To the Utmost Land

The bespectacled man speaks first. His accent reveals his English nationality.

"First of all: Put the gun down for chrissakes! You'll end up killing someone by accident. We're unarmed anyway!" He holds his hands up in front of him, his friend beside him does the same.

"Second of all: We-" He gestures towards his friend and himself "-have no idea what you're talking about. We're here on a leisure trip. Our only contact with the old man was when we subdued him on the deck."

"Not so fast, fraulein." Bjorn snapped, tapping his pistol on the edge of the table.

One of the Englishmen seemed to think it a good time to interject.
"Captain, sir, this is a misunderstanding. We have nothing to do-"

"Fucking lying spies!"
One of the German men grabbed the Englishman by the hair, knocking his chair over as he jumped off of it.

"Callum!" the Englishman called out in obvious panic to his bespectacled, ginger fellow. "Oh Jesus!"

Bjorn's eyes were racing across the room dangerously. He was losing control, and it was clearly making him angry.
"Sit down!"

"Sit down, Fritz!" one of the German men begged his companion. "Fritz-"

The woman backed away, wide-eyed watching the chaos unfolding:

"Lang! Verdammt, steh da nicht so rum!"

As Fritz grappled with Callum, the German woman's command sunk home, and the other German gentleman - Lang - rose quite suddenly. By this time most had noticed that the Captain's quivering pistol had switched between being pointed at the German woman, to Fritz, and was now focused quite directly on Lang's forehead. The recently arisen German grabbed Fritz by the arm, and raised his hand, palm forward towards the Captain with the other.

"Stop!" Lang said, his brow twisting in obvious consternation. "Please."

Surprise might have been what did it, but Fritz let go. Lang looked like the kind of man who did not say much, or would have anything to say besides. Yet there he was, making a stand.

George's knees shivered and ceased to support him, and he fell onto his own toppled chair with a groan. The Captain continued to point his pistol.

"Information is dangerous, Captain!" Lang barked. "Trust me when I say none of you want to know. Knowing gets you more involved. Knowing is dangerous. That is why they sent me."

From the expression on Fritz's face, he had no idea what Lang was talking about. This was news, even to Lang's own companions.

"Knowing is dangerous? A Captain has got to know. Especially Captain Bjorn." the Captain insisted.

Lang began to shake his head, then paused, sparing a glance at the German woman.
"They picked me because, they say, I have untermensch blood. Because I am dumb, stupid. I will not figure out more about this on my own. I think they are right. The old man raves in his cell because he was a smart man, and he knew enough of this mission, Captain. Enough about that thing they tell you is a holy relic of the Church of Jesus Christ."

Bjorn let his pistol drop slightly, his face twisted in outrage and confusion.
"You will tell me what this is about. I don't care about the money any more. I've lost control of my fucking ship."

"Excuse me?" George let out a whine.

"Lost-control-of-my-fucking-ship." the Captain enunciated, gesturing with his pistol. "It's sailing of its own accord. We can't steer it away. Not since yesterday."

Lang opened his mouth to speak, but a horrifying wail reverberated from behind him. In shock, the Captain discharged his pistol. Lang shouted in pain and fell back. He must have hit the light switch, as the light went out. A sound of groaning and shuffling continued outside.

Someone hit the switch again, and the light was back. The Captain vaulted over the table and opened the door, pistol in hand. What they saw was a young member of the ship's crew, his eyes missing, sprawled on the floor before the door.

A crowd of other members of the ship's staff was gathering outside. They mumbled and muttered, attention in the crowd turning to one of the passer-bys who had followed the noise. They pushed him forward towards the body, expectantly. Meanwhile inside the room, the faintest sense of normality was resuming - at least if one overlooked Lang's bleeding leg.

Fritz's arm whipped forward, pointing at the cowering gentleman by the wall - the man who many present had known, though he in turn did not know them.

"Herr Bernstein." Fritz spoke in heavily accented English. "Yes, we know who you are. You are responsible for this. The Captain wanted to know what it is that is going on, but it is you who knows! You brought the relic on-board! You forced our hand!"

Meanwhile, George passed a nod to Callum, and spoke, no longer caring who paid any attention to them. It was hopefully clear that they had been caught up in this mess, and that they wanted no more part of it. And yet, an eyeless corpse lay sprawled outside the door. Perhaps remembering this, George emptied his stomach contents on the Captain's fine carpet.

"Cultist, confess your part in this! Who are you working for? Why were you trusted with the relic?" Lang wailed at the panicking Herr Bernstein, as his fingers patted at his bleeding leg. "We know enough of your involvement. Where were you headed? Iceland? Britain?"

Then Lang turned towards his mistress, who had watched as the whole spectacle had exploded in a mere minute.
"I'm sorry I did not tell you all. I had my orders. It's for our own safety-"

Fritz advanced on Bernstein, practically foaming at the mouth now that he had somebody to blame for their collective misfortune.
"Tell us, Jew-lover, Satanist! Witch!"

The night’s dreams had brought him visions of the world’s end. Samuel Burgundy III sat up in his bed and turned over a decaying memory of drifting upward into the warm abyss of space, feeling the last remnants of air and water disappear before his eyes, and then gasping, breathless, in the silent void. He looked around. He was still trapped securely inside his small cabin. The clock by his bed read 7:15.


Cleaned and dressed, he left his rooms about an hour later, trying to ignore the closeness of the ship’s walls and ceilings. He breathed deeply in almost imperceptible relief as he emerged into the wider, more spacious dining room, and took in the scene before him. He frowned.


There weren’t half as many guests about as usual. The hall's usual musicians were nowhere to be found. What food graced the buffet tables looked awful.


A couple servants stood nearby, shifting uncomfortably and averting their eyes. Samuel set his face in a disapproving frown and approached them. “Is anything the matter?” His flashing eyes dared them to affirm his question.


The nearest servant glanced sideways at his companion, but found no support there. He forced himself to look into the unsatisfied passenger’s eyes and cleared his throat. “Been a rough night, sir.”


As Burgundy stared into the crewman’s eyes, he saw the flicker of fear, unmistakable to one who had seen as many men lose at cards as he had. He paused for a moment, then asked “Does this have anything to do with the men who barged into my rooms yesterday evening in search of some misplaced passenger?”


The servant’s lips trembled slightly. The other servant finally came to his rescue and took Burgundy gently by the arm. “Captain’s orders are to keep quiet about this, sir. I’m sure you understand.”


“I see.” The Canadian gentleman surveyed the buffet tables and their trays of burned bacon, cold toast and watery orange juice. “Will a proper breakfast be served shortly, or is that another subject on which you have been ordered to remain silent?”


The servant shrugged. “Cook isn’t feeling well.” He gave Burgundy a strange look and then leaned in close. “Listen, sir, I don’t mean to pry. But, you know, I mean, the Captain told us to keep shut with the civilians, you know, but, say. You aren’t a police inspector or something, are you? I’ve heard rumors.”


Samuel Burgundy paused, startled by the suggestion, but kept his face calm and clear. As he tried to formulate a response, the other servant exhaled softly.
"Knew it."

The other stepped back. “Fuckin-”


Burgundy turned and walked stiffly over to the buffet, mind reeling with uncertainty. He had no idea what the servants were talking about, but as he calmed himself down he wondered if being mistaken for an inspector might not be an amusing jape. Such a misunderstanding could be useful, and if it ever came to court he could say quite truthfully that he had never actually claimed to be an agent of the law. Feeling slightly better, he carefully selected five strips of bacon, two slightly less-than-black slices of toast and a glass of orange juice before heading over to the table where his new friend Alexandre sat, shuffling a deck of cards.


Samuel Burgundy III had met Alexandre at the ship’s poker table and immediately struck up a rapport. For one thing, the Frenchman was a very keen card player. For another, he was an utterly terrible bluffer. Samuel was more than happy to forgive the man of being a frog for his tendency to spend large sums of money at the table, and the two soon became quite congenial friends.


“Bonjour,” nodded Alexandre. He tapped the shuffled deck on the table and placed it in his jacket pocket. “Slept well?”


“Well enough, considering. Can’t find a decent bite to eat on this blasted ship, by the looks of things. What’s going on? Seems to be something to do with that bloke went missing last night.”


“Ah yes, Herr Kaufman,” Alexandre stated, setting out his matches and pipe. “They had to lock him away. I heard he gouged out somebody’s eyes. Friend of mine said Herr Kaufman dabbled in the occult. Though of course I do not believe in such things, I suppose one must be a bit eccentric to read into them in the first place. Predisposed to madness, n’est-ce pas?”


“Sounds mad enough to me. Gouging out a man’s eyes. Is that what this is all about, then?” He muttered, glancing back at the servants for a moment. “Awful lot of trouble for one crazy. Cook’s not feeling well my foot.” He glared down at his plate. “How much longer do you think we’ll have to put up with this treatment?”


Alexandre gave his pipe a thoughtful puff. “To be honest, this kind of trouble does not just ‘go away,’ Bur. People panic, you know. Cause a fuss over nothing at all. Use it as an excuse. I think I will get off once we reach Iceland.” He considered quietly for a moment. “I also heard there is some stolen art on board.” He peered intently into Burgundy’s eyes, as if searching for some hint of recognition. “Man such as yourself… What do you think?”


Why the devil does everyone think I’m mixed up in all this? Alexandre gave his friend a wink and then stared off into the distance. “Man such as myself?” Well… How hard can inspectoring be? Perhaps I AM the right man for the job. “I think the sooner someone cleans up this mess, the better,” he said grimly.


“I have heard rumors, Bur,” Alexandre whispered and leaned in close. “I have asked around, and I think I know what this is about. Been trying to help you keep your cover. You know this is your chance.” He paused for a moment, but no response was forthcoming. “To, ah, ‘bust’ the crime ring once and for all. We are rooting for you. I told my friends you can be trusted.” He leaned back in his chair and waved to the servants by the door. They waved back. “When are you going to make the arrest?”


"I can't say. Your... faith is appreciated, but I'm afraid I can't say much more than that." Well, it's true, if not altogether honest. Alexandre tapped his nose and winked again. A slightly uncomfortable silence fell upon the meal.


Alexandre was about to excuse himself from the table when a freakish groan pierced the quiet atmosphere. The guests looked about in bewilderment as the servants made a run for it. Blast, thought Samuel. “Blast!” he said. “I’ll go…” He stood up perhaps a little too quickly, awkwardly stepping away from his chair. “I’ll go see what that was about.” Alexandre watched curiously, pipe in hand, as Burgundy followed the servants down the corridor, trying not to draw any attention to himself. They led him up the stairs and joined a small crowd of other crewmen en route to the disturbance. The herd converged on the doors to the Captain’s quarters before skittering to a halt with various cries of alarm. Burgundy peeked over their shoulders and saw a twisted, bloody body crumpled in the middle of the hallway.


“Oh my god!” Someone shouted, and then hands grabbed Burgundy by the shoulders and propelled him forward. “Detective, detective!” went the cry. He felt his eyes widen in alarm, and struggled to maintain his poker face as he was pushed toward the corpse. He looked around wildly, unsure what to say, what to do, and heard a snatch of conversation from inside the Captain’s room.


“-Bernstein! Yes, we know who you are. You are responsible for this!” The German-accented voice was raised in anger. “YOU brought the relic on-board! You forced our hand!”


Samuel filed this under ‘interesting before turning his attention to the expectant crowd which now waited to see what he would do next. Grasping wildly at his limited experience with law enforcement, he summoned an authoritative voice and said loudly “Alright, alright, step back, everyone, step back, this is a crime scene!” As the crowd obediently shuffled back a few paces he felt his mind eclipsed by a single thought. Oh sweet Jesus, what the hell do I do now?