Giant's Zawn

There’s nothing like the feeling of clear skies and calm seas, when the wind billows out the sails and the ship glides through the waters like a stone over ice. Today is not one of those days.

“Can’t you do anything, Kipps?” The captain yells up to me from the deck.

“No, sir. I’m fightin’ the wheel as ‘tis.” The pull isn’t too hard to port, but enough to take most of my concentration. If I’m not careful Tethys will end up in the shallows, or worse, dashed against the jagged rocks that line the north coast of Cornwall.

“I’m sick of this,” Amory mutters behind me. “After those weeks of shore leave in Bristol, we should be underway and across the seas. Instead he takes this pitiful job to Penzance and we’re in the shit again.”

“Be grateful. The problem would’ve ‘appened in open water and no safe port near.” I keep my voice low. On this eighty-foot ship, teeming with crew, there’s no telling who can hear a conversation. Both the captain and his first mate will easily leave a sailor they didn’t trust in the first harbour available, likely without wage either. Amory just harrumphs his displeasure but doesn’t disagree. He’s been a sailor longer than most of the other crewmen have been alive. He can be grumpy sometimes, but he knows the sea better than all of us together.

“Our luck hasn’t changed yet. That’s going to be nasty.” He nods off starboard, out toward Ireland. I follow his direction with my own gaze, but see nothing except the mirage of sun heating the waters on the horizon. A whistle brings all eyes skyward. Hammond waves wildly toward the exact point Amory just indicated, and then lets out the whistle for poor weather. I marvel yet again at Amory’s uncanny knowledge of the sea while gritting my teeth against the frustration of more bad news.

Thumping on the planks herald the approach of the captain. He stands at the rail and puts his own brass monocular to his eye, straining to see what Hammond warned of. On the side of the monocular is a stamped relief image of the new young Queen Victoria I’d not noticed before.

“Storm front, but the water’s calm. Fog, I think, but we’ll know when it comes our way.” The captain said.

“’ow long we got, sir?” I tug at the wheel again to correct our path, but soon enough it is pulling away again.

“Hour, two at the most. The sea will be calm, so we’ll pull in the sails and go slow to not get caught on the shores. St Ives isn’t too far, we can moor there for a time.” The captain snaps the monocular closed, marking the end of any discussions. I nod to him, knowing better than to argue.

I watch him walk back down the deck, probably to go warn the other men. When he joined the crew almost six year ago, it took some time for the crew to get used to his ways. He is the fourth son of some lordling up the way, who took a fancy to the seas. His inheritance bought him the Tethys, a two mast merchant brig. All those year ago he was jovial and fresh faced, all the markings of a spoiled brat. None of us had expected him to last long, but he’d pulled his weight and finally won over the men when he saved Jones from some loose barrels during a storm on open seas. He’d received a nasty scar across his face for his trouble, and a limp which troubled him when bad weather threatened, but he still held himself upright and proud. He was one of us now, salt water in his veins, but no amount of sea legs would take that iron rod from his spine.

The crew busy themselves with preparing for poor weather, securing anything loose on deck, battening down the hatches, and shifting the cargo below to help with the list that I’m still fighting the wheel for. There’s no telling how heavy the fog will be and with how close we’re hugging the coastline, we pray to any deity who will listen to help us just limp that much further to safety. I mark the wheel and the post above with a line so that no matter what I will know which way is straight, so long as those two meet.

The fog lifts slow from the waters. First tendrils of mist weep up the hull, wetting our ankles and making the wooden deck slick. The weak March sun burns off most of these, but the mist still rises. Finally the grey curtain of fog billows up the ship. I watch it flow over us, like Tethys is a lover stepping into the shade of a tree for a stolen kiss. We slide from of the sunlight and under the skirts of the clouds. From my vantage point, I can’t see the prow or even to the foremost mast. I let out the whistles which signal for help from the others. There’s a short patter of footsteps as the men race to the rails to help me spot any dangers. We’re creeping through the waters now.

The silence of fog always sets my teeth on edge. Water laps at the hull, innocent as if we were in a harbour. When I lie in my bunk at night, the caress of the waves against the wood is the love song that soothes me. In fog, the same sound is the shocked quiet that comes before a slap. I don’t want to be in this moment, but as helmsman, it is my duty to see Tethys through to calm seas and clear skies.

The whistle comes from the front most man on the port side, a long low whistle telling me we’re close by something, but not in immediate danger of hitting it. I look to my chalk line, but it matches. I don’t know of any sudden headland hereabouts that comes these two miles out to sea, nor any pillars which split the waters. I listen for the next whistle down the line. I should hear each in turn down the port side as we pass by, but none comes. Instead a short, high-pitched alarm sounds from the nearest man on starboard. Imminent danger of striking a rock broadside. I twist the wheel to port in hopes we swing away from the peril.

A yell of surprise comes from the same man, and there’s a shuffle and press of men as they gather close to him to see what he’s spotted. The fog muffles the words, but I can hear hurried discussion, but there’s no thump or scrape on the side of the ship so I guess I’ve missed whatever was there. I swing the wheel back to starboard to correct the path, guessing by how much I’ve sent her off the way. The lines meet back up and I hope I’m heading out to sea or down the coast, not to port and into the shallows. I listen for more whistles, but the conversation of the crewmen draws my attention. I hear the low timbre of the captain join them.

Few words are exchanged, though I catch none of them, and then footsteps approach the quaterdeck, where I’m stationed. The shadow of the captain forms itself as the man steps from the fog.

“Everything alright, sir?” I don’t take my eyes from the line, correcting it as the errant rudder pulls it clockwise.

“The men say there’s something in the water. Something large and flat and covered in hair.” He doesn’t sound alarmed, just mildly irritated. Sometimes men at sea are worse than little girls for fairy tales and fables.

“Hair? Sure t’weren’t a turtle with seaweed growing on ‘is back?”

“I suggested the same thing, Kipps, but they were quite certain it was hair on a rounded rock. Jones there even swears he saw eyes blinking at him where it met the waves before it sank below and disappeared.” He tuts and shakes his head.

“Blow me, what will ‘e fink of next? Sounds most certainly like a turtle if it sank beneath the surf. T’will be of no harm to us, though it’s early in the year to see a turtle.” The captain nods at my words, looking grimly at the fog which encloses us.

A piercing whistle splits the air from the prow. Something immediately ahead which we’re heading straight into. Calls for the men to brace themselves follow quickly. I loose the wheel, letting it spin itself in hopes that we will change course. A hit on the side is much easier to cope with than fully on the prow which could sink the ship. Yells break out on the deck below, men sprint to and fro as they try to get to safety. The captain grips the rail beside himself as the sharp movement throws him off balance.

The deck beneath my feet judders as we make contact. I barely keep upright.

There was no sound of wood splintering, so I still have hope we won’t capsize or wreck. As we’re no longer moving, I can hear the waves splashing against the stern. I catch the wheel, hoping the rudder is still intact. I can hear footsteps rush to the prow as the men check the damage.

My ears catch a panicked scream that cuts off unnaturally.

All hell breaks loose. Shots perforate the rallying shouts, but there’s no clear enemy.

I can see nothing but shadows as men dart back and forth. Beside me, the captain swears under his breath. A looming darkness hovers overhead, like a bird the size of a man in flight, before descending down on to the deck. The captain runs forward into the fog, and I lose sight of him in the chaos.

A boom echoes across the waves as something makes contact with the hull from beneath. The deck shifts again as it’s lifted up, throwing me against the wheel. I barely hold on as we splash down to the water, bobbing for a moment like cork in wine. I feel the wheel again wrench from my grip, but this time there’s a wet snap and it spins loose. I know immediately the rudder lines have broken. I don’t have any more control than a babe in a peram.

I sink to my knees, unsure what to do. I’m a helmsman, my job is to stick to the helm. I don’t go anywhere unless I’m told. I don’t know what’s out there waiting for me. We aren’t pitching sideways so we aren’t sinking just yet, but the screams of the men let me know it’s a probability. The shouts of warning are punctuated by splashes as men jump overboard to try for the shore. That escape isn’t possible for me. I remain at my station as a good helmsman should.

Footsteps race toward me in the fog from up ship. I push backward, my heart ripping itself from my throat. It forms to Hammond, the young lad from the crow’s nest. He trips and falls at my feet, his eyes wild in fear as he scrabbles for my ankles.

“A hand! It’s a man the size of a house and he’s in the water-” His words are cut off as a shadow forms itself above us. A pointed finger descends from the skies and taps Hammond on the head. It would be a tap for a normal sized man, but the force is like a punch to the jaw. Hammond’s eyes roll and flutter as he slumps unconscious to the floor. The finger is the width of my torso, the hand it’s attached to is merely a hazy form above us dripping seawater on the deck. I hug closer to the wheel post, praying I won’t be seen or heard.

Tethys wrenches to port, like a horse being corrected at the bit. I feel her groan in complaint at her new master. We travel with some haste to what I can only guess is shoreward. There is minimal wind and most our sails are tied away, I can hear the one remaining unfurled flapping useless some ways above me. A few shouts call out from the deck, some to me to ask where we are headed, but I’m not controlling this ship any longer so I remain silent. Close by, Hammond’s blood pools from his ears and mouth onto the deck. I watch his chest and he’s breathing, but I can tell his injury is bad.

Fear blooms in my chest. My heart is a wild bird trapped in a cage.

My guess that we are headed shoreward is confirmed when I begin to hear the dull roar of surf against rocks ahead. It’s a noise that makes any sailor’s hair raise on his nape. The fear grips at my throat, gleefully choking me. At least if I am thrown against rocks I won’t have to drown.

The fog still shrouds us. Fitting as we are headed for our own funerals. My chuckle cuts through the panic. Tethys groans her displeasure at being dragged inland. The tell-tale grating of gravel against the keel feels like scratches on my own skin. In the very least we’re beached. I wait for the settling, when she’ll slowly tip to one side as the tide ebbs and leaves us in water too shallow to keep us upright. Instead, there’s an unnatural heave and we’re jerked forward by whatever drags us.

It’s strong enough to take us through water and on to land too. I don’t know what creature could do that.

The fog clears some, giving me a sudden sight of the deck below. In some places there’s blood, dragged in swathes across the planks. Some men lay in crumpled heaps, much like Hammond beside me. Near the rails of the prow I can see the rich blue of the captain’s coat half hidden by some barrels. I can’t see clearly ahead of us, but there is something strange about the prow, though I can’t tell for certain straight off what it could be. Then something shifts and I understand what I’m looking at.

A rope is slung across the front of the ship, bigger than I’ve ever seen. It’s as thick as my thigh, riddled with seaweed which hangs from the twists of the rope down on to the deck. It slackens slightly, and then goes taut, straining against the prow. I feel us shift again, hauled over the seabed which ceases any natural progression.

I sink my head into my arms, unwilling to see this devil who is reeling us to shore like a fisherman.

Tethys rocks me where I’m curled around the wheel post. The motion of the heave and rest all I hear alongside the battling waves. I whisper a prayer of protection.

Finally, the air changes around me. A cloying, earthy coolness picks at my shirt. Tethys is pulled into darkness. I look up to see the maw of a cave swallow her whole. The crow’s nest at the tip of her aft mast, the taller of the two, is bent against the lip of the arch above with one heave, and then snapped off entirely with the next. I watch numbly as it pitches downward, only caught by the rigging which still is entwined around it. Splintered chunks of wood rain down on the silent deck below.

Blinking helps my eyes adjust to the darkness. I can’t make out anything except shadows shifting in the deepest recesses. Every sound in here echoes. The waves still lap at the hull, but they rebound against the walls. The cave isn’t much wider than Tethys, but it’s so deep that I still can’t make out a back wall beyond the tip of her prow.

I look behind me. The mouth of the cave isn’t much further beyond her stern. I could attempt to flee that way, but it would mean diving into water that I’m not sure I can stand in. If I’m unable to wade to the shore I will be lucky if the current sweeps me to safety before it pulls me below. Indecision roots me to the spot.

“No, please. Oh god, save my soul!” The shout brings my attention back to the fore in time to see Amory being dragged over the side of the deck. I wait to hear the splash, but none comes. Instead he’s hefted upward by the ankle, limbs flailing wildly as he screams.

I try to make out what has hold of him, but the darkness hides the beast within.

Amory is held aloft above the Tethys. He flaps, trying to knock his coat from his face so he can see his foe. A tendril approaches him, and I finally make sense of what I’m looking at.

The grizzled and scarred hand of a man pokes Amory’s rotund stomach, much as someone would test meat at the butcher’s stall. I fold myself under the ornate podium that fronts the wheel post, crushing myself to the wood as I take in the horrifying sight I can see through the floral design. The man is huge, his hands the size of carts, his head bigger than a Lord’s carriage. He towers over the Tethys, and he only kneels in the shallows. The water that is deeper than I am tall only comes to his thighs as he sits. If he stood his head would surely hit the roof of the cave we’re hidden in. All over his pale skin he has dark, coarse hair, except on the palms of his hands and the upper half of his face. His eyes squint, blacker than night, as he appraises Amory. By how close he holds the flailing man, I think he must have poor eyesight. His clothes are swathes of seaweed, draped across his torso in a sort of wet, slippery tunic. He’s the true vision of a nightmare, a demon of hell. My blood runs cold as he swings Amory over to a makeshift cage built into the wall of the cave. It has an open top, and the monster drops Amory carelessly into it. The man hits the bottom with a sickening thump.

The monster’s attention returns to the ship. Delicately he pokes the form of the captain, who is still not moving. The monster lifts the captain by the ankle, but this time there is no struggle. The captain falls limply from the monster’s grasp, like a child’s doll. The monster twists the captain to better inspect him. Again the hand comes up, forefinger extended, and pokes at the stomach of the captain, who begins to rouse.

The monster tilts his head this way and that, contemplating as the captain comes to full consciousness and I watch the realisation of his predicament ripple across his face. He begins to yell, but before he can form any real words the monster grasps the captain in his hand and shoves him underwater. I can see the captain’s limbs scrabble at the digits of the hand pushing him down. I see bubbles and splashes, and then turn my eyes away from the struggle. The face that hangs over the captain’s fight shows no fury or remorse as the monster drowns the captain as easily as one would drown a malformed kitten.

Once the struggle has ceased, the monster releases the captain’s body carelessly, letting it ebb with the swiftly retreating tide. The monster returns to its work, picking over the bodies which remain on the deck, determining which he will keep for his larder, and which will be put in the water. Each are inspected, with only the plumpest fellows kept. No one else struggles when they’re held under, as the rest are already out. My eyes are transfixed on the blue coat of the captain, his body now risen to the top. His eyes bulge in everlasting fear, his tongue swollen in his mouth. He floats, peacefully it seems to me, bobbing along with the waves, past the side of the ship and out through the mouth of the cave, trailed closely by Jones, Smith, and Whitehouse. Each of them looking like dancers following the steps of a waltz as they go.

The ship groans and pitches to the side. I grasp hold of my wheel post to stay aboard and hidden. The monster is reaching down the length of the ship, squeezing himself between the starboard hull and the cave wall. Doing this, he’s just able to reach the quarterdeck where I remain. For a moment I fear my hiding spot has been discovered, but the searching fingers strain to catch hold of Hammond’s trouser leg. The tip of the colossal digit catches the loose breeches of the boy and drags him within range, and Hammond too is held aloft for inspection.

I fear that my time is nearing. I know soon I too will be discovered, inspected, and my fate will be decided. I don’t know which choice would be worse, but I don’t carry much weight so I know which is more likely.

Taking my chance as he’s looking over Hammond, I run for it.

I launch myself out from under the wheel, racing for the stern of the boat. I throw myself off, hoping the water has receded enough for me to wade to shore, but I don’t have time to second guess my choice.

As I’m falling from the high stern, I can see the water isn’t as shallow as I hoped.

The waves hit me full force in the face. The coldness of the springtime waters stealing the warmth of my body in an instant. I’m tossed against the hull of the ship, turned over in the spray and then pulled away. With no air in my lungs I sink like a stone.

I stare at the bottom of Tethys, noting dimly that the angle of the rudder is worse than I’d even imagined. Her figure is rapidly fading into the murky blue. I’ve escaped the giant’s cupboard, but the sea wrenches me into her embrace.