by Ben Hammott
Penny uttered a surprised squeal when the tarp was suddenly dragged aside and a face appeared. Baraz’s cruel grin alerted the children to the man’s menacing nature.
“Well, well, well, what a cozy little nest you’ve made for yourselves.” Baraz flashed a knife at them threateningly. “Out!”
“Why should we?” argued Sam, bravely. “We were here first.”
Baraz snarled at the boy. “Because if you don’t do it voluntarily, I’ll slit both your throats and toss your carcasses out. Either way suits me.”
Penny gripped her brother’s arm. “Please, Sam, let’s do what he wants. We can find another way to get aboard.”
Baraz glared at the boy staring back at him defiantly. “If you know what’s good for you, boy, you’ll listen to your girlfriend.”
Sam calmed his anger and nodded.
Keeping low, Baraz moved back and glanced furtively around the dock to check no one was showing any interest in him as the children climbed out.
Baraz shoved the children aside. “Now scat,” he ordered.
As they moved away, Sam snatched Baraz’s cloth bag from his grasp and pulled Penny away. “Run!”
Baraz lunged at the fleeing children, but they were too fast and nimble for him to catch. He cursed them and the loss of the bag that held the small amount of provisions he had managed to steal for the voyage. Muttering obscenities, he climbed under the tarp and made himself as comfortable as possible in the cramped space. He cursed the children again when his empty stomach rumbled.
Panting from their escape, Sam and Penny dodged behind some coffee sacks bulging with bitter pungent beans and glanced back. Both were pleased to see no sign of the man in pursuit.
Sam peered into the bag and smiled at his sister. “There’s food and a water flask.”
Penny’s eyes lit up. “Enough for a picnic?”
“Yes, but we still need to get aboard the ship.” Sam gazed along the dock and focused on the queue of passengers walking up the gangplank. He turned to his sister. “I have an idea. Follow me.”
Hardly noticed by the people they wove around, Sam led Penny to the line of boarding passengers and walked up to an older, smartly dressed woman struggling to carry her three pieces of matching luggage.
“Excuse me, lady, would you like some help with your bags?” Sam smiled warmly when the woman looked down at him.
“Er, well, yes, if you don’t mind and it’s all right with your parents?” she said.
Sam vaguely nodded toward the back of the queue. “It was my Ma that told me to offer.”
The woman glanced down the line and smiled at a woman looking back at her. “Thank you. What are your names?”
“I’m Tommy and this is my sis, Agatha,” Sam lied.
“Thank you, Tommy and Agatha. It is very kind of you to help an old lady.” She slipped a medium-sized bag off her shoulder. “I don’t think this one will be too heavy for a strong lad like you.”
Sam took the bag. “It’s fine, not heavy at all.” He glanced up the gangplank and then back at the woman. “I’ll leave it with the crewman at the top, as Ma said we could go on ahead and wave to our grandparents from the bow.”
Before the woman could protest, Sam and Penny were pushing through the slowly moving queue. When they reached the top and tried nipping past one of the crew checking the boarding passes, he grabbed Sam’s arm.
“And where are you off to in such a hurry, sonny?” he demanded.
“We’re going to the bow to wave goodbye to our Grandma and Grandpa,” Sam told him.
“Not without boarding passes yer ain’t.”
Sam pointed down at the old woman looking up at them. “Our Mum has them.”
The man glanced at the indicated woman, who waved and smiled at him. He noticed the bags she carried matched the one the boy had. “She’s a bit old to be yer mum, ain’t she?”
“We were adopted,” Sam explained.
The man sighed. “Okay, be off with yer, but mind yer behave.”
Sam smiled. “Thanks, Mister, and we will.” He dropped the bag. “Give this to me Ma when she gets here.” He grabbed his sister’s hand and disappeared amongst the crowd milling about the deck.
“Kids.” The man shook his head as he pushed the bag nearer the rail so no one would trip over it.
CHAPTER 4
Bon Voyage
Baraz Mumfi lifted up an edge of the tarpaulin covering the crates that had shifted during the lift aboard and fingered the small bump on the back of his head caused by one striking him. His eyes swept around the cargo hold lit by dim yellow lights set at intervals along the walls. When he was satisfied he was alone, he climbed out from his hiding place and stretched his cramped, aching limbs before heading for the main aisle that ran the length of the hold.
Because the thieving kids had stolen his few meager provisions he had hoped would sustain him for the voyage, he needed to scavenge food and water. Hoping to spy one labeled as holding food—fruit or vegetables would be sufficient—he glanced around at the stacks of crates, sacks and bundles of wares filling the hold. When his gaze came up as empty as his grumbling belly, he began searching along the lines of cargo. After a few minutes exploration, he found a few pallets of bananas and snapped one of from a bunch. Though it was as green as cabbage, he peeled back the skin and bit off a chunk of the hard, un-ripened fruit. As he chewed the almost tasteless food, he again cursed the children who had stolen his provisions and swore an oath that if he ever encountered them again, he would wring their scrawny necks. Twenty minutes later, when his continued search failed to find anything else to eat, he returned to the unappetizing bananas and forced two more down his throat. He collected a few more and returned to his hiding place amongst the crates.
No sooner had he concealed himself when the door opened and two men entered. Fearing they were looking for him, though he didn’t know how they knew he was on board, Baraz peeked out from under the cover and observed them.
“I assure you, Mr. Greyson, your crates are perfectly safe,” said crewman Evans, who grabbed one of the flashlights hanging on a rack beside the door and switched it on.
“I am certain that’s true, but if I see them for myself, my mind will be put at rest,” said Greyson. “There are some valuable and fragile items that might be damaged if they aren’t stowed properly.”
“The crew are well experienced in handling delicate cargo and would have taken the appropriate measures to stack them safely.” Evans shone the light on the cargo manifest he held. “Your stuff is in section C3. Follow me.”
Baraz relaxed. It was only a fussy passenger worried about his knick-knacks. If only his own problems were so trivial. His gaze followed the light beam as the men moved through the hold.
Evans halted and roamed the light over some stacks of crates clearly marked with the Museum’s abbreviated name. “There you are, sir. As I said, all are shipshape and secure.”
Greyson’s eyes wandered over the crates lashed to the deck, picturing the objects inside. He was the only one aboard who knew some of them contained a priceless treasure. He couldn’t wait to see his superiors’ faces when he revealed the artifacts to them. It may even secure him a seat on the board. “Thank you, Evans. My concerns have been laid to rest now I have seen them.”
“You are welcome, sir. Now if that’s all, I have duties I must attend to.”
“No, nothing else.” Greyson turned and headed for the exit.
Baraz watched them leave. He would have to take care he wasn’t caught if someone else visited the hold. He settled down as best as he could in the cramped space and closed his eyes.
*****
Sam and Penny wandered along the promenade as they searched for a place they could stowaway for the voyage. They smiled politely at anyone who looked at them, but most of the people they encountered paid them no heed, assuming they belonged to one of the passengers.
When Sam noticed two crewmen heading toward them, he grabbed his sister’s hand
and pulled her to the rail, where they pretended to gaze out to sea until the crewmen had passed them by. Sam knew they would probably be able to move freely about the ship during the day, but it would be a different matter at night. They needed to find somewhere to sleep. He led Penny along the promenade and soon spotted an ideal place of concealment where they should be able to hide without fear of discovery.
*****
When he awoke the following morning, thirst and the thought of eating another disgusting banana drove Baraz to consider an alternative way to find sustenance. He crossed to the door and placed an ear against the cold steel. When he heard no voices, or sounds of movement on the other side, he released the lock and pulled it open a few inches. He peered through the gap at the corridor lined with doors he thought might be the crew or passenger cabins. He quickly nipped out, pulled the door shut and moved to the stairs at the far end of the corridor. Though voices drifted down the stairwell, none seemed close enough to cause him concern. He glanced at his clothes. The torn yellow T-shirt and orange shorts would draw too much attention amongst the better-dressed passengers he had observed boarding earlier. He turned away from the stairs and moved down the corridor, testing the doors until he found one unlocked. He opened the door slightly and softly said, “Hello.”
When he received no reply, he went inside and closed the door. The cabin was small with a tiny attached bathroom with shower, sink and toilet. His grumbling bowels drove him inside to make use of the amenities. The bananas were playing havoc with his guts.
He exited a few moments later to the sound of the toilet flushing and with a hand waving the stink he had produced away from his nose. He closed the door in an attempt to seal in the foul stench and glanced around the cabin. In the narrow wardrobe he found shirts, trousers and a suit. He grabbed a pair of black trousers and a white shirt and held them against him. Deciding they were a close enough fit for his wiry frame, he stripped to his grubby underpants and put them on. The shoes he found inside were too small, so he slipped his worn sandals back on. He grabbed his shorts and shirt and left the cabin. He returned to the cargo hold and hid his old clothes behind a crate and then returned to the staircase.
Acting as casual as he could, Baraz brushed fingers through his greasy hair to try and bring some order to the unkempt mess and climbed the staircase that led up two floors.
*****
While they waited for the main course to be served, Greyson sat at one of the tables chatting to his fellow passengers. Slightly tipsy, partly in celebration of his and Kramer’s wondrous discoveries, and partly in relief that the artifacts and treasure were safely on the way to England, affording him a few days to unwind and relax, he was telling his new-found travelling companions about his work at the museum. He glanced over at the dark-skinned man who had just entered the dining room and looked around, a little furtively Greyson thought. Greyson’s inquisitive gaze followed the man, who in some ways reminded him of Chico, to an empty chair at a nearby table.
“So, Greyson, it was your work at the museum that brought you to South America?” asked Sybil, wife of John Henderson who sat beside her.
Greyson refocused on his dining guests. “Yes, we discovered a lost Maya city in a remote area of the Amazon jungle.”
“That’s a funny thing to lose, a city,” slurred Ruben Turner, who had been knocking back whiskies since he set foot on the ship.
Greyson forced a smile at the man. “Maybe I should have said a never before discovered city. Though there were rumors one might exist, we all thought if the rumors were based on fact, it would be found farther north, Colombia or Venezuela, perhaps.”
Turner slammed his empty glass on the table, startling Sybil, who physically jumped. “Apology accepted.”
“It wasn’t actually an apology,” Greyson admonished.
“I accept it anyways,” said Turner, waving a hand vigorously in an attempt to attract the attention of the waiter at the next table to refill his bottomless glass.
Greyson sighed and shook his head.
“And did you discover anything interesting in this lost city?” asked John, genuinely interested in Greyson’s work.
“Yes as a…”
“It wasn’t lost,” interrupted Turner. “He just said so.”
Greyson ignored the rude drunk and continued. “We found many amazing artifacts and the complete site will advance our knowledge of the Maya culture considerably. The artifacts will be displayed to the world for the first time in a forthcoming exhibition I am arranging.”
Sybil grabbed her husband’s arm. “We must go and see it while we are in England, dear.”
“It depends when it is.” John looked at Greyson for confirmation.
Greyson furnished the exhibition dates.
“Did you find any treasure like Carter did?” asked Sybil excitedly.
Unable to contain the news any longer and with his tongue loosened by wine, Greyson leaned in closer and answered softly, “Actually, I did. A fantastic hoard that rivals that found in Tutankhamen’s tomb. In fact, I’ll go as far as to say I believe it surpasses what Carter discovered.”
Sybil rubbed her hands together excitedly and whispered conspiratorially, “Is the treasure onboard the ship?”
Greyson glanced at Turner, who stared glassy-eyed around the room while wondering where his next whisky was. Satisfied the man wasn’t listening, he turned back to Sybil and John. “Yes, it’s in the cargo hold, but please keep it to yourselves.”
Sybil nodded she would. “It will be our secret, I promise.”
Baraz slipped into the empty seat and noticed the waiter taking food orders stare at him suspiciously. In an effort to quell the man’s suspicion, Baraz smiled at the others on the table. “Please excuse my lateness. It’s my first time on a ship, and I was feeling a little queasy, but thankfully it has passed.”
Hannah Jenkins smiled sympathetically, remembering her first cruise when it was three days before she could face leaving her cabin. “You must be Peter Kilburn from cabin ten. I heard you…er, being unwell.”
Baraz seized the opportune revelation and nodded. “Please accept my sincerest apologies if I disturbed you.”
Hannah dismissed it with a wave of her delicate hand. “No apology needed. I am glad you are feeling better.”
Baraz glanced at the waiter who now seemed reassured of his credentials. “Am I too late to order dinner?”
The waiter glanced irritably at the drunken man calling to him from the next table and waving an empty glass in the air. There was always one on each voyage. “I will be with you in a moment, sir.” He looked back at Baraz. “Would you like fish, lamb or chicken, sir?”
Baraz beamed. “Chicken with all the trimmings.”
When the waiter had left, Baraz chatted politely with those at the table while listening to the interesting conversation going on behind him. His keen hearing picked up the mention of treasure. During his search for food in the cargo hold, he had noticed some crates marked with the name of an English museum. When he returned, he would examine them more closely. Gold or jewels would be extremely handy for his new life in England.
After he had stuffed himself at dinner, with his belly full and a purloined bottle of wine in his hand, Baraz returned to the cargo hold and walked along the rows of crates, boxes, sacks, and bags. He slipped along the small gap separating some of the crates and rested a hand on one belonging to the museum. A greedy smile formed as his eyes roamed the many similarly marked crates, and he imagined the treasure some of them might contain. All he had to do was find it, take some out and seal it again. Before anyone noticed it was missing, he would be long gone. Though he had no idea how big Great Britain was, Baraz thought it had to be huge as the English were everywhere. Perhaps it was even bigger than America and would be an ideal country to disappear and set up a new life with his shortly to be acquired wealth.
Believing the theft would be too risky to carry out while people were about, as they might come in and catch him in t
he act, he decided to do it at night, when except for a small number of crew who would be busy carrying out their duties, everyone should be asleep. He also had another errand that needed his attention. As he had already been mistaken for Peter Kilburn, the seasick passenger in cabin ten, it would be a missed opportunity if he didn’t seize the advantage and take the man’s place. The he wouldn’t have to remain in the cargo hold living off stolen scraps, and he would be able to sleep in a proper bed.
Baraz left the cargo hold, climbed two flights of stairs to the passenger cabins and crept along the corridor. He paused outside the door to cabin ten and turned the handle to find it unlocked. He glanced back along the corridor when voices drifted down the stairs. Someone was coming. He pushed the door open and swiftly entered. As he closed the door softly, his eyes scanned the dimly lit room. Light filtering through the porthole revealed the sleeping form of a man in the bottom bunk set against the side wall. The sweet, sickly smell of vomit that filled the room had no effect on Baraz who was used to enduring foul smells in the slums he had grown up in. He locked the door, drew his knife and stepped softly toward his unsuspecting victim.
Peter Kilburn was experiencing the worst few days of his life. His head swum and his stomach churned with every roll of the ship. He had been sick so many times he thought he must be vomiting up internal organs, as surely all the food and drink he had consumed before setting foot on the ship had been ejected long ago. Sensing more bile rushing up his throat, he lunged over the side of the bed and aimed his mouth at the foul-smelling bucket swimming with lumps of previously ejected half-digested food. As he retched, he noticed a pair of scruffy sandals beside the bucket.
