AHMM, November 2009

by Dell Magazine Authors

  "He sounds like a real villain,” Lucy said.

  "He is. He was once first mate to Bully Hayes."

  "The pirate?"

  "Yes ma'am. The same one. He claims to be a missionary now, but in the bad old days of the Queensland Labor Act, he was the worst of the South Sea blackbirders who sold natives to the less principled planters. He could have been hanged for piracy if the planters hadn't been so politically powerful."

  Lucy dipped into her memory and quoted the statute she had learned in her maritime law class. “It is also piracy and punishable with death to be engaged in kidnapping or decoying any Negro or mulatto with the intention of making them slaves."

  "Well, I don't know what skulduggery he might be up to now, but he's safe with Captain Potts,” Dawson said.

  "What is wrong with this man?” Lucy said angrily.

  "Captains like Potts find it makes it easier for them to have a mate like Willis. As long as they look the other way."

  Lucy shook her head in disgust. “Goodspeed told me that a sailor with a religious bent had painted the maxim ‘Keep Hoping, Ye Who Enter’ over the transom to the forecastle. When Willis discovered it, he got a paintbrush and added another p to hoping."

  "Speaking of hopping, my dear,” Eban said mirthlessly, “if the captain and his lady condescend to come visiting tomorrow, you have a lot to do."

  "I may poison the chicken,” Lucy said.

  * * * *

  Lucy was up at the crack of dawn to take a sighting. The sea was flat and calm, and a gentle breeze blew in from the east. A blazing tropical sun was just perched on the eastern horizon as she raised her sextant and adjusted the vernier. She had already seen the dead reckoning estimate that Dawson had entered in the log, and she was anxious to see how closely her reading matched it. Though the sails were all reefed, the steady pressure of the southeast trade winds against the bare poles, and the assistance of the South Equatorial current, had brought the Mary Small, she was sure, at least twenty miles closer to China during the night. Potts, of course, had lost another twenty miles of headway. Eban, poking his head out the companionway door, nodded to let her know that he had jotted down the chronometer reading at the appropriate moment.

  She was about to join Eban when a flutter of movement across the way caught her eye. The two ships had drifted farther apart during the night. They were beyond speaking distance now, but Lucy could see that the bark was hoisting a signal flag aloft, a red X on a white field. “I need assistance.” And a single-letter signal meant it was urgent. Could Mrs. Potts's time have come prematurely? No. A medical emergency was a blue and white bordered red rectangle.

  Eban came hurrying to her side. Dawson dropped what he was doing and began scanning the bark's deck with a telescope.

  "A lot of activity on deck, Captain. I can see Potts in his top hat, waving his arms about. I don't see any evidence of a fire, or any working of the pumps that would indicate a leak!"

  "What the devil kind of emergency can it be?” Eban said. “Try to find out, Mr. Dawson. Get a line on what kind of gear we need to bring over to them."

  Dawson sent a sailor scurrying to the flag locker. A minute or two later, a yellow and blue flag was climbing to the main truck, the letter K used as a single-letter signal.

  They waited several minutes. There was no response.

  Dawson squinted through the telescope again. “He isn't even bothering to look toward us. Wait a minute. Somebody in a pea jacket is dragging a sailor to him by the scruff of the neck. He just gave him a backhanded swipe that knocked him flat. The fellow's triced up. Now he's hauled him to his feet again and he's frog marching him ‘midships. They're out of sight. The captain's yelling at the other sailors. It looks like the whole crew's on deck. They're milling about like cattle."

  "No more flags?"

  "No."

  Eban sighed. “Get a boat crew together, Mr. Dawson. We'll have to go over and see."

  Lucy spoke up. “I'm going with you."

  Eban shook his head stubbornly. “Not a chance. We don't know what's going on. There may be danger."

  "I'm going with you, Eban. That's settled. Whatever's going on, Mrs. Potts may need a woman."

  "I'll have my Smith and Wesson,” Dawson said. “You better stick a gun in your belt too, Captain."

  The boat crew was composed of the same six men who had rowed them across yesterday. Alvah Goodspeed couldn't conceal a lively curiosity, but Dawson's presence kept him quiet. “You men stay in the boat,” Dawson told them. “But be prepared to swarm up the rope ladder if I call you."

  Yesterday's ladder was still in place, which was a good thing, since nobody aboard the Everett Parsons seemed to be aware of their arrival. Dawson swung himself up easily, followed by Eban. When it was Lucy's turn, Goodspeed and the others averted their eyes without having been told to do so by Dawson. There was nobody at the top to give Lucy a hand, Eban and Dawson already being out of reach as they forced their way through the chaos on deck to get to Captain Potts, so she hoisted herself to a sitting position on the bulwarks, gathered her skirts together, and swung her legs over the side. She pushed her way through the mob of sailors and joined Eban.

  Eban was doing his best to get a coherent story out of a distracted Potts, who didn't look any too happy to see him and Dawson, and even less happy to see Lucy.

  "...and we searched all the sea chests in the forecastle to find the murder weapon, and then Mr. Willis remembered that Gilkins had moved his chest to the steerage only a few days ago, and sure enough, there was the evidence in plain sight on top of his belongings. So he searched Gilkins and confiscated his knife, and I've got it locked up with the rest of the evidence until we can get Gilkins to the nearest U.S. Consul..."

  Eban turned to Lucy and explained, “Mr. McKay has been murdered."

  "Mr. McKay, murdered?” Lucy exclaimed. “And the Gilkins boy suspected of it? How horrible!"

  "You needn't concern yourself, Mrs. Hale,” Potts said. “We have everything under control now. We'll hand Gilkins over to the American Consul at the Marquesas, and he'll be shipped home for hanging."

  "We're familiar with the American Consul at the Marquesas,” Lucy said. “His facilities are limited, and so is his hospitality."

  But Potts was not paying any attention to her. He was talking to Eban and Dawson, and saying, “When we discovered McKay's body, our first thought was that a mutiny was in progress. In these latitudes I naturally suspected the Malays in the crew of plotting to cut a few throats and, when the men were terrorized, steal the longboat and desert. So I immediately ran up the signal flags requesting your help.” His eyes ran over the pistol at Eban's belt. “I see that you and your mate are armed."

  "It seemed a wise precaution. We didn't know what the trouble was."

  "But Mr. Willis very bravely waded into the forecastle, and after knocking a few heads, concluded that there was no conspiracy. So that left us with the job of ferreting out the murderer."

  "And you lit on Mr. Gilkins?"

  Captain Potts's eyes narrowed in a way that Lucy didn't care for. “So you see, Captain Hale, that your assistance is no longer required,” he said.

  Before Eban could respond, Willis appeared from the direction of the after hatch. “I've got Gilkins locked up in the sail locker, Cap'n,” he said. “Double manacled, just to be safe."

  "Very good, Mr. Willis,” Potts said. He turned back to Eban, and Lucy could see that he was about to suggest strongly that Eban and Dawson and the interfering woman they had brought with them were free to leave the ship.

  She spoke quickly, with her sweetest smile. “Poor Mrs. Potts must be terrified. She'll need the comfort of another woman's company."

  Before Potts could object, she turned on her heel and marched sternward toward the afterhouse, lifting her skirts daintily to keep them from dragging on the wet deck. When she reached the companionway, she turned briefly to verify that no one was coming after her. No one was. Eban, bless him, was keeping Potts and
Willis busy.

  She was in the forward section of the afterhouse now, and the doors lining both sides of the cabin were shut. She didn't want to risk blundering into the steward's quarters. After a moment's thought, she decided that would be the door adjacent to the pantry. The first mate's berth would be the first door on the starboard side. The next two cubbyholes would be for storage, or passengers if they had them, and one of the doors was ajar.

  She pushed the door open and poked her head inside. The tiny room had clearly been McKay's domain. One wall of makeshift shelves was cluttered floor to ceiling with the bric-a-brac that Captain Potts had described. Some kind of struggle had gone on. Shards of broken porcelain—fragments of priceless antiquities, if McKay could be believed—littered the floor, and there was a small scattering of silver trade dollars that the murderer had not bothered to pick up.

  The magnificent reticulated serving dish that Mrs. Potts had borrowed for the dinner party was nowhere in sight on the shelves, and Lucy could see no fragments in the floor debris that could have come from it.

  She turned her attention to the narrow bunk opposite. A sheet draped form had been left there, presumably by Potts and Willis, who wouldn't have wanted any help from talkative sailors.

  After a quick glance over her shoulder, Lucy edged over to the bunk and pulled back the sheet. It was McKay all right, as dead as a mackerel. His face was badly battered; the marks looked as if they had been made by brass knuckles. That proved nothing. Brass knuckles were as common in the forecastle as knives and homemade blackjacks.

  She pulled the sheet down farther and saw the wound that had killed him. The shirt had been torn apart to expose the wound. She could tell from the direction of the cut that it had been a downward thrust. She had doctored enough bungled wounds to know this would be unusual if the attacker were sober and had murderous intent. But the knife had slipped in cleanly anyway, without being deflected by the rib cage, and penetrated the liver or spleen, with the fatal result she was looking at. It suggested that the killer had stabbed McKay in a rage while he was lying on the floor, felled by the savage beating he had received from the assailant's brass knuckles. A determined killer indeed. It did not fit her picture of Gilkins.

  There were footsteps and loud voices outside the companionway door. She replaced the sheet and slipped out of the little bunkroom. A few swift steps took her to the door leading to the saloon, and the door closed behind her just as the companionway door opened.

  She did not know if she had been seen. She hurried across an empty saloon and let herself into the captain's stateroom at the rear.

  Mrs. Potts was sprawled across an overstuffed settee at the far end, surrounded by Chinese knicknacks on a profusion of little tables. A birdcage hung swaying from a stained-glass skylight overhead.

  Lucy hurried to her side. “My dear Mrs. Potts,” she said, “are you all right?"

  She raised Mrs. Potts to a sitting position and propped a pillow behind her back. Mrs. Potts was gulping air and clutching at her chest. “I'm having palpitations,” she quavered. “And I want Phineas. I'm sure my heart's about to stop."

  "I'm sure your husband will come as soon as he can. Would you like the steward to bring you a cup of tea?"

  "I don't know where the steward can have gone to,” Mrs. Potts said, and burst into tears. “Oh, what shall I do?"

  "Calm yourself, Mrs. Potts. Stay there and don't try to get up. I'll be back in a minute."

  She crossed to the captain's desk on the other side of the stateroom and found the medicine chest that all ships of this size were required to carry. There, among the rows of numbered bottles and basic surgical tools, she found a stoppered smelling bottle containing some sort of camphor compound. She brought it back to the settee and held it under Mrs. Potts's nose. Mrs. Potts tossed her head back and forth and tried to push the bottle away, but after a minute her color improved and she seemed less agitated.

  "There,” Lucy said. “Now you just rest, and I'll go make you a cup of tea."

  She needed another look at McKay's cabin. Why had the platter disappeared, and what else might have been taken? If robbery had been the motive, why had all those silver trade dollars—the favored currency in the China trade—been left behind? The galley was only a few steps from McKay's cabin. She only needed a minute or two.

  The door swung open and Captain Potts entered, followed by Willis. Eban and Dawson came crowding in after them.

  Potts gave Lucy a hard look, and went to his wife. “Phineas, how could you be so thoughtless?” she admonished him, the vapors abandoned and replaced by a practiced sulk. “To leave me alone at such a time!"

  "Now, now, Henrietta,” he said with forced patience. “Mr. Willis and I have much to do if we're to keep you safe. We've made a thorough search of the crew's belongings, and ferreted out the culprit. That dissembling wretch, Gilkins, as we thought! We have him safely locked up now. You have nothing to fear. And now we have to see to poor McKay. We'll give him a decent burial at sea, with all proper ceremony. I shall have to borrow your Bible and find an appropriate text."

  That was Eban's cue, and after an exchange of glances with Lucy, he took it. “You don't want to do things too hastily, Captain. There are legal forms to be observed, and if you want to stay out of trouble you'll follow maritime law. Fortunately, you have myself, Mr. Dawson, and Mrs. Hale aboard as disinterested parties to sign the necessary depositions. And Mrs. Hale has a grounding in maritime law, thanks to her class at Searsport High School, so she can make out the properly worded forms for the American Consul and any local authorities he has to answer to. Of course we will have to view the body and the evidence."

  "If I'm not mistaken, Mrs. Hale has already viewed the body,” Potts growled.

  "The hell with all that!” Willis shouted in a fury. “I say we just hang Gilkins from a yardarm and have done with it. We're three thousand miles from the States. I say he's guilty and so does the captain, and that's enough!"

  "Those days are gone, Mr. Willis, along with abuses like flogging,” Lucy said.

  She turned to Captain Potts and aimed her next words at him. “When a captain takes shortcuts, he's liable for five years imprisonment and a thousand dollar fine. I'm sure you've heard about what happened to Captain Slocum, the skipper of the Aquidneck. He shot two sailors who tried to rob and kill him, and they put him on parole even though evidence was presented that one of the dead men was still clutching a knife when they found him. He'd had the good sense not to touch the dead bodies till he had witnesses."

  That got to Potts. Lucy could see that further argument at that point would only cause resistance. She patted Mrs. Potts on the shoulder and said, “I'll get your cup of tea now, dear."

  As she left the stateroom, she could hear Mrs. Potts getting querulous again: “I won't feel safe until that man is off the ship. I don't care if he is locked up!” A sob. “Mrs. Hale is the only one who cares about my feelings!” followed by a rumble of male voices reassuring her.

  There was still a fire in the steward's stove. Lucy poked it up and added a couple of sticks of wood. She put a tea kettle on to boil, then listened at the corridor. The stateroom door remained closed. She waited another moment to be safe, and let herself into McKay's cabin again.

  The scene was as before: a dead body on the bunk and broken crockery on the floor. She peered more closely at the silver coins. Mostly American Seated Liberties, with a few Mexican and British trade dollars. What they had in common was that the silver content exceeded the face value, so that they were not circulated in their countries of origin. That was fine with the Chinese, who went by the weight of the silver anyway.

  Where had the coins come from? Lucy's eyes found McKay's steamer trunk. It had been ransacked. The latches were bent and twisted and the lock smashed. The trunk had been pried apart, and the sliding drawers on either side hung halfway out, spilling their contents—shirts, undergarments, toilet articles, and more silver coins. The leather bag that had held the coins ha
d been slashed, but the murderer had left the scattered dollars behind.

  But the big bottom drawer had been pulled all the way out, and it was empty.

  She was taking a step forward for a closer look, when there was movement behind her and a rough voice said, “Well, captain's lady, did you get a good look at the corpse? And maybe tamper with the evidence?"

  It was Willis, and she hadn't heard him come in. He was too close, but she stood her ground. “Yes, Mr. Willis, I've seen what I had to see,” she said.

  She could tell that he had expected her to be intimidated, and was puzzled by his failure to frighten her. “A dead body's no sight for a lady,” he tried. “If you are a lady."

  "I've seen my share of dead bodies, Mr. Willis,” she said in a steady voice. “And I'm not a shrinking violet."

  He took a step toward her, and she said coldly, “You wouldn't dare.” He stepped aside as she brushed past him. The walk back to the captain's stateroom seemed long, but she refrained from looking back over her shoulder. It had taken all her resolve to go back to the galley for Mrs. Potts's tea.

  But when she re-entered the captain's stateroom she was relieved to find that Willis had not followed on her heels. He had gone off to God knows where to do his mischief elsewhere.

  She poured Mrs. Potts a cup of tea and coped patiently with her threats to faint. The men were clustered together in a little masculine group that excluded her. That was fine with her. She caught Dawson's eye, and he gave a little nod. He excused himself to Captain Potts, saying that he had better check on his men, who had been waiting in the longboat for some time now. Potts gave absent-minded assent and went on talking to Eban.

  She waited until there was a break in their conversation and got to her feet. When Potts's eyes turned in her direction, she said offhandedly, “I had better talk to Gilkins. When we get back to Searsport, I shall have to see his family and give them any last messages from him."

  Potts turned instantly apoplectic. “I cannot permit you to see him!” he sputtered. “It's out of the question!"