Cyrus LongBones and the Curse of the Sea Zombie

TINDERBOX

“CYRUS,” FIBIAN WHISPERED.

Cyrus was snapped from his stupor. He shook his head and collected his wits. Then he ran over and lifted Fibian down from the pillar. Fibian was pale and wasted. He clutched his cut throat with his pierced hand. The bleeding seemed to have stopped. Once again, Cyrus asked himself, how was he still alive?

“Your hand,” Cyrus said.

Fibian held his right arm tight to his body, the stump protected beneath his left. He looked to Cyrus, his expression mournful. He shook his head no. The hand was gone.

Cyrus stood stunned, unable to find words. Without Fibian’s sacrifice, they would have been murdered, but the price had been so dear.

Fibian nodded to the ground. Edward. How could Cyrus have forgotten? He helped Fibian over to the spider and collected him off the floor. Edward looked so small, so vulnerable in his palm. Cyrus petted his snow-white fur and felt for life.

“He is very strong,” Fibian whispered, “He may live.”

Cyrus looked around the room.

“We can’t stay here.”

He made for the secret door in the back.

“No,” Fibian said, “There is a boat.”

“Where?”

The froskman motioned in the opposite direction.

“When the klappen first delivered me to Rorroh, I saw it as she carried me here.”

The three moved towards the stairway. What klappen ambush awaited them? Cyrus wondered. He collected his knife off the ground and unlocked the bolt.

He kicked the door open. Dust and soot swirled in the candlelight. The three ascended the stairs and arrived on the top step, in the center of the chamber. Cyrus looked about, ready to strike. Torchlight illuminated several statue-still klappen. They stared at the intruders blank-faced. Then they looked beyond, down the stairway, at their mistress laying in pieces on the floor. The klappen hissed. The hiss turned into a whimper. They fell to their hands and knees, pressing their foreheads to the flagstone. Then they crawled away from Cyrus as if he were pure sunlight. Cyrus felt his chest swell.

With his arm around Fibian’s midsection, Cyrus carried the froskman and Edward to the double doors. Again, he drove his boot against the timbers. The doors crashed open. The two klappen he had locked out were standing beyond the threshold. They stared at Cyrus, wide-eyed. Then they saw their kin within groveling in the dust. The creatures looked at each other, then to the floor. They let out shrill warning cries and fled off in the direction of the upper chambers.

“This way,” Fibian said, gesturing left.

Cyrus carried the two further down the hall and arrived at another twisting stairway. Deeper and deeper the trespassers plunged. Torchlights flickered weakly on the walls. Many had burnt out leaving most of the broken steps hidden in shadow. Fibian shone his eyes bright. Cyrus pried one of the torches off the wall. Every fifty steps or so they met a landing. There, a passageway would delve into darkness, leading to some deep, dark corner of the castle.

Cyrus heard a klappen, maybe two, scrabbling and clicking around a stairway bend. They must have heard the newcomers. They emitted small squeals and fled further down the stairs.

The air grew salty and chill. Cyrus sensed what he thought was a large body of water. The stairway concluded at a final landing, which led to a narrow tunnel. Cyrus and Fibian ducked as they navigated the passage. The tunnel emptied out into a cold, cavernous chamber. Cyrus’ torch and Fibian’s eyes fought in vain to beat back the surrounding murk. Lapping waves and drizzling runoffs echoed about the cave. Fibian motioned to a large, rusted lever on a nearby stone wall. Cyrus reached out, and with great effort, pulled down the salt grimed handle.

A great KU-CHUNK thundered about the room.

What sounded like large chains rattling and gears grinding rumbled to life. Then a long sliver of daylight began to grow out of the darkness. Understanding struck Cyrus like a rock. He knew where they were. They were on the other side of the hulking steel door. The one they had sailed past when they had discovered the cove, the castle and Rorroh’s ship.

The steel barrier raised high overhead, long ribbons of water streaming off its rusted, barnacled exterior. Daylight washed in, illuminating the cave. Cyrus and Fibian were standing on a stone landing. The retreating tide lapped at the landing and clapped against the walls. Several feet away, two klappen cowered on the landing’s edge. They had been hiding in the darkness. Now exposed, they leaped high onto the stone walls and fled into the ceiling’s stalactites. As the door retreated further into the air, daylight advanced unhindered, exposing the depth of the huge cavern.

Cyrus gasped. At the center of the cave floated a large sailing ship. It was old, salt-stained and rusted, but it was also beautiful. It was about sixty feet long with dual masts webbed in a network of sails, ropes, and pulleys. Its hull was wide and deep, and a young mermaid had been carved into its bow.

“There is a skiff,” Fibian whispered, nodding to the edge of the landing.

Cyrus moved towards the water. An eroded steel ladder mounted to the landing’s side led several feet down to the sea. Tied to the ladder was a seven-foot-long skiff. The water looked cold, dark and very, very deep.

“I can manage,” Fibian said, “You first, Master Cyrus.

With Edward in his shirt pocket, Cyrus began to climb down. Mussels and barnacles encrusted the rungs. Awkwardly, Fibian followed. Cyrus boarded the craft on wobbly legs. He reached up to help Fibian. The climb proved too much. The froskman slipped near the bottom. Cyrus tried to catch him, but both fell to the floor.

The rest of the crossing passed without incident. Cyrus tied a rope around Fibian’s waist and helped him climb the sailing ship’s mesh ladder. Then Cyrus laid Fibian down to rest on a folded sail next to the foremast. The vessel was suspended in the middle of the cave by three horizontal lines. Cyrus guessed the moorings kept the ship from drifting on the tide. He cut the stern line first. Another clicking of gears roared to life. Like a bowstring, the two bow lines began to propel the vessel out to sea slowly. Cyrus immediately understood. This is how they launched their crafts without wind or oar. He ran to the bow and waited until the ship had nearly reached the door. He cut the starboard line first, followed by the port. The vessel continued its course driven by momentum and the retreating tide.

“Rorroh’s ship,” Fibian whispered, “It must be sunk.”

“Why?” Cyrus asked, “She’s dead.”

Fibian shook his head.

“You cannot kill that which does not live.”

Cyrus grew cold and sweaty. He looked back, towards the tunnel they had just escaped. Then he inspected the deck for something to sink a ship. He found coils of rope, un-scrubbed deck boards, the ship’s tiller, but no weapons. He ventured within the small cabin at the stern of the vessel. The space was dusty and cornered with cobwebs. He searched a table nook, shelves, and several cabinets. On a grimy windowsill, he found an oil lamp and tinderbox. Careful not to ignite the room, Cyrus used flint and steel to light the tinder. Then he lit a match on the tinder and ignited the lamp. He walked back to Fibian.

“This might work.”

The vessel passed through the towering threshold, the mast barely clearing the door. The black ship still rested within the harbor, awaiting its master. Cyrus manned the tiller and steered the drifting craft closer to Rorroh’s. He grasped the lantern and climbed up on the gunwale, holding the ship’s rigging for support. Both vessels were similar in height. Cyrus waited until he passed near the very cabin in which Rorroh had drugged him. He remembered all the salves and elixirs kept in her small galley. Some of them must be flammable, he hoped.

He cast the lamp through the cabin window, shattering the glass. The escaping vessel drifted past, further out to sea. Cyrus stared back at the black ship. Nothing. They continued on through the narrow waterway, flanked by towering cliffs. Would they have to go back? They sailed beyond the cliffs, out into open water. Rorroh’s boat still floated unharmed. Cyrus had been too rash, too reckless. He had to sink that ship. He peered back one last time.

“Fibian, do you see that?”

He looked to the froskman. Fibian had passed out on the sail. Cyrus looked back, squinting. A thread of grey seemed to issue from the black ship. Was that smoke? He needed a closer look.

Cyrus saw the explosion before he heard it. The side of the ship’s hull blew out as if struck by cannon fire. Then a great KA-BOOM echoed over the sea. Fire spewed out of the port side hole. The ship was burning.