Greenbeard (9781935259220) (42 page)

“Aye-aye, Cap'n!” said the First Mate.

“Bill, please engage X-FORCE and take it slowly to two.”

“Aye-aye, Cap'n!”

“Bill, you have an understanding of the other levers now?”

“I does, Cap'n. The force levers be the
directions
, and the little levers below them on the board are the
rotations
about them directions. The one below X being
roll
, the one below Y being
pitch
and the one below Z being
yaw
. I has that firmly in mind, Cap'n.”

The sails were now furled on the yards and the crew were all on deck, looking expectant but puzzled. The
Ark de Triomphe
still cut through the sea, driven now by the mysterious X-FORCE alone.

“Well, no point in delaying!” said Captain Greybagges. “Bill, engage the Z-FORCE and then, on my word, take it slowly up to five ...
UP SHIP!
”

 

Bulbous Bill Bucephalus moved the Z-FORCE lever carefully and precisely,
and the pirate frigate
Ark de Triomphe
, her hull creaking just a little, lifted slowly out of the sea and rose majestically up towards the clouds.

Captain William Schovelle sat in his cabin, humming a tune. His account-books and bills of lading lay before him on his desk, in the light from a lantern. A good cargo: Dutch crockery (very nice blue-and-white glazed earthenware; he would keep a service for his wife, and maybe one for her dim-witted brother, too, if he felt generous); French wine (although one of the damn' barrels had sprung, wine lost and some of the crew now had secret caches of claret, caught in hats and pannikins as the leaking barrel was brought on deck for repair); English cotton cloth in bright patterns and woollen cloth in plain dark sober shades: some pewter; some brassware; Sheffield-made steel blades for sickles and scythes, and a ballast of pig-iron. A good cargo to land in the American colonies, and his strategy of going further to the south in the crossing had proved itself. A less-experienced master would not sail at the lower latitudes of the trade winds and risk becoming becalmed, but Captain Schovelle would run
that
risk for the reduced risk of piracy. The winds had been light and had veered and backed quite remarkably at times, but his ship had not once lain hove-to in a dead calm, her sails flapping. And the ocean had been empty, nobody this far south. He was feeling, truth be told, a little smug.

Captain Schovelle poured himself a glass of rum, and he was just in the process of lighting a clay pipe with a taper lit from the lantern when there was a discreet knocking at the door of his cabin.

“Enter!” he commanded, in a voice made deep by years of bellowing orders into the teeth of gales full of rain, sleet, snow, hailstones and the occasional cannon-ball.

“Why, Tack! Come in my lad!”

He was fond of his nephew, Caractacus Todd, who, despite being the son of his wife's wooden-headed brother Theobald, was indeed as sharp as a tack. The young man seemed distressed.

“You seem distressed, young man. What ails thee?”

Tack's mouth opened and closed several times, then:

“Uncle Bill, I saw something strange,” he whispered. “Just now. Nobody else saw it”

“What did you see, then?”

“I find it difficult to speak of it. I fear you will laugh at me, or think that I have lost my reason.”

“Tack, you are fourteen years old, but you are a sailor, and so you will have to take a scare once in a while. Here, take this rum, sip it and sit for a moment to collect your wits before you tell me.”

The young man sat and sipped the rum.

“When I was your age, or not much older,” said Captain Schovelle, “I was on an old leaky barque, sailing off the coast of Newfoundland. In the dog-watches I used to trail a fishing-line from the taffrail, for I am as fond of cod and taters as the next man. One night I was pulling in a fish when something snatched it off the line, I felt the line go taut and snap. Looking down, by the light of a gibbous moon, I saw a monster that had come up from the deep. It had the tentacles of an octopus, a beak - alike to a parrot's but much larger - and round eyes the size of dinner-plates. I saw it quite clearly, and it was very ugly and very real and its tentacles waved at me until I jumped backwards half across the deck. I went and looked over the taffrail again and it had gone. I told the ship's master, and he called me a liar and a rogue. He was not a bad man, either. I have never met anyone else who has seen such a creature, but I have heard old tales and legends that speak of monsters like that. I saw it, you see, and I know what I saw. Sometimes we sailors see things that are best not spoken of by land. Sometimes we see things that even other sailors will not believe. Now tell me what you saw. I will not mock you, I swear.”

“I saw a ship, Uncle Bill, and she was flying in the sky. At first, by the light of the moon, I only saw something flitting through the clouds, and I thought it strange, and then it passed almost overhead.”

“Um, was this ship the right way up? I have heard of mirages such as are said to occur in the deserts -
fata morgana
some calls ‘em - but they are oft-times upside down, as they are but a mere reflection, an image made of light.”

“No, Uncle, it was no image. She seemed to be pushing through the clouds,
and they swirling around her as water does. She was three-masted. A frigate, I think. Black with a yellowish band along her side. She moved in complete silence, except for a faint sighing noise,
honk-wheeze
,
honk-wheeze
,
honk-wheeze
. I looked with the spy-glass, and she had all her sails furled. I could see men on the deck, all clad in red and grey slops as are worn by the crews of the Dutch company. As she passed I could even see her name writ large in gilded script upon her stern. It said ‘
De Fliegende Hollander
'. I can spell the letters for you, if you wish, for I am no great hand at the speech of foreigners.”

“'
The Flying Dutchman
' … that is … um … best not to speak of this to another soul, my boy, for this is a very strange thing, a very strange thing indeed. Have another glass of rum.”

T
here could be no doubt about it; Captain Sylvestre de Greybagges was facing a mutiny.

 

“We will not go ashore! You shall not turn us ashore!” said Mrs Miriam Ceshwayoo,
neé
Chumbley, small but nevertheless daunting, in a low but very determined voice. “You show us your wonderful flying ship, talk of the fabulous kingdoms far away that you shall visit, the great treasure that you will win there, and then you want to dump us all in bloody Porte de Recailles for the mere fact that we are women? I shall
not
accept that, and neither will these ladies!”

The island women nodded in agreement, looking as grim as their inscrutable faces would allow.

“I am surprised that you did not barricade yourselves in your cabin,” said Captain Greybagges, trying to gain time to think.

“Do you think we are stupid, because we are women? The walls … sorry, the
bulkheads
… are held in place by wooden dowels and wedges! All the cabins are! Even your own cabin is the same, so it may be knocked-down at need and used as a gun-deck for stern-chasers. Mr Chippendale would have removed the bulkheads in a trice, leaving us holding just the door. Then we would have looked so pathetic that all you
men
would have
laughed at us
and
put us on the beach
feeling
oh-so-smug
that you were doing the right thing, you pigs! If you are going to throw us off your boat then you must do it so that all the crew may see, and see what an ass you are! … Captain.”

 

Blue Peter stood behind the women, looking guilty.

“Please, Miriam, my dear!” he said.

“I hope this … um …
contretemps
was not your idea, Peter,” said the Captain.

“I only told her that I was pleased she would be safe in my … in
our
… cottage, away from any battles or hardships, and what a wonderful time we would have when I returned.”

Most of the crew had now stopped what they were doing, and were watching with alert and amused interest. Captain Greybagges thought quickly.

“Dear ladies …”

“Don't you
dear ladies
us, you old tyrant!”

“A tyrant I am not. A captain of buccaneers can only command with the full consent of his crew, and there are no floggings or keel-haulings aboard my ship. I shall put the matter to a vote at once.”

Captain Greybagges called out to the crew working on deck:

“Shipmates! I calls yuz to an informal vote under the rules of the Free Brotherhood o' the Coasts! Shall these female members of the crew be left behind in Porte de Recailles, so that they shall not be harmed, whatever may befall us? If yuz thinks they should then ye shouts ‘aye'! If yuz thinks they should not, as they are pirates of our company, despite they being of the fair and female gender, then ye shouts ‘nay'! How votes yuz all?”

 

There was a loud confused roar of shouts of ‘aye' and ‘nay', mixed with catcalls and oaths.

 

“As yer Cap'n, I does then declare that the
nays
has it! The
dear ladies
shall stay on board an' share our hardships and tribulations, share our plunder and treasure and share our exploits and adventures, too! Are yuz satisfied that the vote be lawful under the rules?”

 

There was another confused roar, this time mostly of ‘aye-aye, Cap'n'.

 

“Well then, dear ladies, you shall stay, and Porte de Recailles will be duller for your absence. Are you now satisfied that your rights have been upheld, as is fair and just?”

“You are undoubtedly planning to trick us! This is just to keep us quiet until we get into port,
then
you'll put us ashore, you
lawyer
!”

“What? Shall we not go into Porte de Recailles? Shall we not have a last carouse in Ye
Halfe Cannonballe
? Shall we not let the old pirates see their girlfriends and wives and children?”

 

There was a roar, not confused at all, of ‘nays', and shouts of “Come on! Let's get on with it!” and “Anchors aweigh, me hearties!” and similar sentiments.

“Oh, sod!” muttered Captain Greybagges. “I forgot that they were all still listening. I shouldn't have mentioned the wives and girlfriends, either.” He raised his hands, then addressed the crew again; “Alright! Alright! Then we shall go
now
, upon this very instant. But only
if
there are sufficient stores, and
if
the air-bottles are all filled, for then I have no objections.”

 

There was a prolonged burst of applause and cheering. Mr Benjamin whispered that the air-bottles were charged to maximum pressure, Cap'n, all of them, even the two which had leaky taps, which we have ground-in with jeweller's rouge and re-packed the stoppers with fine cotton and grease, d'you see? Then Jake Thackeray was pushed up to the quarterdeck steps to swear that there was plenty of food and water stowed, enough for three months, at least, Cap'n. The crew's enthusiasm for an instant departure was palpable. Again Captain Greybagges raised his hands for silence:

“It is agreed, then, shipmates!” he spoke in a commanding tone, “we shall start our
cruise
upon this very moment. First we must make ready! Belay the course for Porte de Recailles, steersmen, and take her away from the wind! … First mate, all the sails furled, if you please, and all the jacks down on deck! … Bill, engage the forward force as the sails are furled, one or two on the dial, just to keep some sea-way upon her … Mr Benjamin, please bring the telescope up from the hold, and the alidade and the transit circle, too, … Peter, are the guns unloaded, plugged and lashed? The powder-magazine swept, locked and secured? Excellent! … Everybody else, have you no work to do? There be things to be done still! Look there on the foredeck, the bottles are all filled now, so the air-pumps can be dismantled and stowed …”

There was a brief ironical cheer for the demise of the hated air-pumps and the crew went about their tasks with an excited mutter. The mutinous women dispersed, the new Mrs Ceteshwayoo giving Blue Peter a shrewd glance over her shoulder. After a moment the waist and the foredeck became a scene of activity; pirates pulling on ropes, flemishing cables, tightening braces and catting the bowsed anchors, the rigging full of men wrestling with the heavy canvas sails, their sheets snapping in the wind. The quarterdeck was empty except for the Captain and the master gunner.