by Kai Meyer
Jolly was disappointed at Silverhand’s vague information. Why the devil had the Ghost Trader sent her here?
“Do you know where on the mainland it could have come from?” Munk asked, noticing Jolly’s disappointment.
“No, no idea.”
Walker intervened again. “Are you absolutely sure?” He pulled out one of Munk’s doubloons and flipped it over to the old man with his thumb and forefinger. Silverhand caught it up and swiftly made it disappear, but he only shook his head a second time. “I’m sorry. I’d tell you if I knew.”
Walker took a deep breath, thumped Jolly on the shoulder, and nodded to the old man. “Thanks for your help, Silverhand. Well be seeing you.” Then he led Jolly and the two boys to the door.
They were on the threshold of the workshop when Silverhand’s scratchy voice called them back.
“There is perhaps one possibility,” he said.
Jolly whirled around. “What sort of a possibility?”
“The oracle.”
Walker’s eyes narrowed. “God in Heaven, man. We don’t need any soothsayers, but—”
Jolly interrupted him impatiently. “Where do we find this oracle?”
Silverhand gave her a narrow, almost lipless smile. “Down in the harbor, the ship with the fanciest figurehead. It’s a mermaid, but bigger and more beautiful than all the others. Just go join the other people; around this time there’ll be a crowd there.”
“Who’s aboard this ship?” Walker asked mistrustfully.
“Aboard?” Silverhand giggled. “Not a living soul. That tub’s a wreck that will never sail anywhere. But it talks. The damned figurehead talks.”
Walker shook his head. “Silverhand, what’s the idea?”
“It’s the truth, believe me! Old Silverhand doesn’t need to lie to you!” His eye plunged into Jolly’s mind like a knife blade. “The figurehead is the oracle. And if she wants to … only if she wants to … she will answer your question.”
The Voice in the Wood
“I’m going to burn that whole infernal wreck!” the pirate approaching them as they reached the harbor was bellowing at the top of his lungs. Two other men were holding him by the arms, as if they were trying to lead him away, while he struggled to tear himself loose and turn back. “Nothing’s going to be left … not a goddamned board. That … that things ruined me. Ruined, hear me? Telling me my ship is going down on the next voyage! Who’s going to hire on with me now? That monster! Devil’s work, I tell you! Devil’s work and witches’ haunt!”
His two companions tried to calm him, but the pirate wasn’t listening.
“I’ll do her in. I don’t care if she’s wood or flesh and blood! I’ll burn her, that’s what they do with witches! No one’s going to play around with me like that! Not with me!”
The two men pulled their excited comrade into a side street. “Come on, Bill, a little drink will get you thinking about something else.”
Jolly and the others had stopped and now watched the three vanish into a tavern. “Ruined me!” they heard once more through an open window, and then the mans voice was swallowed in the noise of the taproom.
“Did he say witch?” asked Griffin, frowning.
Munk hooked a thumb into his belt. “Do you think he meant the oracle?”
“Oracle! Bilge!” said Walker with a snort. “Silverhand isn’t quite right in the head, everyone knows that.”
A number of pirates were gathered at the harbor in the light of freshly kindled torches; among them were a few strumpets and maids, small children with dirty faces, and a handful of ship’s boys of Jolly’s age, who had taken up positions on boxes and barrels. The flames illuminated their faces and made them stand out golden against the dark blue of the evening sky.
Walker stopped a man. “What’re all these people doing here?”
“The oracle is speaking to the people.”
“Where do we find this … oracle?”
“See that old tub over there, the wreck, with only the bow still above water? The figurehead … she answers all the questions you ask her.”
“Does she have a name?”
“Oracle.”
“Ah … I thought so. Thanks, friend. I’ll drink to your health later.”
The pirate, on whose head sat a moth-eaten cocked hat, examined him with newly awakened interest. “I know you. You’re Walker, aren’t you?”
Jolly surreptitiously pinched the captain on the arm.
“Walker? Is he here on Tortuga, then?” He shook his head. “Sorry, friend, you’ve made a mistake.”
The man’s face took on a suspicious look and he leaned forward, as if he intended to sniff Walker to find out the truth. “I saw the Carfax lying in the harbor.”
“Oh?” Walker gave him a fleeting nod, then left him standing. “So long, friend. Thanks for the information.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Jolly observed uneasily that the man was looking after them as they approached the crowd. They quickly pushed in among the men and women to escape his mistrustful gaze.
“Do you think they’re looking for us here?” Jolly whispered into Walker’s ear.
“Your Maelstrom?”
“Kendrick”
Walker massaged his temples thoughtfully. “If he actually managed to escape from New Providence, Tortuga is a close-lying destination. Most here accept him as emperor. Of course, the Carfax is the faster ship. On the other hand, we’ve”
“Lost a day,” she said gruffly. “Yes, I know.”
“Not including the time your swine friends’ additional weight cost us during the first three days.” He was too uneasy to make any serious reproaches to Jolly. “Yes,” he said after a short pause. “Kendrick could be here.”
“And have put a bounty on me and Soledad?”
“Very possibly.”
Jolly gnawed on her lower lip and wished she could make herself tiny in the midst of the pirate horde. The wild fellows smelled evil, of spirits and beer, of smoke and sweat Nevertheless, she was suddenly grateful for the closeness, for it concealed her from the eyes of the man Walker had spoken to. When she looked around, searching for him, she couldn’t see him anymore.
“Is there a problem?” asked Griffin, whom she’d lost sight of for a moment in all the confusion. Munk was right behind him.
“Everything’s all right,” she responded wanly.
“Now, what about the oracle?” asked Munk. “Are you going yourself or shall I?” The little box with the spider lay in his hand, the cover closed.
“I’ll do it.” Jolly took the little box.
“That isn’t a good idea,” said Walker warningly. “If they really are looking for us—”
He broke off, shaking his head as Jolly, ignoring his words, pushed her way through the crowd.
The noise was louder up front, but the many heads blocked her view of what was going on there. Jolly made herself as thin as she could, once even crawling between the legs of a gigantic freebooter. Munk tried to follow her, but she was much more nimble than he and reached the first row long before he did. Someone cursed when she pushed in front of him, but he didn’t push her aside when he saw that she was smaller and he could see over her.
The figurehead rose over the quay, illuminated by several torches people had planted around her.
The face of the mermaid was, like her flawless body, carved of dark wood. Pupilless eyes looked out over the heads of the people, majestic despite the pitiful condition of the rest of the ship. Her features were rigid as stone. Only the flickering torchlight provided an illusion of life.
The figure was twice the height of a man and stood almost erect, because the galleon’s stern was sunk into the harbor basin. Only a part of the forward deck, the bowsprit, and the figurehead itself rose out of the night-dark water. The rigging had rotted and fallen long since. The wooden statue was about five yards from land, so that it was out of reach of any hands.
A dozen men and women yelled over each other, each strugglin
g to get his or her question to the fore. Two strumpets were scratching and hitting at each other, because each claimed to be the next in line.
“Does it go on like this all day?” Jolly asked one of the old sea bears who was observing the scene with relaxed amusement.
“All day? Oh, no.” He drew on a little pipe that had seen better days. “The oracle only speaks at dusk, from sundown till dark. After that it’s quiet again till the next evening.”
“Oh,” Jolly said in disappointment, for the sun had long sunk into the sea, and the first stars were already appearing in the sky.
“Too late!” cried someone in the crowd. “It’s too late for today!”
“There’s no poem yet,” yelled another. “We want to hear the poem!”
Jolly turned to the old sailor again. “What kind of a poem?”
“Every night the oracle recites a poem to close. It’s sort of a tradition.”
Jolly was surprised, but she thought perhaps this was the custom among oracles. After all, she’d never encountered one before.
“Is it a good poet?” She was just talking to conceal her disappointment. Now she’d have to wait till the next night to ask her question about the spider.
“Good? By Neptune’s algae punch!” The old man rolled his eyes heavenward, “Rarely heard a worse poet. Utterly terrible, Heaven and Hell! But there’s a few here who remember everything and make songs for the taverns out of them,”
She politely returned his laugh but was interrupted when a grating voice sounded from the figurehead’s immobile head.
“Silentium! Quiet! I ask your consideration for those who understand something of poesy!”
Jolly started. So that was the voice of the oracle. It sounded more masculine than feminine.
“Silentium!”
The public fell silent.
Munk slipped forward between the onlookers to stand beside Jolly. “Pretty crazy, huh?”
She only nodded and listened.
The oracle cleared its throat audibly, but then it raised its jarring voice:
There once lived a most gallant corsair,
sharp was his saber, black his hair;
he liked to feast on frutti del mar—
only a ship was lacking.
He strangled children and agéd dames,
whose heads he hacked from their very frames;
he plundered all of Kingston Town—
only the ship was lacking.
Rum tastes good for breakfast (he said),
Why not for dessert, too? (he said),
Rum in the morning, rum before bed,
but none of it helped: For the ship was lacking.
Booty in hand, he went to buy one,
newly launched, a lively, spry one.
Then he went to drink a quick one.
But the morning after: The ship was gone!
And thus, he learned one thing clear:
Sometimes ships just disappear,
Weigh anchor themselves, isn’t it queer?
And what doesn’t disturb them? The captain’s lacking.
And the corsair? He stayed on land,
and was happy when, along the strand,
the wrecks of two or three ships he found.
He built himself a house of them.
Jolly blinked dazedly in the torchlight. No one said a word.
“Uh,” said Munk, looking as if he had a toothache. “That was …”
“Not good?” Jolly suggested.
At that moment the crowd burst into loud shouting. The pirates all tried to out-cheer each other. Fellows who couldn’t tell a poem from a swear word praised the great poetic art of the oracle in their gravelly voices. Others prophesied a golden future for him as a master of fine-sounding pirate poetry.
Jolly looked at Munk. “They aren’t serious, are they?”
Munk shook his head in perplexity. “I guess pirates just don’t understand art.”
Griffin stuck his face out of the crowd, glowing with enthusiasm. “Hey, that was great, wasn’t it?”
Jolly and Munk exchanged another look. “Totally great,” they chorused. Munk make a gesture of sticking his finger down his throat, and suddenly Jolly was laughing so hard that she could hardly get her breath.
“What’s the matter?” asked Griffin, confused.
Jolly just laughed harder, Munk joined in, and even the old sea bear grinned before he stuck his pipe between his lips again and walked away. After a few steps, he merged with the darkness.
Jolly gasped for air and was finally able to breathe again, but she still wasn’t calm.
“So, can someone perhaps tell me—” Griffin was beginning, when a hand landed on his shoulder and shoved him to one side.
Buenaventure stood behind him as if he’d just risen out of the pavement.
“Got to get out of here!” said the pit bull man. “Kendrick’s bounty hunters are right behind us.”
The rest of their laughter stuck in Jolly’s and Munk’s throats as they realized how serious he was.
“They’re looking for us,” said Buenaventure. “Everywhere!”
Walker appeared beside him. “What’re you waiting for?”
Just then Soledad joined them, her sweat-soaked hair sticking to her face in strands, a harried expression in her eyes.
“Run!” she yelled.
Jolly grabbed Munk by the hand and together they started running.
At the end of the narrow dead-end street lay the entrance to a tavern.
A handwritten sign with poor spelling announced that because of “certin avents” the previous day, the bar would be closed today for straightening up.
Since the street had no other exit and Walker was against going back and looking for another hiding place, Buenaventure raised his hand and pounded loudly on the wooden door.
“Can’t you read?” roared a voice from inside. “Of course not, naturally you can’t, uneducated riffraff! I should have thought of that, you mindless wine bags .”
“Come on in, bring courtesy in,” murmured Soledad.
The door opened a crack. A baldheaded man with one swollen eye stared out at them. Buenaventure had stepped to the rear, but obviously the sight of Walker was enough for the landlord.
“Closed!” he said hostilely and was about to shut the door again.
“Ho, ho,” cried Walker and quickly shoved his foot into the crack. “A good landlord never turns away guests.”
“Guests can go jump in the lake. It’d be good if this whole accursed island drowned in the sea. I don’t want anything more to do with your lot.”
“Think it over again,” said Walker amiably, beckoning the pit bull man to step forward, “because otherwise my friend here is going to pee down his leg—in a manner of speaking.”
The landlord looked up at Buenaventure unimpressed. “Dogs not allowed here. They smell bad, do their business in the corners, and beg for food under the table.”
“There are voices on the other side of the crossing,” said Griffin. “We should hurry.”
Buenaventure shrugged, placed both his huge hands against the door, and shoved it in, along with the landlord.
“Uncouth people,” scolded the landlord, gesticulating excitedly. “And you have females with you too, probably the strumpets of all the fellows together and—”
Soledad planted herself in front of him, angrily placed her hands on her hips, and brought her face very close to his. “If you value your life, landlord, and even more, your teeth, then shut your trap right now!”
Astonishingly, this impressed the landlord much more than the threatening appearance of the gigantic dog man. He looked disbelievingly at the princess for a long moment, then he grumbled something unintelligible and made his way to the bar.
“So sit down, in Gods name,” he cried. “Take the candle over there and light as many as you want with it. What do you want to drink?”
Walker bolted the door on the inside. “I see you’re a man with a big heart
and superior mind. We know how to value the honor of stopping in the house of a gentleman.”
“Yes, yes, yes.” The landlord dismissed him angrily and took his place behind the bar.
They ordered beer and rum and water, besides all the food the kitchen had to offer—there were just two items, potato stew and chicken soup.
“No fish?” asked Walker disappointedly.
“No fish.” The landlord vanished into the kitchen.
The taproom was in awful condition. Half the furniture had been smashed in the fight the night before. Jolly saw flecks of dried blood here and there on the churned-up straw on the floor.
A half hour later, with food and drink long served, a heavy knocking came at the door.
Walker, Buenaventure, and Soledad immediately went for their weapons. Jolly and the boys jumped up from their places. Griffin grabbed the saber he’d brought from the Carfax, Jolly drew her dagger.
“I can’t see you,” said a voice on the other side of the door, “and yet I know you’re there.”
Walker’s lips were as narrow as a chalk stripe. “Isn’t that—”
A smile flitted over Jolly’s face. “Yes,” she said. “It’s the Ghost Trader.”
“How did you find us?”
The Trader gave Jolly an indulgent smile. “There are ways and means,” he began soothingly, “which are beyond your imagination—”
“Sure. And really?”
His smile grew broader. “I listened to the men who’re looking for you. They’re combing every quarter, and this is the one where you were seen last. As I know Walker, he’d lead you to a tavern….”
The pirate wiped the beer foam from his upper lip and raised an eyebrow in disapproval.
“… and he’s sly enough not to choose one where you and Buenaventure would attract notice right away, so it had to be one that was closed. I found this one here and had only to listen at the door to be certain.” He looked around them with a frown. “Just as certainly, the bounty hunters at your heels can come to the same conclusion. And there appear to be a great many of them.”
Soledad nodded. “Buenaventure and I heard it in a dive in the harbor. Kendrick has placed a pretty little sum on my head—and on yours, Jolly.”
