"Ye've all felt it! That ship ain't natural."

"Seumas! You old fool!"

"Fool is it? Fool that I am? Tole you I did. Tole you that a ship as white as ivory had been seen. Now my father told me of tha' ship on his knee, 'e did, when I were naught but a nipper! And 'is father before him and 'is before as well! I tell ye! That ship is built from the bones of dead men. Of restless dead men!"

"And your father was as mad as his before him, Seumas, you old fraud!"

Yet the mood in the tavern was quiet. Kingsport was seeing strange days and there were more listening to Seumas than laughing at him, and even Jonas Tuttle, Seumas' tormentor of old, seemed half-heartened in his insults.

"Mad as your son who they're hunting down even now!"

"Now you listen to me, Jonas Thaddeus Tuttle! Me boy is many things. 'E's lazy, got 'is head in the clouds and no sense 'ponsibity, but he is not a murderer and well ye know it! Nothing of this earth did that to those kids and certainly not my Eachan! Lad's a brat and a dreamer and the finest seaman I ever did saw! 'E's not a murderer and I dun't care whut that nurse said! You see if my words don't get prove right, now mark me!"

"I saw him with that knife, and that's God's own truth!"

"Mebbe you did, and mebbe 'e was even jealous enough to want to stick the Blaine boy, love has made dafter heads out of good 'uns before, but for all that the knife was found by the body, there wuhn't a drop of blood on it, and I asks ye, how does a man fillet the flesh off another man's bones without bloodying his knife? And even that nurse said wa'n't no blood on 'is jersey when she saw him on the cliff edge and couldn't be sure as if 'e ran for'ard to push the girl or to catch 'er!"

"When they find him, we'll know the truth."

"There isn't one of yous who dun't know it aready! Me boy is no murderer and nothin' natural did that to the kids. An' whut is there as is unnatural and come into the 'arbour this last week? A ship of ivory like bleached bone, that's whut my father tole me, with sails of woven cartilage!"

"And what is this ship s'posed to be, Teller?"

"Aye, well. There's none as knows that for sure, is there? But there's tales and there's tales. Those that plied the seas in them days were a diff'rent breed, they was. There was pirates and brigands and those with hearts so black ye'd cut 'em open and out'd come coal! And they was tales, always tales . . .

"I heard there was one among the pirates who's vicious streak was legendary even amongst the butchers. Was said 'e'd sold 'is soul to the divil and had magics 'e'd plundered from natives of dark isles. Some say that 'e carved a ship from the bones of 'is enemies with great enchantments chained their souls to its decks as crew. Others say that he ran foul o' the authorities who with cannon sank 'is ship but even as the waters closed over 'is head he summoned something from the worlds beyond, there was a sudden great storm, lightning smote the gunship and a great galleon of bone ploughed the waves and swept up the sorceror's soul and that of 'is crew.

"Whichever is right, they says as how the ship of bone is cursed to plow the waves in eternity, stopping only once every hundred years that those souls who drift the decks, tied to their own dead bones for of them is the ship builded, once every hundred years they may take flesh once more and step ashore to live again, lust again, laugh again before sloughing their flesh and returnin' to their long voyage o' damnation."

Laughter met this, but it was hesitant and quiet.

"Doubt me do ye? Is there one of yous who wasn't uneasy when that ship came in? Is there one of yous who wasn't queasy when you looked at the unnatural lads as came ashore? And what of their faces? None we recognise, for sure, and yet isn't there a familiarity about 'em? As reminds you of those boys who lost their flesh? As though their skin were stretched over different skulls?"

"Well, me lad is out there and I thought as how 'e was dead when the morning dawned but now I knows as how 'e's too smart for that. And I tell ya that if any soul knows as the truth of my words it'll be him as has seen it for 'is own eyes!"

Silence reigned in the tavern now, their drinks and camaraderie forgotten, all eyes were on Old Seumas.

"I tells ye this! There isne one of them lads as can account for where that ship been, or how long as they been at sea! And I've asked 'em! Somethin' unnatural in the ways they looks and talks and moves, there is. And the way they've captured the hearts of the women and the townsfolk. Under a spell, that's what they is, you mark me! And the rev'rend right all along, 'cos there's witchcraft in this!"

Goodman watched the woman, Constance, and her beau, the almost unnaturally beautiful Caleb, as they entered through the door of the Inn. Something in the way they looked at each other woke a yearning for vanished youth within him. He remembered a time when Edna and he had gazed into each other's eyes in just such a way.

Before Alex's accident had turned something cold and brittle inside her.

Watching the two as they made their way up the stairs, he tried to imagine the lonely nights that the beautiful Constance must suffer when her husband had been away at sea. He didn't know how long they had been parted, but it was clear from the way they clung to one another that the parting must have been long for them, whatever the true cost in days.

Yet Goodman could not quite shake the uneasiness he felt whenever he saw the ivory ship's crew. The disturbing sense of familiarity and the strange and haunting handsomeness of the boys unnerved him.

Nor could he entirely shake off his concern for that young girl, the maid; Catrine. He hadn't seen her since Caleb had come ashore. No doubt she was busy preparing their room. Caleb must have many needs after so long at sea.

He'd meant to ask how long it had been, hadn't he? Hadn't he planned to ask that question this morning?

Hadn't he?

The wailing and screams from the gibbets in the square tore at Eachan's senses. He had to get away or this would be his fate too.

Hiding behind walls as he stole towards the docks, he knew he had to take a boat. He tried to hate the agonised faces. Witch! Tried to hate them for what they had done to Carter, what they had driven Molly to do.

Witch!

And yet . . . and yet . . . There had been nothing human in those forces from the mist. Eachan knew many of the faces staring pleadingly from the iron cages. Old women mostly, widows of seamen lost to the fury of the Atlantic, living off the charity of their husband's shipmates and the pity of the church.

Then the church had turned on them, turned by the hands of the impotent and cowardly. Turned by the angry mob. He couldn't hate them because he didn't believe in them. Didn't believe they were guilty. Didn't believe they were really witches.

Across from him was the courthouse, he was in dangerous territory. He needed to be quick, but there were people coming from the direction of the White Ship just round the corner of Cabot Street. People who . . .

Eachan stared and his stomach began to freeze over.

The man and the woman began to walk towards the coast road and suddenly Eachan knew, knew with greater conviction than he'd ever felt before, knew that he must follow them.

The woman, he realised, must be that new guest at the inn the townspeople were all talking about. He didn't know who the man was supposed to be, but he recognised him immediately.

Horror pooled in the small of his back, dripping from the icy slopes of his spine.

Now he knew what had become of Carter's skin . . .

Goodman had never seen the Reverend McGilchrist without a frown, he realised. In fact, now that he thought about it, he was sure that was why his eyebrows bunched so thickly. It was the sheer force of the frown that started the hairs proud from their follicles. Pushed out from inside.

"She left here with her husband just a few moments ago. I don't know where they went."

"And you! Cavorting with the divil's servants!"

"No, not I, Reverend. I'm a godfearing man and you know that. How is it you are so sure of her guilt?"

"She's a stranger and the deaths started when she arrived and you cannot deny it, Goodman Device! You cannot deny the infidel!"

"Reverend McGilchrist. I'm only an Innsman, I don't deal in matters of the soul and such, but seems to me that you shouldn't accuse those as aren't here to defend themselves and seems to me that being a stranger ain't no crime I ever heard of!"

"If you are so keen to defend her innocence then open her room and let's see the evidence for ourselves."

"No Sir!"

"What?"

"I said 'No Sir.'"

"How dare you stand in the way of God's will!"

"Well, Sir, I don't know about any God's will. He doesn't speak to me as often as he does you, Sir, and we've never been that chummy, but I'm afraid I'll have to stand in the way of your will, Sir, on account as I have a duty to protect the property of my guests. With all due respect, Sir, if The Good Lord is unhappy about that he should tell me so himself."

"Blasphemy!"

"No, Sir, no I cannot agree with you there, Sir. The Lord knows I am his obedient servant, and he knows I am a good Landlord and I feel sure he wouldn't expect me to be one at the expense of the other. Now if you wanted to come back when the good lady was in, now then we could ask her if she minded us looking in her room, and I could help with that, so I could."

"Will you deny access to God's hand?"

"Not at all, good Sir, God's hand may go wherever he pleases. When the good lady gets back from her walk."

His face the colour of the storm's roar, Reverend McGilchrist attempted to push his way past the amiable, but firm figure of Goodman Device, but halted in surprise at a hand on his arm.

A little startled at this intervention, Goodman became aware of the mob that had accompanied McGilchrist on his mission, and realised for the first time that the Wrathful had invaded his home. Now he saw that they were strangely restrained and understood as he recognised the owner of that calming hand. He found himself staring at the determined face of Deacon Graves, Kingsport's popular and respected mayor.

"You heard the man, now Enoch. He said he'd take us up there when Mrs Charidon returns. Now, that seems quite reasonable to me, so let's come back later, shall we?"

McGilchrist drew himself up, although he didn't need to inflate himself so to tower above the Mayor, and if anything his face darkened still further. But the calm face of the Mayor was not intimidated and, to his own evident astonishment, McGilchrist backed down. Goodman had never seen anything like it.

"That murdering rogue Teller is still about. Come, Lads, it is the Lord's will that we find the boy and bring him to justice before the day is out, and then we will return to this den of harlots and demons and scour out the evil, just see if we don't."

McGilchrist turned his harsh glare on Goodman again, and the Innsman felt caught as by the beam from a bullseye lantern. Thwarted by the mayor, virtuous anger flooded into the Reverend's face as he leaned forward to deliver a departing warning.

"All those that oppose the Will of the Lord will suffer in the fires! Remember that, Goodman Device! Remember that!"

Caleb and Constance strolled down Allen Lane, away from the Inn and headed for King Street. They met few people, the roads being mostly deserted. But faces peered distrustfully at them from narrow-paned windows. Many softened with a thoughtful look when they saw Caleb, which made him smile.

The gulls wheeled and cried joyously in the sun and Caleb was content. He breathed deeply, smelling Constance's perfume, and the scent of her hair. Her arm was a comfortable weight on his own and he sighed happily.

"My love?"

"Constance. Were the sky to give voice and sing to me, I would not be so content! My thoughts of you have been company, aye, and solace through the long nights at sea."

"Oh, Caleb! The endless days have been torment without you!"

"I have sailed the rim of the world. I have seen jewelled birds in flight o'er a mountain of flame. Dolphin and porpoise with coronets of gem-flecked gold holding parliament in cities sunken before the time of man. I have walked sands of crushed rubies, drunk spirits distilled from the sap of the tree of knowledge, and climbed a tree whose boughs span over five islands, with a root down on each. There is naught in my journey that compares to your arm in mine!"

Constance sighed happily. "And I have trod the streets of every town built by the hand of man. Sipped wine in vineyards planted by the hand of Bacchus himself. Watched as Greeks raised the Pharos to light the stars and it has all been but a diversion as I waited for your return. You are my life."

"Aye, but you are my heart. The wide ocean, now she is without soul! Cruel and indifferent, she may be loved but she loves not in return, and I long for the moments I spend with you."

They crossed King Street, walking in silence for a while, and came to Water Street and the harbour. Looking around, as they crossed the earthen road, Caleb thought he saw a fleeting shadow. But it was gone when he turned.

Before them the wooden jetties reached into the sea and, gleaming whitely in the sun, Caleb's ship glowed with a strange vitality.

Eachan watched them board the ship. The woman doting in the arms of . . . of . . . of that parody . . . Now Eachan crept forward, using what cover he could find, and found himself examining the very boards of the ship. Suddenly a dozen tales of his father, and his grandfather too, became real before his gaze.

Surely it was not of wood that this ship of horrors was builded. No plank of its construction was longer than one or two feet and, though it seemed watertight and free from encroaching sealife, no tar had been used. It weren't natural.

And worse were those boards which showed, at their edges, a coarse honeycomb effect unlike any timber that Eachan had seen. It made him think of split bone sanded smooth. Eachan felt the bile rise in his throat - this monstrosity had more right to be gnawed by the dogs, than ride the tides of the Atlantic. Its very existence was blasphemy.

As he pressed himself close to the boards, examining them Eachan fancied he could hear a subdued susseration. It was as though the bones of the ship were whispering. In horror he recoiled away from the ship and back to the shelter of a nearby fishing boat.

From time to time he could glimpse the ship's crew, and more than one familiar face pulled unnaturally over different bones was there to be seen. A glamour, aye, a glamour was on the people of Kingsport that they should not see this, but Eachan's eye was not fooled.

Perhaps the hate for Carter's murder that burned within him, or the pain and guilt of Molly's leap that cleared his head. Or maybe it was Teller blood, which carried a vision further than that of other men. Then again, it could be simply that in each generation there must be one to fight the daemons when they cavorted with the daughters of men, but for whatever reason there was no cloud over Eachan's view.

He moved determinedly forward but a hand grasped his jerkin and, he turned in surprise, one fist reflexively raised to defend himself.

"Easy lad, easy!"

"Pa? You . . ."

"I work here, lad! An' I thought ye'd be showin' up afore too long!"

"It be them, Pa! Just as you allus tole me! They be wearin' the flesh of me friends!"

"Aye lad! It be them. But 'ware the town! They be lookin' for you boy. Say as how you killed Carter an' his gal." Seumas stared into the eyes of his son, willing that they tell him it were not so.

The stone of Eachan's heart crumbled briefly and a stifled sob fought for his breath a moment. He composed his face.

"Molly blamed me too, Pa! She jumped 'cause she thought it was me! But it be them! Them all along!"

"Aye Lad, and so . . ."

"They must pay! I will make them pay! For Molly! For Carter! And for mysel'! No rest for me 'til their bones be ground to meal!"

"Do you kno' what you be sayin' Lad?"

"Aye I do. Leave me, Pa, leave me to do what I must."

Seumas leaned closer to stare at Eachan, one strong and weathered hand gripping his shoulder. His gaze boring into Eachan's own tempered eyes. Searching . . . Then he released his grip and pushed back.

"Aye. I think mebbe it's too late for ye to turn back now. And mebbe it be right that ye should bring this daemon down, me lad. There be a power in the strong and proud heart that no daemon can deny, but there's those as can help. The Rev'rend be foolish and blind at times, but he be a force to be reckon'd with and no mistake! I'll . . . hush!"

He seized his son by the shoulder and pulled him back into the shadow of the fishing boat. Distant conversation reached them.

"You have the book my love?"

"Aye. I have it. You're room is secluded enough?"

"If it cannot be done here, then my room will suffice."

"Then let it be now."

Eachan and his father watched the Beast and his woman walking away up the quay and back in the direction of the Inn.

Eachan seethed. "No! They must all die here!" He hissed between his teeth.

"Easy, lad!" Seumas whispered back, "He'll be back, be sure. Aye, time, methinks, to see Ole McGilchrist, right enough. Stay here, son, lest they be back. Ah'll not be long."

As before every window held a frightened face, Caleb noticed as they walked about the corner of Whipple and back onto King Street. But this time many doors opened as they passed and menfolk quietly stepped out to watch him as he passed. Some still smiled, most did not.

Allen Street and the Inn came before them. More people gathered curiously at the street corners and watched with ill-concealed mistrust. The fine hairs on Caleb's neck began to rise, but here was the Inn. The ceremony must be done, and away from the flowing tide.

They entered the vestibule and there was the Innsman. Caleb noticed his face seemed peculiarly white and frightened. He looked as though he wished to say something, but Caleb was in no mood to talk with the Landlord. He broke eye-contact and hurried Constance to the stairs and to the little hallway by her room.

Then the door was closing and they were alone once more. The crying of the gulls outside and the roar of the distant ocean proclaimed the worlds that were theirs and their lips sought each other.

"A hundred years . . .." She breathed, the air whispering from her mouth across his moistened lips. Trembling in his embrace.

"Aye lass." Caleb spoke, softly, ". . . and 'twil' be a hundred more 'ere we meet again.

"Then there is time, just time for one last toast." Constance pulled away from Caleb and reached for the dresser where a silver chalice foamed with a beverage like rich, dark wine. As she did so, Caleb opened the slim leather volume he was carrying at a marked page, and spread the book on the dresser. Moving back into Caleb's arms, Constance playfully bit at his lip and brought the chalice between them so that they might both sip from it.

"To the next century." Caleb said, softly, and dipped his fingers into the bowl. Raising them with a liquid, crimson coating he glanced at the book and then tenderly drew complex symbols on Constance's forehead and on each gentle cheek.

They glistened for a moment on her delicate skin, then her pores opened greedily and drew the fluid thirstily until none remained on the surface. Immediately her cheeks bloomed with a fresher life than before.

"To new life." She breathed.

"Goodman DEVICE! Stand ASIDE or I WILL SMITE THEE with the WILL of GOD!"

McGilchrist's voice roared like thunder in the hall of the guesthouse and such was its majesty that Goodman became as stone at the sound of it. The Wrathful poured past him the stairs shook with their ascent.

"Burn the Witch! Burn the Witch! Burn the Witch!"

The righteous clergyman hesitated not to pound upon the door, but with the strong shoulders of two of his men, stove in the portal. The room of the woman who'd given her name as Constance Charidon was laid bare.

"THERE!"

The occupants looked up in surprise as the door burst it's hinges. For a moment there was a perfect instant of stillness. Then Caleb threw himself from the window and was gone.

Constance only action was to allow the chalice of silver to slip from her fingers and fall to the floor where its contents began to sink as a carmine stain into the rugs.

Wordlessly McGilchrist reached down to the sticky crimson and dipped his fingers briefly. He brought the clotted liquid to his nose where the coppery smell told him all he needed to know.

A gesture, and the inner door of the room was flung open by one of his flock. The maid's white hand shone white like marble where it lay against the rug; leeched of all blood that might have given it colour.

Spittle drooled from the corners of McGilchrist's mouth, his face blanched with rage, such that for a moment he could not even speak as he raised a trembling hand in accusation to the woman before him.

"WITCH!" He screamed, and spat in her face.

Caleb landed on his feet in the street outside the Inn, and immediately pressed himself against the wall, his feet still stinging from the impact. From above him there was a commotion from the room he'd left. He heard a scream and his stolen eyes filled with tears, but he had a duty to his ship, and if the town was raised . . .

He could see the mob gathered outside the Inn. Clearly not everyone had been able to accompany the churchman. They hadn't spotted him yet, but it could only be a matter of time. More and more of the townsfolk were leaving the shelter of their homes to join the mob.

Where before it had been the Wrathful who'd taken to searching the streets, now the merely Righteous were joining their ranks. There could be little time before the whole town was in uproar.

There came a crash from the entrance of the Inn and the crowd's attention was momentarily diverted. Caleb took advantage of this and began to run.

"There he is!"

The hue and the cry began behind him and Caleb knew as he ran that he would have little time. As he passed streets of houses, so their doors opened and the townsfolk responded to the call of the mob. Dimly behind him he could hear a woman's screams and in horror recognised the voice of his beloved.

Unable to prevent himself, his steps faltered and slowed, and he turned. For a moment he could see the mob crowing. Some were running towards him, but behind them he could see a figure that stumbled and fell to the ground. Then Caleb saw a hand upraised and within it he saw a whip. It descended and a little later the crack reached him with the scream, and the figure staggered to its feet and continued to run ahead of the mob. His dread bursting upon him, he realised that the figure was Constance.

But then the pursuing figures were upon him and he saw her no more.

Seumas watched as they beat the girl. He had to suppress some instinct which begged that he go to her aid, and remind himself of what she was.

"Witch!" Shrieked the crowd, and the whip rose and fell, rose and fell. Hands clawed at her clothing and her hair and she half-ran and was half-dragged down the street to the town square where the gibbet waited to embrace her.

A shadow fell upon the town, and Seumas looked up. Lowering clouds seethed and gathered in advance of the descending night.

Hands tore at his skin and his clothing, but Caleb fought with the daemon inside him and his foes fell at his hand.

Freed, he cast a despairing look behind him, but Constance was no longer in sight. He began to run again, favouring a wounded leg, for the quieter lanes behind the main street and a way to the harbour.

"There he goes!"

"Stop him!"

The fury of the town rose behind him as the rough houses and unpainted boards of the narrow backstreets claimed him.

"Hey, you!" Hands clasped for him, but he threw an elbow at the owner's face and was rewarded by a choking sound. His pursuer fell back clutching a crushed throat. Caleb reached for his belt, but his sword was not there. He could not remember if he'd dropped it in the scuffle or merely forgotten to bring it, but as the sound of pursuit reached, he pushed it from his mind and continued his limping run for the quayside.

As he ran he began to claw at himself, at the restricting flesh and was soon rewarded by the sensation of tearing.

"STOP!"

Caleb felt voices calling in his mind. Asking questions. He responded as he ran and knew that his ship heard him. His ship and the night both, he called to all his allies and heard their answer. His crew would be ready when he returned. They knew that tonight would be their last night of flesh. And then he called a second, greater call and felt the very elements reply.

Above him the clouds gathered and darkness began to extend living tendrils of blackness into the skies of Kingsport.

John Street, Whipple Street, they passed in a blur and every junction the cry would go up. Now the voices were coarser, the sounds of Kingsport's seafolk, but the whole town was aflame with the madness of retribution.

Jonas Tuttle heeded the shout that hailed from the street corner, and simultaneously the church bell began to ring urgently as some enterprising soul sought to rouse those of the town not already taking to the street.

There was the roar of the mob, but it was uncertain. They were hunting but they had not found their quarry, Jonas realised. And then it was that he saw a dark figure running towards him with a limping gait. His civic duty calling to him, Jonas ran to intercept the figure. Shouts of 'There he is' erupting behind the fleeing shape.

Then Caleb emerged into the fading light and Jonas screamed.

The flesh hung raggedly on Caleb's face. The crown, hair and one eye remained, but across the ruin of the nose the other orb was a blank, featureless grey and below it, below the ragged line of raw meat, there was only a grey void moulded lumpedly into a parady of a human face.

At the shoulders, bared now that Caleb had torn free his tunic, the flesh began again, lacerated and bleeding, and at this join Caleb was frantically tearing with bloodied and clawed hands. Ripping great clods of meat from his chest and flinging them away. Where its support was removed, the remaining flesh of the chest began to peel away from the blank nothingness beneath.

Caleb ran at Jonas, and as he passed, so the old sailor's scream died into a diseased rattle, and he sagged to the roadside with bulging eyes, gasping for terrified breath.

Caleb ignored him and ran on. A sickening, rending sound following him.

Lanterns erupted in the unearthly twilight and a great triumphant shout went up from the blood-hungry mob as Caleb emerged onto Water Street. Anticipating his destination, if not his route, most of the enraged town had headed directly for the wharf. But Caleb was ahead of them.

Very little now remained of the flesh that Caleb had worn like a suit of clothing. The lithe figure with its leaden unflesh was swifter than the Wrathful, unhampered now by the restraints of skin. Racing to the dock with a speed those of mortal clay could not hope to match. Nothing but a wraithlike, vaporous spirit, no bones drove his body. Bone was the build of his ship, not of his crew.

The crowd roared in fury, but Caleb mounted the gangway to the sanctuary of the Ivory Ship.

Eachan watched, from his position of concealment, the hated and terrible thing boarding and for a moment his memory prompted him with kindred things that rode the swirling mists and ripped . . . and tore . . .

And suddenly he realised that there was nothing to stop the escape of this monstrosity. Dismay filled him, and irregarding of the still furious crowd, forgetting for the moment that he, too, was their quarry, he darted forth and began to run.

"That ship, she put to sea an' there rose a banshee wail like none had ever heard afore. Gripped she were, in the fury of a storm whipp'd from calm skies by the vile sorcerie of 'er Capt'n.

"An' terrible were the howl that went from th' crowd at sight of it! Screamin' into the teeth of a sudd'n wind there was, that rose in an instant t' fill the sails o' that terrible craft. Now, the crew. They be tearin' and rippin' at 'emselves. Like as though they be infested wit' lice or somethin'. And even as they raced out t' sea, we could hears the sound of the flesh stripping from 'em. Was a foul noise to hear, be sure, and were those as fainted away dead at the sight an' sound of it!

"What remained of the town's loved 'uns was naught now but food for the sharks and th' gulls, an' the sea be reddened with it. The birds, now, they wheels and dives for it, and the water fair boils with the fishes, but Caleb an' his crew care not. That ship o' horror burst, it does, from th' 'arbour and is driven to sea by mad wind like none ever saw!

"We screamed as she left. Aye we did! Screamed an' 'ollared fit to wake the dead, but there were naught we could do but watch as they made good their escape. Aye an' that didne settle too well, ye be sure!

"Now ole Tobias Gardner, he been watchin' the wharf an' not the ship. It be 'is job, ye see, an' 'e seen someun as' crept into 'is yard! An' suddenly he gives this great shout. We all turns, of course, an' there be my Eachan!

"Eachan, now he allus was quick off th' mark that un! An' 'e's seed that them daemon gonna get aways, now. An' 'e's thinkin', 'I'll not be 'avin' that!' An' now 'e comes flyin' out of th' dock on the divil winds 'emselves. The mayor, now 'e sees that Eachan be in 'is yacht, an' that ole girl we been buildin' for speed! Were to be that Eachan'd pilot 'er in the regatta, ye see, an that owin' on 'is skill unmatched by any sailor o' Kingsport. 'E comes drivin' out of the jetty like a man possessed an 'e pilots that boat like none as Eachan can.

"Great were the storm that Caleb'd raised to speed his flight and it follud 'im onto the high seas, it did, wrappin' great arms about 'is terrible ship an' pushin' those cart'laginous sails to the very point where they'd tear!

"He an' his men they were naked, now, of earthly and fleshly ties, an' that storm be of the same stuff that they be made of 'emselves, I reckon! Daemon stuff of the broken spirit an' tortur'd soul. They sailed that ship into th' bosom of the storm and out into open water. We watched, 'elpless as we was with naught but our fury and prayers for vengeance, an' we saw 'em, standing 'pon her deck as grey wraiths, a mockery of men's souls chained forever to them bones, them as the ship be builded.

"Aye, terrible and sere be them blank faces of mist as they presented to the storm. But daemon or no their 'ands be expert enough as they tacked to those storm winds. But no less expert was the 'and that steered the craft that were pursuin' them.

"My Eachan! And ne'er did a man live and draw his breath as could 'andle a boat like my Eachan! He 'ad saltwater for blood, an' is heartbeat were the pulse o' the tides! An' they heard him, them seas, they 'eard is little prayer of vengeance! Aye they did! An' knowin' one of their own they sped his flight, you see that they didn't!

"But that Caleb, now! When he saw my Eachan followin', well cruelty burned where a soul as should, an' he calls, now, to the storm that it be hail an' thunder an' on the head of the pursuer! Aye, terrible were the forces he calls down upon me son!

"He gives a command to 'is men, and they turns that ship about! An' the wind, it turns with 'em, drivin' them down upon me boy in 'is little boat!"

The little yacht plunged through waves each greater than the last, surging at him as walls of tempestuous water. Eachan wiped the spray from his eyes and in a moment he had divined Caleb's intent.

Outside the confines of the harbour, the Daemon Ship was free to manoeuvre, and now she bore down upon him, intend on crushing his little craft. And the wind in his sails suddenly died as the very air turned upon him. But Eachan turned his boat and coaxed the merest breath of wind into his sail, in an attempt to avoid the oncoming titan.

Here on the ocean perspectives differed from land. Repeatedly he brushed at the salt which stung his eyes and it seemed to him that the image of the ship surging towards him wavered and blurred. Still he could see the stout craft of glimmering ivory, yet it appeared to Eachan that it was as though he saw a second ship overlapping the first and this second were the very stuff of nightmares.

No sane mind had ever conceived this ship. Its belly was built of ribs and it's keel was the sternum. The boats mounted on its sides grinned at him with the faces of skulls, the stern of the ship was a winged pelvis and the ship's mast clawed at the tormented sky with taloned and skeletal fingers. The crow's nest was a wrist and the figurehead was a horror reaching for him with fleshless arms and shrieking with a hurricane's voice from a face of blank bone. Above it the prow of the ship itself glared and leered at him with the eyes and teeth of a skull.

A great bow wave rocked the yacht and threatened to overturn it, but with Eachan's skilled hand at the rudder, it pushed him clear of the onrushing colossus, and the nightmare ship passed him by.

Caleb screamed in fury, and ordered the ship turned about. His crew were quick to respond, and again the prow of the skeletal ship swung about and clove the waters towards Eachan's defenceless little craft.

And Caleb, not content with this game, began to intone terrible words. Guttural, choking sounds howled into the storm, such alien syllables that they would surely have torn any mortal throat to ribbons, and which hurt Eachan's ears even to hear.

In response the storm redoubled its fury and the sky writhed and boiled with titan shapes. Great Krakens and winged Serpents fought and clawed with bloated dragons of cloud and air. Tentacles of mist stretched and tangled, coiling and flailing at the stars themselves. Things of horn and chitin, spiderlike and crustacean monstrosities boiled from gloomy vapour as the chimerical storm brooded down upon Eachan.

Now terrible energies flashed and sparked between the roiling shapes and Caleb glared down at Eachan in triumph from the prow of the oncoming ship and raised his arms in a dramatic tension.

And so the sky exploded with bolts of blue, writhing energy cascading down into the sea and upon Eachan's little yacht. The misty form of Caleb became wreathed in aweful energies that he flung out upon the sailor. Energies that burned and cauterised and set the boards of Eachan's boat aflame.

But Eachan fought once more with his tiller and the sails and once again his nimble little craft evaded the oncoming Daemon Ship . . .

"We watched, as best us could. Some had spyglasses, most could just see them as dots upon a heaving sea. The wind whipped an' howled about us like an avenging demon, an' there were some 'ouses as didne outlast that storm.

"But cringe though we did from the storm and the rain, still we was rooted there by the drama out t' sea, an' wasne one of us as could leave and find shelter.

"Now Eachan was a Teller an' he had th' true blood in 'im. We knows things, things as our fathers whispered to us at night when the wind moaned and there be unclean spirits abroad. Me father tole me and I tole Eachan, an' he knowed them things as he stared down that Daemon Ship.

"A third time that ship hove to and bore down on me lad, an' once more Caleb called great forces down from those that fought in th' heavens. His brow became wreathed with fire and it ran in blue-tongued flames about 'is arms and hands.

"But Eachan, now, he stands 'is place and now 'e calls out to the storm 'isself! Now there be strange currents that flow through the earth and others that give soul to th' great ocean. Men give 'em names but they be but symbols for forces that lie beneath the mundane pow'rs we see. Jus' as them Romans be callin' Neptune as th' Greeks called Poseidon, so those names be cloaks for forces hidden since the world be born. Not Gods ye understand, but forces above nature. It been said that the earth mutters wi' them's consciousness, and the seas, too, whisper wi' voices older 'n' time.

"Now Eachan, he calls 'em forces. He calls to Neptune an' primal Nodens, he calls to Dorieb an' Zo-Kalar, an' he calls them secret names o' gods who dance on mountains 'idden to mortal man.

"Straight away the brassy skies be thrown into confus'n! The shapes that boil and fight in the sky is pierced by shafts o' light as th' sun tries t' break through that unnatural darkness tha' Caleb wrought in his flight. An' there be some as said that some o' that light shone upwards from th' deeps themsel's though I can't attest to tha'.

"Now Caleb's bearin' down on me boy, an' there be that flame in his hands, an' he raises 'em high, 'e does. An' there be fear in the crowd an' 's though the world itsel' holds its breath, 'cause the storm it falls quiet an' there be not one among us as doesne think that me Eachan be sure to be crushed this time!

"Then Caleb pushes out 'is 'ands and the fire crackles. E'en over this distance, we hears it crackle, and flows from 'is outstretched palms. Like lightnin' it flies 'tween 'im an' the little yacht, an' it 'its me Eachan square it does, an' we sees him stumble. Aye, clear as day, we sees him stagger an' almost fall.

"Then as how we sees him rise to 'is feet, Caleb's fire ablaze about 'im an' yet more o' that terrible energy pourin' from the Daemon. 'E rises to 'is feet an' raises 'is 'and to point at Caleb, an' the fire about 'im leaps to 'is hand and strikes back at Caleb!

"An' at that a great gasp goes through the crowd, 'cause Caleb, 'e just explodes an' rains down on the sea in little burnin' pieces! So 'e does!

"An' then the world lets out the breath it 'eld an' the storm rages again, but the ship bearin' down on Eachan . . . well, it be like it hits an invisible wall an' turns aside!

"An' seein' this, well the crew of tha' ship are afeared, an' naught left o' their leader but th' smell o' smoke. So they turns th' Daemon Ship, an' them sails fills wi' divil wind an' in an eyeblink that ship be speedin' away into th' embrace o' the ancient Atlantic!

But me Eachan, 'is blood be up an' he calls again to the secret names o' the wind an' 'is sails fill. Now he be tossed up an' down an' all-about as rollers 'igh as the hills about Kingsport strike 'im. Tha' storm as Caleb called be called to aid their flight from our town, an' even though its master be gone, still it did its duty and tried t' hamper me boy in 'is pursuit e'en as it aided that Ivory Ship.

But Eachan be almost half-daemon 'imself when at the tiller o' a sailin' vessel! 'E turns into that storm an' takes off in pursuit o' the Divil Ship at a speed ne'er matched since by any craft at the 'ands of a man!

"There be no man as can be sure as what 'appen next, but I seen it, I 'as. In dreams an' when I gaze out to sea I seen what 'appened, 'cause e'en as that ship an' its small pursuer left our sight an' th' storm followed it, I saw as what wus t' come. I'm a Teller an' the sight be with me as it were me father afore me."

The Old Man pauses in his tale and takes a long drink from the tankard of ale in front of him. Some of the younger sailors are sniggering at his words, but the older seafolk are merely nodding. Those that grow old in Kingsport live to learn a strange truth that the young ones have yet to know.

He drains the ale, then continues:

"There be many changes since that day, for sure. Constance Charidon, be that really her names, 'cause there was none as knew fer sure, she burned for 'er sins. Nobody ever knew whence she came or how long she 'ad really lived. On 'er pyre she screamed terrible things an' there was those as died jus' to hear her. Ole Enoch McGilchrist, well let's jus' say 'e didn't outlive 'er by much.

"Jonas Tuttle, now 'e was never the same after that day. Never did say jus' what 'e saw, an' ne'er admitted I were right, neither. But 'e were right queer after that. 'E an' Warren Orne be jus' two o' those lost at sea three winters later when th' Kilderry foundered.

"Deacon Graves, now 'e was ever a strange 'un. 'E retired from politics that same year an' two years later 'e jus' disappeared and none as ever 'eard from 'im again. Th' Holt an' Oakes families left and were among them as founded Arkham on the shores of Miskatonic. Goodman Device went with 'em but fever took 'im along the way.

"The Revolutionary War came to Kingsport, an' went, but still I waited, so I did. I knew ye see.

"Aye, there be those as laugh, but I know what 'appened. I know me Eachan be coming back some day.

"I saw 'im, out there. Aye, the storm that drove that Daemon Ship was mighty to be sure. Straight as a die, went that monstrous vessel, driven by th' divil wind. An' me Eachan tossed this way an' that in 'is small yacht. An' faces o' those 'e'd known an' loved, they blunder'd at 'im from the spray an' th' sea, but 'e bit down on 'is hatred and fired by th' rage within 'im 'e chased that ship. An' the anger spilled from 'is fingers an' bored into the very timbers o' his boat.

"'Twere not jus' 'is hand but 'is fever o' hate that steered 'is yacht, though the divil-wind sought to rip 'er sails from the mast an' the swells to crush 'er hull, an' 'e became as a puppet to the will of 'is hatred. I seed the sun scribin' great arcs in th' sky an I seed the days passin' like the swing o' a clock's pendulum. The sea she roared an' the storm rampaged and rampages still, flingin' the ocean upon 'im, but there be no denyin' my Eachan!

"Aye, though night an' day be blended to a maddened twilight an' the years tick as seconds, so 'e chases that ship. Though the salt an' the spray have hardened 'is skin to leather, 'e will ne'er give up tha' chase! An' when 'is grip failed, so 'e lashed 'imself to the timbers o' the prow, gazin' out ahead to sea! An' though the whippin' o' the waves hardened th' leather o' his brow to wood an' he became jus' a figurehead carved on the prow o' his yacht, so 'is will for vengeance toughened an' became sharp like diamond! 'Til it alone drove 'im through the waters.

"Aye, for I was old when me Eachan left, an' I seed a hundred years pass ere he left. An they been seen, all right! Sometimes, an' a ship knows she's lost when she sees 'em, sometimes there be a ship pale as death gleamin' in the moonlight and racin' with a speed like none has ever seen. An' behind it, but ever growin' closer a small craft of bleached wood drives after 'er. Ne'er again will she make port, that grim Daemon Ship, ne'er again will that horror visit another town, me Eachan 'as seen to that!

"An' one day 'e'll catch 'er and Carter'll be avenged. Then Molly'll rise from the sea that took 'er an' she'll forgive 'im.

"Then me Eachan will come back, aye. An' be it a hundred years, be it a thousand, Ah'll be waitin' for 'im. Ah'll be waitin'."

And then Old Seumas stands up and walks steadily from the tavern. He can often be seen on the harbour front, by those ravelled edges of the sea, staring out at the quiet horizon. And each passing day the blue of his eyes more closely matches the seething folds of the ancient ocean . . .

Created: October 28, 2006