Me and my crew would have no further dealings with him. After an initially violent response he seemed to accept I was immovable and retired to his cabin. I should have known that would not be the end of the matter. Maggie always accuses me of being too soft and I confess she is invariably right.
"That night, Ashe crept into my cabin with a handgun to further bolster his argument. He threatened to shoot Maggie were I not to accede to his demands." Hawkins took a large mouthful of his drink then topped up his glass. "I am reaching an uncomfortable point in my story, Alan, but I hope that you might understand: when a man's wife is threatened he acts in a manner that is wholly without restraint."
"I understand," Alan assured him. "This Ashe was clearly a dangerous man. Whatever you did to defend the life of your wife and crew can hardly be deemed unreasonable."
"Perhaps you will no longer think that when I tell you what I did." Hawkins took another sip of brandy. "I made an initial show of agreement, just so that I could get close to him, but the minute an opportunity presented itself I took advantage, striking him a resounding blow to the head and disarming him."
"I would have thought that was exceptionally restrained."
"My real crime came afterwards. I was incensed! How dare this man threaten to kill the woman I love in return for ferrying him and his trinkets? It was all I could do not to shoot him, right then and there. It was Maggie who calmed me, pointing out that everyone was perfectly safe and that no harm had been done. She was right, of course, but I couldn't bear the thought of him on board my ship a moment longer.
"By now the storms looked as if they would blow themselves out. In the distance the lights of the Malaysian port of Kupang were just visible. I wonder, are you familiar at all with the story of William Bligh?"
"Mutiny on the Bounty? Only vaguely…"
"After the mutiny Bligh was set adrift in an open boat with those few crewmen still loyal to him. They didn't expect him to make shore; it was all but a death sentence. However, Bligh was one hell of a sailor and managed to navigate as far as Kupang, where he landed safely."
"I think I begin to see where this story is heading."
"I imagine you do. The Intrepid had two lifeboats and I set Ashe adrift in one of them. He had a solid chance of reaching safety: land was visible and, as long as the storms didn't return to full strength, he had an even chance of success."
"I still think you acted reasonably. The man was a risk to you and your crew, and you had to put their safety first."
"Perhaps. Though if I'm honest I simply wanted Ashe to suffer. I was hot for revenge. I wanted him scared. And he was… though not for his own life, damn him, but rather for his precious artifacts! He began screaming like a lunatic, insisting that he would follow us every step of our journey, hunt us down and cut our throats while we slept unless we gave him his belongings."
"So what did you do?"
"I gave them to him, one by one, over the side of the boat, figurines and busts, tapestries and paintings… all of them were hurled into the waves. Maggie endeavoured to calm me down but I was wild and would have none of it. To make matters worse the sky had begun to darken, as if the clouds were as angry as I. The storms were returning and, as the rain began to fell, there am I, captain of my boat, ignoring all issues of safety, pelting this bastard with antiques. In truth he seemed no more concerned about the storm than I was, still screaming his threats.
"The ship began to rock. We needed to take measures but I was focused on only one thing. Then I came upon the last item in his cabin, the most precious of all, it would seem."
"A Chinese box?"
Hawkins nodded. "You are familiar with it. I grabbed the thing, meaning to hurl it off the side with the rest. That was when the storm really broke, thunder, lightning, the very worst God can hurl at us. As the rain lashed the deck and the boat rocked, I lost my footing, falling back down the hatch, the box slipping from my grasp.
"The next thing I know, the storm has stopped and we are surrounded by silence. I had lost consciousness in the fall, fetching my head a sound blow on the stairs. I could only assume I had managed to sleep through the whole thing. On climbing up to the deck, imagine my surprise: not only was it daylight but we had lost all sight of land. Still, I could only assume the storm had blown us off course. It took the reports of the crew to clarify otherwise…"
"You had been transported here."
"Indeed. All of us, crew and boat, the whole affair, scooped from the edge of the Indian Ocean and dropped here. Needless to say, of Ashe there was no sign." Hawkins drained his brandy and glanced at the window. "Our story must continue later. The night is coming and you will soon see that that is something into which we do not sail lightly. May I suggest you check on your young friend and then join me on deck? I would appreciate your help in the hell that will soon be on us."
Sophie was still sleeping. Alan wondered if it was due to her longer exposure to the water; after all, she must have been floating there some time before he had arrived. He checked her window was closed – whatever terrors were due tonight, he wanted to ensure she was locked away from them – and headed back up to the deck.
Hawkins was pacing up and down. The quiet, selfreflective man now quite absent to be replaced by Hawkins the Sailor, the efficient man of the ocean.
"What do you need me to do?" Alan asked.
"For now, nothing. We've got the lockdown to a fine art. Later, though, you can add to the defences."
"Defences against what?"
"The water, naturally – it is our major enemy here, you will see…" He began moving towards the fore of the ship. "Jonah! Come on, we need to be anchored, now!"
Alan looked above him. The white roof was darkening as if the illumination were within the very paint on its surface. The water was becoming restless beneath the boat, the gentle rolling of the day replaced by an irritated choppiness. A storm was on its way; there was a charge to the air that was unmistakeable.
"How on earth can you have a weather system inside a house?" he wondered to himself.
"Same way you can sail a boat in it," said Barnabas, walking past. "The whole place is mad and will likely kill us any minute."
Clouds were beginning to form. Alan looked over the prow, watching the waves lengthen in the gloom. The water took on a strange quality in the half-light, moving as if independent of the wind on the surface. Waves contradicted each other, moving in opposing directions. They came to a peak only to hold themselves for a moment before crashing back down with an aggressive slap. Alan thought about what Hawkins had said: the water itself was the enemy…
As he watched, the sea began to undulate towards the boat. Peaks extended to form the shape of human hands, hundreds of them waving to one another in the stormy air. One by one they approached the boat and began to clap on the hull, the slow drumming building in volume as each watery hand joined its fellows.
"Quickly, man!" Hawkins shouted to Jonah, "they're upon us!"
Jonah manned the harpoon guns, turning them – rather disconcertingly – towards the aft of the ship rather than facing out towards the water.
"What's he doing?" Alan asked, having to shout loudly over the drumming noise.
"Anchoring us," Hawkins replied as Jonah cranked a lever that lifted the harpoons towards the sky rather than the deck. "When the water is unreliable we must look above for stability."
With a cry, Jonah fired the harpoons skyward, where they sailed through the building clouds whipping their ropes behind them. They found their mark, embedding themselves in the plaster of the roof with a double thud. The ship creaked to a halt, the ropes pulling taut. Alan grabbed hold of the rail to stop himself losing his balance. "Now what?" he asked.
"Now we fight!" Hawkins replied, throwing him a plank of driftwood. "They break up if you hit them hard enough."
"What do?" – but the answer was already climbing aboard: men moulded from the water around them, their transparent muscles glistening in the torches that Maggie was lighting all over the deck. Alan watched as Ryan ran at one of the invaders holding a plank of his own. The boy swung the plank and the creature exploded in a splash across the deck. He swung at another but the blow was too light: the man's shape distorted but ultimately held its form. Barnabas leapt in, giving the creature a stout blow to the shoulder-blades that saw it dissipate like an upturned bucket.
"Spread out!" Hawkins shouted, "cover all sides!"
Alan saw one of the creatures clambering aboard a few feet to his left and struck at its head. It opened its mouth in a silent roar a moment before the head dispersed in a shower of vapour.
"Aim for the body!" Maggie shouted as she ran past him, a skillet in her hands. "The head's not enough."
She was proved correct as the man's features reformed, the extra water flooding up from its shoulders. Alan waited until it was half over the rail before hitting it again where its watery ribs might lie, closing his eyes as it exploded in a shower over him. Another had made the deck to his right and he turned to attack it, unaware of yet one more creeping over the rail behind him. He stuck the plank in the man's solar plexus and whipped it outwards, the torso gushing forth, its raised arms pouring to the floor as it disintegrated. He felt himself grabbed from behind, the grip surprisingly strong as it lifted him from the deck, one watery hand pushing into his mouth to drown him. Suddenly the creature dissipated, hit from behind by Barnabas.
"Told you," he moaned, slouching off with his oar to attack elsewhere, "we'll all be dead in a minute."
Picking himself up off the deck, Alan wiped his wet hair away from his face and struck another man clambering over the rail. Above them, the storm continued to roar, forks of lightning slicing their way through the deluge and throwing light on the sea's surface, where more and more of the men could be seen to form, rising up and wading towards them through the foam.
"How many are there?" Alan shouted.
"Sometimes there are whole legions, sometimes only a handful," Hawkins replied, moving to stand back to back with Alan and grunting as he dispatched another. "The attack never lasts long, no more than five minutes, but each night, when it comes, one cannot help but wonder if that will be the night their numbers overwhelm us."
A pair of them appeared from behind the rigging, the reflection of lightning adding a whiteness to their grinning teeth. Alan struck at one, Maggie the other, plank meeting skillet with a celebratory clang in the resulting shower of water.
"No end to the fun on board this ship, eh?" she said with a laugh before spotting more invaders behind her and dashing off to deal with them.
Alan was quick to tire, the pain in his shoulder returning. He wondered how long the attack had lasted. Surely it must end soon? Out of the corner of his eye he could see Jonah, whipping an oar around him, like a character from a martial arts film. The blind man had hit upon a surefire method to compensate for his lack of sight, keeping his weapon on the move at all times, turning constantly so that he couldn't help but hit something if it came anywhere near him. Ryan still seemed to be enjoying himself, whooping and jeering as he ran to and fro, dropping to the deck and sliding towards his targets. It was amazing, thought Alan, how the crew had adapted to their circumstances. They remained undaunted by the odds of their survival and met the challenge head on. He was glad to have found himself on board, proud to fight alongside them. He just hoped he survived the experience…
