The Eye of Neptune

by Jon Mayhew

  For a second, he knelt as if in prayer, motionless, staring at the rock that had buried the bird in front of him. Then he turned to Georgia, who stood with her jaw dangling slack at what had just happened.

  ‘Does this kind of thing happen to you a lot?’ he asked.

  ‘What do you mean?’ she said, frowning at him.

  ‘Well, you know, going to fetch some firewood and ending up fighting off giant, man-eating chickens, being caught in forest fires and nearly getting crushed by exploding cliffs.’

  ‘Erm, no,’ she replied, dazed. ‘I have had a few adventures but they don’t generally involve giant, man-eating chickens, forest fires or exploding cliffs.’

  ‘Oh,’ Dakkar said. ‘Me neither.’

  Georgia broke into a smirk and then Dakkar felt a hysterical giggle force its way from the pit of his stomach. Soon the sound of their laughter echoed across the devastated island.

  The submersible’s repairs proved fairly simple. Georgia stood guard with all rifles and pistols loaded while Dakkar worked on the boat but they saw no more giant birds. Once they had made a fire to soften the tar that they needed to waterproof the Liberty, they were soon back at sea.

  Dakkar manned the helm while Georgia consulted the charts.

  ‘Our course is clear,’ she said, running a finger along the map. ‘But what we haven’t thought of is what we do when we get to San Teresa.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Dakkar said. ‘We go to the Lime Tree Hotel mentioned in your uncle’s letters and ask for Woolford-Potts.’

  ‘And he’ll lead us to Lafitte?’ Georgia replied.

  ‘With any luck,’ Dakkar murmured. ‘At least he might give us some idea where to look for him.’

  ‘I’ve heard of this San Teresa. It sounds like a dangerous place,’ Georgia said, looking up from the chart. ‘Full of cut-throats and thieves.’

  ‘Then we’ll have to be careful,’ Dakkar said.

  They journeyed on in near silence, their tension growing as the days sped by. When they did talk, it was to discuss the chart or compass readings.

  The weather grew warmer and more humid. Sometimes they had to sail on the surface with the hatch open just to keep cool. At other times they would submerge but even under water the sun would warm the hull of the Liberty, making it hot and stuffy inside. They saw other ships and always submerged when they did so to avoid drawing attention. Dakkar felt a sneaking sense of power as the ships cut through the waves above, completely oblivious to their existence. Occasionally Dakkar would stare out at swirling shoals of silver fish. They saw plenty more sharks but none came near.

  One day, Dakkar searched through the equipment in the Liberty. He found a long box in the lower cabin and opened it. Six spear-like poles, with fins at one end and wax globes at the tips, lay in the box.

  ‘What are these?’ he called up to Georgia.

  ‘Oh, something Uncle Robert was working on,’ Georgia replied. ‘The globes are explosive, encased in wax for waterproofing.’

  ‘What are they used for?’ Dakkar asked, picking one up gingerly.

  ‘Uncle Robert called them ‘‘Sea Arrows’’. See the hatches on either side at the front of the craft?’ Georgia said. ‘You put them in there and press the button. Powerful springs fire them out and they explode on impact.’

  ‘Why didn’t we use them on the squid?’ Dakkar said, placing them back gently.

  ‘They’re unreliable and the squid moved about too much,’ Georgia explained. ‘Better for buildings or maybe ships.’

  Dakkar found many other weapons. The Liberty could produce an artificial sepia cloud like the squid’s. Glass globes of ink were fired by a device at the back of the ship, giving it the chance to flee undercover. He found vicious-looking spikes that attached to the main ramming point. The Liberty is far more warlike than the Makara, he thought to himself but didn’t share it with Georgia.

  San Teresa looked to Dakkar as if a god had picked up a town and dropped it into a swamp. Peering through the telescope from the Liberty’s hatch, he could make out wooden dwellings with carved verandas and warehouses huddled together on the seafront. A jetty poked out into the sea and two ships were moored there. A ramshackle heap of shanty houses rose behind the main town. Trees and greenery sprouted between buildings and thick jungle reared up behind the whole town as if it wanted to push the houses into the ocean. The map had shown them that San Teresa nestled in the swampland deep in Barataria Bay.

  ‘This is Louisiana,’ Georgia had said, sweeping her finger around the map. ‘That way’s all swamp. There’s New Orleans. But this is where we want to be.’ She stabbed at the map.

  ‘Where can we hide the Liberty?’ Dakkar asked, scanning back and forth across the island.

  ‘Trust me,’ Georgia said. ‘These places are full of little creeks and inlets.’

  They submerged and made their way to San Teresa, surfacing every now and then to establish their position and look for any inlets. Evening was falling by the time they found a suitable place.

  ‘There,’ Dakkar said, pointing from the hatch. ‘It looks like we could anchor in that little bay.’

  Georgia steered the Liberty into the inlet to find it led into a shallow creek. The boat’s hull bumped along the sandy bottom and she brought the craft to a dead stop.

  ‘Perfect,’ Georgia whispered, climbing up and peering out. ‘The narrowness of the creek means the vegetation overhangs us. The water will conceal us too. Let’s go!’

  ‘Erm,’ Dakkar murmured, blushing. ‘Do you think you’d better put something else on? The good people of San Teresa may be shocked by a young lady walking around in a bathing costume.’

  ‘Oh!’ Georgia stopped and glanced down at herself. It was her turn to blush. ‘Yes, you may be right.’

  Dakkar climbed out of the Liberty. A few minutes later Georgia followed, wearing knee breeches, a shirt and a cap that covered her long, red hair.

  ‘A lady in trousers,’ Dakkar said, feigning shock.

  ‘I’ll run around this town in a ball gown if you will, mister.’ Georgia laughed as they picked their way through the undergrowth towards the lights of the town.

  If San Teresa looked rundown from a distance, up close it was even worse. As they clambered through the trees, the smell of rotten food, rum and sweaty bodies hit them like a wall. The buildings looked ancient and weather-beaten. Sun-scorched and wind-blasted wood frontages with covered walkways lined the quagmire that was the street. Ragged-clothed beggars shook empty tin cups at every street corner. Tall, mustachioed men, armed to the teeth, swaggered through the crowds. Bar girls in silk, make-up and ill-fitting wigs screeched at each other and at the pirates from windows or saloon doors.

  ‘This is the last haven for pirates,’ Georgia whispered. ‘The American Navy makes life pretty hard for them.’

  ‘Keep a lookout for the Lime Tree Hotel,’ Dakkar hissed back.

  A fight broke out close by and a huge sailor in a sweat-stained jersey went sprawling into the mud in front of Dakkar. With a grimace he hopped over the groaning man and continued scanning the buildings. Somewhere, a fiddle struck up a tune and someone gave a cry of joy. Somewhere else, a musket shot cracked, making everyone in the street flinch and look around before continuing on their way.

  ‘There it is!’ Georgia said, pointing to a dilapidated corner building.

  Dakkar curled his lip. If it were at all possible, the hotel lowered the tone of the street. Planks boarded up two windows and the garish lime-green paint on the front slats of the wooden building was peeling and cracked. An old man with no teeth and a long, grey beard lay snoring in the doorway, wrapped in a moth-eaten overcoat. His head hung back and his mouth was wide open.

  ‘This is where Woolford-Potts lives?’ Dakkar wondered aloud.

  They stepped over the snoring old man and pushed the door open. Inside wasn’t much better. A few characters propped up a long bar that ran the whole length of one side of the room. Bottles and barrels lay stacked behind the
bar.

  ‘What can I get yer?’ the woman behind the counter demanded. Her red silk dress was faded like her blonde hair, which was greying and wiry.

  ‘We’re looking for a man called Woolford-Potts,’ Dakkar murmured.

  ‘Pay his drinks bill an’ I’ll tell yer where he is.’ The woman extended a grimy, lace-covered hand.

  ‘We don’t have time for this,’ Georgia said, scowling at the woman. ‘We need to talk to him real quick!’

  ‘Well, if you’re in such a hurry,’ the woman said, shaking her palm in front of them, ‘then pay up and I’ll tell yer.’

  Georgia pursed her lips but dropped a silver coin on to the bar.

  ‘He’s been mighty thirsty lately,’ the barmaid said.

  Georgia dropped another coin. The woman scowled but picked the coins up and nodded over Dakkar’s shoulder.

  Dakkar turned round, following the barmaid’s line of sight. Tables scattered with playing cards or empty glasses dotted the room. One man lay slumped over a table in the middle of the room, but over in the corner sat the roundest man Dakkar had ever seen.

  The clothes he wore had seen better days and now stretched at the seams as the man leaned back in his seat, resting his hands on his huge belly. His ruddy face had an unshaven dirtiness to it and a white wig sat awkwardly on the side of his head.

  ‘And to whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?’ the big man slurred, his droopy eyes opening a crack as Dakkar and Georgia approached.

  ‘My name is Georgia Fulton,’ she said. ‘I believe you have had some correspondence with my uncle, Robert Fulton?’

  Woolford-Potts’s eyes opened a crack wider. ‘Fulton? Egad!’ he said, and tried sitting up in his chair.

  ‘You acted as an intermediary between him and . . . another person,’ Dakkar said, inclining his head. ‘We’re eager to find that other person.’

  Woolford-Potts’s eyes widened even more. ‘Not possible, I’m afraid,’ he said, waving a chubby hand. ‘I don’t know what you’re on about.’

  ‘Look, Mr Woolford or Mr Potts, or whatever you call yourself,’ Georgia said, her voice low and threatening. ‘My uncle’s gone missing and I’ve travelled a long way to find him. I think Jean Lafitte may be able to tell us where he is.’

  ‘Shhhh!’ Woolford-Potts was sitting bolt upright now and waving his hands. ‘Be quiet – you never know who’s listening. That man has many enemies who would love to get their hands on him.’

  ‘Then you’d better start talking or I’ll shout his name from the rooftops,’ Dakkar said, raising his voice.

  The men at the bar narrowed their eyes at Woolford-Potts and strained to listen.

  ‘All right, all right!’ Woolford-Potts hissed. ‘But why do you think Lafitte may be able to help?’

  ‘We think that he was working for someone else who was interested in my uncle,’ Georgia explained. ‘We think that whoever it was may have been involved in kidnapping Uncle Robert.’

  ‘Oh no.’ Woolford-Potts shook his head so vigorously that his wig slipped even further sideways. ‘No, no, no. I can’t help you. It’s too risky.’

  ‘So, Mr Woolford-Potts,’ Dakkar said in a loud voice, ‘how long have you been working with –’

  ‘Stop!’ Woolford-Potts moaned, dragging himself to his feet and then sitting heavily back down. ‘I’ll show you where Lafitte’s hideout is.’ He licked his finger and drew it through the grease on the table. ‘This is the headland. This is Five Mile Creek. This is the biggest tree you’ve ever seen. It has a skull carved on it. Turn left here . . .’

  The directions went on and Dakkar struggled to keep them all in his head. ‘Haven’t you got a map?’ he said at last.

  ‘I can remember it until we look at the chart back at the Liberty,’ Georgia said, glancing over her shoulder at the men at the bar.

  ‘I must warn you not to proceed with this,’ Woolford-Potts said, gripping Georgia’s hand. ‘You’re in grave peril.’

  ‘I’ve faced pirates before,’ Dakkar said, trying his best to sound confident.

  ‘You don’t understand,’ Woolford-Potts said, his eyes wide. ‘When your uncle approached me about smuggling certain items, the best person I could think of was Lafitte. But that other person you alluded to was also employing Lafitte. He was a jealous employer. He didn’t like me muscling in at all.’

  ‘What are you trying to say?’ Georgia asked, frowning.

  ‘It’s not Lafitte you want to worry about,’ Woolford-Potts said. ‘It’s the other man. It’s –’

  Something buzzed past Dakkar’s ear. It wasn’t a mosquito.

  Woolford-Potts stiffened. A tiny dart poked out of the rolls of fat in Woolford-Potts’s neck. He stared at them, eyes bulging.

  ‘Cryptosssss,’ he gasped, and crashed forward on to the table.

  Georgia screamed and the men at the bar rushed over. Dakkar scanned the room but saw no one else. A sudden movement from the boarded-up window caught his eye.

  ‘Grab them!’ the barmaid screeched. ‘They killed Potts!’

  Chapter Seventeen

  Monsieur Jean Lafitte

  The three men from the bar made a grab for Dakkar, who turned over the chair in front of him. They stumbled and tripped over each other, giving Dakkar a chance to dive to one side.

  ‘Georgia, run!’ he yelled as he bolted for the door.

  The barmaid pulled a musket from beneath the bar. A huge bang shook the room, deafening Dakkar and sending the barmaid backward into her bottles and barrels. Plaster dust crumbled from the ceiling.

  Georgia hurried after Dakkar out into the street, mingling with the crowd. A few curious glances were cast their way but then people pulled down their hats and moved on, not wanting to get involved.

  ‘What happened to him?’ Georgia gasped.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Dakkar replied. ‘It was some kind of dart. It came from the window but I couldn’t see who fired it.’

  ‘Do you really think he’s dead?’ Georgia panted.

  ‘He didn’t look very lively,’ Dakkar said, dodging past a drunken old man with a crushed tricorne hat.

  Dakkar kept glancing over his shoulder. Someone had been spying on them, following them. He didn’t want to lead them back to the Liberty. Every face in the crowd looked suspicious. Each passer-by seemed to glare at them. They slipped into a side alley for a second and glanced back down the street.

  ‘It looks clear,’ Dakkar said. ‘As far as I can tell.’

  ‘What did Woolford-Potts say just before he . . . he . . .’ Georgia couldn’t bear to say it.

  ‘It sounded like ‘‘Cryptos’’,’ Dakkar replied, keeping an eye on the passing crowds. ‘Maybe he’s the ‘‘C’’ your uncle mentioned.’

  They scurried on down the street and then ducked into the trees beyond the town.

  ‘Wait here for a second,’ Georgia whispered. ‘We can tell if anyone is following us in these woods.’

  They stood, hardly daring to breathe, listening for a snapped twig or a rustling bush, but heard nothing apart from the croaking of frogs and the chirping of crickets.

  Reassured, they carefully crept to their mooring place and climbed into the Liberty. Dakkar reversed her out of the inlet while Georgia unrolled the map. She examined it, muttering under her breath and tracing their path with a trembling finger.

  ‘That’s it – round there, hard to port,’ she said as they followed Woolford-Potts’s directions.

  ‘Do you think this Cryptos has Oginski and your uncle?’ Dakkar asked her, staring into the darkness as he steered.

  ‘It’s possible,’ Georgia replied. ‘If Cryptos is the ‘‘C’’ my uncle was worried about.’

  Dakkar gasped and stopped the Liberty. ‘Look,’ he said.

  A huge tree grew out of the bank of the creek. Its roots twisted around themselves like snakes and dipped into the water. The white moonlight shone on a skull carved deep into the trunk of the tree.

  ‘It can’t be far now,’ Dakkar said. />
  The trees and branches seemed to close in as they drifted on. At times the water became shallow and the Liberty scraped along the bottom of the creek. Leaves and branches split the moonlight into shafts of light that gave the place an eerie, unnatural feel.

  Nightbirds broke the constant hum of insects, and every now and then something large would splash in the water under the trees.

  A light in the distance told Dakkar that a cabin stood at the end of the creek.

  ‘We’d better tie her up here and make our way to the cabin,’ Dakkar whispered.

  ‘You mean, swim in this water?’ Georgia said, staring at him. ‘There could be alligators in there.’

  ‘Let’s hope they’re not hungry then,’ Dakkar said, winking. But he swallowed hard as he climbed out of the Liberty.

  Outside, the air felt sticky and hot. The smell of the swamp, of decay and sweetness, filled his nostrils. He lowered himself down the side of the Liberty and into the warm water. Something slimy slithered past his ankle and he stifled a scream.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Georgia hissed at him.

  ‘Nothing,’ he said, treading water gently. ‘Just a fish, I think.’

  Georgia splashed into the water next to Dakkar. He put his finger to his lips and then pushed off towards the cabin light.

  ‘What was that?’ Georgia groaned.

  ‘What?’ Dakkar said, frowning over his shoulder at her.

  ‘Something slimy brushed past my leg,’ Georgia whimpered. ‘I really don’t like this.’

  ‘Oh, stop it,’ Dakkar said softly. The water had become shallower here and he could stand up. ‘Like I said, it’s probably just fish or water snakes.’

  ‘Water snakes?’ Georgia’s eyes widened. ‘I do not like snakes.’

  ‘I prefer them to pistols,’ Dakkar said, staring straight up a gun muzzle.

  A group of rough-looking pirates stood on the bank of the creek.

  ‘Who have we here?’ a dark, hawkish man said.

  ‘Looks like kids, Martinez,’ said another. This man was stocky with a straggly, grey beard.