by carl ashmore
The words lingered in the air. Eventually, it was Uncle Percy who spoke, ‘How did you get them, Bruce?’
Bruce sat back in his chair. ‘Well, I ain’t ashamed to admit I’ve got a soft spot for gamblin’. And outside the great gamblin’ towns of the old West – Tombstone, Dodge, Virginia City - my favourite haunts are the Pirate ports of the Caribbean. Those buccaneers just ‘bout love their gamblin’. A few days ago I was in Fat Annie’s bar in Tortuga, playin’ a few rounds of Bone Ace, when this grizzly old sea dog, Gilbert Threepwood, pulls up a chair at the table and whips out the coins. We played a few hands and I won them. To be honest, and I only found this out later, he was glad to get shot of ‘em. After they were mine, he told me the whole strange story…’ His gaze fell on the pouch before he looked up again. ‘And it ain’t a pretty one.’
‘And what’s that?’ Joe asked.
‘He said he cut them outta the belly of the nastiest Hammerhead to swim the Seven Seas.’
‘Hammerhead?’ Becky said.
‘It’s a shark.’ Bruce gave a weighty sigh. ‘But here’s the rub: accordin’ to Threepwood, this shark shouldn’t have been alive at all. Half of its body had been eaten away. It shudda been dead. And if that don’t give you the heebie jeebies, check this out …’ He leaned in as if reciting a ghost story. ‘Threepwood believed it was already dead when they fished it outta the water … dead but alive!’
‘A zombie shark?’ Joe said skeptically.
‘Hey, I ain’t sayin’ I believed it… just what I been told. Anyway, the crew had to bash its brains to mush before it finally stopped moving.’
Becky’s face creased. ‘Urghh!’
‘I said it wasn’t a pretty story. Anyhows, the coins were passed round the crew, but like what happened with your Uncle Percy here, the ones holdin’ them became enraged. Threepwood said it was about all he could do to stop them tearing each other apart. Anyway, when the ship docked in Tortuga, Threepwood moseyed over to Fat Annies and that’s when he lost them to me. Still, word must’ve got out because who strolls into Fat Annies the very next night asking about the coins but Otto Kruger …’
Uncle Percy’s face dropped. ‘Otto Kruger?’
‘The very same. But he weren’t callin’ the shots.’
‘Emerson Drake was there?’
‘Nah,’ Bruce replied. ‘Not Drake. This was some gangly dude with a thick walrus moustache. Strange accent. At first glance, he looked all hat and no cattle … pale-faced, no meat on his bones, a bit of a dork, but I tell you, his eyes wudda scared the devil himself. Black eyes. Soulless eyes. Even Kruger seemed to be treading carefully round him. Anyway, moustache man had obviously heard ‘bout my winning the coins and came over. A second later, he pressed a scalpel to my throat and demanded I pass them over. But I got buddies in Fat Annies, and before moustache man knew what was goin’ on, he was smack dang in the middle of an old-fashioned pirate brawl. Anyway, after landin’ a couple of good punches on Kruger’s goons, I got outta there and returned to the twenty first century. And that’s when I get thinkin’ ‘bout you, Perce, and your little summer adventure.’ He looked darkly at Uncle Percy. ‘Just now, when you touched them coins, is that how it felt when you touched the Golden Fleece?’
Uncle Percy took a moment to reflect before he answered. ‘No… And yes. When I touched the Fleece, it was – well, otherworldly, divine, like some higher power had personally touched it.’ He nodded at the coins. ‘These feel like they’ve had contact with something powerful, something like the Fleece, but merely echo its power, like a scent that hangs in the air even after the wearer has gone.’
Bruce took to his feet and began to pace up and down. ‘That’s exactly what I thought. That’s why it’s taken me twenty-four hours to come and see you, Perce. You see, I did some research of my own and discovered a curious story that might tie in with all of this. It tells of an English Galley ship, The Whydah, which, under the command of Captain Lawrence Prince, had been navigating the Windward Passage when it was attacked and taken by a pirate, Black Sam Bellamy. Anyway, The Whydah was allegedly carrying a magnificent chest, which was being transported to England as a gift for King George. Anyhow, the story goes that this chest had been in a remote African village for thousands of years, and had never been opened. You see … the villagers believed all the evils of the world were contained in that chest and if opened, would be released to destroy everyone and everything. Now, Perce, does that remind you of another famous story?’
‘You’re talking about Pandora’s Box?’
‘Yes, Sir,’ Bruce said, sitting down again. ‘That I am.’
Becky’s mind raced. ‘I’ve heard of that,’ she said. ‘It’s another Greek myth, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, Becky, it is.’
‘Tell me about it then,’ Joe said to Becky
Becky searched her memory. ‘It’s about a woman called Pandora, who was given some kind of box by a God - Zeus, I think - but was told not to open it. Anyway, after a while she got curious and opened it anyway. Unluckily for her, the box contained all kinds of nasty stuff, which got released into the world.’
‘Or as Hesiod wrote,’ Uncle Percy said. “All of the burdensome toil and sickness that brings death to men.”’
‘So Pandora’s Box exists?’ Joe said. ‘And Drake’s looking for it?’
Uncle Percy’s body deflated. ‘Let’s not jump to conclusions, Joe.’
Bruce shook his head. ‘You’re wrong there, Perce. I think you should jump to conclusions … because I think that’s precisely what’s goin’ down here.’
‘Great!’ Joe said. ‘Then we’ll have to go and get it.’
‘Now, now … let’s not get ahead of ourselves,’ Uncle Percy said. ‘You’re supposed to be enjoying a relaxing half-term break.’
‘Stuff that,’ Joe replied. ‘We want to stop Drake getting his hands on Pandora’s Box, don’t we, Becky?’
Becky hesitated for a second. ‘Yes.’
Uncle Percy ignored them and turned to Bruce. ‘You said that Black Sam Bellamy had acquired the chest. Have you any idea what happened to it?’
‘Well …’ Bruce’s voice dropped to a whisper. ‘This is where the tale gets as cloudy as a sandstorm, but I do know for sure that Black Sam owed a debt to another pirate - a pirate no one, not even the hardiest buccaneer messed with. A debt he supposedly paid with a chest full of gold coins. Does the name Edward Teach mean anything to y’all?’
Uncle Percy’s face turned a dull white. ‘Crikey.’
Becky could see Uncle Percy recognised the name. ‘Who’s Edward Teach?’
‘My knowledge of the Golden Age of Piracy is scant to say the least,’ Uncle Percy said. ‘However, I do know that Edward Teach was supposedly the most feared, most infamous pirate of them all. You may know him by his cognomen … Blackbeard.’
- Chapter 9-
The Magpie Inn
‘Blackbeard?’ Joe gasped. ‘How cool is that, Becky?’
Becky returned a half-smile, but couldn’t bring herself to agree. She longed for another adventure, but she also knew the dangers involved. They had been lucky to survive the last one, and what with Otto Kruger, a mysterious scalpel-wielding stranger, zombie sharks and Blackbeard already thrown into the mix, she didn’t exactly feel confident of an easy ride.
‘It may sound cool, kid,’ Bruce said, ‘but let me tell you, and be under no illusion ‘bout this … Blackbeard’s bad news. I’ve heard stories from some tough hombres that’d make a rattlesnake lose its rattle.’
Joe didn’t appear to hear him. ‘Hang on a minute …a box … Blackbeard … gold coins …’ Realisation flashed in his eyes. ‘Pandora’s Box is Blackbeard’s Treasure Chest?’
Becky’s mouth fell open.
A cheerless smile inched on Bruce’s mouth. ‘You’re as sharp as a tomahawk, kid. That’s ‘bout what I was thinkin’ …’ He looked at Uncle Percy, who groaned miserably. ‘So what’s your plan, Boss? This kinda thing’s your party. I’m just the g
atecrasher.’
Uncle Percy looked uncomfortable. ‘Plan? I don’t have a plan. I’m a scientist, not Allan Quatermain. I get excited about combustible flidgebangers and vector-wave calculus, not sword fights and treasure hunting.’ He stood up and began to pace in a circle, his eyes fixed on the floor; round and round he went, seemingly engaged in a bitter internal struggle. Eventually, his face grew resigned and he sat back down. ‘Very well. If what you suggest is true, Bruce, what choice do I have?’ He exhaled heavily. ‘If Pandora’s Box exists, and Emerson Drake is searching for it, I consider it my duty to at least try and find it before he does.’
‘Me, too!’ Joe slapped the table enthusiastically. ‘So how do we go about it?’
‘I’m not sure it should be a case of we, Joe.’
Joe huffed. ‘Aw, let’s not do this again, Uncle Percy. We have to go with you. I mean, if it wasn’t for us -’ He waggled his finger in front of Becky’s face and went cross-eyed. ‘ - Well, Becky’s eyesturningwhitelikeademonwitchthingy - Drake would have scarpered with the Fleece and who knows where we’d all be then. That’s right, isn’t it, Becks?’
Becky didn’t appreciate Joe’s way of putting it, but he did have a point. Somehow, while Drake had been escaping with the Golden Fleece, she’d had a strange episode, one she could still only vaguely recall, when the Fleece had broken free from Drake and flown into her arms. She couldn’t explain it, she knew it made no sense, but it had happened. ‘First of all,’ she snapped at Joe. ‘I did not look like a demon witch.’ Then she turned to Uncle Percy. ‘Secondly, for once, the dweebling’s right. We do have to come with you.’ She looked serious. ‘Dad’s a part of all this, which means we are, too.’ She smiled sweetly. ‘Besides, Edgar said I was the Fleece’s guardian, maybe I’m the guardian of Pandora’s Box, too?’
‘So that’s that,’ Joe said as if that was the end of the matter. ‘What do we do next?’
Uncle Percy looked defeated. He pondered for a moment and tented his fingers. ‘Mmm, I think we ask Barbie if she would be so kind as to upload, gather and collate everything she can on Edward Teach, as well as any historical evidence of the existence of Pandora’s Box. Would you do that for me Barbie?’
‘Certainly, sir.’
‘And, meanwhile, we pop into Addlebury for a pub lunch at The Magpie Inn.’
Becky looked confused. ‘A pub lunch … why?’
‘Because that’s where Reg Muckle will be.’
‘Who’s Reg Muckle?’ Becky asked, convinced she’d heard the name before.
‘Reg is a traveller. At least, he was. Now he’s a publican. Still, in his travelling days, he and his wife, Mabel, would regularly be found wandering the Caribbean ports of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. They loved it there and I doubt there’s a person alive who would know as much about that era as old Reg.’
‘He stopped travelling to run a pub?’ Becky asked, intrigued.
‘Mabel became very ill,’ Uncle Percy replied. ‘He gave up travelling to look after her. Sadly, she died and he swore he’d never travel again. Personally, I don’t think he’s ever recovered from her passing.’ He seemed to avoid looking at Becky as he injected some enthusiasm into his voice. ‘Anyway, let’s not get too maudlin … it’ll be nice for you to visit the Magpie Inn. It’s something of a landmark in these parts and has a fascinating history in itself. More importantly, Reg serves the most delectable Cheshire cheese and onion flan …’
*
After setting Barbie’s search parameters, Uncle Percy retired to Bowen Hall library clutching a weathered copy of Captain Charles Johnson’s book A General History of the Robberies and Murders of the most notorious Pyrates. At the same time, Bruce departed for his holiday ranch in Wyoming where it was decided he would wait for Uncle Percy to contact him; not a conventional ranch, it was located in the Miocene Epoch and boasted a thousand-strong herd of Hipparions (a twenty million year old horse).
Becky and Joe spent the rest of the morning cleaning the stables, the tedium of which only lifted when Will joined them with two jugs of apple juice. He listened intently to the Pandora’s Box theory and seemed as eager as they were for another adventure, although Becky got the impression it had more to with meeting Otto Kruger again than anything else. After Will left to tend to the lawns, Becky and Joe remained to finish their chores.
‘This is awesome…’ Joe said, emptying a bucket of fresh water into a trough until it slopped over the sides. ‘Another relic quest!’
‘At the moment, we’re only going for a pub lunch,’ Becky said. ‘It’s hardly Raiders of the Lost Ark.’
‘Yeah, but that’s how it starts,’ Joe replied. ‘Before we know it … it’ll be cutlasses and X marks the spot and - ’
‘Have you actually given any thought to the fact that it’s dangerous?’ Becky snapped.
Joe scowled. ‘What’s up with you?’
Becky shot him a prickly look. ‘This isn’t one of your Xbox games. If it wasn’t for the Minotaurs, Uncle Percy and Will would be dead, and we would be used as bait to get dad to talk. And once dad does that, he’s dead for sure. It might sound fun, but people can get hurt or worse…’
Joe didn’t reply. For a moment, it looked like he was giving this serious consideration, until he blew a raspberry. ‘Nothing’s going to happen to anyone. And I can’t wait to meet Blackbeard… maybe I should give myself a cool pirate name.’
‘Bumfluffbeard?’
‘Ha ha,’ Joe replied. ‘Come to think of it, Becks, it looks like you’re growing a bit of a beard yourself.’
A second later, a lump of Pegasus dung was flying at his head.
*
At midday, Becky lined up beside Joe at the front of Bowen Hall. A chill settled in her bones as she watched Uncle Percy, his overcoat collar curled high, swing the Rolls Royce Silver Ghost to a halt. Staring at the roofless car, she pulled her pom pom hat tight around her ears and considered asking Uncle Percy to ultra-boost them to Addlebury.
Fortunately, it wasn’t really necessary, as within ten minutes they were trundling down Addlebury High Street, passing Bunkle and Sons, a family-owned butchers and a large village hall with a rain-damp poster on its door that read ‘Kendo classes every Tuesday’; a pair of ancient stone crosses covered in strange markings stood like ice sculptures beside a freshly mown green. Looking to the far end of the street, Becky saw a rickety Tudor style public house with an angular thatched roof, streaked with lichen and moss. Constructed over three floors and painted black and white, it leaned notably to the left, giving Becky the impression that a strong gust of wind could blow it over.
Uncle Percy brought the Silver Ghost to a stop in the pub’s car park and leapt out, trailed by Becky and Joe. ‘Actually,’ he said cheerily, ‘I’m delighted we’ve come today. You see, The Magpie Inn is actually one of the few genuine Tudor –’ Before he could finish, however, a snapping sound from the pub’s rear stopped him in his tracks.
Becky glanced at Uncle Percy, who appeared somewhat puzzled. ‘Was that a time machine?’
‘It certainly sounded like one, didn’t it?’ Uncle Percy replied.
‘I thought Reg had stopped travelling?’ Joe said.
‘He has,’ Uncle Percy said. ‘But I suppose travellers still visit him, if only to stock up on his home-brewed real-ale ‘Olde Noggin.’ He chuckled. ‘A pint of that and you don’t need a Memoraser to forget what you’ve done.’ And with three long strides he disappeared into the pub.
Inside, Becky was surprised to see a huge shaggy brown dog snoring before a raging fire which crackled and popped; wooden tables, each with a brass candlestick in its center, were dotted across the timber floor, the tops of which were coated in thick clumps of dried wax like icing on a cake. The oak beamed ceiling was so low that Uncle Percy had to stoop to avoid banging his head as he spied a thickset grey-haired man sat in the corner, drinking bitter from a pewter tankard.
‘Sid,’ Uncle Percy said. ‘Sidney Shufflebottom?’
Th
e old man looked up. ‘Bless my soul…if it isn’t Percy Halifax,’ he said, surprised. ‘Don’t see you in the boozer too often, nowadays. How you keepin’, son?’
Uncle Percy shook the man’s hand vigorously. ‘Not bad at all, Sid. Good to see you. How’s Irene?’
‘She’s very well, ta.’
‘And young Zak?’
‘Oh, he’s an angel,’ Sid replied. He looked over at Becky and Joe and flashed a welcoming smile. ‘And who are these two?’
‘This is Becky and Joe Mellor, my niece and nephew,’ Uncle Percy replied proudly. ‘We’ve come to see Reg… is he around?’
‘Think so,’ Sid confirmed, his eyes flicking over to the deserted bar. ‘Doreen!’
A young woman with a heavily made-up face, popped up from beneath the counter, chomping noisily on a piece of chewing gum.
‘Reg about, Doreen, luv?’ Sid asked.
Doreen paused, surveyed the group coolly, then tilted her head back and screeched, ‘REEEEGGGG !’ Then she gave a disinterested yawn.
Sid leaned into Uncle Percy and whispered, ‘Sorry about Doreen. She’s new and between you and me might be in the wrong job … she appears to hate people.’
A door behind the counter creaked open and a short, grizzled man appeared, wearing a loose-fitting brown jacket, patched at the elbows with uneven scraps of material; his chin showed at least three days of stubble and his eyes looked swollen as though he hadn’t slept in some time.
‘Thanks, pet,’ Reg muttered. He looked over at Uncle Percy, and for a brief moment his face displayed shock, before flashing a welcoming smile. ‘By ‘eck, if it ain’t me old chum, Percy Halifax.’
Uncle Percy smiled back. ‘How are you, Reg?’
‘I canna complain. ‘Bout yourself?’
‘I’m well.’
Reg looked at Becky and a twinkle lodged in his eyes. ‘Now if that ain’t that the prettiest face starin’ back at me. John’s girl, eh? Becky, if I ain’t mistaken.’ He turned to Joe. ‘And Joe, too. Good lookin’ lad, no doubt. My, I ain’t seen either of you since you were bairns.’
