Melis moaned deep in his throat before speaking out. “Let him negotiate with it then,” he said.
There was no verbal agreement and no denial. As one the eight crewmen turned on Torrin and grabbed him.
“No! I didn’t mean! NO! PLEASE NO!”
Six of them bore him above their heads, whilst two — Deacon and Calis — went ahead and opened the hatch. They stood ready at the hatch with harpoons, little use they would have been.
“Steady lads, let’s not kill our negotiator,” said Jorvan sneeringly.
They lowered him into the hatch, gave him a chance to grasp the rungs of the ladder there, used the points of the harpoons to prod him lower and lower down until they could close the hatch cover on him.
“Please! Please let me out!”
Torrin sobbed when he heard the latch slam across. He stayed as high on the ladder as he could, crammed against the rough wood. It was not completely without light in the hold, for it came in through the uncaulked holes in the deck. But it was too dark for Torrin to make out more than the barrels of shark oil and stacked hides of the jable shark. After his last outburst he kept as still and as quiet as he could, but for the occasional sob he could not prevent. Slowly his eyes adjusted to the darkness.
The thanapod’s stalked eyes glowed in the gloom and the blood on its carapace was a slick wet glitter. The dark bulk that stood in front of it he finally discerned as the barrelman, his name gruesomely fitting now the thanapod had eaten his arms and legs.
“Come down,” a voice bubbled, and Torrin realised the absolute futility of his position. The thanapod was large enough to rear up and knock him from the ladder without even climbing. If it wanted to kill him, it could do so with ease. He peered beyond it to the bulkhead where a door gave access to the midhold and crew quarters. If he could get to that…
“Come down,” the voice insisted.
Was it feeling lazy? Did it like the idea of its meals walking to it? Torrin climbed to the bottom of the ladder and began to edge towards the doorway.
“What do you want?” he asked, no better question occurring to him.
“I want to go ashore,” came the bubbling of the dead barrelman’s voice.
Torrin paused at this. What could it mean? None of the ocean-going creatures ever went ashore. “Why should you want to go ashore?” As he asked this question, he spotted something glistening beside the creature. Squinting in the darkness he finally discerned a pile of glassy spheres the size of human heads. He swallowed dryly.
“Men have stopped us,” the voice bubbled.
“I don’t understand,” said Torrin, still edging towards the door.
Suddenly the thanapod was moving and Torrin screeched and ran. It crashed down between him and the door and turned its nightmare head toward him. Its mouth was a mass of dripping shears and toothed mandibles. The barrelman, hanging underneath it, spoke for it again. “Men came and seeded the sea round the islands. All thumb shark and hammer whelk to feed and kill. Where do we lay our eggs? On the sargassum and so we survive,” it said.
Torrin felt sick. The monster had become suddenly very articulate, and he had just shit his pants. He was going to die and he didn’t need much imagination to see how, since he’d seen how. He knew that if it moved towards him again his legs would give way, and he fought the temptation to just close his eyes. Then he remembered what the crew had just done to him, and a species of dull anger drove him to speak. He’d show them ‘negotiator’. “Perhaps we can make a bargain,” he said.
“Bargain,” hissed the voice.
“If you kill us, you won’t get ashore, and this ship will just drift and eventually sink,” said Torrin.
“I must feed.” The creature moved closer to him and suddenly the shaking of his legs stilled. It continued, “Not all are essential.”
“No,” said Torrin. “I am, because I am the bosun, but there are others.” He turned his attention from the grinding mouth to the stalked eyes above. “Now listen to me. This is how we can do this…”
In the crew quarters, Torrin changed his shit-smeared trousers before going on deck. He listened at the door to the arguing that was going on before opening it. The arguments died and absolute silence fell as he walked out on the planking. Jorvan was the first to break that silence.
“Did it have no taste for you then, Torrin?” he wondered, but without his usual firmness.
Torrin walked up to him and stood face to face. He still felt sick with fear, but what was Jorvan? Just a man. He slapped Jorvan so hard across the face that the man stumbled and fell to his knees.
“Hold him right there if you all want to live,” Torrin said.
Deacon grabbed Jorvan first. Melis pulled the harpoon from Jorvan’s hands and hit him with its butt as he continued to struggle. Jorvan sagged in Deacon’s arms, and Deacon lowered him to the deck.
“What do you have to say, Torrin? How is it that you live?” Jorvan asked.
“I live because I negotiated,” said Torrin, and waited, daring them to laugh or to sneer, but he just saw the expressions of men who were very much afraid.
“What truce do we have?” asked Calis.
“Just that,” said Torrin, “a truce. The thanapod calls itself Cerval, the name of the deeps god, so make of that what you will.” Torrin noted the expressions on the faces of the more superstitious of the crew: the likes of Deacon, Maril, and Chantre, and Saparin who now had the helm. He felt a horrible glee bubbling inside himself, and went on, “It wants us to take it in to port, to one of the islands, and for this service it will let us live. That’s all. That’s the whole of the bargain, the truce.”
“Liar,” managed Jorvan, before vomiting on the deck. He then struggled to get upright, and Deacon stood back to allow it.
“It is the truth,” Torrin affirmed, noting many of the crew still appeared undecided.
“That is not Cerval,” said Jorvan, finally on his feet now. He glared about himself. “He’ll lead you deeper into disaster. We must take to the shark boat and leave this ship. Eventually the thanapod will grow hungry and leave, and we can return. There is no need for this.”
“Cerval has fed,” said Torrin. “Do you want to spend even a day in the shark boat on these deeps?” He pointed and fate was on his side, for the fin of a huge jable shark was cutting the swell parallel to the ship. Perhaps some of the blood had run into the sea to attract it. Torrin added, “Do you want to spend any time out there over Cerval’s realm?”
“The creature below is not Cerval,” insisted Jorvan.
Torrin replied, “No, it’s just a talking thanapod three times the size of any that has ever before been seen.”
“I’m with Torrin,” said Deacon. He turned to Melis who nodded. Other members of the crew nodded their agreement also, and looked to Torrin for guidance. Torrin felt that his glee might bubble out of his mouth at any moment.
“Of course, if we feed Cerval, he will not quickly grow hungry,” Torrin said.
The crew acted with Jorvan as they had acted with Torrin. There was little more discussion once the decision was made. They lifted him up and carried him screaming to the forward hatch.
“You fools! He’ll get you all killed! You can’t do this!”
Torrin helped Deacon open the hatch and lift off the cover. Torrin leant over and spoke into the darkness. “Cerval, this man is not essential. He is an offering from us to you,” he said.
Deacon gazed at him with sick horror, perhaps only now understanding what they were doing. Torrin wondered if that horror had been there when he himself had been forced below.
“No! No! Please! You’re making a mistake!”