Edge of Indigo

by Mark Walker

  Tom turned off the set. “Seventeen hundred hours on Friday is just about forty-eight hours from now, and with the Anti-Gravity starting as early as the day before. That way, maybe I can get a catch in afore the storm blows in.”

  “Well, I don’t know about that,” said Fauna Phipps brightly, “but I think it’s about tea time. You young ladies are in for a treat here! The Potters put on quite the traditional Cornish cream tea!” (It wasn’t actually traditional in that they would have scones instead of rolls—but this made it all the more special.)

  The girls were delighted at this, and no sooner had she spoken when the Potters and Kendra Danes entered, carrying with them tea, fresh-baked scones, clotted cream and strawberry jam. Riggs and Bellows returned downstairs delighted to find they were just in time for a special treat. “Been quite a while since I had a proper tea,” quipped Fred Bellows. And Riggs reflected that he actually couldn’t remember taking tea during the course of any case.

  They were just settling down when Shayne ffellows came down to join the proceedings. He had yet to meet Riggs and Bellows and was shy and hesitant in his introduction. Riggs had only received the briefest of sketches on the inn’s inhabitants, and until his inquiries were answered in Eel’s Cove, he was keen to make his immediate impressions. He was certainly intrigued with the rather reticent young artist.

  “Shayne, darling,” put in Delia, “you haven’t told them about us…” She smiled dreamily, and Shayne ffellows blushed rather dramatically.

  Just on cue, Captain Blackjack, chimed in:

  “Shayne, darling! Shayne, darling!

  “Tip us a wink, luv, tip us a wink! Brraacck!”

  The whole room broke up, and finally Riggs stepped in to the rescue, putting in helpfully, “So, I can safely deduce you are beaus, eh? Well, you’ve done yourself proud, Mr. ffellows.”

  Then he passed the teapot.

  And if you think that Kelly Riggs was only enjoying the convivial banter of our little scene and not noticing the nuances amongst the various characters, you would of course be mistaken. So, he decided to explore his subjects a little further and commented, “My, and just look at all this talent in one room—an artist—and a violinist. It’s quite extraordinary.”

  The Phipps sisters mentioned the previous day’s performance and how much they had enjoyed it, Flora commenting that it was good for her “vibrations.”

  “Certainly, did brighten things up around here,” put in Dinky, “what with our friends whom you’ve just met.”

  “Miss Danes, I understand you play for the Royal Philharmonic is that right?”

  “Yes, Inspector, that I do, though I’m not Second Violin yet!” replied Kendra, gushing ever so slightly. “I’m just another one of the bows, though I suppose my beau is actually the maestro, and the swaying of his baton, up and down, down and up, sideways and all around,” she pantomimed, punctuated by bite of scone.

  “Will you play for us, Miss Danes?” asked Mandy. “Oh, yes, please, please!” pleaded up Jen.

  “Of course, I shall, but only after we have our tea,” said Kendra through a mouthful of scone and jam. “Oh, excuse me!”

  The children giggled.

  The scones with clotted cream and strawberry jam were excellent. Riggs commented on them, getting in another dig at his partner about going easy on the clotted cream. Tom Melville’s stifled belch did not go unnoticed, and even Fauna Phipps twittered along with the children. Riggs added some cream to his second cup of tea along with a single cube of Demerara brown sugar.

  “Now, the Royal Philharmonic… don’t they play at the Royal Albert Hall?” inquired Riggs. He winked at Fred Bellows and nudged Michael, who was closest, continuing, “These three wee ones, Sergeant Bellows and I had an adventure near that very venue not too long ago on our last big case…” (Of course, referring to the chase for Tex in the Blood Stars case.)

  “Oh, yes, that was the big story back before Christmas, wasn’t it? Of course, the children haven’t told me much, or all the details. Anyway, indeed you’re right, Inspector, the Hall is a lovely place to play, why the acoustics are as near perfection as one could want,” said Kendra licking strawberry jam off her fingers.

  Riggs reflected that it matched some of her strawberry hair and continued:

  “Yes, there is a lot of Royalty in South Kensington—the Royal Albert Hall, the Royal College of Music, the Royal College of Art…”

  Delia chimed in, “Why, Shayne, the Royal College of Art! That’s where you went!” ffellows blushed again, but managed to get out for Riggs’s benefit, “Yes, I went there for about a year and a half, but I guess I’m not really cut out for school and all the regimentation of academia. I longed for the sea air and home. I wanted somewhere out of the way to draw and paint.”

  After tea, Kendra ran upstairs to get her violin, and returned with the black case, that she set down and opened. “This will give me a chance to practice for the first time today,” she said, as she quickly rosined her bow, and set the beautiful instrument to her chin. “I’ll begin with a little something to enhance the seafaring mood.” The bow touched the strings and rose up and down as she played a couple of cords, found her key, and launched into a spirited version of Blow the Man Down, followed directly by a medley comprising of what sounded to Riggs like, Minnie the Moocher, Cheek to Cheek and Forty-Second Street. They all applauded, and she paused briefly to say with her toothy grin, “I thought, under the circumstances, this would be appropriate…” Here, she launched in to a shortened more upbeat version of Stormy Weather.

  Kendra finished with a flourish and everyone was applauding, when Captain Blackjack, apparently spurred by the music let loose with tirade (surpassing his previous performance) leaving mouths agape. But his final words that sent a chill up their spines:

  “Dig! Dig! Dig up the bones!

  “The bones! The bones!

  “Brraacck!

  “Shayne, darling! Shayne, darling!

  “The map, you fool! Shayne!

  “The map! The map!

  “The gold’s worth digging! Brraacck!”

  Everyone was surprised at this outburst, the most strident yet from the big bird, and his most impressive. He let out one more “Brraacck!” and was quiet again.

  Dinky Potter was exasperated, and Doris threw up her hands as she cleared away the tea. Tom Melville muttered under his breath and the Phipps sisters set to twittering. Shayne ffellows stood, shoved his hands into his coat pockets and stalked to the back window, Delia trailing behind. The children didn’t know what to think. “I’m so sorry,” apologized Kendra, “I guess I’ve really gotten his wind up.”

  “Oh, no it was a wonderful concert, Miss Danes,” apologized Dinky, almost stuttering mad, “it’s just that this blasted, ill-mannered, sorry son-of-a—bi-bird…”

  Riggs broke in by asking Shayne ffellows, “We haven’t seen the turret yet—your studio, do you mind if we have a look? Besides I’d like to see your work.”

  Shayne ffellows was anxious to escape the teasing of the bird and glad of a chance to show off his paintings and sketches. He was also glad to have a word in private with Inspector Riggs.

  They climbed the spiral stairs and Shayne ffellows lit an oil lamp. Riggs and Bellows were as impressed as the others with the turret, and equally with portraits. They took in the surroundings, and Riggs took the opportunity to ask Shayne ffellows more about himself, and he elaborated with the same story he’d told Kendra and the children of how he had come upon the Roundhouse.

  “Look, you’re an artist, and I suppose a natural observer. Is there anything you’ve seen about that could assist us?” inquired Riggs.

  “Yes, Inspector, I think I might be able to help,” volunteered Shayne ffellows, “But it’s not something I’ve seen, but rather some strange business afoot.” He went on to explain briefly about the lookout and a mysterious arrangement he had with the Captain, and Riggs listened thoughtfully to the pale young artist.

  “You see, the �
�Captain’ often uses the studio at night as a lookout, and I daren’t go against him or the others,” said Shayne defensively, his face clouding. “There’s nothing they might not try. Not every night, but on certain nights, he has me go through this ridiculous ritual exchanging the key, and all this talk about the ‘Ghost’ watching over us. On those nights he’ll lock himself in—all night long and open up for me again in the morning. Sometimes he simply leaves the door wide open with the key in the latch. I think the others are up here with him, though I’m not enough of a hero to try and find out. Goodness only knows what they get up to in here.”

  Kelly Riggs was silent, his face a mask, and stood looking through the windows, with bright eyes that mirrored the dark pewter sea.

  10

  THAT EVENING THEY HAD traditional Cornish pasties for dinner, “tates an’ mates,” filled with lamb, potato, onion, watercress and turnips (and side of mushy peas). The pirates had rejoined the rest of the Roundhouse for dinner, which was unusual, although they sat at a separate table, rather like children sitting apart from the adults during a holiday dinner. While they were eating, the talk inventively turned to the Sea Ghost, and later, whilst the adults, sans the pirates, were having coffee, and the children a dessert of strawberries and cream, Kelly Riggs began to tell the tale, supplied from details in the dossier from Scotland Yard.

  Nervish Flood was born the son of a Cornish lord, in 1666. The date should tell you something. A nobleman by birth, he broke bad, and gave up everything—land, title, riches and entrée to society, by turning to a life of piracy and smuggling on the high seas.

  He made his first foray into piracy by leading a small band of seafaring scoundrels in attacks on local merchant ships. His favorite trick was places false lights that would sucker ships into treacherous waters. There, they would crash on the reefs, whereupon, he and his band of merry cutthroats would plunder the vessel and slaughter the crew, taking some survivors as prisoners. After several successful ventures of this type, the wayward lad (for he was still quite young) began to grow careless and was captured.

  He was put in leggings and chains, and thrown into prison, there to await trial. If convicted of his crimes (which was a certainty), his punishment was death by hanging. At that time the penalty for all piracy was death, although torture and defilement before and after death were common. A pirate might be hung, drawn and quartered, then be left out for the birds to pluck clean. During his time awaiting trial, young Nervish Flood grew more angry and bitter with each passing day. He became determined not only to escape, but to make his enemies pay, and pay dearly. And with the luck that so often served him, just before his sentence was passed, he made a daring and spectacular escape.

  Then he disappeared for a while, though not for long. Within months he again appeared along the coast of Cornwall. But the Nervish Flood who emerged from captivity was a distant shadow of the boy who had entered. This new man was hard as flint, and though still young, the lines in his face and the hardness in his eyes bespoke of a man twice his years. Slowly, methodically, he raised another band of even merrier, deadlier mates, and set about a new campaign of hijacking. He stole a beautiful launch, repainting, restyling, and re–rigging her to avoid detection. This time he was clever enough to move his base from deserted cove to a crowded harbor. Here, he hid in plain sight, and many a night laughed along with his crew as they watched the frantic antics of the authorities as they searched for him. This served him well for a couple of years, but the Royal Navy and the local authorities soon grew suspicious and set upon his trail again.

  Then Nervish Flood began hearing tales of riches in exotic lands far beyond his wildest imaginings: tales of treasure unheard of, adventure, romance, and new horizons to be found beyond Africa in the mysterious east. Other men such as Bartholomew Roberts, Black Bart, Captain Kidd, and Thomas Tew had succumbed to the lure of faraway places before him. So, Flood captured another ship, a slim three–masted lugger, that he named the Ivory Ghost and set sail for Africa. There, off the Ivory Coast, from Gibraltar and beyond, he plied his evil trade in a cargo of stolen gold, coins, ivory, molasses, rum, and slaves, always just avoiding capture, always somehow managing to defeat his enemies in battle.

  For years he terrorized the area, keeping several bases in the Canary Islands, that small group of islands belonging to Spain just northwest of the African coast, his main base being on the island of Tenerife. (Here, Riggs mentioned that apparently Captain Smuggleguts and his crew had been to Tenerife as well, which they acknowledged with crafty grins, and a snicker from Mr. Gee). But Captain Nervish Flood lived an extravagant life of wickedness and pleasure, knowing no fear in the face of danger, and being a leader of men, his groveling minions loyally followed. Often to their deaths. He would frequently hold court at lavish picnics held on the beach of some hidden cove, with music of fiddle and squeezebox, women, drink, and every vice then known. Time after time he made daring and miraculous escapes, only to strike again—disappearing across the sea to some other island paradise. His legend became thus that soon he was known far and wide as the “Sea Ghost.”

  The tales of his cruelty knew no bounds. He was only slightly less cruel than the infamous Blackbeard, who shot or crippled his men, quote, “just so’s they don’t forget who I am!” There were the slow burning matches stuck between fingers or under nails to force a man to talk; making prisoners run round and round the mast between burning candles, spurred on by a pirate’s sword in the posterior; there were the removal of hands, fingers, toes, arms, ears, noses and lips as punishment for infractions of rules or other misdeeds; and of course there was walking the plank and keelhauling. Other cruelties were too abhorrent to tell. (Unfortunately, Times and History have not changed…)

  Finally, there was the stripe of the cat—the dreaded cat o’ nine tails.

  Although the Royal Navy had used this whip to discipline its own sailors (often unjustly), the cat was such an awful weapon that it is no wonder it found great favor with the pirates. The unfortunate victim had to make his own cat, by unwinding a rope and dividing the strands, then knotting the ends. Often death resulted from the lash, and the terrible cat could easily flay the skin right off a man’s back. Scars and welts marked many a poor unfortunate for life. Such was the kind of man Nervish Flood had become. He meted out this torture on many an innocent or enemy, of every race, creed, and origin known to man.

  The Law however, was again close upon the heels of the Sea Ghost, and he set sail south around the tip of Africa, the Cape of Good Hope, and sailed up its eastern coast to join what became known as the Pirate Round. Pirates, like the Sea Ghost, were called Rounders or Roundsmen.

  The Sea Ghost captured a new ship, his most magnificent catch of all. She was a three–masted adventure galley, fast, and powerful. He named her The Wrecking Crew. She had thirty-four guns that he eventually increased to forty and took a crew of one hundred fifty men. Below decks were fourteen “sweeps”, or long handled oars, manned by slaves and used to move the ship under windless conditions.

  He maintained base camps (and several families) on Madagascar, the Isle of St. Marie, Mauritius, and the Seychelles, but finally made his main headquarters on Réunion, or as it was popularly known at the time—the Isle de Bourbon. He took over a deserted Spanish outpost built of local rock and located strategically on a picture-perfect bay, but such was the fear he instilled in his enemies that the fortress was never tested. And in this realm too, he was successful, repeating and surpassing his earlier career. It is said his largest single haul had a payout of three thousand pounds per pirate; plus, he captured the ship intact. (Here, Riggs mentioned that three thousand pounds was well over twice his yearly salary) Why the old boy had even plundered some of the Mogul of India’s own treasure ships!

  Over the years, Captain Flood watched as most of his mates, friends and enemies succumbed to death—one way or the other—usually the hard way. Whether “hempen fever” (the hangman’s noose) or real fever and disease, or dying at the
hand of mates or enemies, the Sea Ghost outlived them all.

  Now, The Wrecking Crew was lost in a storm, but that did not deter the Sea Ghost, for he quickly found another, his final ship being the Fancy Anne.

  But he yearned for home and England and decided on a most audacious plan. Staying as far away as possible from the authorities would be uppermost in the mind of most pirates. But Nervish Flood had always stayed ahead of the game by going against the rules, and this was no exception. Although certain death awaited him if captured in England, he yearned for the land and sea of his youth in the wilds of Cornwall. But his plan was interrupted. For once, the Sea Ghost’s luck turned, when his ship crashed here, but like always, he came back from adversity to last another twenty-plus-years.

  They say rival pirates killed the Sea Ghost in an attack. His crew was decimated, being mostly killed or captured, but a few managed to survive. It is thought they laid him to rest somewhere in the area of Land’s End and Eel’s Cove—near here in fact. But to date, no trace of his grave, or his substantial treasure has ever been found.

  “Like all pirates,” finished Riggs pointedly, “he came to a bad end.”

  The children had been spellbound, but there was one subject that Kelly Riggs had not covered. Michael voiced the question his siblings were wondering, “But what about the ghost?”

  This was when Captain Smuggleguts rose somewhat unsteadily and came forward. It was apparent he was moved, both by Kelly Riggs’s recitation of the saga of the Sea Ghost, and the drink he had consumed so far that day, or it might have been something else altogether.

  He began to pontificate on the Sea Ghost, his dark eyes red and intense.

  “They says that somehow he built a swingin’ hemp bridge from the cliffs over there to the rock here, an’ then they built the Roundhouse here outa rocks they hand carried ‘cross the ole bridge. He used his captives as slaves, he did. An’ they says—they says—” and here he pointed his finger, his arm and hand trembling, “that the rocks all come from the caves down there by the cliffs—by Land’s End!” The Captain’s eyes were bright and shining. He continued: