The Copia of Cannam

The Northern Ocean was dead calm on the day that Captain Sice Halland and his crew sailed in search of the fabled Copia of Cannam. The clouds on the horizon, only just risen into sight, softly framed the vast expanse of dark sky above them. Thousands of distant stars could be counted and a faint Seren, the smallest moon, was barely perceptible, showing only a thin sliver and concealing her remainder in darkness. The bow of the Fox cut through the calm dark water's surface with a surgical precision. There was a constant, resonant hiss as its silver-plated hull scraped along the blanket formed by the packed drift ice. All of its sails were full, harnessing the warmer southern winds that rushed them towards the large ocean. The Fox was on a heading of north by northeast, sailing for the frigid open waters of the Sea Beyond Seen. Where the sun never graced and the sane never tread.

"How long now?" Halland said in a gruff whisper.

"Not long," Charpie said with his sextant fixed to his eye, "five minutes."

"Raise the main sails." Halland commanded. "Open water, dead ahead."

"Hoist ... main sails!" Riss, the first mate, relayed the order.

Four of the ship's deck hands, Ott, Pell, Airingten and Morgen quickly pulled at the three main sails at his command, causing the Fox to slow in its approach.

"Lower the anchor, don't let it touch the sea floor." The captain said.

"Anchor down ... twenty metres and hold." Riss echoed.

The Fox moved clear of the drift ice, the surface on which they now traversed was as smooth as glass.

"Three minutes." The navigator announced.

"Hoist all sails." Halland bellowed.

The ship slowed to a snail's pace. Only Charpie was able to perceive the Fox's movement, referencing the static stars with his sextant.

"Drop anchor. But slowly. Slowly. Don't let it bounce."

Still as it was, the crew was sure they could hear the sound of the ship's anchor hitting the sea floor, twenty-two metres down, pulling the sea-foliage from its roots and striking the occasional stone as it dragged the ship to a stop.

"There." Charpie said, rather satisfied with his calculations. "Time?"

"Half Mark, exactly." Riss announced.

"The coordinates are correct, Captain. We should be right on top of it."

"Well done, Charpie." Halland said. "Well done. Now ... where's our diver?"

Moments later, a handsome, plenteous man was brought on deck before the captain. His eyes, wide with terror, bled tears of resignation.

"You have a very big job to do, my friend." Hallam commended. "A very big job indeed. Underneath us, our navigator informs me, is a trove of treasure so large ... that I just don't have the words to describe it."

The sizeable man looked around nervously at the crew who were grinning at him, mocking his submissive servitude.

"What's your name, friend?"

"Ada." The man said with a shaky voice. "My name is Ada."

"Well Ada, all you have to do ... is find it for us."

"Bell!" the first mate shouted, calling for the diving bell which was brought and placed on deck, ready for the off. It was a good size bell. It could probably hold enough air to keep a man breathing for fifteen minutes. A nervous man, however, maybe eight. The life expectancy in these cold waters was somewhere around four, so either way, one could rest assured that running out of breathable air whilst in the depths would most likely not be the cause of death. A chain had been attached to the bottom of the bell, and at the end of it was an ankle cuff. Halland didn't want anyone, fellow pirate or not, swimming off with his treasure.

"Stand on the perch until you hit bottom." Halland instructed. "You'll only be wet up to your crotch so you'll be able to hunker down and see what you can see without much effort. All I need is a handful, just to know that the legend is true." Halland caressed the coarse burlap bag hanging from the bell. "Put it in here and bring it back to me. You think you can you do that?"

Ada nodded his head in silent acquiescence.

"Ah, very good." Halland commended.

A deck hand called Brown affixed the cuff to Ada's ankle. There was a single scraping sound made at the hull's seaward side but none of the crew noticed it for the sounds of the jangling chain being dragged around as Ada stepped on to the perch and climbed under the bell.

By rope and pulley, Ada and the bell were lifted into position and swung over the side of the ship.

"Good luck, Ada." Halland shouted to the pair of trembling legs before him.

"Drop it down." Riss commanded.

Quicker, they thought, was better. The diving bell was plunged into the black water with a great splash, breaking the serenity of its surface. And down it went. From the deck, the crew lost sight of the bell at a few meters, only a taut rope pointing to its location. But the view under the surface was spectacular. Catching light shone by the stars, a warm blue illumination showed the sea floor underneath the Fox in all its glory. Teeming with life, there were fish and eels, sea flowers and now and again, a mammal. And then there were those that were neither fish nor mammal. The ones who had heard the Fox approaching, dragging its hull along the packed ice.

The sea creatures that had been startled by the deafening sound of the unexpected splash darted off to safety as they saw fit. The others, however, were drawn to it. Watched it from a safe distance. Merrish, they were called. Fins. Hands. And claws.

"How long has it been down?" Halland asked the navigator.

"Three minutes." Said Charpie.

"Thirty seconds, bring him up."

Silently, the crew counted to themselves. Each second bringing them closer to the wealth that they sought. The Copia of Cannam was rumoured to be everything a pirate could wish for and more. Gold, jewels and precious stones more valuable than all of the pocketbooks in East Alaethia combined.

"Time!" the navigator announced.

"Bring it up!"

The deck hands pulled at the rope that was tethered to the diving bell. Letting it down was much easier. Three men pulled at the rope, lifting themselves off of their feet as they did.

"Ten meters!" the first mate shouted as he saw the marker on the rope rise above the water's surface. The hands continued pulling, blisters popping and fingers aching from gripping the near freezing rope.

"Eight meters!"

Something unseen below the water hit the diving bell. And hit it hard. It felt the size of a whale to the men holding the rope, blisters now bleeding.

Tug. Tug. Tug.

Halland watched as the men struggled to keep their grip.

"Don't let go, you fools!" He screamed.

Another massive TUG and then nothing. Still.

"Well?" Halland bellowed to the rope men, "What are you waiting for?"

When the diving bell was finally pulled on board, all that was left of Ada was one leg, cut clean just above his knee, still chained to the perch attached to the underside of the bell.

"Check the bag!" The Captain ordered.

"There's something in it!" Riss shouted.

The first mate put his hand into the rough sack that accompanied Ada to his death. Riss stopped, looking expectantly around him from man to man, each of them shaking with anticipation and excitement. He let the men's suspense build, waiting ages to remove his hand and reveal the bag's contents. Riss was a crack like that.

He pulled his fist out and thrust it above his head. Hoorah! he shouted as the shiny coins and ornaments fell from his hand and landed on the deck at his feet.

The Fox's crew, including Halland, erupted in shouts of ecstasy. The men ran to Riss's side and tore at the bag to find what else it held. There were about five handfuls of treasure that Ada was able to retrieve before his demise, but then, he did have big hands. Maybe there were only two handfuls. However many handfuls were there, Halland was very pleased with himself. He was pleased with Charpie for locating their position. He was happy that the legend he'd heard was true. He was glad that he hadn't drunk a lot when he'd heard the story of the Copia of Cannam. He had the wits about him that day to write the old man's babblings on a piece of paper; the legend, the direction, the coordinates. No one else at the inn at Glass Bay was paying the slightest bit of attention to what the old dribbler was squawking about. But Halland was paying attention. And he thought that it was a bloody good thing that he did. But for now, he needed another diver.

The Fox, without warning, lurched to port, catching a freak wave, causing the revellers to stumble, knocking three deck hands over the rail and into the sea below. There was a sudden burst of resonant scratches at the hull from somewhere beneath that just as suddenly, stopped.

"Man overboard!" Brown shouted.

The three that fell in screamed with pain as the sea water relentlessly stung at their skin. They swam as best they could towards the ship, hoping to soon see a rope thrown to them. Ott stopped swimming. He bobbed in the sea for a few moments and then let out a blood-curdling shriek. The other two looked briefly at their ship mate and then intensified their efforts to return to the Fox. Ott was silenced when he was pulled under. Gone. Just like that. A moment's quiet and then Morgen began to scream, flailing around like he was trying to release himself from something. And then he too, was gone.

Pell swam like he never swam before, clawing at the water in unadulterated terror.

"A ROPE!" he shouted to the men at the rails. "THROW ME A ROPE!" his voice cracking mid-shout as adolescent boys tend to do.

Airingten was set to throw Pell a line when Halland ordered, "Wait!"

All was quiet again as the men on deck watched Pell treading the icy water.

"Let him be." Halland said, his arm stopping Airingten from throwing to Pell his lifeline. "Let him swim."

"How long has he been in there?"

"A few minutes."

"Another minute then." The captain decided.

"Rope!" Pell yelped; his voice weakened by the onset of hypothermia.

"Leave him." Halland instructed.

Pell began to realise that help wasn't on its way. For some reason, he was going to be left to die in this cold, black water. His thoughts blurred as his organs, including his brain, began to freeze.

"Brown." Pell mumbled, his final conceptualisation.

The crew watched his motions slow and then after a short while, stop. His solid corpse ebbed in the water and then rolled over on to its side before succumbing to the abyss. The men looked at each other in common respect of death and then back to the sea.

"How old was that one?" came a quiet, studious question from the Captain.

"Twelve." Brown said of his friend. "He was only twelve."

"That's it." Halland said.

"What's it?" Riss asked.

"The Merrish." He said, "Ada, Ott and Morgen, they attacked the men. But not Pell."

"So?" the first mate questioned.

"So ... the children ..." Halland explained, "... they won't attack the children."