by Kai Meyer
Jolly blew her stack. “What a repulsive, shabby, underhanded—”
“Do you think he’d be a good kisser?” Soledad was looking after Walker.
“What?”
Soledad laughed, and this time Munk joined in. Jolly stared darkly from one to the other. “Can it be that no one takes me seriously around here?”
Soledad and Munk laughed even louder.
Next morning they had a meeting in the captain’s cabin.
Walker had taken a chair behind a wide desk. The morning sun was streaming in through the bull’s-eye window at his back. Soledad had claimed the only other chair. Jolly and Munk leaned against the wall, arms crossed.
“We need about four days to Tortuga,” said Walker. “That is, if we have good winds and no Spaniards or anyone else crosses us. We’ll sail around the Bahamas on a northeasterly course. The weather on the open Atlantic will be a little rougher, but perhaps it’ll help us move ahead faster. Then we go through the Caicos Passage south, straight to Tortuga.”
Several sea charts, yellowed and cracked from many years of intensive use, lay open or half unrolled on the wide desk. Some were weighted at the corners with various objects: a pistol, delicately beautiful nautical instruments, a handful of tin figures, a shrunken head, a golden statue of the Virgin with a third eye in the forehead, a rotten, dark brown banana, and a pipe with artful carving. The room smelled pleasantly aromatic, of good tobacco and polished wood; both were hard to fit into the picture that Jolly had made for herself of Walker as the wild, dissolute pirate.
“Does anyone have any objections?” the captain asked the circle.
The two polliwogs shook their heads, but Soledad frowned. “Isn’t it quite daring to trust to the Atlantic winds in our situation?”
“No more daring than breaking through the Spanish armada. Besides, these ghosts your friend left us are quite passable seamen. Do you think I can keep them when this is all over? As a friendly gesture, because I’ve declared myself so disinterestedly ready to help you out of a jam.”
Munk smiled, savoring his answer. “These are the ghosts of all the men who’ve died aboard this ship. It’s very possible that they have nothing good to say about you, Walker.”
“Oh?” The pirate gulped. “Well, maybe not such a good idea.” He turned quickly to Soledad. “As for the storms, this time of year they usually go a different way. I think we’ll have no problems.”
The princess shrugged. “Your decision, Walker. You’re the captain. What does Buenaventure say about it?”
The pit bull man was the only one who’d remained on deck. Since they’d weighed anchor, he’d stood at the wheel as if nailed there and taken no breaks. Jolly wondered how much dog there actually was in him. All the dogs she knew snored all day long, curled up in some corner or other of the ship.
“He’s in agreement,” Walker said, as he smoothed the topmost chart with the flat of his hand. “To be honest, it’s not the weather that concerns me. Recently there’ve been reports—or, let’s say, rumors…. In any case, people say that the man in the whale has been seen in these waters.”
Jolly and Soledad exchanged a quick look.
“The man in the whale?” asked Munk. “Who’s that?”
“Someone sea people in this region tell about,” Jolly explained. “A gigantic whale who has a man living in his belly. He surfaces out of nowhere, rams ships, and carries them under. Those who survive the sinking are swallowed by the beast.”
Munk smiled. “How can a man live in a whale? That has to be a sailors’ yarn.”
He looked from Jolly to Soledad to Walker. Not one of the three returned his smile. “Isn’t it?” he asked uncertainly.
“The man in the whale is one of the great scourges of a sea voyage,” said Walker portentously. “Worse than the deepsea tribes, worse still than the giant kraken.”
“Have you seen him?” Munk asked.
“I wouldn’t be standing here before you if I had, boy. No one who sees the man in the whale with his own eyes survives the encounter.”
Jolly and Soledad nodded in agreement.
Munk said nothing more. Possibly he was imagining the horizon of the Caribbean Sea breaking apart from one moment to the next and something gigantic rising up from the deep, a humpbacked body, in his open mouth a human figure pointing to the Carfax and goading on the rage of the monster with wild cries.
“Munk?”
He jumped. “Yes?”
“Everything all right?” asked Jolly.
“Sure, of course. Why?”
Walker’s grin was almost tender. “You were just mighty pale around the tip of the nose, boy.”
Munk merely shook his head silently. Instead, Jolly spoke as she glared angrily at the pirate. “Munk lost his parents just a few days ago. Satisfied now, Captain Walker?”
The pirate stared at her, surprised at her burst of anger. Then he gave Munk a look that might even have been sympathetic.
“Leave it,” said Munk to Jolly. “That’s my business.”
She inspected him closely, sad because he was closing her out along with the others.
Walker turned to Soledad. “Can you steer a ship? Buenaventure has to have a few hours’ rest. This seems to be a good time for it. The sea is quiet, everything is going as planned.”
“Of course,” she said.
“What about us?” Jolly asked. “Can we do something?”
Walker got up from his chair and nodded. “Take care of your friends in the cargo hold. They’re going to be hungry in time. There are a lot of sacks standing around down there. I just hope there’s feed in them.”
“Aye, aye,” said Jolly. “Are you coming with me?” she asked Munk.
“Of course.”
The galley and the weapons store adjoined the narrow passage in front of the captain’s cabin. A few steps at the end led up to the deck. Outside, Jolly breathed deeply. The Caribbean Sea lay brilliantly blue under a cloudless sky. The wind blew warm over the waves and caught in the sails. The air smelled of salt. From one of the masts came the screeching of a bird, yet when Jolly and Munk looked up, they saw, not one of the Ghost Trader’s parrots, but only an albatross, who returned their stare with button eyes. The ghosts were almost invisible in the bright sunshine, mere shadows through which the light fell without breaking.
While Soledad took over the steering from Buenaventure, the two polliwogs clambered down into the cargo hold. The stink was almost unbearable. The pigs were standing closely crowded together on a thick carpet of straw. There were several troughs, a few of them with dirty water. Most were empty, however. The feed had to be poured out of the sacks into them.
Jolly held her nose, “This is so sickening.”
“Oh, well.” Munk waved it off and scratched one of the animals on the back. “We had a few pigs on the farm. It wont’t be enough to feed them twice a day. Their hearts will stop if they get too hot.”
“And that means?”
“Really they need to wallow in mud. But for the voyage it would probably be enough to pour water over them now and then,”
“All fifty?”
He nodded. “It’s going to mean quite a lot of carrying.”
“Walker will be thrilled if we flood his lower deck.”
“Then we’d best start it right after feeding, while he and Buenaventure are asleep.”
It was, in fact, an arduous grind to shake the feed out of the sacks into the trough and then, in addition, bring bucket after bucket out of the sea on a rope, balance it down the ladder, and pour the water over the pigs. Soledad was by no means pleased by the quantities of water the two were taking below deck, but Munk assured her that the largest part of it would evaporate within the shortest time among the overheated pig bodies. He was right about that, but gradually it made the stink even more unbearable, and now it seemed to rise up between the planks and over the entire ship.
They’d almost doused all the pigs when there was some sort of disturbance in the back
corner of the cargo hold.
Suddenly a dark figure arose in the midst of the animals.
Jolly was startled, but she grew calm again as soon as she realized that under the crust of filth was a boy. “What sort of a pig are you, then?”
Munk’s expression became even more unfriendly. “Isn’t that—”
“Griffin?” Jolly pushed between the pigs to the boy. “Damn it, what are you doing here?”
Griffin smiled. His numerous braids were stiff from all the filth that covered him. “I was on the brigantine when the mast from the other ship crashed on the deck. I jumped overboard and swam behind your rowboat. Then I climbed aboard on the other side and hid down here.” He thumped a pig on its bristly body. “Charming society, really. We have too many preconceptions about the poor beasts. They can be very considerate, and their conversation—”
“You ought to have shown yourself right away,” said Jolly reproachfully. She wasn’t sure what she felt about Griffin’s sudden appearance. Satisfaction at his discomfort. And distaste. A trace of anger—but also … a certain relief that he’d survived the attack on Port Nassau safely. She’d already wondered if he’d managed to escape the flames.
“Show myself? And have my neck wrung by the giant up there?” He waved his hand, “I had a little … incident with Buenaventure, if one might call it that.”
“You cheated him at cards,” said Munk ill-humoredly.
“We saw it all,” Jolly agreed.
“You were in the harbor when … oh, man, that was really bad. I thought I was as good as dead. Did you see what he did to us? I never saw anyone hit like that.” Griffin pressed his way through the pigs, “Do you think he’ll throw me overboard?”
Jolly shook her head with a sigh. “Not as long as we pay for your passage.”
Munk threw her a warning look.
“You’d do that?” Griffin asked, dubious. “Do you have that much gold?”
Munk’s expression grew darker. “All the treasure in this world.”
Jolly laughed humorlessly. “We’ve found a way to pay Walker without paying him.”
“Sounds good,” said Griffin. “So I can stay with you?”
“I don’t know,” said Munk. “Jolly said you were a good swimmer.”
“Munk!”
Griffin frowned.
Munk grinned. “I saw gulls. It’s certainly not far to the next island.”
“Of course you’re staying,” Jolly inserted angrily. “And the first thing you can do is help us.”
“Carrying water, hm?”
“We could appoint him swineherd,” Munk suggested. “Then he could work off the price of the voyage.”
Griffin turned down one corner of his mouth. “The company down here isn’t any worse than up on deck with you, anyway.”
“You!”
A pulsing vein appeared in Walker’s forehead when he caught sight of Griffin. Jolly stepped protectively in front of the pirate boy, while Munk, wearing an amused smile, followed the drama from a safe distance. Jolly suspected that he was still secretly hoping that Buenaventure would throw Griffin over the railing on the spot. The antagonism between the two boys was mutual, and that annoyed Jolly. Griffin and Munk didn’t even know each other, and yet there’d been a palpable tension between them from the first moment.
“You nasty little dung beetle!” cried Walker as he stormed from the cabin onto the deck. “You louse! You good-fornothing horse thief! You miserable son of a—”
“Come on, Walker,” said Jolly. “Calm down.”
“I’ll be hanged if I will.”
“Then think about something else—about the treasure, for instance.”
Walker stopped. “He swiped five ducats from my pocket, this rat! When Buenaventure sees him here, he’ll—”
At that very moment the silhouette of the gigantic pit bull man appeared in the cabin door. For a long moment he stood there as if he’d taken root. Then they all heard an ominous crack as he clenched his fists.
“Oh my,” whispered Griffin. He wouldn’t allow Jolly to protect him, however, but shoved her aside and walked bravely toward Buenaventure and Walker. “Listen, can we perhaps settle this like gentlemen?”
Walker smiled grimly. “I’ll have you hung from the mast by your pigtails.”
Jolly knew that Griffin was an outstanding fencer, but she wasn’t sure if he’d have a chance against the more experienced pirate captain. Entirely apart from Buenaventure, who would hack him into pieces with one blow.
The pit bull man stomped toward Griffin with ominous steps.
“Stop!”
Soledad’s voice made them turn around. “That’s enough!” she cried. “No one here is going for anyone’s throat!”
“I didn’t know you’d already taken possession of your father’s inheritance, O Empress of All the Pirates,” Walker said scornfully.
“Shut your mouth, Walker. And you stay where you are, Buenaventure.”
“I’m the captain of this ship,” Walker replied obstinately. “And I say he goes overboard.”
“How many barrels of rum is his life worth, Walker?”
“Rum?” asked Walker, irritated.
Munk rolled his eyes.
Walker put his hands on his hips. “You can’t keep doing all your business with hot air only. That isn’t … fair.”
“Your debts to my father were high enough to set a dozen bounty hunters on you. A dozen paid assassins, Walker. That means a dozen human lives. That should certainly balance the lives of a few pigs and this boy, don’t you think?”
Walker exhaled sharply. “That is simply not a fair trade.”
“You’re a pirate, Walker. You’ve never made a fair trade in your whole life.”
“Why not start today?”
Munk sat down on the deck cross-legged, pulled out his mussels, and grouped them in a pattern on the boards. While the others still argued and Jolly and Griffin looked from one to the other in amazement, Munk made a magic pearl arise in the midst of the mussels. It shimmered as it floated in the center of the pattern.
Jolly noticed it first. Then Griffin looked over, and finally Soledad and the two men.
“What the devil….” Walker exclaimed.
Munk closed his eyes. Murmured something. Performed a complicated hand movement.
From the center of the glowing pearl, gold pieces rained onto the deck. Twenty, thirty doubloons pelted down one after the other, clinking and rolling around without leaving the circle of mussels.
Sweat poured down Munk’s face as he wordlessly commanded the pearl to withdraw into one of the mussels. The gleaming sphere floated into a small, insignificant shell. Munk quickly snapped it shut, took a deep breath, and looked at Walker.
“Do you think … that’s enough … for him?” he asked in a faltering voice.
“Munk!” Jolly caught him before he collapsed with exhaustion. She held him fast and patted his forehead with her sleeve. He lifted his face, looked her silently in the eyes, and smiled.
“Oh, Munk!” she whispered, hugging him. “That was … fantastic!”
“Give them the gold … quick, before they change their minds.”
She nodded, made sure that he could sit up on his own, then took the coins in both hands and carried them over to Walker. He was still staring at Munk, wide-eyed.
“He … can make gold?”
“Looks like it,” she replied coolly and let the doubloons shower onto Walker’s boots. “Enough gold for Griffins passage, at least. And for us and for the pigs.” She grinned wickedly. “Looks as if your debts to Scarab and Soledad are still open.” Enjoying the moment, she stood on tiptoe and brought her mouth to his ear. “In your place I’d worry quite a lot about the bounty hunters.”
Walker stood there openmouthed. Then he turned abruptly to Buenaventure. “Did you see that? The boy can actually make gold! We’re rich!”
Buenaventure only growled; it was impossible to say if he agreed with Walker. Jolly had heard h
im speak with her own ears, but for some reason he appeared to be content to utter animal sounds most of the time.
Soledad chimed in from the bridge. “Take your gold, Walker, and leave Munk alone. I warn you—don’t get any dumb ideas!”
The pirate gathered up the coins and tested each one by biting it. Then he looked at Jolly. “I still get the treasure all the same, don’t I?”
She dispensed with a reply and hurried back to Munk. Griffin was crouched down next to him, holding the back of his head and dropping water onto his lips from a leather bag.
“Hey,” he whispered, “I owe you one.”
Jolly bent very close to Munk. “How long will it last?”
“The gold?” A fleeting smile played around the corners of Munk’s mouth. “A week. Maybe ten days.”
“And then?”
“Air,” Munk got out with difficulty and coughed. “As Walker has already said: nothing but hot air.”
“It will have to do.” Jolly looked back over her shoulder at Walker and Buenaventure, who were whispering furtively together. “By that time we’ll have long since arrived in Tortuga.”
Gradually Munks face regained its color. He was just making an attempt to get up when something slapped onto the deck beside them.
They all whirled around.
On the deck, not far from the mussels, lay a dead fish.
Walker brushed it off. “Some bird dropped that. No reason for—”
He broke off, for at that moment it began to rain.
But what was falling from the sky was not water.
The Deep-Sea Tribes
Within a few moments the deck was overflowing with fish corpses. Everyone on board was flailing their arms around to avoid the smelly wet bodies, which rained down on them with considerable force. Walker was hit in the head by a barracuda. Jolly was just able to avoid the flabby tentacles of an octopus. Soledad was especially unfortunate: A dead spider crab got entangled in her red hair and hung from the back of her head like a particularly tasteless head ornament.
The gruesome rain ended as abruptly as it had begun. Suddenly no more corpses fell from the sky. It was as if the Carfax had reached the other side of a storm from one minute to the next—or the eye of the storm, and the worst was still ahead of them.
