I hope you enjoyed last week’s continuation of the Columbus experiment. Here is the finale to the short-story project. Please note: This story contains profanity due to subject matter and character establishment.

Feel free to let us know what you think, and we’ll be back to Writing for Web next week!

Report of Deck Hand Alvaro Perez

May I speak honestly, sir?

(I encouraged Mr. Perez to do so to better help locate Ensign Prichard and to create an accurate record of events.)

It’s all horseshit. Everything that lying son of a bitch has told you is a colossal pile of horseshit. That weakling may have served under several captains, but this is the first real voyage he’s ever been a part of. I suspect that’s why he’s so hell bent on double, triple, and quadruple checking the damn ship’s inventory every other day. After all, what does he think is going to happen? Does he really think someone is going to run off with the ship’s precious materials, as if there were anything precious about this ridiculous venture. The truth is he has only ever served on vessels that patrol the coast. He’s never left the comfort of being able to reach the shore if the ship fails. The stresses you encounter on voyages like this one can break a real man easy enough, let alone a silver-spoon raised infant like him. He constantly boasts about his service record and recommendations but everyone knows the only reason those captains blessed his ass with sweet recommendations is because his father is a high-ranking admiral in her Majesty’s Navy.

I’m only pointing this out to you so you don’t take everything he has to say as the gospel’s truth. Besides, anyone who has been around that man for any period of time should know better than to listen to his ramblings because he is a constant drunkard. He craves the bottle’s bottom day and night and, I suspect, that is why he chose the job of Property Master. I mean, why the hell would he take on that job when he could have just as easily gone through the officer’s ranks to become a captain of his own vessel? No, the real value of that station for him is the convenient feature that it leaves him alone below deck most of the time which gives him ample opportunity to get loaded without punishment and sparing him the indignity of dealing with the lower class dregs like us.

In fact, I would wager a month’s earnings that his perpetual inebriation is to thank for our recent shortage of liquor rations.

(I point out that this report is not the appropriate place to discuss personal grievances and suggest he should share whatever knowledge he may have about the disappearance of Ensign Prichard.)

I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get away from what I came to tell you. What I wanted to report is that I have heard Juan’s amazing tale and I happen to know its horseshit. I was awake last night and on the deck the same time as Juan.

(I indicate that Mr. Bermudez did not mention seeing Mr. Perez)

Yeah, I know he didn’t see me . . . that was on purpose. I was at the bow of the boat and barely saw him coming out from his cave below deck. When I saw him I ducked behind the forward mast so I wouldn’t have to listen to him blather on about how much he cares about his station and how he is working himself to the bone to ensure the ship’s rations are safeguarded. Everyone on the ship knows he promotes himself shamelessly at every turn. Hell, he even tries to make it a common thing that there is a rat on board hoarding supplies and that he is the only one who can catch the thief with his horseshit inventorying.

I heard it from a friend elsewhere in the Navy that Juan pulled this same scam on Captain Rousso’s ship in the Balearic. He even took the rouse so far that he got a man wrongfully flogged on deck with 15 lashes. That sort of scum has no place on a distant voyage like this. If I were in charge, I would relegate that son of a bitch to cleaning duties.

(I reminded the deckhand that the purpose of the report is not to attack the property master and that the punishment for inciting mutiny at sea is summary execution.)

I’m not criticizing the Captain. He has his obligations and the whole crew, myself included, respects that. I’m just saying Juan can’t be trusted. The real reason I’m talking to you is to explain away the good Property Master’s fanciful observations. Like I said, I was on deck at the same time he was last evening. The only difference is that I was sober whereas he was stumbling about the stern back and forth. He stumbled about for a great deal of time but eventually stopped and began staring out at the sea. After a long while, he suddenly jerked his head skyward as a gust of wind grazed the ship. When I glanced up, I saw nothing but the same calm night’s sky that accustomed the rest of the evening. As for the somewhat unusually sharp gust of wind that he attributes to the flight of some magical creature, anyone who has sailed these long range quests can tell you that sudden winds at sea can easily catch a sail causing a rush of air as the ship jars with the wind’s breeze. That’s all that happened last night. Juan was drunk and mistook the wind for something fantastical, plain and simple.

As for the disappearance of Ensign Prichard, this is a dangerous business we’re in, especially climbing the nest at night. If it hadn’t been for the evening’s storms, Ensign Prichard would have never been sent to the nest because we don’t usually send men there at night because it’s too dangerous. We only send them up there at night if we’re in extraordinary conditions.

(I asked what some of these conditions might be)

We would send a man to the nest at night if there is bad weather like last night to watch for rogue waves, or if we are in battle conditions to watch for enemies on the horizon, or if our charts suggest we’re close to land. So knowing how dangerous it is to be up there at night, Ensign Prichard might have slipped or had some accident causing him to fall to the harsh ocean below, or he might have jumped on his own accord to escape the pressures that we’re all facing thanks to the Navigator’s seemingly aimless wandering around the ocean. In any case, Ensign Prichard is hardly the first person to be lost at sea from the nest, and everyone should stop gossiping about and focus on their duties instead.

(I ask if this is the only information Mr. Perez has to report)

Yeah, that’s all I’ve got to say.

Post-Report Notations

Based upon my own observations and numerous informal comments from crewmen, I should like to report some relevant collateral information. First, it should be noted that both Property Master Bermudez and Mr. Perez have reputations for taking heavy amounts of liquor. No one seems to know whether Bermudez or Perez has embezzled more than his allotted share of liquor rations, but it is well known the two men were involved in a confrontation roughly one week ago. The verbal argument stemmed from a report by Mr. Bermudez to the first officer suggest his concern that Mr. Perez might be hording liquor rations. Mr. Perez apparently confronted Mr. Bermudez informally and their verbal argument was heard by three crewmen. Mr. Perez received no formal punishment as the incident went unreported to officers.

I remain concerned about a particularly unusual note. After the storm passed last evening, the sea became unusually calm, which blessed us with some of the most stable sailing conditions we have thus far encountered. When reflecting upon the report of Mr. Perez, I cannot help but wonder why I felt no jarring event last evening as he described is caused by as sudden gush of wind. In fact, I do not recall the vessel so much as rocking let alone jarring. I have asked some of the more experienced men aboard if they have witnessed such jarring winds in their times before and they, indeed, have. However, those men report perceiving no such event last night and, in fact, strongly insist there was no tumultuous event following the storm.

The report of Mr. Perez seems logical, but the current evidence does not adequately support his explanation of the whooshing sound both he and Mr. Bermudez perceived. The conclusion I am left to draw, therefore, is that something caused a sudden whooshing noise, but that cause is unknown, like the fate of Ensign Prichard. Until I discover further information to supplement this log, I leave the interpretation of this event to the authority reviewing it.

(Author chooses to remain anonymous)

As a special treat this week, I received permission to post the final two stories from the Columbus experiment. The final piece will be posted next Sunday. It’s interesting to see the writing style and story differences even though we were writing about the same topics. I hope you enjoy these next two stories, and we’d love to hear what you think!

Report of Ship’s Scribe Juan Valdez

With today’s log I have the regrettable duty of reporting what may be our expedition’s first loss of life. Upon appearing for duty at first light to relive Ensign Prichard of the high post’s watch, Ensign Angelito ascended the mast to discover ensign Prichard missing from his post. Ensign Angelito immediately conveyed word of Prichard’s absence to Officer Valenz, the acting junior petty officer on deck at the time. Officer Valenz called for the Sargent at Arms to initiate a search of the vessel and punishment proceedings for the charge of abandoning his post. A thorough search of the ship failed to produce any sign of Ensign Prichard. The Sargent at Arms has subsequently questioned every crew member, but none report having any knowledge of the Ensign’s present whereabouts. However, two crewmen who happened to be about last evening have come forward with information that may relate to Ensign Prichard’s disappearance. The reports of those crewmen are included below.

Report of Property Master Juan Bermudez

I would like to preface my statements by pointing out that I have been a faithful and diligent servant of the crown for more than thirteen years. It is my hope that my service record and personal recommendations from four respected captains serves to add credibility to my admittedly peculiar report. Last evening, just past sunset, I reviewed the week’s provisions inventory four times over. While I know the standard procedure for this task calls for the cargo to be inventoried twice over once per week, my custom has always been to review the inventory three times to ensure that petty greed does not sabotage the voyage.

However, I counted the inventory four times over last evening because I have received word from a crewman that a person has made it practice to regularly steal rations of liquor beyond that which he is entitled and without permission of his superiors. The week’s inventory turned out to be accurate, but the task left me stiff and awake later than usual. To stretch my legs before retreating to slumber I climbed to the deck and approached the ship’s bow. The night was dark black by that time as the evening’s twilight hours and rough storms had long since passed. At this hour there was scant illumination provided faintly by the moon through the heavy cloud cover overhead and the four dim evening lanterns at the corners of the ship.

I paced about for a brief time below the stern’s sail until my legs began to limber up. Although I was quite sleepy by this time, due to both the increasingly late hour and exhaustion from the day’s work, I did not retire to sleep. I do not know how to accurately describe the feeling I experienced, and in truth I feel some embarrassment at attempting to do so, but I felt in the most peculiar way an overriding sense that I could not leave the deck for fear of missing some event that would alter both myself and the divine machinery through which the world operates.

It goes without saying, of course, that only the one true Lord controls the universe and the fates of his children within it. I do not intend for my statements to suggest a doubt as to that fundamental and clear precept. I am simply trying to describe an unusual, fleeting feeling that happened to overcome me last evening. It reminded me of the feeling one gets when, as a child, a person passes through a cemetery and, for a moment, secretly wishes to see the remnant of one passed return to life or when a person approaches a high, steep decline and for the briefest of periods gives thought to taking the plunge to experience the sharp change in perspective that such an event would surely command.

(What happened next?)

Well, nothing happened next really. I remained on the deck for what seemed like forever after the long day. I kept waiting for something, anything to happen but nothing ever did.

(I asked Mr. Bermudez if his odd feelings were the only information he had to contribute)

No sir, that is not all I wish to report. I find myself torn between fearing that I will be ridiculed or denigrated in my service and feeling compelled to report what I truly witnessed. I wish you could give me some assurance that what I convey to you will not impair my station.

(I explained to Mr. Bermudez that I am simply responsible for recording the voyage’s transactions and have no control over the way the information is used. Mr. Bermudez became instantly willing to discuss his experience after I pointed out that I am reporting the remainder of his statements and that it would be suspect to leave the report at such a precarious position).

You are correct, sir. I did not mean to suggest that I would not fully cooperate with the search for Ensign Prichard by conveying what I saw. It’s just that the thing I believe I witnessed was rather extraordinary. I do not wish to give anyone reading my report the wrong impression of myself. My service record and recommendations show that I am a competent steward and do not easily lend to flights of fancy. I also do not partake of heavy drink or narcotics that would alter my senses.

(I interrupted to advance Mr. Bermudez’s report. I pointed out he already described the reasons for which he is trustworthy. I then asked him directly what he experienced.)

I think I saw what appeared to be a bird. As ridiculous as it sounds I saw what looked like a large bird-shaped creature. As I have said, it was dark and I was exhausted, but from what I believe I saw, it was a massive being that had a wingspan at least twice that of a grown man. I was on the deck, about to go below for rest, when I heard a noise above like a whoosh of air, the same way a sudden breeze sometimes blows through a meadow during the end of autumn. I instinctively darted my attention upward and saw what took minutes to comprehend. I witnessed a massive hawk-like entity with a wingspan at least 20 feet rapidly dart over the very top of the ship and cut toward starboard, quickly escaping the light of the deck’s lamps and slicing through the fog that engulfed the ship after the storm. I only saw this being in that one instance and never heard a cry for help or witnessed any sign of a disturbance. In truth, I thought I imagined the encounter until I awoke this morning to learn the young Ensign went missing. Sadly, this is all the information I have to report.

(Author chooses to remain anonymous)