Thomasina’s sleep was thankfully dreamless, though her awakening was a rude one. An insistent rapping against her cabin door startled her awake.
The memory of the other day’s dream returned. It had started just like this.
“I am coming,” she replied to the repeated knocks. Climbing from her hammock, she quickly pulled her boots on.
As Thomasina headed for the door, a sudden trepidation made her change direction. She went to her coat rack, retrieved her coat, and shrugged into it. Then she removed her sword belt and tightened it around her waist. She noted the brace of pistols on the rack, nodded, and dropped them over her shoulder. The weight was a comfort. The rapping came again —more insistent, more urgent. She rushed forward and pulled the door open, wary of what awaited her outside.
William Bell stood there, an expression of fear on his wrinkled features.
It was not the fear of disturbing her; the blanched pallor of his usually drink-ruddied cheeks told her that. And he appeared surprisingly sober—not a good sign.
“Bill—”
“Come swiftly, Captain,” he said, then headed away from her across the quarterdeck.
“What in all hell?” Thomasina was quick behind him.
She grimaced as she passed the abandoned wheel. Where was Jonas? How long had she slept, anyway? As she headed down the steps, she saw a crowd on the main deck, gathered before the ship’s longboat.
Bell paused before the crowd. As she neared him, she saw First Mate Ashby Jenkins at their forefront.
Mutiny? No!
Bell shuffled uncertainly in her presence. From the corner of her eye, she saw Helmsman Jonas rushing over from portside, a rifle in his hands.
“Got your back, Captain,” he said upon reaching her.
Jenkins held a sword in one hand and a flintlock in the other. He was also staggering—very drunk or getting there. His glare was steady, however, his beady eyes glinting. Thomasina had three pistols in her brace, two of which she retrieved. She pointed the one in her right hand squarely at Jenkins.
“The bitch is here!” he said with a cackle.
“Is this to be a mutiny, then, Ashby Jenkins?” Thomasina kept her voice level, hiding her fear.
She felt Jonas lay his rifle on her shoulder. Like her, he was aiming at Jenkins.
A commotion distracted her. It was Second Mate Barnaby Collins, dragging the twins across the deck toward the crowd.
Archibald looked confused. He had welts on his face, his clothes in disarray. His sister was unmolested, but her cheeks were streaked in tears.
“You see? You see the cause of this terror?” Jenkins said in a gloating tone. “They have been making ungodly congress with each other. Ha ha! Should have known—from these Innsmouth devils.”
The rebellious crew gasped. Some cackled.
“You all with him then, you traitorous bastards?” A few of the crew looked away. Good. They were undecided.
Thomasina aimed her other flintlock at Collins. “Damn you, William Bell. Could not keep your mouth shut,” she said from the side of her mouth.
“I am sorry, Captain,” he mumbled.
“Captain knew. Captain did nothing,” Jenkins continued. He was certainly enjoying himself. “Doomed us all to nightmares and this white limbo.” He waved his free hand to starboard, indicating the mist still licking at the ship.
“Sorry,” Bell whispered in her left ear.
Thomasina took a deep breath. “Are you challenging me as captain, Jenkins?”
Laughs and jeers issued from the crowd.
“Jonas, on my mark,” she whispered.
Jenkins pulled a face—mock sadness. “Oh, do I hurt your feelings, lassie?”
“On my mark, Jonas. Take the swine’s head off.”
Then, she had another thought and switched her attention to the twins.
“True, I did not believe Bell’s drunken ramblings. So I shall deal with this cursed pair before you all. Back away, Barnaby Collins, or the lead will find your body along with these demons.”
Collins grinned widely. He gave her a nod and released the pair. The twins slumped to the deck. Archibald fell face down onto the wood.
She returned her attention to Jenkins. He looked less confident with himself, and his gun arm wavered.
“Kill him, Captain!” someone shouted.
This was followed by laughter, and “Kill him, Captain!” from others.
Oh, how their loyalties waver, she thought. But first—
She scrutinized the prisoners. There was a puddle of blood around Archibald’s face, seeping into the deck. Abitha was on her knees, staring down.
And… was she laughing?
The laughter became a scream—so piercing it stung Thomasina’s ears. The men nearest Abitha covered their ears, looks of distress filling their faces.
The girl’s screech was like nothing Thomasina had heard before. While moaning, cursing men stumbled away from the twins, Thomasina aimed her flintlock at the girl’s head. Lead shot would put an end to her ungodly hollers.
A moment later, the ship lurched heavily, sending Thomasina staggering forward—her men too.
Run aground? Attacked by another ship?
As Thomasina gained her footing, she realized The Nancy was still moving—and slightly suspended from the water, as if something had rammed the stern.
First Mate Gideon appeared at her side, steadying her.
Thomasina said, “Thank you,” then shouted, “We are under attack! Head to stern—repel the boarders!”
She saw men scuttling around in confusion, more with swords and pistols in their hands, following her orders.
Then she looked down, found the now silent Abitha gazing up, her expression filled with maleficent glee.
“See! My husband comes for me.” That mocking, bold expression disgusted Thomasina. “Perhaps he will be your husband too!”
Abitha started laughing. Thomasina, enraged, kicked her in the face. Then she turned to face the stern.
Nebulous shapes moved there—her men, most surely, but also something else. Something larger. Thomasina shoved her pistols into her belt, drew her sword, and charged forward.
Shouts and screams reached her ears as she mounted the quarterdeck steps. Thomasina hoped the latter came from the attackers, not her own crew, for those screams were bloodcurdling.
Jonas, ever loyal, joined her. The movements and sounds were much closer now.
“What is happening up there?” Jonas asked.
Thomasina had no answer.
A hurried dash across the quarterdeck followed, up the steps to the poop deck. As she mounted the deck, the fog cleared—unmercifully.
She released a choked gasp and lowered her sword as all strength departed her limbs.
Jonas screamed and fled back down the steps.
Part of Thomasina wanted to join him. This was no ship—but damned it, she wished it were.
The abomination—a giant, ungodly thing—was taller than the top mast. A mass of black, liquid horror, it was covered in eyes and mouths, and other organs less recognizable. Writhing tentacles held around half a dozen screaming men. More crewmembers lay beneath it on the poop deck—some dead and broken, others on their knees. Were they praying to God, or this thing from hell? Three of her crew had better luck and were slashing at it with their swords.
Thomasina went to go forward but found her legs immovable.
Fear. Fear overwhelmed her. The fine hairs stood up on the back of her neck. A low whine escaped her mouth—something involuntary. It was no way to act for a supposed leader of men.
Are you predator or prey, Captain Collins? she asked herself.
Thomasina gulped, shook her head, and stepped forward.
“Anyone who can hear me, man the cannons,” she yelled. “Just fire—fire! Every able-bodied man join me… NOW! Hack it down, blow it to pieces!”
A new sound left her mouth—not a whine, but a roar. She sheathed her sword as she ran towards horror unbound.
Thomasina slid the flintlocks from her belt. She did not waver, not even when the abomination’s shifting surface produced a gigantic eye—green, bigger than her, bigger than a dining table. The pupil was huge, black, and horizontal. It scrutinized her as she charged, widened as she raised her flintlocks.
The boom of the guns filled Thomasina’s ears, surrounded her with powder smoke. The eye popped with a loud crack, sending foul black liquid hissing across the deck. She skidded to a halt on the befouled boards, dropped the empty guns, and withdrew her sword and last flintlock.
The abomination shook, roared from a hundred mouths—a foghorn bellow that wracked her ears with pain. Its sudden movements made the ship lurch.
Pistol and rifle fire sang around her. The rest of the crew had obviously rallied.
The abomination’s eye was gone. In its place, a charnel-red chasm led to darkness.
Thomasina ran toward it, sword raised with grim intent.
She saw something roll toward her from the chasm. The next moment, she was flying through the air, tumbling backward toward the main deck.
A massive red tongue had struck her—a slimy, flickering thing thick with purple veins.
She hit the deck hard, banging her head. Lights flashed before her eyes as stabbing pain tore through her body.
“Uh.” She tried getting to her feet, but failed. Slumping back, she reached for her head. It felt wet. The dark shapes of the sails swayed in and out of focus above her.
By some miracle, she still gripped her sword, but her flintlock was gone.
A pair of hands pulled her up. Dazed and dizzy, Thomasina took account of her situation.
Of all her men, it was Jenkins helping her to her feet. He smiled, nodded.
She had no time to thank him, for two men were dragging Abitha past her.
“Feed her to the Devil!” Jenkins heckled.
This time, Thomasina did not disagree.
“Follow me,” she ordered.
Composing herself, she rushed after the trio on unsteady legs.
The ship lurched again—this time, the impact came from the bow, followed by the loud crunch of distressed wood.
My ship. No!
Everyone on the main deck staggered. She used their disorientation to catch up.
“Step aside, Simon. Gawen. I’ll take the girl from here.”
There was no resistance. Abitha appeared dazed, her face bloody from the nose down. Whether this was from her earlier assault or something else, Thomasina did not care. She seized the girl by the collar and dragged her forward.
Another impact rocked the deck. Unperturbed, Thomasina pulled the girl up the steps like a sleepwalker.
She dragged her prisoner’s stumbling form onto the quarterdeck, then toward the poop deck. The crew had stopped shouting and firing, making this section of ship eerily silent. The clearing mist revealed the abomination in full monstrous glory—closer now, its horrible leprous bulk having mounted the poop deck.
Its hideous lack of solidity took Thomasina aback. Of the men recently battling it, there was no sign.
Oh, sweet Jesus. All gone.
The eye had returned—or perhaps it was a new one. It stared with inhuman malice. The mouths surrounding it gibbered silently. Tentacles thrashed the deck.
A commotion of footsteps told her the men from the main deck had followed.
“Stay back!” Thomasina ordered. She pulled the girl to her chest, raised her sword to her throat.
“Do you understand me, beast? Sea devil?” she shouted. “Call off your attack or you’ll get a bride without a head!”
Thomasina meant it. She pressed her sword hard against the girl’s prone throat, finally eliciting a yelp.
“Save me, Father Dagon,” Abitha whimpered.
Did it understand? The behemoth’s tentacles seemed to waver. The thrashing subsided to something less violent.
“You do understand me, do you not?”
The monster started to back off. Its massive form shifted slowly from the deck, leaving behind a trail of noxious-looking green slime.
“Captain!” said a panting voice. Gideon. She did not turn. Her eyes stayed locked on the retreating horror, sword still pressed against the limp girl’s neck.
“Bowsprit and forecastle. Completely crushed. She’s going down for sure.”
So the damned devil had pinned them against some rocks or reef, killing her ship. An overwhelming sadness replaced her fear.
My ship. My heart. What shall I do?
All thoughts and feelings were quashed suddenly as The Nancy’s stern began to drop. The abomination’s weight—or removal of it—was sending her down, hard.
“Everybody back away!” Thomasina yelled. “Abandon ship. Launch the longboat and get yourselves upon it!”
She only hoped enough men were left even to do so.
The abomination retreated into the fog’s remnants. Subdued, it left her with a sinking ship–and a crew in their watery graves or, worse, rotting away in its foul belly.
***
They launched the longboat at around the same time the abomination departed the ship. Twelve men out of forty-two had survived—not including her and their female prisoner.
Of Abitha’s brother, Thomasina did not know. Did not care.
The fog had completely lifted as they abandoned ship.
Now, some minutes later, Thomasina watched her venerable ship sinking hard to stern. Half of her was underwater now, the rest protruding from the sea from the main deck forwards.
The abomination had rammed them into Innsmouth’s Devil’s Reef.
Ironic really. Losing the ship there. Probably not by accident.
Thomasina shed a tear, watching the hungry black waves swallow her ship and her livelihood.
At least she—and what remained of her crew: Gideon, Jenkins, and a handful of others—had their lives.
“Destination, Captain?”
The words shook her from her trance. Helmsman Jonas had addressed her. Good man. A survivor. He stood opposite her at the stern, a sentinel against the clear night sky.
“Steer her to port—toward Falcon Point.”
That way, they’d give Innsmouth a wide berth. Then she’d have them row inland, toward Ipswich.
Innsmouth. Cursed place!
This thought turned her gaze to their prisoner.
Sat to starboard, crouched, arms and legs tightly trussed. All their lives depended on Abitha’s continued presence.
“Abitha,” she said. “Your Order of Dagon—it must have deep pockets, yes?”
The girl had been staring downward, her expression sullen. She looked up, eyes fiery, her expression one of disgust.
“You already have our gold,” she said, and glared at the space between Thomasina’s feet.
Thomasina leaned forward.
Oh, my lord. The gold! The jewels!
The old, crumbling chest had been shoved under her seat. Perhaps some mutinous bastard had stashed it there during the chaos. She had not seen anyone carrying it during their panicked exodus from the ship.
“Bless you, you mutinous dog—whoever you are.”
Footsteps distracted her from the chest. It was Jonas, walking across the deck toward her spot at the bow.
He sat himself to port, facing the Innsmouth girl.
She was a fine ship,” he said, smiling sadly.
Thomasina nodded. “That she was, Jonas. That she was.”
Farther away now, The Saucy Nancy had sunk down to the forecastle. Soon, it would be the forepeak—and then?
Then she would be home to the fishes.
The fishes…and the other ungodly things that roamed the black waters beneath Devil’s Reef.
Despite her sorrow, Thomasina smiled. She had treasure enough to sail again.
But never again these waters.
Not for all the gold in Innsmouth.
