The Ophir (4 page)

“That is very generous of you, John. May it
never be said that I refused such a generous invitation. I must
warn you, though. My tastes run to the decadent and somewhat
bizarre at times.”

“What would that be, Joe?”

“I suffer from a lack of iron and carry my
own liquids for nourishment. But, I would love a bit of rare meat
to nibble on. Would that be possible?”

“You’re in luck. I just iced a hunk of lamb
earlier. Would that do?”

“Perfect. I’m sure between the two of us, we
should be able to come up with an appropriate dessert.” Spoken
tongue in cheek, there was more truth to the statement for my
master than there would be for the Englishman.

“Come along then. My apartments are right
around the corner.”

* * * *

As the fresh blood coursed through the veins
of the lamia leader, he shared his victim’s visions of large crowds
and gaiety; he found himself drawn even closer to a race of people
so very full of life. He decided to take the few loyal followers
left and flee to an unknown continent where they might once again
flourish. The main obstacle was the ocean to be crossed, but even
this fear would be pushed back for the sake of a speedy escape.

It was well known that the one thing The One
and his tribesmen feared more than a stake through the heart was
the sea. His race, unlike the race of man, could survive and
regenerate from anything other than beheading, the sun, or the
ocean. His tribe was landlocked by Nazim’s curse decades before.
The fear of the sea was too great to venture, until now.

The Old Man of the Mountain waged war against
The One and all but decimated the vampiric tribe. It was time to
move on. To this end, believing it more prudent and swift, we
devised a way to travel the ocean. He asked his most intrepid
followers to go with him. The others could stay and take their
chances where they may. He and his men would take the Mediterranean
Sea, past the Straits of Gibraltar, and then head North toward
England. As a slave, I was given no choice.

* * * *

As manservant, I was ordered to hire a cargo
vessel, have waterproof caskets made and filled with my Master’s
native earth. I investigated and picked a sea captain with a
reputation for meeting his obligations, regardless of trials
encountered. The Captain of the Cyclops was experienced and
respected the rights of others to privacy. He asked no questions
when the price was right. And with The One, the price was always
right.

“Place the cargo below boys. I’ll check the
manifest myself. Careful! Careful! Any damage will be taken out of
your pay.” The Boatswain gave his orders in a firm tone with
implications of consequence for anyone that became too
careless.

I took the list of materials and
double-checked everything. I whispered directions to be given for
placement of the caskets and other supplies to the Boatswain and
he, in turn, would bark his orders to the crew.

“Thank you for your help. Take this token of
my appreciation for your assistance. I’ll also put in a good word
for you with the Captain.” I handed him an amount equal to a
month’s pay for a seafaring man.

“Thank you, sir. My lads and I are pleased to
be of service, we are.”

“Mind you. The contents in the hold are of
special value to my master. He would not be as generous would any
damage be found. He’s an important man and would just as soon drink
your blood as play cards with you. Understand? Take my advice.
Never, never go into the hold after dark if you value your lives.”
I gave him my most evil smile. The man shivered as he walked
away.

As business negotiator, anything I required,
I was given. Money was never an object. I could have the best of
food, drink or company. Although the company was sometimes rather
weak and pallid by the time they were brought to me, it was still
to my liking. No games, no pretenses, and I never saw them again.
There were no reprisals either.

Appetite sated, I would step out on the deck
for a breath of fresh air. Upon return to my quarters, the
“company” would be gone. Just as my master never questioned my
tastes, I questioned him on neither arrival nor departure of said
guest.

* * * *

All arrangements bought and paid for, private
cargo aboard and in the hold of the ship, we set sail just before
sunrise. My movements went unrestricted. Private quarters were
provided from which I could come and go as I pleased.

I watched the crew at work and marveled at
the dexterity and strength they displayed. They worked with no rest
in shifts to make the best time. Later, from a chink in the
stateroom door, I could see The One, my master, standing against
the night as he watched the crew bending to the oars and whips of
their commanders.

Fresh blood drew him from the casket holding
his native soil and, like a bejeweled insect, he shimmered in
cloths adorned in bright, precious stones. The shadows of the night
cloaked him in darkness as he strode about the ship’s deck, hunting
for the right prey. Dulcet tones, understood without sound, were
whispered hypnotically, veiling his movements.

The cabin boy stood behind the ship’s captain
listening to a sweet voice as it called to him, “Come to me boy.
Come to me.” Visions of home flooded a young mind as it succumbed
to the mesmerizing whisper of the Master.

Wrapped in warm and familiar images,
illusions created by The One, he did not scream as sharp teeth
pierced his pure flesh. Tears of innocents ran down the boy’s
cheeks as he wept in pleasure and lost his soul to the night.

The One wiped a drop of blood from the corner
of his mouth with a taloned finger, licked it clean and whispered
almost lovingly “Sweet, sweet child”. He flicked the boy’s body
over the side like a piece of lint from a suit created for a
Maharaja, and the splash was drowned by the rising wind. Unable to
dodge salt spray, small sparks of flame burst forth on the Master
wherever a drop made contact with his alabaster skin.

Throwing arms up to protect his face in
reflex, he cowered momentarily before engaging preternatural speed
to race down the steps of the hold and slither back into his
casket. On his descent, I felt him search my mind for evidence of
judgment, but he would find none.

* * * *

During the first night, gale winds made
passage difficult. According to the Captain’s log, the cabin boy
did not make muster the next morning. A search was called and the
ship scoured, but the boy could not be found. It was determined
that he must have fallen overboard in the rough seas. As soon as
the storm abated, the ship would be stopped and a service
performed. The cabin boy was well liked and would be missed.

An additional note in the log mentioned
having been blown off course, and that until the skies cleared, the
sextant would be of no use.

For the next three nights unknown spatial
anomalies would cause incorrect readings on all ship instruments
making the direction headings erroneous. The Captain of the Cyclops
logged this information, but said nothing to the crew.

On the fourth day the ship lay in anchor. The
wind stopped blowing and the seas were calm. The crew was called to
stand shipside to be part of the service for the cabin boy, a young
Arabian by the name of Aban.

The captain of the Cyclops began his
prayer:

“Lord, in you we put our trust. To you we
turn in times of need. To you we shall go at the moment of
death.

Aban, you were a friend and servant to us
all. May your eye go to the Sun, your life to the wind, by the
meritorious acts that you have done. Go to heaven, and then to the
earth again ... or resort to the Waters, if you feel at home there.
Allah be with you.”

The crew dismissed. Everyone went back to
work. The winds picked up almost as if on cue and we set sail for
England once again.

Chapter
Five

During the next two days, storms raged and
instruments were of no use once again. The Captain made notes in
his log of the unusual weather and, being superstitious by nature,
prayed and doused his crew with holy water that made them
unpalatable to the Arabian Nosferatu aboard ship.

It was becoming more difficult to keep the
lamia in hiding. The vampires were hungry and getting hungrier by
the hour. Their hunger interfered with what little reason they
possessed. It drained them of strength. It erased fear, and filled
them with desperation.

On the third night, from the bowels of the
ocean, came a mighty ship with a dragon painted on its sails. It
came upon our ship in a silence that seemed preternatural.

The crew, taken by surprise, reacted just a
few seconds too late. The crew of the corsair known as the Ophir,
agile and quick, boarded the Cyclops with little opposition. And
then the battle began.

* * * *

The battle raged between the Ophir and the
Cyclops. My master and his disciples came from their caskets and,
in a blood lust, joined the combatants. The vampires drew veils
over the eyes of the fighting men; they tore at jugulars with
impunity. They would not be contained by promises of richer lands
any longer.

The trained eye caught the blur of colorful
cloth as it swirled and flew about the ship from one victim to
another. Those less fortunate would miss the acrobatic dance of
death as it took life from full-blooded men. All cunning gone, the
unholy fed like animals. Growls of pleasure accompanied screams of
terror. The death rattle could be heard for miles on the open
seas.

“Did you hear that?”

“Aye Cap’n.” The first mate of a ship thirty
miles away held his breath as he listened closely.

“Open your eyes and ears, Mr. Long. It’s said
that sirens exist in these seas. I am not one for superstitions,
but I do believe in mortal man. They are vicious enough.”

“The Lady Elizabeth’s sails are strong and
full. We’ll make port in three days. We can out sail most,
Cap’n.”

“Aye, Mr. Long. Just the same, ‘eyes and
ears’ sir, ‘eyes and ears’.”

* * * *

When the veil slipped long enough for the
fierce crew of the Ophir to see whom they fought, fear and
loathing—combined with determination and the electric energy of
adrenaline—added impetus to strength. Sabers and cutlasses swung
and hacked at the vampires as the unfocused vampires satiated their
hunger.

Having no forethought and only fear as a
guide, I dove into a half full barrel of pickles and pulled the lid
closed. I prayed it would cover the scent of my blood and save me
from the draining.

“Lord in Heaven, gods that be ... let this
be my salvation. I am a humble man sentenced to live a life not of
my choosing.
If it pleases you that I should continue with
this life, I beg you, save this unworthy skin that I may live long
enough to escape and follow your path
.
Please send the holy
spirit with his white light of protection over around and through
me that I may do your bidding
.”

The pirates were fighting for their lives;
they had no time to suffer a coward. The Vampires would not have
sensed any difference between us and could make the mistake of
eating me, too.

In the melee that ensued seven of the
twenty-three vampires were beheaded, three were tossed overboard
and dissolved in the ocean water, leaving my master, twelve
disciples, and myself of the original tribe. The Ophir crew was
reduced from 60 stalwart mates and their captain to a mere nine
terminally wounded men. The crew of the Cyclops no longer
existed.

* * * *

My master, having fed and once again under
control, understood the mistake made in insanity. If he allowed the
bloodletting to continue, all would be lost.

Harnessing the power of his strongest men, he
used ancient mystic arts known to the leaders of his tribesmen and
held his disciples in check with an incantation, a formula of
power, that he might negotiate with the remaining crew of the Ophir
and Captain Antonio. The pirates, at a signal from their Captain,
lowered their weapons but did not loosen them.

They were enthralled as the tribesmen, with
reluctance, took a step back, feral fangs glistening with blood.
Mind-to-Mind, the One parlayed with the Captain. The silence was
palpable. I lifted the lid of the pickle barrel and stepped out,
sloshing the acrid juices on the deck as I did so. Once again I,
ever the politician, suggested what should have been obvious to
both parties.

A way to work with each other for the mutual
benefit of all was imperative. The pirates could still work in the
sun. The wounded crew could redirect the ship to England before
they reached the point of no return in their state of being, or
death took them.

Once they reached the shores of England, The
One and his tribe would be unloaded on shore and set free. The
Ophir could then set sail for parts unknown. And so, as the ship
swayed to the ancient rhythm of the sea, a pact was made. The
alternative of death was not acceptable. After all, it was so
unnecessary.

The Master had learned their credo “A short
life, but a merry one.”

“Why?” he asked. “You are going to Hell
anyway, but why today? Why not change that motto to “A long life,
and
a merry one?” he asked.

“You speak fair, sir. But I would like to
make a counteroffer, if I might be so bold. I will take you to
England. However, I would take your holdings in exchange, along
with our choice to join your race, or not. You have proven to be a
good negotiator, and I’d fair wager you have the wear-with-all to
refinance your pilgrimage, where I, because of my chosen life
style, would not.”

The Captain, thinking himself shrewd,
believed that he would then be able to outfit a good crew and
continue his life of piracy on the high seas with no foe with which
to contend. They would rule the oceans of the world and take what
they wanted from the landlubbers as well. It was a decision he
would later regret.