Overboard! Page 11

  “Any idea what they say, Hindriah?” asked Daisy. “Not like any symbols I have seen before.” she finished.

  Hindriah continued to examine the letters, his back to the both of them.

  “It is difficult to say.” he murmured, lost in trying to place the symbols. “But there is a resemblance to symbols of ancient Scurthian. I think I could make a wild guess.”

  “And?” said Bob.

  “I think it says, “Souvenir Shop.” said Hindriah in confusion. Daisy snorted as the native man turned to face them. At exactly the same time a loud shot from a flintlock echoed about the beach and Hindriah was flung through the air, blood flying from his chest as he fell to the sand. Instinctively Daisy and Bob ran towards the source of the sound; a small path entering the jungle before the buttress of the hill that rose above the trees before them.

  “Don’t give him time to reload!” yelled Daisy as she and Bob raced through what was a well-worn path through the undergrowth, though it did seem overgrown and neglected in parts. On they raced as the cliff began to loom above them. Daisy and Bob saw a figure racing ahead of them, the shape of a tall man in what was obviously not native dress of any kind. Further up the path they came upon a discarded pistol on the ground just as they entered a large clearing, the cliff before them showing a small tunnel leading into the small mountain itself.

  The clearing was littered with wood and rope, scraps of cloth seemed to be in small ripped pieces everywhere too.

  “It looks like there was once a scaffold here of some sort.” said Bob as they raced towards the tunnel entrance.

  “I wonder who they hanged?” asked Daisy as they reached the tunnel and peered inside.

  Here the rock seemed to have large crystals running through it which illuminated the dark. Daisy glanced at Bob, and nodding they entered the tunnel and began a steep descent downwards. Still the veins of crystals continued, making the tunnel gloomy but still lit well enough for both of them to make rapid progress down into the mountain. Slowly the tunnel began to narrow and ahead they could hear laboured breathing as they continued their pursuit. Eventually the tunnel levelled out and passing below a small arched doorway they found themselves in a small circular chamber that was covered with two sets of symbols carved into the rock in large white symbols.

  In the centre of the room stood a small pedestal, upon which under a small round glass bowl appeared to be resting a small round disc and a rolled up piece of parchment.

  To the side of it stood a tall dark man, his skin the colour of midnight smiling at them, a flintlock pistol held in each hand, one pointing at each of them. Behind him they could see another tunnel leading rapidly upwards. The man was not young, yet neither was he old, though a thin white beard covered his broad face.

  “Good afternoon.” said the man in a thick accent. “I am afraid your little outing may have to come to a premature end. Decades I have searched for these artefacts and it seems that you have both just seemingly stumbled upon them.”

  “We were blown off course. Our arrival here is entirely accidental.” said Bob, his eyes fixed on the mans’ pistols.

  “Of course it is.” said the man. “Unluckily for you though for I fear once I have these two items in my possession then I am afraid I cannot let you leave this island.” he smiled, taking the safety catch off the flintlocks simultaneously.

  “But first I require a little assistance.”

  “Do you now?” said Daisy, raising an eyebrow. She was somewhat disappointed in the fact that the older black man seemed to have no interest in her low blouse at all, and her mind was reeling at what else to do to cause a diversion.

  “I do.” he said. “Long have I sought these two artefacts yet I fear to approach the pedestal, for surely it must be guarded by a hidden trap I should think. It would be rude for it not to be guarded now, wouldn't it?”

  “So what do you want me to do?” asked Bob, and he cocked an eyebrow at Daisy as she made to protest.

  “Oh that’s easy.” said the pirate. “All I want you to do is to lift the bowl off the pedestal.”

  “What do the words on the wall say?” asked Daisy, and she was deflated when he did not turn to look at them.

  “They say two words.” he smiled. “The first set of symbols say “Map” and the other set says “key”. You are gazing upon the last two artefacts of a certain Capability Jones, and the location of an island known in legend only as El Bongo.” He paused slightly, as if awaiting a round of applause or perhaps gasps of surprise. Bob and Daisy stared at him without moving, however. The man looked directly at Bob. “Now enough linguistics. Raise the glass for me. There’s a good man.”

  Bob edged forward, looking about the room for any obvious signs of a trap. He could see nothing, and so he moved to the dais and carefully lifted the glass cover in both hands and placed it on the floor. He saw the man watching intently, his attention never wavering from either him or Daisy, and yet at the same time he was listening keenly. They all stood in silence; doing the same until eventually the man spoke again.

  “Good good.” he said, and Daisy noticed a slight air of tension in his voice this time. “Now first of all throw me the map.” he said, and Bob plucked the roll of parchment off the stone and threw it across the room. The man caught it with one hand, the flintlock dropping for a split second as he grabbed it, but it was enough. Bob grabbed the stone medallion from the pedestal and made to throw it at the man as Daisy flew into motion on the far side of the room. Yet the very second Bob plucked the stone circle from the dais the floor surrounding it fell away, a huge pit opening up around the room, and Bob disappeared from sight, still clutching the medallion. A loud gurgling sound filled the chamber from the newly opened pit and Daisy stopped dead in her tracks.

  “Bob!” she yelled, dropping to her knees as the first flintlock exploded and hit the rock wall behind her head. She rolled to her left as the second flintlock was fired and a large chunk of rock by her shoulder flew into the air, cutting her face with shards of rock that shattered through the air. The man on the other side of the pit screamed in anger and threw the pistols at her and peered into the pit. A look of horror crossed his face and with a snarl he flew up the tunnel to make his escape. Daisy stood and began to pursue him just as loud screams began to rise from the pit by her side. Muttering curses, she dragged herself to the edge and looked inside.

  Bob stood in the pit below her. To her surprise it wasn’t too deep at all, not having descended into the rock floor more than ten feet deep. The sides however were completely smooth. The pit however was slowing filling with a thick glowing slime. Daisy thought the colour of the sludge was the same as the light from the crystals in the cave, but she could not be sure. The pit was filling rapidly, and the sludge was already up to Bob’s shoulders. He was writhing in the thick liquid, screams from him echoing about the room. Daisy made to help him but she could not think what to do, and with a last scream, his upturned face mouthing unspoken horrors, Bob disappeared beneath the liquid altogether. When he was completely submerged, the flow of evil looking green liquid stopped.

  Daisy dragged herself back from the edge of the pit and rested her back against the wall of the room. The words etched into the stone seemed to glare accusingly down upon her. She could not move. It had happened so fast! Her sword clattered uselessly to her side, and she wiped her hand across her face, noticing fresh blood on her fingers after she had done so. She sat there for several minutes as the liquid in the pit gurgled in front of her, listening keenly in case the dark man returned. Yet he did not for he must have realised that the medallion - or key - or whatever it was was lost.

  “Daisy!” moaned a voice from the pit, and Daisy shot a good three feet into the air before crawling back over to the hole in the ground. “Please help me get out! What are you waiting for?” Daisy gazed into the pit as a skeletal arm reached up from the pit and looking inside she saw what was once Bob trying to scale up the smooth wall. His bare skull looked up at her and he thrash
ed about in the green liquid, trying to escape. Daisy gasped. The liquid had burnt his flesh away completely.

  “How are you still alive?” she gasped as the liquid flowed off his arms.

  “I have no idea.” said Bob as Daisy very carefully leaned down into the pit and being careful not to get any of the liquid on herself, pulled what was left of Bob out of the hole. What was left was just a skeleton. Yet as Bob managed to crawl away from the hole Daisy could see he was still very much alive. The only part of him not burnt away was the remnant of one boot on his right foot, and he grasped the medallion to his chest with his left hand.

  “You are just a skeleton.” said Daisy, instantly regretting her words the moment they left her mouth. Bob nodded beside her.

  “Kill me.” gasped Bob beside her. “Just kill me.” To Bob’s great surprise Daisy actually laughed.

  “What am I going to do?” she chuckled. “Shoot you? Poison you? Run you through with a sword?”

  “I see your point.” said Bob, examining the medallion in his hand. “Though I do have to say that I do feel exactly the same as I did before I fell into the pit.” he gasped, flexing his fingers. He paused for thought. “Perhaps a little lighter.”

  Daisy laughed. “I think we should make good our escape from here in case our friend returns.” She said, standing up.

  “Oh I don’t think he will come back.” said Bob, rising too. Daisy’s stomach flipped slightly as the skeleton that was Bob stood before her, though she tried very hard not to show it. “He thinks the key is lost forever.” he flipped the small stone disc in his hands. “More fool him.” He looked at the symbols on the disc. “I wonder what they say?” he mused. “I doubt if even poor Hindriah could have translated these - they look very intricate.

  “Never mind that.” said Daisy. “We must get back to the ship.”

  “Like this?” laughed Bob pointing at his ribcage. “The crew won’t want anything to do with me looking like this.”

  “Don’t worry.” said Daisy as they began to climb back up the tunnel. “I have a plan.”

  Several hours later they stood before a freshly filled in grave just at the edge of the jungle, Bob watching Daisy closely as she leaned on the spade. Upon returning to the beach Daisy had instructed the men sitting in the rowing boat to return to the ship for a spade to dig the grave and a long robe for Bob who was suffering very badly from sunburn apparently. They stood at the grave as Bob tried the gown on.

  “How do I look?” he asked, pulling the hood up to cover his skull. Daisy thought his voice had become just a little deeper, or at least seemed to be.

  “Thinner.” she laughed, shouldering the shovel. “Shall we go?”

  “I need to get off this ship as soon as I possibly can.” he said, noting the remnant of one boot still clinging to his foot.

  “I know.” said Daisy. “We need a ship of our own now.”

  “Indeed” said Bob. He pointed at the grave. “Aren’t you going to say any words?” he asked, and although his jawbone moved it was actually impossible for Daisy to tell if he was smiling or not.

  “Doesn’t seem to be any point really.” she said. “I hardly knew him.”

  “Harsh.” chided Bob and Daisy sighed.

  “Alright alright.” she said as Bob fastened the gown about him and began shaking what was left of his boot off his foot. “How about this? Hindriah. Wherever you are. I hardly knew you and I am sorry for that, and it doesn’t seem proper or good enough that I should be saying these last words over your grave. But I am, and so all I can say is this. Hindriah, I promise that whoever did this to you I shall find them for you, and when I do I shall kill them.”

  “Amen.” said Bob as he picked the last bit of his boot up off from the ground and peered inside it. It had been a difficult habit to break over the years, but he saw the label inside and there was the label with his name, suitably truncated for size. “B.Owens” he read.

  “Come on Bob.” said Daisy, heading for the beach.

  “I don’t think it is right to call me Bob anymore.” he said, noticing Daisy stop and stare at him quizzically. He gazed at the label once again. “After all, I am hardly the same man am I now? Maybe not even a man at all.”

  “I guess not.” said Daisy. “A skeleton maybe though.”

  “Yes.” said Bob now staring at the label. B. Owens. Bowens. Bones. “Just call me Bones.” he laughed and to his surprise Daisy just laughed and began to move back towards the beach and the rowing boat. She seemed to be taking it very well!

  “Right you are Mister Bones.” laughed Daisy, and as they made their way back to the shore Bones tied the medallion around his neck with the shoelace from what was left of his boot.

  ***

  Bones was startled from his daydream as Daisy reappeared next to him. By now the ships lanterns were lit, but closely veiled as they did not wish Jenkins to spot them. They held a steady south-westerly course he knew but night was upon them now and The Torta Di Frutta was completely lost from their sight.

  “Well that was an interesting hour.” said Daisy brightly. “I have managed to get rid of quite a bit of furniture - chairs and what have you, and I even managed to persuade Mister Boom to part with a few damaged bits and bobs.” She looked at Bones closely. Sometimes she almost seemed to know what he was thinking. “You alright?” she asked, and the black robed hood nodded.

  “I am.” he said. “Just thinking.”

  “Very good.” said Daisy, knowing not to pry. “Oh, and I also threw your rum collection over the side too.”

  “You did what?” he spluttered in outrage.

  “Well you hardly going to drink it are you?” she laughed, and then grasped the sleeve of his robe. “I am of course joking.” she said, and Mister Bones sighed. They stood like that for a while, staring into the darkness of the sea at night.

  “Will we catch him up?” she said suddenly. Bones took it as a great compliment that she would only ever show such indecision to him.

  “I do not know.” he said, truthfully. “But I do know that we have a very good advantage over him.”

  “What’s that?” asked Daisy eagerly.

  “Well. He has the map and we have the key.” He brought out the medallion from under his robe. To this day, many years later he still had not found anyone who could translate the symbols on it.

  “Yet Jenkins does not know that he even needs a key.”

  Daisy smiled as Mister Bones put the medallion away again, and they stood there in the darkness as the ship sped across the sea in pursuit of The Torta Di Frutta.

  Chapter 7

  ~ The Shanty man, the Secrets of Grog Preparation and The Man in the Moon ~

  By the third day of his time on the ship Neep had settled into some form of routine that seemed to make his time on board the ship pass quicker. Or so it felt. This generally revolved around his duties in the galley and the constant stirring of whatever the grey looking semi solids in the pans were, though Neep suspected that they were just there to soften up the ships biscuits. His second night on the ship involved him sleeping below deck on his newly designated hammock, though he suspected (and certainly felt) that he had spent much more time actually trying to get into the hammock than he had sleeping in it. Thankfully he found that most of the crew just acted as if he had always been there, waving as he passed and generally acknowledging his presence. Neep thought maybe it was something to do with his presence in the kitchen, but on the second night when he retired exhausted to his hammock he was surprised to find a small crowd waiting for him, several members of whom seemed to be passing money around to one of the larger pirates who appeared to be keeping some form of tally in his head.

  “So that’s five to one for seventeen minutes dead?” he asked one of the other men who seemed to be passing money to the pirate keeping the tally. The other pirate nodded and Neep saw money change hands again. Trying to ignore them all he began his assault on the hammock. Eighteen minutes later to the delight of some, but equally
the disappointment of others he finally lurched into his hammock and tried to fall asleep as the crowd rapidly dispersed. Neep slept soundly. He did not consider the hammock either comfortable or uncomfortable. After a hard days stirring he was just grateful to get some sleep.

  Mitch continued to treat him with a level of disdain that bordered on suspicion, but at the same time seemed quite happy with his stirring abilities. Neep caught himself feeling a degree of pride that this was the case, but he did realise of course that stirring a pot was not particularly difficult. It was just a case of moving a spoon about in a circular motion, though Mitch seemed to be more than happy to let him continue doing this. What it was useful for however was meeting the other members of the crew. After all, Neep reasoned, every one of them had to eat after all was said and done.

  They seemed a pretty friendly bunch however, despite their choice of occupation. So far he was on nodding terms with most of them, but he found several of them friendlier than others, and he would pass the time of day with several of them. Mister Coil for example, seemed a nice bloke though he usually spent a lot of time up in the riggings, and Craw was usually to be found below decks fussing over the cannons and the powder store. Billow, as his name would tend to suggest was as equally fussy over the ships sails, and Beep and Dollop seemed to be in charge of serving the captain and his favoured members of the crew with their meals in the captain’s cabin. Neep was deputised there one night and was surprised to see an oddly familiar parrot sitting on a perch at the far end of the room. The bird had watched him carefully as he had entered carrying dishes for the captain’s meal, Dollop leading the way ahead of him. Neep had never seen a bird look nervous before, but this one definitely did. Neep had carefully placed the dish in front of Mister Lex, a large silver cloche covering the food.

  “It’s under the lid!” squawked the parrot loudly as Neep stared at the bird, lifting the cloche.