From Below by Darcy Coates

Author:Darcy Coates [Coates, Darcy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Black Owl Books
Published: 2022-06-06T16:00:00+00:00

32

16 April 1928

Four days before the sinking of the Arcadia

A drop of cold, greasy water fell from the ceiling. Harland shuddered as it pinged off the back of his neck and trickled down beneath his collar.

The sickening mist had thickened inside the ship. Visibility had been reduced to less than fifteen feet.

Very few of the Arcadia’s original lights remained. The crew used whatever lights they could get their hands on to find their way about the ship. Sometimes, the only warning that someone was coming toward you was a distant glow swinging through the gloom.

Harland held a candle in an open-top jar. Its flame was weak. Like him and like everyone else in the cursed ship, it was being smothered by the heaving fog. Harland’s stomach refused to settle. He hadn’t eaten in days and had barely drunk. The water had drawn in the rotting odor and left his tongue slimy and foul. Even the daily ration of rum tasted wrong.

“Hey, help me with my light.”

Harland glanced at his companion. He’d been paired with a man about his age: Boswell. With the far-brighter lanterns all being taken by the officers and with the flashlights refusing to hold power, most of the crew were reduced to using candles. The ship’s official store had run out quickly, but someone had entered the hold to retrieve boxes that were being shipped to Britain.

Boswell’s face was narrow and clean-shaven, with a small chin and too-large lips. He’d struck Harland as nervous and jumpy. Though weren’t they all? At least he was largely quiet. Crew members were supposed to move in pairs now, and some of the older sailors had begun muttering—a constant stream of babble that made no sense to anyone around them, falling through barely parted lips at a whisper’s level. They obeyed instructions and could even answer questions but seemed unable, or unwilling, to halt the noise. Harland thanked whatever luck had held for him to be paired with a silent man.

He’d been taken off deck watch after the incident with the falling bodies. Someone probably thought they were doing him a favor, though even with the images of the victims splashed across the promenade seared into his mind, he would have greatly preferred to be above deck.

Below levels, every breath felt like a struggle. Water dripped from the ceiling and ran in trickles down the walls. Harland had to step carefully; the carpet was becoming spongy and slippery, and twice he had lost his footing—and his light.

Now, Boswell held his own jar toward Harland. His candle had gone out. Again. This was part of the reason they were being sent out in pairs: not just for safety, but also to protect them from losing their lights. If both of their candles were to fail, they would be trapped in the pitch-dark hallway, condemned to either creep along by their sense of touch alone or wait until another crew member’s faint glow appeared in the distance.

Harland tilted his own jar so that Boswell could touch the candles’ tips together.

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