Greenbeard (9781935259220) (39 page)

“Make sure you get that bandage changed and the wound cleaned by Miss Chumbley when you finish your work this evening, Sid. You are a pirate - a stout-hearted buccaneer, indeed! - but you are too young yet for a hook!” said the Captain.

 

The next morning Jack Nastyface and Jake Thackeray, on their accustomed perch on the mizzenmast mainsail cross-trees, noted that Mr Benjamin once again missed his air-bath, merely sousing his head under the seawater pump before climbing down to the raft and wriggling into the ‘scallop-shell', followed by his men. Just after the ship's bell rang the end of the forenoon watch, as pirates started to line up to have wooden kids filled with stew from the galley for the gun-deck messes, Loomin' Len's bully-boys carried a new object from the interior of the extramundane craft. A golden sphere, roughly the same diameter as a rum-keg. It gleamed a molten yellow in the bright sun, and the waiting mess-chiefs gasped in wonder.

The auriferous globe, tied with padded ropes onto a wooden dolly cushioned with rags, was block-and-tackled up to the deck with exquisite care, Mr Benjamin clucking protectively around it like a mother hen. It was then hoisted, again with the most diligent attention, to its platform, the platform on a diagonal strut between the foremast and the mainmast that had been fixed in Liver Pool. Mr Benjamin ascended the mainmast to the platform, moving slowly, assisted with great solicitude by the First Mate and two of his ‘foremast jacks, who placed Mr Benjamin's feet on the ratlines and yards for him as he climbed, despite his growled protests.

The queue for lunch slowed as the pirates observed the performance above them, their faces tilted to the sky, and the cook roared at them to hurry up, you
dogs, until he gave up and came out from his galley to join them watching silently, as no whispered reports were needed this time.

Mr Benjamin and his team attached the golden sphere to the platform with bolts, and joined the thin copper bars to it with clamps smeared with the tallow-and-copper-dust mixture. It took them the first quarter of the afternoon watch, and was performed without mishap, except that Sid the watchmaker, rendered clumsy by his gashed and broken finger, dropped a wrench, which hit the deck with a solid bang, gouging the planks but hitting no one. Mr Benjamin opened his mouth to rebuke him, but stopped himself and gave him a small smile instead. The golden sphere was then shrouded in a tarred-canvas cover, and Mr Benjamin and his men climbed carefully down. The pirates gave them an appreciative cheer as they stepped onto to the deck. The queue for lunch re-formed and Jake Thackeray filled their kids with salt-horse-and-pease stew, informing them cheerfully that he had kept it warm, but that he had some cold stew if there were any
old women
who might prefer it that way.

 

Mr Benjamin went to the Great Cabin to report to the Captain. Blue Peter was already there, examining the small model of the
Ark de Triomphe
in its spherical glass bottle on its shelf.

“Ah, Frank!” said Captain Greybagges cheerfully. “Excellent work! We must not tempt the fates by any display of egregious
hubris
, but I do not think they will begrudge us a well-earned glass of brandy and a sense of smug satisfaction! Here, let me help you to a glass…”

Mr Benjamin took his brandy, a generous slug in a crystal tumbler, and raised it:

“Aye-aye, Cap'n! To success in your endeavours!” he cried, adding to himself in an undertone, “
whatever they may be…
”

“Indeed, yes,” said Blue Peter. “I will drink to that!” He caught Mr Benjamin's eye and nodded towards the ship-in-a-bottle. Mr Benjamin stood beside him and regarded the model of the
Ark de Triomphe
.

“Oh, my!” he said after a pause. “You have laid your plans deeply, Cap'n. Very deeply indeed. I had not noticed that little gold bead on the model before. The close fit of the dodecahedron and the grey-cylinder things to their positions on the iron keel-pieces greatly impressed me, but it seems that you have anticipated
this in much greater detail than I could have imagined.”

“I hope it gives you confidence, Frank,” said Captain Greybagges carefully. “I have demanded a lot of trust from everybody, and everybody has generously granted me that trust, for which you and the entire crew have my deepest gratitude. You have questions, though, they clamour in your thoughts, I can see it upon your face. All I can still say is that …”

“… everything will become clear in time!” said Blue Peter and Mr Benjamin, almost in complete unison. Captain Greybagges barked with laughter.

“Never has a captain of pirates had a better crew!” grinned the Captain. “I raise my glass to you!” He took a swallow of brandy. “We are not yet finished, though, the game is not yet won. I honour and value your patience with me and my annoying secretiveness, but you will understand my reasons before all is done. Come, sit down, the pair of you, and tell me how things progress. You first, Frank.”

“The components from the
discus
– or the
scallop-shell
, as the crew are calling it – have been transferred to this frigate. Some small things are yet to be removed, but Sid and the other fellows are doing that as we speak. The fitting of the instruments and the little brass thingummijigs to the extended binnacle is now done, and they are connected to the demiheptaxial mechanism, except for a final look to see that all is well. A few bolts to tighten, a few joints and bearings to be greased, that sort of thing. All complete before lunchtime tomorrow, at the latest.”

“Peter?”

“The cannon have been modified as you required, their flintlocks replaced by the new firing devices. Torvald Coalbiter is not entirely happy, of course, as he does not really understand the electrical fluid or how it can ignite gunpowder, even though he saw the barrel exploded by lightning that time, but he is doing what he is told. He, too, has faith in your schemes, Captain. He is in awe of your green beard. He believes it to be magical, you see, like his grandmother, who was a witch, he says.”

“I am a man of reason, a lover of natural philosophy,” said Mr Benjamin slowly, “but I am beginning to think something like that myself…” He raised a hand to forestall an answer. “But I certainly agree with your pirate crew, They are curious, of course, but they are intrigued. They will go with you to the ends of the Earth, and not ask questions now, I think, because they don't wish to spoil the surprise. Let's be about our work.”

Mr Benjamin left the Great Cabin. Blue Peter murmured “
to the ends of the earth, Captain?
” with a wry grin, revealing his pointed filed teeth, and left too, shutting the door gently behind him.

 

 

Captain Sylvestre de Greybagges stood upon his quarterdeck, dressed in his full pirate-captain's rig of black pants tucked into black spit-shined sea-boots, black shirt, black
justaucorps
coat and a black tricorne hat. In his belt was a cutlass and two pistols, and his green beard seemed almost to glow emerald when it caught the midday sun. He felt a mixture of satisfaction, hope and pride as he surveyed his ship, the frigate
Ark de Triomphe
. All the necessary work had now been done, even to small details. The canvas screens that had disguised the frigate's low predatory silhouette had not been re-mounted, but a broad band of a yellowish buff had been painted along the hull at the level of the gun-ports to make her more resemble a merchant ship to the casual eye. The canvas name-plates covering the frigate's real name on the stern and on sides of the bow had been replaced with better ones of thin wood, the false identity lettered bravely in characters of shining copper, for one of the young pirates, once the apprentice of a paint-maker, had compounded a metallic lacquer from a little of the copper dust, perhaps inspired by the shining smears on Mr Benjamin's waistcoat and Sid's bandage.

Blue Peter came onto the quarterdeck, attired in a sky-blue coat with gold buttons, a white silk shirt, pale-grey breeches, white hose and shoes with gold buckles. A multi-coloured silk sash around his waist held a short cutlass with a brass knuckle-duster hilt and the long-barrelled Kentucky pistol. His huge hands glittered and flashed with gemstone rings.

“Peter, do you not find the
nom-de-guerre
of this frigate oddly apposite?” said the Captain. “Mr Benjamin thought of it.”

Blue Peter leaned over the stern-rail to read the inscription upside-down.

“I am not sure, but I am glad it amuses you, Captain. They will not let me see Miriam. Those island women barred the way to her cabin, and would not move an inch, even though I showed my teeth and growled.”

“It is the custom. You would have brought bad luck upon yourself, Peter,” laughed the Captain, “and the island women know that you are not a brute, even if you look like one, har-har!”

Captain Greybagges leaned over the stern-rail to admire the new name-board once more. The former paint-maker's apprentice was using up the last of the copper paint to add highlights to the carved curlicues around the stern windows.

“Good work, Albert!” said the Captain. “Very tasteful, I find it!”

“Why, thank'ee Cap'n! Us slab-boys do know a thing or two, har-har!”

 

Blue Peter and the Captain walked to the ship's wheel, the binnacle in front of it now much enlarged to hold panels of levers and a number of dials with engraved brass faces and blued-steel hands. A complicated device of brass and steel was mounted in the centre of the new binnacle, protected by a glass bell-jar.

“What is that, Captain?” Blue Peter pointed to the device. “It resembles the bastard love-child of an armilliary sphere, an orrery and an astrolabe.”

“Ah-ha! You are not so very far from the truth, Peter. It is called a
torquetum
, although it is more complex than the instrument from which it gets its name.”

 

Blue Peter nodded, but asked no further questions. I am committed to this venture, he thought, for good or ill, and there are no answers that will change that. During the night he had dreamt a confused dream, in which the leopardess with cutlass-teeth and cannon-claws had visited him again. He remembered an amicable and rambling discussion, but could recall no details of what was said. They had walked together in the African bush, then rested together in the shade of a baobab tree. As part of a friendly tussle, as one may have with a playful feline, the leopardess had climbed on top of him and sat on his chest. He had awoken at that moment, feeling short of breath, to find two yellow eyes staring down at him in the dark. He had twitched with shock, for dreams should not become real, and then the ship's cat had jumped from his chest with a hiss. Blue Peter had shook his head to banish the shards of dream. The black cat, on the floor of his cabin, had looked him in the eyes, made a
rrowwll!
noise, then slid through the ajar door. He had left his bunk and followed it, feeling foolish. The black cat paced slowly, its tail twitching from side to side, not looking back, then darted up the companionway. Blue Peter had followed it up the steps, and stopped with just his head above the level of the planking. Captain Greybagges stood on the quarterdeck, wearing his black nightshirt, his bare feet a couple of paces from Blue Peter's face. The Captain stood quite still, staring up at the night sky, a velvet
blue-black sky full of bright stars. Blue Peter noticed, with an eerie feeling, that the green beard was moving as though in a slight breeze. There was no wind that Blue Peter could detect, but the green beard waved nonetheless, small ripples rolling from the Captain's chin down to the ends of the whiskers. Of the ship's black cat there was no sign. Blue Peter stepped backwards down the companionway ladder, carefully and soundlessly, and returned to his bunk, where he fell immediately into a deep and dreamless slumber.

In the light of the day Blue Peter was not sure whether he really had been led by a pussycat to observe the Captain communing with the stars, or whether it was a mere continuation of the dream of the African savanna. He felt that it was a good omen either way, although he was not sure why.

He was brought from his reverie by Mr Benjamin, Bulbous Bill Bucephalus and Israel Feet clumping up the steps to the quarterdeck, talking loudly and cheerfully. They were all dressed in their best clothes: Mr Benjamin looking a little hot in a fine buff coat, waistcoat and breeches and a new wig, with a sword with a fine maroon-leather scabbard and baldric, his eyes sparkling merrily behind his
pince-nez
spectacles; the First Mate and the sailing-master in the traditional pirate uniform of dark fustian knee-britches and weskit, colourful kerchiefs on their heads, knotted at the back with the corners hanging down, bright sashes around their waists with a tasteful collection of weapons tucked into them, only so much hardware as was appropriate for a party among friends.

Captain Sylvestre de Greybagges rubbed his hands together, grinning gleefully.

“Har-har! Me hearties! Bill, Izzy, are the look-outs and their reliefs assigned and instructed? Are they content with the recompense for their forbearance and for missing a little of the grog and the dancing?”

“Aye-aye, Cap'n! They are, and they are!” they cried back, touching their forelocks.

“Then let us take ourselves ashore and get this
boucan
started, for I has a powerful desire to grow my beard just a little!”

 

 

The old priest's hair was grey, his chin whiskery, his eyes red and his cassock worn and patched, but he asked Blue Peter the question in a firm and resonant
voice:

“
Pee-tar, vis accípere Miri-aam, hic praeséntem in tuam legítiman uxórem juxta ritum sanctae matris Ecclésiae?
”

Blue Peter answered “Volo!”