Greenbeard (9781935259220) (34 page)

“Peter!” he roared in delight, pulling on the reins hard so that his horse whinnied and bucked. The face of Blue Peter peered at him from under the hat, with an oddly rueful grin. Captain Greybagges trotted back and turned his horse to ride alongside, feeling a contradictory whirl of emotions; joy, irritation, relief, anger.

“Peter, you bloody … you! … you! … vexacious nincompoop! You great insufferable jackanapes! How immensely pleased I am to see you! Why! I wish to embrace you and punch you on the nose at one and the same time! I am near lost for words! … ‘Pon my life, I cannot … Good Lord! Do you have someone else with you inside that great tent of a cloak?”

The folds of the cloak parted, and a face peered out. A very pretty face, pink and heart-shaped, with large wide-set blue eyes and full red lips. There was a look of slight apprehension on the delicate features, but the blue eyes regarded him with an intelligent directness, and the coral-lipped mouth had a determined set to it.

“Captain, allow me to introduce Miss Miriam Andromeda Chumbley. My dear, this is Captain Sylvestre de Greybagges, commander of the ship, and my friend.”

Captain Greybagges swept off his black tricorne hat and bowed his head; “Miss Chumbley, your servant!” He was then too taken aback to say more. Miss Chumbley pushed aside the folds and emerged from under the cloak, revealing a mass of blonde hair in sausage-curls, tied with blue ribbons of silk.

“Captain Greybagges, I am so pleased to meet you! My Peter speaks of you with such great regard, and with such fond affection!”

Miss Chumbley smiled at him, revealing small white teeth, perfect and even.
The smile held genuine warmth, her eyes crinkled with pleasure, but deep in those blue depths there was a palpable sense of dispassionate assessment, as though she was measuring him and recording everything for later analysis. This made the Captain uncharacteristically diffident, and he glanced at Blue Peter, whose face had the stunned expression of a man who has just been struck smartly on the head with a belaying-pin, and whose knees are on the point of buckling under him. There was a shout from back down the lane, which saved the Captain from giggling impolitely.

“Why, look! It is Izzy!” the Captain cried. “Excuse me, dear lady, I must take his report! Peter, pray continue! We will catch up with you presently.”

Captain Greybagges galloped back, the First Mate galloping towards him on his skeletal steed, waving his arm.

“Arrr! There you be, Cap'n! I bin keepin' watch on that Salem place from them woods, but I didn't see yuz leave there. Saw the tall bugger arguing with the fat bugger an' his mates at the crossroads, an' I guessed yer musta scarpered, belike. Bill, he went orf back to ship to get a shore-party to come for yez. We should meet him on his way a-comin' ‘ere, I do reckon. Skin me wi' a soupspoon, else!”

“What happened to you on that morning, Izzy?”

“The women cleared orf in the night sometime. Did'n sees ‘em go. Me and Bill wuz having a dump in the woods that mornin', wi' our britches round our ankles and thick heads, too. Heard a commotion, belike, then saw ‘em takin' yuz away. There wuz too many of ‘em for us to stop ‘em, and we figured yer weren't doing nuffin wrong, cept sleeping in the woods, so yer'd be back soon enough. When yer wasn't back by midday we crep around a bit, sees what's up. Well, I did, ‘cos Bill ain't zackly built for creepin', so he watched the road. Didn't see anyfing until that tall feller took yer t'the tavern, then I saw yer did'n have no shirt on and yer looked a bit banged about, like. So Bill went orf ta get help. I stayed ta keep a watch. Have yer seen hide nor hair o' Peter?”

“That's him up ahead on the horse, Izzy.”

“Nah! Reely? Woz he bin up ta?” The First Mate went to spur his horse to catch up with Blue Peter, but the Captain put a hand on his arm.

“Hold up a minute, Izzy, me old cock! He has a young lady with him.”

“Naah! Yer jests, yer does! The sly old dog! Scuttle me bathtub with a pickaxe
if that ain't rare!”

“Ah, Izzy! Before you go a-haring off I must caution you to be discreet, to be careful what you say.”

“Discreet? What about?”

“Well, Izzy,” said Captain Sylvestre de Greybagges, with abroad grin forming on his face, “the, ah, large lady that you were pleasuring in the woods the night before last, if you recall?”

“I does, Cap'n, I does! Hur-hur-hur!”

“I do believe that she is the young lady's mother.”

C
aptain Greybagges stood on the stony beach of the Elizabeth River. The
Ark de Triomphe
rode in the sluggish flow anchored bow-and-stern, with steadying kedges port-and-starboard the bows in a seamanlike fashion. The longboat which had brought him ashore was tying up by its side, the oarsmen climbing the cleat-ladder to the gangway hatch. Captain Greybagges shook the drips from his manhood, stowed it back in his breeches and buttoned up. A distant muted cheer came from the pirate frigate.

“Arr! Damn yer eyes, yer lubbers! Yer cap'n must piddle, same as all o' yuz, curse yuz! Get on wi' yer work, yer slackers! I sees a man neglectful o' his duties, I'll have his backbone for a walking-stick! Wi' a wannion, by my green beard, I will!” Captain Greybagges roared, scowling. The pirates returned to their tasks with a good-humoured mutter. In truth, he was not displeased with them. During the two days he had been absent in Salem the crew had not given in to the temptations of the flesh and had remained sober. Not entirely sober, he was sure, as a wealth of circumstantial evidence suggested that the crew had entered into commercial dealings with the good citizens of Jamestown; empty bottles incompetently concealed from sight, the cook simmering a vast cauldron of beef stew,
fresh
beef and not salt-horse. Nevertheless, at no time had the ship been left unguarded it seemed, nor had any inebriated foolishness drawn attention to the ship

“I do believe that you did that a-purpose!” said Mr Benjamin. “Widdle in the river to attract their attention, then shout at them, to remind them that you are the captain and that you are back.”

“And to keep them hard at it,” said the Captain. “Time presses upon me now. I like your choice of name, by the way.”

The crew were once again disguising the pirate frigate as a Dutch trader. Canvas strips taut above the ship's rails raised the height of her hull in profile, so that her silhouette against the sea or sky would be plump and complacent, not rakishly low and lean. Painted canvas tacked over the carved and gold-leafed ‘
Ark de Triomphe
' on her prow and transom now gave a name more appropriate to a ship of the
Vereenigde Oost-Indische Compagnie
, sailing out of Amsterdam. The crew were once again wearing the red-and-grey
matrozenpak
jacket and wide trousers
of the VOC. The people of Jamestown courteously gave them little heed, except for a handful of idlers, who were easily frightened away from the beach by the stratagem of offering them paid work.

“A pirate captain must not have too much dignity, Frank,” said the Captain, “although he does have need of much authority.”

They walked up the beach, gravel crunching under their boots.

“There are many tricks and dodges to the management of men,” said Mr Benjamin, “and many tricks and dodges to most things, I find. I have a mind to publish a sort of a journal, where such wrinkles may be presented in a humorous way.”

“Do you yet have a name in mind for this journal, Frank?”

“Well, maybe something like ‘Humble Harry's Handbook'. That might serve, giving the impression of a farmer's almanac for those who lack a farm.”

“Um, how about ‘Mean Michael's Manual?”

“Or ‘Grudging George's Guidebook'?”

“Hah! How about ‘Earnest Edward's Ephemeris'?”

“Damn you! … Ah! … ‘Vulgar Vincent's Vade Mecum', top that, if you can!”

“I confess myself bested, Frank.”

“Well, perhaps alliteration is not a good thing for the title of such a tract, smacking as it does of excessive cleverness. My intention is to attract readers among the common people, not repel them by exercising my wit in an ostentatious and pompous fashion.”

The two arrived at the
Wahunsunacock's Mantle
tavern. They sat a a table in the window, drinking strong coffee and eating flat cakes made with cracked oats, pork-dripping and molasses.

“These are surprisingly good,” said Mr Benjamin, taking another. “I suspect that they contain too much sustenance for a mere snack. They are to keep body and soul together when travelling the woods, or voyaging the rivers, as in Richard Bonhomme's tales.”

“You may be right, Frank. The cook here says they should not be eaten when freshly baked, for they improve by being kept for a day or so. The bacon-fat may then soak into the hard oats, you see, making the cakes softer in texture and less oleaginous.”

“When will your Dutchman come?”

“Before noon, I hope. I have had word from him. A game of cards while we wait, perhaps?”

“As long as we shall not play that accursed Puff-and-Honours, Sylvestre, for it is an uncouth game suitable only for low types in thieves' rookeries.”

“I see that Izzy and Bill have lightened your purse, Frank. Shall we play whist, then, like civilised old gentlemen?”

The Captain dealt the cards, and took another oatcake.

 

 

The Dutchman departed, his purse made heavier by a number of clinking gold
reales d'or
, and Captain Greybagges surveyed his purchase; four women from an island far away in the Pacific. They had black hair tied tightly back, slanted black eyes and jolly round faces, and were dressed in the jacket and trousers of common sailors. Their clothes were far cleaner than a common sailor's, however, the canvas scrubbed to an almost bleached whiteness. Their small feet wore sandals of leather and woven hemp.

The eldest woman was seemingly in her thirties, although it was difficult to guess their precise ages as the pale-brown skin of their faces was unmarked by wrinkles or laugh-lines. She spoke passable Dutch, despite pronouncing ‘r' as ‘l', and the Captain conversed with her easily as they walked to the riverside. Mr Benjamin said little, although he appeared fascinated by them. The Captain reassured the eldest woman that he undertook to return them to their homeland when they had finished their work for him, and that they would be well rewarded in either gold or silver, as they wished. The eldest woman regarded him with shrewd eyes, then nodded her agreement and turned and spoke to her companions in an incomprehensible jabber. They replied in high fluting voices. The elder woman informed the Captain that the Dutchman was a vile grease-rag and a clot-bag and that they were all glad to be rid of him at last. He had attempted several times to have his way with the youngest of them when he was drunk, but that she had dissuaded him from such impertinence by kicking him in the balls, which had made his blue eyes, his most unnatural and devilish blue eyes, bulge out of his head in an agreeably comical fashion. The Captain replied graciously that although he had grey eyes and that many of his crew had blue eyes they were not devils and that he would see that the women were treated with respect at all
times. Furthermore, he said the women were now temporary members of the crew, but part of the crew nonetheless, and that any such disrespect would be against the laws of his ship and swiftly punished by common agreement. The eldest woman conveyed this to the others in a rattling burst of their language, and they all nodded solemnly in unison.

The longboat ran aground on the beach. Captain Greybagges stepped forward to assist the four women into the boat, but they smilingly dodged him and hopped over the gunwales with the spryness of seasoned sailors, only the eldest accepting a helping hand from Loomin' Len in the bows, solely from queenly courtesy, apparently, as she was as nimble as the others. The Captain and Mr Benjamin followed, Mr Benjamin requiring a discreet heft from the huge hand of Loomin' Len on his coat-collar, the river sloshing around his boots as the longboat slid backwards into the stream.

As the longboat pulled towards the
Ark de Triomphe
Captain Greybagges heard a female voice shouting, its tone jagged with anger. The Captain glanced at the oarsmen; they looked stolidly to their front and gave no sign they heard anything. He turned to Mr Benjamin and raised an eyebrow.

“Um, it sounds like Miss Chumbley, perhaps?” said Mr Benjamin. “Oh, but she has a fine grasp of the vernacular! Who would have thought a young lady would know such words? … Good Lord! Now she curses in Dutch, too! What does ‘
zwakzinnige
' mean?”