Chapter Three

Lloyd accepted the help and wrapped his arm around the man for support. He slowly got up, resting most of his weight on the other. 

"Thomas... right?" he confirmed, unsure if he had heard the name right. He could feel his stomach groan quietly, demanding food. It must have been dinner time back in his house, and he felt terrible about his friends. 

"That's right," Thomas nodded, clearing away the coagulating blood, relieved that the flow was finally quelling. I don't know my second name, though. I forgot ages ago."

"Uh huh," Lloyd muttered without really hearing as he took out his cell phone, feeling like an idiot for forgetting he had it.

The screen offered a comforting light as he punched his password in, but as he tried to make the call to his colleague, the line was dead; he again, but with the same result, a sharp hiss like the waves surrounding them—dead energy.

"Why aren't you working?" he asked his phone in a whisper. Of course, he didn't expect an answer as he stretched his arm to see if there would be a signal in a precise spot, but it didn't change. 

Thomas sat back and pulled himself up, watching him with pity. He didn't understand the use of these new-fangled devices. He had seen them on nightly excursions and read a little about them in the discarded papers. It all seemed futile to him; one error and all failed, leaving mankind in a lurch they could see no way out of.

"Nothing modern will function," he said quietly, "not here."

Lloyd gave the young man an odd look. "You mean that here, there's no signal? None at all?" he asked, arching a brow. He assumed that what he wanted to say was that the signal was terrible in the sea, but the words he chose made it sound weird; the man, despite his young looks, referred to his phone as if it were something that came from the future.

He spun about to face Nathaniel. "I want explanations," he demanded, trying to keep his cool. He was embarrassed for his way of acting when he was in complete panic and felt silly for allowing himself to show such weakness. "Who are you? What is this place? And what the hell was the thing that attacked me?" There was no pause between questions, flowing desperate and fast, his voice pitching higher. "And-and how can I return home?" 

The last question ended breathlessly, his words more distant.

Nathaniel leant against the rail, glancing over when Lloyd spoke, his dark eyes lacking any discernible emotion, his tone just as empty. "I know times have changed, but I thought that even now, people would know what a ship is; that's one question answered. As for what attacked you, I don't know exactly since I ain't seen more than its claws. Nor do I want to. Demon, creature...?" he shrugged. "Call it what you wish, but it prevents people from leaving." 

With a sniff, he strode away, his footsteps unheard as the sail unfurled like thunder. Ready to catch any wind, he prepared the sail even without.

Lloyd frowned at the answers he received, only serving to make more queries.

"I know what a freaking ship is! But all the ships I've been on haven't got a deadly creature surrounding it!" He snapped, his eyes lighting up with bitterness.  

But as he complained, the captain had already walked away. The words going unheard.

"I wouldn't bother him for a while," Thomas said awkwardly. "Captain Hemlock doesn't like strangers at the best of times, but certainly not on his own territory as he sees it. I don't want to be the bearer of bad news, but you can't go home. Once something sets foot on this ship, they're cursed along with the rest of us."

Lloyd stared at him, and his eyes darkened with disbelief. 

"Captain Hemlock?" He repeated mockingly, arching an eyebrow. "You mean Nathaniel Hemlock? What a bloody joke." He added under his breath, not believing what he was hearing, 

Thomas sounded exactly like the people in the restaurant who always told their kids those legends.

Slowly, he limped away, following the direction Nathaniel had taken and trying to ignore the cold displeasure in the eyes of the others, cutting like icy needles through his body. He could still feel their gazes even when he took the narrow steps below deck.

He found himself in front of a solid wood door, the handle gilded, albeit tarnished, gold indicating the captain's quarters. He stood before it for several moments, his hand hovering about the cold metal. 

Without knocking, despite knowing it was impolite on his part, he pushed the door and entered, striding over to where Nathaniel was sat, poring over his papers, a dark bottle of potent liquor set to the side.

Compared to the rest of the ship, the quarters were plush, impeccably clean, and organised. His rich mahogany furniture consisted of a desk and chair, an unruly bed and a bookcase half full of tomes and trinkets, all shining brightly even in the night hours.

A trunk sat in the corner, the only piece to show any age. It was used only to house clothing and anything of little value.

An embroidered rug adorned the floorboards, a hypnotic masterpiece of bold colours forming strange beasts and patterns. Every time one looked at it, the creatures seemed to have moved, or new images would appear.

His panelled walls were bare save one picture of an eerie seascape and a woman upon the cliff, the moon battling with the light of her lone candle. It was signed with a flourish at the bottom: N. Hemlock.

 "One of my better attempts," Nathaniel said with a touch of melancholy pride in his voice as he noticed Lloyd's eyes turn to look towards it. "Perhaps not up to Botticelli standards, but still..." 

His best attempt was hidden in his desk. A miniature portrait of a handsome young man with russet hair that fell in silky waves past his shoulders and deep green eyes revealed everything or nothing. His pale skin made them more piercing and beautiful; it was rare for the life at sea, but there had been a reason for it.

The scrawled title read William Masters. 

Lloyd ignored the words, glaring coolly, his arms folded. "So, you are the Nathaniel Hemlock from the legends. The captain that now sails in complete solitude because of a curse," he mocked before he laughed curtly. "What a joke, but all of you had done a great job keeping the play; I went too far by putting a bear or whatever you out outside, but I'll forgive you if you let me go."

Nathaniel pushed the papers away and turned slowly in his chair. Outside, the ship groaned arthritically as it eased away from the dock.

The yellowing paper was covered in a strange language, one long lost to mankind, telling of devils and demons. So far, he had translated around half. He held onto the hope that it may reveal something, anything.

If he could find the beast's name, he could perhaps find a way of defeating it—a grand alternative to giving it the one thousand lives it demanded.

He had wondered sometimes if anyone remembered the days when the name The Black Hind sent fear into sailors' hearts, whether their fate had been recorded like that of the Flying Dutchman.

Still, it hardly mattered. His mind was already too distracted.

Damn mortals.

"I don't know about you, lad, but as far as I am aware, bears can't survive being crushed between a ship and a wall." He answered softly, in no mood to joke or argue, especially with one who invaded his sanctuary. "Now leave me be. I'll see you're kept busy, and if you have any sense, you'll keep busy and keep your nose out of things that ain't your business."

"I don't care what you have to do; I want answers and not those half-assed replies you had given me. I want to know what this place is and what you want from me! I just want to go home," Lloyd demanded, gripping the edge of the desk. His angry tone of voice faded as he mentioned home, his voice lowering. 

He looked down hurriedly as he felt tears filling his eyes, not wanting the man to see the fear the uncertainty caused.

He blinked them away, continuing his rant when Nathaniel remained silent.

"And please tell me the truth... You can't be Nathaniel Hemlock; he is just a legend from my town; there isn't even proof that he existed, just pirate texts, but they also claimed that mermaids were real, and we all know that's fake!"

The silence was weighty as Nathaniel considered his response, leaning back to watch the flicker of the candle. It would have been understandable for one to think he would not reply at all.

"Legends are often based on truth, lad," he said eventually. "They get twisted over the years, but the kernel remains there. Same in this case. So, if you know their tale, you know where you are. As I said, there ain't any way off this ship; the creature who clawed your leg is one of the guards to prevent it. Had it been earlier, the mist would have caught you and dropped you back on deck."

He sighed and went back to the books, tracing the words idly. "I don't know about mermaids, but there are certainly sea spirits. But the main issue is what to do with you since you're stuck here. Maybe Thomas told you that in the old days, I'd have killed you without a second thought, but I've seen enough of that. All I can think of is you stay and pull your weight; the ship may practically run itself, but things still need doing."

Lloyd wasn't satisfied. It was more out of stubbornness now that he refused to believe that the legends had been true all these years. "Prove it, prove to me that you are Nathaniel Hemlock, and this is a ghost ship," he demanded, crossing his arms and resting against the wall. His leg began to hurt again after standing for some time.

Nonchalantly, Nathaniel flicked open the cuff of his shirt, pulling down to expose his wrist. Deep scars lined the pale skin, wounds that would surely have killed any living person. He traced a finger over one idly.

"Tell me how a normal human could survive these? It was a futile effort, but you can't blame me for trying..." He looked over and frowned slightly. "And sit down before you fall down."

Lloyd stepped closer and touched the ragged scars beneath his fingers. They felt quite real; he could tell it wasn't makeup. He realised Nathaniel was right. There was no way someone would survive such a thing, and the world crumbled. What he had believed for years, denied and scoffed at, had been proven to be wrong. 

He staggered back and dropped onto the bed, which he found oddly comfortable for such a place. His eyes were almost blind as he looked up, seeing only shadows blurred with tears.

"I-I don't..." He started, breath catching painfully in his throat. "I still don't understand. But-but I'll do what you want. I want to get home." He slipped down the wall into a slump. "Eventually."

Nathaniel grunted, feeling the eyes move and stare blankly. "Anyone ever tell you it's rude to stare, lad?"

"Sorry. But my vision of pirates is a guy with a bushy beard and flames tied to it. I guess you've heard of Blackbeard?"

"Heard of 'em all, lad." Nathaniel tensed irritably, not relishing conversation after all these years. "Watched a few, as well."

"You outdid them all," Lloyd lay back. "At least according to legend. But proof never existed, and I never believe much without proof. I suppose you were more surreptitious."

"I made sure no records existed." Nathaniel turned, fixing Lloyd with a glare that would rival Medusa. "One scribe threatened to record all my acts in the town, so I had his fingers cut off, one by one. And I made bloody sure that the others watched. They can tell all the tales they wanted, but I wasn't having written libel." He pressed his digits together, rocking on the back legs of the chair. "And don't think my temper has calmed enough not to do that again."

Lloyd nodded. The image was enough to still his tongue.