Chapter Thirty Two: The Flying Dutchman

It was a boat, but not just any vessel, it was a vessel that I'd only read about in the horror books which filled every nook in the Captain's bookshelf.

The Flying Dutchman.

Once my gaze was entrapped by those algae ridden sails, the fabric a rusty white from years underwater, it felt like I took a cannon ball to the chest, all of the air ripped violently from my lungs in a merciless moment of violence. I wobbled a little, my legs shaking like gelatin during the quaking of the earth, and my muscles spasmed, seizing my hands about the rim of the crows nest-which was, thankfully, freshly cleaned.

The boat was just as described within the book.

The wood was of the most trusty kind, though it was waterlogged and blackened from the sediment and sand from the bottom of the ocean, the wood would never splinter. The bow of the Flying Dutchman was curved upwards and ended in a long, spear-like spike; appearing as the top of a sharp-toothed mouth, the teeth made out of wood and other shells, whetted with perfect precision-with their aim to be smashing into the hulls of other ships and leaving little left of the siding. Along each side, it carried ten canon ports, intricately designed into depicting each pot to be the mouth of some nightmarish, cannibalistic creature. Along the stern, which also jutted out quite a lot, were poles fashioned as spears, covered in wrapped seaweed and jellyfish.

The Flying Dutchman carried ten sails covered in dirt, grime, seaweed, sediment, algae-despite this, the Flying Dutchman was the fastest pirate ship ever to be built. Coming in at a close second was the ship I currently stood upon;The Black Pearl.

The Flying Dutchman glided out of the water, just as a turtle would, coming up for air, not four hundred yards from us! My Captain ordered us to drop anchor, which, loyally, the terrified crew did; the Flying Dutchmanwouldn't hurt us? Right...right?

I nearly thought of climbing down the mast and running to my Captain's arms, however, what if they decided to attack? I would be caught right in the cross-fire! Then again, so would my Captain! And I didn't want him hurt. Taking up courage, I attempted to take a step down, when, eerie laughter rang about the silent ocean around us; it's bone shattering coolness taking a harsh grip of my heart, causing it's palpitations to skyrocket, especially when the echos of that ghastly reverberation from the chest of the very devil himself eclipsed me. I was frozen where I stood-in a sort of mummified paralysis of terror.

As the boat came ever closer, the hoots and yells from the undead crewmen riddled the air where stifled horror did not. The seaweed attached to the sails blew back against the now slightly puckered wind, giving the vessel a ghostly illusion.

Voices rang out beneath me, one of them, deep, and when I listened closely, it reminded me of the waves slamming upon the deck during a hurricane. "Erik!" The voice boomed as the vessel dropped anchor beside us; their mast seemed infinitely higher than ours, and a few of the crewmen spotted me. The voice belonged to a man I'd only heard about in fiction.

Davy Jones.

And, like the vessel, the descriptions did not lie.

He was a humanoid octopus.

His head was the body of a green-tinted octopus, and the tentacles of the octopus acted as a sort of beard that could be controlled mentally, his sunken in, beadily green eyes gave the impression that his stare was unwavering and consistent. His gaze was the knife sharpened especially for its task, the blade was two quarters thick and stretched the ocean long; it was so precisely serrated that it's ease to slice clean through flesh and body mass without so much a shock from the victim was astounding. Now, the acuminous gaze was slicing right through my eyes, tearing quickly at my flesh before plunging deep within my soul, it's unending epee slitting the xanthanous thread which bound my conscience in half without so much as a hesitation. It carved methodically against every defense I put into place, but all were rendered useless in a matter of seconds-for he always found a weakness. Now more than ever before, I was completely vulnerable; I felt that this man, just by a single disheartening and frankly hideous glare knew every nook and cranny of the outer reaches of my imagination.

He finally turned away from me, back to my Captain, whose gaze was also drawn to me, and the frankly horrified expression laden upon my features. It was only when they shook hands, that my sense of ease slightly returned to me. With a glance, and the flick of his hand, I was climbing down the mast-my body quaking-at my Captain's command. The crew stood away from the two Captains, making a walk way for me; all of their eyes, wide and bloodshot, focused on myself. I felt like this was my death march.

Alas, when my legs, who seemed to know have a mind of their own, finally stopped beside the Captain, he yanked me to him; holding me close before introducing me, in few words, to Davy Jones. "Ah, so this is she?" He asked, his voice was gruff, and coated with sea salt; his Scottish accent heavy, and powerful upon his tongue. The hand which he had held out to my Captain to shake, why, his fingers were tentacles! And his other-it was a giant, red crab claw! I attempted to veil my shock behind a smile, nodding to his question. "I've heard quite a lot about you" he added, his glance was less of a cutting knife now, and more of one that bared curiosity as a forefront.

He took my hand up in the one with tentacles as fingers, and pressed it to his lips, which, he didn't have lips at all! It was only a slit in the octopus which acted as a mouth! And, while I am upon the subject-he carried no nose! His hand was slimy, and the only equivalent I may compare it to, is holding a bundle of fresh seaweed covered with a thin layer sludge. Hiding my disgust, I offered a larger smile. "I've heard much of you, Captain, I've read even more." Said I, breaking the expectant silence.

"Have you, now? And what have you heard of me?" Asked he, whenever he moved, the barnacles sticking to his body refused to move as he spoke or straightened up again. He was maybe an inch shorter than my Captain, at his full height.

"That you are the most merciless pirate upon the water" I answered, without hesitation; this coaxed a booming laugh from him, which made me jump back, against my Captain's chest. My Captain smiled and held me against him, his hands resting upon my waist.

"I am not the most merciless, that is your Captain's title. I am the most fierce." He growled, leaning down to me, his face maybe an inch from my own as a snarl laid upon his lips; I stiffened and nodded quickly. His black, tricorned hat covered in barnacles, sea weed, and a few fish skeletons just barely touched my forehead; now that he was so incredibly close, I smelt that the cologne of choice for him was pungent mixture of stagnant water and the putrefaction of sea creatures.

"Undoubtedly" I said, swallowing my internal screams, and he stood again to his full height, his burning gaze turning from myself, to my Captain; with a nod, Davy headed to the Captain's Quarters, and my Captain placed his hands upon my shoulders, massing the tense muscles. "Was that planned?" Asked I, in a whisper to him, to which, he shook his head.

"It never is, sweet cheeks." He whispered back, patting my behind before turning and walking to his Quarters, closing the door stiffly behind him.

~~Unbeknownst to me, my Captain gave strict orders to his crew to stay around me whenever we were visited by another vessel and he wasn't around; he certainly did not want a rerun of the Queen Anne's Revenge incident; especially when it was with an undead crew. So, our crew nearly surrounded me, shielding me away from the gazes of those upon the opposite vessel, and I felt, at least a little, safe. My ease would not return until The Flying Dutchman retreated back into the water, or away from us, but I at least enjoyed the bit of comfort I was given by the human shields about me.

All of the crewman aboard The Flying Dutchman were, as aforementioned, undead. Most of them were just like their Captain, remnants of sea creatures. One man had the head of a hammer head shark as his skull! Another had the wheel of a ship embedded into his cranium, and another had nearly become a starfish! One man's head continuously fell off with the swells and trophs of the ocean waves, which became a tad more violent, and then calmed.

For the most part, each crew stayed upon their vessel, it was a matter of respect to each Captain, however, it wasn't long until the crews began wandering about each ship. Usually, it was the crew of The Flying Dutchman who crossed over the small gap between decks-remembering what a revitalized, truly alive crew appeared like.

~~ "Have you fallen in love with the ocean?"

"Have you felt it wrap cresting arms around you, drag you past waves and rocks, past startled fish and fleeing beasts, to where the core lies, deep, dark and ancient, godly, divine? Has it pressed seamist kisses against your lips, sprinkled salt to bleach your hair and cradled your heart? Did it whisper you to sleep with soft, even waves and roar you awake with crashing surf and racing pulse? Will it hold your bones with so many others, treasured and safe and hidden from eternity beneath the depths?"

"Have you waded out into the pacific and felt the tremors of gods, where fire and land and water hold court and rule the tradewinds? Are there stories that blow in like tropical storms and leave your house shaken, your mind racing to keep up? Have you swum around capes and over sandbars to taste the secrets of the atlantic, snaked your tongue into the trenches to sample the salt of ages? Did you find shipwrecks forgotten by man, crewed by ghost and kraken, buried in history and silt and time? Has the Indian beckoned you with siren song and warm currents, pulling you towards land and back out again? Have your eyes seen merfolk and octopi and a plethora of sea bounty no human may ever see again?"

"Have you ground your knees into the sand, your humility and heart your only offering, and stared into the swirling blue? Have you felt tongues of tidepools licking your fingers and moaned in ecstasy when the riptide starts, drawing you further out, closer to your love? Tell me you've dived deep to see the first creations, the murmuring beds of kelp and weed, the shy corals and the slithering serpents. Tell me you've brushed your fingers against poison just to feel the sting, because the love in your heart is so vast, human words and human emotions drown in it. Tell me you've seen the tectonic plates guarding its heart and played tag with shark sentries, tell me how you narrowly escaped to climb back to your boat, shaking and coughing and alive."

"Tell me you've fallen in love with the sea, and the sea chose to love you back."

We sat upon the top of the mast, balancing our bodies against the puckering wind as stars shined upon the navy blue quilt above us; the only thing serving as illumination being the moon, giving the man before me a glow which only could be recreated by the spirit of the dead. His name, as he gave to me, when I ventured to the crow's nest, was Bootstrap Bill; he was quite obviously from The Flying Dutchman crew. His hair was limp and string like, sticking to the top of his head and cheeks; a pink starfish stuck to his hair, and his appearance matched that of his Captain-covered in barnacles. Though, besides that similarity, on all other accounts, besides skin which was a blue tint, he appeared like a normal man.

His words were coated in the wisdom of a grandfather, and the experience of a retired Captain; he'd taken to telling me stories, and when those words fell from his lips, pooling around him like old water, I couldn't help but lean close, eager to catch every word. After a short silence, in which the wind ran it's cold fingers through my hair, I let out an unconscious sigh.

"Why do they call you Bootstrap Bill?" Asked I, my attention drawn to his features, which glowed against the dark sky.

"I died in my bootstraps. I was dropped to the bottom of the ocean with weights upon my boots." He explained; my god, what savagery! I gave a shiver, drowning was what I was most afraid of, and that's how he died! How horrible that must've been.

"My god..." I whispered; Bootstrap turned his attention to me and offered a smile.

"It's not so bad. I died where I was peaceful." Answered he, before narrowing his eyes at me. "You are not the type to be here, why are you here?"

"...For the long short of it, my parents died, I was betrothed to a man I don't love, my money is gone, my home was gone; and I fell in love with Erik." Explained I, looking over to him with a grin spread upon my lips; he laughed softly-most of the crew members were passed out in a drunken coma; my Captain and Davy Jones still spoke, every so often I would hear laughter resonate from the Captain's Quarters; along with an unending stream of candle light. "What do you think they're doing?" I asked, before Bootstrap could comment.

"Planning something, I assume. Rumor has it there's a war being prepared between the ranks of us and the East India Trading Company. That's why there's a gathering in Singapore; where Erik picked the new headquarters to be." Bootstrap explained and I nodded, it made sense.

"But, why, a war?"

"A brawl is too short. Besides, Davy wants to use the Kraken."