by Mark Walker
Edge of Indigo
A Kelly Riggs Mystery
Mark Evan Walker
PULP HERO PRESS
www.pulpheropress.com
© 2020 Mark Evan Walker
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This is entirely a work of fiction whose characters are not intended to represent any real persons either living or dead, and any resemblance is purely coincidental. The exploits of these characters are not necessarily intended as an endorsement of their actions.
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Editor: Bob McLain
Layout: Artisanal Text
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Address queries to [email protected]
The Kelly Riggs Mysteries:
Blood Red Stars
Edge of Indigo
The Sly Silver Fox (coming soon)
Christina for missing you last time
AND
Cookie for all the encouragement
Contents
Cover
Front Matter
A Note to the Reader
Prologue
Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
Epilogue
Further Investigations
The Next Case for Kelly Riggs
Acknowledgments
About the Author and Illustrator
A Note to the Reader
The World of Kelly Riggs is set in a slightly altered universe of the 1930’s. Most things are about as they were, but others may seem a bit out of kilter. You might find an interesting anomaly or two, or maybe even more. See if you can spot them.
The genesis for this story began with an advertisement in the travel section in one of those old-fashioned things known as newspapers for a “Mystery Trip to Cornwall.” Your intrepid author responded to the ad and ended up going on one those memorable trips of a lifetime. Staying at Tregenna Castle in St. Ives, two former detectives conducted a murder mystery weekend that turned out to be filled with surprises. At one stage, two fellow attendees even had your author cast as the culprit. We also traveled to Land’s End where we had tea, scones, and clotted cream at the First and Last Inn; and then explored the incredible cliffs there.
Black Rock Island in this tale is of course fictional but was inspired by Newquay Island or the “Rock,” Cornwall where the House-in-the-Sea sits atop it. As of this writing it is available as a holiday let, and the island can only be reached by a twenty-seven and half meter (ninety foot) suspension bridge.
These stories are meant to be a cultural connection, and as always, a homage: to those dedicated and tireless men and women of Law Enforcement across the globe, and to those purveyors of fiction, the authors of mystery and thrills and their “pulp” creations—the detectives, heroes, villains, dolls, dames, ladies and babes; their counterparts on the Silver and Technicolor Screens, and to another era, in hope that readers will be inspired to rediscover their exploits in all formats, and have a fine old time doing so.
Man was not made to pace out his life behind the prison walls of nature...our destiny is to run to the edge of the world and beyond...>
—St. Thomas Aquinas
Prologue
INSIDE THE ROCK IT WAS GROWING COLD. The man’s lamp was dimming. He looked about stealthily, eyes shifting, making certain he was alone. He could hardly believe what he held in his numb, dirty fingers. His breath hovered as he let out an audible gasp of glee. The diary was quite old, but had remained intact, though foxed with damp and age. With trembling hands, he opened the cracked leather binding carefully, and turned the first few pages. They were individual entries, dated, and written in different types of fading ink, over time, carefully, neatly. He excitedly turned back to the beginning and began to read:
A True Record of the Wreck of the Pirate Ship Fancy Anne Captained by the Privateer Nervish Flood, “the Sea Ghost” on Black Rock Island, Cornwall, Begun this 12th of February in the Year of the King, 1716. Written to be a true and continuing account by Mr. Justice Thomas Levesque, formerly of Rockwell, Kent, former barrister. I say former, because presently I am a slave.
I was taken captive seven and twenty months ago from the vessel Lavender Storm after a brief struggle in which the captain and most of his valiant crew were killed. Since then, I, along with all the others have suffered as slaves under the cruel hand of Nervish Flood, with daily privations and harsh working conditions. Yet I have learned much, and using my wiles, have managed to escape the wrath of the Sea Ghost and his men. By a quirk of fate, I have acquired some ink. I have made quills from seagull feathers. The Book is handmade, of what and how it was made I will not say. Currently I am forty and six years of age and have not seen my wife or children in almost three years. Should I not live to see them, may this be a record of what occurred, and the secret the Black Rock holds. Life is cheap here. Death is quick. Here on the place called Black Rock Island. This is what has happened to date:
On the 29th of December the Fancy Anne was sailing off the coast, just south of “Dr. Syntax’s Head”—Land’s End. Just after we passed those rocks known as “the Peal,” there came a mighty storm that took us by surprise. There was nothing Captain Flood nor the crew could do to steer the ship away from the rocks. Inevitably, we smashed into a giant Black Rock, separated from the land and cliffs by some thirty yards of rocky neck just below sea level. The mainland is quite inaccessible. This Black Rock has become both our hell and our home. The ordeal itself was most fearful and ferocious. Most of us survived, and Captain Flood is quite good in a crisis of rallying the men; and at finding new recruits to take the place of those who can stand it no longer; or are sentenced to die.
27th February
Though most of the pirate’s treasure and possessions have survived, we now have the problem of being trapped upon the top of the rock, though not entirely. Fortune has smiled upon us for the ship had crashed in such a way that its front half stood up almost on end on top of the rock partially held up one of the masts and secured by one of the forward anchors—thus providing us shelter; and using the industry and strength of “we the slaves,” there are grand plans afoot to transform it into a fortress. Most importantly however, is the great secret of the Black Rock—there is an ancient blowhole that runs up the middle of the rock bursting out the top that at one time was connected to the mainland through the rocky spit. The shattered hull of the ship hovers over the opening and the natural shelter under the rock.
3rd April
The blowhole connecting the Rock to the land had been plugged on the landward side thousands of years ago. Each day, most of us dig and haul rock from the tunnel beneath the sea to the top of the rock to construct the fortress—now being called the Round House. It will incorporate the ship as it stands, with the bowsprit sticking into the air like a spire. The rest continue digging to open up the tunnel again. It is grueling backbreaking work. Fortunately, there is fresh water that still trickles through the tunnel from the landward side on a steady basis, so we are just surviving.
16th April
Should we ever be attacked from land or sea we are well protected in that two six-pounders and a twelve-pounder cannon came through from the initial wreckage. They are kept at manned watch all hours, day and night. Of course, many other weapons have survived. Unfortunately, one of those is the dreaded “cat.”
24th April
The food supply is running very low so the Captain must go to work and procure us more stores. We have yet to devise a scheme to fish easily due to the steep sides of this Accursed Rock.
17th May
We were fortunate (I say “we” as I am now technically one of the pirates, and my lot is thrown in with theirs) to have the luck to take a merchant vessel loaded with stores and food. The pirates have a trick of setting up a light that they reflect back by way of a mirror off a spot on the landward cliff face. This lures in the unsuspecting ship to crash upon the rocks just as we had done. Flood and his pirates were ready for them. Most of the crew was saved, so there are more workers, but more mouths to feed. Or not, depending on the violent whims of the Sea Ghost. But now we have bread, wafers, biscuits, dried beef, bacon, smoked fish, cheeses, dried fruits and copious amounts of beer, rum and whiskey. We can store it safely in the newly completed cellar, set into the base of the Black Rock.
12th June
Today marked an enormously important day in our survival here on the Black Rock: The main mast of the Fancy Anne was successfully installed in the center of the cavern made by the blowhole, set into the new cellar, and now supports the ship’s bow! This has been cause for great celebration, for after nearly six months we have finally secured our shelter. Tonight, Captain Flood is giving a banquet as such for every privateer, soldier of fortune and slave alike. All the chains and bonds will be gone, and we shall all feast and sing. But I fear what comes next for there is otherwise only suffering ahead.
21st August
It has been a miserable and especial wet summer—rainsqualls have plagued us—along with rats and disease. A third of the men have died. One wearies of burying them, but the sea is deep. I was fortunate in that my disease and misery lasted but a few days, and a bleeding by our good Doctor O’Hara (taken on the Golden Sky at Gibraltar in ‘15) set me right again after another week. Work on the Round House continues slowly due to circumstances.
18th September
A rigger climbed to the highest point of the Round House on the bowsprit and spotted what looks to be a cove to the leeward and just north round the cliffs. Captain Flood thinks it may prove useful.
In all these many months, other than the rats and birds and carrion we have seen neither hide nor hare of any kind of animal nor heard any living soul on the land or on the cliffs. It appears that people must be afraid to come out here. So, it must have been since ancient times. All the druids and wizards and monks and Roman legions. Their bones are still here. Their Ghosts are still here. I can feel them. It is dark here. As Dark and Black as this Accursed Rock. There is Death at the Edge of the World. The seagulls shriek a nightly warning.
31st October
For the first time our crew has heard the most frightful sound: It was during a terrible storm a fortnight ago, a sound like a great moaning howl came up and echoed off the cliffs. It’s almost as if it comes through them. It seemed to permeate each and every one of our souls—those of us who still possess one—with dread and fear. Even the Sea Ghost was affected. It must be part of the curse here, and the reason this place is so desolate. It seemed an omen as well, for we lost three men that very night in the storm and two from pneumonia since.
6th January 1717
We have celebrated a year on the Black Rock, and I have much activity to report. Progress on the Round House is steady, and we expect it to be completed, possibly by later this year. The tunnel work continues. Fortunately, my position has been elevated so that I no longer have to dig. Instead, I have been keeping records and writing pirate laws for Flood to settle disputes here on the rock. It is a relief, as possibly now I may survive.
9th June
A fishing platform has been created near the forward part of the rock, nestled in the “fingers” that sprout out like a giant hand. The platform has also given us the ability to launch small boats. The Captain decided to investigate the cove, and I was allowed to go! It is the first time we have been off the rock or out of the tunnel since we shipwrecked here. They could hear our shouts and calls all the way to rock! The cove will make a perfect landing spot at high tide, and there is a natural cavern that shall need exploring.
7th July
We have taken another ship, and by a stroke of luck have acquired many new stores, but most importantly—a goat! We have named her Sadie. She has eaten most of the scrub and bush available on top of the rock, but provides us fresh milk, although there isn’t nearly enough to go around. But fortune is upon me again as I am now important to the Sea Ghost, and, as part of the inner circle am privy to such as eludes most of the other men. But I can only give thanks for this!
15 March 1720
Ah, the Ides of March…and a momentous occasion. After three years the digging has reached one of the natural caves! There is much celebration. An expedition is planned to see where it leads. To the cove?
23rd May
Parties continue to dig (as they are able) but have yet to make the connection of which we seek—to the cove. We have lost a number of men through simply becoming lost in the caves we have explored to date. Others have taken falls and disappeared, for there are various pits and sheer drops that must, I think go straight to Hell itself. I wonder too, if this is not the source of the fearsome howling wind that will come up before a big storm or squall. We have named it the Lowling Howl.
7th October 1721
It is a sad day, as today we had to sacrifice our goat, named Sadie, for need of her flesh, as our food supply is low. We roasted her over a spit and the Sea Ghost presided over a small feast, as most of the men have had no meat in almost a month. Our catch has been off lately, so though we will miss Sadie, I must admit, she turned out to be quite tasty.
The man reading the diary carefully picked through several more pages:
11th November 1723
Captain Flood is truly living up to his reputation as the Sea Ghost. In the past few months he has managed to take two new ships and their crews. With the extra labor and stores the Round House has been fully completed, now painted here and there with bits of tar to make it blend into the Black Rock! Shuttles run almost daily from the Rock to the Cove, where the stores are kept in the cave there. Exploration of the tunnels continues, yet we have failed so far to find a connection that leads directly to the Cove. With a fresh supply of labor however, I am sure the Sea Ghost will accomplish his goals.
Then further on:
7th April 1728
We have reached another milestone in the saga of the great Sea Ghost and his nefarious crew. This morning the forward party of some of the men came upon that which we have been searching for years: the tunnel that connects the Cove to the Black Rock! Now we can move stores without having to set to sea and wait for the right tides. Plans are afoot to shore up the new passage as has been done to the rest of the labyrinth. Captain Flood has suspended work for the rest of the day and as usual we will make merry in celebration.
23rd November
Flood’s men have discovered an extremely important tunnel that leads to the top of the cliffs at the edge of the moor! Now by following a certain path, there is a passage directly to the Black Rock, as well as link to the cove. He has dubbed it the “Howling Rock” due to its resemblance to a dog howling at the moon, and that horrible, moaning wind that comes up like a bad omen.
A few pages later:
30th August 1732
The Kingdom of the Sea Ghost is finally complete. A crude swinging bridge of woven hemp and wood has been constructed and completed between the Rock and land below the cliffs! Mr. William Delancy (taken from the Gaelic Retreat September ’29), a builder by
trade, oversaw the engineering of the bridge. It now allows us to access the moors above the cliffs without having to use the tunnels.
The man impatiently turned to the back of the diary and the final entry and read:
2nd January 1736
I am sick and weary and know I am near the End therefore I must write one last missive, lest I have no other chance. Captain Flood has gone completely mad. No one is exempt from his wrath. There is much useless death. I have endured most of these past twenty years on this Accursed Black Rock and have seen much death and misery.
Therefore, for All Time, I must reveal—should anyone read this, the location of the bulk of the Treasure…
The man reading the diary laughed almost hysterically, and turned the page…
* * *
The whip lashed out, cracking against the straining, glistening back of the old sailor. He shuddered and fell to one knee, his haggard face turned up in supplication. Again, the whip came down across his shoulders, and the old man winced as his other knee went to the ground. A booming voice called out, “Carry on, old man! Only fifty feet more to go—or is it a hundred?”
Although it is written in the “Pirate’s Handbook” that all pirate chiefs must laugh with a hearty “Arh, Arh, Arh!” the tall man with the whip laughed a hearty booming laugh that echoed through the cavern. All the men there kept their faces averted, fearing his cruel mirth.
The old man struggled to his feet, the manacle chafing against the blisters on his ankle. The man in front to whom he was chained went back to digging. Then the rest of the men went back to work, their picks and shovels clanging, and banging away at the rock and dirt and lime. Accompanying the cacophony, the tall man began to sing an old pirate chantey, punctuating it here, and there as the music went by cracking the whip at whichever unfortunate happened to be nearest at hand.
Torches, held in brackets and set into the walls of the cave, provided a flickering light that danced eerily off the glistening backs of the slaves, as well the face of their master. The tall man was broad of shoulder and of brow. Though all around him were bathed in sweat, he seemed perfectly cool and completely at ease. The other pirates were naked to the waist, watching over their charges, prodding, and occasionally whipping them. Only the tall man was immaculate in his white billowing shirt, and trousers, a brace of pistols stashed in his belt, a red scarf at his throat. Silver hair laced with black flowed from under his tri-corn hat down his back, his beard similarly colored, flowed down his front. Cold ice-blue eyes glinted along with the gold ring he wore in his left earlobe. His manner appeared more like one engaged in a harmless theatrical than commanding a horde of pirates and forty-odd slave laborers.
