The Dead Men Stood Together by Chris Priestley Page A

of the bird, and he muttered noiselessly to himself. He drummed his fingers on the wood of the bulwark and in that silence, of course, it sounded like a rumbling cart.
    I wished once more with all my heart that I had never set foot aboard this ship and never laid eyes on my uncle. I wanted to be home with my mother and would have gladly done the dullest chores and never, never would I have wished for adventure again.
    I looked out to sea once more. The sun was setting in the west: a great blood-soaked disc sinking. As the edge met the flat horizon, I saw something appear against its crimson glow, like a speck of dirt.
    It was hard to look at it at first. Though the power of the sun was waning, it still burned my sight and I just assumed that it was a trick of my weary eyes and fevered brain. I even wiped my eyes and looked again, thinking the speck might have been in my eye rather than on the sea, and yet it did not disappear but became more solid as it increased in size.
    I looked for someone to share this with but the only person was my uncle, who shuffled over, the fetid scent of the rotting albatross coming with him. I flinched at the smell and my stomach clenched.
    He saw it too. His head jutted forward like a dog watching a rabbit, his eyes sparkling red in reflection of the sun. The skull-head of the albatross lolled horribly. And then, to my horror, my uncle lifted his arm and sank his teeth into his own flesh, as though he was biting at a hunk of beef.
    He bared his gums and forced the teeth down through the skin and into the muscle. Blood welled up around his teeth and lips and he lifted his head, lapping at the blood and licking it, savouring it. It was as shocking a sight as I had seen on that terrible journey.
    And yet there was some method in his madness. As the blood moistened his tongue and cracked and blackened lips, a faint sound emerged from his throat. He took a deep breath and opened his mouth, his teeth coated in blood, and the voice that erupted shook the air.
    ‘A sail!’ he gurgled. ‘A sail!’
    The whole crew started with shock at the sound of a human voice and all heads turned to where my uncle stood.
    ‘A sail!’ he cried again, louder and more hoarsely this time, pointing to the horizon.
    The crew might have been fit and well, so quickly they leapt to their feet and dashed to our side. They saw that speck, that shape, as we did – and saw clearly now, as we did, that it was a ship.
    The crew opened their mouths and again no sound emerged save a dusty hiss. We clambered up the rigging and waved, but these efforts were soon given up as there was no doubt that the ship was already making for ours. And at great speed.
    ‘You see!’ said my uncle in triumph, his gurgling voice coated in the blood from his arm. ‘She tacks no more! She is headed straight for us!’
    His face was wild with excitement, as though he could redeem himself by summoning up this rescue. He leapt about, making the albatross flap and jig like some vile puppet. He grinned a slippery, bloodstained grin.
    And it ought to have been a cause for celebration. A ship. It should have raised our spirits. But I saw the face of each man around us fall into first a look of disbelief and confusion, and then, increasingly, a look of dismal dread.
    Within moments my face wore the same grim expression, for the sea was as calm as it had always been and not a breath of wind blew. And yet that ship was now close enough to give some view of its details. How could it move so swiftly?
    It veered a little in its course and moved between us and the sinking sun. The effect was hideous. The ship was riddled with holes and eaten through with rot and worms. The red sunlight shone between its open boards and black spars like a fire in a brazier.
    It sped towards us noiselessly, even though its thin and ragged sails hung limp from broken masts. As it neared us, its rotten hulk became illuminated by the green glow of the creatures that still squirmed