"The Sad Tale of the Brothers Grossbart" - читать интересную книгу автора (Bullington Jesse)

XXIII. Ever Southward

Below deck, the forecastle housed a table, a few chairs, and several water and beer barrels. A narrow hall staggered around the masts to the back of the ship, with two rows of bunks depressed into the walls on either side. At the end of the hall a storeroom contained nets, food, and everything else, and there the captain and his lady established themselves. With two people occupying a sleeping space where fifteen would fit, there were not enough bunks for the crew and the Grossbarts’ party; they traded off the beds with the men toiling above. They, of course, being everyone except the Grossbarts, who were quickly avoided by the crew due to the twins’ tendency to jab anyone foolish enough to disturb their sleep.

When the Brothers stirred late the following afternoon they saw one of the young sailors from before and the lummox Merli sleeping on the bunks opposite them. Extrication proved especially difficult for Manfried, who had gone to sleep with his shoulders still plated in iron. Even their toes and fingernails were sore from the previous day’s exertions but they awoke laughing at the memory of their triumph. They staggered to the open room and guzzled water, paying no mind to the half-naked Sir Jean or his shadow, Raphael.

“Where’s the rest?” Hegel asked after dunking his face in the water barrel and leaving a sheen on the surface.

“Aboveward.” Raphael nodded to the ladder. “Taking sunny, salty air. Captain with them, want to council at you.”

“Speakin ain’t your strong suit, is it?” Manfried leered.

“Truly honest, mine ownself prefer the tongue all men speak.” Raphael rattled his loaded crossbow at Sir Jean, making him flinch.

“True words,” Hegel agreed, and they went above.

Crawling into the blinding square of light, they crouched like beasts freed after too long in a cage. When their eyes adjusted the Grossbarts reeled from more than the rocking of the ship. On all sides lay water, vast hills and valleys of the stuff, glowing in the sun without a hint of land to be found. Both felt extremely queasy and took small pulls from their skins, and when Manfried spilled his drink refitting the stopper, Hegel noted with interest that his brother’s apparently held water for a change.

Two masts towered over them and the country-born Brothers knew only that the ship exceeded any barge they had seen, and was therefore enormous. Men seemed to be everywhere but there were actually only three sailors at work besides the sour Giuseppe and good-tempered Angelino, the relatively small size of the vessel forcing the men to circumvent the Brothers numerous times during their slow advance to the stern. Climbing the stairs to the raised section in the rear, they found Barousse talking with Angelino, and both men hailed them.

“Well met and mornin to the both a yous, too,” Hegel greeted them.

“Yeah,” said Manfried, his eyes casting about for the Arab.

“Feel that?” Barousse inhaled, his stained bandages fluttering like pennants. “The breath of the sea is the breath of God. Small wonder our ancestors worshipped her.”

At this Manfried caught sight of the woman through the sails, her back to him astride the figurehead at the front of the ship. “Gotta get below,” he muttered.

“Hold, Manfried,” Barousse said. “With my men deserted or dead we’ve only enough hands to keep us on course for half of every day, and the wind blows better at night. I’d hoped to reach our conquest sooner, and with your help, along with the rest, we can double our speed.”

“Later, then,” Manfried said dismissively. “Fetch me when the moon’s up, this glare’s no good for my eyes.”

“We’ll send up the others prompt, though.” Hegel hurried after his brother and addressed him in their private tongue. “The captain seems much improved for bein on the water and speaks wise in the whole, but I wonder at his choice a words.”

“How’s that?” Manfried ducked under a sail.

“Shit, I dunno, it just puts me off. Like sayin we’s gonna reach our conquest. All the words he could a used he said our conquest.”

“So?”

“Well, that could mean what or who we’s gonna conquer.”

“Course it does, thicky.”

“But couldn’t it also mean us bein conquered? Our conquest. Not the way I would a phrased it, not at all.”

“And you would a used some choice bit a French, or maybe Latinish? Keep in mind he might be Roman but he ain’t out the Holy like us, so likely he don’t know no better words for the point he successfully made. To me, at least, not bein keen on pissin bout every little detail!”

They reached the ladder, the woman just ahead over the prow, her arms entwined in the railing. Manfried clambered onto the raised platform of the bow, telling himself he went up instead of down solely to avoid his brother. Hegel knew exactly what his brother was about and followed him up.

“You gotta put that feedbag out your mind,” Hegel said softly, sensing the true reason for his brother’s sudden ire. “It won’t bring you no good at all. You gotta look at somethin, look to Mary.”

“Now I reckon you’d best mind your own choice a words,” Manfried growled, facing Hegel. “It’s a she, same’s the Virgin.”

“It’s a damn witch,” Hegel snarled back. “Your eyes always been sharper than mine, when they get all smeared with cherry paste?”

Manfried thought about punching Hegel’s fat nose until it smeared some cherry paste of its own, but before he raised his hand a stronger impulse reared up in his mind like an angered eel. Manfried suddenly wanted to shove Hegel over the railing and into the sea, but the desire passed as soon as it came. Manfried felt light-headed and slowly turned to look.

She sat where she had before, waves jetting up spray across her front, only now she watched him. Her delicate lips were pursed but her eyes shimmered and she smiled softly, her hair lathered around her chest and neck.

“I’ll do you fore I touch him!” Manfried shouted at her, scrambling down the stairs and then the ladder, his chest burning.

Hegel remained above, puzzling over his brother’s outburst at the woman and glaring at her. She returned his stink-eye, her ruddy mouth twisted into a sneer. He made as if to strike her but she did not give him the satisfaction of even twitching her nose.

“I’s onto you,” Hegel hissed, “you damn witch.”

Quitting the platform and gaining the ladder, Hegel reeled as he suddenly pictured his brother pitching over the side of the boat with the woman in his arms. He imagined them spiraling down through the depths and could see himself distorted through the water, looking on helplessly from the ship. Then they sank past the light, and in the dark the woman began to change into something else, her skin distorting in his brother’s arms.

“You alright?” Rodrigo asked from below, and limply clinging to the ladder, Hegel vomited all over him.

Al-Gassur, Sir Jean, and Raphael laughed heartily at Rodrigo’s expense, the young man shuddering with revulsion as he waited for Hegel to descend so he could climb above deck. Rodrigo knew better than to waste fresh water, even in such unpleasant circumstances. Hegel dropped the last few feet and staggered to an unoccupied chair while Rodrigo went up.

Manfried returned from his bunk with a loaf of bread, half a cheese wheel, and three sausages. He wordlessly ripped the bread and cheese in two, handing the smaller pieces and one of the sausages to Hegel before sitting in another chair. Here the Grossbarts experienced their first taste of the monotony unique to long sea voyages. They sent the smaller sleeping sailor, the Arab, Sir Jean, and Raphael above to help sail, and two sailors soon replaced them in the room. After these two guzzled some beer and conversed in Italian, they went to the bunks. The sun set and finally the Grossbarts deigned to speak to one another.

“Where’s Martyn?” asked Hegel.

“Cardinal’s lyin in a bunk, jabberin at the wall as he’s wont.” Manfried rose and took some beer. “Think he might a gone from unorthodox to unhinged.”

After another long pause, Hegel cleared his throat. “What I said earlier-”

“Already forgotten.” The twin forces of alcohol and denial had finally convinced Manfried the impulse to murder his brother had been some variety of seasickness. The last thing he wanted was Hegel prattling his old line.

“Remember, then, and fast. I had me a vision.”

“A vision a what?” Manfried snorted. “A grain bag with an adder in it? I already seen that vision mine ownself. Ah Hell, that crumb Raphael’s got me talkin stupid now.”

“Don’t you make light a me!” Hegel lowered his voice and leaned in. “Always had somethin different, you know well’s me, Hell, you’s the one who told me it was Mary’s blessin. Well, this weren’t no feelin nor sensation nor what have, this was a damn vision. I seen it!”

“Seen what?” Manfried continued while Hegel stared at his own puke-flecked boots. “Seen what, O great oracle? Got somethin worth tellin then tell or don’t give me no grief bout visions a Mary.”

“Weren’t no vision a Mary,” Hegel snapped, “was you. You and her. Sinkin to the bottom a the sea. Worse yet, it was by your own will, jumpin overboard with her all up ons like she was a bag a riches.”

“Shut your mouth,” Manfried whispered, but Hegel would not be denied.

“And when yous went under where the sun don’t reach she started turnin into somethin else, somethin strange. What she really is under that pretty skin, I imagine.”

“What’s that mean, turnin into what she really is?”

“Witches do that, brother.” Hegel’s nausea returned. “They can hide themselves, make’em look different, make’em look like somethin a man would want, somethin a man couldn’t refuse.”

Manfried’s laughter was genuine, which made Hegel’s bile roil up even hotter as his brother laid into him. “So cause we kilt us a witchy-man up in them mountains and seen that other you’s a damn authority on’em? Maybe stead a headin south we could move up to Praha, get you work at that universalality they’s built so’s you could teach the world all bout witchery!”

“Listen.” Hegel choked his stomach back down his throat where it belonged. “Listen.”

“I’s listenin, you just keep sayin listen, listen.” Manfried smiled.

“No you ain’t, you’s doin what you always do and makin fun a me, when I’s tryin to save your soul and your skin besides.” Hegel wanted to strike his brother, to tie Manfried down and make his condescending eyes see the same vision that had burned Hegel’s brain.

“All right, brother, calm your damn self, I’s listenin,” Manfried sighed.

“Close your eyes.”

“What?” Manfried laughed again but stopped at the seriousness of Hegel’s expression. “Right, right.”

“Now imagine you’s in Gyptland, in a big old graveyard, and you’s in the middle a all them princely barrows, crackin into the biggest tomb a them all.”

“Easily done. Where you at?”

“Shut it! Pretend I’s dead.”

“What?” Manfried opened his eyes, “Don’t jest bout that sort a thing.”

“Just do it, you mecky bastard!”

“Fine! You’s dead, brother, dead as that cardinal! And I’s in the biggest cemetery in Gyptland, at the biggest crypt in the place.” Manfried closed his eyes, the fantasy setting a familiar one that occupied his thoughts for at least an hour on any given day.

“Now wait fore you blurt out somethin, just wait til I say when to answer this next part. The crucial aspect is you hold that tongue a yours, if you’s able.”

Manfried remained silent to prove he could, though it irked him. Hegel continued, “So you crack open the door, and quick, think bout it but don’t say, would you rather see a big heap a gold or that woman reclinin on the floor, smilin up at you?”

Manfried’s grin turned as south as a Grossbart’s predilection and his face drained of color but he did not open his eyes. Hegel relaxed, seeing the severity of the situation had finally sunk in. Neither spoke for a long time, and finally Manfried cracked one lid, then the other. Hegel thought he detected a tear shining but it might have been a stray reflection of the glorious sunset they were missing in the dank hold.

“Let’s kill us a witch,” said Manfried, jumping to his feet.

“Easy on, Master Inquisitor.” Hegel rose and filled the cup, passing it to his livid brother. “Gotta ruminate on the proper way to handle this.”

“Simple. Bash her face and hack off her limbs. Cut up them pieces into smaller ones and burn’em. Take care not to breathe the smoke.”

“When I get that post up in Praha I’ll put in a good word for you.”

“Burnin’s what’s done with witches, as you well know from experience and common fuckin knowledge besides.”

“Considerin this boat’s nuthin but kindlin, that oughta be simple,” said Hegel. “Course, we could save ourselves the bother and just jump into the sea right now.”

“What you suggest we do? Sit down here and wait for the witchery to get outta hand?”

“Seein’s you’s accepted she’s a witch implies to me the situation what was outta hand’s played back into ours.” Hegel motioned above. “But I doubt the honorable Barousse’ll come round so simple. So we wait til he’s below and she’s above, then we pitch’er to the fishes.”

“That’s sound, seein’s how fraid a water she is.”

“That’s why I’s always on you, you cunt, cause soon’s it’s your turn to point out a minor flaw in a plan you get airy as the goddamn moon on me. So we’ll hack off her head and cut out her heart, keep’em stowed on the boat till such time as we can burn’em, and toss the rest a her brineways.”

“That’s better thinkin, but hold that tongue, others approach.” Manfried nodded to the legs coming down the ladder.

“Sure, brother, seein’s how they can’t even speak proper I’s sure they’ll understand what we say in a tongue that not even thems what can speak proper understand. Sound, sound.”

Above deck, Barousse’s eyes raised to his intended, still perched on the prow like a petrel. He tried to recall the face of his drowned wife Mathilde but could not, unaware that as he did he whispered her name. Angelino tactfully departed to harangue one of his men for a slack tacking of the sails.

When the sun departed Angelino went below, followed by his old mate Giuseppe, two sailors named Karl and Lucian, Sir Jean, and finally his keeper, Raphael. Of the newcomers Raphael had proved the most useful, being young and strong, whereas Sir Jean and Martyn had only two fit arms between them.

Al-Gassur had stayed up late the previous night whittling a peg to replace the one he had dropped when fleeing Barousse’s burning manor, and to his relief none had seemed to notice his shifts from cripple to biped to cripple again. He remained atop the foremast, watching the moon rise from his crossbeam. The woman below did not escape his notice, and as the city of his birth was home to Christians, Turks, and travelers of all sorts, he alone of those who had ever laid eyes upon her recognized her features as distinctly Eastern. He did not stare long, however, for every time he stole a glance she would cock her head and return it, her smile reflecting the moonlight.

Not wishing to leave Barousse alone with only the woman and an Arab, before retiring Angelino called for more hands. Merli and the other sleeping sailors, Leone and Cosimo, were roused and went above, cheese and bread in hand. The Grossbarts followed, not wishing to spend another moment around the whining knight.

Cardinal Martyn regaled Sir Jean, Raphael, and the sailors with the ballad of the Brothers Grossbart as well as he knew it, embellishing nothing. Angelino joined them, eating and drinking in silence. Giuseppe reminded Angelino that never before had he permitted such things spoken of on his vessel, but coming from a member of the church Angelino allowed it. Until, that is, Martyn came to his fifth cup of beer and the slaying of the heretical Buñuel, at which point Karl and Lucian blanched and Angelino stood with a forced laugh.

“Enough tales for one night,” Angelino said. “Now let’s get some rest so by dawn Leone, Cosimo, and Merli may get theirs, as well as those heroic champions who now toil at our meager sails.”

“It’s all true.” Martyn clambered to his feet. “Do not doubt them or my telling of them, lest you risk His Wrath.”

“You risk some wrath of your own, talking such things as demons and witches on this boat.” Giuseppe stood as well.

“Come, sir.” Raphael pressed another cup into Martyn’s shaking hands. “Get us some sleeps, yes? And in the morn you could lead ourselves in prayers, and after hear mine own confession?”

“Certainly, certainly.” Martyn bobbed his head, looking even older than his many years.

“Sleeps good.” Raphael excused himself, assisting Martyn to a bunk and crawling into one closer to the main room, where he overheard Sir Jean whispering his situation to Angelino. To the guard’s relief, Angelino laughed Sir Jean off and trudged past him to a bunk of his own, followed by Karl and Lucian. Even the tart-faced Giuseppe would hear none of it, leaving the knight to nurse his arm and the beer barrel.

Above deck, the Grossbarts devoted themselves to learning the nuances of sailing. They shouted back and forth to the captain at the stern but mostly listened to Cosimo and Leone, their assistance being constantly required on the two masts. Merli mumbled to himself the whole night but not once did he address his colleagues. The Brothers’ work would have proved easier had they stowed their weapons below deck, but even leaving their layers of plate and chain below had taxed their nerves.

The waning moon and clear sky allowed the twins to take in the details of the sails and rigging, but their refusal to ask for instructions or admit any errors forced the experienced sailors to work twice as hard. Manfried lost his balance drawing his mace upon discovering the Arab atop his mast, and while the Grossbart recovered Al-Gassur scampered down. Such pleasant distractions were rare, however, and by dawn the Grossbarts agreed that of all the modes of travel, none stank worse than sailing. For their triumphant return from Gyptland they resolved to fill a canoe with loot and simply row their way home.

At dawn they retreated to their bunks after another huge repast. Undoubtedly, of all the ships sailing all the seas that year, theirs was the finest-provisioned. Barousse slept alone in the storeroom when his intended would not come down from the figurehead, and all were asleep before the sun had fully risen.

Day and night rotated several more times, although to the Grossbarts’ consternation Sir Jean’s wound improved despite his complaining. Martyn and Al-Gassur drank more and more, the cardinal blessing the cups and bottles before each sip to purge the taint of heresy. Al-Gassur’s insistence of his Christianity did little to assuage Martyn’s doubts. He had never heard of a Christian Arab, and in the absence of a Christian pope, he himself remained the absolute authority on earth.

Sir Jean spoke little, working the sails lest Raphael be permitted to physically coerce him. The knight ineffectually tried to convince himself things were not as bad as they could be-he had escaped his enormous debts, after all. Raphael ingratiated himself to the Grossbarts by constantly ridiculing Sir Jean and telling them of the epic battles of the White Company, in which he had served as a lieutenant for a short while before realizing how miserable an occupation it was. This Hawkwood fellow in charge of the mercenary army seemed like a good sort considering he besieged the Pope until he got what he wanted, although his Britannic lineage seemed highly doubtful in light of his supposed prowess.

The sailors grew warier still of the cardinal, especially when their confessions were met with giggles and an unseemly pressing for details when carnal sins were admitted. While relieved the ship had not sunk and none of his men had drowned, Angelino hated the woman’s presence on the prow, and once he saw Barousse slip her a fresh fish that should have gone to him as captain. The suspicious and displeased mate Giuseppe held his tongue regarding the woman but slyly gathered information from the besotted cardinal regarding the Brothers’ presence in the house of Barousse.

The Grossbarts did as Grossbarts have always done, drinking and scrapping and eating far more than their fair share. With a half moon in the sky they clambered up the ladder for another night at the rigging. Hegel let his brother lead so he could watch the back of his head and ensure it did not tilt toward the woman. When Manfried turned to have a word with Barousse at the stern, Hegel did exactly what he had instructed his brother not to do.

The waves broke just below her, the spray causing her wet black hair to swirl around her head, shining green and blue by moonlight. Pressed closer by his instinct, Hegel climbed the stairs onto the bow, where he made out her milky arms resting on the dark wood of the figurehead she straddled. The linen sheet clung to her and trailed down into the black water, but through it he saw that her glossy white skin darkened whenever the sea doused her with another wave.

The water sent ripples of blackness up her legs and arms, her flesh erupting in a dark rash that faded as soon as the spray fell and the water dripped from her. He craned his head farther as another wave broke, trying to catch a glimpse of what effect it had on her face. Then his boot slipped on the deck, and he tumbled forward, only to have Manfried seize his beard and yank him back. Instead of pitching over the front of the ship he fell back, bruising his scarred buttock on the platform.

She twisted around to watch them, smiling the smile that has damned men and women and ships and empires. The Grossbarts stared back, even Hegel moved by her unwholesome but absolute beauty. Barousse appeared between them, casting his finger at her.

“I’ve told you!” the captain raged, “leave them be! I’ve been true as my word, what more do you want?!”

Her lips parted, and all three leaned in to hear the first words to ever leave her mouth. Her small teeth stretched further and, completing the yawn, she turned back to the sea. Barousse took a step forward and Hegel stood, Manfried’s hand going to his mace. After a long silence Barousse wheeled and stomped back to the stern.

Leone and Cosimo watched, but seeing no more would come of it they hailed the Grossbarts to lend a hand. Hurrying away from her, Hegel understood his brother’s fascination better, and he cursed himself for almost making a similar error. Manfried restrained his urge to smite her where she sat and went to work, gnawing his lip until it stained his beard.

Everyone slept in his bunk save Martyn and Al-Gassur, the cardinal praying while the Arab pretended to do the same, getting ever more intoxicated. When Martyn’s quiet prayer rose to a wailing canticle Al-Gassur could stand no more and went above deck. Turning away from the masts to avoid being impressed, he went up to the bow and sat behind the returned captain.

The brine splashing from below mingled with that flowing from her eyes as the ship at long last entered suitable waters, and she stood on the figurehead. She held no hope of Alexius returning her to her distant home, yet he had brought her this far, and for that she could almost forget the years of bondage, years that were dull but flitted by so quickly she scarce noticed. He knew what came next, for she had shown him, and he was eager to pay the final cost to settle the matter.

Ever since reaching the lagoon outside Venezia she had fought the urge to return, but the sea is deep and dark and not all regions are half as accommodating as the balmy waters where her kind had always flourished. Although she was once hailed as a goddess, over the long centuries men had come to regard her and her sisters as mere devils or monsters. She was entirely indifferent about the shift, for she craved the veneration of humans no more now than she had in ages past. She simply wanted the freedom she had always enjoyed, aside from her various tenures as land-wife to those eager fools who sought her company.

As the first syllable left her mouth the gentle waves cupping the boat glowed, and as her voice rose so too did the sea emit brighter and brighter luminescence, a sea-foam-shaded light shining on her joyous face. For all the ages she had lived and all the leagues she had swum, the thrill of the song remained the rarest and sweetest delight, a feat possible only on a sojourn to the dry world. It being the last opportunity she might have for millennia to enjoy herself in such a fashion, she sang all the louder, summoning all of her world who might listen to the requiem of her voiceless, earth-treading days.

Merli jumped over the side of the boat in his dream and regained his senses when a very real wave swallowed him, the giant sailor instantly aware that for him every seaman’s nightmare had been realized. A large black shadow bobbed out of the glowing wave beside him, and he knew it boded ill. Like any drowning man, his body reacted before his mind could halt it and he kicked toward the shape, desperate for anything to cling to, but then Merli saw orange eyes flicker on the shadow and on dozens of similar creatures all around him. His fingers brushed scales and spines and he went under, and whether they spirited him down to behold unimaginable splendors or devoured him on the spot is not recounted here.

Al-Gassur awoke without realizing he had fallen asleep and, rubbing the salt from his eyes, saw Barousse release the anchor. It splashed in front of the ship, the cable uncoiling from its spool. Sitting up, the Arab felt his eyes fill with tears as he heard the sweetest song imaginable drifting from just over the bow. Then a shadow fell from the top of the high mast into the glowing sea, plummeting as silently as the anchor.

Below deck, Angelino, Giuseppe, Lucian, Karl, and Sir Jean drowned in their nightmares, their dreamships dashed on the music dripping down through the planks. Raphael had risen to piss and, seeing Martyn’s head submerged in the water barrel, yanked him out, only to have the cardinal shove him off and submerge himself again.

Atop the foremast Leone stared at the end of the crossbeam from which Cosimo had jumped, too startled to move. On the rear mast Hegel attempted to prevent Manfried from doing the same while not slipping himself, one hand wrapped in the rigging, the other clutching Manfried’s breeches while his brother tried to scramble to a higher diving point. Then a horrible groaning smothered her song, the entire ship jerked to the side, and even those in the depths of their night visions started awake.

In the dark men tumbled out of their berths into one another, slamming into the forecastle walls as the ship violently tilted. The barrel upended all over Martyn and Raphael, and the young brigand rolled in the water, keeping Martyn’s head above the shallow surface and slapping the Christ back into him. The cardinal began hacking up water and his eyes focused on Raphael, who released him and joined the sailors rushing up the ladder.

A second shock rattled the masts, and the suddenly suicidal Manfried’s head knocked against the crossbeam with enough force to loosen his teeth. The rigging Hegel gripped swung him away from the mast and his brother, and before it swung back Hegel saw Manfried open his eyes and shakily stand on the crossbeam. Hegel screamed impotently, but instead of jumping to his doom Manfried turned and snatched at his swinging brother. Her song unbroken, the Brothers locked eyes, blood leaking through the gaps in Manfried’s grin.

“Witchery out a hand yet?” Manfried helped Hegel untangle his arm from the ropes.

“Fuck that witch and double fuck Barousse he tries to keep us from righteousness!” Hegel began descending the mast, the light of the sea brighter than the moon.

“Hey!” Manfried noticed Leone standing on the opposite crossbeam, his head tilted down at the water. The sailor did not hear, carefully edging toward the end of the sail. Knowing what he was about, Manfried snatched out a dagger and hurled it at the man. His aim true despite the rocking vessel, the blade stuck in Leone’s leg and sent the man spinning off the crossbeam. He disappeared with a crash into the hold, which was better than the sea by Grossbart reckoning.

Al-Gassur followed as she quit the bow and made for the stern, throwing himself at her feet. She raised the Arab up with her voice, her discarded sheet entangled on the figurehead. Her body blinded him, not with lust but with awe. Stroking his chin, she stole his heart as sharply as if she had done it with a knife.

Dropping off the mast, Hegel saw them and moved to crack her head open when the ship again tipped and he lost his footing. Karl led the charge from below and was therefore the first to tumble down the suddenly steep deck and over the railing. His pick embedded in the planks, Hegel shot out his hand and seized the sailor’s arm. With Hegel secured in place Karl’s legs dangled over the edge, and as the ship teetered further, a wave splashed onto the deck, immersing the sailor for a moment.

As the glowing water retreated, Karl shrieked and Hegel caught sight of a long shadow beside the man that disappeared with a splash. Hegel hoisted Karl back onto the ship, Angelino and Giuseppe arriving to help as the ship rocked back the other way. Karl kept screaming and as he toppled onto the men they saw that from the belly down nothing remained but strings of meat. While they all slid down the deck entrails spilled out from where Karl’s legs ought to have been, his would-be saviors coated in his blood, the man’s scream finally catching in his throat at the realization that he was dead.

Rodrigo slipped in the spilled water below deck and knocked the wind out of himself when he fell. Lucian and Raphael hung on to the ladder as the ship pitched about, and then emerged to the sight of a radiant ocean and Karl’s upper half gliding across the deck. The waves had climbed along with her song, blazing spume crashing over the railings and soaking all. Manfried released his grip on the mast when the ship settled as much as it was likely to, and he saw her shove the Arab toward the edge and flee back to the bow. Manfried gave pursuit, the sprawled trio of Hegel, Giuseppe, and Angelino finding their footing as she danced past them onto the platform.

Between the rising groans of the timber and her song the men’s shouts went unheard by each other, but all were clear on their purpose. Angelino’s dread became complete when he saw that not only was the anchor dropped and doubtless moored, but Barousse stood before the windlass used to winch it up with his sword drawn. The woman stepped behind him, singing directly into his ear, and then she turned and let her song bound out across the roiling, luminescent ocean. With each note the sea grew fiercer despite the still air, and the taut anchor cable tugged the nose of the ship down so the figurehead could kiss the sea before rearing back up.

Al-Gassur held on to the open lid of the hold as the ship swayed, and he saw the barely alive Leone sprawled in the shallow water atop the layers of hidden gold bars. Had the hold contained seawater and caught fish instead of Barousse’s fortune topped with a little fresh water the man might not have broken his hips when he fell from the mast. Al-Gassur reached out to Leone and drew Manfried’s dagger from where it jutted out of the sailor’s thigh.

Martyn raved and prayed below deck, wondering if perhaps all was not as the Grossbarts claimed and he, through no fault of his own, championed sinners instead of saints. Sir Jean’s limited knowledge of sailing and his absolute terror propelled him through the storeroom door with a satchel in each hand. Rodrigo tried to stop him and was promptly knocked unconscious by the crazed knight, who opened the ship’s only porthole and shoved the satchels out into the sea in a desperate gambit to lighten the load, radiant water rushing in with each sway of the ship.

Manfried barely noticed Barousse in his eagerness to reach the woman on the bow, and almost had his face split for his oversight. Instead he jumped aside, sliding to the edge of the railing. Hegel circled Barousse, trying to get at the woman he shielded. Angelino shouted something about the anchor but even those who spoke Italian could not hear over the song and the crashing waves. Giuseppe knew without being told, however, and slunk after Hegel. Raphael and Lucian drew up short behind Angelino, Raphael unsure of whose side to fight on given his bought loyalty to Barousse and Lucian simply scared of getting near the enraged man.

Regaining his balance on the platform of the prow, Manfried went in for another assault and managed to back Barousse into the anchor winch, the man slipping in the salt spray and falling flat on his back. Hegel headed for the woman but then the prow bucked again and he slipped, skidding toward a gap in the railing. Manfried caught his brother before he went over, dragging him away from the edge. Hegel tried to stand but his leg buckled, his left shin black and swelling from where it had connected with the railing. Angelino was not so lucky, the poor fellow tumbling over the side of his ship as it dipped violently back down, his last thought before he struck the blindingly bright water that his best friend had sent him to his doom.

Scrambling upright, Barousse noticed with dismay that Raphael was delivering the final strike needed to sever the cable. The ship swerved as it came free, and to Hegel’s horror he saw an enormous shape moving under the luminescent water where the hacked end of the hempen cable disappeared. As if sensing his gaze it dived down, sending up a brilliant wave that washed everyone but the woman and the Grossbarts off the bow and onto the deck.

Having seen him creep up on Barousse and the woman, Al-Gassur pounced on the upended Giuseppe but the mate hurled the Arab off. Lucian and Raphael clung to a mast to avoid being swept into the sea, and Alexius Barousse again regained his feet. The woman gripped the same railing as the Grossbarts and her eyes narrowed at them, her song trailing off. Her teeth appeared longer in the sea-light, and they saw her dripping body bulged and pulsed, her skin darkening in wide splotches. As she pivoted and sprang over the railing Manfried grabbed a gaff pole from its mooring in the rail and swung, smacking her side.

Seeing the woman disappear over the edge, Barousse wailed and charged back toward the prow to follow her into the ocean but Lucian kicked his legs out from under him. Giuseppe scrambled to his feet and was hurrying to put an end to Barousse when Al-Gassur tackled the mate, pitching them both on top of Barousse and Lucian. Raphael decided to side with the majority and administered a sound kick to Barousse before the restrained captain freed an arm and pulled his former hired man down onto the pile.

Using every remaining drop of stamina, Manfried held on to the gaff with both arms, Hegel limping as fast as he could to his brother’s aid. The woman went berserk on the end of the pole, her left arm skewered by the barbed hook. She dangled in the water up to her waist, her other arm pulling on the gaff to drag Manfried down with her. Then Hegel reached them and grabbed his brother around the waist, tugged him away from the edge. Eyes tightly shut from her surprising weight, Manfried opened them only when he heard her flop over the edge of the railing.

Her bright lips again parted to release her song, her soft eyes meeting his hard ones, but Manfried could not hear her music over his own scream. Having finally pummeled Barousse unconscious, Lucian, Raphael and Giuseppe looked up and joined the Grossbart chorus while the Arab began laughing the desperate, howling laughter of the deranged. Below, Sir Jean dropped the box he held, bursting gems and coins and jewelry onto the floor beside the concussed Rodrigo. Martyn stopped praying and withdrew a bottle, guzzling what he thought might be his last taste on Earth.

The thing writhing on the bow resembled the woman they had brought through the mountains from above the navel, but even here differences were legion. Her small teeth had lengthened, sharpened, and multiplied, several rows of them glittering in the moonlight as she snapped at them. Several gashes had opened on either side of her throat, and water bubbled out of these as they descended upon her with pick and mace. Their weapons tore through the webbing between her fingers, smashing her hands down into her face and chest. Her blood proved red, thankfully, but they kept screaming, mashing her skull and driving her ribs out through her back.

Even with her song forced back down inside her she flopped around, her sinewy body slapping on the planks. The smooth skin of her stomach appeared translucent where it met the scales coating what had been her legs, the new and shimmering eel-like appendages tapering to splayed fins. This abominable region of her body continued twitching even after they used hatchets to remove her arms and head, and Manfried carved out her heart with his knife.

Giuseppe and Lucian retreated below, sallow and shivering, under the pretext of locking up the mutinous Arab in the storeroom. Raphael swayed aimlessly on the deck, gibbering to himself in his native tongue. A sound slap from Hegel set him a little straighter, and he assisted in transferring her prodigious remains to the hold lest they reform in the again-dark and calm sea and she return to life revenge-minded. In the hold they found the dazed Leone, who passed out as soon as he saw what they carried. They dragged him out and shoved her in, then bore the sailor under.

Sir Jean had eventually calmed after the ship stopped creaking and swaying, and realizing he had struck Rodrigo unconscious, surreptitiously made his exit. Finding Martyn dozing on the floor, the knight liberated him of his bottle and righted one of the chairs. Giuseppe and Lucian found him there, and after shoving Al-Gassur into the storage room without noticing the still-prone Rodrigo they picked up their own chairs and word-lessly joined him in drinking. Worrying he had perhaps erred, Sir Jean did not mention his exploits in the storage room, and the sailors did not mention their adventure above.

Manfried came down next, and Hegel lowered Leone until the sailors could catch him and set him in a bunk. Raphael remained on deck securing Barousse’s arms and legs with rope after he had determined the captain lived. Binding the man’s bleeding forearm, Raphael looked up to see Manfried and Hegel emerge with bottles under their arms. The Grossbarts advanced on Raphael and sat on the loose rigging between him and Barousse.

“Didn’t make those too tight?” Manfried asked.

“Tight secure.” Raphael stared at the tilted bottle at Hegel’s mouth.

“But not tight enough to wring new harm out a him?” Manfried insisted.

“Mine ownself is capable adept of tie a man,” Raphael snapped.

“Tone, boy,” Hegel growled, handing him his bottle.

“Mine thanks.” Raphael tipped the bottle.

“Wise a you not usin a blade on’em,” said Manfried. “Weren’t no fault a his, and what made him that way’s dead, so’s when he awakes he’ll be right in the brainpan again.”

Manfried could not know how wrong that statement would prove. They made no pretensions at working the ship, and had they run aground the Grossbarts would not have known it. The three put a powerful drunk upon themselves, Hegel insisting to the others that the worst was yet to come, for his bones told him and they never lied. On this matter, the Grossbart had the gift of prophecy.