Skull and Bones. John Drake

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СКАЧАТЬ in foetid embrace around the anchorage, with festering swamps and steaming, livid-green jungles crowding down upon the white sands of the beach. It was a bad enough fevertrap by itself, made worse by the small island that lay close off it, preventing the sea breeze from sweeping away the miasma.

      “Yes,” said Lemming, finding courage in truth. “Damn place stinks of fever. I said so as we came in.” Which latter statement was only partly true, for he’d said it to himself and hadn’t had the courage to voice it aloud, not when all hands were wild eager for a treasure hunt.

      “There, sir!” said Stanley, to Captain Baggot’s back. “There you have it from our surgeon. If we stay anchored here – for whatever reason – we shall see this fever grow among the crew, perhaps taking the lives of all aboard.”

      “Aye, Cap’n,” said Lemming, at last. “The yellow jack and the ague can kill seven in ten of those that ain’t seasoned. And we don’t even know what this fever is, for I’ve never seen the like before.”

      But Captain Baggot wasn’t quite ready to give in. Not yet. Not even when he was unwell himself, having brought up his last meal like a seasick landman, with the pain throbbing behind his eyes and getting worse with each passing hour.

      “Flint!” he spat. “It’s all down to blasted Flint. He knows this blasted island and all its blasted tricks. Damn me if I’ll not go below and question him again.” He turned to face Stanley. “And you, Mr Chaplain, shall come with me!”

      

      “Gentlemen,” said Flint, smooth face glowing in the lantern light, “I really do not know how I can be of service to you.” Graceful and elegant, he was an intensely handsome and charismatic man, with Mediterranean, olive skin, fine teeth, and a steady gaze that made lesser men nervous – most men being lesser in that respect.

      “But I must protest again,” said Flint, “against the monstrous injustice that has been done to Mr Bones, here, who is a loyal heart and true.”

      “Aye!” said Billy Bones. “And ready to do my duty now, as ever I was before!”

      Bones was the perfect opposite of Flint: a huge, broken-nosed, lumpish clod with massive fists, broad shoulders and a strong whiff of the lower deck about him – for all that he’d been a master’s mate in the king’s service, accustomed to walk the quarterdeck and take his noon observation.

      Flint and Billy Bones had spent the last week secured down below, deep in the damp, evil-smelling, hold where it was always dark and the rats cavorted and played. Both men wore irons on their legs and a chain passed between them, secured to a massive ringbolt driven into the thickness of the hull.

      “You’re a bloody rogue and a pirate, Flint,” said Baggot. “The only reason I don’t hang you now is that I’m ordered to take you home for the Court of Admiralty to string up at Wapping!”

      Stanley sighed. The interview was going the way of several others that had preceded it. Baggot could not control his lust for gold and his hatred of a mutineer, and the sight of the urbane Flint, smiling and smiling and talking of innocence, provoked him beyond endurance. But where others were concerned, Flint was devilish persuasive. Stanley looked at the two marines who’d accompanied them, bearing muskets and ball cartridge as a precaution. They were hanging on every word Flint uttered, and Stanley knew that rumours were circulating on the lower deck that Flint wasn’t a pirate and mutineer at all, just a victim of circumstance, while Mr Bones was innocent of all charges whatsoever. That was Flint’s work, day by day talking to the hands sent down to deliver food and water and take away the slops.

      “Mr Flint,” said Stanley, “cannot we set these matters aside? We are faced with an unknown fever, and we seek your advice. So I beseech you to behave…” Stanley paused for effect “…to behave as a man should…who must soon face divine judgement.” The chaplain peered closely at Flint, trying to gauge the impact of his words. “So, what is this pestilence, sir? Speak if you know, for your mortal soul is at risk.”

      Flint contemplated Dr Stanley.

      Clever, he thought. Very clever. Then he turned to Baggot, a man for whom he had nothing but contempt. If he, Joe Flint, had been granted power over a man with hidden treasure, that man would have been put to merciless torture until he revealed its whereabouts. So he sneered at Baggot; for any man who denied himself these obvious means deserved to stay poor! Stanley, however, was clearly a different proposition; subtle means would be required with him.

      “Dr Stanley,” said Flint, and lowered his eyes, “it is true that I myself am beyond hope…” He raised a weary hand, as if against life’s iniquitous burdens. “Evidence is contrived against me and, corrupt and mendacious as it is, nevertheless it proves too strong for truth to prevail!”

      “Oh, shut up, you posturing hypocrite!” said Baggot. “Lying toad that you are!”

      “Sir!” protested Stanley. “I beg that you allow me to conduct this interview.”

      “Damned if I will!” said Baggot and turned to go.

      “Gentlemen!” cried Flint. “I beg that you listen. I am a lost man, so take these words as dying declaration, and accord them the special credence that is their due…”

      There was silence. Such was the power of Flint’s address that no man moved or spoke, not even Captain Baggot, while the two marines were goggling and even Dr Stanley was impressed.

      “I offer truth for truth!” said Flint. “I shall tell you the source of this island fever. I shall give it to you freely. But in exchange I ask that you accept this blameless man –” he looked at Billy Bones – “as the innocent that he is.”

      Stanley looked at Baggot. Baggot looked at Stanley. The two marines looked on. Baggot frowned.

      “What about the treasure?” he said.

      “Sir,” said Flint, “I swear on my soul, and in the name of that Almighty Being before whose throne I must soon present myself…that I know nothing of any treasure.”

      “Oh bugger,” said Baggot, but quietly.

      “And the pestilence?” said Stanley.

      “It is caused by the island’s monkeys, sir,” said Flint.

      “WHAT?” Baggot, Stanley and the marines spoke as one.

      “The monkeys. Because of them, you dare not land on the island.”

      “But we’ve got one aboard!” said Baggot. “Little Groggy.”

      “Then kill him!” cried Flint. “And get to sea. You are in peril of your lives!”

      “Oh Christ!” said Baggot.

      “Sir!” protested Stanley.

      “Sorry, Mr Chaplain…but, oh Christ!”

      There was a pounding of feet as four men raced for the ladders and companionways that led to the light. Then there was a great shouting, and drums beating, and calling up of all hands, and the rattling, clattering, rumbling, squeaking of a great ship getting ready for sea, with capstans clanking, blocks humming, yards hauling aloft and the anchor cables coming aboard, dripping wet and shaking off their weed, to the stamping СКАЧАТЬ