To Thomas Preskett Prest for Varney, and Tom Baker for DW IV

From the memoir of Phillip Fairchild. A section from his log written aboard the British barque “Elizabeth Dane” during his apprenticeship (1698-1710), “…four days out from Cape Town to our next dock at Port Darwin on Falkland Island, just off the coast of S. America.”

July 2, 1704

As we near the 45th parallel and join the South Sandwich currents, the crew grows more anxious

First the warnings at Cape Town from the Parroh Man before our departure, and now the sudden appearance of the stowaway in our hold a day ago. So I try my best to stay clear of the crew, spending my time doing the usual chores while attending to the stranger’s needs, as he is being held in chains down in the hold by Captain’s orders.

Our stowaway is a queer one, no doubt, though I find no abhorrence in him. Quite the difference! I find him fascinating! He is rather tall, his hair adding greatly to his height. It is curled and quite moppish, though far longer and wavier than that of the Negro villagers back in Cape Town. He wears a shirt, pants, and boots quite similar to those worn by Naval seamen, but the material is of a weave and texture I have never before seen. The man cannot be too old—in his middle thirties?—but his face exhibits more wrinkles from smiling than I’ve seen upon the mug of the happiest of grandparents. He talks with an air of authority that stems from knowledge, yet never raises his language to a level above the understanding of the other crew or myself, though I am confident that he could if he liked. Oddest of all, he exhibits no fear, despite having the threat of punishment hanging over his head.

Last night I was helping Pringle in the galley. Near sunset I went below to give the stowaway his Strike-Me-Dead and some small amount of boiled seawater for dinner. The taste of that stale bread and purified poison must be horrible, but the prisoner eats and drinks cheerfully, as though dining the finest of entrees.

Being curious about the stowaway I decided to linger tonight, using the excuse that I had to return the tray as soon as the prisoner was finished. I doubt he believed that any more than I did, but the stowaway grinned and requested I sit.

“Pick a keg and make yourself comfortable.”

He never took his eyes off me as he ate. Unaccustomed to being so scrutinized I allowed my own eyes to wander, returning to the prisoner now and again to see if he had turned away, only to find each time he had not. At last his grin, if possible, grew even wider. ȁI am sorry if my staring bothers you.”

“I must confess it does.”

“All right then,” he replied, “let’s talk so we can look at each other without bad blood.”

I liked the idea, but the only thing I could think to say was to ask how he could eat such a horrid meal with such joy much less appetite.

“Well, a man must eat, and I always eat as much and as often as possible. As wise men have said, you never know where and when your next meal may come.”

I nodded as the man continued, quite happy to carry the conversation by himself.

“I have also acquired a taste for some very…shall we say `alien’?…food. I’ll eat nearly anything, as long as it won’t harm me or kill me. And I doubt you’d ever feed me anything that would hurt me.”

“No, sir!”

“There you are then!”

“But, sir, if I may. Aren’t you in the least bit worried about your fate? How can you eat so when you cannot know that you may not have a next meal?”

The man chuckled. ȁOh I’m confident this isn’t my last dinner. I’ve lived far too long and through too much to die in the hold of a spice ship like the Elizabeth Dane. A fine vessel she is, I won’t take that away from her.”

“You’ve sailed often then?”

The man puckered his lips, made a sound I never heard uttered before on this earth, then, ȁYou could say that, yes.” His voice seemed suddenly sad, as if long-ago memories haunted him like nightmares of the dawn.

“I apologize if I upset you. It’s just…”

“Don’t think that! Please! Nothing could be further from the truth! I just wish to keep some things to myself. I hope that is all right.”

“Of course, if you wish.”

“I do. Now, I have finished my meal, and a fine one it was. You’d best take this tray back up deck before your absence is noticed. That way you’ll be able to talk with me again tomorrow.”

“Yes, sir.” I did as the man said, already thinking about our next conversation with an anticipation I’m certain my seniors would call foolish.

I spent the rest of the night busily completing my chores, but found the man difficult to get off my mind. Later, when I retired to bed, I dreamt strange dreams. About faraway lands with silver lakes and singing fish.

July 5, 1704

The log is difficult to write today. So many things have happened in so short a time that I know not where to start!

The day was normal until noon, when a ruckus was heard maindeck by the Captain, the cook Pringle, and myself. The Captain went to investigate, ordering Pringle and I to stay in the galley. The ruckus grew louder, then there was silence, undoubtedly from the Captain’s arrival. Pringle and I tried our best to hear what was happening, but all we could make out was misunderstandable voices.

One voice was definitely the Captain’s, and it was heated. Pringle nor I recognized the second voice, but it had an evil tinge that made my bowels quake. We looked at each other and decided to hang the Captain’s orders. We joined the crew and Pringle hefted me on his shoulders so I might have a better view.

Indeed I did!

With the Dane’s hold overpacked with cargo, the crew had been forced to lash many of our water-casks to safe anchorage on the maindeck. Sitting now upon one of those casks was a strange man who, like the mysterious stowaway, somehow had appeared from nowhere in the middle of our voyage, and the Captain had had quite enough of it!

“Here now, you!” the Captain yelled. ȁI demand to know where you came from and I demand to know it now!”

The stranger glanced at the Captain the way some dandy might an ant before stepping upon it.

“Your demands mean very little, Captain. I am not a member of your crew or an item to be transported to Port Darwin.”

“Here now! How could you know that is where we sail? A ship’s destination is sacred knowledge between Captain, his crew, and they that pay our goodly earned wages!”

The stranger said nothing. Instead he thumped his heels against the cask and started to whistle.

“I asked you a question, sir, and, by all that’s right, you should have the dignity to answer it!”

The stranger just lay back upon the cask and continued his percussion and whistling.

The Captain, outraged, snatched one of the stranger’s ankles, then yowled in pain as the stranger pulled his ankle against the cask, trapping the Captain’s fingers. It was impossible, but the cask’s oak bowed back from the pressure!

The stranger sat up, reached down and, freeing the Captain’s fingers, lifted the Captain by the collar until they were eye to eye. He held the Captain as easily as if he was hefting a basket of heather!

The Captain maintained his courage. Not a quiver could I witness upon his person, something the stranger found distasteful.

“Your mock bravery will do little to help you or your men, good Captain, sir!”

Upon the “sir” the stranger hurled our poor Captain across the breadth of the deck!

Before anyone could react the stranger stood up on the cask, began whistling again, and started stomping his feet.

As if in response a row of grey clouds appeared along the horizon to port. The clouds broke towards us like a tidal wave. A gale followed, and in seconds a tempest that should have taken days to develop assaulted the Dane!

A massive swell splashed over the deck, scattering the crew, Pringle, and I like pieces of shattered China. I remember one last glimpse of the stranger whistling and stomping on the water-cask, his clothes and hair unruffled by the storm, before the world went black.

My next memories are indeed bizarre.

I saw the Parroh Man, his face all carved by the tip of a knife blade, a ritual mutilation I was told the man himself had performed. The last time I saw the Parroh Man, he was screaming at the Dane from Cape Town harbor. Now he was standing just a few meters away, both of us inside a straw hut. Outside, night fell like ocean haze. Inside, a cook fire burned. Its flames were high yet were barely bright enough to outline the Parroh Man as he stood on the other side of the fire from me.

“The water you take is my people’s water! I have talked to the dark spirits, and they say you will suffer for stealing it. You will suffer.”

The Parroh Man then reached up and removed his head.

Holding it in his hands, he turned it so it was upside down. Then, without cause, he threw the horrible thing at me, its mouth opened and screaming bloody Hell!

Just before the head struck me, its screaming started sounding different. More real. Then it dawned on me that I was screaming, and I was in the Dane’s hold.

I woke up to find someone holding me. Looking up, I saw the stowaway.

“Are you all right, Phillip?”

“Yes. It must have all been a dream.”

“It must have been quite some dream to knock you down those steps.”

I didn’t understand him at first, then looked up the stairs that led to the maindeck. ȁS’truth, I thought that had been a dream, also!”

“What had?”

I needed a moment to catch my breath, then told the stowaway about the stranger on the cask. As I ended the tale, I suddenly realized the prisoner was standing far too near to the stairs. I glanced over and saw that he was free from his chains!

“Dear Lord!” Could he somehow be in league with the stranger?

“What’s wrong? Is it because I’m no longer shackled?”

All I could do was nod, too nervous to speak.

“Any lock can be picked with the proper tools, Phillip. Now, what do you say? Let’s take a peak at this other stowaway.”

With that the man went up to the stairs.

I followed to find standing on the top step looking around. An eerie stillness had enveloped the Dane. The storm apparently had blown away, but I could hear harsh wind and rain far off in the distance. I walked past the stowaway to see what I could see.

I gasped to find that the crew lay scattered about like corpses. A terrible sight. Then I looked up and hollered.

“There’s no sky!”

We were inside a gigantic cave, its walls composed of some mineral or crystal that glistened even in darkness! Perhaps one or several kilometers starboard was the cavern’s broad mouth, the storm still raging outside. An awesome, humbling feeling filled me. Never in my decade and four twelvemonths have I ever seen so mammoth or breathtaking a cave.

There was no sign of the stranger from atop the water cask. I attempted to wake some of the crew, but, to my trepidation, I failed.

“The anchor’s been lowered,” the stowaway, standing by the capstan, announced. ȁI suppose that isn’t strange, even considering the circumstances.” He went over to the Captain and examined the man. Then he examined several of the crew. Finally, speaking more to himself than me, he said, “Drugged. These men have been drugged.”

“But how? Why?”

The stowaway shook, as if he had forgotten about me and I had started him. ȁLet’s start with the how. What do you drink, you and the crew?”

“Fresh water and boiled salt water from the ocean.”

“What fresh water?”

“In there.” I pointed to the water casks.

The stowaway dashed over opened a cask, and cupped some water in a hand. Tasting a little, he washed it around his mouth than spat it on the deck. “mual.” I thought at first he had said “Amen” until he continued, “It’s a low-acting tranquilizer, taken from the trees of the Basualam family commonly found in Southern Africa.”

“You mean everyone’s been poisoned?”

The stowaway scurried about, searching until he found one of the water buckets used to haul water up from of the ocean. Picking up the rope tied to the bucket’s lanyard, the stowaway tossed the bucket over the Dane’s starboard side into the ocean. ȁI suspect,” he said, “that someone has poured quite a bit of Amual into your water casks.”

“The Parroh Man!” I yelled. ȁThe Parroh Man said we would suffer for stealing water from his people.”

The stowaway slid his eyes my way and winked his approval as he hauled the bucket back aboard ship. He dipped in his hand, grabbed some water, and tossed the liquid into his mouth. Instead of spitting it out like last time, he swallowed.

“Tell me, Phillip, did you ever drink any of that cask water?”

I hesitated, then confessed I rarely did. ȁThe cook, Pringle, and I often smuggle some of the Captain’s personal stock of milk with our meals.”

“And where is Pringle?”

I pointed to where the cook lay on the deck. ȁOver there.”

The stowaway walked over and examined Pringle. He stopped short when he noticed something on Pringle’s left arm. “ needle,” he said, again more to himself than me.

“You found a needle?”

“No. Someone’s injected this man with a needle that won’t be available on this world for two and a half centuries.”

I didn’t comprehend what he was mumbling, but I knew I didn’t like his tone.

The stowaway asked me to sample some of the water he had hauled aboard. ȁTell me what you think.” I did as he requested, prepared for the horrible taste of salt water, but nothing. I tested the water again. ȁIt’s fresh water!” I shouted. ȁWe’re out of the ocean! We’ve been shanghaied!”

The stowaway was quiet for several seconds, puzzling the situation, then scanned the cavern’s walls with his eyes. Walls that shined as beautifully and brightly as diamonds. Then he shook his head.

“No, not quite, Phillip. From the time you fell down the steps into the hold to the moment I revived you, no more than ten minutes elapsed. We could hardly have sailed very far in that time. And that storm…it came on far too suddenly, don’t you agree?”

I did, but, “How can we still be in the ocean? There’s no sea caves much less land along this stretch of our course.”

“I’m afraid this cavern is very new.”

“Is that possible?”

“It seems so, yes. And, unless I’m mistaken, this cave was grown from all the of the salt that was once in the water surrounding the Dane.”

That was not possible, and I said as much.

“I suppose it shouldn’t be possible. Not in this day and age. Neither should the manner your friend Pringle was drugged. Oh, I wouldn’t be surprised to discover it was your Parroh Man who is responsible for tainting the Dane’s water stock, but someone else is definitely responsible for this cave.”

The stowaway was quiet again for a long time after that. As I waited for him to decide what we should do next, I sat down on the deck, listening to the faraway rain and the slapping of water against the sides of the Dane.

Later

The Dane remains a ship of the dead.

Not a sailor or seaman has moved since we found ourselves in this cave, and I grow more alarmed by the moment.

Outside the mouth of the cave, the storm rages on. I listen to its moans and pitch while the Dane sits tranquil, unmoving in this God-forsaken Sheol. Somehow I finally managed to fall asleep last night and awoke, though how much time had passed I have no way of knowing for sure. The illumination remains the same, one moment to the next, making time meaningless here. I can only guess that a day has passed.

The stranger was nowhere to be seen when I awoke. Searching decks and quarters but not finding him anywhere topside, I went down into the hold. At first all I saw was the labyrinth of crates and barrels. About to surrender my search, I realized a light was shining near the back of the maze and decided to investigate.

The light was coming out of a box unlike any I have ever seen. It was blue. Perhaps a meter or two wide. Three or four meters tall. It had two thin doors, both open, and I could discern noises inside. Though cautious, I poked my head through the doors.

The box, no bigger than an armoire on the outside, was easily the size of the captain’s quarters on the inside!

I saw an octagonal chamber with walls paneled in some type of dark stained wood. Octagonal windows with stain glass decorated the room. In the center, surrounded by three brass handrails, stood a mushroom-shaped machine with myriad buttons, levers, and illuminations that blinked like stars in a cool clear night.

My curiosity got the better of my commonsense and I entered the chamber to get a closer look at the machine. I tried to ascertain the contraption’s purpose, walking around it several times, but I failed to find anything familiar about it that might serve as a clue.

Suddenly one of the chamber’s walls opened like the door to a monk’s hole and the stowaway stepped into the room. He spotted me at once and beamed.

Why, hello!” he said, cheery as your favorite aunt. ȁI didn’t expect you here.”

“I would think not!” I fled, but before I could exit an unseen hand closed the chamber’s doors. I ran into them, knocking the wind from my lungs. Regaining my senses, I turned on the stowaway, convinced he was at least partly responsible for the curse that had befallen the Dane.

“Phillip! Why did you run? You’re more than welcomed in my home.”

“You’re…home? This…magic place is your…home?”

“Yes. For quite some time now, so to speak. It’s called a TARDIS. But there’s nothing magical about it.” He went over to the mushroom-shaped machine and patted it. ȁIs there, old girl?”

“This place must be magic! It’s ten times bigger in here than its outside! You even have doors that shut by themselves!”

“Phillip, you’re confusing technology with the supernatural. Let me explain.”

Since there was no escaping the chamber, I had no choice. ȁGo on then.”

“That’s the spirit! First, I think it only fair you know my name. I am called…”

“Beelzebub?”

The man looked confused, then shocked, and then burst out laughing.

“Oh, no, Phillip! I am The Doctor. Just Doctor will do. As for this room’s dimensions, its doors, even this machine here…” He paused to put a loving hand on the mushroom-shaped device. ȁ…well, I’m afraid there are many, many things that you would need to know to fully understand. Fourth-dimensional physics. Quantum mechanics. Artificial intelligence. Even irreducible complexities, intelligent design, and complex specified information would be of benefit for full comprehension. True, some of the greatest brains on earth are just now touching upon the rudimentary elements of these fields, but their trailblazing efforts are just a beginning. There is much for them to learn before they could create anything like the TARDIS. Suffice it to say, however, that everything you se here is grounded in the possible and the real. My character simply does not permit me to deal with anything else.”

He could have been leading me down the primrose path, but the man had made no moves against me. In fact, he had assisted me when I was helpless. Nevertheless I was wary and still had questions, such as, “How do you explain the men on deck? They sleep like the dead, yet you say they are alive. Drugged.”

“Ah, that’s true.” The Doctor stepped toward me, fascinated by my query. Like a teacher explaining to a student, he said, “Amual is a drug that is readily available back at Cape Town. However, there is the problem that your friend Pringle the cook was injected with the drug.”

“What do you mean? `Injected’?”

“I mean that the drug was administered by use of a hypodermic needle. It’s similar to a sewing needle, except that it is hallow with a hole in the point. This needle is inserted into a vein or muscle so serum can be injected into the bloodstream or tissue for any number of purposes.”

I shivered from the Doctor’s description.

“It’s most likely that your Parroh Man contaminated the Dane’s casks in retaliation for her crew `stealing’ his tribe’s water. Now, it should have a bit longer for the Amual to take action, but I suspect the stress brought on by the stranger and his storm served as a catalyst to speed its affects along. I’ve been testing samples from the water casks, and, judging by the amount of Amual I found, I’m afraid the crew will be unconscious for at least another day. Plenty of time for an unmanned ship to get itself into all sorts of straights, especially in these waters, which is exactly the result your Parroh Man undoubtedly wanted.”

“But what about the stranger on the cask?”

“I’m not sure. His appearance aboard the Dane could have just been a coincidence.”

“`Coincidence’?”

“Yes. I’ve found no evidence to indicate that the Parroh Man drugging the crew and this stranger’s assault on the Dane were coordinated. It’s possible. I can’t deny that. But I just don’t know. So I suggest we find out.”

“How?”

The man smiled, broad as a south sea island’s totem. ȁWhy, the only way to find out anything is to explore! We must man a longboat and explore this cave!”

My heart sank to my toes. I argued that my abandoning the Dane would be viewed as a dereliction of duty and I could be disgraced. I also pointed out that leaving the security of the ship was insanity.

The Doctor listened. He pursed his lips and nodded. Then he opened the chamber’s doors. “ome along, Phillip.” Walking over to a standing clothes rack, he donned a long coat, a scarf of enormous length, and a hat with a brim that would do a French dandy proud, then abandoned me inside the room.

“Doctor!” I darted after him.

He was waiting outside the TARDIS. Shutting and locking the blue box’s doors, he waved for me to follow and we left the hold to go updeck.

Lowering a longboat to the black waters, The Doctor took the oars and rowed us in the direction of the cave’s furthest recess.

I looked back towards the Dane, praying I would see her again soon.

Time seemed to abandon us as we traveled further into the bowels of the cavern.

The Doctor never lost his confidence or his grin, despite the rigors of constant rowing. It made me feel a bit more secure to see that my sole companion in the world was made of sterner stuff then his appearance would suggest. But, for the most part, I felt isolated from humanity. Like Jonah in the belly of Leviathan.

At last we reached the cavern’s end. A cyclopean white barrier of shining salt prevented us from seeing anything of what lay beyond, so we drifted for several minutes as The Doctor caught his breath, the two of us listening to the solitude and our heartbeats.

“How queer,” The Doctor finally said, startling me from my melancholy. ȁNo land formations. No beaches or inlets, either. Only this huge cavern of salt, seemingly untouched by time and sea.” He paused, musing, then turned the longboat around and started rowing back to the Dane.

“It appears we have visitors,” The Doctor announced.

Another ship had anchored aside the Dane. A nameless barkentine, her sails tattered and yellowed from age and brine, its sideboards warped, and sea life prospering along the waterline. A fetid mist clung to her decks while a dank hue hung over the whole vessel, making the world a darker place all around it. The Hellish sight took my breath away.

“The Flying Dutchman?” The Doctor appeared to be more intrigued than concerned about the newcomer. ȁIf I’m not mistaken, we’re on the verge of solving our mystery, Phillip.”

“How?”

He pointed to the mysterious ship.

Rowing as quietly as he could, The Doctor brought the longboat alongside the ghastly vessel until we discovered an open porthole. Employing the longboat’s rope and towing hook, we boarded the ship and found ourselves in a large shadowy compartment.

“I think we’re somewhere on the berth-deck,” I told The Doctor.

He agreed, adding, “We’ll need to be silent as church mice, Phillip, or I fear the Dane, her crew, and our lives may be forfeit.”

I could hardly make out my hand in front of my face, but The Doctor had no difficulty seeing his way. Taking my arm in a grip of velvet steel, he led me out of the compartment. Vigilantly, we stepped into the hall underneath the maindeck. A vile yellow color permeated the air, giving me a most uncomfortable feeling, one I hope never to encounter again. As The Doctor peaked into one or two of the cabins, I tried not to feel too repulsed by the neglect and decay that was rotting the ship from within as well as without. Wharf rats scurried along the floors while dusty cobwebs hung like forgotten rags in every available corner.

Gradually we took our survey to the maindeck. The frightful open deck stretched before us. Fog, thin as gossamer in some places while thick as thunderheads in others, swirled about with a life all its own. Worse, a moist grey fungus covered everything in sight. The slimy stuff slurped with what sounded like an intelligence all its own, making me afraid to walk upon the deck, lest I be engulfed by the fungus to become a part of this Hell-ship, soul and all, for eternity.

“It seems so empty of…life,” I whispered.

“It is. The Doctor pointed towards the Dane. Ropes and planks yawned between barkentine and barque, and I could see dank shapes moving about the Dane.

A rage got the better of me and I started toward a plank.

The Doctor grabbed my shoulder and bent to whisper in my ear, “No, Phillip. You’d be captured before we can assist your friends. I suggest a more subtle attack.”

“Such as?”

“We return to the TARDIS, where I have equipment that should prove useful against these pirates.”

“Pirates?” For some reason the obvious possibility of raiders hadn’t crossed my mind.

“Yes. And judging by the fungi coating this pretty ship, these pirates are far deadlier than any cutthroats who have ever sailed the seven seas before. I suppose the wise thing would be to get back aboard the longboat and tempt our fates in an escape. However, can we abandon the Dane and her crew?”

I leveled my eyes at The Doctor’s and deliberately shook my head.

He patted my shoulder. ȁStout fellow! Follow me."

At The Doctor’s command we severed all the ropes and pushed away every plank bridging the vessels.

“What’s that?” a voice from the Dane shouted. Silhouettes shaped like men began to gather along the Dane’s railing, and I got my first good look at the pirates.

The raiders were, in a word, hideous.

Their skins were as greasy and hoary as the fungus, while a pale eerie blue light flickered where their mouths, nostrils and eyes should have been. Their hair hung limp and oily, like that of drowned men, and crabs and other creatures crawled about them like maggots on a corpse. They growled at The Doctor and I, lunging in our direction over the railing. I retreated a step, but The Doctor stood firm.

“That will take care of them for now,” The Doctor said. ȁThis way, Phillip!”

We started to go back to the yellow passage, but stopped as five of the blasphemous beings actually grew up from the fungus near the mainmast to cut us off!

“God save us!” I backed up and slipped, falling on my bottom.

One of the Devil-spawn told us, “You’ve done enough, good sirs.” Its voice reverberated like a belch from its luminous maw as his companions drew swords from scabbards.

I clambered to my feet. Frightened? Yes! But my companion wouldn’t fight these terrors alone!

The Doctor remained calm. Digging in his pants pockets and then the pockets of his coat, he eventually stumbled across a brown paper sack, opened it, and held it out to the pirates.

“Jelly-baby?” he asked.

The pirates ignored the peace offering, raising their swords.

“Well, be that way about it.” The Doctor squeezed the bag in a fist.

Smoke gushed out, swarmed around the creatures, and the five collapsed.

Tossing the bag overboard, The Doctor stepped around the vanquished beings. “ome along, Phillip!”

Glancing over my shoulder, I saw the pirates on the Dane rigging new ropes and planks to reboard their ship. ȁYes, Doctor!”

The Doctor opened a door in the yellow corridor and searched until he found the captain’s cabin. My companion pointed out a large window and, going over to it, struggled with the window until came loose and opened. I could see the Dane anchored four meters away.

“Here we go!”

“Go where?”

The Doctor leapt through the window to a scuttle in the Dane’s starboard broadside! Hanging on to the slim brass frame, he managed to open the scuttle and then slither through. Poking his head back outside, he told me to follow.

“What?”

“I’ll catch you. Trust me.”

If the situation had been any less dire I doubt I would have found the courage, but, hearing sloppy footsteps outside the captain’s quarters, I jumped.

The world rushed past in a blur, and I somehow managed to blindly grab the scuttle. An instant later The Doctor drug me back onboard the Dane. ȁWe made it!” I yelled.

“Not quite. We have must get inside the TARDIS.”

The Doctor dashed to the peculiar blue box with me in tow. He pulled its key, dangling from the end of a long, slim gold chain, and inserted the key into a lock in the doors.

I thought us safe, until I heard a sloshing noise behind us.

We turned to find three more hideous pirates—one who seemed familiar, though I couldn’t place him—coming for us. They brandished pistols and took a running aim as The Doctor opened the box and drug me inside.

My companion hurried to the mushroom-shaped machine. I assumed he wanted to close the doors, but, to my horror, he left them wide so the pirates could enter!

I tried to push the pirate in the vanguard back outside, but the raider shoved me across the room. I would have fallen if The Doctor had not caught and righted me.

“There’s no place left to hide, sirs,” the trio’s leader said. His voice suddenly sounded human, with a recognizable evil tinge. I looked his way and saw the stranger from the cask! He and his two comrades now looked normal!

The stranger scowled, aimed his pistol at The Doctor, and squeezed the trigger.

Not a sound or shell took split the air.

The stranger eyed his pistol, once then twice, then tried to shoot again. Still nothing happened.

His comrades tried their pistols, but with no better results.

“What wizardry is this?” the stranger demanded.

“I would think you would be experts on the occult,” The Doctor chortled as he touched a button on his machine. The chamber’s doors shut.

The pirates noticed the trap too late. They attacked the doors, but when that failed they made a run for The Doctor and I. Their charge ended at the railings surrounding the machine. A light flared and a hiss as loud as the crashing surf struck the pirates, tossing the unholy trio in different directions. The first to recover got up and made another charge, only to suffer the same fate again.

The Doctor smiled and said something like, “You might as well know that your pistols will never fire in here. We’re in a state of temporal grace. Multi-dimensional, you see. What that means is that everyone in this room is safe from harm beyond physical attack, and, thanks to this energy field of mine, my friend Phillip and I are even safe from that.” The Doctor’s smile grew wider in relation to the pirates’ anger, which was considerable.

“Very nice.” The stranger and his comrades stood came near the railings. “or all the good it will do you. We may be trapped, but the rest of my men should have surrounded your box by now. Also the Dane’s hapless crew is at our mercy, and if I do not show myself to my men soon that crew will unmercifully suffer.”

I shuddered even as I pointed at the stranger and told The Doctor, “That’s the man who whistled up the storm!”

“I thought as much,” The Doctor replied. Looking at the stranger, “You’re a talented man, though I’d expect nothing less from an occupant of the fourth dimension.”

Again The Doctor’s words baffled me. The stranger, however, was flabbergasted.

“Yes, I do know a little about your old hometown,” The Doctor said, in a tone like a parent talking to a pouting child. ȁIt’s obvious from the construction of this amazing cave that you’re not ghosts. Still, a bit of occult icing isn’t bad for the show, eh?”

The pirates barked at him.

“Now don’t get testy! I won’t tell anyone you come from the wrong side of the tracks! But I really can’t allow you to go on doing such terrible things to the good people who sail these seas.”

“And how do you propose to stop us?”

“Ah. Well, as impressive as fourth-dimensional technology, there really isn’t much you folks can do to change you essential metabolism. Your bodies, such as they are, do allow you to transform into different guises, including that ethereal manifestation we saw earlier. Nevertheless, fourth-dimensional bodies possess an inherent physical unstableness while in the third dimension. This is a corporeal dimension, after all, while you are composed of nearly nothing but thought and energy with a dash of leftover grey matter.”

The pirates shuffled uncomfortably, but never stopped glaring at us like hungry tigers.

“I don’t know why you’ve chosen to use your technology to shanghai ships and rob them. That’s unimportant to me. All I care about is seeing that this cave is destroyed along with your ship, and that the lot of you are sent packing to whence you came.”

“Again, how do you propose to do that? This cave is our domain. Our aegis in this dimension. We control all energy that exists here. Even the wind itself. No ship can leave here without us granting such a request. That includes this weird ship of yours.”

The Doctor said nothing, preferring to listen for now.

“As for the art and treasures we take, all of it is cherished where we come from, good sir. Cherished because nothing of value exists in our dimension outside of our bodies. For too long we’ve watched this world and longed for the pleasures its creations could give us. So we came here, assuming forms that frighten these simple men and bend them to our will, making it child’s play to acquire that which we have so longed for to make our lives richer and fuller.”

The Doctor looked like he almost sympathized. “n understandable desire, but there are other means besides the ones you’re using to get what you crave. Somehow I doubt such notions ever entered for what passes for your heads, though.”

“Never.” The stranger stared straight at me. ȁWhen the Parroh Man communicates with what he calls dark spirits, rest assured that we are the `spirits’ he speaks with. That is how we could `suggest’ to him that he drug the Dane’s water casks.” He glared at The Doctor. ȁWe’ll take what we please from any world in this dimension! The animals that inhabit this planet are nothing to us!”

“I see.” The Doctor strolled around his machine to its other side from me. ȁI’m afraid our philosophies differ. I believe all people are created equal and should treat each other as equals. I also believe that a person should lend a helping hand whenever possible.”

The pirates snorted.

“You’ve asked me twice how I proposed to stop you and your cohorts from further pirating. I have only one answer: `molecular collusion.’”

The phrase meant nothing to me, but it meant life or death to the raiders. All three stumbled away from the railings and then assaulted the chamber’s doors again, struggling and failing to batter their way out.

The Doctor paid them no mind. Muttering numbers and complex terms under his breath, he turned dials and pushed levers until his machine commenced humming and vibrating and a glittering column in its epicenter began pumping up and down.

I leaned against a railing in time to see a vibrant blue glow swell out from the pirates’ pores and swallow their bodies. The pirates—or whatever they really were—screeched as a white line that squiggled like a snake materialized within the blue glow.

“I think that wavelength should do the trick,” I heard The Doctor mused.

The glow intensified, expanding until it threatened to devour the chamber. A wail stabbed my ears as something akin to a hot wind blasted against then through me. I saw what appeared to be three wraiths soar at me, and then I remember nothing more.

July 7, 1704

I have been told that two days have passed.

Pringle revived me. He claimed to have just recovered himself along with the rest of the crew. He remembered the strange man on the water cask then nothing more. A search was made of the Dane, during which I was found in the hold.

“Where’s the stowaway?” Pringle asked.

“Gone like he came,” the cook grumbled. ȁWithout a clue.”

The Doctor was gone. So was the TARDIS.

Pringle led me topside. There was no sign of the sea cave, and it was a relief to see blue sky and smell fresh air again. The barkentine was also gone, along with any trace of the beings that had sailed upon it. I remembered all of my adventure, but now the events seemed so extraordinary that I was convinced it was all a dream.

I helped the crew get the Dane shipshape again, then, after supper, went to bed. Unable to sleep, I opened this journal to write about my strange dream. To my surprise I found a note tucked between its pages. It read:

Phillip,

I’m sorry to have to leave without saying good-bye, but I must be on the move. I know what you have seen seems incredible, and you maybe be tempted to believe our time together was part of some delirium. I assure you, it all happened. The truth is that you have been on an incredible adventure that has rescued the Dane, its crew, even your world from an awful danger. Most of all, you have been a great assistant to me. I hope that some day our paths will cross again so we can talk over old times. Until that day, I will remain forever your friend,

The Doctor

I read the note several times before tucking it between the pages of this journal and writing down my “incredible adventure.”

The sea…no, life…is strange indeed.

AUTHOR’S ADDENDUM

For what it’s worth, this piece of fan fiction is not a riff on THE PIRATES OF THE CARIBEEAN. It is a riff on John Carpenter’s THE FOG, an underrated and under-appreciated creeper. It is also a riff on VARNEY THE VAMPYRE, a lengthy gothic hoot that is deservedly one of the grand novels of the vampire genre.

“The Ethereal Pirates of Cave C’ristal” was written 25 years ago, back when I was a raving DOCTOR WHO fan. Recently wanting to contribute a piece of fan fiction to Gateway Monthly, I remembered writing this story and asked Paul if I could contribute it. He said sure. After I dug it out, I could see that the story needed a bit of dusting off. After a little bit of work, I realized what the story really needed was a vacuuming.

A cardinal rule of writing is never to apologize for a story. Never say, “This isn’t particularly good. Sorry.” So I won’t do that. I will say that if, after reading this story, you come away with the sense that it is imbued with more enthusiasm than excellence, all I can say is, “Well, what sharp little eyes you have.”