Dark Voyage

Chapter Two

Chapter TwoSEPTEMBER

Home is the sailor, home from the sea

Robert Louis Stevenson

Jesus it's cold! I'm going to die; I'm going to die right now.

'Don't panic!' Lauren strove to remember all the swimming lessons she had learned as a child, but reality in the North Sea was far different from anything imposed upon her within the safe confines of a swimming pool. She tried to scream, swallowing water by the mouthful until she heard somebody singing within her head. The sound was so sweet, so melodious that she stopped struggling to listen; the worst of her terror dissipated and she kicked feebly with her legs.

When the lights are soft and low

And the quiet shadows falling

Surfacing in an explosion of water, she shook the clinging wet hair from her face and looked around, seeing only the troubled surface of the sea, a nightmare of broken waves and blowing spindrift. She gasped, gagged and spewed out seawater.

'Kenny!'

'Here! I'm here!'

He was a few yards from her, his head bobbing in the water and one arm waving weakly. She kicked toward him, cursing the clumsy orange suit for slowing her down.

'Lauren! Look at the berg!'

In the few seconds since they were capsized, the iceberg had shrunk further, exposing the dark shape within.

'It's a ship,' Kenny's voice was husky with fear, but live with amazement. 'There's an old fashioned sailing ship inside the ice!'

Treading water desperately, Lauren nodded, 'so I see.'

With every second, great sheets of ice melted away, exposing more of the vessel within the berg. As Lauren looked, two masts were exposed, stretching toward the troubled sky. Years, perhaps centuries of enclosure in the ice had stripped the spars of everything save the bare poles, so there were no yards, no rigging or anything else to provide propulsion power. It was as if hardship had reduced the vessel to a skeleton, with all surplus flesh or fittings peeled off, leaving only basic essentials. There was a single, pencil thin smokestack between the masts, and a bowsprit thrusting delicately forward from the black, worn hull, as if the vessel was pointing a hopeless finger outward to the sea. A single small boat sat upside down on the deck.

'What in God's name …' Kenny shook his head. 'How did that get there?'

'Who cares?' Lauren began to swim forward. 'Let's get on board!'

He glanced at her, obviously not understanding until she jabbed vigorously toward the ship. 'Come on Kenny! It's either that or we'll drown out here!'

'But it'll sink! There's no way it'll float!'

'We have no choice!' Grabbing at his arm, she pushed him in the direction of what remained of the iceberg, from which the two- masted vessel was rapidly emerging, like a butterfly from a glistening chrysalis.

They swam frantically, churning the already disturbed water, dodging the floating pieces of ice and trusting to fate or a benevolent God to help them avoid those that cascaded toward them. By the time they reached the vessel it was nearly free of ice, bucking to the rhythm of the storm but still floating, still offering a vestige of hope.

Jesus, help us here; help us survive this day!

'It's a miracle,' Lauren looked up at the black painted planking of her hull. Swimming with a powerful over arm stroke, she reached the stern, where the last remnants of ice offered a slippery foothold and access to the vessel.

'It's sinister,' Kenny dragged himself onto the ice behind her, lying gasping for air as waves smashed in white and green fury within a hand span of his face. He coughed up seawater, drawing his knees up to his chest as he began to retch uncontrollably.

Lauren was in no better shape, as her limbs began to tremble with delayed reaction. She vomited, bringing up a gush of burning fluid that racked her chest and seemed to tear her insides out.

'For God's sake!'

'We can't stay here,' Kenny drew his sodden sleeve over his face. 'At the rate the ice is melting, we'll be back in the water inside a minute.' He nodded to the ship. 'We'll have to go on board and just hope it's not rotted to hell.'

'I don't know about rotted,' Lauren tried to stand on the ice, slithered and balanced precariously, her hands wavering as she held them out to the side, 'but she's certainly been on fire; look at the taffrail.' The paint on the vessel's stern was blistered, with the wood charred in places so the name was virtually undecipherable. Lauren slowly traced the letters. 'Lady Balgay; Dundee. I've never heard of her.'

'Nor have I,' Kenny pulled himself over the taffrail and gingerly tested the deck planking. 'It seems sound enough,' he said. 'I thought I might fall right through.' He put out a hand to help Lauren on board.

'Maybe the ice has helped preserve her,' Lauren joined him, looking around her with unconcealed interest. 'This is unbelievable; it's like a ghost ship, a Scottish Marie Celeste.'

'A what?' Kenny looked confused.

'Marie Celeste; she was found floating abandoned in mid Atlantic centuries ago and nobody knows what happened to her crew.'

'Oh aye. I remember now.' Kenny moved forward, placing every foot down with great care. 'But now we're here, what do we do?'

'We just stay put,' Lauren felt a sudden surge of confidence; she had escaped drowning, so nothing mattered as much. 'When this thing shows up on the radar, the coastguard will try to contact her, and within a week while there'll be somebody out here to ask questions.'

'As long as she stays afloat that long.'

Of course she will. Lauren did not voice the words that rose unbidden to her mind. 'We'll be fine now we're here. The squall's passing anyway.'

The wind had died to nearly nothing, and in place of the screaming gale and murderous seas, a thick mist had settled around Lady Balgay, clinging to the hull and dragging from the skeletal masts in tendrils of ominous grey.

'I don't like this,' Kenny glanced forward, where the mist coiled around the fittings, creating a hundred spectral shapes that moved and writhed and shifted uneasily along the deck. 'It's uncanny.'

'It's all right,' Lauren smiled to him. 'I don't know why, but I know we're safe here. I think we should explore.'

'I don't agree.' Kenny slumped against the solid wood of the mizzen mast, glancing at the binnacle. The glass was smashed and the compass needle pointed permanently south east. 'I think we should stay right here.'

Lauren shrugged; 'you do that, then. I'm going to have a look round.'

The desire was overwhelming, compelling her to investigate, forcing her to examine this vessel that had emerged from an iceberg in the middle of a North Sea squall.

I have to see more: it's safe; she's looking after me.

Who is looking after me?

Kenny sighed. 'I'll come too, then. It might be warmer than sitting here freezing my arse off.'

'And that would be a waste,' Lauren deliberately angled her eyes towards his bottom, 'it's such a nice arse, too.'

'What? Have you been taking something?'

She laughed at his embarrassment. 'Don't pretend you're shy; we know each other well enough now!'

'I think you should go first,' keeping a safe distance, Kenny followed as she explored the vessel.

Save for the charring at the stern, the deck of Lady Balgay was sound, although slippery after years trapped in ice. Lauren led them forward, pointing to a jagged scar under the bowsprit. 'That's interesting.' Where other visible sections of the vessel were painted black or held traces of yellow varnish, the bow was bare and raw with splintered wood weathered by years of exposure.

'These look like axe marks,' Kenny touched the bare wood. 'But why would somebody take an axe to the bow of an old sailing ship like this?'

'And then burn the stern?' Lauren grinned to him. 'It seems that we have boarded a real mystery ship.' She leaned closer, still shivering with the cold, but intrigued by Lady Balgay and driven by that suddenly renewed zest for life.

Perhaps it's a reaction to having survived. I don't care; I know I must see what's in this vessel.

'Who is this ship anyway, and how did she get stuck inside an iceberg? And even more importantly, how did she appear just a few miles off Scotland?' Questions raced through her mind, following one another so closely that they tripped over themselves in their rush to be answered.

'God knows.' Kenny tried to control his shivering. 'Won't there be some records on board? A log book or something?'

'Let's look,' Lauren decided for them both. 'After all, if she's survived this long, I doubt she'll sink now. And all we have to do is sit tight and wait to be rescued.'

'Let's hope it's not long,' Kenny said. 'I'm freezing.' He forced a smile and began to whistle a sad little tune.

'Where did you hear that?'

'Hear what?' Kenny stared at her.

'That tune?' It was the same tune that she had heard in the water. Frowning, she jabbed a sharp elbow into his ribs. 'Anyway, stop it. It'll bring bad luck.'

'What?' He stared at her, 'what will bring bad luck?'

'Whistling on a ship,' she smiled, slightly embarrassed. 'Or so I've heard, but I've no idea where that came from!'

Kenny looked away. 'I think we should stay on deck,' he told her. 'We don't know how safe this ship is. If it crumbles, we'll be back in the water again.'

Lauren looked over the side. The sea around Lady Balgay was artificially calm, as though some guardian angel had put down a blessing to protect them, or perhaps the storm was just gathering its strength for another and final assault. The cloud continued to circle, anti-clockwise and ominously dark.

'This ship saved our lives,' Lauren reminded.

'And it might take them back.' Kenny shuddered. 'It's not natural, Lauren. The iceberg should not have been here, and neither should this ship.'

He's right; I should be scared but I'm not.

'So let's make the most of it. Let's find the captain's cabin.'

That's where he will be. That's where who will be? She shook her head; what was she thinking about?

'Jesus!' Kenny stopped so suddenly that she started.

'Kenny? Don't do that to me? What's wrong?'

'Can't you see him? Can't you see somebody standing there?' Kenny stared; pointing to the mainmast, but quickly shook his head. 'No; it's just a shadow. For a second I could have sworn there was a man there.'

'Now you're being stupid. What did he look like?'

'Tall, but I could not see his face.' Kenny shrugged, dismissing the incident. 'It's just my imagination. There's no real mystery here, of course. We saw the scorch marks. This ship caught fire and the crew abandoned her.'

'Maybe you're right,' Lauren thought it best not to mention the ship's boat that lay intact and hull up on deck.

Lady Balgay was flush decked save for a small deckhouse, and while the forward hatch was covered and battened closed, the aft hatch cover opened far too easily to a short companionway leading down to the interior. Lauren looked into the depths for a moment, adjusting her eyes to the faint light that filtered from the hatch opening. The gloom should have been forbidding but she descended the oak treads with no hesitation and pulled open a door, so small that they both had to duck to enter.

'That door opened very smoothly,' Kenny pointed out wonderingly, 'There's not even a trace of rust,'

'Maybe the ice preserved it,'

'Maybe it did.'

The door led to a small passageway, cowering under low deck beams above, and with three doors, dimly seen. The first door also opened to Lauren's touch, and they peered inside. The cabin was tiny, barely more than a cupboard, but it held a single, mould riddled bunk and a sagging bookshelf complete with a row of books ruined with damp. Dim light struggled through a bolted porthole.

'Imagine a man staying in a place like this for months on end,' Kenny stepped further inside, wrinkling his nose at the stench of damp. 'Look at that, though,' raising his hand, he touched a splintered hole in the varnished wood above the door. 'I would say that was a bullet hole.'

'A bullet hole? Lauren was unimpressed as she looked closer. The hole was not large. 'Perhaps there was a mutiny.'

'God knows. Is this the captain's cabin?'

Lauren shrugged her shoulders, but somehow she knew the answer. 'No; it's not.' Leading them outside, she ignored the hatch that led to the dark bowels of the vessel and pushed open the second door. 'This looks more promising.'

She stepped forward, uncertain what she would find but sure that she was safe. She stopped dead. 'Oh my God!'

Sitting on the edge of the bed, the man was leaning forward, one hand pointing at the door, and the other resting on top of a flat, japanned tin case. Wide spaced above gaunt cheekbones on which sprouted a dark beard, his eyes stared sightlessly ahead, while the skin was taut on a fleshless face that had been dead for many decades.

'Sweet Jesus in heaven,' Kenny said softly. 'Who the hell is that?'

'It might be the captain,' Lauren stood for a minute, gazing at the corpse. That song she had heard in the sea returned, soothing sweetly around her head, strangely calming even as it augmented the atmosphere of infinite sadness in this small cabin.

It's not the captain. It's Him.

Her eyes roamed around the cabin, noting the single desk and the varnish peeling from the woodwork; instinctively she straightened the pile of papers. There was a bookshelf laden with sodden nautical volumes, a chart fixed to a small table and a bunk, neatly made except for the black mould that covered what had once been the covers. The smell of damp and decay was overpowering.

'Welcome home, Captain.' Kenny said quietly. He touched the revolver that sat on the bed, half hidden beneath a fur of red rust. 'Here's the g*n. Maybe he went mad and shot the rest of the crew.'

'We'll never know by speculating,' Lauren felt a sense of infinite loss. 'Let's find the ship's papers. The log book might tell us.' She indicated the japanned case held by the dead man, 'and I think it will be in there.'

Kenny recoiled. 'You can't touch that.'

'Yes I can.' It was the first time in her life that Lauren had been in close contact with a corpse, but she felt no repugnance at all as she gently prised free the skeletal fingers. They parted easily, as if the dead man was glad to be free of the burden he had carried for so long, and she eased the case away.

'I must look in here.'

'Maybe it's full of gold.' Memories of childhood stories of treasure ships removed some of Kenny's distaste.

'Maybe it is,' Lauren encouraged his fantasy as she turned the key that protruded from the lock. It moved easily, as if it were only a few days since it had been last used, rather than scores of years. Moving back to gain more space, she opened the lid. 'No pieces of eight or doubloons,' she said quietly, 'but something far more interesting.'

Pulling out a thin pile of documents and a bound notebook, she placed them on the desk. 'These must be the captain's personal papers. There are a small sheaf of letters he must have written but been unable to post, and what looks like his journal.' She looked in the box again. 'There's no logbook though, which is disappointing.' She stared at the dead man, wondering what personal tragedy he had experienced, and how it had felt as he sat at his desk, the only man left in Lady Balgay, and what it had been like to die alone in an abandoned ship.

Welcome home; welcome home at last.

That music was back, syrupy smooth and insistent; the words indistinct but seeping into her mind. 'I think we should read the journal.'

'The captain may object,' Kenny did not go near the dead man.

'I don't think that's the captain.'

Why did I say that? There was no reason except a gut feeling that was so strong, enhanced with a feeling of quiet desperation she knew came from the man in the chair, that she had no doubt she was correct.

'Let's get away from here,' Kenny had retreated to the doorway. 'Get back on deck until the lifeboat comes.'

'I must read this; he wants me to.' The statement came from nowhere, but Lauren would not be denied. Although she was still dripping wet she felt no discomfort as she scraped the captain's chair back from the desk and lowered herself carefully into it.

'He wants you to?' Kenny stared at her. 'Listen to yourself, Lauren.'

'You go on deck if you like. I'm fine here.'

'With that? With him?' Kenny gestured to the dead man, who continued to point to the open door as if indicating something.

Lauren glanced over her shoulder. 'He's harmless.'

He wants me here.

Brushing fragments of white shell from the surface of the desk, she put down the journal. The leather cover was brown and shiny, as if it had just come from the shelf of a quality stationery shop. She opened it, wondering what was inside.