It wasn't long before they reached their goal. Thankfully, the kraken hadn't been quite as fast as the Bon Voyage. The gap between them should give enough time for the ship to take off safely, for as far as flying with a heavily damaged airship in a storm could be safe. The ship went through an alcove and entered what appeared to be a lagoon, surrounded by reef and high rocks. It was close to a perfect circle giving it an unnatural look.
"We've arrived! Get the ship right in the centre!" the Captain shouted, which wasn't an easy task given the current conditions. They sailed right into the smallish circle of water. Any wrong move would likely impale the ship on the rocks jutting up from the water. It would require incredibly precise maneuvering to get the ship to the centre undamaged, which is why it arrived in the center with some additional damage. Peggy came hopping up-deck with a harpoon gun in hands.
The Captain approached Pat. "Normally I would've given you the honor of sending us off since it's your first flight," he said to Pat, "but I'm afraid we don't have the time for it right now." As the Captain walked off, he shouted some orders to whichever bones remained of his skeleton crew.
Pat looked thoroughly confused at the whole ordeal. "Harrold... I think it's about time to tell me how an airship works."
Harrold took him to the bow of the ship. "See that purplish circle over there?" he asked Pat as he pointed towards a purplish circle.
"Yes, what is it?"
"It's an air intake from a Purplish."
Pat looked at him with narrowed eyes. "A... what now?"
"It's a sea creature. I've only seen drawings of them, as they rarely get out of the water themselves. They don't look particularly interesting though. They usually just look like a large flat purple circle, with a single air intake in the centre which also kind of looks like a purple circle."
"Right, but what's up with the name? Just... Purplish?"
Harrold had once heard the story of how the Purplish was named. The captain of the first ship to encounter one wanted to share the enjoyment of naming this purple creature with his passengers. However, the ship happened to be en route to the largest fashion show in the world. This meant, to the surprise of no one besides the apparently naive captain, that the friendly naming discussion quickly turned into a not so friendly discussion about what particular shade of purple the creature was.
It's unclear if the captain was getting annoyed and wanted to spite his passengers or if he was simply trying to mitigate the quickly escalating discussion, but he eventually decided to compromise by naming it Purplish. It would forever be known as a great example of how trying to please everyone usually resulted in pleasing absolutely no one.
"I like it," Harrold said, "It's more descriptive than most names."
"But what does this Purplish have to do with us flying?" Pat asked.
Harrold considered if he should explain the process. Given the way it worked, it would probably only result in many more questions. He didn't want to engage in a conversation about whether it was humane or not, how someone discovered this or how the hell they would be able to survive the process.
"It has something to do with violent allergic reactions," he said matter-of-factly, deciding he didn't want to withhold the truth, but also wasn't in the mood for further questions.
The discussion on whether the use of Purplish was humane or not had been held so many times that Harrold was completely sick of it. Defenders of airships, basically anyone with money, would describe the process as the best example of nature and technology working together to, literally, achieve new heights. Animal rights advocates would counter that message by stating that it's animal abuse.
Harrold, who considered himself a realist, knew that the usefulness of Purplish was, sadly, the only thing preventing them from being hunted, which would lead to certain extinction. In a way, the Purplish were much like floors. Both only existed for their usefulness, but this usefulness required a light touch of torture. For some reason both floors and animal activists never seemed to think of it that way, proven by their unending ungrateful complaining. Thankfully no one was aware of the suffering of floors and the floors themselves couldn't be understood, therefore they were slightly less annoying than activists.
"Clear the aft, lower the mast! Get ready!" the Captain ordered loudly. The wings were already pulled back in towards the ship, and the crew lowered the primary mast backwards. The mast now extended beyond the back of the ship. The Captain gave a slight nod to the crew after the ship was positioned right over the Purplish. Two of the crew members walked towards the edge of the ship, carrying a rather large and hefty looking bag.
"You might want to hold on to something," Harrold warned Pat before grabbing onto the nearest railing himself.
Pat followed suit with a hurried, somewhat panicky, motion. The two crew-members threw the bag overboard. Peggy took aim with the harpoon gun and fired at the bag causing everyone on deck to scatter in search of something to hold on to. Nothing happened for a moment, as everyone looked around in silence. Then, they heard a loud and high pitched wheezing sound over the storm. The ship started turning slowly. The Captain was on the wheel in an instant, trying to keep the ship pointed in the right direction.
"Uh, Harrold?" Pat said as he nudged Harrold with his elbow, "Are we sinking?"
Based on the surrounding rocks which were seemingly growing, this indeed looked to be the case. Harrold looked behind him over the railing. The Purplish was sucking in an incredible volume of water, causing the ship to be caught in a whirlpool. The wheezing sound disappeared, quickly being replaced by a new sound, reminiscent of boiling water, only much louder. Suddenly the ship started shaking violently. Broken planks rattled the on deck. Here we go.
A massive bang came from beneath the ship as the Purplish shot up the collected water at tremendous speed, sending the ship skywards with it. Harrold could feel the air rushing by him, pressuring him downwards. Both Harrold's ears and stomach weren't pleased with the current situation and did everything in their power to inform him of their displeasure. The vibrations picked up as well, it felt like the ship was in the middle of an earthquake. The kraken and stormy weather hadn't been pleasant experiences, but this seemed on an entirely different level from even that. Harrold knew that the hull was the strongest part of an airship, but he wasn't confident that this particular excuse for an airship would survive an onslaught of this magnitude. The ship continued to rise higher and higher, but the pressure was suddenly getting a lot more manageable. They were slowing down. After what had felt like several minutes, the vibrations stopped as suddenly as they had started.
"Release the wings! Quickly now!" the Captain ordered. The ship had reached the peak of its jump. The wings shot outward at almost the perfect time, allowing them to glide forward high in the sky.
Harrold released the railing. His hands joined his stomach in protest as he had quite literally been holding on for dear life. His ears had gone back to work after realizing the whole protesting thing was a futile endeavor. Harrold finally dared to open his eyes and was met with an unbelievable view. That's what anyone else would call it at least, he himself wasn't particularly moved by such things. The ship had pierced the clouds and was now, in what seemed to be a gross violation of the laws of physics, gently coasting through the sky. The High Court of Physics would eventually punish them for that. They always did. The sudden calm after the nerve-wracking jump felt unreal. It couldn't possibly be more quiet and tranquil. The sun lit up the skies, coloring it a vibrant beautiful orange. It felt like they had entered a different dimension which, while possible, was absolutely not the case this time, making it all the more special. No one on the ship dared speak, as if afraid to disturb this wondrous moment.
"Harrold, are you seeing this?!" Pat yelled, ruining everyone's moment of peace.
The spell, whatever was left of it anyway, was soon broken as the ship slowly drifted back through the clouds and re-entered the storm. The sight above and below the clouds couldn't have looked more different if one tried. Harrold looked at the dark skies surrounding the ship and shuddered as lightning repeatedly struck down. The thunder that followed somehow caught him off-guard every strike. It also sounded dangerously close. There wasn't much anyone could do at this point, besides hope for the best. You weren't supposed to fly in these conditions as any shipbuilder would remind you. Those shipbuilders weren't being chased by krakens like this one though.
Harrold blinked as he realized something. Krakens like this one...
He once again requested a spyglass and calmly walked towards the aft of the ship, his eyes fixated on something peculiar in the distance. Something that shouldn't be there. He raised the spyglass, making sure it faced the correct way this time, and took a quick, telling, glimpse before slowly lowering the spyglass again. He called over Pat and the Captain. Once they arrived, he calmly handed over the spyglass without saying a word. Pat was the first to take a look. He searched the horizon for a moment before noticing it.
"It's... flying?" Pat asked, clearly confused. He went to hand over the spyglass to the Captain, but the Captain had already adjusted his visors to see the problem for himself.
"By the Maker! It's actually flying, and fast as well!" the Captain said, sounding more impressed than worried.
Harrold remained silent as he stared at the distant dot. He couldn't help but notice that it seemed to grow less distant by the second.
"But... how?" Pat asked.
"Look at its sides," Harrold answered as he crossed his arms, not even trying to hide his defeated tone.
Pat took another look. "Are those...?"
"Yes," Harrold answered. "Wings."
Pat could clearly not believe it as he tried to refocus the spyglass several times.
"They're so... tiny," he said, "How is that even possible?"
Harrold had heard of flying krakens before. Though he and, as far as he knew, no one else thought them to be real. Given that normal krakens were already considered very rare, and flying ones a bad joke at best, he never bothered to research the species in much detail. He did know that no one had ever given a sensible explanation for how the supposedly, now confirmed, tiny wings managed to lift such a massive creature. There was one hypothesis that Harrold could still recall.
The theory was that flying krakens felt very self-conscious about their utterly ridiculous appearance. The kraken assumed that anyone who had laid eyes on it would, naturally, go on to ridicule it. Which wouldn't be an entirely unfair assumption, Harrold had to admit. Not understanding the concept of laws and justice, the kraken would completely lose its temper and consider the other party guilty by default, with execution by tentacle as the only possible punishment. Whenever this situation occurred the kraken would be able to fly through its inexhaustible and constant power of sheer rage.
Harrold did not know if this hypothesis had any truth to it, given that the only people who had ever talked about flying krakens were considered loons or nutcases. He was now at least fairly convinced of the execution part of the theory though, since so few people reported encountering a flying kraken that they were automatically categorized as loons or nutcases. The low amount of reported encounters made sense if almost no one survived to tell the tale.
I'm about to get killed by a non-existing mythological creature, which not only looks ridiculous, but is possibly also only going to kill us because it looks ridiculous.
"How ridiculous," the Captain remarked.
Suddenly Harrold observed yet another peculiarity. How did the kraken get to this height and, more importantly, how was it staying at this height? Almost no creature could naturally soar up to heights like these, the bulky and naturally aquatic kraken was unlikely to be an exception. It must've followed them into the Purplish jet, but that would mean it had been out of the water for several minutes now. Krakens can't breathe air and yet this one appeared to have no need for water.
For once, Pat was the one to find the answers. "What's up with the bucket it's carrying?" he asked casually.
"Bucket?" Harrold questioned back as he forcefully and clumsily yanked the spyglass from Pat's hands, almost dropping it in the process. He searched all over the furious looking behemoth until he spotted a small bucket hanging below it, small splashes of water spilling out as the monster speeded towards them. There was nothing remarkable about the bucket, besides the fact that a massive, supposedly non-existent, flying kraken was carrying it around. It looked like the average bucket a human would use. He looked to his side, noticing some very similar and now surprisingly guilty looking buckets lying around on deck. Did it...? It couldn't have, right? Harrold couldn't really believe it, but also had no other explanation at the moment.
"That makes absolutely no sense." Pat thoughtfully remarked.
Harrold could only agree, but didn't want to give Pat any credit whatsoever. "Are you really that surprised after everything else that's been happening today? Clearly anything is possible at this point," he said using a tone he himself would describe as intellectual. Most others would describe it as patronizing.
Pat frowned as he looked in Harrold's direction. "Why would something so huge not use larger buckets? Even you have to admit there's something funny about that."
Harrold was grateful that he hadn't given Pat any credit just now, clearly he never deserved it.
Pat quickly moved on to the question on everyone's mind. "So, how do we deal with this?"
Harrold turned to face him. "We don't."
"You just said anything is possible," Pat countered.
"It's called an exaggeration, something you should be very familiar with," Harrold said, sounding a bit meaner than he had intended.
The pair of them had survived many strange and dangerous encounters, but this one seemed truly hopeless to Harrold. It wasn't fair to take it out on Pat though. Harrold was about to apologize when Pat spoke up. "I never exaggerate. I just say it as I see it. And I'm sure you and I can make it out of this one, we've been in worse situations before," he said eloquently, inspiring all those who overheard it. Even the deck stopped its incessant creaking. For a moment Harrold felt reinvigorated as well, until he once again mulled over what Pat had actually said.
"What do you mean 'we've been in worse situations'? When have we ever had to deal with something worse than a flying kraken?" he said in exasperation.
Pat raised his hand to his chin, clearly in thought. Harrold sighed deeply as Pat was actually seriously taking his time considering an answer. "How about that time we had to go without food. You know, after that anteater incident," Pat finally said.
"That. Was. One. Single. Day. One day without food!" Harrold said, now genuinely angry. Suddenly Harrold felt a sick joy rising in his body as he remembered something important. "Also..." he added with sudden glee, "the kraken hit our supplies chamber in the previous fight. Even if we make it out of this, we'll be low on food for a while."
Pat looked at him with wide eyes before slowly looking downwards. His arms went limp. They hung so loose at his sides that they looked boneless. His shoulders slumped forward as far as one could slump and probably slightly further. His back arched at an impossible angle. It was a miracle that he managed to stay standing. Harrold had never seen a man so defeated in his entire life, not even in his own mirror, and felt guilty. It was an unusual level of guilt. The kind of guilt that actually forced him into action as opposed to the throwaway guilt he usually felt. He sighed once more. "Alright," he said softly, "we'll find a way to deal with... this. There's probably enough food left as well."
Pat instantly shot back to his normal posture, bones regenerating at rapid rate. A wide and familiar smile appeared on his face. Harrold looked at him suspiciously. Sometimes he felt like Pat was smart enough to manipulate him. That thought scared him greatly, perhaps more greatly than a flying kraken armed with a bucket. He looked at said flying kraken armed with a bucket. Ok, maybe smart Pat is not that scary after all.
"Alright, let's think this through," Harrold said calmly.
"Don't take too long," Pat said equally calmly, pointing his hand towards the rapidly approaching avatar of anger.
Harrold gave him a look. "You could also, you know, help us think of something?"
"Do you really want me to help think up a plan?"
Harrold didn't respond. To the outside world, it looked like he was deep in thought considering possible solutions to this predicament. In reality, he was spending this precious time thinking of a good retort to Pat. The Captain interrupted this important line of thought.
"If it's reliant on water, couldn't we perhaps separate the bucket from the monster?" he asked.
"Perhaps..." Harrold sounded doubtful, "However, it's a small target and the kraken has to be dangerously close for us to have any chance of hitting it."
The Captain grunted in affirmation. He tapped his cane nervously as he took another gander at the source of all this trouble. "Yes, you are quite right. I suppose it's also not an instant solution. Assuming we can hit the bucket, the kraken would likely still have time to damage the Bon beyond sustainability. At this height that's certain death."
He angrily tapped the deck with his cane, but Harrold could tell he was holding back to avoid any unnecessary damage. The gravely wounded deck was grateful for that. Pat, surprisingly, had the answers once again.
"So, we just need to get rid of the bucket while we scare it away from the ship or do it before the Kraken gets close," he said casually.
"And how do you propose we manage that?" Harrold asked him, not expecting any useful response to come from his partner's mouth.
"We'll just jump on top of it and stab it a couple of times or something. We can improvise," he answered, still much too casually for Harrold's liking.
The suggestion made Harrold think of another option though. One he really didn't like. Bugger it all.
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Author's Note:
This one was mostly done before I received comments on chapter 1 and I couldn't find a better spot to cut it on, so it's still pretty lengthy. I'll seriously try to keep that in mind from now on. Anyway, hope you enjoyed it nonetheless!