Six of Swords

Come close, reader, see this newsstand: It is April 15th, 1912, and yesterday the great ship Titanic met its match when it struck a North Atlantic iceberg. We all know the story, but that is not why we are here. Move past the horrifying headlines of marine tragedy and see now, if you will, that magazine there – yes, The Popular Magazine with its nautical themed cover. Browse the collection and find our friend Thornton Hains, who submitted his story ‘The White Ghost of Disaster’ to the magazine for publishing well over a year ago, only to find it in print mere weeks before the sinking of the Titanic took place. What's that? No Thornton Hains? Check for his pen name; Captain Mayn Clew Garnett. Smart to publish under a nautical name when you're trying to sell sea-based fiction around boatyards, no? Let us imagine the moment the writer gleaned the idea for the story. Were there mystical oracles involved? Was it simply the musing of a writer who, unluckily, foretold of the exact conditions of this tragedy? A combination of the two? Let us explore whether anyone was saved on account of Thornton’s musings – scared away from traveling on the ill-fated ship, perhaps...

***

Thornton was between projects. When he was between projects, in this way, he did not want to admit he was also actually out of work. A few pieces he had submitted for publication were now out in circulation, sure, but it was nothing for a proper author to live off. He needed a remarkable story.

Unfortunately, his lack of inspiration was stretching on. Refusing to call it a writer's block he had, nevertheless, begun his negotiations with the great muse. She was a fickle mistress who enjoyed the type of immediate satisfaction one could find in the most ungentlemanly of places. She had him frequenting taverns, baths, and opium dens for just a tease of inspiration.

Beginning with some ale to tip-off negotiations with Calliope, the writer’s muse, promising to run with whatever inspiration she deemed fit, he hoped to stay out of the dens this time. Last time he was blocked – not that this simple lull was that – he had begun to frequent the dens of Chinatown too regularly. His muse demanded those vices. It was not a comforting feeling to have people outside of proper society using your name with such familiarily. Not that he ever used his real name, heaven forbid, no! In the seedier part of town, he went by his pen name. His alter ego was also a ship's captain, lending credibility to any nautical writing.

He ordered a pint from the barmaid on the way to what had become his regular table. That thought was slightly depressing, and Thornton heard Calliope whisper of something deliciously peaty to go along with the ale. When the barmaid brought his pint, he ordered a scotch to coax out his muse.

Now he would sip, and wait, and watch, and listen, and smell for something...some prompt, hoping Calliope was there, unseen, yet presiding.

Thornton had a few of each and he was feeling good. Two ladies' maids had wandered in a short time ago and sat in the booth closest to him. He could comfortably eavesdrop on their conversation from his table behind the tall back of the wood bench. One was imploring the other to take something more seriously.

“Well, Judith, what would you have any of us do about it? It’s just entertainment. Miss Penney does think herself a Wisenheimer. Maybe she staged the whole thing? Wouldn’t it suit her purposes if all the men didn’t go to Belfast. Once the ship is built, they will look for crew amongst their own first, I’d wager. She won’t have any of the men move to America, that's for certain.” The woman with the voice of reason said.

“It’s because you weren’t there, Sal. God help me, it was Miss Penney’s face that scared me the most! She went as white as what I’d imagine this ‘White Ghost of Disaster’ would look like.” The more distraught of the pair replied.

Thornton picked up a little. What was this about a ghost?

“Two of the ladies got the exact same spread, correct?” said Reason.

“Identical. Same cards, same order, turns, and zero inversions.”

“And both had asked for some clarity on their current situations...what did they want the cards to reveal?” Reason asked.

Thornton saw in his mind's eye the cards of a tarot reading as well as the shocked faces of the ladies in the room when two people received the exact same reading. He felt Calliope stir, warming up to him. He needed more story for her.

“Both the ladies in question say they asked about possibly moving to Belfast, to work on the ship build. Immigrating to Ireland, then to America, eventually.” The rattled one said, describing what many nautical folks of the area were considering.

Whole families were relocating to where they were building the behemoth ship. Working in the shipyard, or jobs that supported the men who did, drew them there. At the very least they hoped to sail back to these Southampton docks with it when it is seaworthy. If one were lucky, that would get you a job sailing to America on the Olympic class ocean liner.

“I don’t like to mess with them cards, you know that. But go ahead tell me what it said, if it’ll help to calm your nerves. Your colour is returning. Keep sipping, dear.”

“Miss Penney went first, as she hosted the parlor. Nothing eventful there. I’m sure she asked after whichever man she's currently lovesick. Next went Mrs. Joico and, then, I believe her name was Mrs. Dennis - It doesn't really matter, I suppose. Mrs. Dennis went right after Mrs. Joico, so you see, back-to-back identical. The Romani woman who does the readings was astounded. She called the last couple of cards as she turned them. She said she has never “felt the gift come through” like that before. It was -.”

“Surely not God's work,” the woman, Sal, said, and cleared her throat, preventing her friend's blasphemy.

“Of course, Sal, you’re right...The six of swords foretells a dangerous journey.”

“Can it not symbolize moving towards calmer waters, too?” Sal asked, optimistically.

“I thought you didn’t mess with the tarot?” These words were punctuated by a gulp and the sound of an empty glass meeting table. When the barmaid looked over, Thornton was able to signal for a pint, piggybacking on another round for Sal and her friend the storyteller.

“The way the cards were laid out suggests that plans of the emperor – head of the family – need to be changed to avoid disaster. To remain grounded. To embrace a current state of contentedness, to not follow a dream towards demise. And something most disturbing about a silent haunting. ‘The White Ghost of Disaster’ the fortuneteller was calling it by the end of the readings. It waits somewhere downstream, in the future, if warnings are not headed.”

Though the ladies kept discussing the ominous readings, Thornton brushed it from his mind. His muse was provoked. The men, the confidence of building an unsinkable ship! The tragedy that could come of man's hubris. What ghost could sink a ship? Calliope sent him foggy visions of a floating mountain in the freezing waters of the Atlantic. How many lifeboats would they provide for passengers of an unsinkable ship?

Thorton settled his tab, bought the ladies in the booth another round for their inspiration, and retreated homeward having secured what he came for. His muse followed, skipping, and singing songs of a nautical disaster.

***

Sharon Livington loved her husband. She considered herself one of the lucky ones whose heart got tended to along with the finances and provisions a man typically contributed to the household. Their union had been happy – and successful! She was, in fact, currently in her days of confinement, expecting the birth of her fourth child in only the five short years since her marriage to Robert.

The previous evening, she had snuck into his rooms, after another nightmare. She missed being held by him these last few months, as she had during all her pregnancies.

“It was just a nightmare, Sweets,” he whispered to her as he soothed her rattled state.

“I keep having the same dreams, Robert – aboard a ship – and we are trying to save the children – from what? I don’t know – but we can’t find them all.” Sharon recalled the panicked state of the dream.

“The midwife already told you how common it is to have dreams of missing babies. Especially when we keep piling on,” Robert said, smiling and stroked the rounded fullness of her belly. He gently kissed her forehead.

“I’ve had the vivid dreams of pregnancy before. This one is different. It feels like a warning we ought to heed.”

“I read it too, you know,” Robert said, confirming Sharon’s suspicions that he had perused her copy of The Popular Magazine.

“Oh Robert, I know you must think me a date. Trying to delay our immigration plans because of my nightmares, and after reading a horrible tale of disaster at sea. But I am truly wrought with misgivings. And the baby will be so young. What if any of the children should fall ill. On a ship? Would we survive?”

“Shh..my love. Don’t get upset again. We would need more cabin space than is available on the Titanic, anyways. I have inquired and all the best suits are occupied. When we make the voyage, we shall do so when you deem the family ready. Immigrating will be an option for many years to come.”

“Oh, Robert, thank you! I’ve been so scared ever since reading the story in that magazine. I know it’s foolish, and you’re a wonderful man for hearing me. I just can’t shake it...the story, the dreams.”

“I know, Sharon, my love. Sailing towards a better future will not come at the cost of our children's health. You tell me when we are ready.” He assured her, then chuckled as he added “We might want to leave a little time between our next few though, no?” His hands slipped down below her hips and returned with the hem of her nightdress.

Flooded with love and relief, she felt passion for her husband, she allowed him to explore her body. They made love in the way her friends had told her would not risk the baby. She found she quite liked the new position. After Robert had fallen asleep, snoring gently, Sharon went back to her own room, not wanting to scandalize their staff.

The morning brought about a happy, reflective mood. Sharon was an incredibly lucky woman. To have a husband that would consider her feelings when making plans, even if she were being silly. She consulted the book of baby names, as naming the children was becoming an exhaustive task, and found she quite liked a few of the names attributed to good fortune and luck.

Three months later, in mid-April, as Sharon rocked baby Felix to sleep in the chair by the window, she was surprised to see her husband rushing home mid-morning. As he made his way into the house, she heard him inquire after her, and rush up to the nursery.

“Sharon - my God – you saved us all!” Robert, distraught with emotion, went to his knees by the chair, and presented her with newspapers.

The headline read Titanic Lost!

***

Thank you for reading! This short fiction was created for consideration in Vocal’s Ship of Dream challenge. A portion of this story is true: A writer by the name of Thornton Jenkins Hains published a short story titled White Ghost of Disaster in 1912. The story featured a ship which hit an iceberg and had a lifeboat shortage. Hains story, published under Captain Mayn Clew Garnett, was in a collection which was available on newsstands prior to the Titanic setting sail from the docks of Southampton. All references towards the authors character and events of the story are fictional – the names I have borrowed from public record.