The Great Mistake

Shadowdeep. Can you hear its silent rumblings? Shadowdeep. A place of legend and infamy. A place of death. Shadowdeep. A place of water and the world’s end. Shadowdeep.

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“Are you sure this is the right course? I don’t ever remember it being mentioned in any of the books.”

“Of course I’m sure! Everyone knows that the globe is round! It’s the only feasible explanation. Don’t worry about it, Carl; it’s just a bunch of old wives’ tales, anyway.”

“I don’t know….”

“Don’t worry about anything. I’ve got it all planned. It’s just a little boat ride, nothing to be scared of. Look, I’ll even buy you dinner at that Milhanese restaurant you’ve been itching to go to when you get back. We’ll have a nice, big bowl of kadar soup and noodles together. All right?”

“Okay, I guess. Well, see you in a few months…”

And a few months later, Cat Ableidinger sat in a booth at the Milhanese Bistro, eating a bowl of kadar soup and noodles by himself. That day that had been the last time Cat ever saw Carl again. Who knew that the world was indeed flat? And that Cat’s ventured ship was doomed to fall right off the side of it? It was nobody’s fault, really. Right?

That’s what everyone told Cat, though it never made any difference to him. Because one never ate kadar soup by himself.

The news of the Skylark’s sudden…departure spread rapidly through the town, and the city, and the county, and country, until everyone seemed to know young Cat’s name and every little mistaken detail about the voyage. He had even received crumpled letters of sympathy in the post from someone in Kajikstan! At first, all the attention had been horribly embarrassing. Wasn’t it enough that he had to suffer through the loss of his friend and the knowledge that he had caused the deaths of a whole crew? But now it had become very annoying and…antagonizing.

Cat Ableidinger was an inventor, a part-time genius, and a day-dreamer. He lived in a small house on 41st street with his two owl finches and a little goldfish named Piotr. The outside of the canted cottage was neat and trim, save for a few loose shingles. The inside, however, was a much different story. It was a mess gone rampant. Books were stacked high, maps and papers were tacked to the walls or strewn across tables, a strange assortment of tools, objects, and plants filled the rest of the space, leaving barely enough room for a bed and a small kitchen.

The funding for most of his inventions had come from his wealthy Uncle in Portsumm, a great city farther inland. His own parents would have nothing to do with him, seeing as both were dead in some soggy jungle in some far away country. They had been missionaries to the native tribes before they had been chopped up and eaten. And Cat had been left behind in a strange town with his strange grandmother…

He had always been interested in what was on the other side of the globe. Too bad nobody ever told him that the world was actually flat. It had been a terrible, horrible mistake, everyone agreed, but one that could have been prevented. Carl’s mum was distraught with grief when she learned that it had been Cat that had convinced him to sail away on “that gorram ship,” as she had called it. And that had been the worst part, having to tell Carl’s mother that her son had been on the Skylark and that he had been the one that had convinced him to go.

The town’s folk had long since labeled Cat as an eccentric and an oddity. Though everyone disapproved of his technique and style in some way or another, everyone had found a certain fondness for the strange man. Until the day that news returned that his chartered ship had fallen off the side of the earth, that is.

Marda, the month had been Marda when the Skylark had set sail. The seas were calm, the skies were clear, the salt-laden breeze rippled pleasantly through the coastal town. Cat had stood on the docks watching the last of the cargo be hauled on board. Carl had stood beside him, his hands deep in the pockets of his long, brown coat. A beautiful day for a journey across the seas, one that Cat himself would not be taking for reasons he kept to himself. (The truth was, Cat was very much afraid of the sea, just like his namesake. And his grandmum was sick and had to be taken care of, but that was only a side point.)

They had talked for hours over the coming voyage, Carl and he. Carl would go in Cat’s place, it would do his friend good to see the rest of the world and make a name for himself. Carl would be accompanied by the finest seamen Cat’s money could buy on the finest ship his money could charter. And so, Carl would be sailing with average sailors on an average sloop. But of course, that was all made up for with the promises of fame and wealth in whatever treasures they accumulated on the voyage.

Despite his pretenses of fear and worry, Carl was actually looking forward to sailing around the globe and having grand adventures. Carl had always been a dreamer and adventurer at heart. At last, goodbyes were said and all crew and passengers boarded, and the ship began its trek out of the harbor and into the broad seas.

Letters and messages had come from the ship several months after it first set sail. Some came by messenger pigeons, others by smaller ships, and one even came in with the pilot of a zeppelin. All had told wondrous tales of a tropic paradises, crystalline waters, and friendly natives. Until one day, they suddenly stopped coming. Cat hadn’t worried about the lack of mail at first, but then the silence from his friend grew quite troubling.

Another week passed and finally, another letter arrived in the hands of a wrinkled old sea rogue. The paper was battered and stained, the ink smeared from water, though the name and address was, to some extent, legible. “Cat Able-din-er, 4-st Street Mal-edon -- Carl Bourne -, S-ylark.” Cat took the soggy letter, thanked the seaman, and retreated to his house. He tore open the envelope and gingerly spread the folded sheets of paper on his table. It took him over an hour to decipher the writing because of all the ink-smears and water rot in the paper.

At last he managed to get something out of it. And what he read appalled and terrified him.

“Dated 17 Frel, year 5793

Lat. 27’, Long. 176’, Rilnak Ocean

MSS Skylark

Dear Cat,

This will be the last letter I may write for some time. We have encountered nothing new since my last letter to you. We encountered several harsh storms the last week, which has thrown us off course, according to Captain Jerund. We are going to try to make it to Phalr’mtak to repair the ship. We suffered damage to the rigging and decks. There are…here the writing was quite impossible to read … but I think we will make it.

The horizon seems to be drawing closer. The winds have gone silent and the sea likewise. We haven’t seen any sea bird in many days, when before they were everywhere. We are caught in some sort of current … here the writing fades again … The sailors are whispering of something called the Shadowdeep. It sounds like some sort of monster or being said to swallow ships whole. faded … The horizon keeps getting closer.

If we don’t change course soon, it seems we may meet this “Shadowdeep,” whatever it is. Tell my mother I love her and that I will miss her. I don’t think we will be returning home from this voyage. Everything is so silent and still. It is so eerie. The current seems to be pulling us toward the horizon and whatever may be on the other side. faded …I will be putting this letter in a sealed bottle and throwing it overboard. It is with all my hopes that this gets to you.

God be with us,

Carl Bourne.

PS. The world may be flat after all.”

Weeks later, Cat sat at the Mihlanese bistro with an untouched bowl of kadar soup and noodles in front of him. All the life had gone out of his eyes and he had turned reclusive after news of Carl’s death. But one word kept coming to his mind and one phrase repeatedly haunted him. “The world may be flat after all…”

Shadowdeep.