Ink and Blood
They exist. The men with the curse tattoos exist, and I have one locked away in the hold. With enthusiasm, my men went to work testing the myths. No matter how deep we cut and scarred the man, the black ink always seeps through. It cannot be cut out, it cannot be covered by fresh ink, and a candle’s flame casts no reflection upon it. Just as they elders say.
It took eight days of torture and our strongest whiskey before he would talk.
According to the old hag, Davy Jones is on the Flying Dutchman. He is the chaos of the seven seas. No man sails without his knowing. He destroys sinners with storms and beasts, but protects those in his favour. He confines traitors and scum in his locker and feeds them to his monsters. But he makes deals with the clever and the brave. For a mark on your arm, he will grant you one wish.
I will offer my blood and soul if it means having his power for my lineage. The Wellerman family will control the merchant world. We will be his allies, and he our shepherd.
He knows that we are coming.
We sail at dawn.
—Malcom S. Wellerman.
INK STAINS PAPER. BLOOD STAINS THE SOUL
Ink stains paper. Blood stains the soul.
The words were written in a jarring scrawl, taking up the entire bottom of the yellowed page. Black ink bled through as though the author had been holding the pen like a knife, differing from the neat handwriting that filled the rest of the page.
The young man bent over the heavy leather journal, strands of bronze hair falling out of place and into his icy blue eyes, but he kept focus on the page. Running his fingers over every ink stroke, he muttered to himself, “What are you trying to say?”
A distant ringing of the town bell answered him, but it was drowned out by the soft pelting of rain on the tall windows between the carved bookshelves lining the office. The hardwood floor creaked, just beyond the doorway.
Bam!
The solid-oak door burst open revealing a young lady with tied back blonde hair and a long, green coat standing on the threshold, glaring at him. “Barron!” she snapped, marching into the room. “The bells are ringing! Grab your coat!”
“What?” Startled, he stood at once and looked out the windows. With a quiet hiss under his breath, he grabbed the journal and secured it tightly under his arm. Quickly he made way to the door where his sister was holding out his coat.
Pulling the coat from her grasp, they marched into the hall. The hallway was empty and there were no sounds of any employees nearby. As they hurried down the stairs, Barron glanced over to his sister asking, “Is it one of ours?”
“It better be,” she snapped, rushing for the giant outer doors that had been left wide open. “Uncle Richard will have a fit if it’s someone else’s.”
The deep, mournful call of the town bells mixed with the crash of thunder, echoing off the brick buildings and cobbled streets. Globs of rain splashed down from heavy grey clouds, as people of every possible background poured out onto the street. Women hiked up their skirts to keep them free of the mud, talking to each other anxiously as they joined the crowd. Children ran through the puddles with excited shouts, heading towards the docks with their parents chasing after them.
Raising their heads high and slowing to a dignified pace, the siblings joined the growing crowd heading for the harbour, keeping their sights locked onto the horizon and the silhouette of a ship that was emerging from the fog.
The docks were clogged and heavily burdened with the masses, its wooden planks groaning and creaking beneath their feet. As the ship glided slowly to the dock, the crowd gasped and took a step back. The sturdy wood was worn and faded in colour. Gashes marred her sides, the smallest of which were the size of a full-grown man and cut deep into the wood. Her mast was bent, her sails were in rags, and her ropes had become tangled and knotted in the winds. Anxious whispers erupted among the gathered women as their children stared with widened eyes, leaning in as close as they could get.
Barron managed to push his way to the front of the mob and entered the lower docks where only employees and owners could go. His blue eyes absorbed every detail and committed it to memory. “Adeline,” he called out, “please tell me it is one of our ships.”
Adeline popped out from the crowd, earning some side-eyed glances and glares from the mob. She eyed them right back as she shouldered her way down the steps to the working level. Critically she eyed the ship, frowning as she came beside him.
“Hardly. I think our uncles would sooner see our vessels sink than come back in such a woeful state. That is not a Wellerman ship.” She tilted her head and hummed for a moment. “However, it looks well enough to sail again, and for the right price, we just may have our crew as well. Assuming, of course, that they are alive.”
“Ahem!” A crass voice sounded from behind them then. “If you are not an employee, you are to stay at the upper docks like everyone else. This level is for owners and employees only!”
The siblings straightened their backs, groaning internally. Slowly they turned around to face the old woman with a tight white bun and soaked purple dress.
With a flick of her blonde hair, Adeline smiled. “Lady Eisner, how lovely to see you again. Forgive my brother and I for any intrusion, but a ship hasn’t docked in over two weeks. We just had to see which ship had survived these horrid storms, and it looks like it is one of yours, my lady.”
Lady Eisner turned her nose up in disgust. “Adeline Wellerman,” she sneered. “Still wearing a man’s clothes, I see; and Barron Wellerman, never to be seen without that outlandish journal.” She scowled. “Of course, it would be one of my ships that has returned. My husband paid a handsome price for our ships and crews.”
Adeline’s smiled faltered slightly. “Well, first, I’ll have you know that skirts and dresses get in the way of work, not that you would know, always hiding behind either your husband or your desk. Still, I must congratulate you on the return of your ship! I’ve yet to see your crew though.”
“Finishing their duties, I presume.”
“Hm. Could be… or maybe they too heard the rumours that it’s better to jump ship than deal with an Eisner’s temper.” Adeline kept smiling politely as the old woman’s face turned a similar shade as her dress.
She shook her fists and started yelling at the girl.
“No shame! Wellerman women have no shame!” Barron sighed at their argument and tuned out, opting to watch the ship’s deck for signs of her crew. Although he heard a few meek orders called out, there wasn’t much to be seen. So, he turned to analyze the crowd behind him.
Gaunt faces stares back at him even as a choir of voices could be heard, calling out random names, likely those of sons yet to return. The begging and pleading of crowds was nothing new in these times of storms, but from the corner of his eye, a spark of red caught Barron’s attention.
On the steps between the docks stood a young man with red hair. He couldn’t have been older than Barron himself, around twenty or so, but he was looking at that ship with trepidation. Snapping out his trance, the young man shook his head and bent down to pick up a black blob at his feet. Barron couldn’t tell what it was, but the redhead’s sleeve pulled back with the motion, revealing a tattoo with the darkest ink he had ever seen.
The Wellerman’s heart stopped, and he clenched his journal, watching as the lad then vanished back into the crowd and disappeared.
The heat of determination filled Barron and he turned back to the still feuding ladies, stepping between them, he placed his free hand on his sister’s shoulder, and pushed her back. He bowed his head to Lady Eisner. “It has been so nice to see you again, my lady. Come join us at the tavern when your business is over, and we will raise a glass of merlot in your honour.”
Eisner scoffed. “Like I would be seen in such a common, filthy watering hole. If the two of you had any sense at all, or perhaps a father, then you would know that children of your standing do not belong there either.”
Barron’s eye twitched as he wrapped his arm around his sister’s tense shoulders and led her away. After a few paces, he tucked his head in and whispered in her ear, “There is a man in the crowd we have been looking for… bearing one of the tattoos.”
Adeline’s breath hitched, and she paused to look at the book under his arm. “If what you are saying is true, then perhaps your glorified diary isn’t so useless.”
The local tavern was rank, dark, and crowded. Patrons filled every table and chair, hardly leaving any room for the bar maids to get through with their arms heavy laden with drinks. Barron pushed his way into the room, looking over each table for the lad with the red hair. Many of the sailors and staff gave the Wellermans odd looks, staring at their fine clothes and carefully styled hair. The Wellermans ignored them and pushed deeper into the room.
“Barron, do you even know if he is here?” Adeline asked, keeping one hand on Barron’s back as she followed.
“Where else would he go? There is nothing else in this pathetic port town.” More of the staff glared at the young man.
Quick movement off to one side of the room caught Barron’s attention, and he stopped in his tracks, causing Adeline to crash into him. Zipping between feet and table legs, a black blur bounced and zig zagged, always returning to a spot under a tipped over chair where a pile of rib bones was growing. When it finally stopped, Barron peered closer and recoiled at what he saw.
It was a beast he had never seen before, it looked like a rat the size of a small dog with fur as black as midnight. On its chest was a white “V”, and from its left ear sat a metal skull earring. The little monster had tiny fangs and beady eyes full of hunger as it stared at its bone pile.
As Barron watched in horror, the creature opened its mouth wider and wider, beyond what seemed possible, and swallowed the bones. Licking its lips, it looked up, catching Barron’s stare. It’s eye twinkled evilly and unease tingled in the Wellerman’s gut as he subtly kept his sister behind him.
Adeline gritted her teeth. “What are you doing?”
The creature briefly smiled at them before lunging. Barron grabbed Adeline and jumped to the side, crashing into a table and letting the furry black creature zoom past. The thing leaped to the tabletops and bounced over patrons and maids to the far side of the tavern, where a redheaded man sat, tucked into his coat at a broken table in the corner. The beast perched on the table beside the man’s papers, staring at Barron with a smirk before walking up the lad’s arm and settling onto his shoulder.
“Get off me!” A voice cried from behind, shoving Barron forward, slamming him into a group of burly sailors, who glared over their shoulders. Before he could say anything though, Adeline pushed forward, bowed her head, and smiled.
“Apologies for my brother, gentlemen. A cat startled him. Here,” she said, “a coin for your troubles.” She pulled out three gold coins from her pocket, and handed one to each of the men.
As soon as the coins left her hand, Barron started pulling her away from the sailors, squeezing between the tables of drunken patrons, stepping on toes, and ducking under the raised tray of a bustling barmaid. Adeline smiled and kept apologizing, but Barron did not slow down until they’d broken through the dense pack and stumbled up to the stranger’s table.
The young man looked up from his paperwork, with a raise eyebrow and a look of suspicion in his guarded green eyes. The creature grinned wickedly at them, and that’s when Barron noticed the young man and the mini monster had matching skull studs of their left ears.
Barron tried to keep his sister behind him, but with a gasp she excitedly pushed forward, leaning over the table with fascination lighting up her eyes. “Good sir, if I may ask, what is it that you have on your shoulder? It is unlike anything I have ever seen.”
The stranger leaned back in his chair, likely to put some distance between them as he looked them both up and down. Gently he reached up to stroke the creature. “He’s a Tasmanian devil. A little monster that can snap bones with his jaws and devour anything.” The young man narrowed his eyes at the two. “He’s also not well tamed. He tends to attack anyone that annoys him… or me.”
The little devil preened under the affection, and kept smiling at the Wellermans, hunger growing rapidly in his beady eyes. Adeline’s spark of fascination morphed into greed, and Barron quickly placed himself between the two of them. His attention, however, was suddenly drawn to the mess of papers that littered the table in front of them.
Adeline rolled her eyes, pulled out a chair and sat down directly across from the stranger. Both the stranger and the Tasmanian devil tilted their heads with amusement as she leaned over the table and held out her hand. “I don’t believe we have met before. I am Adeline Wellerman, and it is a pleasure to meet you.”
The man seemed to grit his teeth but took her hand in his firm grasp. “To what do I owe this pleasure?” As they shook hands, the young man’s sleeve fell back, once again revealing a portion of an onyx-black tattoo.
Adeline hid her awe and schemes behind a charming smile. “Are you here alone, sir?”
The stranger ripped his hand away. “Why’d you want to know?”
“We’re looking to hire a crew for a voyage,” she said. “If you are a part of one, then we would like to speak to your captain right away.”
The young man was silent for a bit, looking back and forth between the two siblings. When he noted the focus of Barron’s attention, he grabbed the papers, pulling them in. “I am the one you’d talk to, but what is it exactly that you want?”
“So, you are a part of a crew.” Adeline purred. “That means you have a ship, correct?”
The red head slammed his palm down on the table. “Of course, we have a ship. What kind of fool do you take me for?”
Adeline raised her hands in surrender. “My apologies, I am just checking my assumptions. One can never be certain of the details till they’ve been put in writing.” She folded her hands on the table. “We are in need of a ship and crew that can take us to find someone we’re looking for.” She glanced meaningfully at his arm. “And I believe you are one of the few who could take us to him.”
The little devil started growling, and the stranger narrowed his eyes, and clamped a hand over his muzzle, muffling him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means… that’s quite the unique tattoo you have.” The young man froze, his eyes grew wide and his already pale skin went whiter than an albatross feather. The devil shook off the man’s grip and howled louder. Snapping out of his shock, a cold rage illuminated the man’s toxic green eyes.
“Get to the point.”
The Wellermans looked at each other and grinned ravenously. Barron dropped his journal onto the table with a dull thud, pulled up a chair, and sat down, keeping a tight grip on the book. “We know you’ve met the one we’re looking for.” Barron glanced over his shoulder. Although filled to the brim, nobody in the loud tavern was watching. He turned back. “You have met Davy Jones.”
The devil lunged, leaping onto Barron, who fumbled back. The stranger grabbed the overgrown rat, and threw it back onto the table, pulling out a blade and stabbing the beast through, pinning it to the wood. It kept sneering.
He looked back at the Wellermans, light from the lantern making his eyes glow eerily. “Only the dead and the foolish seek Jones. I will not be leading my crew to Davy Jones’s locker.”
“We’re not going to the locker. We’re going to the Flying Dutchman.”
The devil’s moans ceased, and the stranger paused. They glanced at each other and turned back to the Wellermans suspiciously. “How do ya mean?”
Barron smiled. “Davy Jones owns and captains the Flying Dutchman. My book here, and every sailor that believes, has confirmed this. He has been spotted more and more often during the storms, and all we need is a crew that can take us to him.”
The redhead didn’t say anything, so Barron continued. “The ink of your tattoo is darker than any I have seen. Only those indebted to Jones have ones like it.”
“We also pay very well,” Adeline quickly added, giving her brother a brief glare. “Our uncles own the Wellerman Trading Company. Not only will we cover any expenses, but we will throw in a month’s worth of goods for your captain and crew as a bonus.”
The stranger snorted. “Oh good, we’d get a month’s supplies. I wonder how long we can make that last against an eternity in the locker,” he scoffed, glaring at her. “Find another fool.”
With that, he ripped the blade from the Tasmanian devil, sheathing it as the little creature shook itself and got back to its feet. With a final huff at the siblings, it jumped back up onto its master’s shoulder as though it had never been skewered and gave them an evil eye as the redhead was gathering his papers.
Watching the seemingly miraculous health of the creature, Adeline’s jaw dropped, and Barron’s eyes blew wide in shock. The monster grinned at them with delight in its beady eyes. Shaking his head to gather himself, Barron refocused and grabbed the young sailor’s shoulder. “You don’t have to meet him; you just need to get us there.”
“We are also very good at negotiating,” Adeline piped up, although her gaze lingered on the pet with a spark of voracious greed. “If you take us to Jones, we may be able to convince him to ease or forgive your debt.”
The stranger’s ruddy eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “You want to find the Flying Dutchman for whatever reason, and convince Davy Jones to forgive me while yer there?” He burst out laughing, and the odd grunting sounds of his pet seemed just as amused. “Yer minds have spoiled with too much beer.”
Adeline’s face pinched in frustration as she sat up straighter. “But can you do it? Can your captain take us to the Flying Dutchman?”
“We know you’re in dire need the supplies, boy,” Barron snapped, reaching to snatch one of the lingering papers. “I can read documents perfectly, and these say your running real low. I’d say you have maybe three weeks of rations before you’re done. You need us just as much as we need you.”
The stranger stopped laughing, a cold tension mounting between them. Sounds of the tavern’s chatter blared and people shoved their way around them, but their focus was on each other. The Wellermans kept their ground, staring at their opponent with intent. The sailor in turn hid his emotions well until he sighed and hung his head slightly. He scowled at the table like he hated himself. “It’s gonna take more than a month’s supplies. We’ll need a year at least.”
“A month.”
“A year.”
“Two months.”
“Ten.”
“Three.”
“Eight.”
“Four.”
“Six.”
“Four.”
“Six.” Barron looked at Adeline, who shrugged and sighed. “Six months of supplies, in addition to whatever is required for the journey, but nothing more. That’s our final offer.”
The young sailor looked simultaneously resigned and unsure, studying the papers in his hands, and then the Wellermans once again. A spark flashed over his eyes before replaced by a cold scowl and thrust out his hand. “Fine, with one condition: My crew does not confront Davy Jones or anyone on that ship. Agree to this, and we’ll take you to the Flying Dutchman.”
“Done!” Adeline’s hand shot forward, grabbing his hand in a death grip, and shook it firmly. Barron grinned like an excited child, and then ripped a blank page from the back of the journal, pulled out a writing instrument from his coat, and began writing out the terms of their agreement.
“When we meet with your captain,” Barron said, “we will show him this.”
With a snort, the redhead yanked his hand free of Adeline’s grip and nabbed the writing tool from Barron, aggressively scribbling his name across the page. He smacked the tool down and shoved the paper into Barron’s narrow chest, staring him dead in the eye.
“I am the captain.”
