Henry Hunter and the Cursed Pirates

by John

  “Concerned he may be,” grunted Iron Jake. “Mostly that’ll be about what he’s been searching after these past ten year.”

  “What would that be?” asked Henry.

  “Why the Sword o’ Columbus, o’ course. Do ye know nothing?”

  The idea of Henry knowing nothing struck me as funny, but I smothered my desire to laugh. Henry’s ears went a bit red and he leaned forward in his chair.

  “I know about the sword, of course, just not that Captain Trueblood has been looking for it.”

  “He’s been following up clues in these waters for a while now,” said Jake, taking a sip of rum. “Most folks don’t care for him and his ways though. More than one wild goose chase I’ve heard he’s gone on.”

  “I always thought the Sword of Columbus was somewhere in America,” said Henry.

  Jake shook his head. “Tis said it were brought here by one o’ his lieutenants. There are even those as say it were owned by Cap’n Teach for a while.”

  “Blackbeard!” exclaimed Henry.

  Iron Jake’s reaction was instant. He half rose in his chair and jabbed his finger at Henry.

  “We don’t use that name around here!” he barked. “’Tis unlucky.”

  Henry was silent for a moment and I took my chance.

  “Are we talking about the Columbus… the one who discovered America?”

  “No one knows for sure if he actually was the first,” said Henry eagerly, glad as usual to have some knowledge to impart. “Some people think it was a man called Henry Sinclair – who could be one of my ancestors, as a matter of fact, related to the Hunters. But yes, we are talking about Christopher Columbus. When he died his sword, which was said to be a particularly fine blade, vanished. People have been searching for it ever since.”

  “Aye,” agreed Iron Jake grimly. “And that Trueblood fella is one of ’em.”

  “So what makes you think he had something to do with the Stevenses disappearance?” asked Henry.

  “Didn’t say as I thought that,” muttered Jake. “Just can’t be havin’ anything to do with him, is all.”

  “So what do you think happened?” I asked.

  Iron Jake swivelled his good eye towards me. For the first time since we had met he seemed reluctant to say anything. Finally he leaned back in his creaking chair and fixed his gaze on the ceiling of the veranda.

  “Lost me arm and leg to a shark in them waters out there,” he said at last. “Fell overboard durin’ a storm. I were adrift fer a day and a night till I were picked up. Fought off that shark with me bare hands. After that I were hallucinating a bit, but I knows what I saw… ”

  I couldn’t help shuddering as I pictured the scene – Jake, minus a leg and an arm, battling a hungry shark in stormy seas. But as usual Henry was more interested in the facts.

  “What did you see, sir?”

  Iron Jake began to make a strange noise. It was a moment before I realised it was laughter. “Ain’t no one called me sir in a long while, young ’un.”

  Then he was serious again, dropping his voice until we had to strain our ears to hear him.

  “Saw a ship, didn’t I? All black and flying the Jolly Roger. Saw right though ’er, I did, like she were full o’ holes. Came right by me she did, and there was me callin’ out to be taken aboard. Glad I wasn’t now… ”

  He fixed us with his brilliant eye. “Let me tell you, boys, I’ll never forget what I saw that night. As that ship passed me by – silent as the grave and travelling fast, I saw someone looking over the side at me. Someone big and dark and nasty… Glad I am that I weren’t taken aboard that ship. Most likely I wouldn’t be here now if’n I had been.”

  “Who did you see?” asked Henry, when it became clear Iron Jake wasn’t going to say any more.

  “Not for me to say,” he muttered. “Bad luck, I reckon. But it weren’t no living man, that’s for sure.”

  Suddenly the warm night air seemed to turn colder. Further down the quay the voices of the revellers faded almost to silence. A wind stirred the palm trees along the shore and the rhythm of the waves along the beach seemed to falter.

  “Sir – Jake, I mean,” began Henry. “If someone wanted to find out more about this ship, or what might have happened to Mr and Mrs Stevens, how would they go about it?”

  Iron Jake was silent for so long I thought he must have fallen asleep. Then he sighed. “You’d need a craft o’ yer own, with a good strong crew and a cap’n as knows these waters well.”

  “Any idea where I might find such a person?” demanded Henry.

  Jake leaned back in his chair and closed his good eye. “If ye are serious, lad, ye can charter me own ship, and her crew. But t’will cost ye. And I won’t be guaranteein’ your safety.”

  “That sounds perfect to me,” Henry said, as I knew he was going to. He stood up and looked as if he was about to offer his hand again, then thought better of it.

  “When and where can you be ready?” he asked.

  “Come by the quay in two days’ time,” answered Iron Jake. “Look for berth number twelve. I’ll meet ye there.”

  Neither of us had much to say on the drive back to the hotel. Henry assured George that the meeting had been, “Very useful, thank you.”

  As we got out of the car I heard him giving instructions to draw money (quite a lot of it!) from the company funds. If George was surprised he didn’t show it. I, on the other hand, was seriously concerned. As soon as we got back to our room I followed Henry into his.

  “Are you sure about this, HH?” I demanded. “I mean, we don’t know anything about this guy. If you ask me he’s a bit weird… Suppose he just takes the money and then throws us over the side when we’re at sea?”

  “I think I’m a pretty good judge of character, Dolf,” said Henry. “Anyway, who would you rather sail with, Iron Jake or Captain Trueblood?”

  Actually I was thinking I’d rather not sail with either of them, but I got the point.

  Henry threw himself down on his bed. “Iron Jake may be a bit weird, as you say, but I think he’s honest. Besides,” he grinned, “how else are we going to get to see this ghost ship?”

  Refraining with some difficulty from saying just how much I did not want to get to see the ghost ship, I shrugged.

  “I’ll tell you one thing,” said Henry. “I’d rather trust Jake than Captain Trueblood. If Trueblood’s been looking for the Sword of Columbus for ten years, that makes him a fanatic. And fanatics are never much fun… ”

  “I don’t see how any of this adds up,” I said.

  “Neither do I – yet,” replied Henry. “Though I’m a beginning to get an idea or two.”

  SHIVERING TIMBERS

  We spent most of the next day exploring Bridgetown like normal tourists. It was Henry’s suggestion, but I had a feeling he was really taking the opportunity to talk to some of the natives, or maybe to draw out anyone who might be interested in us. He certainly made a show of spending some money in the marketplace. There’s no doubt Barbados is a great place for a holiday – if you aren’t being kidnapped, that is, or looking for people who probably suffered the same fate. Once or twice I was convinced we were being followed, but when I mentioned it to Henry he said I was probably just imagining it.

  On the second day we made our way to the quay and looked for berth number twelve. There we found a battered-looking tugboat of the kind that used to haul huge ocean liners into port but that were now (Henry told me) rarely seen in these waters. This one certainly looked as if it should have been classed as extinct some time ago! The name on the prow was Moby Dick, though why anyone should want to name their craft after a huge and dange rous white whale was beyond me.

  Iron Jake was waiting for us on the dock, smoking a foul-smelling pipe and glaring at the gulls which circled overhead, screaming loudly in the belief that boats + men = food.

  “So, ye still want to go a sailin’ in search of ghosts then?” he said.

  Henry nodded.

  “Then ye’d
better come aboard.” Despite his artificial leg – which, like his false hand, I later learned was actually made of tin not iron – Jake seemed sure-footed enough aboard the little craft. Leading the way to the small, box-like cabin, he introduced us to Joe, a large, silent, unsmiling man with the kind of muscles you generally only see on competitors for the title of the World’s Strongest Man. Joe, we learned, was engineer, first mate and general dogsbody, without whom the Moby would not be going anywhere. During the time we were aboard I only heard him speak once, and that was to shout a warning when… well, you’ll see when shortly.

  Henry was clearly delighted with the sturdy little craft, even though when Joe started the engine a great deal of oily black smoke belched forth. Henry opened his bag and handed Jake a large envelope full of money, which vanished at once into a capacious pocket in the one-eyed man’s jacket. Then, we cast off and headed out of the harbour towards the open sea.

  Fortunately neither HH nor I were troubled by seasickness. The water was, in any case, incredibly calm, and as Henry and Iron Jake pored over charts in the cabin I looked over the side into the clear blue depths and found it hard to imagine encountering anything dangerous in such a setting.

  Which just goes to show how wrong you can be.

  We took a course west of the mainland, passing between the islands of St Lucia and St Vincent and heading out into the waters of the Caribbean proper. Henry had provided the exact co-ordinates for where the Spinnaker had encountered whatever it was it had encountered, and that was where we were heading. It took a few hours of sailing – the Moby Dick was not the fastest boat on the ocean – so we whiled away the time watching schools of tiny fish darting this way and that around the hull of the boat, turning and twisting as if they shared a brain.

  The water was clear as glass most of the time, and far below we could see the sandy seabed. A couple of times we passed over what were very clearly wrecks, but it became clear to me that such things are not exactly uncommon in these waters and after the first couple of times I stopped embarrassing myself by shouting out “Look – a wreck!” every time.

  Around three hours out of Bridgetown we dropped anchor and the regular thud-thud of the Moby’s engine faltered and died. The silence was intense. Only the calling of the endlessly circling gulls and the slap of water against the hull was to be heard. Somehow, none of us wanted to raise our voices much above a low murmur.

  “This is the spot, near as I can make it,” said Iron Jake. “See any ghosts yet?”

  I thought he was making fun of us, but his face was serious and his bright eye darted about from side to side constantly, as if checking for anything unusual.

  From horizon to horizon the sky was clear blue, save for a few fluffy clouds drifting lazily overhead.

  So we waited. And waited.

  Once we saw a sail on the horizon but when Henry produced a set of powerful Nikon Action binoculars from his pack and trained them on it, it turned out to be a one-man craft with absolutely nothing ghostly about it.

  I wasn’t really sure what we were waiting for. I had my doubts about ships full of holes and ghostly tentacles reaching out to get us, but then, when you’re on a Henry Hunter trip, you never know. Fortunately I’d had the presence of mind to bring a couple of bottles of a vibrantly-coloured drink, mostly made of pineapple, that they were selling at the harbour, so I opened one of those.

  At what point the ocean stopped being empty I can’t say. Just that one moment we were staring idly at nothing and the next we saw a line of mist spreading across the water. Henry saw it first and trained his binoculars on it. After a minute or two, he lowered them, looking puzzled.

  “What do you see, Dolf?” he asked.

  “Er… some mist,” I answered, wondering if it was a trick question.

  “That’s what I can see, too,” said Henry. “But when I look through the glasses I can’t see anything except sea and sky… ”

  “You mean, like Charlie described?”

  Henry nodded.

  Here we go, I thought.

  Five minutes later, the patch of mist had grown large enough to look menacing, and was grey now rather than white. It billowed about as if it was blown by a strong wind.

  Which was odd in itself – because there was no wind.

  At the same time I began to catch a glimpse of something inside the cloud. Something big and dark. Henry saw it too, nudging me without saying a word. Apparently Iron Jake did as well, because he left the wheelhouse and joined us at the prow.

  “Can’t say as I like the looks o’ that,” he proffered.

  Silently I was agreeing, but Henry looked like one of those hunting dogs that show you where the prey is by pointing with their noses – his nose was aimed straight at the apparition.

  “This could be it,” he murmured. “We’re about to find out what really happened to Charlie’s mum and dad. Come on, Dolf. It’s time to find out the truth.”

  Do we really want to? I was thinking, but I knew this was what we were here for, and it wasn’t as if we could go back now.

  The mist parted and now we could see what was inside. It was just as Charlie had described: a large old-fashioned sailing ship with black sails, and a black skull and crossbones flag flapping from the main mast. And, again just as Charlie had described, it sported a number of holes along its hull, some large enough to see right through to the waters on the other side.

  The calm sea suddenly became very uncalm. One minute we were chugging through dead flat water and the next the Moby Dick was rolling from side to side, caught in wild waves that sprang from nowhere.

  All of us were caught unawares by the speed of events, even Jake. He staggered sideways and only just stopped himself from being swept overboard by grabbing the rail of the boat with his good hand. At that moment Joe made the only sound I had heard him make since we left Bridgetown.

  “Look out!”

  Henry and I turned towards the wheelhouse and saw what he had – a huge wall of water, hurtling towards us like an express train.

  There was no time to do anything except grab the nearest thing and hang on. Not that it did us much good. The water hit the side of the Moby like a battering ram and the little tug virtually stood on its end. I saw Iron Jake, his mouth open in shock, disappear over the side of the boat; then, before I knew what was happening, I was flying through the air, caught in the icy grip of the wave.

  Just as I was wishing I had spent more time learning to swim, things got a lot worse. A thin line of brilliant light slashed through the mist and curled itself around me, driving out what little breath I still had in my lungs.

  I was hurtling through the icy water and then suddenly I stopped, caught in mid-air. The word ‘tentacle’ went through my mind and I think I must have screamed.

  Then I was slammed against something hard.

  I tried to sit up, but quickly wished I hadn’t. My head spun and stars flashed in my eyes. I caught a glimpse of Henry a few metres from me and realised we were both on the deck of a ship – but not the Moby Dick. This vessel was made of rough dark timbers, cracked and warped, almost as if the ship had been under the sea for a long time.

  I was just starting to absorb the horrible realisation of where we were when a pair of feet in tall, black boots appeared centimetres from my face. I tried to raise my head to look up at the owner, but that made my head swim again. The last thing I remembered before darkness claimed me was a cold voice. “What have we here then?” it said. And, as I sank into unconsciousness, I had time to think: I know that voice.

  I had heard it before…

  THE CURSED PIRATES

  I awoke in mid-air, dangling from a very large hand that held me by the collar.

  I found myself looking into a pair of cold, bloodshot eyes, set under huge scowling brows and bristling eyebrows. The rest of the face was mostly covered by thick facial hair, through which I saw glimpses of dark, tanned, leathery skin. Atop the man’s head sat a big hat with feathers sticking out. I g
lanced down, taking in the red coat and dark baggy trousers. My captor looked like he was dressed for a part in a pirate movie. Unfortunately for me, this seemed much more real than a film set. My head was too fuzzy to think properly, but I couldn’t help thinking this pirate looked familiar…

  His hard eyes continued to inspect me, then the large hand released me and I flopped down onto the deck like a sack of potatoes.

  “They’ll do,” said that cold, dead voice. “Take ’em below, Mr Caraway.”

  I tried sitting up again. As my head gradually stopped feeling two sizes too big I looked around and saw about twelve men gathered around us on the deck. All of them were dressed like extras from a pirate movie – stripy jerseys, pistols and cutlasses hanging from their belts. But there the similarity ended. For a start, these pirates looked very real and far from friendly. But the weirdest thing about them was their skin, which was greyish and dull, almost as if they were from an old black and white film.

  A particularly evil-looking man with a huge scar crossing his face from brow to chin approached us – I guessed this was Caraway. Alongside him came a little wiry bloke.

  I frowned. There was something odd about the way they moved – they seemed to glide, making no sound at all on the deck of the ship.

  Caraway had a gold ring in his ear, and the smaller one had tattoos all over his arms, his face covered in pockmarks. Caraway heaved Henry over one shoulder as if he weighed nothing at all, and the other one treated me in a similar fashion. I dared not scream – I was too frightened, anyhow. They carried us into the depths of the ship and tossed us into a small cage, which couldn’t have been more than two metres high and wide.

  It didn’t smell very good down there, like fish that’s been out in the sun too long – sort of damp and cloying at the same time. It was also pretty dark despite the large holes in the sides of the ship. The problem was, there wasn’t much light to shine through them. It seemed as if the ship carried its own dark cloud with it. Was that the mist we’d seen?