The Pirates Of Y'ha-nthlei

© 1999 Michael Lotstein
All rights reserved.

The H.M.S. Justicar

Smoke as thick as a morning fog floated on the calm water. The wounded carrack floated proudly among the debris of her fallen enemies. On the deck, soldiers chaotically scrambled from secured longboats, carrying chests and large sacks to the cargo holds below. The crew wrangled with the sails while officers barked orders, and in the center of the madness stood the captain. Michael Panninedes cast his presence all over the ship. He wore only black, foregoing many of the garish fashions befitting a man of his rank. He chose well-tailored breeches over hose and a simple wool blouse instead of silk. His black hair was cropped short and his cobalt eyes scanned across the deck to the burning Spanish galleon. Her masts were broken and her crew dead. Flames licked across the ribs of the hull as she rocked on the small waves that broke along the remains of her forecastle.

A small, thin man with a blond beard approached the captain and waited to be addressed.

"Report, Mr. Walker," the captain said, not taking his eyes off the Spanish ship.

"The ship is secure, captain. The senior officers await you in the wardroom."

"Excellent. Prepare to cast off, best possible speed. I want us a safe distance before her magazine explodes."

"Aye sir."

Panninedes turned and headed below deck. The noise was more acute as he went deeper into the ship. The glow of lanterns lit his way as though the sun had disappeared. He reached the end of a short hallway and opened the door to the wardroom. Five men sat at a long table with maps and papers strewn about, debating hotly as the captain entered. They quickly became silent and rose to attention. The captain shut the door and took his seat. The other officers sat when the captain seemed comfortable.

Panninedes turned to his first officer, Herbert Carlisle, an older, portly man seated across from him.

"What is our status, Mr. Carlisle?"

Carlisle nervously glanced around at his fellow officers and sighed.

"Our situation is grave, captain. We were at the far end of the rear line when we engaged the Spaniards. The fleet must have disengaged before we could regroup with the rest of our squadron, and it is unlikely we will catch them in our present condition."

"Mr. Mallory," the captain said to his naster-of-arms, "how much damage did we sustain?"

Mallory pulled a schematic of the ship from a pile of maps and laid it out before the captain.

"We sustained considerable damage to the hull here," he said, pointing to the diagram with a wood stylus, "and here, just below the waterline. We've taken on a great deal of water in the last half hour and many sections of the ship have been cut off. Also, the raid of the main enemy galleon was very costly. We've lost half the muster, with about a dozen more wounded in the surgeon's cabin."

"Very well; what are our options?" Panninedes asked, his attention still focused on the damage estimate.

The navigator, Airk Van Loo, stood up and spread out a large map.

"I'm afraid I'm not able to pinpoint our exact location yet, captain. This map is not very good, but it is the best one we have. We are somewhere northeast of Deadman's Cay, moving towards San Salvador. We estimate that, based on the rate that we are taking on water and the lack of a full complement, we will be forced to abandon ship in less than a week."

Panninedes' mind went blank, stifled by the finality of the situation. In the few seconds that passed, all he could think of was his father: Derek Panninedes, a captain of the line for ten and fifteen years in the service of the crown without ever losing a command. His name was spoken with hushed awe at the Admiralty and among the naval elite even as the years since his death passed. Now here sat the son and heir to that name, that legend among his peers, about to lose the proud warrior Justicar. It was only his second command in these many years since he was made master and commander in Her Majesty's navy.

And now it was lost.

No! called a voice inside his head. You will not abandon your ship! If not for your father, or your Queen, then for your crew. They who have sworn their lives to your hallowed name. Panninedes looked to them now to save his ship. The precious few seconds passed as they looked to him. He was their captain, and he gave no hint of hesitation in their dilemma.

"Have Mr. Walker rotate the remaining crew on the pumps until further notice, and cast off any non-essential items."

"Even with that in mind, captain," Carlisle interrupted, "the fleet is at least a day ahead of us by now, and we will be too heavy with water to catch them. It would be months, with God's greatest luck, before we reached England."

"Captain," Van Loo said to Panninedes, "this map does not show it, but I have heard stories about many uncharted islands all along the Spanish Main that are used by pirates as bases. If we set a course south-southwest at our best possible speed, I believe that we can reach one of those islands."

"What then?" Panninedes asked with renewed interest.

"If we find an island with a shallow beach, we can make repairs and head for Brazil. The Portuguese are more likely to help us than the Spaniards, captain. With luck, perhaps we can join a convoy of French or Dutch ships back to England—"

"This is pointless!" Mallory said worriedly. "we should try to make for Brazil now!"

"Don't be a fool, Robert, "Van Loo mocked him. "We'd all be dead within—"

"You're the fool, Airk!"

"Enough!" Panninedes boomed. "This bickering is pointless!" He sighed and stood up. "These are the times that test our resolve to their limits, gentlemen. It is only our faith in God and in each other that will see us through." He looked around the table and saw the nods and smiles of restored faith. "My friends, I think that Airk's plan is risky, but we have no other options. Mr. Carlisle, have Mr. Walker set a course. Airk, I want a better estimate of our position and the overall status of the ship within the hour. Mr. Mallory, prepare an inventory of the treasure we captured and an estimate of our current fighting strength."

"Right away, captain."

"Thank you, gentlemen. Dismissed."

Late afternoon

The summer sun blazed down on the ship as she limped on a gentle breeze. The empty horizon continued to torture Panninedes as he stood on the upper deck, arms folded across his chest, gazing out to sea. The activity around him was minimal. Crewmen scrubbed the deck and sailors tacked the mainsail as the ship turned slightly south. Panninedes spied Carlisle heading towards him. His face was solemn and his stride uneven; the captain knew it was bad news.

"You do not look happy, Mr. Carlisle," the captain said.

"I'm afraid I'm not, captain," Carlisle replied. "The situation is steadily getting worse. Even with the pumps going day and night, the water level continues to rise. Airk says that if we continue on our present course and speed we have a day, maybe two, before we will have to abandon the ship."

"No, Herbert, that is not an option," Panninedes said, rubbing his gloved hands together. "I will not have my crew captured, trapped helplessly in longboats, by those Spanish dogs. There must be more we can do. Have we cast off all of our excess cargo?"

"Aye, captain. Even the food and water have been cast off. All that is left are the guns and the treasure."

"Well, we cannot cast off the treasure. The crew would surely mutiny if we did. Have the blacksmith and Mr. Mallory take the heavy ordnance and grind it down into canister shot for the deck guns. That should help—might even give us an extra day."

"I'll take care of it right away, captain."

"Herbert, what do you think our chances are?"

Carlisle sighed and looked out at the horizon. "The other officers and I have been through the situation a dozen times, Michael. I pray we will not have to abandon the ship, but it looks like we will, come morning."

Carlisle sensed the young captain's unease and put his hand on his shoulder.

"Buck up, Michael. We've been in tougher scrapes than this, eh? Remember when we were on the Medea? Your father pulled our biscuits out of the fire once or twice, as I recall. We'll get there again, you'll see."

"Why did you take this post, Herbert? You and Van Loo and the others. You should have had your own ship in the squadron. You could have rated captain by now."

"Oh, Michael, no," Carlisle said, flustered. "That would not have been proper. When a Panninedes puts his flag aboard a ship, then we follow. It is the way of things, lad. I would not have wanted it any other way."

Carlisle stepped next to Panninedes and moved in close so the crew could not hear.

"We have known you since you were a boy, Michael. We helped raise you, learned you your trade as a sailor and officer. We all served in other ships since your father's death. But by God, it was just not the way of things. When you were rated captain to this ship, we signed on and gave up nothing ... if only to return to the flag of a Panninedes and be true sailors again."

Panninedes smiled and took a long breath.

"Thank you, Herbert. To you and to the others. We would have not sailed this far and this well without you."

"And to you lad, for winning us this fine treasure, and honor to your name."

Panninedes nodded, folded his arms, and confessed, "Herbert, I still have a large measure of rum left in my cabin."

"So much for the last of our provisions, eh Michael?"

"Aye, my old friend. If these are our last hours aboard, let us drink and pay rembrance to our fine maiden of the sea."

"An excellent idea, Michael. An excellent idea."

Day six

"Land Ho!" a sailor announced from the crow's nest. "Land Ho!"

The crew spilled out from hatches and doorways onto the deck and stared along the horizon. Indeed it was land; a small island cast its shadow off to the east. Van Loo and Panninedes pushed their way through the crew to get a better view of the island. Panninedes pulled out his spyglass and tried to seem confident in front of the crew.

"Airk, do you know where we are?"

"Truthfully, captain, I have no idea. I estimate we are about a fortnight from Portuguese waters, but that is just a layman's guess."

"For now, it will have to do. Get below and prepare to drop the anchor when we start to get shallow."

"Aye, sir"

"Mr. Walker!" Panninedes shouted.

"Here, sir!"

"I've sent Airk down below; round up Mr. Carlisle and Robert Mallory and meet me back here on the double."

"Aye, sir!"

Panninedes turned to his stunned crew and hollered, "well, lads, what are you waiting for? Lord Admiral Drake to greet you with mead and a wet kiss? Let's get this lady to shore!"

The crew cheered madly as the captain called them to muster. The ship began to slow as they secured the sails and coasted toward the beach. The anchor was dropped and the longboats were lowered into the crystal-blue water of the lagoon. The senior officers were assembled as the crew took their stations.

"I only want a skeleton crew aboard," Panninedes ordered. "Robert, you will be in command here. I'll be leading the expedition to the island. Make preparations to receive supplies and keep watch for approaching ships. Remember, we are still in enemy waters."

"Aye, sir."

"Mr. Carlisle, Mr. Van Loo, let's go."

The island was like nothing Panninedes had seen before. The warmth of the afternoon breeze caressed his skin, and the sweet smell of the jungle filled his mind with a sense of relief and reward. His party of six men slowly made their way through the thick vines and trees while picking fruits and greens for supplies. The rustling of brush a few yards ahead caused them to stop. The men raised their muskets, but Panninedes bade them still.

"Easy men, it's just the others." Carlisle, Van Loo, and the rest of their party emerged from the jungle, stamping out a small clearing. Carlisle was smiling as he devoured a large piece of fruit. Van Loo put his arm around the first officer and shook his head in disbelief.

"Captain, we could not have stumbled onto better fortune. This island could sustain us forever, I'd warrant. The trees should make fine lumber and their sap an excellent resin. We should have no trouble making repairs. The food is in abundance and the climate comfortable."

"Indeed, Mr. Van Loo, God has seen fit to deliver us after all. Your faith in the stories about the Spanish Main have saved us."

"Many thanks, captain. I'd like your permission to—"

"Wait!" Carlisle said, lifting his hand to silence Van Loo. "Do you hear that?"

The others stopped and concentrated on the sounds of the jungle. After a brief second, Van Loo smiled.

"indeed I do, Herbert. Captain, we hear a waterfall. Do you hear it?"

"I do, now that you mention it. That means fresh water. Fall out, men, and follow Mr. Carlisle."

The search party formed ranks and marched single file after Carlisle and Panninedes. Carlisle hacked out a small trail with his cutlass as they moved deeper and deeper into the depths of the jungle. The rushing of water drew them closer. Carlisle licked his lips in anticipation and picked up the pace. The trees at the periphery of their trail began to thin as they saw the spray of water ahead. They felt the moisture of it on their skin and smelled it in the air. As they reached the waterfall, the jungle ended, and they found themselves in a clearing just before a sheer rocky hill.

The waterfall was not as grand as they had hoped. The echo of the rock face gave the illusion of furiously rushing water. The waterfall emptied into a pool at its base and, carved next to it as an extension of the hill, a temple of black granite captured their attention.

Carlisle and the crew emerged from the jungle and stood frozen in awe by its hideous beauty.

The structure itself was seamless. The rock seemed to be naturally jutting from the temple to the hill. There was a small opening at the base, but none dared to entertain the thought of entering. On the roof was perched a statue of horrific proportions. Its dragonlike body squatted at the edge of the roof, its legs crossed and arms rested on its knees. The head was bloated and much larger than its body. It had two thin ellipses for eyes and tentacles covered its mouth, jaw and neck. It was just a statue, but they knew it was watching them.

"Dear God, captain." Carlisle whispered, in order not to offend the statue. "What do you make of such an abomination?"

"Not in my worst nightmares could I have imagined such a horror."

"Natives, captain," Van Loo said. "Some of these islands are inhabited. But the savages the tales spoke of were harmless."

"Does a harmless lot create something like this, Airk?" Carlisle hissed. "Let's go back to the ship, for God's sake, captain!"

"Very well, but we must—" The captain froze and sucked in a breath as he caught sight of a creature in the trees. They were being watched. He turned and saw that the trees were filled with them. The others, alerted by the captain's reaction, raised their muskets at the creatures.

One of the creatures leapt from a tree and stood before them. It stood erect like a man. In most respects, it did have the characteristics of a man. It was tall and muscular, covered with a loincloth. But its skin was greenish gray and shone with a smooth luster. Its face was bloated, with white, pupiless eyes and thin lips. Its hands were slightly webbed with long, needle-like fingers. It stared curiously at Panninedes, as if it were waiting for something.

"Could this be a native, Airk?"

"Possibly, captain. What should we do?"

"We must have trespassed. I suppose we should just act apologetic and leave. We can return for the water later with the rest of the crew."

Panninedes stepped forward and cleared his throat.

"I am Captain Michael Panninedes of her Majesty's warship Justicar. We are here to make repairs to our ship and depart. We offer ourselves to your hospitality," he said, in his best voice to impress the savage. It opened its mouth, but Panninedes did not think it was speaking. It whispered and hissed while making a low clicking noise. When it stopped, Panninedes felt a strange itching sensation in the back of his mind. Then, as if the wind carried its message to him, he could hear a whisper.

"You are men. As ours were once, long, long ago. We are the children of the Lords of the Deep, masters of the great sunken city of Y'ha-nthlei. We have seen you. You and the men on your ship."

"My ship? What about the men on my ship?" Panninedes asked aloud, then grimaced, realizing that he was talking to himself. He turned to Carlisle, who took no notice of the captain's reply. He, too, must have heard the whispers.

"What happened to the men on my ship?"

"Dead."

Before Panninedes could react, the creatures leapt from the trees and overcame the crew. Gunshots cracked in tandem, but the speed and ferocity of the creatures were too much. With their razor-like claws, they ripped into the throats of the men, throwing their broken and mutilated bodies down into a pile, a moat of blood forming a ring around the dead.

Panninedes drew his cutlass and faced the creature he'd spoken to as it came at him. He swung his sword. The creature raised its arm and sliced the blade from the hilt in one stroke, knocked Panninedes to the ground and knelt on his chest. Panninedes struggled to reach the pistol in his belt, but he was pinned under the weight of the creature. The shrieks of his men as they were torn apart began to fade as the creature hissed, stroking its clawed fingers across his cheek.

"Open your mind to me. Give yourself to Cthulhu, the Dreaming God. We are now your kin, and the Elder Race are now your masters!"

"Bastard! Kill me now or—"

Panninedes looked up and saw the creature drive its claws into his head. He could not scream as the pain overwhelmed his senses. A white light encircled the creature as he saw his blood wash over its face and chest. It raised its head and keened in delight.

"Open your mind to me."

"Open your mind!"

The afternoon sun was hot, but a breeze drove away the heat as the Spanish ship skirted a cluster of small waves. The crew was at work on the deck. Duke Antonio Guzman de Olivarez, captain of the Juan Carlos, leaned against the mast and fanned himself with his silk kerchief. Even in the most temperate climate, his heavy embroidered waistcoat smothered him. His face was powdered white, his black wig clung to his sweaty head, and his tall boots were beginning to fill with sweat. The captain sighed as he endured the duties of his position. If not the clothes, then the boredom of this mission would certainly drive him to faint. Scouting was the most tedious element of convoy duty and certainly the least likely to gain him personal glory. As his first officer approached, he grimaced at the prospect of more ship talk.

Olivarez often wished his father were a tailor or a butler instead of an admiral.

"My Lord, we have reached the end of our patrol and await your orders."

"Get us out of here, Rodrigo. The sooner we reach the fleet, the sooner I can get off this mite farm and get a decent cup of wine aboard Don Luis' galleon."

"Yes, my Lord."

Rodrigo turned to the navigator and made a slight gesture with his hand, indicating the turn. He supervised the tack of the mainsail and turned to the captain.

"My Lord, I was hoping that we could—" He paused and squinted at the horizon for a moment. He took a step past the captain and pulled out his spyglass. The captain turned to him and scanned the horizon.

"What is it, Rodrigo?"

"I thought I saw a ship, my Lord. We were not scheduled to rendezvous with the rest of the squadron until later today. But there is a ship ahead."

The captain took out his own spyglass and tracked Rodrigo's arm as he pointed east.

"Yes, yes, I see it, too."

"Bring us about twenty degrees, Mr. Duran, and tack the mizzen to give us some speed."

The captain smiled as he saw the ship.

"It appears you will get that cup of wine a bit early, my Lord." Rodrigo said.

"Yes, indeed."

They watched the ship approach for the next hour while they chatted. Rodrigo made his congratulations to the captain for spotting the ship. He dare not take credit for anything if he ever hoped to get a ship of his own someday.

"She's spotted us, my Lord, and she's turning to intercept. Secure the mast, Mr. Duran, bring us in straight ahead."

"Aye, sir."

"That's odd," Rodrigo said. "She's coming in rather fast."

"Maybe she caught a good wind," the captain said.

"Unlike,ly my Lord; the wind has stopped. In fact, I'd say that we are just barely coasting, ourselves."

They both peered at the ship, and Rodrigo shook his head in surprise.

"My Lord, that is not one of our scout ships. It's an English ship!"

"An English ship? Out here? Are you sure?"

"Yes, my Lord." Rodrigo scanned the ship and noticed her name etched just below the bowsprit. "She's called the Justicar. Probably one of the pirate Drake's ships."

"Maybe she was separated from her fleet and has come to surrender; she looks rather shot up," the captain said with enthusiasm. "Mr. Duran, raise the white pinnace!"

"Right away, my Lord!"

They watched the thin white flag go up the mast and turned to the English ship.

"She's not slowing down. In fact, she is coming in faster now. Her bonaventure sail is full and," Rodrigo paused to peer through his spyglass, "I see activity on the deck. It looks like they're mustering their soldiers."

"What? She would not dare attack us!"

"There is another ship approaching from the west, my Lord," Rodrigo said, turning the captain's attention. "it's the Esperanza!"

"She must see our other ship," the captain said. "There is no chance—"

"Nevertheless, we must turn in case she does attack."

"Yes, Rodrigo, you are right. Mr. Duran, bring us about!"

"We cannot tack, my Lord," Duran said. "We have lost the wind!"

"Call the cannoneers from below deck! Break out the oars and bring us around!"

"My Lord, her forward gunwales are opening!"

"Mr. Duran!" the captain shouted, as a volley erupted from the Justicar. Canister shot from her deck guns shattered the main mast like glass. Shards of wood and sail rained down on the deck. The forward hull shook as the heavy guns at the waterline blasted their brass salvos.

"Return fire!" the captain screamed.

"We cannot, my Lord!" Rodrigo said. "Their angle of attack is too steep. We cannot turn the main guns far enough to hit them."

"They are going to attempt to board us! Break out the muskets and stand fast!"

"My Lord, we've lost the mainsail and the mizzen. We cannot maneuver!"

"I said to stand fast, damn you!"

"Too late!"

Even as the Justicar came into range, her crew began to climb aboard from the ocean. They were clad in soaked and torn clothes, and they were not totally human. Their skin was a whitish gray that glistened from the sun reflecting off the water. Their hair was matted and their faces smooth but ragged. Their webbed hands, with long, needle-like claws, served as their weapons as they attacked the crew on deck, shredding their skin as blood flew in all directions.

Olivarez drew his pistol and fired. The bullet tore through the chest of the creature as it fell dead. He threw the pistol to the ground and drew his sword.

The ranks of the Spaniards quickly thinned as Olivarez moved further back until he was pinned, his back to the aft mast. He turned as the Justicar secured halyards and her beastly horrors stormed aboard. He began to sob as they hacked at his crew, flinching from the loud crack of an occasional gunshot. Through the chaos, one of her rank took notice of him and approached. His stride was calm and even. His demeanor seemed rational. He was clad in all black; even his breasplate was a soot-colored iron. He cupped the pommel of a sheathed sword in his left hand and clenched his right hand in a fist. His hair was closely cropped and well groomed. His look was more handsome than his bretheren, but as their eyes met, Olivarez winced at his smooth, gray-skinned face and his white, ghostly eyes. He scanned Olivarez and craned his head slightly.

"Mr. Carlisle!" the stranger shouted in perfect English.

"Yes, captain!" a voice called. Olivarez saw a portly beast in a long waistcoat. Ooze dripped from its sleeves and made two piles at his feet.

"What is our status?"

"The ship is secure. We have about forty prisoners below deck."

"No prisoners, Mr. Carlisle." the creature said, staring at Olivarez, who understood his meaning perfectly.

"By your orders, captain. This ship is part of a squadron of scouts for a large Spanish plate fleet out of the Americas," Carlisle said. "There is another ship headed this way at high speed. She's got our wind and is moving to intercept."

"Return to the Justicar with twenty men. Our cannon have range over her. We'll use this ship as cover and cripple her from a safe distance."

"Aye, captain."

Olivarez shook uncontrollably and slowly sunk to his knees. Panninedes leaned his arm up against the mast, looked down at the weeping Spaniard, and said, "My Lord captain, in the name of his Majesty, the Dreaming God, Lord of R'lyeh, and sacred master of the Elder Race, I order you to surrender your vessel."

Olivarez could only clutch his knees and sob. Panninedes turned as his crew made preparations to turn their prize starboard.

"Mr. Walker, raise the colors!"

"Aye, captain!"

Olivarez watched as his colors were struck and a new flag raised. It was black with a giant, hideous figure emblazoned in red as the standard. Its dragonlike body was crowned with a bloated head and tentacles on its neck and mouth. Panninedes squatted next to Olivarez, took off his gloves, and tucked them neatly in his belt.

"My Lord captain, I need to know the strength and number of the warships in your convoy," he said calmly as he stroked Olivarez's cheek. "Now open your mind to me."

Olivarez began to speak but only shrieked as Panninedes buried his claws deep into the Spaniard's scalp. The creature opened his mouth as the blood washed over his face and drank deep as it thickened along his forehead. Olivarez slowly and painfully died, but in his final moments he heard a strange whisper and clicking sound.

"By the grace of the Elder Gods shall my family name bear glory. We sail to make war and plunder in His name. And when the mortal world does tremble by our cannon and by our valor shall we shall sail to R'yleh and bear witness to the living dead made whole again and the reckoning that it brings."

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