November 30th, 1887;
Having passed through the Cumaean Canal I emerged into salt-smelling darkness. A half-a-day's journey northward, though one could hardly call it "day" in this stygian gloom, and I finally lay eyes on Fallen London.
Having visited my father's lodgings to collect his charts and attempt to find clues as to his last known heading, I took a cab to the docks where I procured the captaincy of a sturdy vessel with an equally sturdy.. if somewhat ragged-looking.. crew. I explained my desire to find my father's stricken vessel to the bosun. The old man's gimlet eyes glistened avariciously as he explained the various expenses, even while the crew were already loading supplies by the crateload into the ship.
Frankly I was more than eager to divest myself of the filthy lucre of the echo bazaar. Quite unlike solid sterling, the coins feel greasier and more tarnished than even the oldest, grimiest farthing.
I made to encourage the crew with a salty shanty from the surface, but I found the words died upon my lips. It was then that the bosun stepped forward, his chest inflating before he began to bellow out a song I'd not heard before.
Heave, lads, me weary boys! To fate we're naught but foolish toys
Drownies stare with sightless eyes, you'll ne'er see the sunrise
Heave, boys, me doom-drowned men, there's crueller gods beyond your ken
Salt and Stone and Storm, we pray, don't cast your gaze our way
December 22nd, 1887;
Almost a month of searching has borne absolutely no fruit. My father's maps are all useless, every landmark seems determined to be other than where they are charted to be. I begin to see how even he, an inveterate sailor, got lost in this dank, forbidding underscape. As far as I can tell, we have passed through Shepherd's Wash and are crossing the Promised Sea. A bleak, vast expanse of dark water much like every other I've seen down here. I fear that supplies and fuel are running dangerously low... But even as I write this, I can hear the lookout shouting... Lorkinsport. The home of the one we seek to press for further information. I have to say, I never thought I'd be visiting royalty down here.
Heave, men, and don't delay! The Fathomking down here holds sway
Monarch from times of yore, step on this stranger's shore
Heave, lads, me weary boys! To fate we're naught but foolish toys
Drownies stare with sightless eyes, you'll ne'er see the sunrise
Heave, boys, me doom-drowned men, there's crueller gods beyond your ken
Salt and Stone and Storm, we pray, don't cast your gaze our way
January 3rd, 1888;
The Fathomking turned us away from his coral-studded manse with a knowing smile and a promise that I would see my father soon. Food, fuel... all has run out in the days since. For a time we ate well after the chef found more meat from somewhere.. but when I saw his smile... his smile, all red and white... and the finger-rings in the stew...
We are adrift. Becalmed. The Drownies come again, with their terrible song... They have taken all but the bosun and I, and a mere handful of men... I can hear their bodies slithering wetly across the deck... their
And their song is so sweet. Their song... is so...
Heave, lads, me weary boys! To fate we're naught but foolish toys
Drownies stare with sightless eyes, you'll ne'er see the sunrise
Heave, boys, me doom-drowned men, there's crueller gods beyond your ken
Salt and Stone and Storm, we pray, don't cast your gaze our way
Full fathom five he lies
Those are pearls that were his eyes
Suffer ye a sea-change
To something rich and strange