Pirate Blood. Eugenio Pochini

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ spent an hour washing a never ending series of dishes and jugs. His eyes were swollen and his nose was closed, because of the unmistakable smell of spices. He feared he could faint. But after he had got used to it, he went on faster. He was washing an earthenware jug, when the door on the other side of the large room was flung open with a bump.

      “You’ve come at last”, he heard Bartolomeu say.

      “I’ve been busy.”

      Johnny recognized Avery’s voice. He had told him he didn’t feel well after work and he preferred going to bed early. So, why was he there?

      “Are we alone, Bart?”, the old man asked.

      “Don’t worry”, the other answered. “I’ve sent the brat to the kitchen. He’ll be busy for a while. Now, sit down and tell me why you wanted to talk with me.”

      There was a noise of chairs then. Johnny walked carefully to the door separating the kitchen from the main room. He pushed it slowly, letting it just half-open enough to eavesdrop.

      “How is Anne?”, Avery began.

      “Not well”, the Portuguese acknowledged. “She has felt better for a few days. That’s giving me some hope, but we can’t be sure without a doctor’s opinion.

      “We didn’t need it.”

      “That’s right.”

      Johnny started. Listening to the two men talking so sadly about his mother’s condition comforted him. He pushed the door open and peeped out. From where he was standing, he could catch a glimpse of Avery’s back.

      The old man said: “By the way, I didn’t want to talk about that, but about what happened to Wynne. I’ve been to his execution.”

      “Did you know him?”, Bartolomeu asked.

      “We used to be on the same ship.”

      The boy could just avoid screaming in surprise. So, were the rumours going around about Avery true?

      Had he really been a pirate? He had to find a way to get to know it.

      He slipped out of the kitchen, pushing the door so slowly that he took ages to do it. Crawling like a baby, he got to the long counter and stopped there, to make his heartbeat calm down. He could feel it pulsing in his temples. He was still holding the wine jug in his hands: he had forgotten he was keeping it. He was so excited that he didn’t even realize he was leaning against a rack full of bottles. When he moved, he made them clink. He opened his eyes wide with fear. Nothing happened for a short moment. Then he heard some footsteps coming closer. He lifted his eyes. Bartolomeu’s horny hand appeared just above his head. It was a few inches far from him. He could even smell the stink of his breath. He was going to grasp his hair soon, drag him out and… he leant over the rank instead and caught a bottle of rum, then he walked back.

      “That doesn’t explain why you wanted to meet me”, he claimed while uncorking the bottle.

      “It’s easily said”, Avery answered.

      The noise of some more footsteps echoed there, followed by the one of the jugs which were being placed next to each other. Johnny leant over the edge if the counter. He saw the two men pouring the rum into their glasses.

      “Wynne caused a lot of trouble”, the old man went on and gulped down his rum. “But he was just a poor wretch. He didn’t deserve to come to that bad end.”

      “Better him than us”, Bartolomeu stated.

      Avery’s expression showed a mix of incredulity and resignation.

      “Are you afraid of being caught?”, the Portuguese asked him.

      Avery didn’t answer. He started looking around distrustfully. After a while, he added, in a barely perceptible hiss: “The matter concerns what he said before being hanged.”

      Johnny shivered, still hiding behind the counter. He could see again the pirate shaking in the slipknot’s grip, his legs kicking in the air and the gush of blood which had stained his face.

      “Are you talking about the Devil’s Triangle?”

      “Rumours travel fast, Bart.”

      “That’s all nonsense”, the latter tried to belittle it.

      “That place really exists!” Avery’s look exuded a palpable… and threatening certainty. “Even the most naïve freshwater sailor knows that legend. But I can assure you that it exists.”

      “Stop it!”

      “What if I told you a story?”

      The Portuguese mumbled some words, without committing himself.

      “Fine.” Avery poured some more liquor into his glass. His knotty fingers were shaking evidently and some trickles of rum finally slipped down the neck of the bottle. “It all started some years ago. I landed on an island near Antigua with the crew I had joined. We laid at anchor there for several days, trying to understand where we had got.”

      “The Anthill’s archipelago is famous for having islands which don’t appear on nautical maps”, Bartolomeu explained.

      “I know”, the other man replied, in a condescending voice. “What none of us could have imagined, was that the place was inhabited by some local tribes.”

      “Which ones?”

      “The Kalinagos.”

      Bartolomeu felt puzzled for a few moments. He then shook his head slowly, as if that story wasn’t persuading him completely.

      “The death eaters?”, he asked.

      “Exactly”, Avery answered. His smile was askew. That memory was evidently amusing him. Or it made him nervous. Difficult to say. “Let me go on.” He swallowed the second glass of rum and filled a third one. “Our captain decided to send an expedition to explore the island. We waited for days, uselessly. So he decided to go himself, together with some other men. Wynne and myself included. The crew was nervous, even if nobody dared discuss his orders. We left the launches on the beach and walked through the forest.”

      “You found the Kaliganos there”, Bartolomeu stated.

      “They found us, actually”, the old man specified gloomily. “They caught us just like they had done with our mates. I could never forget what I saw. They are beasts, with no mercy at all.” He gulped down the rum again, letting it drop along his chin and neck. “They cut up their victims when they are still alive, with an incredible fierceness.”

      Bartolomeu’s attitude was changing. Unlike his interlocutor, he had hardly sipped his rum. He was laying his arms on the table at the moment, his fingers crossed so tight as to let his white knuckles out.

      “Anyway”, Avery went on, “our captain was able to be received by the shaman. We could avoid death, but at a very high price.”

      Hidden behind the counter, Johnny started trembling. That matter was really turning interesting. Terribly interesting.

      Avery СКАЧАТЬ