K Jeter - Infernal Devices

"We have indeed arrived at our destination," said the lieutenant solemnly. "That is Groughay you see before you. Soon, a landing party will make for its shore. You and your companions – will be numbered in that party. But not, however, among the living."

I scanned the ocean's rolling surface for any sign of the Brown Leather Man. I saw nothing but the empty expanse of water; my heart might just as well have been sinking beneath. Perhaps the Brown Leather Man's schemes, whatever they had been, had come to naught; perhaps he had been washed free of his attachment to the ship, and lost in the dark night sea, or lost his own life to the teeth of some fearsome creature. Hopes are raised most often, only to be cruelly dashed.

"You would have been wise, Dower, to have used your time in prayer, and not found your soul unprepared for the moment of its parting from the mortal shell." Lieutenant Brattle shook his head. "But I sadly fear you have not done so."

His words brought my attention back from studying the ocean. "I don't know what you mean."

He signalled to one of the crew, who stepped forward and – with evident distaste on his part, and dismay on mine – handed him the brass cylinder that I had left in my cabin. The lieutenant looked from the object to me. "What is this thing, Dower?"

"It would be – rather difficult to explain."

The lieutenant tapped the thick glass set into its side. "No explanation is necessary. It's obviously the evidence of further deviltry on your part. Even at the moment of your death, when your immortal soul stands in full peril of eternal damnation, your degradation is such that you dabble in these filthy practices. What demons these are inside this flask, and to what purposes you intended to put them, we thank the Lord we shall remain ignorant." He handed the cylinder back to the crew member. "Dispose of this."

I heard the weight of metal splash into the ocean; the crew member rejoined the rest of the Godly Army lined up on the deck before us. All had their rifles; there was a rustle of activity as they loaded and raised their weapons. From the rail, Miss McThane glared fiercely at them, as if daring them to shoot; Scape leaned across her and shook my hand.

"It's been a gas," said Scape. "See ya in the funny pages."

Even though a product of dementia, his brashness under the circumstances provoked my admiration. "Maybe sometime in the future," I answered, biting my lower lip to suppress its trembling.

The soldiers of the Godly Army raised their weapons at Lieutenant Brattle's command. The salt tang of the ocean filled my nostrils, and a gull cried overhead; all I could see were the dark holes of the rifle barrels trained upon us. The argument about poor Abel's complicity in the evil acts of which we stood accused, had been apparently resolved against him: a pair of the soldiers lowered their sights towards the dog. He thought it a game, and barked cheerfully at them.

Before Lieutenant Brattle could order them to fire, however, the line of soldiers was knocked askew by a sudden lurch of the ship beneath their feet. Scape, Miss McThane, and myself were likewise thrown, forced to grab the rail behind ourselves to maintain our balance.

With a grinding howl, the ship rocked again, seeming to rise nearly out of the water. Several of the Godly Army panicked, shouting and breaking ranks; they ran to the opposite rail and peered over. From where I stood, I could see great shapes moving beneath the waves, tangled with dark wreaths of seaweed.

"Demons!" shouted one of the soldiers, pointing a quavering finger at us. "They've called 'em – come to rescue 'em!"

This hypothesis met with a hurried acceptance among their number, as the ship wallowed about, the grating noises sounding even louder through the hull. They had convinced themselves of our being in league with satanic forces; the consequence of this was the sudden upsurge of unreasoning fear in their own breasts. Even their commanding officer, Lieutenant Brattle, lost his self-control; he joined his men in their flight towards the pair of small boats on the ship's deck.

They were soon launched, some of the men being forced to leap from the railing into the churning ocean; they swam to the side of the boats and fought their way aboard. In their panic, no thought – other than the brief accusation – had been given to the three of us. Gripping the rail, I watched as the boats' oars splashed and drove our captors as quickly away as was possible.

"Jesus jumping Christ," said Scape. The ship lurched again, knocking him heavily into me. "Now what?"

He was answered by a furious volley of barking from Abel. He had stood up with his paws on the opposite rail, and was yapping at the island of Groughay as though it were some particularly noxious pest.

"Good God," I said. I could see what had captured the dog's attention; the island's coast was clearly discernible, the sound of the waves battering it even louder. "We're going into the rocks."

Scape and Miss McThane scrabbled across the sloping deck to where I stood. "Hey – you're right." The ship gave another lurch, and was drawn several yards closer to the shore; whatever was grating against the hull was also responsible for our motion landwards.

"This doesn't look too good," said Miss McThane. "Maybe we'd better abandon ship."

"With what?" Scape pointed over his shoulder to the receding figures of the Godly Army. "Those chickenshits took the boats."

We could only watch helplessly as the jagged rocks loomed nearer. Our approach accelerated, a crest of water surging up the hull towards the rail. The grating noise of the objects below the surface was drowned by the sharper noise of the timbers splintering into pieces.

Billowing canvas and slack lines came tangling about us as the masts swayed and toppled. The deck split open, casting Scape and Miss McThane away from me. I grabbed for Abel, but missed as my own feet were yanked out from under me by the buckling wood. For a moment, I heard the clog's barking somewhere above me as my back struck the rail; it splintered in two, and I was falling towards the white lace dashing against the rocks. The great bulk of the Virtuous Persistence lifted into the sky, the hull gouged and broken by the rocks. Then I struck the furious water.

All was dark; as my mouth filled with salt, I thought I saw the even darker shapes of giant chains strung through the depths. A wave lifted me into air; a shattered timber crashed against my brow, and I saw no more.

I dreamt my face was being washed with a soft, damp flannel; I opened my eyes and found Abel standing on my chest, licking my chin. He barked at this sign of my resurrection; I pushed him away and groggily sat up, my palms digging into sand as I did so. The smell of the ocean was strong in my nostrils, owing perhaps to the quantity of seaweed tangled about my limbs.

A jagged piece of flotsam nudged my foot, impelled by the lapping waves. Other debris, splintered fragments of the ill-fated Virtuous Persistence, were strewn about the small, rock-bordered cove.

"Dower," said a voice behind me. I turned around and saw the impassive countenance of the Brown Leather Man gazing down at me. His dark hand reached down and helped me to my feet. "Good it is to see you awake. I had seen no injuries upon your person, but of these matters one cannot be sure."

I shook my head, both to clear my thoughts and to disperse the water lodged inside my ear. "What place is this?" I asked, looking about at the high cliffs that lined the shore.

"You're safe on the island of Groughay." He gestured at the surrounding rocks. "You will forgive, I trust, for the necessary violence of the means employed to bring you here. But you are free from the Godly Army, at least."