The Flying Dutchman

De storm

The Cape of Good Hope brought nothing but foul fortune. The world swayed beneath me as I stared out at my cargo, drowning beneath the chaos of the waves. Crack after crack became the anthem of the night as lightning bolts lit up the sky before diving into the water below. There were more sounds—this much was true—but my ears were deaf to them. The screams, the groans, and the grunts, were nothing more than a buzz knocking at my eardrums. I could not take my eyes off the boxes of wool and glassware and tobacco that now broke through the water’s surface, going ever lower, ever further from my grasp.

And there, in the distance, hidden behind a curtain of rain, I could have sworn I saw a ship. I stumbled towards the gunwale, eager to see this fellow ship caught in my torment. Is it glowing red?

“Captain! We must turn back!” The words pulled me away from the strange ship and back to the nightmare of my reality. It was Thomas’ voice that called out to me from within the night’s bloody chorus.

“And why is that?” My voice was stern—a captain’s voice. I had trained myself to speak in a manner befitting my rank, even if my heart lay beating on the ocean floor.

“The storm will kill us, Captain William. It has already taken most of our cargo,” Thomas said as he held onto the topmast to keep himself from falling over. And next to him, tied to that very mast, was Peter—a half-wit if I've ever seen one. If the sea wanted you dead, a piece of wood would do naught to stop it.

“Most, not all. I will not return to London empty-handed.” I turned back to the gunwale. One would think I was looking out at the storm. I was not. I was looking for the strange ship. It had vanished, and soon, the storm with it. The nightmare was over.

***

When the sun finally crept up from behind the mountains, I, along with some of my men, took what was left of my cargo to shore.

The walls of the castle loomed over us like a giant hand, itching to smash us into the ground. And it might as well have happened, for all the good the castle did me. We were welcomed into the Great Hall by an escort of Dutch guards who cared little for what I had to ask them.

The Great Hall was as great as one would think, greater even. The stone walls shone with a brightness that could rival any lamp, and what didn’t shine was hidden behind the finest paintings I had ever seen. Large portraits of seafaring vessels crashing over waves and portraits of islands still yet to be discovered blessed the walls. The floor beneath us was covered with a thick red mat finding its origin beneath the throne as if the color had bled out of it.

What sat on that throne was less great. The Governor clambered off his golden chair like a dying sow. He wheezed and coughed as he finally reached the bottom of the stairs.

“And what do you want, Englishmen?” he managed to croak out, his Dutch accent nearly as thick as he was.

I did not answer. Instead, I waved Peter over, and he proceeded to place the chest of what was left of our goods at my feet. I cracked open the chest and pushed it toward the round Governor.

“I am here to make you an offer you shall not find anywhere across the seven seas, Your Majesty,” I said. He perked up after hearing me refer to him as royalty. So, I continued. “For all that lies within that chest, you can keep—for ten thousand pounds.”

I do not remember what he said to that but I will never forget his laugh.

He cackled and cackled and cackled. His belly bounced with every wheeze and every cough that his body retched out. Even the guards joined in. Soon, it all became nothing but a buzz in my ears, pounding at my eardrums. In my deafened state, I spotted a woman hiding behind a golden pillar. Her violet eyes regarded me with pity before she ran off as quickly as she had appeared.

We returned to the ship after Thomas convinced me to meet with the Khoikhoi. Thomas, who had been one of them some time ago, had translated our meeting. We left the natives only a few silver pieces richer after a group of hunters bought a pipe and what was left of my tobacco. Where they got the silver, I did not care to find out.

As we reached the ship, Thomas suggested that we count our losses, take the silver we had and head back to England before our supplies dwindled even further.

“We will not leave this damned place before I have the money to pay back this ship. I will not become some impoverished deckhand,” I retorted.

For the rest of the day, I locked myself in my captain’s cabin. I had to think. I could head to Madagascar and sell what was left of the cargo there? Surely it would be a luxury to those people. No. The journey there would swallow what little was left of our provisions. Perhaps I could... No. Whichever wits I once had had vanished along with my cargo.

I reached beneath my hammock and grabbed the small locked box I kept for emergencies. I pulled the key out from within my shoe and unlocked it. The pistol was solid in my grip but I had no doubt I could use it if the time ever came for such. I closed my right eye and aimed at the wooden wall...

A thud woke me from my fantasies, and then screams followed. I tossed the pistol back into the lockbox and rushed out of the safety of my cabin.

Peter’s corpse lay still beneath the mast. A dark shadow washed over us.

And then I saw it.

The giant, glowing ship was massive— twice the size of any British vessel had seen. The red of its sails was as dark as the blood pouring from Peter’s body.

NIETS DAN BOTTEN

That towering ship swayed and bobbled with the beating of waves on its hull. With every bash and wobble, moonlight would dodge past its heavy mast, casting brief beams onto my own deck before I was plunged back into darkness. Two men. I sent two men to parlay with the mysterious captain—two of my worst no doubt, but how difficult could a parlay be? Time slowed to a crawl as I watched that vessel. They were probably feasting like kings. Exotic women sprawled over their laps, gold dripping out of their goblets... I was furious. How easily they could forget all I've done for them.

“Do you see anything?” I asked Thomas as he gazed out through the spyglass.

“There is no movement on deck. Not even birds hug the mast.” Thomas set the spyglass down. I had half the mind to pick it up myself, but that thought was dashed by the rowboat mindlessly drifting back toward us.

For a moment, I thought I’d lost my wits.

The boat was empty. What had once held two of my very own fools held nothing but the embers of their treachery. Boot prints and torn scraps of cloth lost to the boats wooden hooks were all that remained of them. They had stayed on that ship. They had abandoned me. If I had cannons, I would have blasted their new home to the ocean’s floor. Perhaps they would reunite with my cargo—It would be the least they could do.

“I found this, Captain.” Thomas, once again, woke me from my fantasies. “It was nailed to the oar.”

The envelope was coarse and rough to the touch, like bread baked in hell’s furnace. The red of its seal dripped down onto my deck, staining it with fresh wax. I broke the seal, and to my surprise, I could not make out a single word.

Dutch, it was all in Dutch. I felt almost illiterate. Like a blind man sprawled over a puzzle, I hopelessly pored over the words. After a time, I noticed blotches of ink peering out at me from behind these symbols. I flipped the letter over and there it was—a map. Crude as it was, I could still make out that decrepit old man’s castle. A giant X, almost as large as the castle itself, was scribbled over what looked to be a sketch of a gravestone. What all this meant alluded me so greatly I had half the mind to chuck the damned letter into the sea... Until two coins slipped out of the envelope and clattered onto my boots.

The faces of long-dead men stared back at me. I held them up to a lantern, their eyes glistening the way only true gold could. The coins’ warmth sent shivers down my body; goosebumps prickled the hair on my skin. I could almost see it—a fleet. Dozens of ships at my command.

Is this what that captain meant to do? To lead me to treasure? A chest filled with gold and jewels would be well worth the price of the two men the captain stole from me. Yes. Yes, this would be a worthy trade.

I stuffed the coins deep into my pockets and away from prying eyes and strolled up to the quarterdeck. The wooden steps creaked and groaned with my ascent. This ship had been broken and rebuilt more times than I could count. Each new crack or tear filled with cheaper and flimsier planks. But soon that would change. Soon the very deck on which I stood would shine like the sun.

***

The graveyard haunted the southern side of the castle, a giant tree sprouted in the center of it. The Governor’s walls towered over the dead, reducing gravestones to nothing more than jagged grey rocks. Lanterns hanging off of the branches rocked in the wind, casting shadows that danced and played among the rows of corpses.

The X had led us to the grave of some long-dead Dutchmen. Footsteps littered the dirt my treasure was buried beneath, and the tree’s roots crawled out like limbs aching to escape their prison. I could almost swear I saw maggots wriggling out of there as well. I’d much rather be picked apart by fish than by worms.

As my men began picking at the grave with spades and their bare hands, I spotted a shadow moving deeper into the graveyard. Despite my better judgment, I followed the thing, lurking in the darkness to avoid detection. This was not some shadowy specter but a woman garbed in a black cloak. She stopped in front of a lone grave, its stone adorned with gold.

“Wie gaatdaar?” (Who goes there?) she asked as I strolled out into the light of her lantern. She clutched a bouquet of flowers tightly to her chest.

“I did not mean to frighten you, madam. My name is Captain William.” Her face softened as she saw mine; she seemed almost relieved.

She removed her hood, her raven-black curls swished and danced with the wind. In the light of her lantern, I could see the glimmer of her large violet eyes.

From up close she was rather lovely, her skin as fair as a winter’s snow. She gifted me with a shy smile when I commented on her beauty. The dimples on her cheeks were so distinct that I could almost hear his cackles once more.

“I am sorry for what he did to you. It was rather unkind.” Maria’s English was far better than her father’s; that much was true. And she lacked the old man’s gluttony. Her mother’s blood clearly did the heavy lifting.

“It is no fault of yours, my lady. Once a man’s mind has been made up, there is nothing anyone can do to change it.”

And so we spoke as my men continued to hammer away at the grave. She spoke of her mother and how she came to visit her most nights when the graveyard was empty. I spoke of my journeys at sea and how soon I would captain my own fleet.

Before she left, she had given me a handkerchief, to present to the guards in case I wanted to see her again. Perhaps one day I would return and take her from this place as my wife. But not yet. A woman such as her demands a fleet, not a dinghy.

“Captain!” I heard someone shout. It seems they finally found it.

Caliban, the half-wit, held the bag, smiling like a dog offered a slab of steak. I never wanted him on my ship. His beady eyes and pasty skin made him seem a walking corpse, with half of one’s intellect. But his brother Gaelin was our cook, and he never went anywhere without Caliban.

“Bones! Bones!” He shouted, his mouth practically watering.

“Bones?” I grabbed the sack out of his hands and peered into it.

The sharp edges of a man’s ivory nearly pierced my eyes. I turned the sack over and the entire skeleton clattered onto the ground. Caliban rushed over to the mess and counted each bone separately, laughing all the while. It couldn’t be.

“Thomas,”I called to him as he hunched over the grave. “Where is it? Where’s the treasure?”

“There is none.” He looked at me, his face grim. “That was all there was.”

“But the X...” The captain had taken me for a fool, and so I had been. My dreams of fleets, gold and Maria... Nothing but a dead man’s bones.

I had Caliban drag the bag of bones to a nearby tavern; he was more than happy to do so. The place was filled with settlers singing bawdy songs in Dutch and another language still taking shape. Some of my men danced, others joined the singing, and I drowned my sorrows in a golden coin. After a few drinks, the world spun around me.

My legs shook and wobbled beneath me as I stumbled into a nearby alleyway. A captain must always be strong. This was weakness. For what felt like hours, I retched out every last drop of alcohol. I wanted to scream; I wanted to laugh. I was no true captain, merely a fool whose hopes were shattered by the carvings on a crudely drawn map.

“Captain?” Thomas had sought me out. “Are you alright?”

I wanted to say that I was, but the world still spun and my head still throbbed and I lost my cargo and I was bested by a bag of bones...

“Did I fail, Thomas? Did I fail as your captain?” I heard my lips echo my thoughts. Weakness.

He cocked his head at me, clearly confused. And then smiled at me. A pitiful smile.

“No,” he said. “Stormy seas is all this is. And if anyone can sail us out of it, it is you.”

For a second, I couldn’t help but smile. He was right. Worse captains had made it through harsher storms than this. What is one golden coin when I would one day have thousands?

And then shame washed over me like a tidal wave. How could I have said such a thing to him? A captain must be strong, and now he knew my weakness. Then another wave—fury. At Thomas, at that damned captain, at his bag of bones and...at myself.

“Grab the others,” I rose to my feet and shook out my clothes. “Our quest remains unfinished.”

***

I sent Caliban and some other boy whose name I did not care to remember. Gaelin, the cook, had wanted to join his brother, to protect him. I forbade it—he was far too valuable. Who would feed the crew if he decided to jump ship? And so, Caliban, his bag of bones, and the nameless lad paddled their way through the fog. I hope he finds his jest just as funny when it floats up to his door.

Just as before, hours passed with not so much as a ripple on the waters below us. Gaelin never stopped watching the fog for any trace of his brother’s return. Neither did I.

And then the boat returned.

Not a soul sat on its wooden surface. No boot marks or cloth. The only traces of life were the dark stains that dampened the rowboat’s hull. But it was not completely empty. As before, a letter had returned with it, one written in the Dutchman’s own hand. Yet it was not the letter that caught my eye—it was the two pouches of gold.

Each one carried dozens of glinting golden coins, the same as the one that graced my pocket. I could not help but laugh. What sort of man was I dealing with? That he would trade gold for a sack of some bastard’s bones? I had almost forgotten about Caliban and the boy, until my head bounced off the railing.

“That’s his blood! You killed him!” Gaelin was on me in an instant, pinning me down.

And then he punched me—over and over. My adoring crew looked on as each blow sent my head crashing into the deck. None tried to stop him, except for Thomas. He threw himself between the cook and me, giving me just enough time to wriggle out of Gaelin’s grip. And so, I ran off to the safety of my cabin as Gaelin turned his rage elsewhere. Diving through the doors, I quickly reached for my metal box.

When I rushed out of the cabin, Gaelin grabbed Thomas by the neck and lifted him into the air. Thomas’ face had turned a dark blue as Gaelin choked the life out of him. My pathetic crew still watched with those bulging eyes. Well then, time to give them a show.

With my heart beating out of my chest, I pulled the trigger.

CORNELIS EVERSTEN

The crew watched in horror as Gaelin’s corpse hit the deck. For a time, no one said a word, the only sound was the tip-tapping of blood onto wood. My stomach urged me to retch at the sight of the dead man, but I knew better and swallowed the bile rising in my throat.

“Thomas,” I said, as he lay shivering next to what was once Gaelin, “Toss him overboard. I do not wish to feed flies.”

Thomas looked at me with fear in his eyes, but he did what he was told. It took him and two other men to haul the late cook off of the deck and into the waters below us. The blood followed him like a crimson tail as he drifted further out to sea. Now he may join his brother.

I tucked the pistol into my belt and reached down to pick up the Dutchman’s letter. I waved the blood off before opening it. This letter held no drawings or maps, only a name.

“Cornelis Evertsen.” I read it aloud. Perhaps this one would be more than just bones...

***

The sun’s light barely scraped over the horizon when we set out to find this mysterious Cornelis Evertsen. Before leaving, I grabbed a few golden coins from my cabin, just in case I had need for them. I took my entire crew to shore with me, lest one of them try steal the ship. Or my gold.

Our search took us through the fishing towns and rugged communities scattered along the shore before we made our way inland toward the castle. I kept my crew within eyesight throughout our journey. A few times one man or another asked to split up, to cover more ground. I denied those requests all the same. They would run off as soon as I turned my back. They all feared me now, as if Gaelin hadn’t had it coming.

Cornelis Evertsen was a ghost. We had asked dozens of men and women, both young and old, yet no one had a clue of where such a man was. There were whispers here and there, of a long-dead sailor, but those whispers blew away with the wind. As hours flew by, I grew desperate enough to approach the castle itself. As I asked the guards, I made sure not to enter past its gates. When Maria sees me next, I shall be a different man. One worthy of her.

As the sun began to set, Thomas suggested we ask the Khoikhoi who bought my tobacco.

“Perhaps they will know something?” Why he thought that I could not say. But the sun had already begun to set, and they could not be any less useful than the settlers.

Thomas led us out of the castle, through the town, and out into the countryside. Once we reached the village, I stepped ahead of my crew, with Thomas following just behind me. The village was littered with small huts made of what Thomas called “reed mats”; they looked weak, as if not built to last. Cattle grazed on either side of the village, and small children chased after goats. The place was filthy. To think that Thomas once walked these pathways.

The Chief had his people prepare a tent before we even arrived as if he had been expecting us. The man was massive, large of arms and stomach. He sat on a mat in the center of the tent, alone, and glared at me when I entered with Thomas. I asked him about Cornelis, but he would not say a word to me; he spoke only to Thomas.

“He asks why I am with you,” Thomas translated for me. The chief scoffed when he heard this.

“Tell him. Perhaps then he will be of some use.”

“There is no man here!” The chief barked at me, his voice rumbling the very ground beneath our feet. My legs wanted to flee, but I was a captain, so I stayed put. His words were strong and loud, but that did not hide his deception. Whoever taught him how to speak did not teach him how to lie.

“Cornelis Evertsen, where is he?”I looked straight into the giant’s eyes. “I will leave here with him or not at all.”

“Then you will not leave.” The chief reached for a wooden mug and gulped down a dark liquid that splashed onto the corners of his mouth. “What do you want with him?”

“That is none of your concern. Now tell me where he is.” He wasted my time. He knew; it was so clear to me. Perhaps this giant could do with some motivation.

“Then you will leave this place unsatisfied.” The words got caught in his throat as he gazed into the eye of my barrel.

“Captain, this is not wise. You have to put it away.” Does he dare make demands of me?

I should have told Thomas to know his place; I was his captain. The only one who made demands was me. But I did not say a word. Instead, I pressed cold steel into the chief’s round belly. Even with a gun to his stomach, he was still as useless as before—until I blasted a hole through his shin. His cries brought other men rushing into the tent but they could only watch as their king told me all I needed to know about his friend Cornelis Evertsen.

After leaving the village without so much as a scratch, to the dismay of most of its residents, we set out deeper into the wilderness. Moonlight painted the world a light grey as we stumbled through crystal streams and deep brush. Thomas was silent all throughout the walk. Can’t he see I had no choice? The sooner we find Cornelis, the sooner we get to go home.

We found the wooden cabin in a clearing. It shone even in darkness, with candlelight pouring out of its thin white walls. He was home. I pulled on his door handle, and to my surprise, it was unlocked. Once inside, I was greeted by a sight I would not soon forget.

Giant trees and vast landscapes of green and gold lined the walls inside the cabin. Each painting was as meticulously crafted as the next, with even the smallest blade of grass being accounted for. Almost as detailed as those in the castle’s main hall. Cornelis Evertsen kneeled in the center of all his art, brushing away at another canvas. The years had hunched his back and greyed his hair, yet he still brushed away with the passion of a younger man.

“Cornelis Evertsen?” My eyes drifted to another painting as I spoke—one hidden behind the walls of green and life: a painting of chaos.

“Be but a moment,” Cornelis said without looking up, his accent as English as King George himself.

I tore the painting out from behind the other canvases and placed it on a wooden easel. It was a portrait of a once-proud Khoikhoi village, devastated by fire. Painted women and children watched helplessly as flames consumed their home. Cattle, frozen in time, fled from the relentless blaze, their calves drowning in a river tinged red with blood. Smoke poured out from the huts in a smudge of black and gold.

“I believe all history should be recalled,” Cornelis spoke softly, his words less than a whisper. “Especially the atrocities. Lest we be doomed to repeat them.”

“And what atrocity was this?” I could not take my eyes off of the raging fire. It was so lifelike, I almost felt the heat.

“One I partook in,” he admitted with a sigh. “But that was a long time ago. Tea?”

Cornelis grabbed a pair of gloves off the floor and wandered to the back of his cabin. I should have hurried him along; I should have had him bound and marching back to the ship. But this man... What does he want with you?

The old man limped back into the room carrying a kettle and two wooden mugs. He sat down and poured tea for us both like I was some old friend or a grandson. Maybe I would have drunk with him, but the jingling of gold in my pockets reminded me of what I was here to do.

“You’re coming with me,” I told the old man as he sipped from his mug.

“I will happily join you, after I finish my painting.” Cornelis got to his feet and hobbled back towards the unfinished canvas.

The chief had already stolen my time. Cornelis would not be given the same luxury. So I aimed my pistol at him. After that, he was more than willing to leave his canvas behind. Before we left, I took one last look at the burning village, the river of blood... He had lived some life, this old man.

The journey back to my ship was silent. No one wished to speak to me, and I had no interest in speaking to them. Fortunately for us, the streets were quiet with sleep and little to no guards patrolled the towns further from the castle. Cornelis only spoke once he stared out at the glowing red ship.

“He has his claws in you—I see that now,” he managed to croak out before being shoved into the rowboat. “So deep they line your pockets with blood.”

I sent two of my men with him, though they begged me not to. But someone had to make sure the old man reached the other side. My pistol’s barrel was all the motivation they needed to disappear into the fog. His words were nothing but the ramblings of a desperate old man...So why do they stir me so?

As it had, time and time again, the boat returned empty as a barren womb. Not even a pouch graced its hull. No gold. No crew. I had Thomas search the rowboat thoroughly and he came up empty-handed—except for another letter.

“Where is the gold?” I demanded of him.

“It was only this.”

Thomas’ outstretched hand shook like a child awaiting punishment. I snatched the envelope and tore it open. The captain’s handwriting was on par with his drawings. Instead of castles and gravestones, the letter held only two words:

De Gouverneur

EEN LAASTE AFSCHEID

I could not sleep that night. Whenever I closed my eyes, I was plagued by shadows and visions. I saw a man, rowing against the waves of an endless sea, each plunge of his oars marking the sprouting of a new grey hair. He plunged and plunged until his hair was nothing but patches and his skin hung loose against his rattling bones. When the night was darkest, I would see Gaelin. Maggots crawled out of the puncture I had gifted him and he had crow-black hair that flowed like a woman’s curls. He would scream, so loudly I thought my ears would burst, and then he’d lunge at me. My body would not move. He stuck his glistening claws right through my lungs.

I was saved by the crack of dawn.

Just as before, I had all of my crew join me on what I hoped would be my final errand. Like all fools and hounds, my men needed motivation. It was rather simple; I promised them that with my gold I would get them anything they desired. Some wanted land; others simply wanted work or a small wooden cabin of their own. A few of the men even asked me for wives, as though I were lord of my own brothel. Yet to every request, I answered, yes. And soon we all marched up to the castle's gates.

The guards hated me, their scowls made it all the more obvious. They swung open the gates all the same once I showed them Maria’s handkerchief. I took Thomas and another man, John. Fewer bodies would make sneaking around easier, without fools and cowards trailing us. Why I brought John with I could not say. But he had a part to play, that much was certain.

The castle was a labyrinth of stone hallways and spiral steps that twisted endlessly, leading us nowhere. After what felt like days, we reached His Majesty’s wing. The hallway leading to his bed chamber gleamed, dazzling like the sun. Gold lined the halls, studded with jewels and rubies of every shape and size. As we trudged along, I could hear the muffled sound of a woman humming from inside one of the chambers. Maria’s voice fluttered into the hall, filling the cold air with warmth as it echoed against the stone and seeped into my bones. It was a soothing song; one I hoped she would hum for years to come. But for now, she must stay in her chamber.

The Governor’s room was as lavish as his main hall. A plush, white rug covered the floor like fresh snow. Not a single boot mark or speck of dust stained it. His walls were a dark blue, the color of the ocean just after a setting sun. The walls were tainted with portraits of the wheezing man, Maria graced a few of them herself. I found the Governor abed, croaking and sputtering next to some dark-skinned mistress of his. I almost felt bad for her as she clung to that heinous creature, her leg draped over his swollen belly.

He nearly crawled out of his skin when I put the gun to his head. Thomas had to deal with the mistress, who knew neither English nor Dutch, while I got the bastard to robe himself. With my arm around his throat and a barrel jammed against his jaw, we marched the Governor into his heavenly hallway.

The guards were helpless to stop me as I half-dragged their fearless leader through his own castle. Whenever they would raise their weapons, I would raise my own to the Governor’s large head. All went smoothly as Thomas and John stayed by my side, holding the glutton’s flailing arms behind him.

Until we reached the main hall.

A swarm of guards waited for us, rifles at the ready, but I knew they would not risk their king being harmed. So, I continued through the lines of Dutchmen as they all but cleared a path for me.

And then I heard a noise that had haunted me ever since.

Maria’s tune was gone, replaced by a blood-curdling scream as she watched me drag her father away. For half a second, I thought of comforting her, of drying those sad eyes and telling her that it would all be alright. But it wouldn’t be. She looked at me as if I were the devil himself. Maybe you are...So, I turned away from her, from all that could have been, and marched out of the castle.

As soon as we stepped past the castle gates, the Governor ripped his meaty arm out of Thomas’ grip and lifted his free fist up at the guards around us. All hell broke loose.

Gunpowder blew out of dozens of Dutch barrels, turning the world into a realm of smoke and flame. Some zipped past my feet; others grazed the sides of my boots.

“Stay close to the Governor!” I yelled at my men. They would not hurt their king.

Like an eight-legged sow, we hobbled past the gunfire towards a nearby town. Or at least that was the plan. John was not a courageous man, nor was he particularly clever. The powder and the blasts had taken John’s wits, so much so that he let go of the Governor and tried to run off. He might have gone far if some Dutchmen had not pierced through his skull.

“Let him go! Do not stop!” I yelled to Thomas as he stood frozen, staring at the dead man.

And so, we ran, and ran, and ran. We dragged the Governor through alleyways, through muddy slums and crowded market squares. After running through most of what the town had to offer, we found refuge beneath a withered bridge. The Governor trembled between Thomas and I, his body oozing sweat like a leaky barrel. The sock in his mouth muffled all his attempts at screaming.

“John is dead,” Thomas spat the words out with venom—as if blaming me for John’s lack of common sense. “And the others... We must go back for them.”

“The others are not our concern.” They were most likely in some dungeon, if they weren’t already dead.

“They are our men. We must go back for them.”

“They are my men,” I reminded the boy, “and we will stay put until it is safe to return to my ship.”

As soon as the sun was close to setting, we crawled out from our sanctuary. The guards split up into groups of threes as they searched for us in the dirt paths and gravel roads that led out of the nearby town. If not for their torches burning bright, they may have found us.

We dodged past patrol after patrol. The Governor nearly alerted one of them, but a quick crack to the skull kept him quiet.

The shore was empty, with distant torches lighting their way back towards the castle. The dying sun’s rays transformed the ocean into a pool of deep scarlet. I pushed the fat man along the beach towards our rowboat. He winced with each step as the sand reddened his soles like the embers of a fire.

The Governor nearly tipped the rowboat over as I shoved him into it. I pushed the boat with all my strength, it barely broke through the sand. I felt as if I was pushing this damned man by myself, and so I was. Thomas stood silent, the wind sending ripples through his shirt. He stared past the towns, past the castle and deeper into the wilderness. For a moment we said nothing, the only noise was the Governor’s muffled screams. I almost thought Thomas would walk off, called by something I could not see. But he did not. After a moment, he joined me as we pushed the boat off to sea.

***

The Governor almost flew overboard once he laid eyes on the glowing ship.

“Please! I give you gold! I give gold!” The pig squealed, his eyes bulging out of his snout.

Indeed, you will. Thomas helped me tie him to the rowboat before we lowered him into the water. Waves danced with the small ship, swaying it from side to side.

In that moment, I was all too aware of John’s absence.

Thomas watched me with an emotionless gaze, his face grim and covered by shadows.

“Thomas...” My throat went dry and coarse, the words sliding back from my lips.

“Is this an order, Captain?” Thomas asked, his voice carried over the waves as they crashed around us. A captain’s voice.

“Yes.” The words shuddered out of my quivering lips. Once again, he saw my weakness.

Thomas did not fight; he did not even raise his voice. He did what he was ordered to do and sat himself on the rowboat, gazing out into the fog. I watched as he paddled himself and the Governor deeper into that white abyss until he vanished completely. I watched for a while longer, almost hoping that he would return. But he never did.

Suddenly, the ship felt a lot bigger as it rocked with each bash of the waves. He was gone; they were all gone. What was I now? A captain without a crew was no captain at all. Just a man on a ship that wouldn’t sail... A faint thud awoke me from my thoughts.

A CAPTAIN’S END

I paddled hard and fast until my bones rattled against my withered skin. This was far enough. They could not find me here. For years, they tried to take it from me, all that I worked so hard for and sacrificed so much for. They were always there, lurking, stalking me. No matter the holes I crawled into or the darkness that I hid in, they were always there.

The clouds darkened overhead, and waves pounded against my rowboat, nearly toppling it over. Lightning lit up the sky before bursting down into the waters below. I cannot turn back. For years, I stayed on the shore, and for years, they tormented me. Their ghoulish eyes watched me as I slept; their nails dug into my wrists and scraped the flesh off of my arms. I had no fleet, nor a maiden's love, but I did have my gold. All of it. They will not take that from me. And so, to keep my coins safe, I strapped them to my legs before setting out towards the safety of the open water.

I paddled on. With every plunge of the oars, my treasures scraped against my skin. But that only spurred me on. The salt on my tongue made me feel almost a captain again. Another bolt of lightning pierced through the grey sky.

And then I saw it.

The gigantic, glowing vessel flew straight out of my nightmares as it barreled towards me. In my shock, I fell backward, tumbling off of the rowboat and into the raging waters.

My tired arms could do nothing but watch as I was dragged deeper and deeper into the darkness of the sea. I held my breath. My sacks of gold tore open once I hit the ocean floor. They poured out of the bags by the hundreds, all swimming further into the black and out of my sight. As I glanced around, searching for whatever gold still stayed in my reach, I saw that I was surrounded by boxes. Boxes of wool, glassware and tobacco. Reunited at last.

I reached out to the last golden coin as it floated up towards the surface. From out of the abyss came a hand, green with decay. It ripped the coin away from me.

I screamed all the air out of my lungs.